A/N Some dialogue at the end of chapter 10 taken from Damaged.

Chapter 10: Discomfort

As Buffy began making arrangements with Giles, Spike angrily moved off into the corner of the room furthest from either of the two slayers.

Spike tried to tell himself that he would have had the same physical reaction if any other woman had jumped him in that manner. True or not, it didn't make him feel any better. All he could think was that he was still nothing more than love's bitch.

And it didn't solve the problem of his erection. Could have been any girl, Spike repeated in his head. The only problem was that it wasn't any girl, it was Buffy.

He considered going into the bathroom to jerk off, but he doubted it would do much good. He was too angry, and what sort of fantasy could he indulge himself in? His mind was too clouded by questions of what sort of real relationship they could have to be able to conjure up any fantasies about her.

Not to mention that as of late all his fantasies had been about what their reunion would be like. Not that the reunion had been all that bad, but it hadn't been the sort of thing Spike had dreamed about. Just Buffy being startled by his walking through the door, and then hugging him.

It wasn't the fireworks he'd been hoping for, but then again, if he'd really believed there was the slightest chance that she would declare her undying love for him and then shag him senseless, he would have left L.A. the moment he got his body back.

But didn't she say she'd come to L.A. looking for him? Something about dreams and. . . Spike tried to remember exactly what she'd said about her dream.

"Okay, have him call us when he gets here," Buffy said before she clicked shut her cell phone.

"So um . . ." Buffy plucked the sleeve of her blouse.

For a moment Spike considered letting her off the hook. Avoiding the whole subject of what just happened. It was probably the right thing to do and Spike was curious to know more about her dream. But he was still pissed off. Just because he would still do anything for her, whether she showed him the slightest scrap of affection or not, didn't mean she had to treat him like he was at her beck and call.

The more he thought about it, and the more Buffy just stood there awkwardly, the angrier he got.

"Must be getting pretty desperate if you're after me to shag you again," Spike snapped at her.

Buffy looked up at him then, and he could see her hazel eyes begin to cloud with tears. Spike mentally kicked himself. Just because he wanted to hurt her, didn't mean he wanted her to be in pain.

Before he could apologize for being an ass, she beat him to it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"What-?" he started to ask but she cut him off.

"I'm sorry I killed you," Buffy repeated as a tear rolled down one cheek. "I didn't mean to."

Spike immediately closed the distance between them and brushed the tear from Buffy's cheek.

"You didn't kill me," he told her sternly. "I knew what I was getting myself into. It was my decision, remember? I asked for that bloody amulet."

"But I-" she protested.

"No buts. You were not responsible."

Spike was still trying to process what it meant, that she thought she had killed him. It doesn't mean anything, he tried to tell himself. Just means Buffy still thinks she the center of everything. Silly bird can't imagine I'd make a decision that doesn't center on her.

Even so he couldn't help warming to her a little. His poor little slayer still carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Sadly, he doubted he could say anything to make her believe otherwise.

"ButItoldGilesIwould," she blurted out all at once.

Spike froze. Then he pulled away from her. He couldn't bear to look at her.

He'd never really told her how much it meant to him that she had sided with him against Rupert during Sunnydale's final days. Spike knew how much Giles' opinion meant to Buffy, and he'd hated the Watcher for going behind her back to try and kill him. Not because of the assassination attempt, after all Spike had tried to kill the Scoobies several times, but because it hurt Buffy. Because Giles had forced her to choose. Of course Spike had been delighted that she had finally chosen him over her friends, but that didn't mean he wasn't aware that it only served to isolate Buffy more. To shut her off just a little more from the people who depended on her, and on whom she depended.

To suddenly be told that she had conspired with the Watcher to sacrifice him was the stake through the heart he'd been waiting for. A little voice in the back of his head was saying, I told you so. Nothing had changed, the closer he got to Buffy, the more she could and did hurt him.

It was all the worse because he would have, and did, do it gladly. All she had ever had to do was ask him to die for her, and he would have.

Buffy rested her back against one wall and stared up at the ceiling as if she couldn't look at Spike. He certainly couldn't look at her.

"That night, when Giles took me out training so Robin could kill you," Buffy continued, "he asked me if I'd do it differently. If I'd be willing to kill Dawn to save the world." She paused. When she spoke again her voice was barely above a whisper. "I said yes."

"Buffy-"

"No, I said yes. And of course he was really talking about you, and that's when I figured out that Robin was probably trying to kill you. But just because Giles and all his greater good stuff was wrong then doesn't mean. . . I let you die and you weren't supposed to. It was supposed to be me. . ." her voice trailed off and more tears began to run down her cheeks.

Spike couldn't believe it. He'd done the big sacrifice for her and she saw it as him stealing her thunder.

He put his hands on his hips and looked up at the ceiling. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

She just whimpered in reply.

"You really can't get it through little slayer brain of yours that the world doesn't revolve around you." Spike began to pace angrily around the room, only half aware that Buffy was there. "You can't possibly imagine that you might not be the hero of the piece? That some one else has a destiny? Hmmm?" He continued without giving her a chance to reply. "Well maybe I do? Maybe I'm the one who's important? Maybe I'm the one who was supposed to save the world? Ever think of that?"

Buffy tried to stay something but Spike ran right over the top of all of Buffy's attempts to speak. "But no. I'm just a sidekick right? That's how you see me, i'n'it? As the backup?" He waited for her to say something, but by this time Buffy had given up on trying to get a word in edgewise. "Well?"

Startled Buffy opened her mouth, but before she could say anything the door to the room flew open and Andrew strolled in.

"Hey Buf- Spike?!" Andrew's jaw dropped and before Spike could say anything Andrew had crossed the room and was huggin Spike. "It's you. It's really you! My therapist thought I was holding onto false hope, but . . . I knew you'd come back."

Andrew sniffled, let go of Spike and put his hands on Spike's shoulders. "You're like. . . you're like Gandalf the White, resurrected from the pit of the Balrog. . ." To Spike's horror Andrew reached up and cupped one of Spike's cheeks in his hand. "More beautiful than ever." Andrew hugged Spike again, and from the way he was sniffling, Spike was worried he'd have to clean Andrew snot off of his duster. "Ohh. . . he's alive, Frodo. He's alive."

"Uh, yeah, right," Spike said as he tried to disentangle himself from Andrew's grasp.

To make matters worse, Buffy was all too obviously trying not laugh. Then Spike heard a giggle from the doorway, where several girls, far too young to be in a place like this, were peeking in and whispering to each other while they looked Spike over.

As Andrew finally let go of Spike, he looked around the room for the first time. "I'm not interrupting anything. . . " he leaned forward to whisper in Spike's ear, "kinky. Am I?"

Chapter 11: Intersecting

Buffy giggled, "we missed the bed again," as she nodded towards the small cot in Spike's basement apartment.

She pulled her long blond hair free from the carpet she and Spike had ended up underneath. She took a closer look at the lush Persian rug and asked, "Are these new?"

"No, pet," Spike answered, "they are very, very old. But the place need some color don't you think?"

Buffy looked around at the small room and nodded. "This place is kind of small for you, isn't it?"

Spike looked over the place. An open door caught his eye. Through it he could see a hallway that seemed to go on forever. It was dark, and he couldn't see the way. But at the very end, on a pedestal, sat a golden cup lit by some unidentified light.

"I think it might be too big," Spike replied, as he wondered how he'd ever get to the cup.

"Still," Buffy continued, "it's not very safe." She put her hand over her eyes and blinked at the hot desert sun overhead. "You really don't belong here."

Spike sighed. "I suppose you're right. We should get inside."

They both lifted up the rugs and pulled them over their heads. The cave tunnel was much more comfortable than the desert had been.

"Which way should we go?" Buffy asked as she looked down both ends of the tunnel.

Spike smiled at her, and took both her hands in his. "Do we have to choose?"

She smiled back. "Nope. Choices are of the bad."

She leaned forward and they started to kiss playfully. Just as Buffy was getting ready to upgrade the kisses to more passionate ones, Spike pulled away from her and leaned his ear against one of the cave walls. She was annoyed but at least he kept hold of one of her hands.

"Do you hear that?" he asked.

Buffy moved forward and placed her ear and cheek against the cool stone, but she didn't hear anything.

"Someone's in the walls," Spike told her.

"I hope the rats don't play with their knees," Buffy said with great concern.

"This way," Spike said as he started to pull Buffy down the tunnel, following the sound of the heartbeat he could hear reverberating through the walls. Somehow Spike knew it was a little girl, and that she was scared.

They were getting closer when an African man suddenly appeared in front of them. He was dressed in a blue robe with a turban on his head and beads around his neck. In one hand he held a wooden staff which he used to bar their way.

He said something in a language Spike had never heard, and then banged his staff on the ground.

Spike jerked awake from the dream, as if he'd been struck by some sort electrical current. His vampiric eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom, and he remembered where he was–The Hyperion.

He, Buffy, and Andrew had decided that the best place to hide a bunch of slayers from Angel would be in Angel's old hotel. Spike had assured them that Angel completely ignored it, and that the rest of Angel's friends were too busy at Wolfram & Hart to take a nostalgic trip to their old headquarters.

Plus, there were plenty of rooms for the slayers, and a sturdy cage in the basement in which to keep Dana.

Still, transporting a crazy and violent slayer across town hadn't been easy. By the time they were sure she couldn't escape or hurt anyone including herself, they were all worn out. They'd found rooms for themselves to rest in, and set up a schedule to watch over Dana.

In all that time, neither Spike or Buffy had said a word to each other that wasn't strictly business, and they'd retired to opposite sides of the abandoned hotel.

Spike sighed and wondered why things couldn't be more like they'd been with the Buffy in the strange dream he'd just woken from. In his dream, there had been no fears, no hurt, just he and Buffy together and in love.

Because she was just a dream girl, not the real Buffy, Spike answered himself. And when all was said and done, he preferred the real Buffy to any idealized version. He just had to think back to the Buffybot to remember why.

Spike settled back into the bed and tried to make himself comfortable. For a moment, he hoped he wouldn't have any more strange dreams when it hit him–he wasn't having nightmares anymore. The dream he'd just had was every bit as real, surreal, and vivid all at once as the nightmares he'd had before, but nothing had been trying to kill him.

He thought back to when he'd dozed off earlier while waiting for Buffy, and he couldn't remember dreaming anything at all. Suddenly hopeful that he might get a normal night's sleep, Spike rolled onto his side, and tried to go back to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You don't belong here," the shadow man said to Spike as he struck his staff against the floor.

Just like that Spike was gone.

"Hey," Buffy protested, knowing that even though the shadow man didn't speak English he could understand her just as she understood him. "I need him."

"This is not his place," the shadow man answered as he turned his back on Buffy and began to move back down the tunnel.

"Someone's lost," Buffy called after him. "Do you know where she is?"

"Someone must stand in the gap. It is not your concern," he told her without even looking back.

Stubbornly, Buffy followed after him. "What gap? Why has she left? What's happening? Why isn't she here? Was it ever even her?"

She had more questions, but before she could ask them there was a loud banging noise, as if something very large was trying to break though the walls of the cave.

The man spun around, angry. "You must not interfere. You have done enough!"

He slammed his staff down on the ground again, and Buffy woke up.

"I'm getting kind of sick of this," she mumbled to herself.

She quickly went over the dream in her head. It was something she'd trained herself to do years ago. Slayer dreams were far more vivid than regular dreams, but they tended to fade all the same if she didn't try and hold on to them.

Besides, the parts with Spike in it certainly deserved remembering, even if she found it unlikely that either sex or snuggling with Spike was in her future.

Actually, he was a bit of a mystery. Why had he been in the dream at all? She ran over the dream again, after this kissing he'd started leading her some where, and the shadow man had stopped him. In the dreams that had brought her to L.A. she'd had to find Spike and the First Slayer had been trying to kill him. Was he supposed to lead her somewhere? Was there something only he could find, something neither the First Slayer or the shadow men wanted her to find? Or was she interpreting the whole thing wrong?

Buffy threw off the covers in frustration. She was so confused by jet lag that she had no idea what time it was, she just knew her body didn't think it was time to sleep anymore.

She threw on some clothes and quickly ran a brush through her hair, just enough to get the worst of the tangles out. Then she headed downstairs.

The Hyperion was kind of creepy. There was something abandoned and lonely about the old hotel. If Buffy was going to make a horror movie, this would have been the perfect place to set it, and not just because there was a giant pentagram on the lobby floor that someone had obviously tried and failed to clean off. Whatever had happened there, Buffy was willing to bet it hadn't been good.

When she entered the basement, she was glad to see the slayer on duty was alert and paying attention. She was an ordinary looking girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with long mousy brown hair. She was a plain looking sort of girl, and nothing about her stood out. It was almost hard for Buffy to believe this girl was a slayer. She looked more like a candidate for invisibility.

Buffy always had a hard time dealing with new slayers who hadn't been in Sunnydale, and who she had helped recruit herself. Girls like this one had heard about it, and treated her like she was some sort of larger than life superhero. Sure Buffy had saved the world a few times, but it was still strange having all these people know about it. For so long only her closest friends had known, and they still treated her like she was anyone else–well most of the time. Hero worship wasn't really something she was comfortable with.

"Ms. Summers," the girl sputtered. "Um, hi. The prisoner is secure ma'am."

Buffy winced. She didn't know what was worse, that she'd been called Ms. Summers and ma'am or that the girl seemed to think they were in the army. Just because the Scoobies had unleashed an army of slayers on the world didn't mean she wanted them turning into the Initiative. She wanted her slayers to still be girls. To still have lives.

"Um, thanks. You can just call me Buffy. I, um. . . what was your name again?" Buffy asked sheepishly. Not because she'd forgotten the girls name, but because she'd never bothered to learn the names of any of the slayers Andrew had brought to L.A.

"It's Rebecca, ma-Buffy," the girl replied smiling shyly.

"Rebecca," Buffy repeated to help her remember. "I need to talk to our friend here for a bit," she said nodding towards the girl in the cell. When Buffy had come in she had gotten to her feet and was warily watching Buffy.

Rebecca took a moment to look back and forth between the other two slayers in the room. "Are you sure, Buffy?"

"I'm sure. I'm not letting her out, and I've handled her before." Buffy was actually kind of proud that the girl was willing to question her instead of just doing whatever Buffy told her to. Rebecca might have some promise. "But thanks for checking. Good job," Buffy tried to encourage her. There was definitely a slayer there–and a good one–she just hoped who ever was in charge of training this girl hadn't dismissed her as quickly as Buffy nearly had.

"I'll just be outside then, Buffy." Rebecca smiled warmly this time. As if she and Buffy were becoming fast friends.

Once Rebecca was outside, Buffy took a good long look at the remaining girl–the girl who was supposed to be Dana, but who Buffy was sure was the First Slayer.

"I think it's time you and I had a little chat."