"Dawn!"

No answer.

"Daaawwn!"

Still nothing. Buffy stamped her foot impatiently.

"Dawn, if you don't get your lazy butt down here right this second I swear I'll, I'll . . .I'll do something you really won't like. A lot!"

'Wow, way to sound threatening, Buffy' she silently berated herself.

"Fine, fine, I'll be right there!" Came the groggy response.

"Well, why don't you 'Be right here' a little faster, huh? You overslept and you have to be to school in 30 minutes, so unless you feel like going in your pajamas I suggest you get up right now."

There was no answer, only a loud thud followed by much shuffling and banging overhead. Buffy smiled to herself as she pictured her sister scurrying about her room, frantically emptying drawers and pulling everything out of her closet in a desperate attempt to find the perfect outfit in less than 10 minutes. It wasn't too long ago Buffy had been a teenager herself, so she remembered what it was like. Dawn was 17 now, a senior in high school. Buffy shuddered at the thought of being in high school again. Those weren't exactly the greatest years of her life.

Dawn finally emerged down the stairs exactly 20 minutes later, wearing a fairly short black skirt and a soft blue sweater, her shiny brown hair loose around her shoulders and grazing her waist.

"Oooh, you look nice. I'm sure Diego will just love it," Buffy teased in a mocking high pitched voice.

Dawn blushed as she thought of her new crush and punched her sister in the arm. "Dork," She muttered, rolling her eyes.

Buffy flashed an innocent grin. "What, Diego's cute! You know, with that adorable accent, and the moon eyes he always casts your way when he thinks you're not looking. Not to mention the boy's got a damn fine-"

"Stop!" Dawn protested with a squeak, turning beat red. She grabbed her bag off the table and headed to the door.

"Fine, then. Oh, and you better hurry. You only have 10 minutes to get there. Have fun!"

"Sure, whatever."

Dawn paused to give her sister a hug before heading out the door.

They were lucky enough to live within close proximity of the school, so Dawn usually walked there every day.

A quick glance at the clock told Buffy she had to get a move on herself, as she had work soon. She'd gotten a job with the council, which was pretty ironic considering her inherent distrust of them in the past. But since the battle with the First Evil, everything was different.

Though the agents of the First had successfully weakened the council, killing most of its members and destroying all of their research, they had regrouped, calling members from all over the world to come to their aid. Giles, being the remaining member with the most experience, was put in charge, and thus the council was reestablished. Buffy's job was to train the new potentials, monitor their abilities and report their progress to the council. Potentials were put through what Buffy thought of as half boot camp, half school. They were tested physically as well as mentally, with the emphasis put on fine tuning their fighting skills. Based on Buffy's reports, the most skilled potentials were allowed to move on to more extensive training and thus out of her control.

Buffy sympathized with them when they became frustrated, and she tried not to be too hard on them. Though sometimes she had no choice. Evil still existed, and as such needed to be dealt with. She couldn't help that.

Besides, these girls sought her out, not the other way around. All the slayers that had been awakened due to Willow's spell could feel their new power surging through them. However, unlike Buffy when she had been initially called, they also had the power to choose what to do with their lives, and most of them chose to learn and develop their skills as a slayer. Many of them were simply sickened by years of injustice they wished to help put an end to, and tired of having to hear of innocent people dying at the hand of some nameless evil day after day.

Buffy still slayed demons herself when necessary, because after all she was still a slayer. Only not the sole "Chosen One", doomed to live and fight alone until the day she died. Not anymore.

Buffy went to make herself some tea, and she had just poured the boiling water when she heard a knock on her door. Frowning, she glanced at the clock over the kitchen doorway.
'Wonder who that could be? Little early for visitors.'

Nevertheless, she padded over to the door and stopped to peer through the peephole. Immediately identifying the person at the other side of the door, she swung it open to stare into the rather fatigued looking face of Andrew.

"Andrew, hi," Buffy said, but hesitated to give him a hug as she recognized the weariness in his features. His clothes were rumpled and messy, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. "Jeez, you look like you haven't slept in days! Is something wrong?"

She hadn't seen him since he moved a few months back. He had lived with her and Dawn in their apartment for a while until he had the chance to get back on his feet and establish a living. Not long after he moved, Buffy and Dawn got word of their father's death. Turns out he'd left them some money in his will, more than enough for them to buy an actual house, though neither of the girls took the news of his death very hard. He'd never even cared enough to take part in their lives, not even when he was most needed. Not even when Joyce died. However, he was after all still their father, and as such they felt some grieving was in order.

Buffy couldn't hide her confused expression as she studied Andrew's demeanor. Last she heard he was doing great, supposedly starting his own business, so she wondered why he was in such a poor state now. Worry plagued her as she speculated what could possibly be wrong.

"Uh, Buffy." Andrew finally spoke, "Can I come in?"
Buffy shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "Um, yes. Yeah, of course. Why don't we go talk in the living room?"

Buffy stepped aside and Andrew nodded, brushing past her to move towards the living room. Buffy frowned, closing the door behind him and following him into the room where he carefully sat on her leather couch, shifting uncomfortably as he played with the sleeve of his jacket.

"You, uh, want anything to eat? Something to drink?" Buffy offered.

"No, thanks."

"Andrew . . ."

"Buffy," he interrupted, "There's something I never told you that maybe I should have, but I, um . . . . There's, there's something I think you should know."

Buffy gulped, a lump in her throat and her stomach practically doing anxious back flips. She really didn't like the tone in his voice.

"Andrew, what . . .?"

"I've got some news, Buffy. Big news. You, uh, might wanna sit down for this."

*****

Sp,Spike?" Buffy repeated once Andrew finished his rather lengthy story, her face sheet-white. "Survived?"

Andrew sighed. "Buffy, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I really am. But he made me promise not to...he said he'd take care of it. I assumed he'd tell you, I never meant to keep it from you."

Buffy didn't respond, her eyes wide and unexpressive as she struggled to register this information. So he didn't die in the Hellmouth after all. He was alive. Spike was alive. Her vision became blurred with unshed tears as a hundred emotions hit her at once.

Andrew continued, oblivious to her tears. "When he and Angel stopped by that week right before I moved, I thought that..."

"What!" Buffy cried, jumping up from the couch as the initial shock faded, quickly dissolving into an anger that she was sure must have raised her blood pressure off the charts. "Angel and Spike were here? They came here, to Rome, and no one told me?!"

She furiously paced the room, but stopped abruptly to catch Andrew in her death glare, hoping it would scare the truth out of him.

'If looks could stake...'

"Y,yes," He stammered, "They came because they heard about the Immortal. They were worried because . . . .I guess they have some kind of history with him, some issues with him or something, and they didn't trust him. They thought he had you under some sort of love spell. So I told them nope, no spells going on here, Buffy's happy and perfectly fine. So, they left."

"Oh no," Buffy murmured, "So Spike thought I knew he was alive, and that I'd moved on, with. . . .Oh no." She repeated, putting an exasperated hand to her forehead.

"But, but . . . Why didn't Spike tell me he was alive? Why didn't Angel? Why would he do such a stupid thing? Didn't he know I missed him, didn't he care?" Buffy began to sputter, her words full of anger and frustration as she ranted, "Oh, when I get my hands on him I'm gonna kill him for not telling me. Where is he? For that matter, where's Angel? The two of them are sooo gonna get it for keeping this from me, and when I find them I'll..."

"Buffy!" She finally realized Andrew had been calling her name, turning slowly to face him as he continued. "But that's just it, that's what I came to tell you. You're not gonna find them, you can't."

"What do you mean, I'm not going to find them?"

Andrew's eyes filled with tears and he hung his head, dreading what he was about to say. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth and spoke in a low and solemn tone.

"You're not going to find them, because they're both dead."

The words hit her harder than Olaf's troll hammer.


"Dead?" She squeaked, barely audibly. Her knees buckled and she sank into the plush chair behind her. "Both... dead... how?" She felt dizzy, nauseous. It was as though someone had driven a knife into her gut and were now twisting it for all they were worth.

"Angel," Andrew responded, his voice raspy, "He went against the senior partners at Wolfram and Hart. I, uh... happen to know an... insider there who told me all this." Andrew momentarily averted his gaze, but not quickly enough to hide an unreadable flicker of emotion in his eyes as he said those words. It was only for a split second, but Buffy noticed it nonetheless. Though she decided to shrug it off in light of the devastatin news as Andrew again continued speaking.


"But anyway, the senior partners were evil, corrupt, and they did horrible things. Unmentionable things. Angel wanted to put a stop to it, and he tried to convince them he was on their side, so he could stop things from the inside. But they found out the truth. Spike supported Angel in this, fought alongside him, and they were able to successfully defeat the senior partners, but not without a price."


Andrew gulped as he paused to take another shaky breath, his voice wavering slightly, "So as punishment, the partners raised an army against them, an army of the worst kind. Dragons, monsters, thousands of them..." His voice cracked, "And there were no survivors."


He looked up at Buffy to see how she was taking the news, knowing it wouldn't be easy for her, as it wasn't for him.

But Buffy was again out of her seat in a flash, waving her arms around wildly as she paced the room in an attempt to grasp the situation and absorb all that Andrew had just revealed.


"Angel, Spike, dead? But, they can't be... No, it's not fair!" She declared. "They're not dead, I can't believe that... Spike, he can't be dead! I've only just found out he was alive!" She shook her head emphatically, trying desperately to convince herself it wasn't real and failing miserably. Andrew walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder to try and calm her down, his touch jarring her back into reality.


"Buffy, I'm so sorry." He said.


With that Buffy put her head in her hands and sank to the floor, letting the tears flow freely.


*****


"Bloody hell!"


Spike growled furiously, rubbing his head where a lump seemed to be forming.


He shot a murderous glare at the empty suitcase that had fallen on his head when he tried to get it down from the top shelf of the closet.


"Soddin' luggage." He muttered.


He walked to his bedroom and began emptying his dresser, shoving his clothes haphazardly into the suitcase. He didn't have many belongings, so everything easily fit into the modest suitcase and one small black duffel bag. He zipped the bags with a sigh when he finished packing, and began searching his apartment to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.


When he was satisfied nothing important would be left behind, he glanced at the dusty clock and realized he'd have to get moving as he needed to be at the airport in a little over an hour.


He couldn't fly during the day, unless he felt like spontaneously combusting, and he felt he was over his whole 'turning to dust' phase. Since the flight from LA to Italy was so long, he would be forced to make a pit stop so he could take two different flights and avoid traveling while the sun was up.


Spike pulled on his boots and shrugged into his leather duster, shoved a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and grabbed his bags off the bed. Then he took once last look at his apartment before heading out the door.


'Well, this is it,' He thought, 'Rome, here I come.'


*****


Buffy didn't know what day it was, didn't know how long her sorrow had kept her confined to her bedroom, hidden under the covers as she cried. She knew it was the weekend now, and that Dawn would be spending the night over at her friend's house.


Dawn had asked her what was wrong, obviously concerned for her older sister's well being, but Buffy assured her she'd be fine, that she just needed a little time, and then she'd explain everything to her. She'd only spoken to Andrew briefly since he told her the devastating news, and she recalled that he was supposed to stop by sometime today, though she didn't know exactly when.


So she was left alone to wallow in her misery, only getting up to shower and go to the bathroom, food the farthest thing from her mind.


The two men whom, she'd come to realize, she had loved most in her life were dead. One who she'd already thought was dead only to find out he'd been alive the whole time, immediately followed by the revelation that he had died again. It was all just too much to take, the emotions completely overwhelming and brutal, like a punch to the gut. Only a simple punch didn't hurt nearly this badly, or for this long.


She loved Angel, and a part of her always would. He was her first love, the man she'd lost her virginity to, and he'd always have a piece of her heart. But it took his returning to Sunnydale right before the battle with the First to realize she was no longer in love with him. They had gone down separate paths in life, had grown apart and moved on, and it was in that moment when she realized with gut certainty her heart belonged to someone else.


Spike.


He was the one she'd wanted to be with. Why had it taken her so long to finally realize that?


'Because you were afraid of being hurt again, of opening your heart only to have it trampled on,'

Though she knew now that was only a part of it. With all that had been going on during that impossibly long year, the only thing she could focus on was being drill sergeant Buffy, to keep things in a strict order so they could successfully defeat the First Evil. It was as though she didn't have time for love, nor was she willing to make time for it, for a myriad of reasons she couldn't even begin to contemplate. Maybe it was partially due to the fear that she would get hurt, or maybe she feared that she would hurt others more through the callousness that her years as the slayer had bestowed upon her. But whatever the case, it had been a weakness that kept her from admitting her true feelings for Spike until it was too late, and she inwardly cursed herself for it.


Buffy didn't even know what time of day it was, and couldn't care less. Everything seemed to bleed together, and time seemed to be a foreign concept as
a myriad of "what ifs" and "why's" tormented her incessantly, plaguing her mind.

What might have been.


When her crying subsided, Buffy would periodically drift into a restless sleep, her emotions draining her of all energy.


Just as Buffy felt herself nodding off again, she heard a knock on the door.


She opened one eye and groaned.


'Why does Andrew have to show up at the most inopportune times,' She thought bitterly, praying he had no more bad news to reveal. She couldn't take it.

Reluctantly dragging herself out of bed, she absentmindedly smoothed down her hair and dried her eyes on her sleeve as she shuffled to the door.


"You know Andrew," She said as she swung open the door, "I really hope you don't have anymore news, because I really don't think I could handle it right..."


She immediately stopped, the last word caught in her throat when she saw that the person on the other side of the door wasn't Andrew. For a moment, she found it difficult to remember how to breath as she took in the sight before her.


"Hello, luv."


But it couldn't be, he had died! Twice! It must have been a mere figment of her hopeful imagination, since there was no way it could be who she thought it was standing in her doorway. But there was no mistaking that softly accented voice, the platinum hair, the cheekbones that jutted out under pale skin and were so sharply prounounced they looked like they could cut glass.

Buffy stood in shock, gaping and frozen in place.


"Aren't you going to invite me in, pet?"


"C, come in," Buffy stammered, startled by her own voice that seemed to float disembodied in the air.


This just couldn't be happening. It had to be a dream, an illusion.


"Spike?" She whispered incredulously, still thoroughly convinced her eyes were deceiving her, "Are you real?"


But she hit the floor before she ever heard a response.


*****


Buffy's eyes slowly flickered open, adjusting to the darkness as she struggled to recall where she was. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in her surroundings as the moonlight streamed through the window and casted eerie shadows on the walls. She could vaguely make out the outline of a dresser against the far wall, and she realized she was in her own room. But there was something in the back of her mind, an unsettling feeling that something wasn't quite right, something was different... She could feel it, but couldn't quite put her finger on it.


She tried to remember exactly how or when she had come to be in her room. Her mind frantically grasped at the events of her day as she pulled herself to a sitting position in bed.


'Let's see' She recounted, 'I cried, talked to Dawn, showered, cried again, slept, waited for Andrew to arrive, cried and went to sleep again, Spike showed up at my door...'


Now where did that come from?


It was then Buffy remembered. Her eyes went wide as she pictured him standing in her doorway before the world faded to black around her.


But now he wasn't in the room with her. Where was he?


'Please let it be real...'


Buffy's thoughts grew increasingly panicked as she jumped out of bed and dashed down the stairs, taking two at a time as graceful and soundlessly as a cat.


'Ohgodohgodohgodohdgodoh...'


When Buffy emerged in her living room she stopped short and drew in a sharp breath as her eyes fell on a dark form huddled on her leather couch. She crept closer, and her heart almost stopped as his face came into clear view. He was fast asleep, his features peaceful and almost angelic in the pale moonlight that streamed through the parted curtains, accentuating the shadows of his defined cheekbones. His eyelids twitched slightly as he seemed to be unconsciously aware of a presence near him.


His lean body, all clad in his characteristic black, was sprawled out casually across the couch, one leg hanging slightly off the edge. His black Doc Martens were strewn off to the side, his duster draped across the back of the couch. She was close enough to catch a whiff of that familiar and oh-so-welcome smell of leather, smoke, and some slightly spicy cologne.


'Spike smell.' Buffy thought fondly.


'Oh God, it's really him! Spike isn't dead!'


As Buffy's mind struggled to process these thoughts, her body unconsciously moved nearer to him, not wanting to wake him but desperate to prove to herself that this was really happening. It all seemed too surreal.

She knelt in front of the couch and noticed his body stiffen slightly. He could sense someone in the room now, though he was still caught somewhere in the stages between sleep and wake. Buffy paused to study him from a closer angle, noting that he was still just as inexplicably gorgeous as she remembered, down to every perfect contour, the ever present eyebrow scar standing out as though defiant of falling in line with the norm, much like Spike himself. Buffy opened her mouth to speak but her voice refused to cooperate, coming out as a barely audible squeak. Pausing briefly, she let out a breath and tried once more.


"Spike".... She whispered simply, softly.


His eyelids instantly flew open, taking a mere second to adjust to the darkness before locking his gaze with Buffy's and suddenly, she was staring into the eyes of the person she'd thought she had lost forever. Those impossibly clear, expressive blue eyes that could convey so much with one glance.

It was a long while before either of them spoke.


"Spike," Buffy finally said, again just barely above a whisper. "Are you really here?"


"I'm really here, pet." Spike's voice was husky, still thick with sleep.


She reached out a small hand to touch his face, feeling soft skin beneath the pads of her fingers. She took her time, reacquainting herself with every contour, lightly tracing the scar on his brow, just one of those sexy imperfections that made him unique, made him Spike. Spike watched with fascination as her eyes drank him in, looking far away and dreamy. He closed his eyes and shivered slightly under her gentle touch, her small fingers brushing across his face and leaving a trail of warmth that sent tingles up and down his spine.


Buffy withdrew her hand, finally satisfied, and Spike's eyes fluttered open. He was really there, she could feel him, touch him, smell him. She clasped a hand to her mouth as she let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a strangled sob, though it caught in her throat and came out sounding more like a hiccup. "Oh..." was all she could muster before she burst into tears, shudders coursing through her frail body and salty drops streaming down her cheeks as she buried her head in her hands. Spike sat up, instantly concerned but unsure of how to comfort her, finally opting to stroke her golden hair gently and whisper soothing words.


"Shh, Buffy, I'm here. It's OK, pet." He fell silent, his hand still lightly touching her hair as her cries subsided, and when she finally composed herself and lifted her head to look at him once again, his eyes filled with concern.


"I'm ok," Buffy quietly assured him, using her sleeve to dry the moisture on her cheeks. "These past few days have been a sort of emotional rollercoaster." Suddenly, she began talking at warp speed, almost as though she were afraid he would disappear if she didn't finish quickly enough. "Spike, it's just, how did you...Why didn't you... Spike, I thought you were dead, and then I found out... Andrew told me you were alive, but then you were dead again, and I, I just wanted..." She sputtered incoherently.


"Shh" Spike interrupted softly. Testing the waters, he touched a gentle hand to her face, pleased when she didn't move away from him. "We'll have plenty of time to talk about this in the morning. I'll tell you everything, I promise. But right now you need to rest. You look like Hell, Slayer." He smirked at her.


"Gee, thanks," Buffy mumbled, a watery smile playing on her lips. She stood slowly, reluctant to leave the room. Though when she was about to walk back up the stairs, she spun around, once again meeting his gaze.


"Spike?" Her voice was hoarse, thick with emotion.


"Yeah, pet?"


She drew in a breath. "So, you'll be here tomorrow? You're not going anywhere, right? Please promise me you won't disappear." Her voice cracked slightly, growing lower as she bowed her head. "Because I don't think I could handle it. God, if this were all just a dream... I just don't think I could take it, not anymore. Not after..." She bit her lip, waiting for a response.


Spike stared at her, slightly taken aback and swallowing hard, not knowing quite what to make of what she'd just said.

"Buffy, look at me."


She did.


"I promise you that this is real. I'll be here tomorrow, and we'll say everything we've been wanting to say... I'm not going anywhere, I swear it, or else you have my permission to put a stake in my heart."


"I'm gonna hold you to that one." Buffy said, smiling genuinely.


But before leaving the room, she suddenly remembered she had reason to be angry with him. "And by the way, you're an assehole," She said as an afterthought.


Spike did a double take, eyebrows raised.


"I'm a what?"


"You heard me," Buffy quipped. "And you better believe I'm gonna kick your ass tomorrow for not telling me you were alive in the first place." Spike didn't know how to respond. At first he was set to laugh, thinking she might have been joking, but one look in her eyes told him otherwise.


Buffy yawned. "But I'm too tired tonight." She continued, "Mostly because I've been staying up crying over you, you... shirty, blond... vampire assehole!" Now Spike couldn't hold back his amusement, letting a smirk play on his lips.

In an urge to wipe the smug look off his face, Buffy picked up the nearest thing she could find, which happened to be one of her own boots lying carelessly on the floor, and chucked it at him as hard as she could, hitting him square in the chest. Spike stumbled back a few steps, completely stunned.


"Buggerin' hell, slayer! That damn well hurt!" He exclaimed, rubbing his throbbing chest in indignation. Buffy gave a small, satisfactory smile.


"You deserved it, and you know it." She stated matter of factly. "And don't think you're off the hook yet," Spike raised his head to look at her, and she met his gaze with fire in her eyes, "We haven't even begun to dance... William." With those words, she spun on her heel and disappeared up the stars, leaving a somewhat flabbergasted Spike in her wake.


Ever so slowly, a grin spread across his face, growing wider with each passing second.


"Well," He thought aloud, "My slayer certainly hasn't lost that fire of hers. No doubt about that."


Anticipating what the next day would bring, Spike flopped back down on the couch and settled in for the remainder of the night, the grin never leaving his face.