Chapter Nine

Two Years Later
The Mexican jungle

The bed sheets twisted around Buffy's body, constricting her as she tossed and rolled. Beneath the heft of blond hair that spread over it, her face was wrinkled with fear, her eyes squeezed shut in sleep. A moan rolled out from between her lips, low and long and gut wrenching, taking the form of a name as it went. "Dawn."

The tower shook beneath her feet as she raced upwards, towards the platform where her sister was tied. Helpless. In terrible danger. "Dawn!" she screamed, throwing her body up the steps. The fear growing inside of her propelled her and kept her focused, kept her feet so precise, she could not trip. She had to make it there, before ... and then she was there.

"Dawn!" she screamed again, her eyes widening. Horror gripped her with a freezing fist. She could not move as she stood at the top of the steps, watching the two figures at the other end of the platform. Her sister, brown hair waving in the wind, bent limply over a figure. A figure in black, who clutched her against him. A familiar figure, whose duster had been cast off, whose shirt stuck wetly to his body. "Spike!"

When he turned, Buffy took a step back. "Spike?" she whispered, narrowing her eyes. A terrible calm seized her as she took in his crouching stance, his vampire ridges and fangs, and most of all — most of all — Dawn's blood. The thick redness dripped from his chin, adding to the mess that covered his shirt and hands.

I won't look, Buffy told herself, but betrayed the thought in the next second. Her eyes were drawn without mercy to the sight of her sister's body, gutted and hanging from the ropes that bound her. Even Dawn's face — her beautiful face, a voice deep inside her mourned — was cut to disfigurement and shrouded with blood. Taking a breath, Buffy closed her eyes. Close your eyes. The end of your world is here. You're in hell. Close your eyes.

The last thing she felt was Spike's body hurling into hers. She screamed ...

Screaming, Buffy sat up in bed, her arms waving with remembered distress. "Oh ... oh god," she said, choking back tears. Feeling the bed beside her, her heart sank to find him gone. "Spike. It's time."

Suddenly, the door flung open and banged against the wall. She jumped, pulling the blanket over herself as Hugh ran in, wild-eyed and frantic. "Hugh," she whispered, calming herself. "It's okay, it's just Hugh."

"Milady, are you injured?" he says, rushing to her bedside. "I could go find the vampire?"

"It's just a dream, Hugh," she said, sitting up and slipping her feet into her slippers. "A nightmare."

"A Slayer dream? Did you see the future?" He looked nauseated at the thought which, considering Buffy's reaction to the dream, was fitting. "Is there danger ahead?"

"No, not a Slayer dream. Just your regular, ole doozy of a nightmare." Shuddering, she rubbed her arms, cold in the oppressive heat of the jungle. "Danger ... there's always danger. We've known for a long time that we'd eventually have to face the life I left behind in Sunnydale. The dream was just telling me that ... that time's up." And that there's danger, but let's not freak Hugh out any more than he already is.

Visibly relieved, Hugh, patted her arm. Going to the dresser, he opened a drawer and dug through her clothes until he came up with a warm cardigan. "Here, Mistress. Warm yourself. I will fetch your vampire."

"No, you don't have to. I know you don't like it outside after dark, even with all the lanterns lit. But ... where is Spike?"

With a barking laugh, Hugh pointed out the window. "Trapping the pig."

Even though shaken, she had to smile. "Porky's back, huh?"

"Oh, yes. The vampire came tearing through an hour ago, ranting on about his trap being broken again."

"Again?" Slipping the shirt over her tank top with shaking hands, Buffy stood. "That's the third trap this week. Porky's smart for a jungle pig."

"The vampire says the pig will die before dawn." Hugh's face, wrinkled and brown, was alit with humor. "I say, the vampire will be back before dawn, pigless and in a mood so foul, I think I may leave for the village for the day."

"Good plan," Buffy said. Waving her hand at him, she said, "Now, out with you. I've got to finish getting dressed."

"You're going after the vampire? I don't believe he'll appreciate the assistance. He seems to hang his manhood on this pig's beating heart."

"Hugh," Buffy said, her voice an equal mix of warning and laughter. "Picking on Spike is a fun time, believe me I know, but ..."

Rolling his eyes, Hugh shuffled towards the door. "He's taken the north path, Mistress. Finding him should be simple for you, not to worry."

"Thank you, Hugh," Buffy said, giving him a smile that fell the moment the Brownie closed the door. Going to the vanity table, she grabbed a brush and pulled her hair back into a hasty ponytail. "Not to worry," she echoed. Giving herself a long look in the mirror, she shook her head, watching the heavy tail swing back and forth behind her. "Not to worry. As if finding him was the tough part."

♥

She followed the north path through the jungle, lighting the string of lanterns that hung from the tree branches as she went. Red mud squished beneath her boots, thick and gooey. Making her way carefully towards the clearing, she focused hard on keeping her footing. When she found the broken trap, it was all she could do not to turn around and head back to the house, to pretend her dream had never happened. And when she found the orchid Spike had left for her on the wooden platform the trap had been built on, she did turn around. She made it ten steps up the path before her cowardice shamed her into turning back. Be strong, Slayer. Just because he picks my favorite flower doesn't mean I can protect him from this.

After clearing the wooden shards from the platform, she laid down on her back and looked up at the stars, holding the flower's stem between her hands like a fragrant talisman. Take your time, Spike, she thought, sending the words out into the blackness of the night sky towards his ears. Enjoy your last moments of being just yourself. Your last moments of simplicity, before we have to go and mess things up again.

A tiny, sensible voice in the back of her head told her that they'd only be gone for a little while. They'd come back and their home would still be here. But it took us so long to get here, Buffy countered. To be able to see each other as Buffy and Spike, leaving all the titles and baggage behind. Going back will change everything. We'll have to earn all this ... this comfort, this peace ... earn it all again.

And it had been peaceful and comfortable, the past two years. They'd fought, of course. The memory brought a twisted smile to her lips. Fighting was as much a part of their relationship — of their dance — as making love. In her mind's eye, she could see his lips curved in sarcasm as readily as love, but the love was always there, softening both their edges.

When we go back, it'll change us. Change this. Change everything. If it doesn't kill us. The stars blinked above her, adorning a sky so wide and open, Buffy felt like it could swallow her. A stray thought crossed her mind quickly — Maybe I want it to swallow me — but she pushed the notion away. You are still the Slayer, on hiatus or not. This is still your job, no matter how terrible it makes you feel. Groaning, she threw an arm over her eyes and let out a loud, sputtering sigh. "I'm an idiot," she groaned, annoyed with the swirl of feelings inside of her.

"Not as big of one as Porky," Spike called.

Buffy opened her eyes and sat up. She watched him walk slowly up the path, a large lump slung over his shoulder revealed, as he came into the spread of the lantern's light, as Porky. She squinted, wondering why his clothes looked so oddly flat, then smiled as she realized he was naked and covered in a thick layer of red mud.

He grinned at her as he approached; she could see the light of the moon glinting off his teeth even with the distance between them. Naked, covered in mud and blood, he looks so happy that Buffy wished again that they could put off the conversation she'd come here to have with him. No wimping out, she told herself, wincing as she noticed the way his smile widened as he reached the clearing and saw his flower in her hands.

Two weeks, Buffy thought, feeling the welling of tears in her eyes. She blinked them back, squaring her jaw for courage. He looks so happy. We both are so happy, but it'll only take two weeks, then we'll be back.

"Bring me anything?" he said, quickening his pace up under the heaviness of the pig.

Buffy stood and pulled his skinning knife out of her belt. "You forgot this," she said as he got to the platform. Wrinkling her nose, she tossed it down, impaling it in the dirt. "You left it on the kitchen table again, oh sanitary one."

He shook his head once, sharply, looking at his knife in the mud. "Now I've got to wash it."

"Oh, of course. Because you wouldn't want to dirty the pig." Pointing at it, she kicked the broken trap. "I see you finally got revenge on Porky. Only took three traps to bring him down."

Spike flung the pig's heavy carcass on the ground at Buffy's feet. "As they say, third try's the charm. That, and the spear."

"Guess so." Tipping the flower at him, she smiled. "Thanks for the orchid. They're my favorite."

"As you tell me every day when I bring you them," he said with a smile that warmed her down to her bones. Then the smile twisted upwards with mischief. He came towards her, muddy hands outstretched. "Come here, Slayer."

Shrieking, she jumped back as he tried to embrace her. "Get away, you're filthy! Hugh just washed this shirt, and you know it!"

"No problems there, love," he said, taking hold of her shoulders. Mud from his hands, red and warm, slid under the neck of her shirt and down her back. "We'll just take it off."

He went to strip it from her, but she beat him to the buttons, undoing them quickly before he could tear them apart. "I've learned a thing or two in the last couple years," she said, shrugging out of the shirt and tossing it onto the pile of his clothes. "Like, that you and buttons are not mixy."

"Too slow," he agreed, the anticipation on his face shadowed by the gloom of night where the lanterns failed. "Especially when I know there's skin like that underneath, just waiting for my touch."

Naked, she held him off with a look. "My turn to play," she said, her voice a throaty whisper. "You got to last time."

He nodded, unable to move words around the lump that rose in his throat as she trailed her fingernail over the flat muscles of his chest, making a line in the mud that headed towards his nipple. It puckered under her touch, encouraging her to bring the other hand up. She placed it flat over his other nipple, enjoying the warmth of the mud between her skin and his. "Lots of possibilities here," she said, rubbing slow circles in the slippery stickiness, digging underneath the mud for the feel of his skin. "I finally see the appeal of all those mud wrestling shows Xander was into."

She trailed her hands around the back of his ribs, pulling him to her. Rubbing her body up the front of his, she raised herself on tip-toe, bringing her mouth to brush over his. Breathing into him, she balanced her body by leaning fully against him and brought her hands up to slid into his hair, mussing it, pulling him closer to her, ever closer.

When she kissed him, she tasted salt, fused with the sweet tang that was pure Spike. Against her lips, his mouth felt cool and yielding. The smell of mud, earthy and elemental, combined with the scent of their arousal. Their limbs entwined with precision born of years full of practice.

"I love you," she said, wanting to hearten them both, but the words came out burdened with sadness. Suck it up, she told herself. You have to tell him.

Opening her mouth, she searched for the words to tell him, but in her reluctance couldn't find them. Coward. Big fraidy-cat. Some Slayer you are. Tracing her fingers over his face, she stroked the line of his neck and down further, to the notch in the center of his collarbone and outward, over his shoulders. Gripping his upper arms in her hands, she turned her face up to his, closing her eyes. Hear me, she willed at him, her chest tightening. Know what's going on without me having to say the words. Then make love to me, here in the mud so we don't have to talk about it now. Let's be just us, for another hour at least, before real life comes rushing back.

Dropping his forehead against hers as he felt her hands run down his back, over the tautness of his backside and curve around to the front, he groaned, aching for more of her, always more. But the feel of her tense muscles under his hands combined with the sound of her voice told him that she needed something different.

"You're my world," he said, opening his eyes and staring into hers, so close their eyelashes brushed. "My bloody world. Now, tell me what's worrying you."

Sagging against him, she exhaled heavily. So much for pretenses. "Thanks a lot," she said. "I'm trying to stall, here. That thing about procrastination getting you no where? So not true."

"Right, Slayer," he said, wrapping her in his embrace. "Because it's getting you so far with me. You going to tell me what's wrong, or keep playing games?"

"No games. You need to know. It's just ..." she stepped back from him, needing to pace. The mud squished between her toes as she moved around the broken trap, undaunted by her nakedness. Throwing up her hands with helplessness, she gave Spike a level look. "It's time."

"Time for what?" he asked, but he knew what she was talking about before the words had passed his lips. Something tightened inside his chest, making him inhale quickly. "You're sure?"

She nodded once. "I had a dream. We leave in the morning." Picking up his pants, she tossed them to him. "Put these on. Spare Hugh the sight of your ... you know."

When he didn't retort with "I thought you liked my 'you-know'," when he only stood silently, the pants hanging from his hands, Buffy knew that he was as dismayed by the thought of returning to Sunnydale as she was. "Spike?" she said, pulling her jeans over her muddy legs. "Put your pants on."

"Hugh's taking care of the train tickets and what-not?" The words, flat and casual, rolled out of him, taking no thought, bearing no impression of the emotions that were making his stomach churn. "Is he coming along with us?"

"He's staying here. I told him to." Buttoning her shirt, she moved back to Spike's side, bringing him the rest of his clothes. "We won't need him there. It's only for two weeks. He'll be better off here, keeping the house ready for us to come home to."

"It might be okay," he said, but the lines of tension blossoming on his brow betrayed him. Rubbing his hands over his face, he knocked some of the drying mud off. "You haven't had a Slayer dream about going back for at least a month. Maybe that means everything'll turn out fine."

"Or maybe that just means that my Slayer dreams aren't super reliable. Because they aren't. It's not like they haven't confused me in the past. It was a regular nightmare I had tonight. Just your regular, run of the mill, demon-eating-my-sister kinda dream, but I know it was a sign."

Spike frowned. "Something's going to eat your sister?"

"No. Like I said, it wasn't a Slayer dream. It wasn't prophetic kinda thing, just ..." She broke off, shuddering. Pulling her arms around herself, she said, "Just really freaky. I can't get it out of my head. It was a sign, telling me that it's time to go back. And that going back is dangerous."

"Doesn't matter much, pet. Dangerous or not, we have to go back. If Glory doesn't die, the other you will. We have to kill her. End of story."

"You make it sound so easy." Sighing, she pushed a hand through her hair. "I won't be able to go into town. The timeline ... it's too risky. You'll have to go."

"So I will, then. Not a problem. I'll take care of it. You could even stay here. Kick back with Hugh. Keep our bed warm."

"Yeah, sure. I'll just send you back there to do my dirty work while I'm sitting in the sun, sipping a martini." She glared at him. "You could die. You're not exactly Mr. Popular in Sunnydale. What if I ... the other me ... catches you killing Ben? I'd be sitting down here, waiting for you, and all the time you'd be a pile of dust in Sunnydale, dead after getting in the way of my stake. The other me's stake. She'd kill you on sight."

"I can handle myself, Slayer."

"I know that," she said, touching his arm. "I do."

"But you're still scared."

"Of course I am. You're my ... well, I love you. Being scared for you when you're going up against a hellgod in the Slayer's backyard goes with the whole 'I love you' package."

"You told me yourself that Glory's too weak to come out and attack me. And Ben's just a human. Weak."

She dropped her eyes, acquiescing his point, then raised them and met his with determination. "There are other things that could go wrong."

"Drusilla? I'm sure she's long since left town."

"Not just her. There's ... you. You haven't killed a human in years."

"And you're worried that this'll bring back my taste for it?" He touched her hair, stroking over it with his palm. "I'd have to be a crazy fool to give up what we have here, Buffy. I'm a lot of things, but not crazy. And I'm only a fool when you look at me like that."

"Like what?" she said, her lips parting as he ran his thumb over them.

"Your eyes all big and shiny ... your mouth open for me to kiss ... Like you're thinking the whole world could go to hell, and you'd still want to stay here in the jungle with me, world be damned."

"That ... pretty much sums it up," she whispered as he bent and kissed her once, gently. "It's not like I think you'll turn all demoney again. But ... don't you ever miss it? Your old life?"

"Not much to miss there. Being Angelus's punching bag didn't hold much appeal."

An uncertainty crept into her expression. "Do you ever miss Drusilla?"

He hesitated a second, his hands growing still on her hair. Then, tipping her chin up to make her hold his gaze, he said, "Yeah, sometimes. Her fecklessness. But I don't miss who I was when I was with her. Here ..." He looked up at the jungle canopy, illuminated with the lights of the lanterns, then back at Buffy. Bending down, he snatched the orchid from the ground and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers stroked the petals, brushing her skin. "It's better here. With you."

Turning her face into his hand, she exhaled heavily, releasing the tension from her body in a breath that heated his skin. "I wish I could just snap my fingers and have this all over with. A big, magic poof, and suddenly it's two weeks later and we're home again."

"Things will be fine, pet. You'll see. We'll be back here, together, in no time." Giving her a final kiss, he pointed to the pig. "You want to feel sorry for someone, stick around. Porky there is about to become breakfast meat."

She watched him pick up the knife and tuck it into his belt, watched the muscles of his back shift beneath the thin material of his shirt as he lift the pig and heaved it onto the broken trap, out of the mud. "You're sure? About Ben? You can do this?"

"Killing a human won't call my demon back to play, Slayer. We've got no worries. It'll be easy as pie." He sliced the knife into the pig, pulling at the thick hide. Blood dripped over the ground, over his knees, staining his pants and shirt. "Bugger. Never should've gotten dressed." He stood and unbuttoned his shirt. "Slayer, you mind taking these back to the house when you go?"

She stood over him, still as a statue, her mind working way too fast as she tried to tell herself the blood on his hands belonged to the pig, that it wasn't foreshadowing of any kind. But her dream came back to her, slamming her with images of William the Bloody feasting on her little sister's blood. When she saw his shirt fall from his shoulders, bile raised inside of her. Too much like the dream ... I can't see this. This is bad.

Without a word, she turned and ran for the house.

"Buffy? My clothes?" He searched the shadows on the clearing, but couldn't find her. "Buffy?" Leaving the pig where it lay, Spike started back to the house after her. To hell with Porky. To hell with this whole sodding place. We don't need it to be happy, Buffy and I. We'll be fine, out there in the world together. Just bloody fine. As he trudged through the mud, he smirked, irritated with himself. Almost managed to convince myself that time. Now I've just got to convince her.

Chapter Ten

California
October, 2000

Pacing is highly underrated, Buffy thought as she walked the narrow room.

Beneath her feet, the carpet squished wetly, making her wince with disgust. She spoke out loud as she paced, counting her steps.

"One, two, three, four, hit wall, turn, repeat." The motel room was closet-sized and smelled of stale sweat, old sex, and carpet-cleaning solution. She hadn't expected any better from the look of the dilapidated building, or from its location. Luxury hotels didn't exactly flourish on the outskirts of Sunnydale. Who'd want to vacation on the Hellmouth's suburb? Expecting a hovel or not, the roaches that scurried for cover when Buffy opened the bathroom door made her wish she'd chanced being recognized and gone with Spike into town.

"Of course, it doesn't help that he's ..." she checked her watch, "over an hour late. He knows I'm sitting here, freaking out with worry, and does he even call?"

She kept pacing, taking comfort in the soothing rhythm of her steps. The knot of worry that had formed when Spike left to kill Ben had grown into a full-fledged tangle of fears and anxiety. Trying to calm herself, she kept talking.

"I should've stayed home with Hugh. Let Spike do all the work. Why not? It's not like I'm such a huge help, staying here. Pacing like a freak .... talking to myself ... oh yeah, definitely should've stayed home."

Or maybe we both should've stayed, she thought, her shoulders slumping. The other Buffy ... she could've had some peace. Death isn't so bad ... it's ... A shudder tore through her as her mind filled with the image of Spike from her nightmare. Monster-faced, growling, and the blood ... Dawn's blood, all over his hands.

"Shush, Buffy," she told herself, not wanting to think about death, good or bad. "Think about the jungle, about good, alive things. Hugh, cooking breakfast, wearing his pink apron. Spike, naked, covered in mud. Alive equals good."

She whipped around as the door to the motel room opened suddenly. Spike rushed in, shutting it behind him. He leaned his forehead against the door, breathing heavily.

"Hey!" she said, moving towards him. "You're okay?"

He nodded, and slowly turned to face her, but did not meet her eyes. Tensing his jaw, he said, "Ben was an easy kill."

Because he was trusting. He was ... he was decent, she thought, but forced herself to harden her heart. "Glory's taken care of. We can go home now." She held out her hands for his, but instead of taking them, he brushed past her into the room towards the kitchenette. "What's with the bad mood?"

The tiny refrigerator shook as he slammed it shut, a mug of blood in his hands. Patting his jeans pocket, he pulled out a tiny flask and spiked the blood before downing the entire cup in three desperate gulps.

"Spike? What happened? You ... you're an hour late. We said we'd meet at eight o'clock. I was scared."

Tossing the mug aside, he swept towards her. Without a word, he gathered her in his arms, holding her face against his neck with one hand around the back of her head. "Buffy," he said, the word mumbled into her hair. "God."

Rubbing her mouth across the breadth of his collarbone, she breathed in his scent. "You are okay, right?"

He nodded, hugging her closer.

"It went down all right? With Ben ... Glory's really taken care of?"

Nodding again, he buried his hands in her hair, kneading her scalp.

"What is it you're not wanting to tell me? What's wrong?"

Taking her shoulders in his hands, he pressed her down to sit on the edge of the bed. "Pet ..." Biting his lip, he lowered himself to the mattress beside her. "Well ... it's not ... it's not simple, you see ..."

Color rose in her cheeks, contrasting the paling of the rest of her face. Her eyes widened, then narrowed as she glared at him. "Tell me. It can't be that bad. Whatever's wrong, it's just couldn't be that bad. Tomorrow morning, we'll be on a train back to the jungle."

"Well, love ... well, no, we won't be heading home tomorrow."

She grabbed his hands, squeezing them. "What? Don't say that. We're going home. I have our tickets, our bags are packed ..."

"No. You won't want to after I tell you ... See, I'm late because I had to scope something out ... a gut feeling of mine. Things ... in town, I mean, they just felt ... off. The streets were full of road pirates, demons on motorcycles. They tend to show up when a town is wide open for the taking. I went to the Bronze ... it was demon central. No humans to speak of, just pirates and vamps and the like. I poked around a bit, asked a few questions." Looking down at her hands, he hesitated. "They told me the Slayer hasn't been seen out of her house for over a year. Not since ... not since your ... I mean, her mother died."

"Huh? No." Tossing off Spike's comforting hands, Buffy jumped to her feet. "No, my mom didn't die then. It was later ... it wouldn't have happened yet." Realization washed over her, making her sink back down onto the bed. "Oh God," she whispered, staring at Spike. "You think that I did this? That my being here screwed things up?"

"Unless your future included total chaos in the streets?" His voice sounded almost hopeful. "I ... I'm sorry, love. Didn't want to tell you this. But ... it's bad out there. Those road pirates ... they're nasty blokes. Smash and burn, that's their way. They eat up whole towns and spit them out before moving on. Not safe for humans, not even safe for lesser demons."

"But ... but we tried so hard to ... we were so careful not to let anyone see me. Two years in the jungle, in the middle of nowhere ...saying goodbye to my whole life ... and for what?"

Stricken, he flinched as though she'd slapped him. "What for?" He took her shoulders in his hands and drew her towards him, pressing his forehead against hers. "For this, Buffy."

She exhaled heavily, staring into his eyes with tearful intensity. "Spike ..."

"For our life. Yeah, the life in the jungle, in the middle of nowhere. Weren't you happy there, with me? I know the Brownie is a bit of a poofter, but you two get on okay. And you have your garden ... and ... well, me." He shook her once, forcefully. "You were happy."

She closed her eyes, hiding the shining tears that filled them. Dropping her cheek onto his shoulder, she nodded. "That's what makes it so terrible. Don't you understand? All the time I was down there, happy, with you ... all that time, I'd left this huge mess behind. I caused all this pain, and all that time, I was happy."

Stroking her hair, he said, "So was I. First time in my whole sorry existence, I had something good and clean. I wish we'd never come back here, never found this. Be better that you'd never known."

She considered this, his words an enticing hum in her mind, but knew the truth. "I could've lived out my whole life there in the jungle. I could've been happy forever there, with you. But knowing this ... I can't just pretend it's not true."

"We're going into town, then?"

Standing, she straightened her shirt and finger-combed her hair, forcing calm into her body with the familiar rituals. "Yeah. Carefully, but yeah. The demons you talked to could've been wrong about Mom. I don't want to mess things up any more than I already have, but I need to see what happened, what exactly it was I did to mess up the timeline. Maybe I can still fix it."

Off his skeptical look, she bit down on her lip. "Somehow. Or ... or at least, I can take care of those demons. Kill them off and give the other Buffy some slack to work with."

Pulling a packet from his pocket, Spike lit a cigarette. The flame from the lighter made his eyes glow briefly. Regarding Buffy with a squint, he flicked ashes on the floor. "You should be prepared for a shock. They say she's a shut-in. A total nutcase. Too pathetic to even kill."

She took a quick, sharp breath, but steeled herself. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door to the motel. "Then we'll go to her."

♥

Sunnydale
October, 2000

"Umm ... hello?" Willow said, swinging open the door to the Summers' home. She poked her head inside, following it with her body only when she was certain she was alone in the darkness. The house smelled stale, the air tasted stagnant and dusty, and the wall felt sticky as Willow ran her palm over it, searching for the light switch.

"Lights," Willow whispered, blinking as her eyes adjusted, and blinking again when she saw the mess that was the entry way. Clothes and dirty dishes covered the floor, unopened newspapers were stacked on the stairs, and a large pile of unopened mail leaned precariously against the doorway to the dining room.

Brushing her hands off on her jeans, Willow wandered into the living room, her pace tentative, searching. "Buffy?" she called, ignoring the mess. The room was unoccupied, so she moved to the kitchen, and then, finding it empty, to the upstairs.

After looking through all of the bedrooms, it became obvious that Buffy was not home. She sank onto the stairs, confused and slightly afraid. "No Buffy here. No Dawn here- no Dawn's bedroom either. Just the guest room. But duh, 'cause Dawn never existed in this reality. And she won't, either, because the monks didn't make her yet ... not for another few weeks. No Joyce, but all her stuff is still here. So she's okay ... probably just at work."

So, now what? she thought, dropping her head into her hands. The Magic Box, maybe, but going outside again ... She shuddered at the thought. Dodging motorcycle demons, buildings on fire, and rampaging vampires roaming the town like they own it ... not the most funnest thing ever.

"But I have to find Buffy. Once I do, none of this will count. I'll find her and then we'll fix everything." Her words in the darkness of the stairwell sounded hollow, so she cleared her throat and tried again, resolutely narrowing her lips. "Off to the Magic Box I go."

♥

"It's dark. Maybe there's no one home," Buffy said, striding up the porch steps to the front door. She paused, her hand on the doorknob. "You coming?"

"I should go in first. She sees me, she'll just stake me. Seeing you might give her an apoplexy."

"A stroke. No one calls them apo... whatever, anymore." Stepping back, she scanned the front of the house, craning her neck for a peek in the living room window. "I don't see anyone. They've probably all gone out."

"Slayer's a shut-in, they said. And with these road pirates getting their jollies on in town, I don't guess your mum and sis would be out and about, especially not after dark."

"They're not here, though. Mom and Dawn. I'd sense them."

"You can do that?" He raised an eyebrow. "Thought you could only sense my kind. Your little back-of-the-neck tinglies."

"A different kind of sense. The feeling ... awareness, maybe that's a better word ... for someone you love, when they're close to you."

Grabbing her hand, Spike pulled her up against his body, trapping her there with a long arm around her waist. "This kind of ... feeling?"

She leaned into him for a moment, stroking her hands over his shoulder blades. "Not really, but this is okay too." The muscles beneath her cheek tightened as he chuckled. "What's funny?"

"This," he said, kissing her forehead and releasing her. "This doesn't strike you as a bit comical? Me, a vampire, snogging with the Slayer on her mum's front porch?"

"Don't call me that." She scowled at him, her mouth twisting. "What, we're back in Sunnydale so suddenly it's me, Slayer, you, vamp? I don't think so."

"Not even close to what I meant, Buff, and you know it." He moved towards her so quickly, she took an involuntary step back. Taking her face between his hands, he brushed his lips against hers. "You're nervous. I can see it. But don't twist my words up. You know who you are to me."

"Who?" She breathed the word across his mouth, warming it. "Who am I?"

Rubbing his thumbs over her cheekbones, he grinned. "You're everything alive inside of me, don't you know that? And right now, you're also the chit who's going to quit with the stalling and go inside your house. Invite me in, already, love. Go on."

Her mouth nipped at his, closing off his words with their movements. Winding her fingers through his hair, she ran her tongue over his teeth, then tangled it with his own. She kissed him as if she could enter him that way, as if she could send her soul inside of his body and live there forever.

Finally, she broke away, panting. "Spike ..."

He shook his head. "No going back now."

"No, I ... I just wanted to say ... we'll go home tomorrow. No matter what we find inside the house, tomorrow we'll be on that train, headed back to the jungle."

Looking into the opaqueness of the living room window, Spike's lips tightened. "Right, then. Tomorrow. But for now ..."

"Come in, Spike," Buffy said, turning the door knob and walking inside.

"Dark," he whispered, following her. He shut the door behind them, and moved slowly into the dining room. Tilting his head, he scented the air. "Umm ... Buff ... there's blood in the air. Fresh. Human." With another sniff, he pointed into the living room. "It's coming from there. Someone's in there, bleeding."

She rushed into the room, Spike trailing behind her. "Hello?" she called into the shadows. She groped the wall, searching for the light switch. "Who's there?"

"Leave it off," said a gravelly voice. "Like the darkness better." Someone scuttled, crab-like, from the archway to the kitchen further into the darkness on the far side of the room. A ray of light from the entry way caught the person's face briefly, red and disfigured.

"Who is that?" Buffy whispered, icy dread tightening in her stomach. She felt for Spike's hand and clasping it tightly.

Giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, Spike moved forward, towards the crouched outline of the figure across the room. He walked slowly, his hands held out, radiating calm and harmlessness. "Buffy? Is that you, pet?"

No, Buffy thought, watching as he lowered himself to the ground beside the figure. I'm right here. You call me pet. Not ... that.

"Buffy? Am I Buffy?" The person laughed, a terrible sound. Jumping to her feet, she pushed past Spike and threw herself onto the couch. Both her hands concealed her face, then fell as she dragged her finger tips over the scars. "Am I Buffy? Not even close. Not even close to being Buffy."

Oh, God, Buffy thought, swallowing hard. Bracing herself, she took one step forward, then another. "You ... you were. Buffy. You were Buffy, and you are the Slayer."

Light from a streetlamp pierced the window, and the Slayer-Buffy was revealed by it. Burns thickened her face. The skin, red and meaty, stretched tight over familiar bones. Smiling with her lipless mouth, the Slayer said, "I'm not. But I was."

Buffy dropped onto the coffee table, perching there precariously. Shaken, she wiped at her face, covering her eyes. "You're the Slayer."

Spike laid a heavy hand on Buffy's shoulder, pulling her back to lean against his legs. He shoved his other hand in the pocket of his jeans, hiding the tremble. Nodding at the Slayer, he said, "You did that to yourself, eh?"

"Myself. To myself. Yes, I did this to myself. Burned off my face. Off my nose. My lips, no lips." Her voice built up, raising higher and higher as she spoke. "How did you know, Spike? How did you know it was me?"

"It's your face, Slayer. No one burns a face unless they hate it. No one hates your face except ..." He looked down at Buffy's bent head and couldn't continue.

"Except me. I hate my face. Hate my body and my hair and ... and my hands." Holding up one hand, she studied it in the orange light. "My stupid, Slayer hands. So ... so stupid. Couldn't even ... not the Slayer. Not powerful, not a savior."

Looking up, Buffy reached out and took the Slayer's hand in hers. "What ... what happened to you?"

The Slayer traced her thumb over the back of Buffy's hand, obviously startled. "Acathla happened," she whispered, her wide eyes gripped by the sight of her burned skin on Buffy's flawlessness. "Acathla. Angel. Drusilla. And then Xander and Gi..." Breaking off, she shook her head furiously, cropped blond hair whipping back and forth. "No. No, no, no. Mom, no." Her voice, keening, made them flinch.

"Hush, pet. You're all right," Spike said, kneeling beside the couch and grabbing her shoulders. He pulled her back to lie against the pillows. Stroking her hair, he blinked rapidly, trying not to look too closely at her face. The smell of burned flesh clung to her, hideously. "Shhh, love. Just ... relax."

"We need to know what happened," Buffy said in a tight voice, hugging her arms around her body.

"Acathla, I told you," the Slayer moaned, rocking her face into Spike's palm. "Xander and I went in, to kill Angel. I told him to take care of Drusilla— I told him to! But he didn't listen, he ... and then her fangs came out, and ... I was fighting Angel, fighting hard, but then there was Xander, falling down all bloody. All the blood ... and Dru jumped on my back, and things were black for a long time. And then ..." She laughed against, hysterical. "Giles ..."

Gulping down nausea, Buffy stood and moved a few feet away. "What happened to Giles?"

"They were going to kill us together. Me and Giles. I woke up, and he was there with me. Told me not to worry, we'd be fine. Liar, he was such a liar."

"Go on, love," Spike said, letting her rub the roughness of her cheek against his hand. "Keep talking."

"They knew how to open Acathla, but they hadn't yet. Drusilla made Giles think she was Jenny ... thrall, you know? And Giles told her how. Angelus told me that, when I asked him. He told me Giles loved that gypsy bitch and would've told her anything, he was so happy to see her again. To touch her." Groaning, she clutched Spike's wrist, pinning him against her. "I haven't been touched since Mom died. Over a month. And over a year since a man's touched me."

"Just keep talking," Spike said, letting her touch herself with his hand.

"Drusilla went to kill him. Giles. Right next to me. But I asked please ... I begged him, and he loved that ... begged him to make her be Jenny in Giles' eyes. And she did, she was Jenny. Giles died in Jenny's arms, smiling ... happy."

"Then what, pet?"

"Drusilla snapped his neck, so quick. She dropped him on top of me and left the room. Said the game wasn't fun anymore, that Angel had made it bad. She didn't like it when Giles died, I think. But that was bad for Angel, when she left, because it was him against me, and I beat him. Killed him. And then I picked up a hammer from the ground ... they'd used it on Giles, you know? Before I got there? I took the hammer and smashed Acathla into bits. Bitty, bitty, bitty bits. Crumbs." She curled up into a ball, Spike's hand against her heart. "Didn't matter. They were all dead. Xander ... Angel ... Giles ... all dead. Bits. Crumbs."

"What did you do then?" Buffy asked hollowly.

"I stood up. Walked outside. Into the street. A car was coming, so fast, like a blur." Smiling, she raised her chin and looked at Buffy. "I threw myself in front of it, and all that blackness came back."

"But you lived." Spike stroked a chunk of hair out of her face.

Blinking at him, the Slayer said, "Did I? Well, kind of. I guess. But it was over, after that. I wasn't the Slayer anymore."

"Which explains why the town's open for demons. But not your face. When did you do that?"

"Don't remember," the Slayer said, closing her eyes. "One day I woke up and realized I wasn't Buffy anymore. Couldn't stand it, having her face on me. I looked in the mirror, and there she was. So I killed her. Burned her to death."

"Must've been a while back. The burns have healed okay."

"Okay?" Buffy gaped at Spike. She waved her hands towards the Slayer. "You call that okay! Ask her about my mother."

"When did your mum die, love?"

"Not too long, a vamp got her. Just a regular vamp. She died, Willow says, a month ago. But Willow isn't here now. She can't stand me ... can't look at me. She misses Buffy, but Buffy's dead."

Buffy shoved her face above the couch, into the stream of light. "Look at me," she said. "Can't you see me?"

The Slayer shrugged slightly. She raised her arms in the air, revealing rows of stitches cris-crossing the insides of her arms. Lowering them, she began to pick at one of the cuts. Blood dripped down towards her elbow, soaking into her shirt. "You're dead. We're all dead. Ghosts, ghosts, every one of us."

"Nice job, those," Spike said, tensely casual. "Your work too?"

"Nearly did it this time. Made the blackness come back for hours and hours, but then it was gone and Willow was there." Sighing, she turned to her other arm. Scars branded her from wrist to elbow, rivets of gnarled flesh. She dug her fingernail under one of the stitches, searching for more blood. It welled up, shiny and thick. Looking at it, the Slayer grinned. "Someday the blackness will be all there is. Soon, I hope. I hate the light."

"Spike," Buffy whispered, backing away. Her face was bent into a pale mask of horror. "I have to ..."

He stood up and pulled a blanket down from the top of the couch to spread over the Slayer's legs. "Rest here a bit, pet," he stuttered, then followed Buffy into the kitchen.

"That's not me," she said, grabbing his arm as he walked through the doorway. "That could never be me. No matter what happened, no matter how bad it was ... I'd never be like this! How could this have happened?"

"I was supposed to be there, wasn't I? Then?" He held her away from him, his eyes hot. "You were wrong about me."

Startled, Buffy sank onto one of the kitchen stools. "Yes," she said, her hair falling around her face. "That was the day I told you about. The truce. It was suppose to be you, not Xander. I ... I didn't realize that you were so ..."

"Important?"

Pushing her hair back with both hands, Buffy looked up at him. Tears shined in her eyes, but did not fall. "I didn't realize you were anything, back then. Not then. I learned, of course." Holding her hand out to him, she whispered, "I fell in love with you. You know I did. You know ... that I know, how wrong I was."

His anger bloomed fully on his face for a second, then he let it drop with a sigh. Her hand was hot in his, and he let her pull him to her. "I know, pet," he said, "but now we have a bloody mess to clean up."

She let herself cling to him for a minute, inhaling deeply, trying to replace the smell of burned skin with his own scent. "She ... that's not me," she whispered, holding him tightly. "Not me."

"I know, ducks, I know. You're a sight stronger than that. But it doesn't matter, you understand that?"

"Yeah, I know." Releasing him reluctantly, she slipped off the stool. "Let's just clean up the town. Get rid of those road pirates. Then we'll ..." She grimaced, hating what needed to be done. "Take care of it."

"Take care of her," Spike supplied. "It's what she wants, love. The darkness, forever. And won't it be a mercy killing at that?"

"It's ... yeah, mercy. And another Slayer will be called, and we can go home. But I still don't like the thought of ... well, killing myself."

"I'll do it. You wait outside." He gave her an odd sort of half-smile. "Finally get to kill you, after all."

"Make it ..." She shook her head, unable to finish.

"She'll be happy," Spike said softly, wrapping his arm around Buffy. He led her out into the dining room. "It will be like a dream to her, I swear it."

"Thank you." She turned her face away as they walked into the entry way, not wanting to look at the Slayer. "I'll be ..."

"Wait," Spike said suddenly, pulling her away from the door. "Hear that? Someone's coming."

They waited, tucked safely in the shadows of the dining room, as the front door opened.

♥

"Buffy?" Willow called, opening the front door of the Summers' home. "Are you here?"

"Buffy doesn't live here," said a voice from the living room. "Buffy's dead. I've told you that already."

Flipping on the living room light, Willow grinned down at the girl who laid on the couch on her stomach, her face buried in the cushion. "Buffy! I've been looking all over for you. You're not going to believe this, but ... Buffy?"

Going over to the couch, Willow sat on the edge and patted the girl's shoulder. "Hey, it's me, Willow. I can't believe I found you. And you're alive! My spell worked, even if it did totally mess up the whole world. I've got so much to tell you. Buffy? Are you awake?"

The girl flipped over, toppling Willow back. Glaring, the light illuminating her terrible face, the Slayer laughed, long and low. "Buffy is dead!" she growled, grabbing Willow's shoulders and leering into her face. "Dead!"

When Willow screamed, the Slayer began to laugh.

Chapter Eleven

Willow's scream tore through the house, rocking Buffy to the core. "Willow!" she called, jumping to her feet.

"Buffy, wait," Spike said, grabbing her as she rushed towards the scream. "The timeline, pet. If Willow sees you ..."

Buffy tore herself free of his restraining grasp. "It's not her! Didn't you hear what she said? This is my Willow!"

She paused only a moment at the doorway to the living room, taking in the sight of Willow struggling as the Slayer pushed her down onto the coffee table. Hovering above her, the Slayer stroked her face with her ruined hands, brushing strands of red hair off her forehead. "Soft," she said, her spittle flecking Willow's cheek.

"Oh God," Willow moaned, closing her eyes to the sight of the girl's burns, just inches from her face. "Stop, please stop."

"Get away from her!" Buffy shouted, grabbing Willow's arm and pulling her from under the Slayer. "Spike!"

"I've got her," Spike said, wrapping one arm around the Slayer's waist and lifting her towards the doorway. She didn't fight him, but lolled against his side, streams of laughter pouring from her mouth. Looking over his shoulder, he gave Willow a nod. "I'll take her upstairs. Put her to bed."

"Buffy! You're you!" Willow threw her arms around Buffy's neck, shaking. "But she's ... she's ..."

"Nuts," Buffy said, patting Willow's back. She met Spike's eyes over Willow's head. "Spike, are you ..." She hesitated, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. "Don't ... I mean, let's wait on it. On killing. Just until we figure things out."

"Right," he said, stiffening as he glanced down at the Slayer, hoping she hadn't understood. She hung her head over his shoulder, senseless, still laughing. He hoisted her up into his arms and continued out of the room.

"Okay, Will, it's all right now," Buffy said, extricating herself from her friend's arms and sitting on the couch. "It's me."

"Yes! I found you! But ..." She darted a look towards the stairs. "Who ..."

"A 'me' who's been through more that she could stand." Taking Willow's hand, Buffy tried to get her to focus on something other than the Slayer. "Will. A spell? You brought me back with a spell?"

"Ah ... yeah," Willow said, blinking hard, trying to center her thoughts. "A resurrection spell. But things went kind of kablooey. You might've guessed that already."

"No. I didn't guess that. I mean, yeah, kablooey. Something had to have gone wrong for me to be here, alive, in the past. But I never thought of a spell. Why would you ..." Her eyes went still and cool. "How could you do that to me?"

"I saved you! Nasty, tormenty, hell dimension ring any bells? I couldn't leave you there to suffer. Especially not after you died to save us all."

"Suffer. Hell." Buffy sank back into the couch cushion. "You thought I was in hell? And you did a spell to bring me back to life?"

"Yeah. But ... well, something happened. The urn broke ... and you ended up back here." Her mouth twisting, Willow shot another look towards the stairs. "With Spike, of all people. God, Buffy, what you must've been through ... the last two years, all alone ..."

"Two years. You know I've been here for two years?"

"Well, yeah. We tracked you, Tara and I. And then Anya ... or, Anyanka, actually, we summoned her, and she sent me back here to find you. But we gave you a few years, let you stay here long enough to kill Glory. I didn't want to keep you here that long, but it was the only way I could think of to make sure you stayed alive after the reversal spell."

"Reversal spell ... wait a minute. I don't get this. Any of it." She rubbed her neck tiredly, confusion tensing her muscles, and wished that Spike would hurry and come back downstairs. Having his hand to hold wouldn't make the confusion go away, but it would definitely make it easier. Crossing her legs, she told herself that this was Willow, her best friend, and that she should play nice, no matter how upset she felt. So, she tried on a smile that almost met her eyes and said, "Okay, Will. You brought me back, and I'm glad to be alive. But ... why are you here?"

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "To bring you back, of course! To fix the timeline. To make everything right again."

Oh, is that all? Buffy thought, a heaviness growing inside of her. She kept her eyes trained on the stairwell. Come on Spike. Let's get going. The train leaves in just a few hours.

Oblivious to Buffy's reaction, Willow continued. "You don't have to worry about the whole 'being dead' thing. You killed Glory here, and that'll stick even after I do the reversal spell. Her death spans dimensions because she's a god. She's above dimensional rules."

"Is that right?" Buffy murmured, standing up. She patted her coat pockets, searching for the train tickets. Overhead, she could hear the thudding sounds of Spike's boots walking upstairs, heading towards the staircase. Not much longer now.

Looking at her friend, she hesitated. "Willow ..."

Willow shifted her eyes, nervously kicking at the coffee table leg. "I ... I'm sorry. Everything you've been through for the last two years ... it was all because I flubbed the stupid spell. You've been stuck here, all alone, and ... and ... I'm just really sorry. But ... but don't worry, okay? As soon as we do the reversal spell, it'll be like you never died."

"Willow," Buffy repeated, folding her arms over her chest. "Look, it's good to see you. And ... and it's okay, alright? I'm not mad at you, not really. Yeah, it was really dumb of you to screw everything up ... I mean, my god, look at it outside! And, look at her, at the Slayer! But ..." She sighed, and with a soft smile said, "I'm okay. Happy. I haven't been alone, not at all. Spike and I have a life together, in Mexico. And our train home leaves pretty soon, so as soon as we take care of the Slayer, we're heading out."

"Is it time, Buffy?" Spike asked as he came down the stairs, taking them two at a time. "We've got to take care of the nutty one before we go."

"Yeah, I know," she said, holding out her hand to him as he walked into the room and pulling him to her side. "I was just explaining things to Willow."

"But ..." Willow gaped at them, blinking with bafflement. "No. You don't understand. We have to do the reversal spell."

"And then what? My whole life here goes poof? No, thanks." Squeezing Spike's hand, she shook her head. "It's not like we're just heading out of town without a care. I know things are bad here, but we can help with that. We ... well, we're going to kill the Slayer. It's ... it's the right thing to do. There'll be another Slayer then, one who's not insane. She'll take care of the Hellmouth."

"Oh gee, that's just great," Willow said exasperated. "You keep calling the nutcase upstairs the Slayer. But hello! Buffy, you are still the Slayer! You have a job to do. A responsibility to the people who love you! What about Xander, Buffy? And what about Giles? Don't they matter to you anymore?"

Turning her face into Spike's arm, Buffy shivered. "Of course they matter. Xander's my friend. And Giles ... he's ... Giles. But ..."

"Lay off her," Spike growled at Willow, wrapping his arm around Buffy. "Fine thing it is, you coming in here all righteous-like when really, this whole thing is your fault."

"How do you ...?"

He tapped his ear. "Vampires hear most everything, little witch. Buffy told you she's not leaving, so take your sodding spell and go home. She's not the Slayer here; she doesn't owe you jack."

Ignoring him, Willow focused on Buffy, her eyes pleading. "Buffy, you will always be the Slayer. It doesn't matter how you live — or with whom. There's no separating your normal parts from your Slayer parts."

Spike rolled his eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about. She's lived like a normal girl for years now, and been happier for it. If you're really her friend, you'll toddle along and leave well enough alone."

"And if you care for her, you'll shut your mouth and let her decide! These are her friends who are dead, Spike. Buffy knows the right thing to do. She's always done what's right, and she always will."

His face hardened. "The right thing to do? Now, that's funny. You, telling me what's right. How right was it, you pulling her out of heaven to come fight your monsters for you? And then when you screw up, you come here and try 'n take away her happiness again." Snorting, he shook his head. "Give us the lecture on righteousness again, witch. Don't think I took notes the first time. Wouldn't want to miss anything, you being such an expert and all."

Willow reddened and glared at him, sputtering, "You ... you ... Buffy, how can you let him talk to me like that?"

"Shut up," Buffy whispered, looking at the ground and hugging Spike's arm around her. God, she didn't even hear him say I was in heaven. Does she really not care? Does it even matter?

"I'll talk to you any way I bloody well please. But not for much longer. Buffy and I have a train to catch."

"You really think Buffy was happy in Mexico with you? Like you could really make her forget us! You're nothing but a ... a ... soulless thing!"

Buffy raised her head and in a sudden strike, kicked the coffee table across the room. "I said shut up!"

Spike and Willow stared at her in astonishment. "Buffy," they stuttered in unison, shooting dirty looks at each other.

She glowered back at them, pale and shaken, but strong. "No more fighting. I can't take it. There's too much going on as it is. The last thing we need is you two going at each other like rabid animals. Can you behave like normal people for a minute, and let me think?"

"He is not a p..." Willow dropped her head as Buffy gave her a look of death. "Okay. I won't fight. But Buffy, you have to listen to me. This spell ... we have to do it. We just have to. It's simple, and it'll only take a minute. Once it's done, there won't be anything to fight about. You'll be ... well, you, and Giles and Xander will be alive, and the world will be good again."

"And what about me?" Spike said, going across the room. He up-righted the overturned coffee table and perched on it. "Where do I fit in with this brave new world of yours?"

"It's nothing new, don't think of it like that. We're not creating anything. This ... this ..." Willow waved her hand in the air. "This is what's false. It's conjured, it's ... nothing."

"Not to us, Will," Buffy said, her voice strained. "To us it's our life. And you know what'll happen if we do the reversal spell. Our life ... everything between Spike and I will disappear."

"And you're gonna tell me that's not worth Xander and Giles' lives?"

Buffy walked over to Spike and put her hand on his shoulder. She kept her features deceptively calm, but the tensing of her jaw betrayed her inner struggle. "I am not the Slayer to Spike," she said, looking down at him. "I've been just-Buffy for the last two years. Not the Slayer. I ... I never fought, never had to. I had a garden, and I baked cookies. And we shared a bed together, Spike and I. A normal life. Do you have any idea how wonderful that was? How free I felt? I was safe, I was happy ... I was so loved. He brought me orchids every night. And we came back here because there was no other choice, but Spike and I, we always thought ... we never imagined ... any of this. We planned to be back in the jungle a week from now. Back home. How can you ask me to give this up? To give him up?"

Stunned, Willow said, "I'm ... I'm sorry, Buffy. Really, I am. But ... you know you have to, right? It's not like there's a real choice here. Xander and Giles are dead. We have to bring them back."

Leaning forward, Spike said, "Oh yeah, because that worked out so well the last time you thought that. 'I'll just bring them back. And hey, while I'm at it, let's bring back everyone! All the dead! It'll be one big, rotting party'!"

"He doesn't need to be a part of this Buffy. This isn't his choice. We could do the spell, and he'd never know the difference. And everything will go back the way it should be."

Jumping to his feet, he threw his vampire face on and growled at her. "Just you try it."

"Spike, don't," Buffy said, softly forceful. She pulled him back to sit on the table. Feeling the fight go out of him, she leveled her gaze at Willow. "I know. What I have to do, it's ... I know. But don't expect me to come skipping back with you. And don't take away Spike's choices. This is his life too. Our life, together."

Willow sighed with frustrated doggedness. "It's just Spike. You remember? William the Bloody, he of the Buffy-bot-building fame. The guy who stole your underwear and chained you up in his basement. Two years together, well, that's great, but he's still Spike."

Spike leapt to his feet again, but this time Buffy didn't stop him. She crossed the room to Willow in three quick strides.

Leaning into her friend's face, she said, "Let me tell you something about Spike, Will. He's my mate. We've had two years of bliss together. If I would've known who he really was, back before I died, none of this timeline crap would've ever happened. This is all your fault, Willow, for doing such a dangerous spell to begin with. But this is my fault too, that the timeline became so twisted. If I'd realized that Spike was sincere when we were fighting Glory ... all those times he told me he loved me ... if I'd only seen him then, I would've never taken him away from here when I did. I would've made sure he took care of the things he needed to do, then when it was safe, we could've gone away together. I could've lived the rest of my life happy, with no Slayer stuff to worry about. But I didn't appreciate how important he was. And now it's all over. All of it."

"Buffy," Willow whispered, tears shining in her eyes. "At least you'll be ..."

"I'll be alive again, huh? Well, that's just great. Really. Great. But what I'm giving up ... love, happiness, normality ... Spike ... I'd almost rather be dead. You think you can fix everything with a little magic, huh? Well, fix that, Will. Fix that."

With that, Buffy ran out of the room. Willow and Spike stared after her, jarred by the sound of the back door slamming. Covering her face with both hands, Willow sank back into the couch.

Spike stood over her, his shoulders squared, tensed for a battle that didn't come. Slowly he relaxed, hearing Willow's muffled sobs. Pity didn't cross his face, but his eyes softened as they studied the horrified girl. "She'll do it," he said gruffly, his voice cool as he carefully withheld the great amount the words cost him to say. "You know she will."

Snuffling, Willow looked up at him. "She hates me."

He nodded, gaining back some satisfaction in hurting her. "Right now, she does. But it doesn't matter. Buffy ... she's a hero. When given the choice and opportunity, she'll always save the day." Raising one eyebrow, he gave Willow a skeptical look. "You can't do this reversal spell without her, right? I won't have you taking her choice away. Bad enough to know what it is she'll choose."

"She's the key to the spell, the focus. Without her, we're all stuck here." She cocked her head to the side, her eyes red-rimmed and speculative. "Spike ... you really brought her flowers?"

"Orchids," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Always orchids, every day. They're her favorite, you know. She kept 'em in our bedroom till the sun wilted them. Bloody things stunk like a refuse heap, all sun-baked and moldering. But she loved them. Never tossed 'em out until their colors faded entirely. She's stubborn, that way. Doesn't give up on the things she loves. Sticks with them till the very end."

Willow watched him silently for a moment, the air heavy between them. Finally, she said, "You better go check on her. Talk. We'll have to do the spell before morning."

Without a word, Spike left the room, and Willow, all alone, laid back on the couch and closed her eyes. Speaking to the darkness, she said a single word, a wistful prayer on her lips. "Tara."

♥

"I can't do it," Buffy said into the shadows of the back yard trees. She sat on the porch steps, hugging herself in the chilled night air, her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands. "I just can't, and that's all there is too it." But I will, her inner voice whispered. I have to. Xander, and Giles ... and Dawn, too. Right now, she's just some ball of energy, somewhere. But it has to be Spike's choice. He deserves that much. More than that, he deserves so much more. We both do. We deserve so much more than we'll ever have.

Behind her, she heard the squeak of the back door opening, and the heavy sound of Spike's boots walking towards her. "I can't do it," she told him, not looking up.

"But you will," he said, dropping onto the step beside her. "You know it, I know it. Even the witch knows it."

"I will," she admitted, bitterness sharpening her tone. Exhaling heavily, she threw her head back, staring up at the stars. "Just exactly how much does this suck?"

"You tell me, pet."

"On the suckage scale, one to ten, it ... well, it breaks the damn scale. I don't want to do this. I want ..." She sighed again, and rested her head on his shoulder. "I want to go home."

"If you do the witches' spell, something else'll happen. Something she didn't mention. Don't know if she's realized it or not."

"What?"

His eyes bored into her, probing her. "You'd be back in the proper timeline before your mum died. You could save her."

Buffy sat quietly, her mind whirling with doubts, all of which were cut in half by the possibility of saving her mother. Mommy, she thought. Tears rose in her eyes, overwhelming her.

Spike kept talking, pretending to ignore Buffy's tears, lending her the strength of his words, of his steady arm around her shoulders. "Not that I knew your mum, except if you count the whole axe-hitting encounter. But she did give you life, after all. It seems fitting for you to do the same for her, given the chance. When you look at it like that, it's not even a choice. You'll do the spell and set things right, no bones about it."

"Why?" Buffy asked, the leather of his duster beneath her cheek slick with tears. "Why are you making this easier for me? It's not like this is what's best for you, going back to what you were before I died. You were miserable. And we were hardly even friends, much less ..."

"You know why, Buffy. I love you. And there's no choice. If you don't do the spell, we'll go back to the jungle and you'll try to put this whole thing behind you. But it won't happen. You'll think of your friend, of your Watcher, and you'll hate me for being what kept you here." Skimming his hand over her hair, he kissed the top of her head. "You'd always regret not fixing what was broken when you had a chance. And it would drive you mad, it would ruin you. And that would ruin me."

"Spike ..."

"You won't be happy there, no matter how badly you want to be. That time is over for you. It was over the second we got off the train in Sunnydale."

"I wish we'd never gotten off that train," Buffy mumbled into his shoulder, her eyes closing on the thought.

"You don't mean that," he said, a bleak smile twisting his mouth. "Now you get to save the day. Be the big hero."

"Yay me." She inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of him. "You know ... you smell like home. Like the jungle."

"It's the mud. Sticks to you, no matter how many times you wash."

"No, it's not that. It's ... you. You're home." Raising her arms, she drew his head down to rest against hers, forehead to forehead. "You are my home, Spike. And no matter what comes between us, that will always be true."

"The truth doesn't matter if we don't remember it." He stroked his fingers over his face, feathering her with his touch. "It's hardly even the truth, then."

"It will always be the truth," she whispered, catching his hand in hers and holding it against her cheek. She gazed at his through heavy-lidded eyes, and did nothing to hide the tear that dripped down her nose and over his knuckles. "We'll remember somehow. I promise."

He crushed her against him, cutting off all the words they wanted to tell each other, all the false hope they wanted to raise. Their lips met and tangled, bruising and soothing, but most of all, silencing.

♥

"Where's Buffy?" Willow asked when Spike walked into the living room alone.

He flopped into the arm chair across from the couch. "Said there was something she needed to see, before ..."

"Oh." She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, rigid with anxiety. Daring a tiny smile, she said, "I've never sat this long around an un-chipped, un-souled vampire without the fightey action going on."

"That right?" He toyed with an unlit cigarette between his fingers "Well, I'm not much into that sort of action as of late."

"How late?" she asked, curious despite herself.

"Two years, give or take some. Ever since Buffy and I headed out of town together."

"Buffy told me you lived in Mexico?"

"Barely. Our house is on the border, almost to Guatemala." With a smirk, he leaned forward. "Enough of the chit-chat. What is it you really want to know?"

She blushed, but met his eyes. "What was it like for Buffy, here, with you?"

"Rough, at first. Buffy ... she was pretty confused, what with being back from the dead for no reason we could see."

Willow's blush deepened, but she nodded. "And later?"

"Things were good, witch, good for both of us. Perfect, really. Long, hot nights full of nothing but each other. She loved the jungle, the heat, the animals, the flowers ... she grew there, grew into the person she'd've been had the Watcher's Council not come knocking on her door way back when."

Her mouth dropped open slightly as she watched the emotions flicker over his features. "You love her. Really, really love her."

Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back, swallowing his feelings. "Yeah. And somehow, she loves me too."

"She's not going to try to circumvent the spell, is she? Do something to make sure she remembers you? Because she can't. We won't take anything with us, when the spell is complete. And if she even tries ... well, I don't know for sure, but I think that if Buffy makes herself remember you, remember that this mistake was made at all ... well, that might be enough to break it. Emotions that strong ..."

"Grief," Spike whispered in a rumble. "The grief we feel ... that'd be enough right there." He let her sit with his words for a moment, wanting to make her nervous, then backed down. "No worries, though. She's not thinking straight enough for anything like that. I don't know where she went, but she said it was private."

♥

The grass of the cemetery squished beneath her shoes as she left Xander's grave and made her way across the rows to where Giles rested. She knew where his grave was without having to search. No one but Giles would want to be that far inside the cemetery, away from the gates, away from the visitors and, most especially, away from the vampires and the noise of slaying. Truly restful, she thought, eyeing the speckled marble marker that lay flush with the grass. A simple square of green stone, engraved with simple words, but it had the power to knock her breath away. Taking a big gulp of air, she struggled to collect herself before greeting him.

"Hi Giles," she said finally over the lump in her throat. Coughing, she knelt in the grass and brushed away the loose dirt that covered his marble marker. "I had to come and see you. It's kind of dumb, I guess. In just an hour or so, I won't remember any of this, if Willow's spell works. But just in case it doesn't ... if something goes wrong and I don't get to see you again, I had to come and say ... I had to tell you that I'm sorry. This is not how things should've happened. Can't it ever be easy?"

Sniffling, she could almost hear his voice in her head. "Remember last time I asked you that, when Ford died? What did you say? 'The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after.' I wish that was true, right now more than ever."

"I've messed up so bad, but I'm going to try to make it right. I don't ..." she stopped, looking at her hands spread wide on his stone. "I don't want to do this. I want to be selfish and terrible. If I could go home with Spike and pretend I'd never found out about you ... about any of this, I'd do it. But ... I couldn't forget. So I won't. I'll make it better. Because you deserve that, you and Xander. But ..."

She looked down at the etched letters framed between her fingers. Tracing the inscription — Rupert Giles, Treasured Friend, Beloved Watcher — she bowed her head and left her last words unsaid.

Chapter Twelve

As he walked through the cemetery, Spike rubbed his hands over his arms, trying to smooth away the goose bumps that told him dawn was nearing. Still have a good hour, he thought, his coat brushing the tombstones lining the path. Buffy'll be back before sunrise. Unless she decides to let it all go to pot and skip town. With mixed feelings, he shook his head. No, she'll be there. Hero, and all. Save the world, and to hell with old Spike.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the birth of a new vampire. The creature, stuck half-out of its grave, clawed madly at the grass. He ignored it, tucking his hands into the pockets of his duster and continuing forward. Not fair to her, thinking that way. Not when I all but forced her to choose the world over the jungle. Guess there's still a bit of evil left in me after all. Sighting his old crypt, he quickened his pace.

The door was unlocked, but Spike hesitated on the threshold, searching the dark depths for signs of life. It couldn't have been sitting empty for the past few years, but as far as he could tell, it looked exactly as it had when he'd left. Minus the crucified vampire and the puddles of blood. For courtesy's sake, he called out, "Hello? Anyone here?"

The words echoed back at him, raising more goose bumps along his arms. Ignoring the shiver that grew along his spine, he walked inside. He shut the door behind him, jabbering on to bolster his courage. "Look at the wanker I've become. Getting spooked by my own voice. In an hour I'll be offering up my metaphorical neck to a metaphorical sword, and this is what scares me? Yeah, that makes sense."

The door still bore the marks of Angelus's knife; Spike could see every point at which he had hung impaled. Running his fingers over the grooves evoked images of the night they'd been made. Memories flashed through his mind: Dru's face hovering above Angelus's shoulder, beaming with torture-induced arousal. Angelus's eyes, heated from within by an angry flame. Spike wiped a hand over his face, brushing away the well- remembered scent of the vampire's breath. "Never could remember to brush after eating, bloody Peaches. Some luck, that his stench is what stays with me. It couldn't be his girlish figure."

A noise behind him rose, a shuffling in the far shadows, followed by the sound of a match striking. Spike stiffened, then slowly turned. Across the crypt, a single candle burned, sitting in a silver holder on the bare, cement floor. "Come on out now, whoever you are. I've got no time for games tonight."

A peculiar laugh wafted towards him, bell-like and familiar. He watched as a small hand gripped the holder. The flame moved upwards to reveal a mass of dark hair. Tilting her head back, letting the hair fall away to reveal her thin smile, Drusilla took a step towards him. "Hello, my Spike."

Stiffening, he took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax one by one. He restrained his dual urges to run back to Buffy and to punch Dru's face in. When he was convinced his voice would come naturally, he gave her a single, regal nod. "Hello, Dru."

"You've been a busy boy." She walked closer, scrutinizing him, her head cocked. "Gone far, far away, and back again, I see. Are you well, then? Your legs, they've healed?"

"Good as new, right as rain, and all that rot." His jaw tightening, he took a step towards her. "And you, pet? Here all alone, eh? Where's old Daddy hiding?"

"Not here," she sighed, looking around the room as though expecting Angelus to materialize thought the concrete walls. "No, no, he's gone far away as well."

"That right? I'm surprised he let you off your leash. Or did he? Maybe you just got sick of the grand poofter's nonsense, figured out you'd be happier on your own. But, no. You never did know a good thing when it came up and bit you on the neck."

Her expression darkened. She shook her finger, tsking him. "Play nice, my Spike. Didn't you learn the rules when last we met? Play nice, or not at all."

With a shake of his head, he vamped out and growled. "Last time we met, I was a far sight more helpless than I am now. Easy game, isn't it Dru, to torture someone with no working legs."

She smiled, a slow, knowing smile, and did not look away. "Easier still to torture someone who will not speak for fear of their love's life. Who can only bleed and break and beg."

He couldn't hold back his surprise. "You knew Buffy was here?"

"I can sense the Slayer, as can you. As can Angelus, but he was far too distracted with anger and lust to notice her scent."

"Where is Angelus? Holed up somewhere ripe, I'm sure, with a new bevy of minions."

Her shoulders made a dainty shrug. "Couldn't say. We parted ways long, long ago."

"About a year and a half ago, I heard. After Acathla. Hell, Dru, you should've known that a man'll promise the world to get inside a woman's knickers. But he buggered it all up, didn't he. No hell on Earth for you, that about the long and short of it?"

Moving to the sarcophagus, she perched on its edge, setting the candle beside her. "Stupid boy. I didn't leave because of Acathla."

The fingers of his right hand twitched, feeling for the watch he didn't wear. Better hurry along the small talk. Got a world to fix tonight. "Why'd you leave him, then?"

Pouting petulantly, she reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out something. "Because of him. My new pet."

Squinting, Spike frowned at the set of glasses she held. "Come again, pet?"

"The Slayer's Watcher. I wanted to keep him, to make him my own. He had such poetry about him, such beautiful anger. But Angelus forbade it. Made me eat him instead." Smoothing back her long, loose hair, she slipped Giles' glasses onto her face and gazed at Spike through them. "Reminded me of you, he did. The way you were when I found you."

Curious despite himself, he leaned closer. "The Watcher reminded you of me? How so?"

"So full of spirit and vision, of glory seen by none of those around him. None but me. He never begged for his life, do you know? Not a syllable that pathetic crossed his lips." She stroked the frame of the glasses. "Do you remember what it was I said to you that day? Your day, your day in the alley in London?"

His face softened with memory. "I walk in worlds that others can't begin to imagine. Yes, I remember."

"The Watcher walked the same path, unnoticed, unappreciated. Always longing for something bigger, something brighter to gather him in its palms and fold him into a life of glistening splendor. I wonder, my Spike, did you ever find your world? Did you ever find your effulgence?"

He started towards her, his hand outstretched. "Oh yes, I— wait." Shaking himself, he pulled back. "None of your bloody business."

Ignoring his response, Drusilla took off Giles' glasses and polished them with the hem of her shirt. "He did, the Watcher. I came to him as his own, lost love. He wasn't afraid to go, not then. Imagine, his whole world was slipping away and he smiled, such a lovely smile. Like you, William. You weren't afraid, that day in the alley when I took your world from you. Why is it you didn't fear my bite?"

Spike sighed. "I wanted it. You. A change."

"I told Daddy I'd find the wisest and bravest knight in the land to be my mate. He thought you were the most foolish knight, but he was wrong."

Hopping off the sarcophagus, she leaned up against his chest, staring into his face. He closed his eyes at the feel of her cold breath on his neck. Nuzzling his throat with an open mouth, she took in a sharp breath and let it out slowly, breathing her words onto his skin. "Be brave, my Spike. Go on to the next."

When he opened his eyes, she was gone.

♥

"What are you doing?" Buffy asked, coming into the living room and shrugging out of her jacket. She took in the sight of Willow kneeling on the bare floorboards with an arched brow. "Lose something?"

Brandishing a fat piece of black chalk, Willow started to draw in large angles on the wood. "I'm making a pentagram for the reversal spell. Once that's done, we can get started."

"Will this take long?" Buffy asked. "Not that I'm in a rush or anything. Just wondering."

"Nope, not long at all. It's actually a really easy spell," she explained, finishing the pentagram and standing up. She turned to the coffee table and picked up a wooden box. "I'm just going to undo the spell I did before, to bring you back. Very straightforward. No room for huge, world-changing mistakes this time."

"That's an improvement. But umm. wait a sec. If you reverse the spell that caused all this, won't I be dead again?"

"Nope. Not now that Glory's dead. Her death sticks in every dimension, so when we go back to normal, she'll have been dead months before she would've opened the portal. No Glory, so no dead Buffy."

"But if things are back to normal, I would never have killed her. Hence the whole normal thing."

"Confusing, huh? That's time travel for you. It's a paradox." She flashed Buffy a quick smile. "But don't worry. I wouldn't let you down."

"Uh-huh. Yeah. You'd never do that." She looked around the corner, down the empty hallway. "Where's Spike?"

Opening a wooden box, Willow pulled out five, squat candles covered in purple tissue paper. She unwrapped them and set one on each point of the pentagram, being careful not to smudge the chalk. "Where do you think he is? Vamp's last night without a chip."

"He's not hunting. He wouldn't do that."

"Why not? Look at it from his perspective. He's got no reason not to. It's not like he has to worry about staying on your good side; you're already lost to him. And you won't stake him, not now."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Buffy bit her lip. "You don't understand. He's not walking the straight and narrow because he's scared of me. He's doing it because it's who he is now."

Willow picked up a gold chalice from the coffee table and centered it inside the pentagram, nudging it slightly to the side for precision. "He doesn't have a soul, Buffy. He's not good. He can't be."

Buffy dropped down onto the couch, rubbing her eyes, thinking. "I know. I used to believe that too. But Will, think about something. The Spike we knew, the one with the chip. Okay, he wasn't good, but he was getting there. He was on the right path. And given enough time, don't you think he would've been so close to good that no one would care if he had a soul or not? And if he could become good without a soul, don't you think that says something about him, as a person?"

Her face purposefully blank, Willow said, "Keep talking."

"If he can become good as a soulless creature, maybe that makes him better than all of us who are good with the help of a soul. Or maybe not, I don't know. But it makes him at least as good."

"You're saying that he's become as good as a souled person over the last two years?"

"Yes." Quickly, before Willow could protest, she added, "And that shouldn't surprise you. You saw him on that path, in the future."

"But he had a chip. A stimulus, a restraint. Buffy, he didn't have much choice. And he had a huge impetus."

The ghost of a smile lightened Buffy's face. "Why couldn't love be his impetus, Willow? Why would it have to be something negative, like the chip? Don't you think he could've changed because of a positive force?"

A line wrinkled Willow's forehead. "I. I. well. Huh." She rose from the floor and sat next to Buffy. Taking her friend's hand, she said, "Okay. I'll go with that theory as true. It doesn't matter what I think at this point anyways. But I do want to know. Buffy, how did this all happen? How did you go from the 'Spike has super cooties' camp to the great, redeeming love side of things?"

Buffy leaned into Willow's shoulder, taking comfort in her familiar smell. "If I could tell you when, or how, I would. There wasn't any huge moment. No bells and lights. Or, lots of bells and lights, just not in an all-powerful, voice from the heavens kind of way. Things with Spike were so good. Not from the very start, I'll give you that. I paid him to help me in blood, but only for a few days. But then, it all just made sense. He needed me, and I ... I so needed him. It was just ..."

Stroking Buffy's hair, she said, "Just what?"

"It's just." Buffy hesitated, lowering her eyes. Then, in a whisper, she said, "I love him. That's all. I just ... love him."

Willow just shook her head, silenced. They sat together, cuddled close, taking ease in each other's presence. The lights on the candles flickered, drawing attention by contrast to the gloom of the dark house. They didn't move as the back door creaked open, but when Spike walked in, Willow released Buffy and watched her go to his side with calm eyes.

"You're back," Buffy said, standing as close as she could to him without touching him. "Where'd you go?"

"Saying my good-byes," he said, running the flat of his hand over her hair. "Much like yourself, I'd imagine."

"Yeah." Gesturing to the pentagram, she said, "Look."

He stared down at it, the candle flames reflecting off his pupils, and swallowed hard.

"Are you afraid?" Buffy asked, her voice small and quivering. She took his hand in hers.

"Not at all." He gave her a smile that didn't meet his eyes. "I'm the bravest knight in the land."

A surprised grin burst onto her face. "Huh? The what-est what?"

Staring over her shoulder at the candles, he just shook his head.

Willow stood, straightening her jeans. "Umm. I'm gonna get this started, guys. It'll be a minute before I need you. Why don't you say your ... you know ... good-byes."

Buffy nodded. Squeezing Spike's hand, she couldn't get him to tear his eyes away from the candles. "Spike. C'mon." Tugging on his arm, she led him out of the room, to sit on the stairs.

He sank onto a step, pulling her down beside him. Leaning against the wall, he could see the shape of Willow's shoulders in the living room, bent over the floor, a book in her hands. Buffy's hand on his knee brought his focus back to her. He tipped his head to the side, taking in the sight of her flushed face.

"This is it, then. In a minute, we'll be ... not like this," he said, holding up their clasped hands.

She opened her mouth, but lost the words in a rush of emotion, so she simply brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles one by one. Unwrapping his fingers from hers, she kissed each tip, then ran her tongue over the lines of his palm, life line and love line, running down to merge as one at the blue veins of his wrist.

He stifled a groan at the heat from her mouth. "Buffy. Pet. I want you to mark me."

" Why? It won't go with you. You'll have the same body you did before the last two years happened."

"When I die ..." he started to say.

She interrupted him, clutching his hands painfully. "You're not going to die. You're just going to be who you were. Before."

He glared at her. "Don't logic me about this. We both know what's going to happen will be a death for me ... the death of us."

Closing her eyes in misery, she bowed her head to his hands. "My death, too," she said, fighting back tears. "Another one."

"When I die," he said again, "I want to go out wearing your mark. I want it so that anyone looking at me in that moment could know that I'm not who I was before you. I want them to know that the love of a woman — a Slayer — was enough to change a demon into a man. Nothing on the inside of me is as it was before I loved you. Shouldn't there be some change on the outside as well?"

"It'll hurt," she said, standing and pulling him up with her.

"Of course it will hurt. This whole bloody thing hurts. Marking me. it should hurt. It has to." With one quick movement, he ripped off his shirt. Buttons clattered down the steps, pinged off the walls. He tossed the shirt over the rail carelessly and pulled a folded knife from the pocket of his jeans. "Make it hurt, Buffy."

His expression was taut, his face so hard, Buffy thought that if she touched his cheek, it would feel like marble. How do I do this? Taking the knife, she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked him over. Flat stomach, firm chest, a peppering of hair. she pressed him into turning around, facing away from her so she could examine his back. The fine bones of his shoulder blades looked vulnerable, like the folded wings of a bird. Here, she thought as an ancient knowledge filled her. The last bite a woman gave him sent him from the human world. How else should I send him from this one but by doing the same?

"Alright" she said, looking down at him from the step above his. Dropping the knife on the floor, she rested her chin on his shoulder and kissed his earlobe. "Ready?"

"As ever," he said and closed his eyes.

Licking her way over his neck to the nape where his hair met his skin, she nibbled the skin there lightly, preparing him. Without hesitation she sank her teeth into the muscle above his spine and pressed down as hard as she could. His body bowed back into hers and she wrapped her arms around his waist, supporting him. They sank down onto the stairs, Spike lying half in her lap, grinding his teeth in silence.

Blood filled Buffy's mouth, making her gag, but she kept bearing down. She didn't want to tear the flesh out, only mark it so deeply that it wouldn't heal before the spell was completed. The front of her shirt was soaked in his blood, sticking the skin of his back against her. With each movement of his body, she felt a wet tugging at her chest where his blood joined them together. How appropriate, she thought wryly, rubbing her hands up and down his sides until he caught them in his and pressed them against his abdomen.

"Right, that's good," he rasped, patting her hands and setting her free.

She pulled her teeth out of his skin. As he turned to face her, she swallowed the blood that coated her mouth and wiped her face on her sleeve.

"You." she faltered, watching the flow of blood over his collarbone and down his chest. "Did I ..."

Stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, he said, "You did it just right, love."

"Does it hurt?" she whispered, her voice ragged. "Does it hurt enough for you?"

Grabbing her arms, he pulled her to him, cradling her against his front. "Couldn't hurt more," he told her, knowing it was the truth. "But I'm glad of it, Buffy. I'm glad of the last two years with you. It was worth this." The feel of her pressed against his bare chest made him close his eyes with longing for the many nights in their jungle bed, when she'd curl against him just as she was now. Happy nights, unlike this one.

She rubbed her face down the crease of his sternum, tasting a lick of his blood, swallowing the tang of it from her tongue to take a part of him with her. Beneath her arms, she could feel the give and take of his breathing. Always so human-seeming, she thought, matching her own breathing to his. Not that it matters now.

"Even if you were human, we would've ended this way," she said, fresh tears welling up at the irony of it. "All that time, we thought our biggest challenge was our natures, how opposite they are. You, vampire; me, Slayer. Now this ... it wouldn't matter what you were, what I was. It never mattered, not really. Look how insignificant this makes it."

Spike tilted her face up towards his and brushed at the tears building in corners of Buffy's eyes. "We really should have a fight," he said abruptly.

"A fight? Right now?"

"Not like there'll be another chance." He gave her a lopsided smile. "Fighting's one of our best things. Be a shame to never get another go at you."

Sniffling, she narrowed her eyes. "You don't have to make me laugh, Spike. I wasn't going to cry."

"Right. Because teary eyes are for the shiny, happy people."

Biting her lip, she shook her head. "No. I won't cry. I'm not going to have that be our last moment together."

"Guys?" Willow coughed once, looking meaningfully towards the pentagram. "It's time. I need you, Buffy."

Turning her face against Spike's neck, she looked sideways at Willow. "Will I ... can I ..."

"It's just for a minute. I can do the actual spell without you. It just needs your ... well, it needs your blood. Just a teensy bit."

Buffy picked up the knife from the floor and walked without hesitation into the living room, straight into the center of the pentagram. The blade bit into her wrist at the quick twist of her hand. Hissing in pain, she stuck her arm over the chalice. "How much?" she asked Willow, watching her blood fall.

Rushing into the room, Willow looked from Buffy's pinched face to the half-full cup. "That's ... that's good. Great. Thanks."

With a bitter smile, Buffy pressed her wrist against her stomach, holding the wound closed. "Don't mention it."

"Great," Willow repeated, waiting until Buffy left the circle before taking her place in front of the chalice. "That's great. Now we ... it'll be just a second. A quick second."

Spike stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall. Buffy stood still for a moment, watching Willow's bent head, listening to the Latin words pour from her friend's mouth. Then she went to Spike and smiled at him, a ghoulish smile that would have chilled him if it hadn't been the echo of his own expression.

She touched him as if reading him by Braille, her face awash with concentration and tension as she relearned the feel of the muscles under her hands. His chest tightened and relaxed under her hands. This was their language, the one they'd created together over the past two years. A touch to tease, another to soothe, and after enough contact they knew all they ever could of each other. With their bodies, they'd told each other all the stories their hearts held. Falling back on this language was the cowards way out, but Buffy couldn't bring herself to care.

"I love you." She pressed the words against his skin as if tattooing him with their weight.

Burying his face in her hair, his lips found her ear and kissed over it. "I love you."

Willow screamed as a flash of yellow light filled the room. And then there was silence.

Chapter Thirteen

Sunnydale
September, year 2000

The Magic Box was dark, lit only by the glow of a fat candle sitting beside the cash register. Buffy sat up slowly from where she was lying, sprawled on the floor beneath the counter. Blinking, dazed, she ran her hands over her face, scrubbing at it, trying to clear her head.

She stood, holding onto the counter with one hand for balance. Looking around, she saw that her friends were scattered all around her, all coming back to consciousness as slowly as she was.

"What happened?" she asked, looking from Willow to Xander, who both sat slumped over the round table.

Straightening, Xander shrugged and reached out a hand to pull Anya to her feet. She'd been lying on the floor beside his chair. "I don't know. Last thing I remember, we were sitting around talking about Dracula and his pit of women. Then ... nothing."

Tara came out from the back room. She flipped on the light switched, revealing a large bruise that bloomed across her forehead. "Ouch," she said as she touched her face gingerly and sat down beside Willow. "What's going on? Someone do a spell or something?"

"I don't think so," Giles said, popping up from behind the counter. He smoothed his disheveled hair with quick, dignified swipes of his hand. "None of us were in the mood for spells after our day with Dracula."

"Then what?" With one finger, Buffy touched the puddle of melted wax below the candle's wick. "Look. Only a little bit melty. But I lit it this morning. It should've melted all the way out by now."

A loud groan came from near the stairs to the basement. Spike walked in, one hand pressed against his eyes. "What the bloody hell did you wankers do to me?"

"What's bleach boy doing here?" Xander said, shooting to his feet. He moved closer to Buffy. "Maybe he did this."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "He didn't do anything. Look, he's as freaked out as we are."

Squinting as he walked into the light, Spike smirked at Xander. "I didn't do a thing, but maybe you did. Heard you found Drac's bugs right tasty. Could be he's still around somewhere, pulling your strings like a puppet."

Xander's hands clenched into fists. "I ... me ... no. It wasn't me. And why are you even here?"

"Don't rightly know. It's not like I'd be hanging around for your precious company, that's for bloody sure." He looked around Xander, meeting Buffy's eyes. "You sure it's not Drac working behind the scenes?"

"No, I dusted him." Buffy's lips twitched up at the corners. "Then, he came back. And I dusted him again. And. well, maybe he's dusty, maybe not. But still, it wasn't Xander. He woke up here with us."

"Well, we're all unharmed, and that's the important thing." Giles smiled down at Willow, who was gesturing with wordless angst to Tara's bruise. "Mostly unharmed, that is. I don't know what could've caused this, but whatever it was, it's gone now. I best consult my books."

"It was magic," Tara said, glancing at Buffy as if unsure of how her words would be received. "But not like any spell I've ever felt before. Something. something farther away, but more intimate, too. I dunno, that sounds wrong, but. it's like it is familiar and strange at the same time."

Raising her eyebrows, Buffy nodded slowly. "Uh-huh. Okay." She turned to Giles, who was pulling books off the shelf. "You do the research. Will, Xander, you'll help him? I've gotta get home and check on Dawn and Mom."

"We still don't know why Spike's hanging around. What was he doing in the basement anyways? Stealing. Stealing our stuff, our magickey stuff." Xander pointed his finger in Spike's face, jabbing him in the nose. "Pay up, or I'll ..."

Buffy shoved Xander away from Spike with a hard sweep of her arm. "You'll do nothing," she said. "Back off, Xander. I'm not going to let you hurt him. Back off right now." Sticking her body between his and Spike's, she reached back and took Spike's hand. The movement was so smooth and without premeditation, she felt like she'd done it a hundred times before. And by the cool pressure of Spike's fingers wrapped around hers, she knew he felt the same.

The air in the room seemed to thicken as everyone gaped at Buffy. Spike and Xander, wearing identical, jaw-dropped expressions, looked at each other in confusion.

"Did you really just do that?" Xander said in shock.

Spike dropped her hand, his eyes wide. "Defending me now, Slayer? And touching me?"

Willow and Tara exchanged a baffled glance. "Buffy," Willow said in reproof. "What are you doing?"

Confused, Buffy shook her head. "I ... I don't know." She closed her eyes and leaned against the counter, pressing one hand against her chest. "Something's wrong. I ... I don't feel right. I feel ..."

Giles dropped his books and rushed to her side. Placing one hand flat on her back, he helped her over to the round table and lowered her into a chair. "Back off, everyone. Give her room to breathe."

"No, no. I'm fine. I just ... for a minute there, I ..." Opening her eyes, she grimaced. For a minute, I felt something for Spike. But there's no way I'm telling them that. "I'm fine. Just ... dizzy. Yeah. Dizzy. Go on, go do research and stuff. I'm just ... fine."

Xander knelt at her feet, looking up into her face. "You sure? For a second there, I thought you were gonna take my head off.. For Spike. All I was doing was ..."

"I know," she said, cutting him off. Standing, she pushed away from them and walked to the front part of the store. "I just ... hey ... Where'd Spike go?"

"He took off when you closed your eyes." Xander snorted and took a few steps towards her. "Just like him, huh? When the going gets tough, the tough get ... no, 'cause he's not that tough. I meant, when the going gets ... I mean ... Well, he's gone. Took off like the coward he is."

Her face flushed, and she'd marched three strides towards Xander before she realized what she was doing. What she was feeling. Anger, defensiveness ... she wanted to hurt Xander for saying those things about Spike. But Spike ... he was the enemy, not Xander. God, what's wrong with me? Feelings? For Spike?

The Scoobies stared at her with concern. Willow stood and moved toward her slowly, her hands outstretched. "Buffy? Why don't you go home, check on your family. Maybe take a nap? You look a little ..."

"Psychotic." Xander gestured pointedly to Buffy's hand, which still tingled with the memory of Spike's skin. "You held hands with that ... that thing."

Her face snapped shut on all expression. She looked at him with bleak eyes. "I know. Umm ... a nap. That's a good plan, Will. I'll ... just ... go now."

They watched her leave, and when the door banged shut, Xander turned to face the group. He shook his head. "What was that all about?"

Before anyone could respond, the bell above the door jingled and Riley strode into the room. "What's wrong with Buffy?" he asked, stopping in front of Xander.

Xander shrugged. "Good question."

"She rushed right by me, like she didn't even see me. I said hi to her, but ... nothing. I wasn't even a blip on her radar screen."

"Maybe that's because she's blipping Spike."

Letting out a laugh, Riley started to tell Xander not to even joke about such a thing, but the laugh died as he saw the seriousness on Xander's face. "Spike. You can't be right about that. There's no way Buffy would ever ... Not with Spike."

"Yeah? Well, just a minute ago, she was ready to go all Slayer-happy on my ass protecting him."

"So? That doesn't mean anything. She's the Slayer. She protects the helpless, even worthless monsters like Spike. We don't get to judge her for that — it's her calling, not ours." Riley looked at the rest of the Scoobies, who were watching him closely. "What happened here?"

Willow took a step closer to Riley, her eyes soft with pity and confusion. "I don't think Buffy's 'blipping' anyone ... but you, of course ..., but something is up with her and Spike." Her voice dropped to a tender whisper. "She ... she held his hand. Just took it up in hers, like she'd done it a hundred times before. Like they were ..."

Working his jaw, Xander glared at Willow, cutting off her words. He put a hand on Riley's arm. "Spike's done something to her. A spell or something. Things went all magicky in here right before she made with the Spike-ick. He needs to be taken down, man."

Riley, his face flushing with anger as their words sank in, pushed an anxious hand through his hair and turned to leave.

"Where are you g-going?" Tara called, chewing her lip.

Xander's mouth raised in a half-smile. "Spike hangs out at that bar on the bad side of town. It's a demon bar, called Sparky's."

Riley barely acknowledged them. "I'm going now."

"Where?" Tara repeated.

"Hunting," he said shortly and left, letting the door slam behind him.

♥

He was running down a jungle path, chasing something or someone he could not see in the darkness. Leaves slapped his bare thighs, mud squished between his toes, but being naked seemed natural, as did the chase. When he fell, he landed hard on the path and slid in the mud on his rear. A voice rose behind him, the sound of laughter met his ears, and he closed his eyes as a small pair of hands touched his back. They curved around his shoulders and slid down his chest, warm and smooth, titillating, familiar.

"Spike." The woman said his name in a thick murmur, again and again as her hands moved over his chest to his back, then around his waist. Thin fingers danced over his hip bones, traced the hollows.

He gasped at the feel of her pressed up against his back. She was naked too, he knew, and muddy, and completely intoxicated him with her nearness. Pulling her around, he sat her in his lap, clutched her against his chest, and breathed in the scent of her hair. She smelled of flowers and of him, his scent on her hair as if imprinted there from years of closeness.

Inhaling deeper, he rubbed his mouth over her forehead. "Buffy," he whispered. "Oh god, Buffy."

Awakening slowly, Spike turned his face into the cold stone of the crypt sarcophagus on which he slept, as though it held the warmth of the golden skin and strong, small arms he'd dreamed of being wrapped in. The smell of crushed flowers, of jungle trees and something deeper invaded his senses, underlying the memory of her lips pressed against his, her hands on the skin of his back, drawing him closer, drawing him inside her body.

He sat up, his eyes wide with amazement. "Oh god," he rasped, raking his fingers through his hair. His tongue dashed over his lips, and he could still taste her there, sweet and tangy. Buffy taste. But I've never.

"God, no. Not again."

Shrugging on his duster, he swept out of the crypt into the darkness of the empty streets. The lights of his favorite bar shined in front of him like a beacon of safety — the one place in town he could be sure the Slayer would never be. He couldn't face her, not when he could still feel her on his skin, in places she'd never touched.

"Sssssspike," said the serpentine barman as Spike walked in and down past the long row of stools. "Your tab."

"Not now," he growled without pausing and pushed open the door to the back room.

Inside, three demons sat at a round table, playing cards. Spike barely looked at them. He flopped down on one of the metal folding chairs, pulled out his flask, and drank long and deep.

"Hey, Spike," Clem said. He exchanged a nervous glance with the female vampire sitting across from him. "You want to play?"

Gulping, he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and tipped his head in affirmation. "Yeah. Cut me in."

Clem cut the deck and started to deal. "You sure you're up for this tonight? You don't look well."

"Don't I? Well, it's no wonder." Frowning, he took another swig from his flask, and scooped up the cards dealt to him. Sorting them, he said, "You wouldn't believe the dream I had."

"A bad dream?" Clem gave a little shudder. "I have nightmares, sometimes. Once, I dreamed that I was lost in this huge block of swiss cheese, trying to get out by climbing through the holes, but only getting more and more lost until I started to eat my way out, and then, well. it got pretty gross."

"No, not a cheese dream," Spike said with gritty patience. "It was ... hot."

Clem relaxed a little. "Was it the one where Drusilla's a human and ..."

"Who's Drusilla?" asked the other vampire idly as she picked at her long, painted nails.

Casting a wary glace at Spike from the corner of his eyes, Clem leaned towards her and whispered behind his hand, "His ex. With a capital X."

"Not Dru," Spike said, tossing a card onto the table. "Haven't dreamed about her in ages. No, it couldn't be that simple. Not for ole Spike, you understand."

"Oooohh," Clem said, his eyes widening as he started to understand. "You had another dream about the S—"

"Yeah, her," Spike interrupted, glaring at Clem and nodding towards the vampire.

"Don't worry on my account," she said, her voice drawling with boredom. "Word's out about you and the Slayer. Everyone knows you've switched teams."

Color rose in Spike's face. Grinding his teeth, he started to rise to his feet, a denial hot on his lips, when the strange demon sitting beside him put a calming hand on his forearm.

"Yeah?" Spike said, taking in the demon's strange appearance. Not a demon, he decided, but couldn't quite figure out how he knew that. He took another drink, slowly, giving the creature time to realize he was messing with someone dangerous, chipped or not. "Something you want?"

With a hapless smile, the creature said, "No, vampire, not me. It's you who's wanting something. Or ... someone."

He snorted, incredulous. "I don't want her. Except in the very, very dead sense. It was just a dream, you nit. A dream, that's all."

Blinking his red eyes solemnly, the creature tossed his cards down on the table. "A dream, you say, and yes, it was that. But what creates such dreams in a vampire?"

"Nothing. There's nothing between us but bloodlust."

"Lust is a part of every love, true. And love it is, or the memory of such a love, driven to the depths of your dead soul's shadow by something nearly as powerful as what it's hiding. But love is not something trivial, to be put on and taken off at will. Love is physical. It's as much a part of your body as your bones and blood. Shut off from memory, it lives within you still."

Spike narrowed his eyes, confused but also intrigued. "You want to start making some kind of sense?"

"I never thought it right, the love between the Slayer and her vampire. Never, until I saw the greatness, the rightness of their passion."

"What are you talking about?" Clem shook his head, making the folds of loose skin jiggle. "No Slayer's ever loved a vampire. Unless you mean Angel, but he doesn't really count, having a soul and all."

"This vampire had no soul. Only the love of a good woman and the will to hold onto her, to keep the purity of joy he found in the life she led him to."

Snorting, Spike folded up his hand and snapped the cards, sending them flying. "Sounds like a fable to me. A tall tale to help the kiddies sleep tight in their coffins. 'Be a good little vampire and maybe you'll meet a Slayer on a white horse someday. She'll wisk you away to her castle and you'll live happily ever after.' Bloody hell. You're nuts."

"This is no tale. This is what I remember, what my fairy-mind holds as the truth." Leaning back in his folding chair, the creature met Spike's eyes. "You should listen to me, vampire. You should remember. Remember."

"Remember what? I'm a demon. She's the Slayer. That's all there is to remember." Spike's voice held no sarcasm.

"You know what you should remember. Your unconscious throws it back at you in your sleep."

His mouth softened as he remembered his dream. The smell of her hair, the warmth of her body. it was almost too intense a thought to hold. "I'm a demon," he repeated, but his voice was too quiet to hold weight.

Before the creature could respond, the door was flung open and Riley crashed into the room. He honed in on Spike, ignoring the others. "Stand up," he growled, his hands doubling into fists. "You think you're man enough for Buffy? Get up and fight like one!"

Smirking, Spike scooted his chair back from the table. "You're late, soldier boy. Not two seconds ago, I was telling the blokes here that I'm too demon for the Slayer. Toddle off now, eh? Got cards to play, and you're not invited."

"Get ... up ..." Riley ground out, "or I will get you up."

"Or you will 'get me up'? What kind of a threat is that?" Spike's bravado slipped a little at the sight of the stake Riley pulled from the back of his waistband. "Or, okay, it wasn't that bad."

"Up!" Riley grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shoved him up against the wall. Pulling the stake out, he reared his arm back and shoved it into Spike's chest, stopping just short of his heart. Breathing hard, he twisted it, holding Spike up as the vampire suppressed a groan. "You think you can mess with her? Make her touch you?"

"What ... are you talking ... about ..." Spike wheezed, trying to stay still.

"Xander told me everything, Spike. You put a spell on her. Made her protect you."

"Harris is a wanker, always has been. He doesn't know jack about spells, or about me. Or about Buffy for that matter, but—" He pressed his lips together. True as it was, telling Riley he didn't know jack about the Slayer was a bad plan at the moment.

"She held your hand. Buffy wouldn't do that, not unless you did something to her." Riley tightened his hand on the stake. "Start talking, Spike. Tell me how to undo it."

"Undo what? There is no sodding spell!"

Taking a sharp breath, Riley nodded. "Fine. Have it your way. Whatever hold on Buffy you have, I'm sure it'll break when I kill you."

Spike started to struggle, but Riley slammed his head against the wall, stunning him into half-consciousness. Behind them, Clem stood up, but Riley sensed the movement and said, "Stay back, all of you. No one else'll get hurt if you just. stay back."

Clem sank back onto his chair. "The Slayer wouldn't want you to kill him. He helps her. They're ... like partners or something."

Slamming Spike's head back again, Riley said, "They are not partners." He tore the stake from Spike's chest and reared his arm back, ready to strike.

"Riley, stop," Buffy said, rushing into the room and kicking the stake out of Riley's hand. Tara came in behind her and hung back by the doorway. "Let go of him."

"Buffy," Riley said, dropping Spike to the ground. He rubbed his hand. "That hurt."

Buffy knelt beside Spike, helping him to sit. She looked up at Riley with a furious glare. "What do you think you're doing? You were going to stake him? Why? He's defenseless, helpless."

"Why are you defending him? You know he put a spell on you. God only knows what he's got planned."

Tara side-stepped into the room, avoiding the female vampire who ran out the door. She gave an uneasy glace at Clem and the other creature, then moved closer to Buffy. "There was no spell. A-at least, not cast by Spike. He's not adept enough to do magick of that level."

"See? He's too ... he's just Spike, Riley."

"Yeah," Spike said sarcastically, his head lolling dizzily to one side as he sat with his back against the wall. "Harmless ole me."

"You. shut up," Buffy hissed. The urge to touch his hair ran through her like electricity; she folded her tingling hands together. "Just ... hush, okay? I'll get you home."

Riley's eyebrows shot up. "You're taking him back to his crypt? Don't you think that's a bit ... friendly?"

"I think you need to back off and go home. We're fine, no thanks to your testosterone poisoning." She stood and pulled Spike up with her, supporting him with an arm around his waist. "Call me tomorrow, if you're over this. If not, well ..." She brushed past him towards the door, not knowing how to finish her sentence.

"Wait!" cried the creature. He jumped up from the table and ran over to Buffy. Bowing deeply, he grinned at her. "Happy greetings, Slayer."

"O-kay?" she said uncertainly. "And you are?"

"A friend of yours, always, mistress. And his friend as well," the creature said, touching Spike's arm with an enormous hand.

"Friends are good. Really. But we have to go now," she said, starting forward.

"Wait!" The creature stood on his toes, making himself tall enough to whisper in Spike's ear. "Vampire?"

"Yeah?"

"The flower shop on Market street. They have orchids. The Slayer's favorite." The creature pressed his fingers into Spike's bicep and, nodding to Buffy, let them pass.

♥

Saying goodbye to Tara, Buffy walked slowly as she half-carried Spike down the street towards his cemetery. "You're heavier than you look," she said, trying not to trip over the curb as they made their way onto the sidewalk. Her arm was wound tightly around his waist. He'd managed to sling one arm over her shoulders, and she held it there with a firm grasp on his hand.

Looking at her sideways, Spike said, "I'm not a weakling, despite what you told Finn."

Meeting his gaze was too intense. She dropped her eyes to the sidewalk. "Who's getting carried home?"

"Let's see how well you walk after someone bashed your head into a wall."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, neither of them able to find any words strong enough to cut through the energy that cocooned them together on the dark street. Emotions rose and fell in Buffy's chest. She shook her head, trying to make herself focus on what was real instead of the insanity taking place inside of her.

Spike finally couldn't take the silence anymore. He stopped walking, making Buffy stop as well. "What's happening to us?"

"I don't know. But I don't think it's a spell. At least, that's not what's making me feel like this. I can't explain how I know, except ..." She blushed.

"We've been there, done that, before. Red's spell felt different. This feels ... older, somehow."

"Realer," Buffy muttered.

"That's not a word, pet. But yeah, more real." He tightened his grip on her hand instead of asking the words that pounded inside of him. Could this be real? Could we really love each other?

Feeling his fingers squeeze, she held him more firmly around the waist. His bleached head rested briefly against her shoulder. The pleasure of his closeness swept over her; amazed and dazed, she closed her eyes. "This is bad. That's what I should say. That's what I should feel. But it doesn't feel bad. It feels ... yeah, like you said. Old. Like we've been ... like this, for a long time."

"So, now what?"

Turning her face into his hair for the length of a heartbeat, she felt her muscles relax. Something about him put her at ease. Realizing it was a mixture of his nearness, the feel of his hand in hers, and the softness of his hair, she let out a sigh of confusion. "I don't know what to do. About you, about the way I'm feeling. even about my friends. Xander's back at the Magic Box thinking that I'm gonna kill him if he touches you, and really, that's how I felt. I would've stopped him, hurt him ... for you. He's probably hating me about now. And Riley ..." She sighed again. "God. What am I going to do about Riley?"

Spike nuzzled his head against hers, but only once, only so lightly they could both pretend he hadn't. "Forget your mates, Buffy. Forget your ... Riley. They're not feeling what we are. It's not their ... their fight. Their dance. We have to figure out what to do now. Just us, not them."

"I don't know what to do. All I know is ... this. Here, with you. And that it's good, somehow."

Her hair brushed over his face and he took in her scent. It made him shudder with memory. She smells like flowers and ... like me. Impossible, but true. "Alright then. Come on, let's go."

"That's the wrong way," she said, frowning with concern. "You're hurt that bad? You don't know where you're going?"

"We're making a little stop first," he said, offering her a smile that widened when she returned it.

"Where at?"

"Market Street."

- The End -