Buffy has broken off from the Council, but she doesn't know the Council is still meddling in her life.  She doesn't know they set up a slayer to pose as "Buffy" in Rome, nor the Immortal situation, nor the fact that Spike is back.  She does know Angel is running W&H.  Buffy is in the U.S., someplace warm, but not California.  She's living a quiet life when the Powers-that-be decide her duty is not done.

 

With All My Heart

 

 

Chapter One

 

This was her favorite stretch of sand. Not far from her little house and still relatively private.

 

Only two others had been spotted. An elderly couple that appeared entirely engrossed in each other. They always held hands and they often stopped to gift one another with kisses.

 

As it should be.

 

Their obvious affection didn’t disturb the former Slayer. Quite the opposite, in fact. Their warm smiles and friendly but non-intrusive greeting as they passed each other on the sand warmed her otherwise frigid heart. Gave her something to look forward to each evening after dinner. A reason to smile in a world that had seemed hell-bent on ripping every last smile from her soul.

 

Dragging her toes through the fine sand, she was meandering her way home to the evening news and the one drink she allowed herself. A splash of bourbon in a squat glass with no ice or water to cut the flavor. Nothing to eradicate the bite as it slid down her throat.

 

Jack Daniels.

 

His favorite. Somehow it never tasted quite as good to her as it had coming second hand from his tongue. But it was close.

 

For a year after the fall of the Hellmouth she had consumed horrendous amounts of the stuff. Falling down drunk had been the only way she could make it through the nocturnal hours. Endless nights haunted by Spike. Every word. Every expression. Every mistake. Every kiss. Every time he loved her. In Technicolor, no less. She had always wondered at that term when she had seen it in the movie credits. Now she understood.

 

Technicolor.

 

A luxuriant panorama of sights and sounds, tastes and textures that were so intensely real at times that she woke herself with the force of her regretful sobs

 

At least she had made her peace with him. She did have that. The final nights before that final horrific battle had been spent in the basement with him. Each night she came to him and each night he was waiting patiently, both knowing without words that their time together would soon be coming to an end.

 

Her friends had seen it as alienation on her part. They were vocal in their resentment of his presence in her life and kept at her constantly to cast him out of the fold, to put him down like the filthy demon he was. Planning and plotting together to destroy him in spite of her demands that they leave him alone. They couldn’t—no; they WOULDN’T accept that she needed him. That without him, that last sliver of the Buffy they all professed to love would wither and die, leaving nothing but the eviscerated shell of the Slayer.

 

They accepted it now. How could they not? The proof of her need for him walked among them with haunted eyes and haggard features; a testament to the sleepless nights that were endured since he had gone from her life forever. Since she had once again done her duty by sacrificing someone she loved to save a world that had remained blissfully clueless and completely uncaring, the most clueless and uncaring of which were those closest to her. The very ones that now lauded him as the Champion he was.

 

That, more than anything, had set her on her solitary path. She couldn’t stomach the hypocrisy that spilled from their deceitful mouths. To her face, they commiserated with her, sympathizing with her over her loss. Her faint hopes that they had finally come to understand the magnitude of Spike’s sacrifice and what he had come to mean to her were dashed when she had stumbled inadvertently onto a late night conversation between the five of them.

 

Giles, Willow, Xander, Andrew, and Dawn. Each of them with the perfect solution to ‘fix’ her. Willow’s opinion carried the most weight. Strip her of those pesky memories with a handy dandy forgetting spell.

 

The mere mention of the use of magical means to rid her of what they had considered an unhealthy obsession had sent her flying into the night with little more than the clothes on her back. She’d had just enough on her credit card to pay for a flight from London to Boston, and from there it was a broken and disillusioned young woman that hitch-hiked from Boston to Daytona Beach.

 

Knowing that they would use every means at their disposal to find her, she began making the rounds of the demon bars in search of information. Quite by chance she had run into Clem, losing badly at a game of kitten poker as far from the Hellmouth as a demon could get. After spending a few hours catching up and crying over their shared loss, he took her to a warlock that owed him a favor. One cloaking spell later, she bid her floppy-skinned savior goodbye and headed further south.

 

She had ended up in the Keys. It was one of the easiest places on earth to lose one’s self. No one cared where you came from, no one asked questions. Jobs were easy to come by and they didn’t quibble if you wanted to work on a cash only basis. When she tired of one spot she simply moved on to a different islet.

 

A different life.  A different beginning.  A different lie.

 

This place had satisfied her the longest so far. She wasn’t happy. She had never really been happy--the promise of it swept away in an apocalyptic cloud of dust. But at times she was almost content with the life she had created for herself. No Watcher. No friends. The only expectations she had to live up to were her own.

 

She did miss Dawn. As much as she had hoped that being away from the Hellmouth would bring them closer together, Dawn had changed so much in that last year that Buffy felt she hardly knew her sister anymore. It was her betrayal of Spike’s memory that had hurt the most.

 

“Beautiful night, ain’t it?”

 

She had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized that she was no longer alone. Her head shot up and she pinned the interloper with a glacial stare.

 

“It was,” she bit out, making no attempt to mask her hostility.

 

“I was expecting a warmer welcome, ya know?”

 

Buffy rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Whistler? You’re stinking up my beach.”

 

The emissary for the Powers That Be shook his head with a lopsided smile. “Your manners ain’t improved much over the years, kid.”

 

“Can I help it if every time I see you, you smell like a pile of garbage? And why are you here, anyway?”

 

She turned away dismissively and resumed the sandy trek back to her cottage. Whistler rushed to fall in beside her.

 

“I have a message for you, Chosen One,” he puffed, still managing to sound pompous as he stumbled in the soft sand.

 

Her answering laugh was anything but amused. “Schyeah! Hate to break it to you, buddy, but I’m not the Chosen One anymore. I’m not even one of the Chosen Few. I quit. This killing machine for the PTB closed down when the Hellmouth imploded.”

 

“Ah, ah, ah!” The demon took great pleasure in wagging his finger in her face. “You quit the Council. This whole Chosen One gig? You don’t quit. You rarely get vacations, come to think of it. The cloaking spell was a slick move. Kept you off our radar for a long time, but they’ve found you now and you’re needed. Like, yesterday.”

 

She had one bare foot on the steps leading up to her cottage when he reached out and grabbed her arm. The next thing he knew he was sailing through the air and landing flat on his back in the sand. He craned his head around to glare up at the very pissed off former Slayer.

 

“I see you still got it, sweetheart,” he groused as he hauled himself back to his feet and jerkily set his clothes to rights. He bent and scooped his hat off the ground and jammed it on his head, giving her the evil eye.

 

“Keep your hands to yourself or you’ll get more of the same,” Buffy spat. She threw her hands up in frustration. “God! Don’t you Higher Beings get it? I. Am. Done. I gave at the office. And gave and gave and gave some more! I have nothing left. You’ve sucked it all out of me.”

 

Whistler got a determined look on his face and opened his mouth to speak. She had him by the throat and pressed up against her porch railing before he could utter a sound.

 

“And so help me, if you even breathe the word PROPHECY, I’m gonna get me that hat I promised myself years ago!”

 

“Okay, ya got me! There might be…one of those things you won’t let me mention. But that isn’t my part of this job. That goes to someone else. But, I do have some information for you that might just change your mind about all this.” She wasn’t pounding him yet, so he decided to rush ahead with his spiel.

 

“Your little disappearing act had what was left of the Watcher’s Council shittin’ kittens. Sure they got all these little potentials running around and the rogue Slayer in Cleveland, but they were really counting on you to handle the training aspect of things. Might have been a cushy retirement, sister. You shouldn’t be so quick to fly off the handle and run off in a snit.”

 

Buffy’s hand tightened around his neck. “Rupert Giles is the Council, now. As far as I’m concerned, nothing has changed and nothing ever will. If your guys are so all-knowing and powerful they would have seen what my wonderful friends were planning to do to me. The Powers took him from me to save the world and I’ve accepted that. But there was no way I was going to hang around and let those that claimed to care about me take the memories that are all I have left.”

 

The emissary’s eyes were suddenly shifty and he stopped squirming to get free.

 

“What?” she demanded, squeezing threateningly. “I’m giving you five more minutes to spit it out and then I’m going inside. Without you, I might add.”

 

“With you all the sudden being MIA, the Council had to do something. There are three key factors that you need to know about. The Council, headed by Rupert Giles. An evil law firm called Wolfram and Hart, supposedly presided over by your old honey, Angel. Then we have The Immortal, who is basically a link between the two. Something big is going down in the near future. I know, I know!” he blurted out at her scornful look. “There is always something big going down. But this is huge. Wolfram and Hart is in the thick of it and the Council has tapped The Immortal for information. Normally he charges a substantial fee, but this time he didn’t ask for cash.” 

 

Buffy released him, wiping her hand on the back of her ragged cut-offs with a grimace of distaste. “You might as well come up here and sit down.” She grudgingly waved him to the empty chair as she curled up in her own. “Something tells me I’m not going to like hearing the rest of this so I might as well be comfortable.”

 

Relieved to have some distance between them, Whistler settled back with a heartfelt sigh.

 

“So. The Immortal. Didn’t want his usual fee. He wanted to meet a Slayer. THE Slayer. As in Buffy Summers. Seems he’s had a yen for you since he found out you got horizontal with both of the Aurelius boys. He always had a thing for their women.” His attempt at humor fell horribly flat. Buffy just stared at him coldly until he cleared his throat to continue.

 

“Moving right along. So the Council; they got no Slayer, right? No Slayer, no deal with Mr. Immortal. The little guy, Andrew, saves their collective bacon by coming up with this ingenious plot to replicate the Slayer through magical and medical means and send her to Roma.”

 

Buffy shot to her feet. “They CLONED me?”

 

“Well…kinda. Sorta. In a way. Modern medicine is a wonderful thing, don’t ya think?”

 

She stopped her pacing to whirl on him. “Someone actually agreed to be surgically altered to look like me?”

 

“Agreed? Honey, she volunteered. Kim Banks was one of the Council secretaries. She’s followed your entire career. If there was a Buffy Summers fan club, this chick would be the flippin’ president, ya know? She knows everything there is to know about you, and now thanks to your little witchy friend, she has all your memories.”

 

“SHE WHAT?”

 

“Yeah, well your witch friend has always had a skewed idea about how best to help in a situation.  Very nice work though.  Very authentic, except for the...you know...lack of slayer strength an' all."  Whistler offered another ill-fated grin as Buffy jumped to her feet, menacing him with her furious face.

 

“Surely you don’t condone what they’ve done?”

 

“In no way, shape, or form. Which is why I’ve been sent to you.”

 

Buffy ran an agitated hand through her hair and went back to her pacing. “I don’t know why I’m so surprised that they would do this. Some strange woman is walking around with my face and my memories. This is…” She stilled, her eyes filled with pain as she gazed out over the moonlit water. “It’s like being raped,” she whispered.

 

Whistler sighed. He got up and approached her warily. She was more hurt than angry now, but he’d seen first hand how volatile her emotions were. Contenting himself with standing beside her at the porch rail, he offered her his support and sympathy.

 

“You know he would have stopped, don’t you?”

 

She flinched. “Why am I not surprised that you know about that? And yes, we made our peace a long time ago. Besides, all the things they’ve done to me in the name of love are far worse than Spike ever did at his most evil.”

 

“If it’s any consolation, it didn’t go quite as they’d planned.”

 

A snort of derisive laughter greeted that statement. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? This is Willow we’re talking about, remember? So, what happened? Did their Dream Buffy turn into a toad or something?”

 

He scratched the back of his neck and looked uncomfortable. “Turns out Miss Kim Banks wasn’t all she led everyone to believe. She’s been known to dabble in magic herself. Nowhere near Rosenburg’s caliber, but enough to manipulate her into passing on any memories that she retained from her sojourn into your little melon before you…died.”

 

Buffy picked up on what he was inferring with that last sentence. “So she has none of my memories after that point?” Thank God. The imposter had no memories of Spike and the travesty that had been the beginning of their relationship. No inkling of the evolution of her feelings for him that had taken place during the days before the battle with The First Evil. Those memories were still hers alone.

 

“Her morals turned out to be sort of iffy, too. She…” He sucked in a deep breath and released it with a soft woosh. “Actually she…uh…kinda slept with all of them.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Her jaw dropped and she goggled at the demon. Did she hear him right?

 

“Yeah. Except your sister. She was totally against all this by the way. That should make you happy. She’s away at school now. Paris. Something about fashion.”

 

While she was glad to hear any information on Dawn, she was still having problems wrapping her head around his earlier revelation.

 

 “She…” Buffy swallowed a lump of nausea. “Oh my God. She had sex…” another heavy swallow, “with all of them?”

 

Whistler nodded. “Giles is still having a little trouble dealing with it.”

 

At that, Buffy rushed to the railing and leaned over, gratefully giving up her battle with the gorge that her mental images brought forth. She hung there, choking and coughing as she brought up what little amount of food she had eaten that day.

 

"Please tell me it wasn't all at once!" she managed to gasp out between retches.

 

“No! Oh, no. But she did play them off against each other. Since she did her little mind-mojo on them they’re all convinced that she really is Buffy Summers.”

 

"So she fucked my surrogate father, my surrogate sister, and my surrogate brother. What?

They just jumped into bed because they thought it was all peachy keen to get a clue what it was like to fuck me?”

 

He pursed his lips at her crudity, suspecting it was stress that brought it out, and rocked back on his heels. “Andrew, too.”

 

“God, that's just...just...I'm gonna be sick again."  And she was back over the railing.

 

Considerately allowing her a few minutes to get herself under control, he pressed a surprisingly clean handkerchief into her hand. “Better mop up, doll. It gets worse before it gets better.”

tbc

 

Chapter Two

 

Pressing the cloth to her mouth, Buffy threw open her front door and ran for the tiny kitchenette, intent on gulping huge glasses of cold water to wash the pukey taste from her mouth.

 

Whistler knew he was just begging for an ass-kicking, but he followed her inside anyway. An ornate brass hat stand stood just inside the door and he casually flicked his hat towards it, grinning when he hooked it on his first try. He turned to find Buffy glaring at him.

 

For the first time, he took a really good look at her. “Jeez, Slayer. What death camp did you escape from?”

 

She stood in the doorway, her thin arms folded across her almost non-existent breasts. Her haunted eyes were far too big in her hollow-cheeked face, and he was fairly certain that he would be able to count every rib under the baggy black t-shirt she wore.

 

“What the hell are you doin’? Trying to commit suicide as slowly and painfully as possible?”

 

Buffy’s eyes shot sparks of rage at his criticism. “My life ended the day your so-called Powers sacrificed their Champion,” she practically spat the last word, “to close the Hellmouth. Now, fuck the hell off. You want curves? Go fuck Buffy Two. My friends didn’t miss out on the action, so why shouldn’t my enemies get a taste of her?”

 

The demon smirked at her. “Ever see ‘Dogma’, sweetheart? I lack the equipment.”

 

She gaped. “You’re kidding me, right?”

 

He reached for his belt. “You want proof? No problem…”

 

“NO! A world of no. Ewwww!”

 

The expression on her face was priceless. He couldn’t help but laugh at her while he made himself comfortable on the tiny sofa. The frost in her eyes went a long way towards sobering him, however.

 

“What’s with the glacial glare? I know he went and burned himself up to save the world and all, but now that he's back, you might cut the poor guy a break and at least talk to him."

 

Buffy felt the trembling start at the pit of her stomach and spread like wildfire to her extremities. She struggled for control, but all she heard was that one word echoing in the void of her mind.

 

Back.

 

Whistler continued, completely oblivious to her distress.

 

“It’s not like you’re the only one who’s honked off at him right now. The Powers are sick to death of this eternal pissing contest between those two souled vamps over this whole Shanshu deal. Although it was pretty funny that they fought over Mountain Dew. Had me in stitches for weeks, I tell ya.” He collapsed against the cushions, laughing about it all over again.


”Whistler?” Buffy’s voice was dead calm. “Clarify something for me? I know Angel is one of the souled vamps, but who is the other?”

 

His laughter tapered off and he gave her a look that said she was completely crazed. “Well who do you think it is? Sure ain’t Drusilla. Shanshu calls for a male vamp with a soul, sweet cheeks. How many of those do you know?”

 

The shivers under her skin intensified as she stalked slowly towards him, her green eyes glittering in the dim light. "S-so you're saying another vamp went and got his soul, right?

B-because Spike is gone. I saw it. Before I ran out of that cavern, I watched him start to burn. H-he was t-turning to ashes right in front of m-me, dammit!” She had to force the last words out through teeth that chattered together from the force of her shaking.

 

“Oh, crapola,” Whistler breathed as he finally comprehended her anguish. “You didn’t know.” He held up both hands in a gesture of supplication. “Slayer, your vamp has been back from the grave since about three weeks after his Shake and Bake routine on the Hellmouth. He showed up in LA. Fell out of that amulet right there in front of Angel and company.”

 

Buffy turned away from him and slowly slid to the floor. She buried her face in her hands, the sobs that spilled from her sounding like the cries of a small, wounded animal.

At a loss, he tried to find the words that might bring her a small measure of solace.

 

“He was a ghost at first. Completely non-corporeal. And even when he wasn’t anymore, he couldn’t leave LA.”

 

“Did he…did he try to find me?”

 

While her words were little more than a whisper, the desperation in her voice wasn’t lost on Whistler.

 

“Slayer, as far as he knows…he DID find you,” he said, hoping she would catch his hint. When her face crumpled and she covered her mouth and turned away, he knew that she had. The girl was smarter than she let on.

 

“The Clone. He thinks…” She gasped, the sound torn harshly from her dry throat. “Oh. God, no. He didn’t…He’s not…”

 

“Boinking her?” Whistler made a rude sound. “Nah, but thanks to her, he thinks you’ve moved on to bigger and better things with The Immortal. Kinda pissy about it, ya know? I mean, all those years of you telling him he couldn’t love you because demons can’t love and now you’re with good ol’ Morty. Plus, he’s got Angel telling him that you weren’t a bit broken up over the whole dusting himself to close the Hellmouth thing, and constantly going on about some nonsense with your cookies being done and how you don’t need him in your life. Gotta admit, a vamp gets tired of the everlasting competition, sweetie. He’s pretty bummed about the whole thing.”

 

After nearly a year of feeling nothing but numb, she was overwhelmed by a deluge of emotions that was soon eclipsed by a righteous, burning rage that drove her to her feet.

 

"He’s bummed? What about me?” she demanded indignantly. “All this time, I thought he was gone. I’ve done nothing but mourn his sorry ass! How could that idiot even think that I could ever be with any soulless demon other than him? I went through hell rejecting my feelings for him and then, when I admit what my heart knew all along, he goes and burns up. ‘No you don’t, but thanks for sayin’ it.’” She mimicked sarcastically. “So now he’s back and because he’s not smart enough to figure out that the skanky ho in Rome isn’t me, and Angel is being a jealous dickhead, he doesn't even try to fight for me?”

 

She threw her hands up in the air and stomped over to rip open the closet door and rummaged through its depths, muttering all the while. “Where the fuck is my damned axe? I'll show that ass just who is in love with who!"

 

"Whoa, princess! Might be a good idea if you knew where he’s at, wouldn’t it? And what was that stuff you were saying about not being the Chosen One anymore?”

 

He shouldn’t have been surprised when the axe embedded itself in the wall just inches from his head. Warning—watch smart-assed mouth around morbidly pissed Slayer. He wiped the sweat from his brow and turned back to find himself suddenly nose to nose with her, those hazel eyes blazing with an unholy fire. The feral smile that curved her generous mouth sent chills down his spine. He swallowed convulsively.

 

“What’s the matter, Whistler? You got what you wanted. Now, I’m gonna get what I want. Information. Lots and lots of it. I suggest you develop a sudden case of diarrhea of the mouth, my smelly friend.” Her fingers sank into the lapels of his jacket. “You lie to me, even one little lie by omission, and I’ll show you the true meaning of pain.”

 

Jerking away, Whistler tried to repress the shudder of fear brought on by her words. She might only weigh ninety pounds soaking wet, but she was one scary chick when you got her riled.

 

He caved. Sang like a bird. Spilled his guts completely. The Powers were gonna be highly irate, but they were just gonna to have to deal with it. And next time they needed this crazy woman, they could do their own talking!

 

“So, in three days time, your vamps are gonna be in Rome. Supposedly on business for the evil law firm, but you and I both know why they’re really going there. Might be a good opportunity for you and blondie to make with the smoochies and straighten things out, yeah?”

 

“What are you, my pimp? Not that you don’t dress the part…”

 

He ignored her quip. “All we gotta do now is get you to your Watcher, and…”

 

The tiny fist came out of nowhere and slammed into his nose. Howling in pain, the demon slapped his hands over the offended appendage and squinted at her, tears of agony spurting from his eyes. “What the hell did you do that for?” he whined.

 

Buffy didn’t attempt to hide her shiver of disgust. “Giles? Like I could look him in the eye after what has happened! No, I’m not going to England. I’m going straight to Rome. And you’re gonna help me get there.”

                              

“Screw this!” Whistler said as he cradled his nose gingerly. He cast a baleful eye towards the ceiling. “Send down the next sucker, ‘cause I’m done!”

 

There was a blinding flash of light and Whistler was gone.

 

Giving vent to a short scream of frustration, Buffy stomped her foot a few times for good measure. Stupid PTB and their smelly, warty emissaries! She flung herself down on the couch and clenched her hands in her hair. Every curse word she had ever heard fell from her lips.

 

“It’s your own fault, honey. You were very rude to that poor man. I taught you better than that, Buffy Anne.”

 

Buffy froze. That voice. Soft and achingly familiar as it chided her gently for her behavior. Slowly, she lifted her head to look at the figure sitting calmly next to her.

 

It was her. She looked just as she had before she got sick. Before the tumor had started its insidious growth. The same softly curled hair and large, doe-like eyes. Her eyebrows were drawn together in displeasure and she shook her head in that way she always had. The way that said she just didn’t know what to do with her daughter.

 

“Mommy?” Her voice was weak with shock as she stretched out a cautious hand. Pure, unadulterated joy exploded within her as she came in contact with the smooth, warm skin of her mother’s arm. “I thought you were in heaven,” she said faintly. “I looked for you, but I never could find you there.”

 

Joyce smiled patiently. “Buffy, sweetie, you were never in heaven.”

 

“But, I was, mom. I had to be! Everything felt so perfect and wonderful to me that it had to be heaven,” Buffy insisted.

 

Her mother busied herself with tucking back stray strands of golden hair, her fingers lingering in its softness. “No. It wasn’t time. You weren’t supposed to die, so the Powers bound you with the energy from the portal and sent you into a holding area. They were the ones that planted the idea in Willow’s mind to bring you back.”

 

Buffy was speechless. No heaven. Then why had she felt so lost when she came back? Though she hadn’t spoken aloud, Joyce squeezed her fingers reassuringly.

 

“The energy in that portal was like a drug for you. Coming back so suddenly was hard on you. All the anger and confused feelings you had? Think of them as detox.”

 

“You saw?” Something in her heart rolled over and cried out in shame. “You saw…everything?”

 

Joyce nodded sadly. “It was so typical of you, Buffy. I blame Giles for a lot of it. You took everything he told you about vampires as the gospel truth, even when your heart told you otherwise. I know you felt you had redeemed yourself during the time you spent together before everything came falling down, but can you really blame Spike for not believing you?”

 

Tears slid down Buffy’s cheeks and dropped from her quivering chin to leave wet spots on her shirt. “I didn’t…I thought there would be time. That after telling him h-how I felt, I would have a chance to p-prove it,” she stammered.

 

“Why do you think they demanded a Champion, honey? A Champion is someone who is brave and pure of heart…and soul. They’ll sacrifice everything for the one they love. Like Spike did for you.”

 

“Pure of heart? Mom, this is Spike we’re talking about. Vampire. Killing machine for over a hundred years. How could he be pure of heart? His heart doesn’t even beat.”

 

A flash of anger tightened Joyce’s face. “I never in my life wanted to slap you so much as I do now, Buffy. Do you know who you sound like? You just opened your mouth and all that patented Rupert Giles bullshit came pouring out. He still controls the way you think and it sickens me. Listen with your heart for once. Pay attention to what it has been trying to tell you for so long. If you think for one minute that I’m going to allow you to destroy this last chance that you’re being blessed with…well, you can think again, missy!”

 

Taken aback by her mother’s vehemence, Buffy flinched the slightest bit when Joyce reached out and laid one soft hand over her heart. A burning sensation emanated from that spot, encompassing her whole body in liquid heat. Her head fell back as a dizzying kaleidoscope of memories and emotions washed over her.

 

That first meeting in the alley outside the Bronze. Her sixteen year old self asking Spike, “What happens Saturday?” and his reply, all strut and bravado, “I kill you.”

 

Parent/ Teacher Night. Crashing through the windows. “What can I say, I couldn’t wait.” The fight in the hallway. Lying on the floor and staring up at him. Shock and amazement when he paused in the midst of his killing blow to stare back at her with a dawning realization in his amber eyes before Joyce felled him with the axe.

 

Their truce to take down Angelus. “I want to save the world.”

 

His drunken return to Sunnydale and subsequent kidnapping of her friends to help him get Drusilla back. Standing with Angel as Spike bereted their behavior. “You’re not friends. You’ll never be friends.” Her guilty realization that everything he said was true and Angel driving that point home when he left months later.

 

The Gem of Amara fiasco. “What did it take to pry apart the Slayer’s dimpled knees?” A sharp stab of shame that he had overheard her conversation with Parker and hurt that he had used it against her.

 

The Initiative. “Spike had a little trip to the vet and now he doesn’t chase the other puppies anymore.” Hiding her sympathy for his plight behind a veil of scornful bitchiness.

 

Willow’s botched ‘will be done’ spell. The vague sense of disappointment when she had to tell Riley that her engagement to Spike was just a little joke.

 

Forcing him to show her how he fought and defeated the two Slayers. Yet another confrontation in an alley. Seeing herself shove him to the ground and hearing her contemptuous voice once more. “You’re beneath me.” And in spite of how badly her words must have hurt him, he had still offered quiet support that same night when he had found her crying over her mother on the back porch.

 

His disastrous attempt to confess his burgeoning feelings for her, following her back to her house afterwards. “Like it or not, I’m in your life. You can’t just shut me out.” The incredible devastation on his face when he realized that his invitation into her home had been revoked.

 

Glory. So certain that he would spill his guts to the Hellgod that she had gone after him with the sole purpose of killing him. Finding him broken and bloody in his crypt while posing as that damned robot. “’Cause Buffy…the other, not so pleasant Buffy…anything happened to Dawn, it’d destroy her. I couldn’t live, her bein’ in that much pain. Let Glory kill me first. Nearly bloody did.” Her kiss of gratitude and the stunned amazement it evoked.

 

That last night before her leap from the tower. “I know you’ll never love me. I know that I’m a monster. But you treat me like a man. And that’s…” He hadn’t known then. She hadn’t realized it until that point; how much she really had grown to care for him. And later, when she jumped instead of Dawn, his face looking up at her as she stood on the stairs had been the last thing she remembered.

 

Coming back from the dead. “How long was I gone?” The look in his eyes as he sat in front of her and held her battered hands in his. “Hundred- forty seven days yesterday. Uh…hundred forty-eight today. ‘Cept today doesn’t count, does it?”

 

The night he revealed that his chip no longer reacted when he hit her. “I’m supposed to be treading on the dark side. What’s your excuse?” Fighting and fucking hard and fast while a house tumbled down around them. Waking up the next morning, more harsh words that flayed. “Nothing’s changed. It was a mistake.” His snort of disbelief as he saw right through her ruse. “Bollocks. It was a bloody revelation.”

 

On and on it went, her hurting him, using him, because she refused to admit her feelings for him. And him allowing her to because he loved her. Telling him it was over. Spike and Anya drowning their sorrows together. The fallout. The bathroom. “Ask me again why I could never love you.” His horror and revulsion at his actions, fleeing from her house, from Sunnydale.

 

A long, hot summer spent in mourning. For Tara. For Willow. And for Spike. Not knowing if she would ever see him again. Not knowing how she would react if she did. And then finding him in the basement of the new high school. Spike—but not Spike. His crazed ramblings. The soul he fought for and won. For her. “Can we rest, now? Buffy, can we rest?”

 

Fighting to bring him back, to tear him from the clutches of the First Evil and its deadly trigger. Knowing instinctively that she needed him in her life and their ruthless determination to keep him out of it. “’Cause I’m not ready for you to not be here.” Fighting with her friends. Fighting with Giles. Endless, endless fighting. Giles’ betrayal. The contempt for his underhanded actions thick in her voice, “I think you’ve taught me everything I need to know.”

 

Cast from her home by her friends and her sister. Wandering lost and alone but knowing that he would find her, somehow. And he did. The only one that accepted her as she was and asked for nothing more. His heartfelt speech as he knelt in front of her, making her strong, making her whole once more. “You’re the One, Buffy.” His arms around her all night. Keeping watch. Keeping her safe.

 

The images came faster now. Tears streamed down Buffy’s face as she cried out in pain. Joyce’s hand faltered for a moment then determinedly pressed harder.

 

Going down into the Hellmouth. The first. The Turok-han. The scythe. Blood. Pain. Dead Potentials. Spike. The amulet. The blinding flash. Beams of light destroying the hoards of Turok-han. And Spike. “My soul. It’s really there. It kind of stings.” Lacing her fingers with his. The flames that didn’t burn. Her confession. His denial. Finally forcing herself to leave him. To run. Up and out. Onto the bus as Sunnydale began to cave into itself.

 

Standing at the edge of the crater that used to be Sunnydale, unable to grasp the fact that he was really gone this time. Gone for good. Those first few weeks spent in a haze of alcoholic oblivion. Yet another betrayal at the hands of her loved ones. Her flight from them. The past months here in Florida. Coming to terms with his loss. Rebuilding her life only to have it shattered once more. Because Spike was back.

 

The warmth subsided as Joyce removed her hand at last. Her expression was hopeful as she stroked Buffy’s wet cheeks gently. “Did you see it, baby?”

 

Eyes wide, gasping harshly, Buffy nodded. Sliding down, drained and kitten-weak, she nestled her head in her mother’s lap “With all my heart, Mom. With all my heart.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

 

After what seemed like hours but was in fact only a few minutes, Joyce gently nudged Buffy’s thin shoulder. Her foray into the past had been exhausting, but necessary. Helping her sit up, she ran a motherly hand over the tangled mane of blonde hair.

 

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

 

Buffy wiped her cheeks and pushed her hair back with a shuddering sigh. “Little shaky, but otherwise fine. That was pretty intense.” She cast a wary eye at her mother. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

 

“Isn’t there always? You said it yourself, darling. There’s always a prophecy,” Joyce commiserated with a rueful smile.

 

“Well, hit me, Mom,” she sighed resignedly.

 

“Look on the bright side, honey. It will be easier to understand. Coming straight from the source, you don’t have to worry about translating some obscure language from another dimension.”

 

A snort of laughter escaped her. Releasing her mom’s hands, she stood up and began to pace once more. Joyce took that as her cue and began.

 

 

The vampire given soul shall be untouched by its true grace, lost in the bitterness of torment. Deemed unworthy and unable to reach the light.  The warrior of darkness shall find himself moorless, unable to embrace fully his darkness as he struggles along the path towards salvation.  He shall find love and be consumed by the light, finding a stronger purpose and joining with love once he has crossed back from the threshold of destruction.

 

The warrior of the darkness shall find the one of truth, and she shall lead him into light and destiny.  Should the leader falter in the guidance and the dark one be lost along the path, both shall perish from the burdens of struggles to come.  Only the joining of heart, mind, and body shall create of them beings forever strong.

 

She of the light, the one who has fought longest and with double sacrifice in furtherance of grace, shall stand together with her heart after his return.  They will join together and shall build her army by degrees.   Their union shall make of them forever, and together they shall wield the power that will unlock the Key.

 

 

When Joyce finished she looked at Buffy expectantly.

 

"And that’s supposed to be easy to understand?" Buffy buried her face in her hands. “I’m getting a migraine just thinking about it.”

 

Joyce’s jaw dropped. “Did you listen to a word I said?”

 

“Yes, mother.” She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Look, do you have it in writing? Excuse me, but I got a little spoiled having the others to worry about the interpretation stuff.”

 

The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable. Joyce decided to let it drop for now and produced a piece of parchment from midair.

 

Buffy was suitably impressed. “Cool trick, mom. Go you!”

 

“Thank you, sweetie. Now, this first part…”

 

They painstakingly went over the whole thing line by line. When they finished, Buffy was torn between elation and fear.

 

“I don’t want Spike to know about this until after I’ve seen him. I don’t want him to think that this is the only reason I want to be with him.”

 

Joyce sighed. “He already knows about it, Buffy. He just didn’t get the right translation, if you know what I mean.”

 

“Splainey, mom?” She didn’t like where this was going at all.

 

“There are three copies of this prophecy floating around. This one is the original and a perfect translation. Angel obtained a copy from Wolfram and Hart. As you can guess, the line about the soulless vampire was omitted completely. Of course he showed it to Spike, so he’s convinced that it means you and Angel are the ones who are meant to be together.”

 

The last shreds of any romantic illusions of her first love died a painful death beneath the weight of her impotent rage.

 

“Let me guess. The Immortal has the third copy and-- of course-- according to it I’m destined to be with him. Right?”

 

“’Fraid so.”

 

“God! What is it with these damned vampires? I have one that’s completely delusional, one that’s a flat out liar, and the one I love-- the one who I am actually destined to spend eternity with-- hasn't got a freaking clue and isn't out there fighting for me because he thinks he’s unworthy?  Oh, I am SO gonna to kick his ass all the way to..."

 

“BUFFY!”

 

She had the grace to blush. “Well, I am…” she grumbled, crossing her arms in front of her in a huff.

 

Joyce rolled her eyes in a mannerism eerily similar to her daughter. “Fine. You’ll kick his…ass… when you see him. But first, we have to get you to Rome.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Your cloaking spell is still in effect, so you could fly out tomorrow without fear of anyone knowing of your arrival. You’ll have all day tomorrow to pack. Perhaps do some shopping?”

 

She cast an eye at her daughter’s outfit of ragged cut-offs that were at least three sizes too big and a black t-shirt that was strangely familiar. Buffy caught her glance and smiled sadly.

 

“We all packed a bag and put it on the bus in case we’d be running to LA. I-I kept all his things. I cried for hours the first time I had to wash it. Pathetic, I know.”

 

“Well, just a few more days and you’ll have the real thing again, won’t you?” Joyce said bracingly, wrapping her daughter in a tight hug. “I must say, being resurrected certainly hasn’t inspired Spike to change his wardrobe at all, so you should have plenty of the same to choose from!"

 

Buffy grinned. “If I don’t kill him first, that is.”

 

With one last squeeze, Joyce tried to step back. “Time for me to go, sweetie,” she said sadly.

 

A sudden wave of panic swept over her and Buffy clung tightly to her mother’s hands. “I’ll never see you again, will I?” she asked, her voice tight with suppressed tears.

 

Joyce allowed herself one last lingering caress of her daughter’s soft cheek. “No, but I’ll be watching, so don’t screw this up!” she teased.

 

“I won’t. I promise.”

 

She was gone as quietly as she had come. Buffy wiped her eyes and looked around the tiny house. There was so much to do before she could leave, but right now she needed sleep. Now that her mother was gone, she felt consumed by exhaustion. She dropped down on the couch and dragged an afghan over her, smiling when she realized it was one that her mother had crocheted. She snuggled into it and drifted off to dream.

 

~@~@~@~

 

For some reason it seemed that everyone in Rome was trying to feed her. Buffy snorted in indignation as yet another sidewalk vendor tried to force some sort of food into her hands. Got the memo, people! Buffy is too skinny, let’s all fatten her up! Any other time, their kindness would have warmed her heart, but right now she was far too nervous to really appreciate it.

 

She checked the slip of paper one more time. It was worn ragged and limp from her sweaty palms, but still legible enough to reassure her that this was indeed the address that she sought. Cramming it in the pocket of her jeans, she hefted her shoulder bag and yanked the door open to step into the air conditioned comfort within.

 

Ooo, fancy. She marveled at the luxurious décor and strolled casually past the receptionist. The woman barely flicked her with a glance as she filed her nails, chomped on a mouthful of chewing gum, and talked on two phones at once. Talented.

 

Once in the elevator and on her way upwards, Buffy checked her appearance in the mirrored walls. She was wearing low-slung jeans and a tiny black tee with a vampire bat embroidered in glittering red thread. The picture of the perfect American tourist from the top of her white-blonde head to the soles of her Reebox.

 

God. She was too thin. What if he didn’t like her being so bony? She blew a clump of hair out of her eyes in frustration. Oh well, not like she could just pack on a quick twenty pounds now. Spike would just have to deal.

 

The doors swept open to reveal another swanky reception area. It didn’t look like this one was going to be as accommodating as the one downstairs, either. She fixed Buffy with a sharp eye and rattled off a string of Italian gibberish, her eyebrows lifted in a disdainful arch. Buffy wished that her Italian was a bit more advanced than the Olive Garden variety she was familiar with. Damn! What to do now?

 

Struck by a sudden inspiration, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and leaned against the high counter. If only she had a mouthful of bubble gum so that she could blow a huge bubble in this old hag’s face.

 

“Hi! Boy, you sure talk fast! My name’s Annie Winters. I’m from California. That’s in the U S of A. Ya got a bathroom around here, ‘cause I’m about to bust! Yeah, bathroomay-vous?”

 

The expression on the woman’s face was priceless. She visibly cringed away when Buffy leaned over the counter and waved her skinny hand towards a short hallway to the right. With a grin and an overly bright “thanks!” Buffy pushed away from the counter and bounced off down the hall.

 

Locking the door securely behind her, she wasted no time in locating the air vent high up on the wall. It was an easy chore to clamor up on the sink and rip the slatted metal away. She swiped away a decade’s worth of cobwebs with a shiver of disgust and boosted herself up and into the duct-work.

 

Ahhh, memories, she giggled. Some of her finest moments had happened while creeping across the ceiling. Trust Spike to always have her resorting to strategizing in the ceiling ducts.

 

She crept carefully along, wishing she had thought to bring a flashlight. She had no idea where Immortal Morty’s office was, so she was counting on good old fashioned slayer senses to help her out, waiting for that familiar, tingly feeling on the nape of her neck that screamed ‘vampire’.

 

Damn! These Italian’s were a horny bunch. That was the third couple she had passed that were humping and moaning on a desk. Buffy snickered and moved on.

 

Ugh! Almost to the end of the line and not so much as a twitch from the neck region. So help me, God, if he isn’t here I’m gonna hurt him when I do finally find him, she thought. Inconsiderate asshole!

 

Wait! Wait….there! Sliding cautiously up to the last vent, she pressed her face to it and inhaled deeply. Yesssssss! The hairs on the back of her neck were practically standing on end and the tinglies were so bad they itched. Well, that might be the foot of dust that was clinging to her, but still…Vampires!

 

It was easy for her to differentiate between the scents of the two vampires that she had known in the biblical—or not so much with the biblical—sense. She had an excellent view of Angel, and the vamp standing next to him must be the Immortal dude. Hmmph. Didn’t look like much. Quite effectively dismissing those two for the time being, she searched desperately for the last remaining player.

 

There. Over by the heavily tinted windows. His back was to her and she begged him silently to turn around, wanting, needing to see his face. He stubbornly faced the glass, staring down at the traffic below as he flagrantly ignored the others. Buffy’s eyes wandered greedily over his form, warmed by the familiarity of bleached hair and black leather.

 

She could tell just by looking at his back and the tense set of his shoulders that he was pissed. She’d recognize that pouty posturing anywhere. Angel might be the king of broodiness, but no one pouted quite like Spike. Suppressing a smile, Buffy settled back to watch the show.

 

The Immortal was speaking, “will be here shortly and I’m sure you’ll see that she has made her choice. It was prophesized, after all.” Even his voice was pompous. His proprietary tone made Buffy want to punch him in the nose.

 

“I’d really like to see your translation of the prophecy, because I have the original and it reads nothing like mine,” Angel said as he cast a smirk in Spike’s direction.

 

You big, fat liar! Buffy seethed. Honestly, if she didn’t know any better, she’d swear Angelus was on the rampage. How juvenile could he get?

 

They continued their polite exchange of insults. Please! Who cared if Darla and Drusilla slept with the skeezt slimeball? Angel kept asking for his translation and Morty--as she had decided to call him—continued to dance evasively around the subject. Buffy knew he was just killing time. Waiting for her imposter to show up so he could prove to these lesser beings that the Slayer was HIS destiny. Thoroughly bored by their strutting and caveman cock-waving, Buffy concentrated on the true object of her affections.

 

She couldn’t help but notice the way his broad shoulders had slumped just the tiniest bit at the first mention of the prophecy. “You bonehead,” she muttered affectionately. He really was into the whole wallowing in the self-pity gig. He finally left his place at the window and threw himself down in a nearby chair, pout still firmly in place.

 

Buffy wanted to cry. He looked so tired and dejected and completely without hope. How dare he give up so easily? Especially to these two assclowns?

 

The intercom on Morty’s desk crackled. Buffy recognized the voice as that of the old witch at the reception desk and stifled a snicker. Wonder if she’s caught on that the annoying Annie Winters hadn’t come back from the bathroom yet?

 

“Signorina Buffy Summers, Signore Immortale.”

 

Morty struck a pretentious pose behind his desk, Angel folded his arms over his chest and smiled complacently, and Spike tensed even more if that were possible. All of them stared at the door as it began to swing inward.

 

Buffy held her breath as she waited to get her first look at the abomination that had been perpetrated by her nearest and dearest. When her clone swept into the room, her squeak of horrified indignation was thankfully muffled by the fist she’d had the foresight to cram in her mouth.

 

What the hell? Was everyone blind? Oh sure, on the surface she was a near perfect match, but once those details were taken in and dismissed, the little differences became glaringly obvious. And the not so little ones, Buffy thought smugly. Her ass is SO much bigger than mine!

 

Obviously the transformation was enough to fool some. Morty oozed his oily way across the room to meet her, taking her hands in his and leading her to his chair. Angel was preening and smirking, and Spike…

 

Oh. Holy. Shit.

 

Chapter Four
 
 
What the fuck am I doin’ here?
 
It wasn’t the first time in the past few months that he had asked himself this question. Spike rolled his eyes in irritation as Peaches and that Immortal git continued to bandy words behind him. He stared unseeingly through the tempered glass, doing an admirable job of ignoring the others in the room.
 
God, he was getting almost as bad as the broody one. Not for much longer, though. He clenched his jaw in determination. One last look, a final metaphorical stake to the heart, and he was gone. Sod his Sire. Sod the fucking Shanshu. And most of all sod that irritating bitch that had crushed what was left of his battered heart under her stylish yet affordable little boots. Ol’ Spike was done. Finished with being the Slayer’s lapdog. Love’s bitch no more.
 
It was time to cut his losses and head off into the sunset. Cozumel was nice this time of year, or so he’d heard. No way was he hanging about to get sucked into that mess that Angelus was stirring up back in LA, especially if Little Miss Destiny was going to be at his side. He may like a little pain, but even he had limits.
 
Fuckin’ hell, would those two prats ever shut up? Reminiscing about the bad old days with Darla and Dru. Why bring up old shit? Get the show on the road, for fuck’s sake. He had a hot date to keep with a bottle of mescal. Spike flung himself away from the view and into a chair, throwing his head back to glower at the ceiling.
 
To quote the Slayer, this sucked beyond the telling of it.
 
His efforts to compartmentalize his feelings for Buffy were failing miserably. Who was he trying to kid? He loved the stupid bint from the top of her head to her dainty toes and every shag-able inch in between. Those last days on the Hellmouth had given him a faint hope that she might finally allow herself to admit her feelings for him, but he should have known better. The second that amulet fell into his palm he knew that he wouldn’t be walking out of that cavern. She must have known it, too; else she would never have said those three little words.
 
‘I love you.’
 
‘No, you don’t. But thanks for sayin’ it.’
 
Could it have been any more bleedin’ tragic? Probably. But he’d known with absolute certainty that had he given her the answer she craved, she would never have left him. She would have cheerfully continued to grip his hand, following him out in a blaze of glory.
 
Coming back had pissed him off beyond measure. And apparently he hadn’t suffered enough for his transgressions, because of all places to be sent back to the bloody PTB had picked Angel’s stomping grounds. Talk about irony. And all was most certainly not as it seemed in Happyland. In fact, the situation was fast approaching critical. The Cheerleader was gone, Fred was now some kind of ass-kicking Smurfette, Oxford was a mess, and even Gunn was getting twitchy. That was saying something.
 
In the midst of all this was his Sire. A Sire that acted more and more like the Angelus of old, even with the anchored soul. Angel had taken great pleasure in relating the gossip about the Slayer and her bizarre sex-capades, and when this prophecy had come to light, he had crowed about it for days.
 
That, more than anything, had made up his mind. He’d had enough. Enough of the constant fight for even a sliver of her affections. Enough of always coming in second to The Big Giant Head. He. Was. Done.
 
One last look. One last breath of her scent. Once he’d done that, he was gone. Angel didn’t know it yet, but he would be heading back to Los Angeles minus one souled vamp.
 
Spike lifted his head when the intercom announced Buffy’s arrival. Showtime.
 
While Angel and The Immortal strutted and preened, he merely made the concession of getting to his feet. He jammed his fists into the pockets of his duster to hide a sudden case of the shakes and waited.
 
The door swept open and she walked in. For a moment, he was as blinded as the other two by her bright smile and wholesome beauty. That first impression lasted a whole two seconds before he took a deep breath and the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up.
 
‘Dunno who this bint is, but she sure as FUCK ain’t Buffy!’  
 
He opened his mouth to denounce her to Angel then clamped it shut so fast he nearly bit off the tip of his tongue. Now, why would I want to do a stupid thing like that? He took a step back, an evil smirk settling over his face as he watched the award winning performance being played out in front of him.
 
“Tony!” she exclaimed, smiling as The Immortal pressed a fervent kiss to her cheek. “Miss me?”
 
“Always, cara mia. You had a nice rest?” he asked, solicitously leading her over to his desk and pulling out the chair for her.
 
“Wonderful. Everyone is so nice.” Buffy waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I can’t sit, Tony. I haven’t greeted Angel yet!”
 
Angel held out his arms and she smiled as she moved into his embrace, her own arms twining around his waist as she snuggled close. “Angel…” she sighed. “Oh, it’s so good to see you again.” Pulling his head down to hers, she kissed him passionately.
 
Unable to keep still, Spike paced a slow circle around the couple. Surely Angel could sense the difference now that she was plastered right under his nose?
 
Apparently not. The first thing Angel did when he lifted his head was give Spike a shit-eating grin. A grin that said, “I told you, didn’t I, boy? She’s mine and she’ll always be mine!’
 
Keeping his face carefully blank, Spike completed his circuit and waited patiently for her reaction to his presence.
 
It was almost laughable. She narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose. “Spike. Why are you here?” She looked up at Angel. “Why is he here?”
 
Angel chuckled derisively. “Not sure. He always was a glutton for punishment.”
 
Even knowing that this Buffy was an imposter, the words still stung. He was seconds from losing his temper when the air conditioning kicked on and a familiar, mouth-watering fragrance began to fill the room. Vanilla, sweat, and power.
 
Slayer. Buffy.
 
Spike was instantly hard. His nostrils flared and he lifted his head, his eyes unerringly finding the air vent high up on the wall. He casually strolled closer and stood directly underneath, not missing the faint movement behind the metal slats. Narrowed blue eyes instantly found sparkling hazel staring down at him. Turning in a swirl of leather, he faced the others with a casual smile.
 
“Well, I’ll just be off then. Let you lot sort out this nasty prophecy business. May the best man win, yeah? Peaches, I’ll catch up with you later.” He reached the door and gave them a casual salute, slipping out before a word of protest could be uttered. The dumbfounded expression on his Sire’s face was priceless, but he didn’t have time to savor it right now.
 
He had himself a Slayer to track.
 
Out in the hallway, he stopped and looked upward. His sensitive ears picked up the stealthy, shuffling sounds above his head. He grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he matched his pace to hers.
 
“Someone’s in the ceiling,” he sing-songed.
 
The movement stopped and an infectious giggle reached his ears.
 
“Slayerrrrrr. Here kitty, kitty…”
 
Another burst of mirth and more muffled thumping as she started off again.
 
Spike spotted the next vent just ahead and sprinted towards it, snatching up a small bench as he ran. As quietly as possible he climbed up on the bench, pulled the metal free, and boosted himself up and in.
 
An overwhelming sense of elation filled him as he spotted her coming towards him, her head down as she slid along. He lay there, not making a sound, until she was almost upon him. Suddenly sensing that she wasn’t alone, she lifted her head and found herself nose to nose with a grinning Spike.
 
“Hello, cutie…”
 
She gave a little shrieking laugh and reared back, hands and feet scrabbling for purchase against the dusty surface. Getting away became a moot point when she found herself pinned beneath an extremely aroused and impressively hard vampire. They shared one heated glance before he lowered his head and captured her lips in a lusty, toe-curling kiss.
 
When he finally allowed her to break away for some air, Buffy buried her face in his neck. “Oh God, you smell so good,” she moaned, unable to stop touching him and reacquainting herself with every hard, beautifully sculptured inch of him.
 
“Mmm, Slayer.” His teeth caught and worried at a velvety earlobe. “Knew it was you the instant I smelled you. Even caked with five pounds of dust, I knew it was you. My Buffy…” The possessive words were tinged with desperation as he covered her mouth with his once more.
 
Buffy pushed his coat off his shoulders, refusing to let him break the kiss as he impatiently jerked his arms free and tossed it aside. He slipped a hand under her bottom and lifted her to meet the grinding thrust of his hips.
 
“Buffy…Jesus, baby…missed you so much!” he rasped, his free hand tangling in her hair to hold her still as he devoured her lips before skimming a wet path along the curve of her throat to her pulsing jugular.
 
“Ever had sex in the ceiling before?” she gasped out. “’Cause, you know...just askin'.  Plenty of Italians doing it in these offices. Was thinking we could be kinda… different.”
 
Her shirt was pushed up, her bra unfastened, and her jeans undone before she even finished speaking. She kicked one leg free while she attacked his belt and the button fly of his Levis. There was a rough, tearing sound and her panties went flying. Shoving his jeans down with her still-sneakered feet, she reached down and caught hold of his throbbing length, hissing and throwing her head back as he drove inside her sopping warmth.
 
Heaven. Nirvana. Elysium. Shangri-la. None of them could hope to compare to the complete and total rapture he felt as he buried himself in her incredibly tight heat. He growled as she sank her teeth into his shoulder and bucked her hips upwards, driving him even deeper if possible.
 
Buffy writhed demandingly under him, her eyes blazing like emeralds in the dark. “Screw finesse,” she panted. “Fuck me. Hard. Make me burn, Spike.” Her eyes widened and she hastened to qualify her remark. “You know, in the good, non-fiery dusty-ending on the Hellmouthy kind of way. The ‘You-fuck-me-so-hard-and-so-good-I-want-to-melt-into-you-and-be-one-with-you’ kind of way.
 
He smothered his laughter against her breasts and began to move, slamming into her so hard she slid a few inches against the slick metal surface with each thrust. She gloried in his savagery, reveled in it, primal grunts and moans escaping through lips that were bruised from his continued biting kisses.
 
The situation made her want to giggle, being fucked into a sliding rapture as her butt skidded along the dusty metal.  Trust her reunion with Spike to be so bizarre. A devastating ashy end to her love, a miserable period of mourning after an escape from horribly unloving friends--all while her own face was transplanted on one who was more than a little disturbed.  Yeah, trust Spike that on top of all the other difficulties, he had to fuck her brains out while hanging over the top of another Buffy knock-off.  Her life was so ironic, but it hurt so good.
 
Her first orgasm ripped through her as he ground his pelvis into her clit, his steady litany of harsh praise hissed against the sweaty flesh of her neck driving her screaming over the edge.
 
Both were oblivious to the squealing protests of their metal prison. Spike could feel her inner muscles clamping down on his cock as he hurtled towards completion. He growled, viciously determined to have her fall with him this time. Meeting her dazed eyes, he silently begged her permission.
 
Buffy didn’t hesitate. After pulling him down for a hard, hungry kiss, she tilted her head and pressed his face back into her neck, feeling the ridges of his forehead against her cheek as he called his demon forth. A ragged sob of joy slipped from her panting mouth as she felt the sharp fangs slide home.
 
“Yes!” She cried out, her body convulsing around his once more. After taking a few mouthfuls of her intoxicating essence, Spike threw his head back and howled her name as he came with one final grinding thrust. He spilled what felt like two years worth of himself inside her before he finally slumped over her, his harsh, unnecessary breaths matching hers.
 
“Wow, that was…”
 
She never got to finish that sentence. Her wide eyes flew to meet his as there was an ominous grinding noise and the bottom of the air shaft began to pull away from its moorings with a screech of protesting metal.
 
Spike had the foresight to wrap his arms around her and pull her head into his chest. “Hold on, pet. Gonna be a wild ride,” he had time to say before it gave way completely and they began to fall. Managing to twist in mid-air, Spike took the brunt of the impact. Buffy received her third orgasm when their still joined bodies hit, driving him so far up inside her that her eyes crossed.
 
“Holy shit!” she gasped.
 
“You all right, luv?” Spike sat up, keeping her on his lap while he ran his hands over her, anxiously checking for injuries. Other than a cut on her cheek that was sluggishly oozing blood, she looked fine.
 
“Bugger! We brought the bloody ceiling down this time, Slayer.”
 
Still seeing stars from that last brutally sharp climax, Buffy could only nod, a goofy smile on her face when she felt him lapping at the small wound on her cheek. Spike’s fingers tightened on her hips as she squirmed on his still rampant erection.
 
“Uh, Buffy?”
 
“Mmm?” she purred, head thrown back and eyes closed in pure bliss as she swirled her hips for maximum friction.
 
“Much as I love your kinky side, luv, I draw the line at fuckin’ in front of this particular audience, yeah?”
 
Spike’s amused voice cut through the lust that fogged her brain. Her eyes flew open to meet the shocked stares of the people that surrounded them. Angel, The Immortal, the Buffy Clone, that harridan from the reception desk, and a few secretaries all stood around with expressions of complete disbelief. Face flaming; she turned back to her lover.
 
“Oops?”
 

Chapter 5

 

“What is this ‘Oops’? And who is this person that impersonates my Slayer?” The Immortal’s thin nose quivered.

 

“Now, Tony. We talked about this, remember? My place is with Angel. We had some good times, lover, but Angel is my destiny.” The faux Buffy stroked his arm soothingly before turning to press herself to Angel’s side once more.

 

Angel was staring down at them with narrowed eyes, his disbelieving gaze flicking from Buffy to Spike and back again.

 

“Spike, what the hell is going on here?” he demanded.

 

“’S called sex, Peaches. I realize it’s been a good long while since you’ve had a good shag, but even you can’t be that thick,” Spike said with a smirk. He slipped his hands under Buffy’s rump and bounced her a few times, making her eyes widen comically. “And surely you remember this little treasure.”

 

“Buffy?” Angel looked back and forth between the woman on his childe’s lap and the one clinging like a limpet to his arm. “But-“

 

“She’s obviously an imposter!” squeaked the Clone.

 

Buffy batted Spike’s hands away with a pout. She pulled herself off of him, grimacing at the wet, sucking sound, and staggered to her feet. After yanking her shirt down, she hopped on one leg while she tried to get her leg back into her jeans. The more she struggled the madder she became.

 

“Oh, now you’ve done it. Got her hoppin’ mad, you did,” Spike chortled, leaning back on his arms and grinning as he waited for the whackiness to ensue.

 

Zipping her jeans, Buffy finally turned to face the others and saw the Clone staring down at Spike with a look of intense fascination. She was practically drooling. Following her lustful gaze, Buffy rolled her eyes. She thrust a hand in front of his gloating face. When he took it, she hauled him to his feet.

 

“Hey, studmuffin, how ‘bout we put your tool back in the shed? You’re attracting way too much attention and you might give the other guys a complex.”

 

“Hey!” Angel yelped indignantly. The Immortal merely shrugged and nodded. The old bat from the front desk had taken one look and fainted.

 

“Oh come on, Peaches! You didn’t really think Darla and Dru meant it when they said size doesn’t matter, did ya? What about Darla’s little experiment that almost went horribly wrong? You remember, with those elastic bands?” Grinning smugly, Spike made a great show reeling it in and tucking it away.

 

The disappointment on the Clones face raised Buffy’s temperature a few more notches. She pasted on the biggest fake grin she could muster and stepped up until she stood nose to nose. “You and me are gonna be best buddies, Kimmie.”

 

The clone blanched when Buffy used her real name. “Who? I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered, trying to play dumb. Desperately she tried to reach into the Slayer’s mind and seize control of her thoughts. To her shock, she came up against a barrier that had her reeling backwards from the jolt it gave her.

 

Buffy smirked at her. “Did you REALLY think that would work on me? I know all about your little mojo tricks, so save it, sweetie. You might have stolen the look, and you might have SOME of the memories—” With that, Buffy turned and winked at Spike. “But they’re all gonna know the truth once I start wiping up the floor with you. Slayer strength. I have it. And believe me, I’m SO gonna enjoy proving that you don’t.”

 

She was so riled she almost missed the conversation among the three vampires.

 

“My Buffy has bigger…tits? Yes, tits!” The Immortal said.

 

Spike was instantly pissed. “More ‘n a mouthful is a waste, you git! ‘Sides, at least my mouthful isn’t a bloody trumped up plastic imposter with delusions of grandeur who can’t keep ‘er bleedin’ legs together!”

 

“Now that I see them together I don’t know how I was fooled. I just thought Buffy had put on some weight,” Angel mused.

 

Buffy/Kim had been preening, certain that she looked better than the scrawny little Slayer. If Angel’s comment hadn’t upset her, Spike’s next comment certainly did.

 

“You’re blind as a fuckin’ bat, Peaches,” he scoffed. “On her worst day, Buffy could outdo this slag. No offense, honey, but I’ve only seen one other ass as lopsided as that and she was a Hellgod, so you’ve got no hope.”

 

Buffy couldn’t stifle an indelicate snort of laughter at Spike’s reference to Glory. “Aww, that is just so sweet of you, Spike,” she cooed.

 

He stepped up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, bending his head to give his bite marks a good suck. “Call ‘em as I see ‘em, pet.”

 

Buffy/Kim made a big show of wrinkling her nose and looking him up and down. “As much of a hottie as you might be, everyone knows you’re just a soulless demon. I would rather be fucked to death by a Fyarl demon than let you touch me!” she spat.

 

It was a good thing Spike had his arms around her, because Buffy snarled and leapt forward to rip that self-satisfied smirk from her face. Angel and his new appendage leapt back so fast they fell to the floor in a tangled heap of arms and legs.

 

“Whoa, tiger!” Spike laughed as Buffy swung from his grip. “Might want to get some info from her before you go tearin’ her into tiny bits, luv.”

 

Buffy let him pull her close and attempt to sooth her, her eyes shooting fiery hatred at the imposter all the while.

 

“Let me give you a little newsflash, princess. You only swindled a small part of my memories from my friend. You’re missing about three years worth that were the most important. You’re looking at the reason they were so important, and he’s one hundred percent with the soul-having. Best of all? He’s MINE. So I’m thinkin we all know who the imposter is now. Thanks so much for that enlightening stroke of ignorance.”

 

The girl flinched from each word of the Slayer’s verbal lashing, cringing against Angel in hopes of some protection. When he moved to put as much distance between them as possible, she cast a look of entreaty towards The Immortal. Her big eyes and trembling lips only earned her a contemptuous glare and his elegant back as he stalked back in the direction of his office. Completely abandoned on all fronts, she huddled in a dejected heap on the floor.

 

The secretaries had finally managed to revive the old harridan and helped her solicitously back to her fortress up front, leaving the four of them standing beneath the gaping hole in the ceiling. Buffy tipped her head back and nuzzled Spike’s neck yearningly.

 

“Better be careful or you’ll be getting’ what you’re askin’ for, Slayer,” he growled softly in warning.

 

She sighed her irritation. “I know, I know. Too much to get straightened up here. But the minute we’re done, your ass is mine.”

 

“And any other parts you might want, pet.” The promise was made with a leer as he took her hand on a journey between their bodies and pressed it to his straining erection.

 

Angel’s growl of warning brought both blonde heads up to glare at him.

 

“Sod off, Angelus. You made your choice a long fuckin’ time ago when you walked away from her,” Spike snarled, more than ready to fight for the girl this time. There would be no stepping aside for Buffy as there had been for Drusilla. This time, there would be fists, fangs, and rivers of blood if necessary.

 

Buffy turned in his arms, slipping one small hand up under his t-shirt and rubbing his back soothingly. There was a world of indifference in her green eyes as she faced her first love. Angel had lost all claims to her heart when she had discovered his perfidy over the prophecy. His treachery was equaled only by his unmitigated gall in thinking that she would still choose him over Spike. When she spoke, it was with devastating certainty.

 

“There was a time in my life that I would have done anything just for the chance to be with you. I used to think we were doomed to forever be star-crossed lovers, worshipping each other from afar. Kind of like Romeo and Juliet, only without the whole matching suicide thing. Believe me when I tell you that time has passed.”

 

“But, I still love you, Buffy.” He was doing that kicked-puppy thing with his brown eyes, not realizing that it only served to drive her further away.

 

“You love an illusion of who you think I should be. I haven’t been that girl for a long, long time, Angel. You simply refuse to see that because you’re so completely selfish. You always have been. I just refused to see it. My eyes are wide open now, and do you know what I see? Someone who never did a thing for me. You never risked your life for me, never took a beating to save my sister because you knew I would be devastated by her loss, never tried to change everything you were simply because you thought it was what I deserved. You never tried to save the world, Angel. You only tried to destroy it.”

 

“I’m not completely blameless. I built you up in my mind to such a degree that you were bound to fail. But when you could have stayed and fought with me to make things work between us, you turned and walked away. You always walked away. I wasn’t worth the effort then, what makes me so special now? Because I’m no longer attainable to you? Because Spike has finally won something he should never have had to fight for; something I should have been able to give him freely?”

 

Buffy turned to Spike, bringing her hands up to frame his face, thumbs tracing his sharp cheekbones with infinite tenderness, her eyes never once straying from his as she bared her heart to him. “If he let’s me, I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make that up to him. Spike stayed. He always stayed, and he always fought for me, and he’s saved the world more times than even you can know. He’s in my heart and I love him more than I ever thought I was capable of loving someone.”

 

Her tears flowed freely and Spike lofted a shaking hand to gently wipe away the slivery rivulets. His own eyes were more than slightly damp, and the expression on is face was one of pure, unadulterated jubilation.

 

“Got nothin’ to make up for, you silly bint. Always knew you cared, you were just too stubborn to admit it.”

 

The kiss they shared would have been an achingly beautiful testament to the long awaited admission of love were it not so rudely interrupted by a loud crash and a muttered, “oh, dear Lord!”

 

All eyes turned to the pale, shocked faces of the Watcher, the Witch, and the Whelp.

 

“This just keeps getting better and better,” Buffy quipped sarcastically, not moving an inch from Spikes side. If anything she moved closer. “All we need now is my traitor of a younger sister and hail, hail the gang’s all here!”

 

That last bit drew a frowning glance from Spike. “Nibblet betrayed you? Well, aside from booting you out on your ass in Sunnyhell?”

 

Buffy slid her hand into the back pocket of his Levis and gave his ass a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure we’ll get to that, baby. Just be patient for a little longer, k?”

 

He shrugged in good-natured assent, flinging an arm around her shoulders when she turned to address her friends.

 

“I think I know why you’re all here. I really hate to be the one to break it to you, but you missed the big pow-wow. Also, I kind of unmasked your latest attempt to fuck with my life. Although, I guess it would be safe to say I’m not the only one that got fucked out of this deal, am I?” she asked snidely.

 

When an extremely ill-looking Giles started to speak, Buffy held up an imperious hand. “Save it for now. I’m staying at the Hotel Tiziano. Everyone standing here right now will show their faces at my suite at noon tomorrow.” She shot a scathing look at Buffy/Kim. “And I do mean everybody. Anyone that shows up before noon will be staked or shot, whichever is necessary. Got it?” Nods all around. “Good. For a little added incentive, I think you should all know that I have the only true translation of the prophecy. I’m sure you’ll all be interested in taking a look at it.”

 

Having said her piece and sparing a glacial stare for each of them, she took Spike’s hand in hers and gazed up at him adoringly. “Come on, lover. We’ve got all kinds of catching up to do.”

 

Chapter 6

 

The Hotel Tiziano was just a short distance from the Spanish Steps. They received more than their fair share of curious looks as they entered the vast lobby. It wasn’t unusual for the locals to see a couple kissing in public, but seeing them literally trying to swallow one another’s tongues while running their hands under clothing and trying to walk at the same time was a bit much even for the Roman’s relaxed moral code.

 

Buffy didn’t even pause to see if she had any messages at the desk. She hauled Spike into the elevator and shrieked with laughter when he forced her up against the wall. Three indignant nuns and a pair of elderly matrons scurried out with puce faces before the doors could trap them with the amorous couple.

 

“Honey, you scared the nuns,” she giggled against his lips as he pushed his way between her thighs. Bracing herself on the convenient handrail, she arched her pelvis against him, grinning wickedly as she rubbed her damp crotch up and down on his steely erection.

 

“Sod the nuns,” he growled. “Worse meal I ever had. Ever see a vamp with indigestion? Not a pretty sight, luv.” His eyes were almost black as they locked with hers, his fingers bruising as they dug into her hips.

 

She moaned, tangling her fingers in his hair and tugged his mouth back to hers. The elevator bell dinged as it reached her floor and the doors swept open. Refusing to release her mouth, Spike slid his hands under her ass and backed out into the hallway.

 

“Which one?”

 

“Left. Third door.”

 

When they reached it, he reluctantly let her slide down his body so she could deal with the door. While she struggled with the card, he attacked the back of her neck and her ears. Buffy shivered and whirled on him, leaving the card in the slot. Grabbing his arms, she lifted them above her head to brace against the door.

 

“Stay right like that. Don’t even think of moving,” she whispered.

 

Before he could voice any complaints at the delay, she had dropped to her knees and dealt with the fastenings of his jeans. Spike’s eyes rolled back in his head and he nearly swallowed his tongue. His hoarse shout echoed off the high ceiling when her hot little mouth engulfed his throbbing cock.

 

The sides of his duster were pulled away from his body by his upraised arms and made the perfect cocoon to hide her from view. Confident that no one could see her, she went to work on him. She knew everything he liked and used it shamelessly to her advantage, his guttural moans and fragmented endearments all the encouragement she needed to double her efforts to bring him off.

 

As aroused as he was, it didn’t take long. He came with a roar, his “Jesus Christ, Buffy!” coinciding with the elevator doors opening once more and dispersing the same flock of nuns they had chased out of it earlier.

 

Hearing their shocked gasps, he lifted his head and gave them a sated smile. “Sorry, sisters. Just had a genuine religious experience,” he said. He took a wobbly step back and held out a chivalrous hand to assist Buffy to her feet. With a cheeky grin he turned to face the startled sisters, fully aware that his pants were still gaping open and his bits were hanging out.

 

Realizing his intent, Buffy let out a horrified squeak and turned to shove the door open. Grabbing both hands full of his coat, she dragged him into the room and slammed the door behind them.

 

Sister Angelina sighed as she looked down at her fellow travelers. “I suppose we should give thanks to the Lord that we are on the other end of the hallway; else we would never get any sleep, eh sisters?”

 

They could only nod in agreement as they followed her to their room.

 

~@~@~@~

 

 “I can’t believe you were going to flash those poor nuns, Spike! What if one of them had a heart attack?” She had to stifle a giggle at the mental image of the three nuns dropping like flies at a glimpse of what Spike was packing.

 

“Don’t bloody care, Slayer.” He bent over, putting a shoulder to her stomach and heaving her up and over his shoulder. “Where’s the bathroom in this joint? Posh outfit like this is bound to have…Christ, Buffy! Where’s the rest of you?” She felt like a little sack of bones.

 

All traces of humor left her and she found herself on the verge of tears. She had tried to make herself eat more over the past few days, but at most had only managed to add a few pounds to her thin frame. Stupid vampire. It was his fault, in a roundabout way. Eating just hadn’t been a priority when she was miserable with missing him.

 

Spike carried her into the bathroom, suitably impressed with the opulent décor. The huge shower with it’s dual shower heads held his attention the longest and he wasted no time in turning them on full blast. Dropping his precious burden to her feet, he busied himself with divesting her of her clothing as quickly as possible.

 

Since he had expected her to do a little stripping of her own, namely his own dusty clothes, her dejected sniff caught him completely by surprise. Spike grasped her trembling chin and tipped her face up to meet his, concern evident in the frown that marred his forehead.

 

The sight of her tears cutting a path through the dirt on her face brought a twist of remorse from his gut. With her only a few hours and he had already made her cry. He cursed himself as she crossed her arms over her bare breasts and turned away.

 

“Buffy…” He sighed heavily, catching her before she could bolt from his side and hauling her tightly against him. “Sweetheart, ’m sorry. I’m a cruel, thoughtless bastard who should have his tongue cut out.”

 

“You think I’m too skinny, don’t you?” She tried to shove him away “Well, I’m sorry! Some nasty, inconsiderate vampire burned up right in front of me and it made me wish I’d gone right along with him. Can I help it if I missed you, you big jerk? Yes, I could hardly eat. Hell, I rarely slept. All I wanted was you.” Her voice faded to almost nothing at the end before gaining strength enough to accuse him. “And then, I find out you were back, and didn’t bother to come to me. So maybe I’m not what you want any more. Maybe if you hurry you can find that psycho Buffy wannabe and give her a try. And why not? Everyone else has.”

 

Their encounter in the air duct had in no way prepared him for the sight of her fully nude body. Spike held her still in front of him, his eyes widening with dawning horror as they traversed her wasted frame. Tears stung his eyes as he beheld the truth of her misery over his loss.

 

She had always been petite in stature; small breasted, but with a lush curve to her hips and bottom. Now her breasts were practically non-existent, each rib outlined beneath her bronzed skin, her hipbones jutting prominently. Her arms and legs were so thin that he feared they would snap like so much kindling if he embraced her too tightly.

 

His fingers trembled as they traced the new angular lines of her face, his soul crying out over the dark shadows that lay like bruises under her eyes and in the hollows under her cheekbones. He brushed his thumb over the plump pillows of her lips; the only thing that he could see that had remained unchanged by her grief.

 

A grief that he had unwittingly abetted.

 

All those months since his return of hiding behind his insecurities, of doubting the love that she had given voice to during their last moments together, and acting on the advice of those he knew for a fact would rather see him as dust than at her side had resulted in this.

 

He had never in his wildest dreams imagined that losing him would affect her so deeply, but the proof was so painfully obvious that it couldn’t be denied. The tears that had been threatening during his perusal spilled over as he lifted his anguished blue eyes to meet the abject misery in hers. In spite of her pain, she lifted her chin in a show of pride.

 

The tender kiss he bestowed on that stubborn point of flesh and bone nearly broke her, as did the arms that gathered her against him, cradling her as though she were made from the finest porcelain. He buried his face in the fall of her hair and allowed his own grief a sweet release.

 

Buffy wound her arms around his shoulders, small hands stroking his back and raking through the short platinum curls. With a wild sense of hope, she dared to think that maybe this time they might actually be able to make it work for them.

 

Her arms tightened convulsively as she felt a surge of dogged determination roiling up inside her. This time no one, NOBODY, would come between them. She refused to allow it. Not her friends. Not her Watcher. Not even Angel would be exempt from having his head forcibly removed from his ass if he chose to butt in. No. One. She felt fully at ease with the fact that she would kill anyone that tried to separate them now.

 

Lifting his head from her shoulder, she ran her fingers across his cheeks in an attempt to dry his tears, though her own still flowed freely. Her busy hands continued to roam over his body, pushing his coat from his shoulders, raking his t-shirt over his head, and moving nimbly to shove his opened jeans down over his hips. A tiny smile quirked her lips at the involuntary groan that rumbled forth as her hand pushed aside the imprisoning denim and closed around his hardening shaft.

 

She fondled him for a few torturous moments before stepping away to adjust the temperature of the water while he divested himself of his jeans and boots. He followed her beckoning finger under the spray, his own touch a little hesitant as he returned her caresses.

 

Buffy made a face at him, wrinkling her nose a little at his reticence. “Stop treating me like I’m going to break if you touch me. I think that little ‘happy-to-see-you’ in the air ducts proved I’m not going to fall to pieces on you. Well, physically I won’t, emotionally is another matter.”

 

“Can’t help it, I guess. There’s so little of you left to hold on to,” he murmured as he began stroking his soapy hands down her back and over her bottom.

 

Returning the favor, she lathered up her own hands and covered every inch of his magnificent body with the rich scent of vanilla, her fingers rediscovering every ridge of muscle and sinew. They took turns washing each other’s hair before rinsing the fragrant foam down the drain. She reached to turn off the taps and turned back to find him waiting with a huge terrycloth bath sheet. Snuggling her in its voluminous folds, he pulled her against him.

 

“I meant it when I said I was sorry. You of all people know I have a habit of speakin’ before I think, and it never entered my head that it might be because you were pinin’ away from missin’ me.”

 

Spike pushed her wet hair back from her neck and lowered his head to run his tongue over the fresh bite marks. “I love your body, don’t get me wrong,” he murmured against her throat. “But it’s what’s inside your body that I love most. This. Your heart. You.” One hand lifted to cover the area just above her left breast, the rough pads of his fingers lightly tracing the outline of a heart on her water-slick skin.

 

Buffy’s eyes filled once more, but this time the moisture was induced by complete and utter happiness. “Missed you so bad,” she breathed, arching up on her toes to meet his descending mouth.

 

“Show me how much.” His voice was raw with sudden need as he swept her up and carried her towards the turned-down bed.

 

There was so much that they needed to talk about, issues that needed to be resolved. But for now, both needed this to reconnect, to reaffirm their feelings for one another and rejoice in their newfound freedoms. For Buffy, it was knowing that she had finally grown up, had reached the point in her life where she would no longer allow others to dictate her affections. For Spike, it was about finally being able to show her the more tender aspect of his feelings for her, something she had always shied away from before.

 

His eyes never left her face as he unwound the bath sheet and moved slowly over her. Tears stung his eyes afresh as his hands moved over her seemingly fragile form.

 

Seeing the shine of moisture clouding the ocean of blue, Buffy curved her hand over his as it moved from her neck to her stomach. “Spike?”

 

“Don’t want to hurt you, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough in the darkness.

 

“Then don’t leave me. Ever again,” she returned just as softly, using her hand to guide him lower until his fingers moved gently to stroke her blossoming warmth.

 

Spike was mesmerized by the expression of quiet enchantment on her face as she gazed up at him. During their first disastrous relationship, avoiding his eyes had been her way of denying that there might be something more than lust between them, that he might actually be capable of loving her even without a soul. It didn’t escape his notice that she now refused to turn her head or even close her eyes unless she was kissing him. He took it for the gift that she intended it to be. The metamorphosis that had begun the day she had found him in the school’s basement was now complete.

 

Finding her slick with need, he slid one hand under her bottom and tilted her hips up to receive him. A soft moan sighed from her lips as he slowly sheathed himself completely in her aching core.

 

He held himself above her, reveling in this moment of perfection. Nothing had ever compared to this. Her soft, wet heat surrounded him, those incredible muscles gloving tightly around his cock, sucking him in and holding him a willing prisoner. This was heaven.

 

Buffy’s breath caught in her throat as he began to move; slow, measured strokes that had her arching against him in an attempt to quench the burning need inside her. There was none of the fevered urgency of that impromptu coupling in the ceiling. No hint of the barely suppressed violence that had tainted their earlier affair. There was only love and acceptance and heart-melting tenderness. The slide of his skin against hers, his voice rough as it filled her ears with promises of sensual delights. She shivered deliciously, her nails digging into his shoulders and her knees pressing into his sides as she clung even tighter.

 

“Spike?” She nipped his chin and ran her tongue lightly down his throat.

 

He groaned as her warm breath puffed over the damp trail she left on his skin. “Luv?”

 

Arching her hips insistently upwards, she bit down over the faded scar on his neck, worrying a tiny bit of flesh between her teeth. “Make me yours forever.”

 

Not even the shock he felt at her unexpected plea could stop the demons reaction to those sweet little nibbles at his throat. His hips involuntarily slammed into hers, pressing her down into the mattress and grinding into her softness.

 

“Fuck, baby,” he panted. “Do you know what you’re asking?”

 

She nodded, feeling the first fluttering down low in her pelvis that signaled the beginnings of her climax.  “Yuh-huh.” She gasped.

 

Spike couldn’t help but smile at that. Such an eloquent and purely Buffy response. He gave her one last chance to back down. “You’re positive? And you understand what I need from you as well?”

 

“Spike, please!”

 

What the lady wanted, the lady got, Spike thought. Demanding little chit! He was suddenly conscious of a blissful euphoria spreading throughout his being. Leaning back on his haunches, he pulled her onto his lap without missing a stroke.

 

Buffy’s eyes were suddenly shadowed with apprehension. Her hands settled on his shoulders, sharp little nails leaving half-moons on the alabaster skin.

 

Y-you want it too…Don’t you?” she asked in a voice fraught with uncertainty.

 

His hands threaded through her hair, twisting it around his fingers. “More than anything,” he assured her, tugging lightly to position her perfectly. His free hand slid around to cup her ass, urging her to meet his quickening strokes, knowing she was close by the way her muscles clenched around him.

 

He watched her changing expressions, carefully gauging her reactions and waiting for the perfect moment. Ahh, yes. There. That was the look he was waiting for. That intense mix of pleasure and pain as he filled her, the head of his cock bumping repeatedly against her hot spot. He pulled her close and buried his face in her neck, his tongue finding Angel’s old mark. His demon burst forth, howling with glee as his fangs sank into her sweet-smelling flesh, biting down hard and tearing the tender skin a little, both to eradicate Angel’s scar and seat his own pattern over it.

 

Buffy screamed as the first tug of his lips over the bite seemed to rip her orgasm from deep inside her. Scalding waves of pleasure continued to rise with each sip he took of her blood. Feeling his hand at the back of her head, she allowed him to push her face into his neck. Blindly following his lead, she found Dru’s marks once more and bit down as hard as she could, nearly fainting when his blood washed over her tongue.

 

Spike lifted his head and pulled hers up at the same time. His amber eyes glowed like fire as they met hers.

 

“MINE!” he growled savagely.

 

“Yours,” she agreed. Her reddened tongue slipped out to dab a drop of his blood from the corner of her mouth. “MINE!”

 

“Always yours,” he affirmed, his hands curving over her shoulders as he shoved her back into the bedclothes and proceeded to pound her into the mattress. Buffy cried out, sobbing incoherently as he drove them both to completion, his roar of satisfaction enough to make her ears ring.

 

Not that she cared.

 

Her arms snaked around him, holding him tightly as his arms finally gave out and he collapsed against her own limp and trembling form. She turned her head to find him staring at her, love and amazement dancing in the opalescent blue of his eyes.

 

“I love you,” she said, her breath hitching in her chest and a single tear rolling down the side of her face to moisten the pillow.

 

“Love you, too.”

 

They lay there, unwilling to move, silently basking in the afterglow until he spoke again.

 

“Buffy?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thanks for sayin’ it.”

Chapter 7

 

They gathered in a conference room provided by the hotel. Buffy refused to allow any of them within arms reach of her.

 

“And the first time I feel one of them trying to get into my head, I’m out of here,” she told Spike.

 

The hotel had thoughtfully provided pastries, juice and coffee for the meeting. Buffy glowered at Spike when he set three of the sticky confections in front of her with a big glass of orange juice.

 

“Can I at least have some coffee?” she snarled.

 

“The juice has vitamins. Coffee has none. What do you think?” 

 

She knew by the stubborn set of his jaw that there was no use in arguing with him. Not even her famous pout was going to work for this. Although she was still feeling stuffed from the enormous breakfast he had practically forced down her throat, she snatched up a pastry and took a vicious bite, puffing her cheeks out like a chipmunks and glaring up at him while she chewed.

 

Spike leaned over her from his place behind her chair and dropped an indulgent kiss on her hair, laughing when she swatted at him half-heartedly.

 

Their odd byplay wasn’t overlooked by anyone else seated at the table. Reactions varied, but the overall response was disbelief. Those from Sunnydale had seen Spike protective of Buffy before, but this was different. Never before had Buffy been so relaxed in his presence, free with touches and kisses and demanding that he stay by her side.

 

Buffy studied each of them in turn. Giles was staring at the Clone with a mixture of relief and horror on his face. Willow kept her head down and her eyes on the table, an unbecoming blush mottling her cheeks. Kennedy sat stiffly at her side, practically in Willow’s lap, and glared at Buffy. After giving her a scornfully dismissive look, Buffy moved on.

 

Xander. Not much had changed there. His remaining eye was still filled with familiar hatred as he glared at Spike.

 

The Immortal lounged with boneless indolence in his chair, his expression one of complete boredom until he glanced at Buffy. The spark of carnal curiosity incited a low growl of warning from the blonde vamp behind her.

 

Kim sat as close to Angel as possible but her eyes were fixed lustfully on Spike. Buffy had to stifle her own growl of jealousy. Apparently someone had had a sudden change of heart about ‘evil, soulless demons’.

 

Angel was looking decidedly uncomfortable as well, his expression even broodier than normal if that were possible. His eyes moved from Buffy to the blond menace standing sentinel behind her chair, narrowing when Spike leaned forward and whispered some comment in her ear.

 

Buffy spat a mouthful of juice across the table, choking and sputtering while Spike pounded on her back, grinning unrepentantly.

 

“Care to share the joke with the rest of the class, William?” Angel grumped.

 

“I was just tellin’ the Slayer how you reek of clone.”

 

“Cologne?” Angel’s brows drew together. “But, I’m not wearing any cologne.”

 

Buffy’s snickers became a full-out belly laugh as she leaned weakly against Spike, hiding her face in his coat.

 

“CLONE. Not COLOGNE, you git!”

 

None of the others saw the humor in the situation. In fact, they seemed amazed to see Buffy indulging in a fit of mirth at Angel’s expense.

 

“Whoa! Tough crowd,” she muttered when she finally lifted her face from its shelter of black leather and bore their censorious scrutiny.

 

“Can we get on with this, please?” Giles begged.

 

“Get on with what? The fact that you gave my face and my memories to some skeezy skank that had a sexual field day with my nearest and dearest? Is that what we’re here for, Giles?”

 

“Buffy, it was…” Willow stammered to a halt when those fiery green eyes landed on her.

 

“Wrong? A mistake of monumental proportions? Stop me when I get it right.”

She rose to her feet; hands braced on the surface of the table, and divided her jaundiced stare between her Watcher and her oldest friend. “For some reason, the two of you think that you have the right to control me like I’m some kind of puppet. No part of my life is sacred to you. To ANY of you.”

 

She straightened and began to pace restlessly back and forth in front of them. “I’m sure you’ve all figured out by now exactly why I left in the first place. Why I took such pains to shield myself from discovery.”

 

Willow flushed even more and pressed her lips together, refusing to voice her thoughts on the matter.

 

Giles wearily pulled his glasses off his face. “Am I correct in assuming that you overheard our conversation about altering your memories?”

 

“Conversation? Sounded more like plotting in the dark of night to me. And altering? I’d say removing every memory I had of Spike would have amounted to just a bit more than ‘altering’, wouldn’t you?”

 

“They cared about you! They wanted to do something to ease your pain, you ungrateful bitch!” Kennedy burst out, throwing a protective arm around her sobbing girlfriend.

 

Buffy barely spared her a glance. “How about it, Wills? Let’s take all your memories of Tara and erase them from your mind.” She turned to Giles. “Or your memories of Jenny.” Then Xander. “Every single minute you spent with Anya. Gone.”

 

Her pacing brought her back to Spike’s side and she placed herself directly in front of him, her eyes wet with tears as she gazed up at him. “Every word. Every touch. Every kiss. The good times and the bad.” She reached up to caress his cheek before whirling to face their chagrined expressions. “Think on that and tell me that any of you would have let that happen without a fight.”

 

“You weren’t in your right mind even before he closed the Hellmouth, Buffy.” Xander spoke up in a voice that cracked with the force of his bitter feelings. “Once he was gone, you were even more irrational. Well, that and falling down drunk!”

 

There would never be such a thing as suitably chastised for any of them in her book, but in her opinion, Xander Harris was the worst of all of them.

 

“You,” she snapped out, “have no right to sit there and be so fucking judgmental. Spike saved your LIFE, Xander. If it weren’t for him, you’d be completely blind instead of able to audition for the lead in The Pirates of Penzance.”

 

She stared them all down relentlessly. “Time after time he’s had to prove himself to us, and I’m just as guilty as the rest of you for taking advantage of him.” A sad, bittersweet smile curved her lips as she cast her eyes down. “Only the ways I used him were far, far worse than anything the rest of you could ever have dreamed up.”

 

“Buffy—“

 

Turning to face him, she laid a finger across Spike’s lips to silence his protest. The chiding digit became a heartbreakingly gentle caress back and forth over the soft pad of his lower lip. “Fortunately, he’s decided to give me a chance to make it all up to him. Right?”

 

“An eternity,” he replied nipping at her fingertips with a promise for later in his eyes.

 

“None of this is up for discussion.” Buffy ruthlessly cut Giles off before his protests could be voiced. “This is me, telling all of you; it’s over. I’m done.”

 

“But, Buffy,” Angel once again tried to extricate himself from the clinging limpet at his side. “How can you turn your back on your sacred duty?”

 

Once again with the pedestals, Buffy thought bitterly. “I think I’ve done more than my share, Angel. Besides,” a little devil urged her on. “Don’t you think my little stunt double can get the job done?”

 

For once he didn’t make with the puppy dog eyes. In fact, he was clearly pissed. “Look, I can see how you might be upset with your friends over their deception, but I’ve done nothing wrong.”

 

“You haven’t, huh?”

 

“No, I haven’t!”

 

Buffy gave Spike’s hand a reassuring squeeze and walked around the table until she stood beside Angel’s chair. Her eyes glinted like emeralds as she gazed down at him. She leaned down and whispered loudly in his ear, “Care to compare prophecies, Angel?”

 

His flinch at her calmly voiced question told her all she needed to know. Buffy looked across the table at Spike, her heart breaking at the look of dawning understanding on his face.

 

“You fucking lied to me?” he demanded, his face twisting with pain. Betrayed by Angelus. Why was he surprised?

 

It was all Angel could do to keep from squirming under the intensity of the looks directed his way. Even The Immortal had dropped his bored façade and was glaring at him with narrowed eyes.

 

“Could I talk to you outside for a minute, Buffy?” he hissed, ignoring the growl that ripped from Spike at his suggestion.

 

“Nope. We’re all friends here, right? There is nothing you have to say to me that can’t be said in front of the others.” Maybe she should feel ashamed of herself for the way she was treating him. Buffy cast a quick glance at Spike.

 

No.

 

Angel deserved all this and more for doing his part to keep them separated.

 

“I’ll show you my prophecy, if you show me yours,” she taunted, pulling a folded paper from her back pocket and waving it in the air.

 

“I’m perfectly willing to let you look at my copy, cara.” The Immortal slid to his feet and offered her his paper with a flourish. “And now you, my friend,” he nudged Angel.

 

Clenching his jaw, Angel ripped his copy from his pocket and flung it at her.

 

Without bothering to thank either of them, Buffy carried them back to her seat and spread them out in front of her. “Spike, you know Italian, right?” The Immortals copy was written in his native language. “I’d have him read it, but you know how things get lost in translation.”

 

Buffy offered The Immortal a distracted smile. “No offense intended.”

 

He dipped his head regally. “None taken, mia bellezza,” he said. She was a gorgeous creature, full of fire and passion, but it was plain to see that she burned for only one. ‘You lucky, lucky man’, The Immortal mused as he gazed at Spike. Once he had seen the actual Slayer, he had toyed with the idea of using thrall on her to see how things might progress, but now he realized it would be pointless. Any attempt to come between these two would meet with disaster for the one so stupid as to interfere.

 

The antics of the imitation slayer caught his attention. She had ceased twining herself around Angel and was now concentrating all her efforts on the vamp that got away. She watched every move he made through hooded eyes, squirming in her chair, licking her lips and pouting them in the blond vampire’s direction. The Immortal had to hide his amusement. Why intercede on her behalf? Every man loved a good cat fight and he was no exception.

 

Unable to resist the urge to have a look at the three prophecies, Giles left his set and sidled closer. “I-If I may ask, Buffy, where did you obtain your copy?”

 

“Straight from the source,” she said flippantly. “I know Angel got his from the evil lawyers, but where did you get your copy from, Morty?”

 

Flinching at her use of that horrendous nickname, The Immortal answered her none-the-less. “From the Council of Watchers.”

 

Giles blanched. His panicked gaze sought out Willow’s. “I…That is to say—“

 

Spike smirked. “That would be you, mate.”

 

“This just keeps getting better and better.” Buffy rolled her eyes dramatically. She watched over Spike’s shoulder as he finished writing down his translation of The Immortals prophecy. He passed it to her, snatching a quick, juicy kiss for his efforts.

 

Lining the three papers up on the table, she began ticking off the differences, her voice growing ever more incredulous with each manipulated stanza.

 

Buffy raised her eyes to meet those of the Italian. “Your copy is almost the same as mine,” she told him, flicking a quick glance at Giles and Willow. She had an awful feeling that even more of their perfidy would be revealed in a very short time.

 

“But you’ve been mislead. If you want to leave now, you can. On the other hand, if you want to hang around and find out why you were basically lied to, that’s cool too.”

 

The Immortal waved one hand languidly. “I will stay.” No amount of money could induce him to leave.

 

“Your copy is completely different, Angel. Care to enlighten us?”

 

“Obviously someone made a mistake while translating it,” he said dismissively, avoiding her searching gaze.

 

Buffy braced her hands on the table and tilted her head back, shaking her hair in a flirtatious manner that reminded those that knew her of the old Buffy.

 

Knowing the move was purely for his benefit, Spike stifled a groan and turned away to adjust his painfully hard dick. And she called HIM evil!

 

“Care to hear my theory, Angel?” Buffy practically purred. When he refused to rise to the bait, she went on. “No one else at AI or Wolfram and Hart has even seen this. You translated it yourself and when you realized that it wasn’t all about you and me and some misguided idea you have about us being destined to be together after you possibly Shanshu, you changed it. Are we on the same page so far?”

 

Angel still remained stubbornly silent, but the tight set of his features told Buffy that she was right.

 

“Which leads us to Spike. I told you that night in Sunnydale that Spike was in my heart. You knew he would come for me as soon as he was able to, so you did your damnedest to come between us. Congratulations. With your own tunnel vision and a little unexpected help from my so-called friends, you were almost successful.”

 

She walked over to lean against Spike, her arms winding tightly around his waist. “I don’t suppose it crossed your mind to wonder just how Spike and I ended up together in the ceiling. Or why he wasn’t really fooled into believing that Kimmie the Clone was me?”

 

Angel scowled at Spike. “But you said…”

 

“Damn right I did. Had already sniffed out my girl here where she was stashed away in the vents listening to every word we said. Sneaky bint. Gotta say I’m a bit surprised you didn’t smell her too, Peaches. As soon as the air kicked on, that whole room was flooded with Eau de Slayer. Thought I was gonna drown in my own saliva before I got out of there.”

 

Spike slid his hands into the back pockets of Buffy’s jeans and rocked against her. “Was like old times, following her through the ceiling,” he said with an unrepentant grin.

 

“Personally, I liked the finale.” Buffy giggled, hiding her face in his shirt.

 

The roar of outrage startled everyone but the two lovers as Angel leapt up from his chair and started towards them. Before he could touch her, Buffy had a stake in her hand and pressed to his chest, freezing him in his tracks.

 

“Before you make a colossal mistake, you might want to take a look over your right shoulder, Angel.” Her voice was calm and her green eyes deadly as she pressed the stake hard enough to break the skin.

 

He did as she asked. He was afraid not to. The sight that met his enraged eyes had his demon fading and a sigh wrenching from him.

 

“Hello, Whistler.” Buffy greeted the emissary with a sunny smile.

 

“Hey, kid. Up to your usual tricks I see.” Whistler tipped his battered fedora to the ladies present. Spike got a huge smile and a wiggle of the eyebrows from the demon. “You go, stud!”

 

Angel closed his eyes and hung his head in defeat. “Whistler.”

 

The demon pursed his lips and tilted his head, the bones in his neck making a horrendous cracking noise. “I really hate to see what’s become of you, big guy. Guess I don’t have to tell you that you’ve been called to the carpet by my bosses, huh? They even sent me to escort you, seein’ as how we have a history and all.”

 

Replacing his hat, he made a sweeping gesture towards the wall he had appeared from. “Are you gonna come along peaceful like, or does my little friend here have to dust you up?”

 

Angel gave Buffy one last sad-eyed look. All it got him was another inch of wood in his chest. His eyes moved to Spike, obviously debating whether he would be able to twist his head off before Buffy could ram the rest of Mr. Pointy home.

 

“I’ve sent you to hell once, Angel. Don’t make me prove that it gets easier each time I have to do it.”

 

With a savage growl, Angel turned and stormed towards the wall. Obviously forgetting that the emissary had to be with him to breech the portal, he slammed into the wall and fell back on his ass with a grunt of pain. Leaping back to his feet, he glared at everyone, daring them to laugh.

 

Only Whistler showed his mirth, snickering as he took the big vampire by the arm and tugged him towards the now opened portal. “Here we go. Watch that first step, buddy. It’s a doozey.”

 

When the portal closed behind them, the room erupted with laughter. Even The Immortal was smiling. Buffy gave up trying to shush Spike’s residual snorts of laughter and turned to take control of the meeting once more.

 

“Now, I for one would like to hear about everything the new and improved Watchers Council has been up to.”

 

The double doors slammed open and a blur of long brown hair and coltish arms and legs whirled through.

 

“You and me both, sister!” Dawn Summers bellowed.


Chapter 8

Dawn swept the room with blazing blue eyes. When she found who she was seeking, her long legs ate up the space between them until she stood nose to nose with Willow.

“Anyone care to tell me why I woke up this morning and suddenly remember that I have a sister?”

Giles made as if to intervene and she froze him in place with a look of hatred.

“You!” she hissed. “Why is it that the last thing that I do remember is telling you that taking away Buffy’s memory was one of the stupidest ideas the three of you had ever come up with?”

Buffy wanted to cry. The change in her ‘little’ sister over the past few months was phenomenal. Gone was the gawky teenager. In her place was this svelte, ravishing beauty that had The Immortal salivating, ready to sit up and beg like a good doggy.

The ripping snarl from the vampire at her side brought a smile to her lips and a soothing hand to his forearm. “Down, baby. He hasn’t got a prayer with her and he knows it.”

Spike scowled down at her but relaxed under her touch. Ignoring the Italian git for now, he stared at Dawn, a look of immense pride on his face.

She had yet to acknowledge their presence, concentrating instead on the ones who had stolen a part of her life from her.

“Well? I’m waiting,” she reminded them.

“Dawnie, it--” Willow began.

Dawn cut her off as ruthlessly as Buffy had earlier. “So help me, Willow, if you tell me that it was for my own good I’m going to slug you right in the mouth!”

“But it was, Dawnie. We—“

A fist shot out and connected solidly with the redhead’s mouth. She went down with a grunt of pain and accusing eyes.

“Whoa!” Buffy breathed. “And she used to just be a hair puller!”

Spike laughed. “Always knew there was a bit of the Slayer in that one, too.”

“It’s her fight; don’t jump in unless it looks like they might be getting the upper hand, okay?”

“Gotcha, luv,” he told her, wrapping his arms around Buffy from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder to enjoy the rest of the show.

Predictably, Kennedy, Giles, and Xander had leapt to Willow’s defense, with near comic consequences. Kennedy went down beside her girlfriend with a dislocated knee and a bloody nose, Xander staggered back with a high-pitched gurgle, cupping his crushed testicles, and Giles received a vicious bite on his forearm and watched helplessly as she stomped his precious glasses into oblivion beneath her stylish boots.

“You selfish, manipulative monsters! How could you?” Dawn moved to stand over Willow’s still prone form. “Tara would be so disappointed in you!” she spat, her voice thick with loathing.

Willow flinched and scrambled to her feet, her white-knuckled hands gripping the table’s edge for balance.

“I did what I had to do,” she protested. “I did it to help!”

“To help? Save it, okay? Just…Save it. You did it for your own selfish reasons. It had nothing to do with what was best for Buffy. Or for me.”

For the first time since she had entered the room, Dawn turned to her sister. “I was going to tell you, Buffy. I swear I was. I was on my way to your room that night when they called me into the library and revealed their great brainwash plan.”

“Tell me what, Dawnie?” But she knew. Deep inside she knew what Dawn had been rushing to inform her on that fateful night, and why the others had been so desperate to wipe them both clean of their memories of their bleached nemesis.

“Angel called Giles that day to let him know that Spike was back. He wanted a spell that would keep Spike non-corporeal and tied to Wolfram and Hart. To keep him away from you, Buffy.”

She didn’t know why their duplicity stung so badly. Just the thought of those wasted months without him due to their interference was enough to fuel the fires of her rage to mind-boggling proportions. Buffy fixed the battered group with an unrelenting glare.

“So, you raped my sister’s mind of mine and Spike’s presence, and when you couldn’t find me to do the same, you struck a bargain to create your very own ideal Buffy. Only things didn’t go quite as planned, did they? Your little doppelganger had a will of her own and she wasn’t afraid to share her goodies with the rest of the class.”

"The way I see it, we would have been doing you a favor!" Xander snarled. "Look at you. The minute you find out he's back, you're makin' with the horizontal mambo again."

"Explain to me why anything I do is any of your business. Never once have I interfered in any of your relationships. Not once. When does it stop, Xander? Can you tell me that?" Buffy ranted.

Spike made a move towards her, but Dawn laid a restraining hand on his arm and shook her head slightly.

"If she doesn't deal with this now, it'll never be over," she insisted. "Just wait."

Xander was verbally attacking Buffy once more. "Baby, whenever I start porking an evil dead who could eat all my friends as soon as he can look at them, then it'll be over. Then you can have your day. But while it's always you putting us on the edge all the time, you putting us in danger, I'm going to fight it every slow damn second."

"God, I can't believe you're still dragging around the Angel baggage. Giles lost a lot more than you did in that debacle but at least I know that he has forgiven me for it."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that!"

"Xander, do shut up," Giles spoke up. "Buffy knows that I don't hold her responsible for any of that. Angelus killed Jenny, not Buffy. And if Jenny had been more forthcoming with her information, Angel would never have lost his soul in the first place. So don't presume to put words in my mouth. Bloody pillock!"

"So what, you're jumping on the Spike wagon-o-love now? Since he's all soul having he's the perfect eternal love for your Slayer? Fuck that, Giles. Buffy doesn’t deserve a happy ending, and you know why? Because she caused me and Willow to lose ours!"

“I caused… Are you insane?” Buffy stammered, her eyes wide and incredulous.

“It’s true. If it weren’t for you, Warren never would have shot Tara.” He completely ignored Willow’s flinch of pain at his mention of the blonde witch. Kennedy turned her glare from Buffy to Xander.

“And Anya. It wasn’t her fight, but she went down protecting that useless little worm. It was your fight, not ours. If anyone deserved to come back, it was her. Not him. Not your little vamp love toy.”

Buffy was across the room and slamming him into the wall by his throat so fast that Spike barely knew she’d moved.

“That’s rich considering the fact that your lost lover was over a thousand years old. Stop and consider this though, Xand. What makes you think Anya hasn’t come back? Maybe D’Hoffryn brought her back and she just decided not to let you know?”

A sudden flash of light blinded them all momentarily and a brisk wind whipped through the room.

“Gee, thanks a lot, Buffy,” a familiar voice snorted with disgust.

Xander paled and stopped clawing at Buffy’s imprisoning fingers. “Ahn?” he choked.

His former fiancé gave him a weak smile, her slim fingers moving to clutch at the shiny new pendant clasped around her neck. “Hello, Xander. You don’t look well at all.”

“Ahn…you’re alive! You came back to me!”

She squirmed uneasily. “Actually, not so much alive and no, I haven’t come back to you.” The words escaped her in a rush. “One of Hoffy’s stipulations on bringing me back was that I remain a vengeance demon. No more human form for me. I’m sorry if it hurts you, Xander, but it really wasn’t that hard a decision for me to make.”

Xander swallowed convulsively and Buffy grudgingly released her hold on him, moving immediately back to Spike’s side.

“This is getting bloody ridiculous, pet,” he chuckled.

“I really had no clue, I swear,” she insisted.

Anya overheard their exchange and waved a hand dismissively. “Also Hoffy’s doings, Buffy. His sense of humor has become positively demented in the past few years. It was another condition that when you finally realized how much your friends were running your life, he would grant you a wish for vengeance. No fee, of course,” Anya added with a perky smile.

“Is there a fee?” Dawn whispered to Spike.

“Dunno, nibblet. ‘M afraid to ask that one. Kinda like my dangly bits danglin’ right where they’re supposed to be.”

Buffy shushed him with a pointed elbow to the solar plexus. Xander had finally pushed himself away from the wall and approached Anya.

“Anya, I don’t understand. I love you.”

The demon shot Buffy an apologetic look. “This won’t take but a minute,” she promised. Turning to her former lover, she crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a thoroughly pissed off look.

“You, Xander Harris, love no one but yourself, and you don’t even do that well. Through our entire relationship I was made to feel like a second class citizen. You only had time for me when it came to orgasms. The rest of the time you were too busy shoving your nose into Buffy’s love life to pay any attention to me. You consistently put her and Willow’s needs before mine, and then you embarrassed me in front of my friends and family by jilting me at the alter.” Her chin lifted to a proud angle. “I deserve better, Xander, and Hoffy makes it a point to prove that to me each and every day.”

“You and D’Hoffryn...?” Willow gasped out. “Oh my God, that’s…”

Anya’s lips thinned in irritation. “What? You think it’s wrong? Disgusting? Really, Willow, Tara would be so ashamed of you. Surely you know better than anyone that it isn’t who you love, but how you love them?” After giving the redhead a considering look, she shook her head sadly. “No, I guess you wouldn’t know that, would you? If you did, you never would have tried to come between Buffy and Spike.”

Xander fell back into his chair once more, his expression that of a man who refused to believe what was slapping him repeatedly in the face.

“You. And that…thing. How could I have been so wrong about you, Anya?”

Spike didn’t even try to muffle his contemptuous snort. “Still all about you, isn’t it? Quit with the blubbering, whelp. The demon bird just proved what a hypocritical wanker you really are.”

“Thank you, Spike.” Anya grinned. “Now, Buffy. Your wish?”

Buffy’s eyes flicked from one to the other of the three of them. A sudden burst of inspiration had her grinning like the buffybot on a power surge.

“Well, let’s see. They’re really going to miss interfering in my life once I’m gone, so I think for my wish I’ll leave them with a little piece of me to cherish.”

Looks of confusion were shared among the others in the room. Only Giles had an expression of understanding and dawning horror.

“Anya, I wish for Giles, Willow, and Xander to be stuck with Kim the Buffy Clone for the rest of their lives. If anyone needs their moral guidance, it’s her.” Her evil smile caused even Spike to shiver in reaction.

The vengeance demon nodded. “Very inventive, Buffy. This way they’ll never lack for a sexual partner ever again.” She rolled her eyes at the Clone. “You really are terribly promiscuous. I can smell four different men and two women on you right now. Shameful, really!”

Allowing her demons face to slip to the fore, an extremely veiny Anyanka clutched her pendant. “Wish granted,” she intoned with obvious satisfaction.

“You know, Buffy, I could add a little clause that ensures none of them ever reach orgasm again if you like?”

Buffy tilted her head, considering Anya’s suggestion while she relished their petrified expressions. “Hmm. I dunno. What do you think, Spike?”

He laughed, throwing his head back and bellowing his mirth at the ceiling. “Nah, might be a bit of overkill there, pet.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She ran a hand up his chest in a teasing manner. “I think it’s just enough kill.”

Spike covered her hand with his and gave it a squeeze. “True, but think about it…They’ll find so little satisfaction in the years to come. Come to think of it, maybe you should include Peaches in your little wish.”

“It can be done,” Anya assured them. “I never really liked Angel anyway. Far too serious and glowery.”

“Then yes to adding Angel, but no to the orgasm clause,” Buffy stated.

A pouting Anya sidled up to Buffy, dropping her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Please Buffy, just let me make Xander never reach orgasm again. Well, four years at least. That will satisfy my wish for vengeance too, only without the painful scrotum boils!”

Buffy affected an air of boredom. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Wish amended and granted,” Anya proclaimed.

Dawn snickered. “Angel will never know what hit him, will he?”

“But that’s the beauty of vengeance, Dawnie. If you ever get bored with modeling I know Hoffy would be thrilled to have you on board.” She caught Buffy’s pointed glare. “Or perhaps not? Just a suggestion, really! I’m certain that modeling is a very fulfilling career that requires a lot of brains.”

“Hey!” Dawn yelped indignantly.

“And I should be on my way before I get myself into serious trouble.”

Buffy reached out and gave her a hug. “Thank you, Anya. And tell D’Hoffryn his gift was greatly appreciated.”

Bouncing happily from Dawn to Spike, she accepted their farewell hugs. “Oh, he’ll be so pleased. A happy Hoffy is generous with orgasms. Go me!” Anya giggled.

Another burst of light and wind and she was gone.

The Immortal rose gracefully from his seat. “I must say, cara, that your choice of friends? Not so good, yes?” He shook his head in a deprecating manner. “It is my fervent wish that your future will be much brighter. It has been my great pleasure to meet you and your so charming sister. Arrivederci, bella.”

With one last lustful look at Dawn which had her rolling her eyes with disgust, The Immortal swept from the room.

The four original Scoobies stared at each other while Spike, Dawn, Kennedy, and the Clone looked on.

Buffy’s face was carefully wiped of any hint of remorse. “Don’t bother trying to contact me. I never want to see any of you, ever again.”

Turning resolutely away from their anguished faces, she slid her arms around Spike and Dawn and walked out, head held high and never once looking back.

Chapter 9
 
Buffy sank down on the bottom step and curled her toes into sand that still held the warmth of the sunny day. She leaned back, bracing her elbows on the step behind her and sighed as she watched the last rays of the setting sun fade on the horizon.
 
As if on cue, the screen door creaked open and bare feet whispered across the worn wooden porch. A sharp knee nudged her back then rubbed back and forth, rocking her playfully.
 
“Stuck down there again, luv?” Spike couldn’t resist teasing her.
 
She waited until he sat down behind her, legs as deeply tanned as her own appearing on each side of hers while strong arms snaked around her waist to draw her back against his chest. Another contented sigh escaped her as she tilted her head back and decorating his jaw with kisses.
 
“Yeah, I’m stuck again, but I kinda figured you’d be along eventually to help me up. You’re getting very good at that, you know.”
 
“Think this one will be a litter, too?” His hands were immeasurably gentle as they swept over her distended belly in soothing circles.
 
“Litter! Spike, one set of twins does not a litter make. God, you make me sound like Lassie,” Buffy complained good-naturedly, her own hands coming down to curve over his. “Besides, you told me you could only hear one heartbeat this time. Do I have to tell you how much pain will be involved if I find out you lied?”
                                                                                              
Spike chuckled, burying his nose in her hair and breathing deeply of the sunshine and fresh air caught in the lush waves. “M sorry, luv. You shouldn’t make tormenting you about this so much fun. And for the record, it doesn’t take much to make you howl like Lassie, especially if you mean that bint in that Porky’s movie.” He winced as she thumped him on the knee with her fist. “Hey, now! Told you I just heard one this time. Abusive wench.”
 
Beating him up took too much energy these days. Buffy absently rubbed the bruised knee as she relaxed bonelessly into him. “How was your day?” she asked.
 
“Bloody fantastic, in spite of the fact that those two spawns of Satan we call children shaved Mrs. Brimley’s cat.”
 
Wincing, Buffy laid her head back over his arm to meet his eyes. “Mr. Fluffy?”
 
“Is now Mr. Baldy,” Spike confirmed, dropping an absent kiss on her nose. “Have to say the old bird took it well. Once we revived her, that is. Chelsea and Devon reminded her that she complained so much about how expensive hairball treatment can be the last time they were over there. How they managed to shave a cat with a pair of buzzy clippers without either of them getting so much as a scratch is beyond me.”
 
“Well, someone had to intervene!” an indignant voice spoke up.
 
It said a lot for the supernatural parents that the appearance of Whistler didn’t even cause them to blink. The bandages on his face and hands did bring sighs of resignation, however. He was practically mummified.
 
“Guess we know who held the bloody cat,” Spike snickered.
 
Whistler’s face went an alarming shade of magenta that clashed horribly with his lime green fedora. “You…They…Both…”
 
“Oh look, honey. He’s incoherent,” Buffy drawled.
 
“They’re evil!”
 
Spike smirked proudly. “Aren’t they?”
 
Whistler shot him a poisonous glare.
 
“Don’t give me that look, you git. Knew exactly where they were and that they were in no danger. Not my fault the Powers That Butt-In made you their guardian angel, is it? So buck up, suck up, and do your damned job.”
 
Slumping down on the steps beside them, Whistler shook his head in defeat. “If only they weren’t so…Sweet. And destructive. And manipulative,” he said in a dazed voice. “Those pouts of theirs should be illegal!”
 
“Always said that about their mum. It’s the whole girl power thing, demon. Part and parcel of that midget slayer package they came with. Get used to it. Buffy and I have.”
 
“And to think I used to wonder why you have bars on your windows. It ain’t to protect those girls from the world; it’s to protect the world from the girls!”
 
Buffy nodded sagely, nudging Spike into another belly rub. “Finally caught that, did ya?”
 
“Just think what they would be like if the Slayer and I hadn’t started training them when they turned two,” Spike put in with a shudder.
 
“Well, only one this time, thank the Gods. Two more like that would drive a saint to suicide.” Whistler cast a wary eye around him. “Where are the little darlings?” he asked nervously.
 
Spike lifted his head, listening carefully for their heartbeats inside the house. “Sleepin’,” he said, sharing a contented smile with his mate.
 
Whistler studied the couple with an air of immense satisfaction. The Powers were still in an uproar over the demands the Slayer had made upon them after learning she was pregnant. Buffy had haggled with all the gusto of an Egyptian camel merchant. Admittedly, some of her stipulations had been more than a little outlandish, but thanks to her refusal to compromise, she and Spike had benefited hugely from the situation.
 
Among the nifty perks she’s been able to wrangle from the higher beings were unlimited funds that ensured neither of them would ever have to work outside their home, protective wards that cloaked them from the demon world and guaranteed that none of them could be manipulated by magical means, and of course the final word on any and every decision that affected the lives of the twins and any subsequent offspring.
 
The most important concession, in Buffy’s opinion, was Spike’s immunity to the sun. In order to be able to protect their children, and to satisfy the Slayer’s fervent wish to be married on the beach in front of their home, the vampire was now impervious to sunlight.
 
Lost as he was in his sojourn down memory lane, the savage growl that ripped through the air had Whistler staring in stunned surprise at  the foursome that was making their way down the moonlit beach. ‘Oh shit!’ was his first coherent thought. ‘This can’t be good.’ was the next.
 
“I’ll just pop upstairs and find out what’s up with those protective wards, yeah?” he muttered.
 
“Don’t bother,” Buffy told him. “I can already tell you that they didn’t use magical means to locate us. We’d appreciate it if you’d go stand beside the girls, though.”
 
“Not a problem, doll face.” With that, the emissary faded completely from sight.
 
Sensing Buffy’s need to appear invulnerable to the approaching group, Spike boosted her to her feet and pulled her up to stand beside him on the porch. To some, she might look fragile with her gravid belly, but he was intensely aware of the barely leashed temper she was hiding beneath that languid expression of polite inquiry.
 
“You nits just don’t get it when someone tells you ‘never again’, do ya?” Spike snarked.
 
Giles and Willow had the grace to look ashamed. Xander just looked purely miserable. It seemed that the pseudo-slayer was to be the spokesperson this go ‘round.
 
Kim stepped forward, her eyes sliding over Buffy’s obviously pregnant form with a shudder of distaste. She had nearly killed herself getting them this far so she refused to back down now.
 
“I’m guessing that the ‘someone’ who broke into my sister’s home and stole some personal letters a few weeks back is here to confess her sins?” Buffy inquired with a sardonic lift of her sleek eyebrows. Just to be contrary, she refused to pull her white tank top down over her stomach, grinning when the vampire at her back made a great show of cradling her seven months gone girth.
 
“You broke into the nibblet’s house? Aww, I’m tellin’!” This was going to be fun, Spike thought. He hardly ever got to bait anyone these days. He grinned unrepentantly at Xander.
 
“So, Whelp, how’s them jollies you ain’t gettin’ these days? Slayer just got in the new Victoria’s Secret catalogue if you’d like to give it a gander.”
 
Xander tried to force back a whimper. The past three years and ten months had been sheer, unadulterated hell. No matter what he did, no matter who he was with, he hadn’t achieved sexual gratification during that entire time. Every time he felt his climax approaching, Anya’s scary, demon face would pop into his mind and he would completely deflate.
 
Buffy didn’t even try to hide her snort of laughter when Spike started singing ‘I Can’t Get No Satisfaction’ under his breath. She turned in his arms and gave him a half-hearted slap on the arm.
 
“Stop that. The faster we find out why they bothered to come here, the faster they can go away again,” she admonished him. One finger danced along the waistband of the baggy drawstring shorts he wore. “Then we can get back to the quality time that was so rudely interrupted.”
 
Spike gave her that smoldering look that never failed to curl her toes. “Right, then. State your business and then bugger off. The brats are sleepin’ and I got me a Slayer that wants some cherishin’,” he said rudely.
 
“We want this stupid curse lifted,” Kim hissed. “If I have to spend one more day with these people, I am just going to snap. How you tolerated their whiney, interfering ways for so many years is totally beyond me,” she yelled at Buffy.
 
“Often wondered that myself,” Spike snorted. He received a second, harder slap for his trouble.
 
Kim ignored them and continued her rant. “I want my own face back. I want my own life back and I want to get as far away from these losers as possible.”
 
“Please, God, lift the curse, Buffy. I think I can safely say for all of us that we’ve learned the error of our ways,” Giles muttered. “She can’t stake a vampire to save her life, she’s nearly brought the Council to financial ruin with her exorbitant spending, and her sexual escapades have caused untold turmoil within the ranks of Watchers.”
 
“The Immortal has finally filed a restraining order against her, and two of Dracula’s wives have filed for divorce because of her,” Willow chimed in.
 
“Made it all the way to Transylvania, did you?” Spike snickered. “Only you lot would pick a nymphomaniac to try to take the Slayer’s place.”
 
Buffy stared at Willow, suddenly noticing two things. She was missing her usual Kennedy-shaped appendage and the size of her stomach rivaled Buffy’s.
 
“Whoa! Guess I’m not the only one with the incredible expanding waistline, huh Wills?” she commented. “Who’s the proud papa?”
 
“Well, we know who it isn’t, since the whelp can’t bust a nut,” Spike offered. He cast a look of wide-eyed innocence at Xander. “No ‘hard’ feelings, right?”
 
Her mouth opened and closed several times, but Willow couldn’t even manage a squeak in reply. Finally she cast her eyes at Giles in a telling gesture.
 
“You’re kidding, right?” Buffy asked flatly. When both Giles and Willow’s faces flamed with embarrassment, the Slayer burst into uncontrollable laughter. “Oh my God, you’re serious.”
 
Spike looked confused. He had been so busy tormenting Harris by singing ‘Friggin’ in the Riggin’ that he had missed the couple’s reaction to Buffy’s questions. “Wot?”
 
Buffy was snorting inelegantly and leaning weakly against him. “Giles and Willow have a little watcher in the oven.”
 
“Oh, bloody hell. Tell me this isn’t another fuckin’ prophecy,” Spike begged.
 
Furiously polishing his glasses, Giles glared at the vampire. “No, you pillock. It isn’t a prophecy. I-I have a very deep regard for Willow, I’ll have you know.”
 
“So, what happened to batting for the other team, Red?”
 
Willow gave him an irritated scowl and moved closer to Giles. “He satisfies my needs completely. Don’t underestimate his abilities.”
 
"Oh, we're the very last to underestimate anyone's abilities.  You two cornered the market on that one,” Buffy said in her best snippy voice.
 
“S’cuse me, but I think my O-Neg is comin’ back up,” Spike gagged.
 
Buffy commiserated with her husband, wrapping her arms around him and kissed him. “Oh, my poor baby! What can I do to make you feel better?”
 
Spike looked around him. Xander and Kim were squabbling and Giles and Willow were making disgusting moon-eyes at each other. All it needed was for Peaches to make an appearance to make it a perfect nightmare.
 
“Just get the demon bird here and take back that soddin’ wish so they’ll leave,” he pleaded. “They’re killin’ the mood, luv.”
 
Can’t have that! Buffy thought. She turned around and gave a shrill whistle between her teeth. “Yo! Listen up.”
 
When she was certain she had their full attention, she muttered the incantation Anya had given her should she ever want to summon her.
 
Her customary flash of light and burst of sulfurous wind brought the vengeance demon forth.
 
“This had better be good, Buffy. I was just about to eviscerate a fraternity in Boston,” Anya groused.
 
“Tell them to thank me later,” Buffy sighed. “Lift the curse, Anya. They won’t leave unless you do, and they’re making Spike want to toss his cookies.”
 
Giving Xander a considering look, Anya pouted. “But you still have two months on the orgasm clause.”
 
“Just lift it. I want them gone. There’s nothing else I can do that will make them as miserable as what they do to themselves without a vengeance curse,” she said tiredly.
 
“We really should have Angel here for this also.”
 
“Peaches wasn’t there for the original curse. He doesn’t need to be here.” Spike frowned ferociously, his nausea forgotten in the face of his mate’s exhaustion. “Quit stalling and just bloody do it, Anyanka, before I bite someone.”
 
“Oh, fine. I’ll have to take a beating from Hoffy on this one, but you did do me a favor with that clause for Xander. I’ll even make sure they really will go once I’m done, okay?”
 
“Perfect,” Buffy smiled. “Thank you so much.”
 
“I really should start charging cash for this,” Anya muttered. With a resigned sigh, she began the incantation to remove Buffy’s curse. When she finished, she smiled and patted Xander on the head. “It’s too bad Hoffy is so possessive.  It would be interesting to see your head explode when you have your first orgasm in almost four years.”
 
Buffy shook her head at Spike’s hopeful expression. “It’s just an expression, honey.” She glared at Anya. “It IS just an expression, right? I’m SO not cleaning up Xander brains from my front yard.”
 
“Wouldn’t be that big of a mess, luv. We’re talking Xander brains, remember?”
 
“Har de har har, bleach boy,” Xander spat out.
 
“I wouldn’t be trading barbs with me, Whelp. ‘Cause you got bigger problems right now.” Spike pointed at Kim, who was eyeing the brunette lustily. “Maneater off the starboard bow!” He bellowed with laughter.
 
Xander shrieked at her predatory look and took off down the beach at a dead run, the pseudo-Slayer hot on his heels.
 
“Two down, two to go,” Spike grinned.
 
“Well, three including me. Oh, and the very smelly guard dog you have hovering over the twins. But I really need to get back to the fraternity boys and Whistler will go as soon as Giles and Willow can pry themselves apart and leave, right?”
 
A faint scream was heard in the distance as Xander was brought down like a wounded gazelle.
 
“We’d best go rescue him, dearest,” Giles said, nudging Willow along. The lovebirds cooed at each other as they headed in the direction of Xander’s pained cries.
 
Buffy snorted. “Geez, rude much? They didn’t even say thank you.”
 
“Shall I… “ Anya began perkily.
 
“NO!”
 
“Touchy, touchy,” she pouted. “Well, I’m off. Remember, Buffy, Hoffy Jr’s birthday party is next week. Since you have twins, I’m sure he expects many expensive gifts.”
 
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Anya.”
 
As usual, sarcasm was wasted on the clueless demon. She gave them a little wave and disappeared.
 
Buffy smiled at Spike. “One more?”
 
“You do realize how ironic it was to decorate their bedroom with a Powerpuff Girls theme, don’t you?” Whistler called down from the upstairs window. “Consider me gone. You wouldn’t believe what these two have cooking for tomorrow.”
 
Spike slid an arm around her waist and urged her through the door. “We don’t wanna know, mate. It ruins the surprise.”
 
“Should we feel guilty?” Buffy asked as he led her through the darkened house to their bedroom.
 
“Nope,” Spike returned matter-of-factly. “The Powers made him their guardian; we had nothin’ to do with it. I do wonder what he did to piss them off so bad that they decided to punish him like that, though.” He watched with adoring eyes as she stripped and snuggled down into the bed. “Tired, luv?”
 
Buffy rolled over, admiring his lack of tan lines when he dropped his baggy shorts. She gave him a sultry look from under the veil of her hair. “Not too tired for you, baby.” The effect was ruined completely when she yawned so wide he heard her jaw crack.
 
“Right,” he chuckled. “Backrub?”
 
“You’re so good to me.” Buffy felt him slip in behind her and moaned as his magic fingers went to work on her lower back. In spite of her insistence that she wasn’t too tired for loving, she was asleep in seconds.
 
Sighing, Spike pulled her close and buried his face in her hair, breathing in her familiar scent as he willed his body to relax, allowing the steady, reassuring heartbeats of all three of his girls and the sprog in Buffy’s tummy to sooth him into dreamland.
 
Beneath his father’s hand, the boy-child nestled under Buffy’s heart stretched and rolled, eager for the day he would make his presence known.
 
 

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