Spike opened the door and walked straight through. “Still after rippin’ someone’s throat out, Slayer?” he asked, trying for light banter and not quite making it.

She was sitting rigidly on the bed, back straight, hands resting on her thighs, and staring at the wall. She looked perfectly still and calm, but he could hear her heart going a thousand miles a minute.

“Yes,” she said simply. She didn’t even look at him as she said it.

“Well. That’s … honest.” Spike put the plate of toast down on her vanity, closed the door and leaned back against it, folding his arms over his chest. “And Dawn? She on the menu?” If I had to choose … god, that’s no kind of choice. Please don’t ever put me in that position again, you crazy bitch.

“I didn’t recognise her, then.”

“But you do now?” Please, please say yes.

“Dawn is … important. Family.” Buffy’s shoulders tried to shrug through her stillness.

“You’re still not all there, are you?” Spike ran his hands over his face and started wandering around the room, picking things up and putting them down again. The stillness was making him crazy.

“I … everything is so … I thought she would hurt me, too. Everyone here hurts me.”

He stopped moving. “I haven’t.”

“Not yet,” she acknowledged.

Spike went to sit next to her on the bed, trying to work out what was so fascinating about that bloody wall.
 
“Dawn won’t,” he added.

“No.” She paused. “I know that now.”

“Good.” A tension went out of his shoulders he hadn’t realised was there.

“You’ll stop me, won’t you?” That pleading look from downstairs was back in her eyes, but she wouldn’t move, her gaze still fixed on the wall.

“What do you mean?”

“When I hurt her?” Her voice was soft and full of pain.

“You stopped yourself this morning.”

“I still cut her throat.”

“It’s never gonna come to that.” He grabbed her, forcing her to look at him. “Listen to me. You’re Heaven’s Chosen One.” He completely misunderstood her flinch. “The golden girl. You will never hurt your family. Never hurt Dawn.”

“Heaven doesn’t want me.”

There was something about the way she said it that jerked at Spike’s gut. “Buffy… where were you?”

She took a breath, twisted out of his grip and went back to staring at the wall. “I don’t know … not really. But wherever I was, I was happy. At peace. I was … complete. Safe. It was warm and quiet and I felt so much love.”

She paused, then whispered, “I think I was in heaven.”
 
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Anya slammed shut the book she’d been leafing through. “I think we should call Giles.”

“We will,” Willow said. “As soon as we get rid of the demon hitchhiker.”

“I gotta go with Ahn on this one, Will,” Xander said. “Why are we waiting to call the G-man?”

“He said not to call unless there was an apocalypse. I don’t wanna bug him yet.”

“He m-m-might be upset that we waited to tell him that Buffy’s back, Sweetie,” Tara said.

“I’m calling him now,” Anya said firmly. “He may have ideas on how to stop the hitchhiker. I do not want to be possessed.” Anya got up and walked over to the counter, where the phone was.

“No,” Willow said firmly. As Anya reached for the phone, Willow telekinetically slid it out of her reach. Anya huffed, and moved to grab the phone again. Willow moved it again.

“Willow!” Tara said.

“What?” Willow replied.

“Stop it.”

“But she’s—“

“She’s right. It’s time to call Mr Giles.”
 
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“Buffy…” For the second time that day, Spike’s brain shuddered to a standstill.

“Why doesn’t heaven want me anymore?” Buff dropped her gaze to the floor, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I don’t know if I can keep myself from …” She paused. “I know I’m not the same. There are … pieces … missing. Memories. And my body wants to fight, to stay here. I can feel it. But I’m not ready to … it’s all I can do to cope with…” a sob threated to escape her restrained stillness, “the loss,” she ended on a whisper. “I’m so afraid of what I might do.” Is it me who’s in danger, or is it them?

Spike got off the bed and knelt at her feet. Taking her hands in his, he looked straight into her eyes. “Of course Heaven wants you! You’re bloody perfect, you are. Your precious friends ripped you out. They did this. Not you. Never you.” He kissed her fingers, gently, reverently. “Can’t say I’m sorry you’re back. Too selfish for that. But the way you came back? Wouldn’ wish it on anyone.”

“There are so many things I’m not sure of … things I don’t remember. I … I know my mother is gone, but I can’t remember why, or how. I know who my friends are but … there are gaps…. I only remember the bad times.” She paused. “Giles!” she shouted. “Giles should be here. Why isn’t he here? He … he loved me, I remember.”

“Went to England, right after you died. ‘Spect he’ll show up, soon’s he knows you’re back.”

Buffy nodded, very slightly. “Only, only he hurt me, too. He … drugged me? Why would he do that? I was so weak. Powerless.” She reeled back suddenly, hit with another memory. “He wanted me to kill Dawn.”

Buffy’s stranglehold on her body was weakening, the more she got lost in the memories coming back. She looked confused, distressed. Her heart still hadn’t stopped racing.

She looked at Spike, really looked at him, like she was still the person she used to be. “And you love me.” She made a choked sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Why can’t I remember the good things?”

Before he could react, it was like a dam broke inside her, and the crying started. She curled into herself, until she was lying on the edge of the bed in foetal position, her whole body shaking and shuddering. She was facing him, but her eyes were squeezed shut against the tears.

Spike didn’t know what to do. He knew she needed the release, and anything he did might send her back to repressing again. He reached out tentatively to touch her shoulder. When she didn’t react, he started stroking her arm, still kneeling on the floor beside her.

After what seemed like hours, but wasn’t, her swollen eyes blinked open, and she looked at him again. “You can’t tell anyone. Where I was.”

Spike nodded.

“Stay with me?”

He nodded again. “Whatever you need, Love.”

She closed her eyes and curled back into herself, finally falling into exhausted sleep.

Wide awake, he watched her. Even though he was knackered, he wasn’t sleepy. He knelt beside her, one hand travelling restlessly over her in feather light touches. Reassuring himself of her breathing, her warmth.
 
Alive. So beautiful.

He had no warning when the first nightmare hit. There was a hitched breath, and then she was punching him in the face. He felt his nose break, but managed to keep her away from his cheek. Her heart rate said she was still sleeping, but her unseeing eyes were open while she flailed and fought. When he moved out of the way of her fists, she didn’t follow. “No air,” she whimpered, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it over her movements.

She was fighting her way out of a coffin only she could see.

He carefully lay down behind her on the bed. He wrapped himself around her, holding her limbs, but leaving her face and chest free and clear.

“Shhh, Love. I’ve got you. You’re safe. No more coffin. It’s daytime. All light out.” She was still twitching and struggling against his hold, but with less force all the time. She stopped struggling completely after a few minutes, relaxing into him as she slipped out of the nightmare and back into sleep.

He was already hard just from her nearness, but when she took his arms and wrapped herself in them, grinding her bottom against his cock in her sleep, he thought he might burst out of his jeans.

What you do to me, woman.

But she still smelled of fear, and for right now, holding her was enough. Such a gift to be surrounded by the scent and feel of her skin, her warmth. Thinking she must be cold to be wrapping his body around hers, he pulled the cover over them both.

He held her while she slept and it was blissful.

The second nightmare started with her crying out in pain. This time, her body was stretched taut in the remembered agony of resurrection. His body was still folded around hers, and, whispering comfort into her ears, he soothed her back to sleep.

Not long after that, his plan to memorise every blessed second she let him keep holding her was thwarted by his own exhaustion, and he let the cocoon of borrowed warmth suck him into sleep.
 
------------------------------------------
 
Buffy drifted into wakefulness feeling warm and safe. She had a moment of panic when she’d realised it was Spike whose leg was trapped between hers, whose arm was her pillow and whose hand was splayed, under her shirt, over her naked belly. Vampire! But then she remembered … he would protect Dawn. He would protect Dawn until the end of the world. She knew, with everything she had, that she could trust in that. Even though she couldn’t remember why. And he … she thought he loved her, too. Something about that felt … wrong. But everything was all so muzzy.

The first time she tried to get out of bed, he clutched her closer, moving down her body and rubbing his cheek against her back in between her shoulder blades and … was he purring? With concerted wriggling, she managed to get out of his grasp. He rolled straight into the spot she’d vacated in the bed, chasing the warmth, and she found herself folding the duvet around him.

This … isn’t right. But … it is.

Her stomach growled. Seeing the toast, she wolfed it down.

She wasn’t tired anymore. Her body was buzzing with energy. She wanted … she wanted to kill something.
 
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Spike jerked awake when the wind slammed the window shut. It was dusk, and he was alone in the room. He was still deliciously warm and surrounded by the duvet ... like he’d been tucked in. The toast was gone.

Buggerin’ fuck. How the hell did I miss her leavin’?

He re-opened the window, sniffing the air. Can still smell her. Can’t’ve been gone more’n a few minutes. Right. Spike listened for heartbeats. Only Dawn’s. Need that bar up ‘fore I go runnin’ off. He went quietly into Dawn’s room. She was still out like a light.

“Niblet,” he said softly, crouching by her bed and touching her shoulder gently. No reaction. Bloody brass bands. “Bit,” he said in a normal speaking voice.

“Mmmm, can’t be school, ‘s weekend,” she mumbled.

“I need you awake now, Dawn.”

At the sound of her name, Dawn woke up. God, he’s got ... dad voice.

“What?” she said grumpily. Then, suddenly fearing why he was waking her up, “Has something bad happened?”

“No, pet. Nothin’ bad.” He reached out to stroke her hair. “Your sis took off while I was sleepin’, ‘n I don’ think she’s ready to be out on her own yet. Gonna go after her. But it’s dark out, an’ I want tha’ barrier down ‘fore I leave.”

“O-okay,” Dawn said.

“Told you before, ‘m not takin’ risks with you. If you don’ feel right, stayin’ here alone….”

Dawn gave him a small smile. “Go find Buffy. I’ll be okay.”

“Sure?” He looked worried.

Dawn nodded again, getting out of bed. “Go!” She gave him a shove towards the door. He heard her dropping the bar after him.

Spike went back into Buffy’s room, and slipped out the window to track her still-lingering scent. He worked out where she was headed fairly quickly: Sunnydale Memorial, the oldest and largest of the graveyards, and usually the one with the most nasties.

Slayer wants to play. He grinned. This should be fun.
 
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“Giles!” Anya said brightly into the phone.

“Anya! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you…. Is everything alright with the shop?”

“Oh, please don’t worry about the money! I’ve more than doubled our profits since last quarter. But that’s not why I called. We want you to come back.”

“Right. Well.” He paused. Anya imagined he was polishing his glasses.

“It’s not … surely it can’t be an apocalypse: it’s October. Why do you want me to come back?”

“Willow did a resurrection spell and brought Buffy back from the dead!”
 
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Buffy had lucked out, finding a vampire nest after only a few minutes of wandering around Sunnydale memorial. Then she realised she had completely forgotten to bring a stake. Oh well. Not like I can’t just rip their heads off! Part of her knew that this reaction wasn’t quite … normal … for her. But the other part, the Slayer part, thought that fighting without a stake would be ... challenging. Fun, even.

Shouts of “Slayer!” resounded as they vamps woke up. There were ten, in all. A few minutes in, she’d managed to break the spine of one – effectively removing him from the fray, even if he wasn’t dusted – and thrown another into dust onto a handy bit of broken furniture – why did they always seem to have make-shift stakes lying around in nests? Are vampires naturally both un-clumsy and death-wish-y? The other eight were closing around her, several with weapons.

A voice inside of her was saying that this was risky, that she might not be able to get out of this. Another part was excited, almost bouncing with the joy of the violence to come.

They threw themselves on her all at once. None of them were used to fighting in a group, so were hitting each other almost as much as her. She was able to rip out the throat of one of them within seconds – a fighting technique she found she liked even better the second time around – but she took a blow to her body while she was doing it.

“No touching!” she yelled. She could feel her conscious mind retreating, letting the Slayer take control again. Her elbow connected with a nose, snapping back the head and knocking the vampire unconscious, while a spin kick knocked another across the crypt and into a wall, breaking his neck. Only five fighting now.

Spike came into the crypt just in time to see her rip off an ear with her teeth.

“Not fair, Slayer! You’re fighting dirty!” one of the vampires called out.

She cocked her head, a grin splitting her face from ear to ear. “Not dirty. Dusty!” She punched the complaining vampire’s chest, straight through his bones, and pulled out his heart.

“Pretty,” she said, as she crushed the heart into dust; the vampire following soon after. The remaining four – including the earless wonder – started looking terrified about that point. Sure, the Slayer was the bogeyman to vampire-kind, but … this was excessive. Out of the vampires she’d taken out, only two were actually dust. This Slayer was known for her puns and her humane kills. What she was doing now, especially with the smiling, was just … creepy.

Two turned tail and ran – straight into Spike, who had brought a stake – and were quickly dusted.

Buffy growled, her eyes feral, as she launched herself at the brave ones. She fought them slowly, playing with them and delivering as much pain as possible. By the time they were gone, she was covered in blood and dust.

Spike had long ago staked the immobilised vamps, and was lounging against the wall, watching her.

She turned towards him, eyes still lost in the fight. She doesn’ recognise me, he realised.

Buffy stalked towards him, licking the blood off her lips. “Vampire,” she growled.

“Slayer … Buffy … you remember Ol’ Spike, don’t you?” he said nervously. Magnificent as it was to watch her take out a nest on her own without a stake, he really didn’t want to join them in dustiness. Not bein’ able to fight back is gettin’ really fuckin’ old.

She grinned again, cocking her head. “Bring it.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
 
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“I’ve got it!” Willow said.

“Is it Gozer?” asked Xander. Anya smacked him. “What? We could totally take Mr Stay Puft.”

“What demon is it, Sweetie?”

“It’s not a demon at all. It’s … it’s a manifestation of dark magic, that comes from using the urn of Osiris.”

“So we really did make it happen,” Tara said. We should never have brought Buffy back.

“Newton’s laws might not be true for physics, but they still kinda work for magic,” Willow said. “For every action, there is a reaction. If we use the urn of Osiris to bring back something good….”

“Then we get something bad, too,” Xander finished. “Yay, us.”

“Yeah,” Willow continued. “But it’s all good, because the only way it can manifest is if the good thing we brought back dies. And it needs to do it fast – after 24 hours, it’ll just go poof! So, as long as Buffy stays alive until tonight at midnight, all the creepy just goes away on its own.”

Anya turned to Willow, eyes glowing green. “Thank you, witch,” she growled. Anya dropped to the floor.