Author’s Note: If, when you were reading Part I, you ever thought to yourself “Gee, KE is really long winded and she really didn’t need to include all this stuff. We’re fans, we KNOW this stuff backward and forward.” Well… this chapter is one of the reasons why I kept what I kept. Technically, you could say that all of Part I is foreshadowing for this chapter.

WARNING: This chapter contains smut. Plot-smut. Smut that is pretty much inseparable from a major plot point. I suppose I ought to apologize for that, but… I’m not really that sorry about it. So, if it gets to be too much for you to read and you want a summary, send me a note or an email and I’ll provide you with one.

Second warning: we’re getting really close to the end. There’s only a small handful of chapters left. Just thought you might like a heads up.

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.

Betaed by Phuriedae and Science

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Chapter 70
Together


"What's it like?" I ask, a while later. I'm sitting on the bed, in the dark, waiting. I hear him move across the room, in the shadows, and the tingles on the back of my neck track his movements, even though there's not really enough light to see him. For a moment, the situation is so familiar that it makes me smile.

"What's what like, pet?" Spike says softly. Flame sparks, and he touches his Zippo to a candle on the dresser. Light spreads, glowing softly through the room, softening the edges of things and making the shadows dance. Spike pads barefoot to the next candle, his pale chest gleaming in the candlelight, the scars on it nothing but faint lines now. His eyes are really dark as he stares at me, making me aware of all the skin my pajamas show off. Skin that I kinda left bare just for him.

From the look on his face it's easy to see that he likes it.

"Never getting old," I say, twisting my fingers in the cord of Willow's bag. "Watching other people age and... you know... go on?"

His jaw flexes, but he looks thoughtful, tilting his head to study me.

"Don't know," he says softly. "Not really. After my mum... wasn't anyone left I cared about. After... never really kept tabs on living people. Mostly just... you know." He shifts, watching me carefully.

"Ate and ran?" I suggest.

"Yeah," he says. He heaves a sigh and moves to the third candle, the light getting brighter as he touches the flame to the wick. "This... you and your chums are the first humans I've ever been around for an extended period of time. Don't know what it'll be like, watching them grow up, get old, die. Suppose it'll be like watching anyone you love die, in a way. It'll break your heart, you'll heal, and go on. And you'll carry the memory of them with you, wherever you go."

There are tears building behind my eyes and I feel like I'm mourning people who are still alive. It's a weird feeling.

"Then again," Spike says, as he lights the last candle, beside the bed. "We are talking about the Scoobies and the Hellmouth, luv. Who's to say what'll happen? Could be we won't be the only ones 'round here with extended lifespans. Though if Harris ever susses out a way to live forever I suggest we move. No way can I stomach that git for more than a few decades at a time."

The thought of an immortal Xander is funny. Or maybe I'm just hysterical, because I start giggling and then can't stop. Spike sits beside me, gathering me up into his lap and holding me tight while the giggles turn to sniffles and sobs. For a moment I feel like I'm back in our dream room, and he's Mr. Gordo again.

"We don't have to do this," he murmurs into my hair when I finally calm down. His fingers draw little circles and patterns over my back. "We're both damn strong. We can find a way to beat her."

"But that doesn't change anything," I say, breathing in his scent and drawing my own little designs on the almost unmarked skin of his chest. "I'm still... not really mortal. At least... at least if we do this, I might live to enjoy eternal youth. I wouldn't be alone. I'd have you there. Wouldn't I?"

"Have me regardless, pet," Spike says, and I feel him smile as he kisses my forehead. "Told you before, you'll have to dust me to get rid of me. Question is... would you want me there?"

He asks it casually, but when I look up into his eyes I can see what he's really asking. God, how did I go so long without being able to see Spike? It's all there, in his eyes. Every feeling, every thought, every single insecurity.

"I love you," I say, willing him to believe me. "I love you in ways I didn't even know were possible. I... You're not perfect. You're a long, long way from perfect, Spike. But I love the man you are, and the man you're trying to be. I want to see what you can become. I believe in you. You can be whatever you want to be."

The moonlight glimmers on the tear tracks I'm sure he doesn't even know are marking his face. "A man," he says, hoarsely. "One that deser—-one that deserves you. I love you, Buffy. So much."

I cup his face in my hands. "I love you, too," I say. "Don't leave me."

"Never," he promises, kissing me. "Never leave you. Never."

Then all there is is the incredible feeling of Spike's lips on mine, kissing, devouring, tasting. He nibbles at my lips, then sneaks his tongue into my mouth and tastes me and it's oh so good. Spike tastes like toothpaste, with a hint of cigarettes and whiskey and Chinese food, and I smile against his mouth because it amuses me that my vampire brushes his fangs before bed.

Actually...

"What?" he asks, pouting a little when I pull back to study him.

"Where do your fangs go?" I ask curiously.

Spike blinks at me, exasperated. "Woman, I'm five minutes away from an absolutely glorious shag and you want a bleedin' biology lesson?"

"You're going to bite me, aren't you?" I ask, meeting his gaze.

His anger retreats and once more I'm staring at insecure Spike, shy and unsure of my reaction. "We're really doing this?" he asks.

"Candles are already lit, and the stinky incense, and there's a mess of sand that's going to take weeks to vacuum out of the carpet. Shame to let it go to waste. Also, good chance we might die tomorrow if we don't," I point out. "It... You'll have to bite me, won't you?" I can't quite help the wince that goes along with that question. I've been on the wrong end of more pairs of fangs than I really want to think about, so I know how it hurts. Not that there's really a right end to a pair of fangs.

"Don’t have to, not if you don’t want. Could use knives, instead. But... I’d like to," he says, and his eyes drift to my throat and the scar there. For all of his protests the other day about biting, I know it’s something that he wants. Maybe it’s just a vampire thing, but... I kinda get it, too. It’s intimate. Important. Doesn’t make it less scary, though.

"It won't be like that," he says softly, kissing the scar on my throat. "Won't hurt a bit."

"You promised me that one time before," I remind him. "Only that time you were trying to kill me."

A grin flashes across his face. "I wasn't lying," he says. "Meant every word. It doesn't have to hurt, luv. And if it does, it's a good sort of hurt."

"A good sort of hurt?" I say, raising my eyebrow at him. He smirks, then shifts me so quickly that I don't have time to blink. Suddenly I'm straddling him and feeling how hard he is through the flimsy cotton of my pj bottoms and the thick denim of his jeans.

"Yeah," he growls, his mouth near my ear. "Like when I'm pounding inside of you, luv, stretching your tight little quim so wide it hurts just a little, even while you're screaming for more."

Oh.

Oh, god.

He rocks his hips against me, his hands guiding my hips down, grinding us together, and I can't help the little noise I make. He purrs his approval against my ear. "Like it when I do that, don't you, sweetheart? Like it when old Spike makes it hurt just a little, hmm? Just the thought of it's got you all hot and wet for me..."

A tremble goes through me, and I can't help it. He's right. God, even when he's using weird British words that are probably really dirty... I can't help it. I want him.

Still, he shouldn't look so darned smug about it.

I pull back. "Okay," I say, trying not to pant. "Point taken. But—"

"Not taken," he growls, thrusting against me again. "Point is still bloody hard and starting to chafe against my zip. Be a love and undo me?"

"Spike! Would you shut up and answer my question?"

"Which question?" he asks.

"If you're going to bite me then I think the least you could do is tell me where your fangs go when you're not all... bumpy!"

"I am bumpy!" he growls.

"Spike!"

He sighs, frustrated. "Fine, but I'd have thought Angel would have—" He stops, staring at my face. "Oh. Guess the great Poof didn't."

I swallow, hard. "No," I say. "He didn't."

Spike stills, calming himself visibly. "Here," he says, softly, and reaches for my hand. He opens his mouth and places my fingertips against the front edges of his teeth, so I can just feel his gums. Then he takes my other hand and places it against his forehead, just over the bridge of his nose. His eyes are very blue and gentle as he stares into mine.

Then he vamps.

I didn't know it could be done so slowly. I feel the bones in his face shift under his skin; under my little finger I feel his eyebrows fade away entirely. His teeth shift, too, growing longer, sharper, deadlier, the bones and even his gums changing shape in order to hold the larger teeth. His eyes shift from blue to gold, gleaming in the candlelight.

It's not like I've never touched a vampire's bumpies before, but this is different somehow. It's so weird to feel the demon emerge under the skin, feel his teeth change. He nods at me, and I let my fingers explore his face fully, even running my fingers carefully over the sharp points of his fangs.

Spike closes his eyes and purrs. With his demon on display, the sound is louder than usual, and I can't help the soft giggle that escapes me.

"What?" he says, as I draw my fingers away.

"Big Bads purr?" I ask, amused.

"Bloody right, they do," he says, his voice thick-sounding around his fangs. He shakes off the demon.

"Which is your real face?" I ask quietly, reaching back up to trace the scar over his eyebrow.

"This one," he says, matching my tone and leaning his face into my palm. "I've always thought it was this one."

I kiss him then, and he kisses me back, and it's not as urgent as it was a few minutes ago. It's sweeter, softer. His hands cradle my head as if I'm something precious.

I touch his jaw, his throat, his shoulders, his chest. He's almost healed, if not fully back to his old size and strength. Still, there's so much power in his lean muscles... it's incredible. His fingers slide under my tank top and explore my stomach and back. Then he tugs at the top and I lift my arms over my head so he can pull it off of me.

God. The way he touches me is amazing. His fingers feel cool against my skin, his mouth even more so as he licks and nibbles his way down my throat. He pauses over the scar, licking it and sucking at it until the skin there is super sensitive. I half expect him to bite me then, but he doesn't. Instead he moves lower, kissing my breasts, sucking at my nipples, moving me gently onto my back and stripping my pajama bottoms off of me.

I want to touch him everywhere, but he's making me feel so good. Maybe Spike knows magic, because everywhere he touches me tingles, tensing and relaxing under his hands and mouth. When he settles between my thighs, I don't even feel the embarrassment that I felt the first time. Now I know how good it can be, the magic he can work with his fingers and tongue. There was a time when I used to think this was icky, but now...

Oh, god. Now I know better.

"Spike," I murmur, arching my hips off the bed to meet him, and he stills me with a hand splayed over my belly. Then his fingers slide into me, filling up the achy empty place there, and he touches something that makes me moan and clutch at the bed.

"Shh," he whispers, cool breath ghosting over my very, very hot skin. "Relax, kitten."

The hand on my stomach presses down then, at the same time as the fingers he has inside me press up, massaging. His tongue laps at my clit.

An orgasm rips through me with all the subtlety of a freight train. Before I can scream, though, he's lifting me up and rearranging me, kissing me thoroughly all at the same time. I'm still trembling, little aftershocks pulsing through me, when he slides into me. Somehow he's moved us to the floor, to the middle of the sand circle.

"Fuck," he moans. "You're still coming. Oh, fuck, Buffy. So tight."

I can feel myself clenching around him, and it feels so good. Even though it hurts just a little, he's right. It's a totally good kind of hurt. "Spike," I whimper, wrapping my arms around his chest. We're sitting up, with me in his lap, straddling him as he sinks deeper into me. His hands are on my hips, guiding me down.

"Bloody hell," he pants against my shoulder. "So hot. Fuck. Never gonna get tired of this. Never."

When he finally bottoms out inside of me, we sit still for a long moment, gasping and just enjoying feeling so connected. I've never felt like this before with any other guy, never felt like they were so deep inside of me that they were a part of me. I want this. I want this forever.

"We should hurry...uh... ritual thingy..." I say.

"That was coherent," he laughs, but his voice is as shaky as mine.

"Brain not so worky," I say. He laughs again.

“Can do it now,” he says. “We’re in the circle, candles lit. Just gotta say some words.”

"Are we supposed to be... all groiny for this?"

"Doesn't say," Spike says, fumbling for a moment for the card Willow left us with the instructions, "but it makes it more fun, don't it?" He punctuates his question by rolling his hips against mine, thrusting deeper and making me moan. "It’ll make it hurt less, too, when we get to the blood bits. Don't suppose you read Latin?"

"Right now I don't think I can read my own name," I say. Spike smirks.

"Alright then," he says, softly, moving very slightly inside of me. "You know what you need to do?"

"Yeah," I gasp. "Now?"

"In a bit," he says. "Right now, just feel."

I shiver against him, feeling his arms wrap around me. His hands skim up my back, holding me down tightly on him. Inside of me he's getting warm, borrowing my heat and soothing the ache all at once. He starts to murmur something, in Latin I guess, cause I don't understand a word of it. All I know is that his voice is low and growly and making me tingle all over.

I feel the magic starting to build around us, making all the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end. Through it all, Spike keeps murmuring the same phrase over and over. The candles flicker, then blaze up brighter, the scent of the incense gets really strong. My inner muscles clench around him and he groans, kissing my collarbone, my neck, my shoulders. In the moonlight his skin is so pale and white. I can't help but lean forward and taste it, kissing and sucking at the muscles in his shoulders and throat.

When I kiss the place where his pulse should throb, he groans, his arms tightening around me. "There," he whispers, his hips rotating slightly, nudging me in just the right place to make me shiver and moan. Oh...

I kiss him there again, then lick the same spot, over and over. He growls softly, his mouth finding the old scar on my throat and doing the same to me. We're barely moving, but I can feel another orgasm creeping up on me, even stronger than the one before. The more I kiss and suck at his throat, the more he does it back to me, and the stronger the feeling becomes. My skin is too tight, and I can feel my climax hovering like a huge wave, waiting to roll over and take me with it.

But it doesn't. Like a tsunami it just keeps building, higher and higher and higher. I'm trembling on top of him, every muscle tight and achy, my inner muscles clenching around him so hard I'm sure I'd break him if he were anything other than what he is. His skin under my mouth tastes so good, and I suck at it hungrily. His mouth is just as busy at my throat, and I know tomorrow I'm going to have one hell of a hickey.

But it's not enough.

The tension keeps mounting and we freeze, only our mouths moving against the other's skin. Inside me I feel my orgasm continue to coil, dangerously tight. If I don't do something soon, when it happens it might just kill me.

I need...

God, I need...

Spike.

I bite down. Hard.

My teeth aren't sharp, but I still draw blood. Just a little. It should be icky. It should be gross. I vaguely remember that when I tasted Dracula's blood it was gross.

It's not. It's... oh, god, it's Spike. It tastes incredible, and I suck at the wound I've made, hard, trying to take him further into me. He growls deeply and it shoots a bolt of pleasure through me so hard I'm surprised I don't come. "Now, luv," he gasps.

Dimly I remember the words on the card, the instructions I'm supposed to follow. I have to name Spike's strength, the thing that makes him stronger than me.

Good thing I already know.

"Your blood," I gasp, tasting it on my tongue, "your heart."

"Yes," he agrees, "Oh, yes." And then I feel his fangs slide into my skin, and it feels... I have to... I need to...

"Spike," I whimper, feeling my orgasm reach, stretch, start to crest.

"Your blood," he whispers and I feel him suck gently at the wound he's made. "Your soul."

Shocked, for a moment I can't help but pull back and stare at him. His eyes are blue and steady as he stares into mine and I realize what he's just asked for. "Your soul," he whispers. "Please."

"Yes," I agree, and together we climax, with a scream and a roar. Every nerve ending in my body ignites with pleasure until I'm on fire with it. I bite down again, tasting his blood in my mouth and feeling him sucking gently at my throat until we're a circle, a whirlpool, mixing together, twisting around each other, becoming something new.

He's inside of me, all the way inside of me now, part of me.

I can feel his pleasure like an echo of my own, throbbing and pulsing through me. I can feel his demon roaring in triumph, feel William sobbing with joy, feel Spike's incredible love for me wrapping around me and gathering me close.

Spike's strength has always been his ability to love and now... It's intense. Incredible. I can feel his love for me and it's so much. So, so much more than I ever expected. It's enough to drown me in it.

And all I can do is give him my love in return. In comparison to his I worry that it's not enough. How could anyone ever feel anything as intensely as Spike does?

Except I can feel him in me now, reaching deep, stripping away all the walls I've built inside of me, greedily searching for my heart, my soul, opening me up inside and baring me completely. And what's there isn't small at all. You're full of love, the First Slayer told me.

And I am.

Oh, god. I am.

I feel it burst out of me like a phoenix, blazing and bright and hot. And Spike absorbs it greedily, hungry for it, needing it even more than he needs my blood.

I can feel that. I can feel him.

We're not alone anymore.

And we never will be again.

***

A long time later I resurface.

It's dark again, and the room smells like burnt out candles and incense. I can feel something rough and sandy under my back, and the length of Spike's body pressed against my side. His arms are a comforting weight around me. He's breathing slightly, which means he's awake—but I already know he's awake without having to check. There's something in me now, in what used to be some empty corner of me, and in it I can feel Spike. It's sort of like my tinglies, only stronger. Most of what I feel there is simply his presence, but every now and then I feel a small pulse of something through it. Right now it's telling me that Spike is awake.

His hand drifts up to move the hair out of my eyes.

"Hi," I say, smiling up at him. His eyes are very blue in the dark.

"Hey," he says, softly.

He looks... beautiful. All sleek, pale skin and ripply muscle.

"How long?" I ask.

"Not long, maybe an hour?" he says.

I reach up and touch the place where he bit me. There's a raised scar there, but no puncture wounds. It's almost totally healed.

I frown. "How much did you—?"

"Couple of sips is all," he says. "Knew you'd taste like fire. God..."

"You're all healed," I say, sitting up and studying his body. He lifts his arms over his head and stretches under my gaze, totally male and pleased with himself. There's barely any marks on him, only old scars, and a bruise on his thigh that's fading even as I watch. "I know my blood is powerful but..."

"Think maybe I've picked up some of your healin' powers," he says, studying me. His head is tilted slightly to the side and he's got a funny look on his face. "Think maybe you've got a few of my talents as well."

"Huh?" I ask.

"You normally see this well in the dark?" he asks.

Oh.

Oh, wow.

I blink, taking in the details of my room. A room that normally would be lost in shadow with all the lights out and only a little bit of light trickling in through the window. A room that I now can see pretty damn well.

"How's your hearing?" he asks. I frown, concentrating.

"Pretty much the same, I think," I say. Then I sniff. "Smell's the same, too. Thank god."

He rolls his eyes. "What's so bloody disgustin' about an advanced sense of smell?"

"You can smell icky things," I say.

He purrs. "All I can smell right now is you, Slayer, and you smell delicious."

"Ew," I say, aware of how sweaty and gross I am right now. Not to mention...

Spike laughs, "S'not so bad, luv. Right handy skill, sometimes."

"I'm okay with you having that particular skill all to yourself," I say, smiling. Then I frown, confused. "Spike... you asked for my soul."

He smiles, and it’s his insecure little-boy smile. "Was supposed to figure out what makes you stronger than me," he says. "What'd you think I was gonna pick? Your keen fashion sense?"

I can't help but laugh. "No... I mean, well, that wouldn't have hurt. But... does this mean that you...?"

He looks at me, tilting his head slightly. "No," he says. "Not one of my own. I don't think. Haven't come over all broody and guilt stricken at any rate. But... it's like you're in here now, too." He presses a hand to his chest. "Figure it'll make it a bit easier to suss out where that line is I'm gonna have to toe. Help me fight for the right reasons and all."

Oh. Inside I can feel his love, like a flicker of cool fire, soothing my fear. I guess I know what he means.

He reaches for me, pulling me back down beside him so he can kiss me. "Guess we'll figure out what else we share eventually, yeah?"

"Yeah," I say, softly, feeling like I'm swimming in the blue of his eyes. I can feel his love for me wrapping around me again. When he kisses me, it's even more intense than it was before.

"Got all the time in the world, now," he murmurs against my lips.

"We could die tomorrow," I point out. "Louhi..."

"Isn't here right now."

"But—"

"Hush, Slayer, gonna take care of you now. See to you proper. Magic n' rituals are nice and all... but I'd rather shag you till the sun comes up. We can worry about tomorrow when it gets here."

Fingers skate up my thigh. I moan.

"Spike..."

"If you try to stop me, Slayer, so help me—"

"No stopping," I gasp. "Love you."

He doesn't answer. Not with words. His mouth is busy.

But the tangled pulse of love and lust and joy that I feel through our connection then is so strong that it sends me tumbling right over the edge.

***

The alarm goes off, startling us both.

"Time to get up," I say with a sigh. I'd rather be wrapped in his arms.

"Scoobies will be here soon," he says. Downstairs there's the sound of glass shattering.

"What was that?" I say, sitting up.

"Window," Spike says with a frown. When I turn to look at him, he's already on his feet and dressed.

"That was fast," I say. He smirks.

There's a cry somewhere downstairs, and before I know it I'm dressed and heading for the door. Lights are on below, and the front door is open. The living room window is shattered and a cold wind blows the curtains into the room. Spike is frowning at the mess. I step outside, but there's nothing, no tracks in the snow. It's as pristine and white as a sheet.

"Buffy!" someone yells in the kitchen, and I'm moving as fast as I can. Faster than I should be able to. Spike stays at my side.

Anya lies on the floor in the kitchen, unconscious. The back door is open and Riley is kneeling over her.

"Riley?" I say, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"You told me to call the ambulance," he says, frowning. "Anya's hurt."

"You shouldn't be here," I say, confused.

He shrugs. "You're the one who wouldn't let me in," he says. Then he grins, and his face twists, shifting, vamping. "But maybe you can love me now?"

"Don't be a git," Spike says, and punches Riley in the face. Something lands at my feet. I bend to pick it up. It's a pair of fake plastic fangs. Riley's face is human now, and starting to bruise where Spike hit him.

"They didn't fit anyhow," Riley says. "Could you hand me the phone?"

When I pick it up, it makes a funny clicking sound. "I think there's something wrong with Riley," I say. "He needs help."

When I look back up, we're not in the kitchen anymore. We're standing in Giles' living room.

"Okay," Spike says. "That was bloody weird."

Giles is searching through his desk. "I told you to stop writing in my books, Spike." He pages through one, frustrated. "I can't read this," Giles says. He hands it to me, and I open it, unfolding it into a map.

When I lay it out on the desk I can see all of Sunnydale spread out below me. "Look at all the undead real estate," I say, frowning at all the cemeteries, which are colored in black.

"You're looking at it wrong," Spike says. He flips it over. It's the same view, but now instead of the dark spots indicating the dead, they show all the rest of Sunnydale. "Look at all the Happy Meals," Spike says. He's right. The living still somehow outnumber the dead.

I hold the map up to the light. The two sides negate one another, turning the whole map gray. In the middle of it, there's a shadow growing like a tumor, spreading out. "Louhi," Spike says as the shadow spreads into the streets, spider-webbing out like poison through veins.

"How do you fight a shadow?" I ask Spike.

"Simple, luv," he says. "You turn off the lights."

He reaches for the lamp and clicks the button, plunging us into darkness.

We're back in the dream room; only now I can feel Spike beside me, sense his every move. We spin so we're back to back, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Two halves coming together to make a whole, a coin with two faces.

In the darkness, something growls.

My Slayer sense goes wild, acknowledging Spike's presence at my back but focusing on the other demons in the room. When the first hit comes I'm ready for it, blocking it easily and turning it back on my opponent. Behind me, Spike snarls, lashing out, too. The demons feint again, then rush us both, and we both spin into the fight. All these months of training in the dark...

Somehow I'm even faster than before, stronger. I can sense Spike on the edges of my awareness, I know where he is, how he's fighting. I know when he takes a punch to the face, and when he hits his demon with a roundhouse kick that spins it toward me. I catch it, snapping its neck before it knows that I'm there.

There's a sharp echoing snap as Spike finishes the other demon.

The lights come back on.

We're standing in the hospital, staring down at the corpses of two of those ugly clown demons. "Lei-Achs," Spike says, kicking at one of their heads.

A black stain oozes out of the demon's head and pools under it, then spreads out, running down a nearby hallway.

"Follow it?" Spike says.

"Yeah," I say.

The trail of black blood leads down a long corridor, lined with doors. One swings open as we pass. Inside, Anya is sitting up in a bed, her arm in a sling. "I used to be a demon," she says. "Now I'm stuck in this stupidly breakable human body. I could die, you know! This hurts!"

"I know," I say.

"She'll have a backup plan," Anya says. "And a backup for her backup plan. I'd get the hell out of Sunnydale, if I could. You can go now. I have to figure out how to have orgasms with only one working arm. Check on Xander for me?"

"Okay," I say and follow the trail of blood.

Another door swings open. This time it’s Xander sitting on the hospital bed. He's got a bandage around his broken wrist, and one leg in a cast.

"What happened to you?" Spike asks him.

"Troll," Xander says, indicating his wrist. Then he points at his leg, "Vornir demon."

"Does it hurt?" I ask.

"Mostly just my pride. Do you think next time Riley can wear the dress? I'm getting a little tired of being the damsel."

A third door swings open. This time, it's Riley. The doctor is putting a bandage over the stitches on his chest.

"Always knew I'd never be able to keep up with you," he tells me, sadly. "My heart works differently than yours."

A nurse comes to Riley's side and takes his arm. Instead of taking out a syringe, she vamps, biting down hard on Riley's forearm. I start forward, but Riley holds up a hand. "It's okay," he says. "It's just blood work. She needs it. It's supposed to hurt."

"Riley," I say. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not really here, you know," he says. "I did the smart thing. I got out." Spike growls behind me. Riley vanishes.

"Wanker," Spike says. "Shouldn't need to apologize to him."

"I hurt him," I say.

"He hurt himself," Spike says. "C'mon."

The blood leads us into a waiting room. Giles is sitting on one of the plastic chairs, holding an ice pack to his head. Willow is crying on Tara.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"I don't know what to wear," Willow says. "What do you wear when it hurts so much?"

"Don't worry sweetie. I know what to wear. It's always sudden," Tara says. "Even when it's not."

"What happened to you?" Spike asks Giles.

"Not much, apparently. I'm only the Watcher. These things aren't concerned with me," he says. "You'd better clean up that mess." Giles points at the wall.

There are post-its stuck all over it.

"What do you think I can do?" Spike asks. "You all never noticed me."

"Yes, well, we can see you now," Giles says. "You made certain of that. Since you're a Cambridge man, you figure it out. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go tend to my wounded pride."

He gathers Willow and Tara up and ushers them out, leaving us with the wall of sticky notes. Spike looks at me, and I look at him. "What do we do?" I ask.

"Dunno," Spike says. "I usually just used them to try to get attention."

"Maybe that's what they're for," I say, studying the notes on the wall. "Look, there's writing."

"Toth," Spike says. "What the bloody fuck is a Toth?"

I check out another note. "Mara," I read off it. When I glance at the rest they all seem to have the names of demons on them. I peel it off the wall then look at the rest. Finally I stick it back down beside the note marked "Krampus."

Spike watches me for a minute, then peels a note off the wall, too, shuffling its position. There are duplicates of some words, and we have to shift things a few times in order to make room, but eventually it starts to come together. I'm only sure that we're doing something right when the notes start to make a pattern. It's nothing as recognizable as a word or a picture, but there's still a pattern.

"This one doesn't fit," Spike says, holding up a single purple sticky note. I read the writing on it.

"Olaf. Wasn't that the name of Anya's troll guy?" I ask.

"Yeah," Spike says. "It ought to go right there next to Krampy Claus, but it doesn't seem to fit anywhere."

He hands it to me. I close my hand around it, feeling the paper crumple. When I open my hand, there's a purple crystal in my palm instead.

The temperature drops abruptly, the room filling with cold. A chilly hand closes over mine, but it's not Spike's. When I look up, I'm staring into the iced over eyes of Jack Frost.

He mouths something at me, and his fingers burn frostbite into mine. Somewhere beside me, Spike growls.

"I don't understand," I tell Jack.

He whispers it this time, just as Spike leaps—

***

—and we both wake up in a tangle of limbs on the floor.

"No mortal weapon," I murmur.

Spike groans and drops his head against my shoulder. "An' I thought eating hippies was a real mind trip."