Chapter 2

"There’s no way to tell which portal opened." Willow put a hand across her eyes and groaned in exasperation. "There are a gazillion dimensions. Glory could have picked any one of them as the starter dimension to seed the others. I am not a miracle worker, Xander! I can’t tell which one she used!"

"There could be resid..." Anya began, then jumped as Xander slammed his hands down on the table.

The lone customer paying Giles for a book at the counter turned his head to stare and looked as if he regretted having entered the Magic Box.

"We’ve got to do something, Will!" Xander shouted. "It’s been three days! Anything could be happening to Buffy!"

"What do you want me to do? I’ve tried everything! Every spell I can think of. But I can’t find any way to pinpoint which dimension it is."

"It’s okay, sweetie." Tara kneaded Willow’s shoulders. Willow was so tense she vibrated under Tara’s hands. "We’ll find a way. Just take a deep breath and relax."

"She doesn’t have time to relax," Xander snapped. "Buffy could be dead right now!"

"Well, if she is, it’s too late to do anything about it," said Anya, then looked honestly surprised when everybody glared at her. "What?"

"She’s not dead," said Xander flatly.

"Well, if you want to turn a blind eye to the facts. I mean, there are all sort of dimensions. Some don’t have a breathable atmosphere. Some portals open into space and some open onto water worlds with no land anywhere, just ocean..."

"Anya!"

Anya tipped her head thoughtfully to one side and considered. "Can a Slayer swim continuously for three days? What if she just floated on her back? How long could she stay afloat then, do you think?"

Xander slapped his forehead. "Anya, for God’s sake! Do you have to be such a ditz?"

Anya looked hurt. "I was just trying to be helpful. As I was saying before, there could be resid..."

"Why can’t you just open portals at random?" Xander asked Willow. "You could open them and we could take a look and..."

"Gee, why didn’t I think of that? It only takes hours of really heavy spellcasting to open even one portal and since there are an infinite number of dimensions, we should get around to the right one in, oh, shall we say...a million years?" Willow screamed the last three words at him.

Xander fell back in his chair, stunned at the violence of her reaction, and Tara bent to put her arms around Willow’s shoulders.

"Hush, baby. Just breathe. Xander, stop it. You’re not helping."

"Tara’s quite right," said Giles, coming back to the table after ushering the bewildered customer out of the shop door. "Xander, getting hysterical and putting pressure on Willow is pointless. We need to stay calm and work out a logical way to attack the problem. If only we could find anyone who knew what spell she was using. One of her minions, for instance."

"All the little hobbits with leprosy are gone," said Anya. "Without Glory holding them here, they must have reverted back to their own dimension. And those brainsucked people don’t have a clue."

"Tara helped me look through that penthouse apartment of hers," said Willow, calming herself with an effort. "I was hoping she’d left some notes or something. We searched every inch. Tara even helped me get down that huge painting by Tamara de Lempicka that she had on the wall, just in case there was something behind there. Nada."

"It’s a pity that tower collapsed," Anya said regretfully. "If we could have gotten even a little bit closer to where the portal was, we might have been able to detect some sort of trace elemen..."

"Well, we can’t get up there without the tower, can we?" snapped Xander, out of patience.

Tara looked up suddenly. "Trace elements. Was that what you were going to say, Anya?"

Anya smiled widely, glad that someone was listening to her. "That’s right."

"Oh, Christ," sighed Xander. "Like she knows what she’s talking about."

"You know something, Xander? I’m sick of hearing you blow her off like that all the time." Tara looked really angry. Giles looked up, surprised, and Willow sat up slowly, her eyes widening. "Anya’s an ex-demon with a thousand years experience behind her. Even if she’s human now, she still knows more about dimensions and magic than Willow or I ever will. I just realized...Anya, you’ve been trying to say something for the last three days, haven’t you?"

Anya nodded, pleased. "Every spell leaves a residual trace. There was a lot of energy crackling around that portal. It would leave a...a kind of signature. And if I could just get close enough, I might be able to tell what it is. I’m not a demon any longer, but I can still sense magics."

"Oh, dear Lord." Giles had his head in his hands. "Here we were, all of us yelling and shouting our useless opinions and there in the corner the still, small voice that we couldn’t be bothered listening to."

Anya looked taken aback. "I’m sorry..."

"Not your fault. Not your fault," said Giles heavily. "It’s ours, for ignoring you."

"Yeah, but how are we gonna get her up there?" demanded Xander, waving that aside impatiently.

"I was thinking, maybe we could rent a...a cherrypicker or a...a crane or something," said Anya hesitantly. "I know it would be expensive, but..."

"The Council of Watchers can pay for it," Giles said firmly. "They want the Slayer back as much as we do Buffy."

"And don’t forget Spike," added Anya.

"Oh, let’s forget Spike," Xander groaned. "Why do we have to bring him back too? Can’t we just leave him there?"

"No, we can’t." Tara was upset. "That’s not right. He helped us so much. And he saved Dawn..."

"Buffy saved Dawn. Look. Giles agrees with me." Xander nodded at Giles who was indeed looking thoughtful.

All three women were frowning.

"We can’t take the chance," Willow said decisively. "They went together. They’ve got to come back together. Who knows if the portal will work properly if only one of them tries to get through? We may not have more than one shot at opening the portal and I don’t want to mess with any of the factors involved."

"Damn!" said Xander with feeling.

***

"Twelve days," said Buffy. "You’d think they’d have found us by now."

"All sorts of things could be happening. Don’t give up hope, pet."

"What’ll we do if they never find us?"

"Build a bigger shelter. Log cabin or something. Start collecting and smoking food for winter. It’s autumn here. Look at the color in the leaves. Wouldn’t start looking for civilization now. Might get caught without food or shelter. I’d camp out here until spring. Start looking then. The Scoobies might find us by spring. If they don’t by then, well, they’re never going to."

"It’s not such a bad dimension," she agreed. "Wouldn’t be that terrible being stuck here. Still, there are a few things I’d like. Soap, for instance. Taking a bath in plain water from the stream is fine, but soap would be so appreciated."

He grinned. "Could make you some, pet, if we’re gonna be here a long time. It takes work and a lot of time, but it’s not hard."

Her brows rose. "You’re kidding. What would you make it out of?"

"Animal fat and campfire ashes. What, did you think the pioneers could afford fancy store-bought soap? They made their own."

She gave him a totally disbelieving look. "Come on, Spike."

"‘M serious. You pack down campfire ashes into a pot with a hole in the bottom and pour water through it. You get this brown lye-water. You boil that down to concentrate it. Then you cut up animal fat, any kind will do. Pig fat, for instance." He raised his eyebrows at her. "You boil that into goo. Then you put the two things together and boil them until they turn into soap. And then you pour that into a mold and leave it alone for a day. It takes hours and the lye can burn you if you’re not careful, but it works. You can use the soap right away if you like, but it’s soft. If you want hard soap, you let it cure for a couple of weeks, then cut it into chunks."

He grinned at her as she sat with her jaw hanging.

"It’s easy. But it takes a lot of time and a lot of wood. Soap-making day was a big day for the homesteaders in the Old West. Third World countries still make it that way."

Buffy shook her head. "How do you know these things?"

He gave her a pointed look. "I read."

She hit his shoulder and he laughed. She leaned back into the curve of his arm as they sat resting comfortably against the dead log. They had just finished a sparring match and were taking it easy for the rest of the afternoon. He had her doing the kicks and leaps now, and she believed him when he said she was right back up to par.

"I’m glad you’re with me, Spike."

He turned his head a little to brush his lips against her temple. "Glad I’m with you too, pet. Would have gone crazy being on the other side of the portal and not knowing what’s happening to you."

It had been a good twelve days for Spike. Spending twenty-four hours a day with her, talking, laughing, getting to know each other. He hoped she wouldn’t forget all this when she got her memory back. She had never bothered to know anything about him before. He was the enemy or at best the irritating and untrustworthy semi-adversary, neither friend nor foe. There was no place for him in the black and white world she and the Scoobies chose to believe in, no place for grays, and so she shut him out. But the world was made up of grays, if she would only look at it.

Angel had done this to her. Angel without a soul had become Angelus, the vicious killer incapable of love. To admit that Spike could love her without a soul was to admit that there was something wrong with Angel. Easier to accept the party line of the Council of Watchers—that when a person became a vampire, his personality disappeared and a demon took his place. The soul went, yes, but the personality stayed and merged with the demon; and it was the strength of that personality which dictated which one was uppermost. And even demons could love—in violent, twisted ways perhaps, not wisely but quite well, as even Drusilla had tried to tell her. Even Dru, warped and twisted by Angelus as she had been, had loved to the limited extent that her warping permitted.

With Buffy’s memory gone, the harsh legacy of Angelus was also gone. She was seeing Spike fresh, without the baggage of the past, and he just prayed that when her memory came back, a little, just a little, of what she was seeing now would remain.

"Thank you for giving me space," Buffy said, her head on his shoulder.

"Couldn’t do anything else," he said, stroking her hair lightly with his fingertips.

He had found that out. Oh, he wanted her, wanted her so bad that it was an ache in his gut. But what he really wanted was for her to care for him. He could do without sex, had done all those months that Dru was sick. It was being with the loved one that was important. He was used to not having things. There had been so many things he had wanted with Dru that he had never been able to have because of her fixation on Angelus.

Caring was what mattered. The tiniest crumb of caring was all he had ever asked of Buffy. And here he was getting so much more than that. It might be only half a loaf, but even so it was precious to him.

Oh, there was this heat between them. They both felt that. If he wanted to push for it, he could have seduced her, could have talked her into bed. They both knew it. But, with her memory gone, that would have been a betrayal of what was slowly growing between them. If she had come to him, he wouldn’t have been able to hold out. No one, demon or not, could have held out under that much of a temptation. But so far she hadn’t and he didn’t know whether to be relieved or sorry.

So he slept on the second bed of pine boughs that he had made under a tree well away from the lean-to, and didn’t try to push things or take advantage, and kicked himself for a wanker the whole time.

But he was happy.

"Spike!" Buffy suddenly jerked bolt upright.

"What!" He jolted upright too, staring around automatically for whatever danger she might have seen.

"Look! There!"

She was pointing to where the wreckage of the platform lay. He swung around. Just beside the wreckage, a thin, burning line was beginning to form in the air.

"Oh, Christ! It’s a portal! They’ve found us. Slayer! Go!"

Buffy leaped to her feet and ran towards the widening portal, then realized that Spike was not with her.

"Spike!"

He was racing towards the lean-to.

"Spike, come on!"

A turmoil of blazing white light and heavy wind was blasting out of the portal. In the middle of it, she could just barely make out a form—a red-haired woman waving a hand urgently and shouting something that she couldn’t hear over the howl of the wind.

"Spike!"

"Slayer, go!" He snatched his duster out of the lean-to, then came running towards her.

"Not without you!"

It was just like him to make a detour to grab his duster, Buffy thought, somewhere between amusement and exasperation. She held out a hand urgently to him, the same way that the red-haired woman in the portal was holding out a hand to her. She waited until he caught her hand and only then whirled and reached for the redhead.

The redhead caught her wrist with both hands and hauled. Buffy struggled against the raging wind, then fell through the portal. There was a brief moment of wrenching disorientation and then she was no longer in the clearing. She was standing in a strange room that looked like a store, with shelves and counters all around, and all these strangers were grabbing at her and shouting things at her.

Six different voices were yelling, "Buffy, are you all right?"

"I’m fine. I..."

Her head was spinning. She struggled, bewildered and frightened, as they pulled her about and hugged her and spun her from one person to the other. These must be the Scoobies that Spike had told her about. There was an older man with glasses, and the redhead, and a woman with mouse brown hair and sweet eyes, and a very pretty blonde, and a teenager who was crying, and a loud guy with black hair. They all kept talking and pulling at her and jerking her around. She felt suffocated—by them, by her surroundings. She looked around desperately for one familiar point in all this strangeness and found it in Spike, standing beside a counter some distance away, calmly pulling on his duster.

"Spike!"

He looked up at once at the panic in her voice and started to come quickly towards her, then was shoved backwards by the black-haired guy.

"Where d’you think you’re going, Deadboy?"

"Buffy needs me."

"Get a grip. Buffy doesn’t need you. She never needs you, Evil Dead."

"Let me go, lackbrain! Can’t you see she needs help?"

Buffy struck away the hands pulling at her and fled towards Spike. He shoved the black-haired guy away so hard that the guy tripped and fell against the counter. Freed, he reached towards her. She grabbed the lapels of his duster and clung to him. He was the only thing that made sense in this confusion around her.

His arms came around her. "It’s all right. It’s all right, pet. Just breathe. These are your friends. Just give her some space, will you?" he said angrily to the others. "This is all strange to her."

"What the hell is going on? Get away from her, Spike!" The black-haired man grabbed for her and she jerked away.

"Back off, Harris!" Spike jolted him away with one straight arm and the guy stumbled and nearly fell. "Look, she doesn’t know you, okay? She just needs a little breathing space. Just give her a minute here, will you?"

"What have you done to her, you evil..."

"She’s got amnesia. Something happened when she fell through the portal the first time. She doesn’t know who she is. Doesn’t remember any of you."

There was a lot of exclamations and shouting. Buffy pressed her hands to her ears. There was too much noise and confusion. She leaned against Spike, her eyes closed to shut out the world, deeply grateful for his presence and the reliability of his support.

"For once, will you think of her instead of yourselves?" he snarled at them. "Just shut the hell up, all of you! She needs quiet."

A grudging silence fell. She dropped her hands and opened her eyes warily. They were all staring at her, all these strange faces. She flinched and pressed closer to Spike, then managed to turn a little and look back at them.

"Right then," said Spike. "The noisy moron on the left here is Xander. Guy beside him is Rupert Giles, your Watcher. Redhead’s Willow. Next to her, Tara, then Anya, then..."

"Dawn," she whispered.

"That’s right," said Spike with satisfaction. His arms fell away as she reached out towards her sister.

"Dawnie..."

Dawn ran into her arms, crying, and they hugged tightly.

"It’ll come back," Spike was saying to the others. "Just give her a little time. It’ll all come back now that she’s in familiar surroundings. She knows who Dawn is already. She remembers how to fight, though I wouldn’t make her patrol for a few days. I’ll do patrol until she’s up to par. But she does know how to fight. That came back. We’ve been sparring these last twelve days."

"Twelve days?" Giles said sharply. "It’s only been four days since the two of you fell through Glory’s portal. We wasted a couple of days trying to find the right one. Anya managed to identify it today and we opened it right away."

"Time went three times faster there then," Spike conjectured. "It was twelve days for us."

"And Buffy had amnesia the whole time. So you’re the only person she really knows."

"And you took advantage of that, didn’t you?" Xander said slowly. He reached for a stake.

"He didn’t lay a finger on me!" exclaimed Buffy angrily and struck the stake from Xander’s hand. He gasped and jerked back in pain. She hadn’t pulled the blow. She had hit his wrist deliberately hard to underline her point. "Spike was a perfect gentleman. You leave him alone. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be here. I’d have wandered off and got lost and probably died in those woods. He helped me. Got food for me and fire and shelter. He took care of me. I’m not going to let you hurt him!"

"There are other ways of taking advantage," said Giles quietly. "Still. Why don’t we wait until Buffy has her memory back? Then, if she thinks Spike needs to be staked, she can do it herself."

"I’ll be looking forward to that," muttered Xander sulkily.

"Why don’t we go home, Buffy?" Dawn said tentatively. "You’re probably hungry and you’ll want to change your clothes."

"Yeah," Buffy sighed. "I’ll have to trash these. Nothing’s going to get the dirt and pine needles out of them. And I’m going to have a bath. A long one, with shampoos and fragrances and soap!" She grinned at Spike who grinned back.

"It’s Saturday. Willow and Tara have been staying with me while you were gone. We could have a girl’s night," suggested Dawn hopefully. "With ice cream and movies and stuff. And we could answer any questions you have."

"Okay," said Buffy, but gave Spike a troubled look.

He knew that she wanted him to stay with her, but he also knew that the Scoobies would raise holy hell about that. The last thing she needed right now was fuss and argument.

"Don’t need me now," he said lightly and ignored Xander’s automatic "She never needs you, Deadboy." He headed for the stairs to the basement of the Magic Box and the access to the sewers there. "See you later then."

He said it carelessly, throwing it casually over his shoulder as he went, so that the Scoobies wouldn’t think twice about it. But the slight tilt of his scarred eyebrow told Buffy that it was a promise and she relaxed.

Sure enough, the moment Willow and Tara left that night, returning to their dorm now that Buffy was back, Spike turned up at the back door. She saw the familiar black duster and white-blonde hair glinting silver in the moonlight and ran to let him in.

"Oh, thank God." She put her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

"How are you coping, luv?" he asked, rubbing her back comfortingly.

"Everything’s so strange. I know this is supposed to be my home and these are people I’m supposed to know and I can see they’re my friends, but...but...all I feel is that they’re strangers, even Dawn. I wish you could stay. I know you. I’m comfortable with you."

"They’d have a cow."

"Dawn wouldn’t."

"No, Dawn’s got sense." He pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen table and settled her into it. "But Dawn’s just a kid. The rest of them, they wouldn’t listen to her. Or to me. Or even to you, as long as you have this memory loss."

"I know. The Scoobies have been in and out of here most of this evening. And, except for Tara and Dawn, all of them treat me like I’ve gone completely 404. Especially Giles and Xander. I’ve just lost some of my memories, but they act as if I’ve lost all of my brains. They keep telling me what to do, ordering me about."

"Possessive, the lot of them," Spike nodded. "Noticed that even before. Think they know what’s best for you. Always tried to tell you how to think. Never dared try to tell you how to act before. You’d have given them hell. Now with the memory loss putting you at a disadvantage, they might try to push it, all for your own good, of course."

"I’ll give them my own good," Buffy muttered resentfully.

"No, don’t. Right now you’re vulnerable. Don’t know what they might try to pull on you. All for the best," he said sarcastically. "Never trusted anyone who says they’re doing something for someone else’s own good. Usually it’s just because they want power over that person. Otherwise why can’t they trust that person to make his own decisions? I mean, he’s the one who should know best, right? Maybe it’s because I’m evil, but I’ve never trusted altruistic motives."

"You say you’re evil, but so far, you’re the least evil person I’ve seen around here," Buffy growled, then grinned when he pulled a mock-offended face. "Well, except for Dawn and Tara."

"Talk about being damned with faint praise. Anybody would be more evil than that pair of fluffy kittens." They grinned at each other. "But seriously. Gotta keep a low profile, pet. At least until you get your memory back."

"How can I tell if what they want me to do is right? They say this and that, and I can’t judge for myself and I don’t trust them. They all seem to have hidden motives of one kind or the other."

"Yeah, I know. And they don’t even admit it to themselves. Tell you what. Ask Tara. She’s true-blue, that girl. She’s got the right instincts and no hidden motives. Or ask me. I haven’t got the right instincts, but I’ll do my best for you. Got only one hidden motive and I think you know what that one is."

She smiled at him. "Yeah, and I think I can deal with that one."

He stroked a lock of her hair delicately. "Can’t be useful to you in the day. Vamps and the sun don’t mix here. If you have a problem during the day, come to my crypt. Can show you where it is right now, if you’re not too tired."

"I’m not too tired. I’d rather be tired, to tell you the truth. I don’t think I’ll sleep well tonight unless I’m exhausted. The house is strange. The bed’s strange. I’d rather be back in the lean-to with the pine boughs." She gave him a rueful smile.

"It’ll get better, pet." He gripped her shoulder lightly, then stood up and went to call up the stairs. "Dawn? I’m gonna give Buffy a tour of the town. Will you be okay alone for a hour?"

"I’ll be fine," Dawn called back. She came and leaned on the banisters. "Take your time. Don’t see why Giles and Xander are causing such a fuss. I know Buffy’s safe with you, Spike. They’ve got their heads up their..."

"Dawn!" exclaimed both Buffy and Spike at the same time and she giggled unrepentantly before disappearing back into her room.

"Fourteen-year-olds," muttered Buffy and Spike grinned.

"Has a point though."

"Doesn’t have to express it quite that way. Are you serious about giving me a tour of Sunnydale?"

"Yeah. The more you know, the more normal you act, the less excuse they’ll have to hassle you."

Buffy locked the front door after them, then stared at the black DeSoto that was parked at the curb.

"Whoa. How old is that thing?"

"Hey! This is a classic."

"Uh huh. Why are the windows painted over?"

"So I can drive during the day. This side, Slayer." He held the passenger door open. "I’ve seen you drive and you’re not getting your hands on my baby."

"Am I that bad?"

"Worse." He started the car. "Roll the window down, pet, and you’ll get a good view."

They quartered the town slowly, he showing her all the places that she might need to know and making sure she knew exactly where they were in relation to her own house. After a while she noticed that the discussion had all the marks of a military briefing: this route for offence if such and such a thing happened, that for defence, here a bolthole if a dive for cover was required.

"Are you always this thorough?" she asked, impressed.

"Been in Sunnyhell several years now. Know it pretty well. But, yeah, I usually scope things out when I come into any town. When everyone’s after your hide—and if you’re a vampire, everyone is— these are the things you need to know to keep yourself undusted."

"Do all vampires do this?"

"A lot don’t. Fledglings can be stupid. Those pay the penalty. Aren’t many vamps like me, over a hundred years old. Reason I’m still around after hundred and twenty years is because I’m careful about things like this." He grinned at her. "‘M reckless in a lot of things. Like it that way. But not with this."

They were back at Revello Drive by now but, instead of stopping, he drove slowly to Restfield cemetery so that she would know how to get there from her house.

"Show you the sewer system tomorrow night," he said after he had hidden the DeSoto in its usual place and they were winding their way on foot through the cemetery. "Might be useful for you to know."

The back of her neck tingled suddenly and she rubbed at it, startled.

"Vamp." Spike flicked his cigarette away. "Do you see him, pet?"

She did: a scruffy-looking individual moving through the gravestones. Spike started to move forward, then stopped, grinning at her.

"Wanna have a go, Slayer?"

"I..."

"Just like when we’re sparring. Except..." He held out a stake. "The object this time is to shove the pointy end of this through his heart."

She took the stake doubtfully. "I don’t know if..."

"Be right behind you if you need me, pet. But you won’t."

It was nothing like any sparring match she had ever had with Spike. She stepped forward into the moonlight. The vamp took one look at her and flung himself at her, snarling. She struck his claws away, ducked, then slammed the stake right through his heart. It took all of five seconds. She stood with her mouth open while he turned to dust and vanished.

"But...But..."

Spike strolled up to her, grinning.

"But it was so easy," she said incredulously.

"Well, yeah."

"But when we spar..."

"You’ve been sparring with the best there is, pet," he said smugly. "Not going to find many my caliber. They’re all gonna be easy after me."

She gave him a look. "Ego much?"

But he was right. After all the difficult moves they had gone through while sparring, this had been ridiculously simple.

"And you’re better than me, Slayer."

Her confidence had taken a tremendous leap forward.

"Hey, I might really be able to do this," she said in wonder.

"Sure you can. C’mon, my crypt’s this way."

She was amused at the way he had converted the crypt to his own uses. It had everything that he would need, all cleverly set up. He showed her the trapdoor towards the back.

"If you ever need a bolthole in this area, go down there, pull the trap down and lock it." He showed her the latch that he had installed. "There’s an access to the sewers along here. See it? You can get out that way if you need to."

"You’ve thought of everything. It’s nice down here."

The downstairs was cozy, with its big bed, rugs, candles, books. She bent over a carton half-filled with LPs: Sex Pistols, The Ramones, Lou Reed, The Clash, Iggy Pop, but also German Cabaret music from the thirties, music from Woodstock, Piaf, early experimental jazz...

"The soundtrack of my life," he said wryly.

"Why don’t you get CDs?"

"Dunno." He ran his fingertips lightly and affectionately over a cardboard sleeve. "Kind of used to the pops and the crackles. They’re almost part of the music, had ‘em so long. CDs would clean all of that up and I’d miss them."

"Part of your history."

"Yeah." He gave her a rueful, embarrassed smile.

"Wait a minute," she said suddenly, looking at the shelves. There were LPs there too, but he had been clearly taking them off the shelves and placing them into the cartons. There were holes in the rows of books too. "You’re packing! Are you leaving?"

"Not leaving," he said quickly. "Thing is, we’ve got a problem. Wanted to talk to you about it, but wanted to be safe here where no one could hear before I told you about it."

She sat down, tailor-fashion, on one of the rugs. "What’s wrong?"

He didn’t sit down beside her, kept pacing restlessly around the room.

"Just packing the things I care about. Don’t want them to get busted up. Gonna take ‘em over to a friend of mine. Demon called Clem. You won’t know him. Harmless. He’ll take care of them for me for a while."

"Spike. Get to the point."

He turned to face her and drew a deep breath. "Chip doesn’t work any more."

"What!"

"Remember when I shoved Xander in the Magic Box? Shoved him twice. Shouldn’t have been able to do that. Chip should have fired each time. Didn’t."

"Oh, God." The implications rattled her. "What happened?"

"I’ve been thinking about that. The lightning that hit me before we fell through the portal? It must have fried the chip. Chip’s dead. Doesn’t work any more."

"Oh, wow."

"Gonna stake me, Slayer?"

She should. She knew that. He was one of the most dangerous vampires around. He had told her so himself. She looked up at the strain on his face. She didn’t want to stake him.

"Are you going to eat people?"

He shook his head. "No. Swear to you."

"Must be one hell of a temptation. Fresh blood. Human blood. Human...life. Didn’t you say that’s what really nourishes?"

"Bagged it this long. Can go on doing that. Conflict of interest for you, Slayer, if I went around snacking on people. Understand that."

"You’d do that for me?"

"Yes." His face was intense, completely sincere. "Don’t want to hurt you, Slayer. Not in any way."

"All right," she said quietly. Over the last twelve days she had gotten to know him very well and she knew when he was telling her the truth.

"You’ll know if I start to feed. If I do, you stake me. Yeah?"

"Yeah." She reached out to him and they shook hands solemnly. "Deal."

He let out a little breath of relief and sat down on the foot of the bed. She leaned back beside him, her elbow on the mattress.

"What would you have done if I’d reached for a stake?" she asked.

"Run." He gave her a wry smile. "I was all set for it. Couldn’t have fought you, Slayer. Not for real."

She touched his knee lightly, then glanced at the boxes. "Why are you packing?"

"Gonna move out. Just temporarily. Scoobies know where I live. They haven’t clued in to what happened at the Magic Box. But they might. And if they do, Xander or Giles would be here in full peasants-with-stakes-and-torches mode. I’d have to hurt them, kill them, maybe, just to stay alive. You wouldn’t want that."

"No."

"Gonna find a place to stay they don’t know about. Just temporarily, until we get this all sorted out. I’ll tell you where it is once I find it. Gonna take the things I care about over to Clem’s. It’ll be only a couple of cartons. Leave the rest the way it is so that they don’t know I’ve moved. If they see everything still here, they’ll think I’m at Willie’s or just fooling around somewhere. They’ll stake out this place, won’t go looking anywhere else. Safer that way."

"I wish it didn’t have to be that way," she said sadly. "I wish I could make them understand."

"Tara or Dawn would. But not the others. Tried to kill them often enough before the chip. Tried to kill you. If you had your memory back, maybe you’d want to stake me too."

"God, why do things have to be so complicated? Do you really think I’d try to stake you if I got my memory back?"

"Might. Hope not. Hope you remember all of this."

She looked up at him in surprise. "You mean I could forget what happened in the last twelve days?"

"Could. Started reading up on amnesia today. There’s all sorts of variations. But lots of times— most times, in fact—what happens during the period of amnesia is lost when the actual memory comes back."

She shivered. "God, I hope not! I don’t want to lose the last twelve days." She reached up and laid her palm against his cheek. "I’ve been happy. I want you to know that. I’ve been happy with you."

His hand caught hers and pressed it against his mouth. He swallowed hard.

"Thank you," he said almost under his breath. "That means...a lot to me."

***

"I think it’s time I started patrolling," she said to the Scoobies three or four days later. She had already gone patrolling every night with Spike, but she knew better than to tell them that. Dawn knew, but Dawn wouldn’t mention it.

"Good," said Xander. "Rather have you out there than Spike. Who knows what he might be letting slip by—on purpose."

"Do you have any facts to support that accusation?" Buffy inquired. "Or are you just saying what you would do in his place?"

Xander stared at her. "Why are you defending Spike?"

"He doesn’t seem to be doing anything wrong that I can see. Just helping. And he doesn’t seem to think of things like that. But you do. So I was just wondering."

"Now wait a minute..." began Xander defensively.

"Must be just this pesky memory loss. But you keep saying all these nasty things, Xander. Not only about Spike. About everybody. And then you say, hey, I’m just kidding, can’t you take a joke? But the nasty thing’s still lying out there, sending feelers in all directions." Buffy made a face, then shrugged. "But, hey. Maybe I’m being over-sensitive. Maybe when I get my memory back, it won’t seem like anything at all."

Giles was frowning, and Willow and Tara exchanged glances.

"Anybody else get the idea that maybe Spike’s brainwashed her?" Xander muttered to the others as they followed Buffy down the street to the first cemetery.

Only a couple of demons showed up that night, for which Buffy was thankful, because the Scooby gang was really not that effective on patrol. Willow and Tara threw some useful spells, but the others were pretty much dead weight. She dispatched the two demons with dispassionate efficiency, like chopping down firewood, and was glad to feel the tingle that was Spike’s signature on the edge of her awareness. He was watching them from a distance and would be right with her if anything more dangerous showed.

She found herself getting irritated with the Scoobies’ insistence on hanging around. She didn’t need them. They were only getting in the way and their prejudice against Spike was keeping her from teaming up with him. The two of them made a really effective team. She couldn’t understand why the Scoobies wouldn’t see that.

The next night she said she was going out alone. There was an immediate storm of protest.

"But I didn’t have any trouble yesterday. It was way easy. C’mon, guys! I don’t need memory to chop down demons. You saw that last night. All I need to do is kick the hell out of them."

"Buffy, anything could happen," Giles objected.

"Yeah, so? I’ll deal. I didn’t take the lot of you with me before, did I?"

"No, but..."

She turned and faced them squarely. "Am I your prisoner?"

"Good Heavens, no!" gasped Giles and the others looked appalled.

"Because that’s the way you’re making me feel. Can’t even go to the mall without the bunch of you hanging around. What’s up with that?"

"We didn’t mean..." That was Willow, shooting a guilty glance at Tara who had an ‘I told you so’ look on her face, but was tactfully saying nothing.

"They think you can’t be trusted on your own," said Anya with her customary forthrightness. "Not until your memory comes back."

"Anya!" Xander yelled and everyone else looked horrified.

"I don’t need a babysitter," said Buffy flatly. "You guys are acting as if my IQ has suddenly dropped to my shoe size just because I can’t remember certain things. That’s not the way it works. I do remember how to tie my own shoelaces, people. I can take care of myself. So now I’m going to go on patrol and you all are not coming with me."

"But Spike is," Xander accused suddenly.

Buffy’s brows rose. "What brought that on, Xander? Have I even mentioned the possibility of Spike coming along?"

"You’re thinking it."

She just looked at him. "What is this? Jealousy? Just don’t go there, Xander."

She walked out of the Magic Box and slammed the door after her. She reached the first cemetery and realized that someone was following her. It wasn’t Spike. She could feel his presence ahead of her, not behind. It had to be one of the Scoobies, probably Xander. The bunch of them must have decided to keep an eye on her anyway. She grinned tightly to herself and started to run. She was the Slayer. No one could keep pace with her, except a vampire.

She zipped through that cemetery, crossed Main Street and was sprinting north when the vampire she was expecting caught up with her.

"What’s going on, Slayer?"

"Haven’t done the cemeteries in the north for a while, have we? Told the Scoobies I wanted to patrol on my own. They decided to send a shadow anyway."

"Xander. You’ve lost him, pet. Way back. He was still casting about the first cemetery when I hit Main Street. He’s gonna have a cow when he can’t find you."

"Serves him right," she growled. "Serves them all right. I hate this. They’ve got to learn that I’m not about to be kept on a leash."

He laughed. "I think they’ll be getting the idea." He glanced with a smile at the black tank, track pants and sneakers that she was wearing. "You were expecting to make a run out of it, weren’t you?"

"The way they’ve been acting, I thought they might try something like this."

They fell comfortably into step. The northern cemeteries were small. It didn’t take them long to determine that everything was quiet and the graves undisturbed there. Then they made a quick pass through the town, checking out the trouble spots.

"Want a drink, pet?" Spike asked as they passed the Bronze.

"Why not? I’m thirsty. But just a soft one though."

He gave her an amused glance. "Don’t like the taste of the hard stuff, do you?"

She made a face in agreement as they skirted the dance floor, then pulled her hair out of the scrunchie holding it back and shook it loose. He reached out unthinkingly and ran his fingertips lightly through the golden strands. She smiled.

"You like it loose, don’t you?"

He drew his hand back quickly. "Yeah, I do."

"Wouldn’t it be funny if Xander is still wandering around looking for me and I’m here dancing at the Bronze?"

He grinned involuntarily at the thought. "Technically, you’re not dancing, pet."

"We could correct that." She hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him onto the dance floor.

His hands dropped to her hips and tightened as she moved against him. Then he caught his breath and pulled back sharply.

"Don’t tease, Slayer."

"Sorry." She was laughing, but his eyes were very dark when he looked at her, their pupils dilated.

"Trying to do the right thing here, pet. But what I am is a demon. Push me and you might get something you hadn’t bargained for. Even a human would have trouble, you keep playing games like that."

"Won’t play." She held up a hand in an ‘I swear’ gesture, but her eyes were laughing at him. "Promise."

"Let me see your other hand."

She held that one up as well. "No crossed fingers."

"You’re getting a charge out of this, aren’t you?"

"Kinda funny if you think about it. The demon being more moral than the human."

"Can’t believe myself either," he muttered. He ordered their drinks and shoved hers at her when it came. "Change the subject, for God’s sake."

"Okay. Hey, did you find a place to stay or are you still using the crypt? You never said."

"Oh, yeah, right. Meant to show you where it is. Got it all set up yesterday. Needs only one more thing to finalize it. Take you over there once we finish our drinks."

"What’s it like? Another crypt?"

"No, not this time. Thought I’d get something different. Breaking the pattern, you see, in case the Scoobies start looking for me with blood in their eye. No crypts, no factories. See, there’s this evil law firm..."

"Redundant," muttered Buffy and he grinned.

"All law firms are evil? Well, this one really is. Wolfram and Hart, they’re called. They like demons for clients. One of the things they do is rent out safe houses to demons who want to keep a low profile for one reason or the other. They’ve got a couple in Sunnydale. Expensive, but, hey, it’s only for a while. Just until you get your memory back. Then, either you dust me or you keep the Scoobies off me and I can go back to my crypt."

"What if they still don’t listen?"

"Cross that bridge when we come to it."

The place turned out to be a house clear on the other side of Sunnydale from both his crypt and Revello Drive. It was a perfectly innocuous one storey, suburban bungalow exactly like the others all around it on a perfectly innocuous suburban street.

"It’s got a lot of windows," Buffy remarked. "Do you think people might notice that the windows are curtained all day or will you be sleeping in the basement?"

"Necro-tempered glass. Wolfram and Hart have had vamps for clients before. They know what we need." He paused as he opened the front door to let her in. "Did you keep track of how to get here from your place?"

"Yes."

The place was small, but luxuriously furnished with all the amenities. Buffy looked around with amusement and appreciation.

"Spiffy," she said dryly. "Don’t you wish you could live like this all the time?"

"Don’t really care," he shrugged. "I’ve lived high life and low. Makes no odds which. Got all I need in my crypt. Though that necro-tempered glass is a real plus." He considered that, then shook his head. "Expensive and not necessary. Can do without."

"Are you sure it works?"

"Haven’t tested it out yet, if that’s what you mean. There’s a failsafe. Apparently just a touch of that button over there closes all the curtains."

Buffy went and pushed it. The curtains swished together throughout the house.

"Well, that does seem to work." She scowled at him. "Now keep it that way till morning."

Spike laughed. "Not the trusting sort, are you?"

"Do you really want to take anything an evil law firm tells you in good faith? Rather not see you a big pile of dust when the sun comes up tomorrow morning. Test it first."

"Appreciate the concern, luv." His eyes were soft as he looked at her. "Place is pretty secure. Spells don’t work on it, so Willow for instance won’t be able to suss out where I’m living just by casting a locator spell. But it’s not vamp proof if it’s being rented by a vamp. Needs to be rented by a human before it will keep vamps out. I’d like to put the place in your name, if that’s all right with you."

"Why should vamps come after you?" she asked, puzzled.

"One might. A vamp called Angel. Scoobies might call him in if they find out the chip’s not working and you refuse to dust me. Rather not wake up to find a stake headed at my heart."

She nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just sign these papers. Here and here. Both copies. Wait," he said as she reached for the pen. "Let’s test that out too."

He opened the front door and stepped outside.

"Right. Sign them now."

She did so and he patted at the empty air of the doorway, then smiled.

"Did it work?" she asked dubiously, then gasped as he turned, leaned back dramatically at a forty-five degree angle and stayed there quite comfortably, supported by thin air. "Whoa."

"Like a wall. No vamp can get through unless invited." He straightened up. "Invite me in, luv, and specifically say my name."

"Lean back like that again first," she grinned and he laughed.

"Oh, no, you don’t."

"I’d catch you."

"Sure you would."

She laughed. "Come in, Spike."

He stepped through the doorway and shut the door behind him. "Done. Now as long as you don’t invite any other vamp in, we’re good to go."

He dropped down onto the couch. Buffy kicked off her sneakers and sat down beside him, tucking her feet under her.

"It’s an awful thing to say, but this is the first time I’ve been able to relax since we came back through the portal." She leaned back into the curve of his arm. "I like it here. No one can find us here. No one even knows we’re here. It’s like we’re still in that other dimension."

He looked at her in surprise. "Do you want to be in that other dimension?"

"Yes. I don’t mind being the Slayer. It’s fun kicking demon ass, either alone or with you. And I’m fine when I’m with Dawnie or Tara. They let me be me. It’s the others. They have so many demands and expectations. They keep pushing and prodding at me. Won’t let me alone." She gave him a curious look. "You don’t push. You’re the demon and you...want the most from me. But you don’t push."

"I did, a while back. Tied you up. Tried to get you to say you could care for me."

Her brows rose. "And you’re telling me this why?"

"Thought you should know. Like I said, I can make some awful big mistakes. Don’t really know what’s right or wrong. That was a real going off the rails moment."

"And how’d it work out for you?"

"About how you’d think." He gave her a twisted smile. "Learned my lesson. Not asking for anything from you, yeah? Just want you to be happy."

"You care for me."

His hand came up to brush the side of her face lightly, a delicate, helpless touch. "I care for you, Slayer."

"Do you love me, Spike?"

His throat worked as he swallowed hard. "I love you, Slayer. So much. Don’t have to worry, though. Not going to take advantage..."

She kissed him.

He made a wordless, agonized sound in his throat, then his mouth was painful on hers, devouring her, desperately, despairingly.

"Buffy..."

Then he tore himself away, jerking to his feet, stumbling backwards.

"God, Slayer! Have some mercy. You promised you wouldn’t play games."

"Not playing," she said quietly. She stood up and came to him and took his face in her hands. "Wanted to do this a week ago. Should have."

"Oh, God." His hands caught her wrists, then he froze, wanting to but incapable of pulling her hands away. "You’re not in your right mind. If you had your memory back, you’d never let me touch you."

"Then it’s a good thing I don’t have my memory back. Want you, Spike."

His breath caught. "Oh, Christ. Wanted you for years. Wanted you since the first time I saw you. But...But...Know this is wrong. Going off the rails here."

She leaned against him and felt his whole body shudder against hers. "Don’t care."

"Oh, my girl." His mouth took hers painfully hard. "‘M only a demon," he muttered against her lips. "Can’t be expected to hold out. Even a human couldn’t. Don’t care. Don’t care if you stake me after. Worth it. Buffy, Buffy..."

He was crushing her to him so tightly that she had no breath. But she didn’t need breath. All she needed was his body against hers and his mouth raking down her throat and the way he was looking at her as if there was nothing in the world but her, nothing more precious than her.

Neither of them had time for gentleness. It was all raw hunger, all urgent need, gasping bodies struggling and straining against each other. He was pulling off her tank top and she raised her arms to help him. She hadn’t dressed for seduction, hadn’t intended this to happen, wasn’t wearing anything more sexy than a plain sports bra. He unclasped that and made a painful sound in his throat.

"Oh, God, you’re so beautiful..."

She cried out as his mouth closed on her breast, suckling and licking at her nipple, pressing it to the roof of his mouth. The bra fell away as her arms dropped. She arced to his mouth, holding his head to her breast, her whole body gone liquid, knees turning to water.

"Oh, yes, Spike..."

She was pulling him downwards. They both collapsed, unable to stay upright, ended up sprawled on the carpet, mouths fused together, hands raking over each other’s bodies. He was pushing at her track pants, trying to get them off. She raised her hips to help him, reached for his belt buckle. They struggled, getting in each other’s way. Then her pants were off and she had pulled down his zipper, was pushing his jeans down, reaching for him. He groaned aloud as his cock sprang free into her hands.

"Want you in me, want you in me now, Spike!"

They were both way past the point of foreplay.

"Buffy..."

He grabbed her thigh, pulling it over his hip. And then he was sinking home, shoving into her in one hard thrust.

"Oh, God." She arced against him, clenching upon him, her hands clawing down his back.

He froze for a second, staring down at her, his eyes full of awe and disbelief, unable to believe that he was really taking her. She yanked his head down to hers, kissed him fiercely hard.

"Damn you, Spike! Don’t stop!"

His breath left him in a rush. He gasped against her face, then he was pistoning into her, all control lost, thrusting in all the way and just that little bit further, his hips twisting at the end of every stroke so that he hit every sweet spot in her body with every thrust. They strained against each other, eyes closed in ecstasy, mouths open and panting desperately for breath, driving each other relentlessly higher and higher. It was unendurable, excruciating, and it went on and on and on until she thought she would die from it. It was all too much, too intense, unbearable, and yet she never wanted it to stop.

She felt him pulse within her, fell over the edge herself, her brain whiting out and her heart feeling as if it were going to stop out of pure, insupportable rapture.

She came back to herself to find him heavy upon her, panting into the curve of her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his head, kissed his eye and then the corner of his gasping mouth.

"Oh, God, that was amazing."

"You’re amazing," he breathed and turned his head to look at her. "Never felt so...Nearly blacked out."

He pushed himself up on his elbows, trying to take some of his weight off her. She made a little, purring sound of protest.

"Want your weight. Want all your weight."

"Too heavy..."

"No." She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him, then laughed a little. "Look at us. I’m completely naked and you’re still fully dressed."

Even to his duster, its folds blanketing both of them.

He rolled suddenly to one side and started to rip his clothes off.

"Too fast," he was muttering. "It was all too fast."

"What?"

"Wanna take my time. Wanna make it last."

He pulled his T-shirt over his head and she made a little sound of pleasure. He was beautiful under it: taut, supple muscle and fine, strong bone, alabaster satin skin, an utterly lickable six-pack. She reached out a hand and ran it over his chest and stomach. He shivered.

"You’re beautiful," she said.

"Me?" The way he was looking at her turned her bones to water—as if she were the only thing that mattered in the whole world, as if she were the most beautiful, glorious, precious thing on earth. "Oh, pet, I’m not the one who’s beautiful."

He was as naked as she was now, coming smoothly to his feet, scooping her up into his arms.

"Yes, you are," she murmured, her arms around his neck as he carried her into the bedroom.

He stopped for a second, holding her tight, his face pressed hard against hers.

"Oh, my girl. Don’t know how I’m going to stand losing this. Think I’d want to dust."

"You’re not going to lose it."

He dropped her onto the bed, fell on top of her. She laughed, deep in her throat, and wrapped her arms around him.

"Now what?"

"Now we’re going to do this right," he muttered and bent to her, his mouth and hands sliding over every inch of her.

Now that the urgency of their first encounter was behind them, they were able to stretch this out. It was slow as honey, voluptuously sensual, their lips and hands sliding over damp, shivering flesh, caressing, kneading, biting softly. She was drowning in sensation, lost in him, the feel of him, the taste of him. The world spun away. She wasn’t even aware of the bed beneath her, just the feel of his body and his mouth and his hands and his voice whispering indistinguishable endearments into her skin.

"Oh, God, Spike! Come on. I’m dying here." She was writhing uncontrollably against him.

But: "No," he said and later still, "No," again, stretching it out excruciatingly.

She was just about clinging to the ceiling by her fingernails before he finally came into her, his eyes almost black with passion and tenderness, and his parted lips gasping with exigent desire and with laughter. They were both laughing and it was so piercingly sweet, so intense, so unbearably perfect, that she found herself thinking, as he had, that she would die rather than lose this.



TBC