This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you so much.

Betas: The wonderful Megan and Angelic Amy. Thank you, lovely ladies. Special hugs and squishes to Andrea for the humourous support and read throughs.

Author Notes: Thank you to all those who have left feedback. It is greatly appreciated.

Chapter 14

He’d felt unsettled from the moment Buffy switched off the light and closed the basement door behind her, leaving him alone in the dark. Only her scent, lingering in the pillows he’d buried his head in, staved off the first stirrings of panic. Breathing in deeply, drawing as much of her as he could into himself, Spike felt the pull of sleep overtake him and his body settled into stillness.

The setting he found himself in was not the one he’d dreaded. Spike had been here before, many times, but not recently. He was sitting on the bank of a stream, moonlight turning the world into a blue cast monochrome and reflecting silver shards off the gently moving water. To his right was the bridge, a familiar crossing and the place he had always found himself before now; facing his demon and battling to survive.

In the early days, when he’d still been the embodiment of William, memories and mores intact, the demon had beaten him bloody, forcing its will upon him until he’d changed. And if it hadn’t been his demon it had been those of his vampiric family back in his waking world. When William had become Spike, the balance had started to shift. Sometimes Spike would defy his demon, taking the beating and laughing in its face as he refused to submit to its will.

The attempted claiming of Dru had seen their fiercest conflict; Spike had loved her with everything he had, wanting nothing more than to bind them together for eternity, share himself with her to the fullest extent possible. And for her to do the same. His demon had seen things differently. Fiercely loving of its sire, it was content in the familial bond, the rightness of it. It recognised, only too well, his sire’s adoration and love of her own sire, Angelus. The other vampire’s absence from their company did nothing to change that. Try as it might, Spike refused to let go of his longing, and they both suffered the hurt of rejection as a result.

Spike was surprised when the demon joined him, dropping down beside him with a sigh. It had been many years since they had met; his last two visits here had been lonely excursions when he felt his demon had abandoned him. Which in most ways it had.

It seemed to read his mind.

“Tell me I would have helped by egging us on to bite the buggers and I’ll say sorry.” The demon spoke quietly, the normal snarl strangely missing from its gravely voice as a curious mixture of arrogant demand and question flavoured its tone. Opening his mouth to throw years of resentment at his beast, Spike paused to think, pursing his lips and inclining his head as he stared at his alter ego. He, the demon, had changed in a dramatic way.

Hard ridges still adorned his almost leathery visage. Golden eyes that had always fixed him with fierce anger were softer, nearly…sympathetic. Impressive fangs distorted lips that looked softer and fuller. Glancing away from his face showed more mutations; clawed hands now seemed strangely human and his body had become more finely formed, less grotesque.

“Ah, you’ve noticed the update? ‘S one of the things that I’ve been waiting to show you. But I had to wait until you were ready to listen. Are you?” The questioning tilt of his head mirrored Spike’s.

An anger he hadn’t been able to release for too long took control of Spike and he swung a sudden punch to the demon’s jaw, satisfied when his head jerked pack, before leaping to his feet. “You left me alone! In that place, you left me alone!” he screamed at the glaring demon rising gracefully to his feet. “We were taking them on, fighting…and you left. You left.” The last was whispered hoarsely.

“I saved our skin, you wanker! They were going to dust us!” Spike wasn’t the only one with anger to burn.

“Good! Why didn’t you let them, you fucking shit? We could have been clocking up time and making friends in the real hell!”

They’d moved to the bridge in silent accord and now faced each other a few paces apart. The dream air fairly cracked with the tension flowing from the two.

“Because we’re survivors, pillock! We adapt and we go on. This is as good as it gets, don’t you understand? If you think for one moment that you’ve been living in hell lately, you’re off your bird!” the demon snarled, irritated at being called to task. “This last few years will seem like a walk in the park once we get to our final destination. So excuse me if I wanted to put it off a bit longer!”

Spike glared at him, but held his tongue. He begrudgingly recognised the truth in his demon’s words. He’d fought their training tooth and broken nail, stunned into painful unconsciousness - more times than he cared to count - by either the electronic firing of his chip or the commando held tasers. He wasn’t going back to being anything less than the master vampire he had fought so hard to become. Until his demon had left and refused to come forward again, refused to lend him the frenzied anger he needed to fight the pain and defy his human captors.

Losing part of himself had taken away the last of his resistance…the rest was history. Spike had capitulated and fought no longer against the training forced upon him. His acquiescence had failed to bring him better treatment for a while; it appeared his captors had a few grievances to work out of their systems, a bit of payback to dish out.

“You think I wasn’t there?” His demon snorted mirthlessly. “I was there with you every single bloody step of the way, William!”

“I’m not William! That ponce is long gone.” Spike clenched his fists, shifting on the balls of his feet as his annoyance at being called by his long dead human name urged him towards attack. Anything else he might have said was cut off when his chest was pushed over the parapet and his arm twisted high enough up his back to draw a pained cry from him.

Golden eyes flashed before calming as the demon leaned forward to whisper in Spike’s ear, staring over his shoulder at the silver stream below. “And you would recognise William, would you? Who do you think you are if not William…with over a hundred and twenty more years of existence and experience under your belt? Who are you if not William shaped by the need to survive as a vampire? Who are you—” He released the arm from his iron grip and pulled the man around to face him, grasping his shoulders painfully in an effort to make him understand, “if not William, who has been moulded by everything forced upon him, everything demanded and expected of him as a vampire?”

Spike slumped as the demon released him and stepped back. His mind frantically searched for the means to refute those words, and kept coming up strangely empty of rebuttal.

“Do you think I haven’t changed too?” He felt closer to Spike now than at any other time in their existence. If he hadn’t stepped back, if he hadn’t been forced by the chip to step back from protecting Spike in his usual spirited and impetuous way… If he hadn’t understood - accepted - that the only way for them to survive was to let Spike deal with the humans himself, they would have been suffering the real agony of hell several years ago.

Though he had felt everything that Spike felt, hurt every bit as badly as Spike hurt, he had stayed himself from following his nature and had been content with answering the pull for his presence with occasional words meant to maim. There had been little reward in it when Spike – they - had been punished for his influence, and after a time he’d rarely allowed himself to be summoned. Which allowed the demon something he had seldom experienced before. Time to think.

The world was changing…had changed. A vampire could no longer lay claim to the night with almost impunity from every human, with the exception of the one girl born into each generation. Mankind’s tools had now reached the stage where they posed a very real threat to everything, everyone, of a supernatural persuasion. To survive now meant to adapt to the present and try to counter a grim future. And, though it grieved him to admit it, Spike was still the only one who could save them. If he would listen.

A crash sounded in the distance, startling both of them. Twin growls sounded, but they held an edge of fear. Turning back to Spike, the demon now spoke urgently. “It comes. We have little time.” A further crash, nearer. “Stay with the Slayer. She is…home.” The demon fretted when no one word could encompass his complex feelings and instincts; there was no time left for more. “I have lost the desire for her death. Do you understand? She is our home, William. Spike.”

The next crash sounded almost upon them. Spike heard the demon, he did, but the fear rising in him choked off any – many – questions.

A huge shadow blotted out the moon, throwing them into the darkest of dark. Only the fiery eyes of his demon shone in the deepest blackness which was working its way into everything that was Spike. He felt a cool hand grasp his firmly.

“I am always with you,” came as a distant whisper.

Spike screamed.

***

Throwing open the basement door, Buffy was halfway down the stairs before the lack of light prompted her to slow down enough to watch her step. She’d had enough presence of mind to grab a cushion from the couch on her way, thinking she’d need it to throw at Spike to rouse him. She was wrong.

Looking over to the bed, the light spilling in from the kitchen allowed her to see that her vampire was sitting up in bed. Trembling. Hands covering his eyes, his face, and shoulders jerking in a way that spelt the most wretched of sobs were being torn from him. Buffy recognised it only too well.

Treading lightly, Buffy approached the bed, stopping a few paces away. “Spike? Another nightmare?”

Spike had sensed her presence, of course he had; he didn’t think he would ever not be able to feel her again. He’d woken abruptly, wrenched away from the menace which had struck such terror into him in the other place. With an effort, he fought to control his erratic breathing and slowly dropped his hands, wiping tears from his face before looking towards her. The anguish in his eyes took her breath away.

“’M sorry, Slayer. Best fetch the gag from the chest; only way to make sure you get some rest.” Spike drank in the lines around his slayer’s eyes, the tiredness which was making itself known again now her adrenaline rush had died away. He cursed himself when she looked at him with shock. “Or I can stay awake?” he offered.

He was serious, she could see that. “Stupid vampire.”

Buffy hated this. Hated this knowledge of what had been forced upon him, and what he now accepted as permissible behaviour. It had to change. She had to make it change.

“Shift over,” she ordered quietly moving closer to his bed and, seeing the uncertainty on Spike’s face, elaborated. “I’ll stay for a while, until you’re asleep.” Buffy gave a small smile. “Takes away the risk of breaking my neck…and, hey, I’m feeling lazy.”

He nodded, dropping his gaze from her to shield the gratitude in his eyes as he made room for the Slayer on his bed. His need for her presence was too great to refuse…even with the inevitable surge of lust playing havoc with his senses at having her so near. Stiffly, in every way, Spike settled once more, facing towards her and careful to hold his body as far from hers as possible within the confines of the bed. He watched from under his lashes as the Slayer made herself comfortable, half sitting against the pillows with her black satin clad legs stretched out on top of the covers. With a mind of its own, his hand reached up to touch fingertips with hers, sighing in contentment when the Slayer slid her fingers down and lightly clasped his hand, her thumb rubbing gently to and fro. Soothing motions that warmed his dead skin.

‘Just for a little while, just until he’s sleeping. Then back to my own bed. Just a little while…”

Slayer and vampire drifted into their well-earned rest. The only dreams to disturb their slumber the kind which made the recipient wish to sleep forever.

***

They had been collecting ingredients together most of the day, for once thankful to a lull in trade at the Magic Box. Willow had insisted they reinforce and strengthen the wards surrounding the shop, and take enough components with them to repeat the guarding spells at Revello Drive and their own home. When the odd customer had broken their non-work activities, it had been Tara who left to attend to them whilst Willow dived once more into research. She’d filled several pages already and wanted to get them colour-coded and cross-referenced before presenting her findings later.

She was frightened, and she knew Tara could sense it. So far, though, she hadn’t asked anything, hadn’t tried to wiggle the details out of her. Willow wasn’t sure if she wished her lover would, or not. This so came under the heading of ‘a problem shared is a problem halved’, although sharing it with a hundred people could not dilute it enough for Willow’s comfort.

Buffy may have made the decision to tackle the Initiative from out of the blue, triggered by the reappearance of Spike in her life - ‘And, okay, he seems to have changed, so maybe not the Big Bad anymore. If he makes one move towards hurting Buffy…’ - but from the information she had compiled so far, it was going to take a lot more than their small group to remove the Initiative from their lives, and the world. This was bigger than big, it was huge. They were going to need more help. Lots more help.

By mutual agreement, as with everything they did, the two wiccans closed the shop a little early to make time to fortify the protection on their home. Once accomplished, they loaded up Tara’s car with everything they thought they’d need for the evening ahead.

When Tara pulled into Buffy’s drive, the sound of raised voices from within the house caused them to look at each other in dismay before hurrying from the car and ringing the doorbell.

***

Bliss. The only thing better than killing a slayer…was to wake up from sleeping with one. Correction. Only if it was this slayer, his slayer.

Spike had woken from a deep sleep about half an hour ago, as well as he could tell. Woke to find himself curled into the back of a warm, cuddlesome Slayer with his arm lightly wrapped around her waist. Everywhere they connected his skin, his flesh, had risen in temperature and he was utterly surrounded by her scent, so much stronger and fresher than that of his pillows.

He hadn’t dared move for fear of disturbing her, content to softly sniff the hair tickling his nose and battle the urge to nuzzle into her neck, to lick and taste her soft skin. Spike knew he would be calling this moment forward to fuel his fantasies for some time; it would bring him comfort again and again in his solitude.

Some time during their sleep the Slayer had stolen the quilt, wrapping it around her legs, holding her warmth in but keeping him on the outside. As he should be. And he was perversely glad to have a barrier between them still; he didn’t think he would be strong enough to stop his body from rubbing into her, letting her know intimately how much she affected him. Spike bit his lip to stifle the groan as a sudden little wriggle from the Slayer had her pressing back against his already painfully aroused cock. Maybe the quilt wasn’t thick enough after all.

Gloriously comfortable, Buffy struggled to stay with the naughty dream she was losing. Her lover’s pale and perfectly proportioned body had just been revealed to her and… ‘Damn! Gone. And I didn’t even get to see his face.’ Sighing, Buffy gave up trying to cling onto the remnants of her dream and stretched, only to freeze when she felt herself being gently held. Eyes flew open with a start, confused for a moment to see a dimly illuminated basement instead of her room. Spike.

He closed his eyes and cursed himself for not picking up her rise to consciousness more quickly; being caught with his arm tucked around her had not been his intention, though he’d been loath to move it before he absolutely had to. Now it was too late. There was no hiding that he had touched her without permission, without her consent. Would she be angry? Spike was about to find out as the Slayer twisted round to face him, causing him further internal battles as his hand instinctively sought to trail down the small of her back and grasp her peachy arse. The vampire was in sweet torment, and savouring what would be his last few seconds of contact.

Unable to tell from his face if Spike was awake - or not - Buffy contented herself with a whispered, “Good morning.” When no response was forthcoming, she reluctantly moved his arm and slipped from the clutches of the quilt before rearranging it to cover him; it seemed to have somehow wrapped itself around her as she slept. It didn’t occur to her as strange that she had just slept with Spike, nor did she feel anything but rested and content. Maybe that’s what was strange, the contentment.

She was more than half convinced Spike was shamming sleep, which was a pity. The uncertainty stopped her from acting on a sudden impulse. It meant she couldn’t let her fingers trace the line of his jaw as they wanted to, and she must deny her lips the pleasure of placing a small token on his brow. Bad Buffy.

Not until she reached the basement door did she speak again. “Rise and shine, Spike. Breakfast will be served in ten minutes. Get your scrawny ass out of bed, mister!”

“Oi! Who you calling scrawny, Slayer?” Spike propped himself up on his elbow in time to see her grin cheekily before she disappeared from sight. His left hand found its way inside his sweats, almost no touch required to release the pent up tension from that part of his anatomy. If only his mind was so easily pleased.

And right now it was, very pleased. His Slayer had given, and he’d not overstepped any boundaries in accepting her gift, despite how hard it had been. Grinning, Spike left the warmed bed, inhaling deeply before reluctantly going to wash her intoxicating aroma from him. A good start to the day. The best.

An hour later things weren’t quite so rosy.

***

“How was I to know you hadn’t been told the git had taken up work with Wolfram & Hart?” Spike ground out, as annoyed as the Slayer once they’d worked out why she was getting no reply from the number on her board.

They’d broken their fast in perfect harmony with each other, no mention being made of their recent sleeping arrangements, but no embarrassment displayed either; Spike had been more than happy to take his lead from the Slayer. He’d dressed with care, a deep blue tee-shirt with pre-faded jeans which had elicited an approving look from the Slayer. Everything had been ticking over nicely until he’d opened his mouth.

It was when she’d rechecked the number on the board that Spike had stolen a glance over her shoulder, and noticed the number labelled as being for Angel Investigations. “You do know he’s not working there any more, don’t you, Slayer?” had been enough to disperse her good humour and replace it with irritation.

“And you only mention this now? Thanks, Spike. I spent ages last night trying to get through. Didn’t you think to tell me before?” Buffy knew she was being unfair, but not knowing if she would be confronting Angel later or not was enough to frazzle her nerves. Couple that with a sudden fascination with all things Spike…

Later. She promised herself that once she’d dealt with Angel she’d give herself time, alone time, to think about Spike. But not now. Not when she had to concentrate on what could be a very unpleasant confrontation with the souled vampire. Determinedly ignoring the look of hurt on his face, pushing away the guilt and promising herself to explain properly later, Buffy had left the vampire to his own devices and taken to her room. Getting the number for Wolfram & Hart had been simple, getting hold of Angel was impossible. The most she’d been able to discover, from his less than helpful secretary, was that he had an appointment in Sunnydale for seven this evening and was currently en route. Great. It would be a pity to waste the mood she was in on someone who didn’t deserve it.

Stifling the guilt as she thought of Spike downstairs, watching TV by the sound of it, Buffy threw open her closet doors and frowned as she sought the right outfit for tonight’s encounter with her once significant other. It had been a long time since she’d dressed for anything other than patrol. She wanted to show him how well she was doing without him, make him regret ever walking out of her life and turning his back on her. Tastefully, of course.

Time flew by as she discarded one outfit after another; too flirty, too severe, too… Just as Buffy was ready to scream she found it, the dress that said it all. Classic black, thin straps to a fitted bodice and gently flaring skirt reaching her knees. Laying it on her bed she found the accessories to go with it, passing over the pretty high heeled sandals in favour of a pair of barely worn pumps. It would make the difference in height even more exaggerated when she went toe to toe with the big lummox.

Clean black cotton bra and high leg panties joined the gathering ensemble, as did a black purse with a chain shoulder strap. Buffy gasped when she looked at her clock and found the hands telling her lies. How could it be gone six thirty already? Dashing into her bathroom, she rummaged around in her seldom used make-up bag and opted for a ‘less is more’ cosmetic augmentation of her face. Hair brushed and twisted up, captured in a barrette, she fixed small silver dangling cross earrings in place and fastened the chain of another crucifix around her neck. She thought about perfume, but decided making herself smell delicious might send out the wrong signals.

Five minutes later, she looked with satisfaction at her reflection in the full length mirror she seldom had reason to use nowadays. Three stakes, a bottle of holy water and a sheet of notes were all safely stashed in her purse, another stake fastened to her right thigh…just in case. She was ready. Or as ready as she was going to be.

It wasn’t until she’d made her way downstairs that she remembered her less than amicable parting from Spike earlier.

***

Spike tried to concentrate on the moving pictures on the TV. It was impossible, though. He was far too focussed on every tiny sound coming from above, listening as the Slayer moved about getting ready to see him.

He’d alternatively seethed and worried. He’d been angry and hurt when the Slayer had turned on him, and worried that she might be changing her mind; might be thinking about handing him over to her dinner date. Spike trusted her, he did, but he couldn’t quite believe she was going to be able to stick to her guns when faced with her great love.

Then, at long last, she deigned to descend the stairs. A vision. For him. Sense left, stage right, as jealousy hit him between the eyes.

“What’s wrong, Slayer? Couldn’t you find a shorter frock?”

Buffy had seen it, she had. No woman could mistake that look; admiration acknowledging time well spent. Whatever she’d expected him to say, it so hadn’t been that. And she was so not putting up with it; not from Spike, not from anyone. She wanted to keep her anger for Angel, but there was enough to go around, truly there was.

“You think showing Angel more thigh will make tonight easier? Tell me, Spikey,” she almost spat out his name, mocking him intently, “would that be the sort of thing to distract you? A little bit of leg?”

Spike was more interested in the column of her neck, cleared of hair and begging for attention. Begging to be tasted, needing kisses and soft bites rained upon it until… Until he caught up with her words.

“Me?” he snorted in derision. “It’s not me you have to worry about, Slayer. Oh, yes, you do.” ‘You told me you were. You made me believe you were.’ He knew he should stop, shouldn’t have started, but his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. “Appearances must be bloody deceiving then!”

Glaring at each other, only the timely chime of the doorbell stopped Buffy from making a comeback. Which was actually gonna be more apology than anything else. She’d so not meant to upset Spike further. ‘Note to self. Apologise to Spike…later.’

They both took a deep breath, only one of them needed, before Buffy turned hesitantly towards the door. Spike must have read her mind.

“It’s not him, Slayer. My babysitters have arrived.” With that he turned on his heel and made his way down to the basement, determined not to be present for her long awaited reunion with the grandsire.

In truth, he felt sick to the pits of his unnecessary stomach, and was having a hard time stopping himself from breaking down before the Slayer, falling to his knees and begging her to promise to keep him with her. Always.

Pacing gave his restlessness some small outlet…and let him listen to what was happening upstairs.

***

She could see from their faces that they must have heard them shouting at each other, really not something she was proud of. Buffy waved them in and answered the unspoken question put forward by Tara’s raised brow.

“We’re arguing. It’s cool.” She shrugged, rolling her shoulders to get rid of the tension which had settled there. “Angel will be here in a few minutes, if he’s on time.”

“Ah,” Tara murmured understandingly. She’d been worried about both of them since the phone call this morning, but arguing was so much better than moping and she was secretly pleased to find the vampire had enough fight left in him to take on Buffy, at least verbally. She gave her friend a gentle hug and passed her on to Willow for more of the same.

“You look nice, Buffy,” Willow offered, admiring the outfit and taking note of the abundance of crosses. “Perhaps Spike is jealous,” she teased, surprised when Buffy stiffened.

‘Spike jealous? Nah. Could he be? Do I want him to be?’ Something else to join the growing pile of things to ponder later.

The sound of a car pulling up outside sparked a group hug and Buffy’s last instructions to her friends. “Don’t let anyone in but me. Nothing gets to Spike, okay?”

“Only you, Buffy. Check,” Willow nodded, hoping they wouldn’t need to repel anyone in the time Buffy would be absent.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy ushered them into the living room before opening the door. And there he was. Angel. Tall, dark, handsome…strange hair.

She felt curiously detached as she watched how his eyes travelled up and down her body before looking at her directly. How rude. The smile breaking on his face would once have melted her heart and set her pulse racing. She waited. Nothing. She waited some more. More nothing.

“Buffy, you look wonderful.” Angel grinned at her, glad she’d made an effort to look good for him. He had made reservations to dine at one of the new restaurants which seemed to be springing up all around Sunnydale, and as far from Revello Drive as possible. His team knew what to do should he be unable to secure what he wanted by fair means.

Buffy smiled, and then gave a small laugh. “Angel, won’t be a moment.” She shut the door in his smiling face and ran through the kitchen before hurtling at an unladylike pace down the basement steps. Tara and Willow shared a bemused look at the whirlwind that was Buffy.

The moment she appeared, Spike stopped his pacing and moved towards her, unable to hide his pleasure that she had seen fit to say farewell to him. But that’s not what she said.

She couldn’t stop the muscles in her face from making her smile. It was going to be okay; she was going to be able to do this, make Spike safe, and keep him with her. Beautiful, annoying vampire that he was. And she had to tell him, put him out of his misery.

Grabbing Spike’s hands she tugged him gently towards her before leaning up and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. Her eyes sparkled as she stared into the blue ones she would give much to see happy.

“It’s gonna be all right, Spike. It’s gonna be all right.”

A quick squeeze of his hands and she was gone, leaving behind a much happier vampire who was even now wondering how it would feel to have those sweet lips on his mouth

***

A/N: Do hope this entertains. Feedback appreciated and I apologise in advance if I don’t respond straight away. RL probs have taken precedence – but I promise I will get there in time.