Disclaimer: The characters belong to Joss Whedon, I just play with them.
Continued thanks for the continued reviews!
 
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The combination of two creatures with supernatural speed was all that saved Spike. His quick reflexes as he tried to jump out of the way meant that the bolt now buried in his chest had missed his heart by a mere 2 inches. Buffy, for her part had launched herself at Xander and tackled him to the ground, knocking both crossbows out of his hands. She slammed her fist into his face. “What the FUCK are you doing?” she screamed. She punched him again and again, beyond caring what she was doing. His nose broke, and he felt a few teeth loosen as her relentless onslaught pounded him into the ground.
 
“Buffy, stop, please, don’t kill him!” Anya screamed. Her usually harsh, blunt voice was broken with fear.
 
Buffy paused in her rage, but did not get off him. “Why are you trying to kill Spike?” Buffy demanded of the battered man in front of her. She cocked her fist back, ready to pound him again if necessary.
 
“He… thought he… turned you,” Xander gasped out. “Your neck… and you were dancing with him…”
 
“So ever hear about asking before staking?” Buffy cried. She hauled him off the ground by his collar, his head lolling as he fought to stay conscious. “I let him drink from me to heal the wounds that you gave him. I was dancing with him because I happen to love him, Xander.” She dropped him back on the ground with contempt and stood up.
 
“You… what?” Xander spluttered. “But Angel said…”
 
“Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me.” She hauled off and kicked him in the ribs. He curled up on the ground, moaning and gasping for breath. “That’s for calling Angel, which I did NOT need.”
 
She turned to Spike, who was slowly getting up, having pulled the bolt painfully out of his chest. He was bleeding rather profusely, and was obviously in pain, the stake having gone nearly all the way through to his back. “Stupid wanker,” he growled. “Can’t just mind your own fucking business, can you. Kick you myself if not for this goddamn chip.” He swayed unsteadily, leaning against a tree for support.
 
“Spike, honey, are you ok?” Buffy asked, concerned. She winced as she took in the wound. She turned back to look at Xander. Anya had come to his side. She turned to Buffy and pleaded, “Please don’t kill him. I know he’s been an ass. I told him to leave you be, but he’s so stubborn sometimes. But please, don’t kill him.”
 
“I don’t plan to kill him, so long as he stays out of my life,” Buffy responded. She stood over Xander, whose eyes were nearly swollen shut. He cringed painfully away from her, terrified. “I’m going to speak slowly in the hopes that you will finally get it. Spike. Is. My. Lover. He didn’t turn me. He loves me, and he cares for me, and you will NEVER touch him again.” Buffy turned and put her arms around Spike, letting him lean on her as they walked into the house.
 
*********************
 
Inside, Spike sagged onto the couch the moment they got into the living room. He was bleeding everywhere and looked even paler than usual. Buffy ran to get some towels to soak things up. She helped him out of his shirt and gasped. Oh my god another inch and he’d be gone. Biting back tears she pressed the towel to his wound. “Hold this,” she said. Spike complied best he could while she ran to get some bandages and a cup of blood. “Drink this,” she ordered as she took over staunching the blood and started to bandage him up. He managed to get the blood down while she worked frantically, almost manically, until the wound was covered and the bleeding stopped.
 
“Thanks, love,” Spike croaked as she finished. “It’s ok. You can stop.” Buffy was still hovering, her hands shaking as she cleaned up the mess and packed up the first aid supplies. “Buffy,” Spike said in a lower voice.
 
She stopped and looked at him. At the sight of his clear blue eyes she burst into tears. “Oh God, Spike I could have lost you!” She buried her face in her hands and wept, shaking uncontrollably at the thought. Having to face all this alone oh no, no can’t even think of it…
 
Despite his injury, Spike leaned forward and tugged at Buffy’s hands. He tenderly guided her up onto the couch beside him and held her, rocking her and soothing her as if she were the injured one. In a way she is, he thought, only her wounds aren’t so visible. “I’m ok, pet. Shhh. I’m not going anywhere. Takes more than that idiot Harris to take out William the Bloody.”
 
Buffy wept and wept in Spike’s arms, as if she could never stop. The night had been so perfect, so right, and then they came so fucking close to disaster. Is this going to keep happening? Every time I feel happy does something bad have to happen? Why? Do I have some sort of gypsy curse or something? She clung to Spike like a drowning person, unable to stop shaking for a long, long time.
 
Buffy finally ran out of tears and attempted to get her breathing somewhat under control. “You back with me, Slayer?” Spike asked softly.
 
“Yeah,” Buffy sniffed, wiping her face on her sleeve.
 
“Let’s go find somewhere softer to be, okay?” Buffy nodded in agreement. She got up and extended a hand to Spike, who accepted it gratefully. “Moving like an old man here,” he groaned ruefully.
 
“Well, I guess you are pretty old,” said Buffy, smiling a little. “Heard that,” Spike muttered. She put her arm around Spike’s waist and walked up the stairs with him. He was still a bit unsteady on his feet from the blood loss. He sat down, groaning, on the end of the bed.
 
Buffy gently pushed him back onto the pillow. “You’ve been taking care of me for a couple weeks now. Let me take care of you,” she said warmly. She slowly untied his battered Doc Martens one by one and pulled them off. She removed his socks, and lovingly massaged his cool white feet for a minute or two, while Spike closed his eyes and purred. Slowly she ran her hands up his legs to his waist, resolving never to take this beautiful body of his for granted again. His eyes drifted half open as she worked his belt open and delicately pulled his zipper down. He obliged by lifting his hips slightly as she pulled his jeans down and off, revealing his rapidly growing erection surrounded by soft brown curls. Buffy climbed back up on the bed beside him, never ceasing her feathery caresses on every inch of his skin. The next time her roaming hands drifted near his cock, she grasped the base of it in her warm little hand and took him into her mouth.
 
Spike closed his eyes and hissed with pleasure as she slowly explored with her lips and tongue. She gradually got into a delicious rhythm, collapsing her cheeks as she moved upwards and stroking with maddeningly gentle fingers everywhere her tongue couldn’t reach. Spike buried his hands in her hair groaning, “Slayer… your mouth… so sweet… ah fuck!” She picked up the pace, bobbing her head and stroking faster and stronger until at last Spike cried out, “God, Buffy yes don’t stop don’t…” With a violent shudder he shot into her throat, and she swallowed him down.
 
Buffy sat up, smiling and licking her lips. “Like that?”
 
“Like you need to ask, bloody woman,” Spike gasped. “Christ, Buffy, that was amazing.”
 
Buffy stretched out next to him and maneuvered them both under the covers. She put her head close to his and wrapped her arm around him, careful to avoid his bandages. “Love you, Spike,” she whispered. “Don’t think I could have survived all this without you.”
 
“We’re a team pet,” Spike said, kissing her gently. “We save each other.” Buffy reached over and turned off the light, and they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.
 
************
 
Buffy was up and dressed before Spike, having another day of parenting classes to deal with. After she ate her breakfast, she heated up a cup of blood and brought it up to him. “Spike! Wake up and drink this, ok?”
 
Spike blinked blearily and sat up. “Thanks, love,” he said, accepting the mug gratefully. “Off to learn more parenting tricks?”
 
“Guess so,” Buffy said, rolling her eyes. “You need anything before I go?”
 
“I’m all set, love.” Buffy leaned in to kiss him, then hurried out the door.
 
Spike finished the cup of blood and experimentally prodded his wounded chest. Still hurt like a son of a bitch, but it seemed to be mending. He got out of bed slowly and looked around for the second bag of things he had brought from his crypt. He found it on the floor of Buffy’s closet, and rummaged around in it until he found an old black silk robe with a gold pattern of small diamond shapes. It was a bit worn around the edges, but he found it incredibly comfortable. Truth be told, he preferred walking around naked, but if he was going to be hanging around the house with the Bit in residence, he had to cover up with something. He dragged out the rest of the duffel. A few more clothes were stashed in the witches’ room where Buffy had carved out a drawer for him. His collection of jewelry and such he stashed in one of the small drawers in the wardrobe in that room. He then brought out a stack of paper in a beat up leather portfolio, tied with a faded ribbon. It contained poems, old pictures, and other mementos from his past. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Buffy reading these. Some of the poetry was embarrassingly awful. Some of the pictures of Drusilla and Angelus would probably raise some eyebrows. But yet, he needed these reminders of who he had been, what he had done.
 
Spike went into the hallway and looked up. Sure enough, there was a pull down ladder into the attic – he had never paid much attention to it before, being much more interested in getting into the Slayer’s bedroom. He unfolded the stairs and went up, carefully avoiding the small patch of sunlight in the middle of the room courtesy of the window in the far wall. He stashed his portfolio in a corner behind some dusty boxes. It would be safe there, and it was unlikely that the Summers girls would find it. Spike looked around at the boxes and other articles stored up here. He smiled at a box of girl’s clothing that Joyce had clearly saved to remind herself of Buffy’s babyhood. Hard to imagine that the tiny dresses and bonnets had ever been worn by the spitfire who had beaten her former best friend to a pulp and then treated him to the most sublime blow job of his life. He rummaged through another box and found it to be full of skating trophies and ribbons. He trailed his fingers over a picture of Buffy at age 11 or so, striking a pose in her skating costume. So this was the big scary Slayer as a girl. Always was a pretty thing. He spent a couple of hours wandering through the attic. Joyce’s old LP’s turned out to be a stellar collection of music from the ‘60’s and ‘70’s. I’ll be damned. She had a copy of London Calling. Always knew I liked her. Finally, his stomach growled a bit, reminding him that he was still drained from the night before, and he went back downstairs.
 
He saw that the mail had been dropped through the slot, and noticed a thick envelope addressed to ‘William Pratt, c/o Buffy Summers’. He tore it open and found the documents he had paid for. There was a British passport, a green card, and a California driver’s license, all with his name and smirking image. His birthday was correct – June 21 – but the year was a much more believable 1970. Well what do you know. I’ve gone and become a real boy or something. He went back up stairs and tucked it all in among his clothes in the drawer.
 
He spent the rest of the day on the couch, watching TV and dozing. His wound was healing, but it had been pretty deep, so it was definitely taking its time. By the time Buffy came home at 5:30, he had finished nearly all the blood she had bought the day before, and was feeling more like his old self. “Evening, Slayer,” he said as she entered, tossing her purse on the coffee table.
 
She flopped down on the couch next to him and put her feet up. “Four classes down, one more to go tomorrow. I can’t believe how much there is to say about raising teens. I mean, I would think it was ‘Go to school, do your homework, don’t get pregnant’ and we’re done.”
 
Spike chuckled. “Don’t look at me, love. Trying to keep Dawn out of trouble over the summer was enough.”
 
After resting with her head on Spike’s shoulder for a few minutes Buffy got up and went to the phone. “I am dying for a pizza. Any preferences?”
 
“Whatever suits you,” Spike responded. Buffy ordered a vegetarian special and hung up, while Spike sauntered into the kitchen.
 
“Mmm. Just noticed the sexy robe,” she said, running her hands along his silk covered back as she kissed him.
 
“Figured I shouldn’t be running around starkers when the Bit comes home,” he remarked.
 
“How are we going to work that?” Buffy asked. “I mean, do we share a room? Is that going to traumatize her for life?”
 
“You have been taking classes,” Spike laughed. “You know Bit won’t be traumatized. She’s tickled pink to have us together. We should probably keep the volume down when she’s home, but she has to go to school some time…” He nibbled gently at her ear, causing a sweet shiver down her spine.
 
“You wait for the pizza guy, I’m going to go slip into something more comfortable, as they say,” said Buffy as she reluctantly broke away. Spike poured out the last of the blood into a mug and heated it up while Buffy went upstairs. She came down wearing sweats and a tank top just as the doorbell was ringing. She paid for the pizza and brought it out onto the coffee table, sitting cross-legged on the rug and digging in.
 
“Mmm,” she said. “Do you know, I haven’t had pizza since I got back? I forgot how good it is.”
 
“Are things getting less painful for you, sensation-wise?” Spike asked.
 
“Little by little,” replied Buffy. “I find some sounds to still be incredibly painful, and I find myself panicking sometimes for no really good reason. Like today, at the class, one of the other folks there asked me how old my kid was and I just had this moment of ‘Ohmygod! How old is Dawn? If I take too long to answer are they going to think I don’t care?’ It came out fine of course, but I just keep having little moments like that.”
 
“It’ll come in time,” Spike reassured her. They munched a bit more pizza as some old movie played in the background.
 
“Spike?”
 
“Yeah?”
 
“What was it like the first time you saw a car?”
 
Spike took another bite of pizza and thought about that for a moment. “Was about 1910 or so. We were in Germany. They were just starting to come out with them. Course it was only for the rich, but they were starting to pop up here and there. Basically looked like big horse drawn things without the horse.”
 
“What did you think of them?” Buffy was looking at him in a way that reminded him of a child enjoying a bedtime story. He found it incredibly charming.
 
“Wanted to know how they worked,” Spike answered. “Finally got the chance to try one after Drusilla and I ate some rich guy one night.”
 
Buffy frowned. “Not sure how the Slayer is supposed to live with someone who starts every story by eating someone.”
 
“’S my nature, love,” said Spike. “It’s who I am. Just like being the Slayer is who you are. Angel could try to deny what he’d been before the soul, but I can’t. Won’t kill people anymore – you have my word. Even if the chip stopped working tomorrow. Wouldn’t do anything to make you have to take me out. But if you want to hear about my past, well, killing was a big part of it.”
 
Buffy was quiet for a while, chewing her pizza thoughtfully. “Guess all my battle stories end with ‘and then they all turned to dust’. Not really in a position to throw stones, now that I think about it.”
 
“But you wouldn’t go out and slay my friend Clem would you? Even if he is a demon?”
 
“Of course not!” Buffy said indignantly. “Clem’s sweet and harmless. Not an evil bone in his body!’
 
“Well, some slayers would. To them a demon’s a demon. Other slayers probably would have staked me or left me to fry in the sun when I showed up starving on your doorstep with this chip in my skull. You didn’t. We’re different, you and I.”
 
Buffy was amazed at his insight. “When did you become a philosopher?” she inquired.
 
Spike shrugged, “Dunno. Don’t think I am really. Just… figured out some things over about 150 bottles of whiskey this summer.”
 
Buffy felt a pang of pity, thinking about how lonely Spike had been. She understood that feeling, being apart and alone, even in a group. She reached out across the coffee table and took his hand, clasping it gently in a gesture of love and understanding. She got up and sat next to him on the sofa, snuggling next to him on his uninjured side. “Want to finish your story?” she asked.
 
Spike smiled and continued, “I climbed right up into the driver’s seat, fiddled around with it forever until I got the damn thing started, then promptly crashed it into a tree.”
 
Buffy burst into a fit of giggles. “Really? Mister ‘Me and My Desoto’?”
 
Spike was slightly indignant. “Not like I had ever driven one before. I felt pretty good just getting it going – t’wasn’t easy with the crank starters and all that. Later, once I got the hang of it, I thought they were incredible. They were nowhere near as fast as they are now, but compared to horses they flew.” Spike paused in his reminiscing to look at Buffy. “Why the trip down memory lane, love?”
 
Buffy shrugged. “It occurred to me while I was a ghost that you must have seen a whole lot of interesting stuff in your time. At the time, it seemed a shame that I wouldn’t be able to ask you about it.”
 
Spike put his arms around her and cuddled her close. “You make me so happy, Buffy,” he said simply. “I don’t deserve any of this. I’m a monster. But by God you’ve made me into a man.”
 
“You’ve proved yourself, time and again, Spike,” said Buffy, turning and caressing his face. “I’ve never had anyone in my life who was such a… a partner. Not just a friend, or a mentor, or a boyfriend but an equal partner.”
 
“Partner,” Spike echoed. “Good word for it, pet.” Then he kissed her and words went out the window for the rest of the evening.
 
TBC