White light, not blinding despite its infinite brightness, made up of more colors than she could count.
Freedom of flight linked to utter certainty that she would never fall.
Peace.
Sand under her feet, wind whipping her hair, the bonfire blazing up higher than her head.
Slowly, reluctantly Buffy came back to herself. She didn’t know how long she’d floated (swum? danced?) in the light. Time wasn’t important. There wasn’t anything she had to do because she had already done it. And she liked the feeling.
Buffy turned, taking in her surroundings, somehow not surprised to find herself back in the desert of her visions.
“Why am I here?” she said clearly. “I made my choice. I gave my gift.”
The First One moved smoothly into the firelight. “And gave it freely.”
“Yes,” Buffy answered. “And now I’m done. I did my job. I put in my time.”
“You did well,” the First One nodded.
“You did wonderfully.”
At the familiar voice, Buffy whirled, forgetting the First One, the light, and everything else.
Joyce stood a few feet away, smiling despite the tears running down her face. The shadowed eyes and hollowed-out cheeks from her illness had vanished, and she almost seemed to glow as she held out her arms.
Buffy threw herself across the intervening sand, laughing and sobbing all at once. “Mommy!” she choked, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder.
Joyce rocked her back and forth, raining kisses her hair. “Oh, my baby. My sweetheart. My beautiful, darling girl.”
“I’m sorry,” Buffy sobbed. “So sorry I couldn’t save you. I tried. Really, really, tried. Oh, Mom, I broke your rib….”
“Shhhh,” Joyce pushed her back far enough to brush the tears from her daughter’s cheeks. “You did all anyone could do. You were perfect. I am so proud of you.”
“You won’t leave me again?” Buffy pleaded. “We’ll always be together?”
“Sweetie, we were always together. I was always there, watching you and loving you. And we’ll be together now, if that’s what you want.”
“What I want?” she asked puzzled. “Of course, it’s what I want! What else could I want?”
In answer, Joyce gently took her shoulders and turned her back to face the First One who had moved around the fire to stand within a few feet of Buffy.
She held out her hand, and Buffy saw a pinpoint of light glowing in the center of her palm. “You have given your gift. I offer one in return to take or to refuse.”
Suspicion trailed an icy finger down her spine, and Buffy backed up a step, tempted to refuse immediately. But something in her nature, something that had to know, good or bad, what was coming, wouldn’t let her. “What gift is that?”
“Your gift was death. My gift is life.”
She swallowed hard. “Life? You can make me alive again?”
The First One nodded.
Buffy stormed forward, pulling her shoulders from her mother’s hands. “Why are you offering this to me? Why not to the Knights of Byzantium? Or to the people who have been killed by vampires? WHY NOT TO MY MOM?”
The First One was unmoved by the other’s rage. “It is a gift offered only to the Slayer, and I have offered it to each. If you accept, you will return to what you were. If not, you will continue in your afterlife.”
Bafflement replaced Buffy’s anger. “I never heard of a Slayer coming back from the dead.” And the Watcher’s Council would have been all over that one, she added to herself.
The First One nodded. “All refused the gift.”
The words came back from several months ago:
She simply wanted it. Every Slayer has a death wish.
At last, she could understand Spike's words and the mindset of the other Slayers. It was an unspeakable relief to be done with everything. No more worries or responsibilities. No more killing. Yes, Buffy knew why her sisters had refused this gift.
But I'm different from them aren't I? The first Slayer with ties to the mortal world. Will and the others will go on and be ok, but…
“What about Dawn?” she asked. “What will happen to Dawn if I go back? Or if I don’t?”
The First One shrugged. “If you go back, she will have one life. If you don’t, another. She has her own choices to make. You have yours.”
Troubled, Buffy looked back at her mother, and Joyce moved to stand beside her. “Mom, what should I do?”
Joyce touched her cheek gently, and her eyes were full of love, but she said, “Only you can decide that, Buffy.”
She bowed her head, feeling responsibility close around her again. If she didn’t go back, Dawn would have to live with their father or in foster care. No one would let Giles take her, even if he wanted to. And Buffy was no longer sure Giles was a good choice to guard her sister. Dawn would manage, but her life would be much harder than it had to be.
But it was a heavy burden to pick up after feeling so light, so free. She would be alone again, which was hard to face after knowing her mother’s love once more.
“To be alone or not is another choice for you to make,” whispered the First One.
The fire blazed up, and the individual flames curled around to frame a series of images of one person: Spike
…Seated by her on the porch, apparently forgetting he’d shown up with a shotgun.
…Unconscious in her arms, bruised and bloody from the torture he’d endured for her sake.
…Standing at the foot of the stairs, saying, “I know you’ll never love me.” So different from his arrogant promise to ‘have’ her when they returned to Sunnydale.
…Facing the man on the tower: “I made a promise to a lady.”
…Collapsing in sobs at the sight of her dead body.
The final image was static, just Spike leaning against a wall, head bent to light a cigarette, the sweep of his lashes long and dark against his pale cheek.
There was a long silence, which was broken by Joyce saying thoughtfully, “He certainly is cute.”
“Mmm,” the First One nodded in agreement.
Buffy’s jaw dropped open as she stared from one woman to the other. Both were staring at the fire image and, frankly, appreciating Spike.
“MOM!”
“Oh, Buffy,” her mother flapped an impatient hand. “If I had someone like that interested in me, you wouldn’t catch me hanging around here.”
“The choice is yours,” the First One said. “But either choice can bring joy if you have the courage to seek it out.”
Well, it had sounded fine and dandy, Buffy thought as she stomped around the kitchen and viciously crunched her peanut-butter smeared celery stick. No one could say the First One didn’t talk a good game. Who could resist a second chance at a life that involved somebody able to make and ancient Slayer incarnation sit up and take notice? The only problem was that she had left out one tiny detail.
Spike was gone.
It had taken her a couple of days to realize he wasn’t around. The First One had sent her back a few minutes after her official ‘death’, and she had seen him when she opened her eyes. Buffy recalled one clear image of his face, tears and grief rapidly overcome by joy before she was enveloped in something between a group hug and a tackle by the rest of the gang, but he had left by the time she surfaced.
Then there had been the usual post-apocalypse issues to deal with, such as coming up with convincing explanations for the wreckage, dead bodies, and a group of suddenly sane people who had no idea why they were lying around the foot of a large metal tower. Fortunately, the Sunnydale police had a habit of taking most things in their stride.
New problems came up this time, including convincing Dawn that even though they had just averted the destruction of the entire dimension, she still had to go to school and then begging said school to take her sister back after her unscheduled absence.
Worst of all had been the tense, unhappy talk between herself and Giles, followed by his quiet departure for England. Buffy felt the tears burn behind her eyes at the thought of that confrontation.
“I cannot function as your Watcher any longer.”
“I know.”
And she had known. She would always love him, but there was a lack of trust between them now, which kept him from the Watcher role. He would have killed Dawn if he thought it necessary. She knew it, and for now, she couldn’t forgive him.
He remained a silent partner in the Magic Box, but the store was run by Willow and Anya, which was working out much better than anyone would have thought. Of course, Willow was so blissful at having Tara back that it was impossible for her to get angry about anything, and Anya’s universe currently consisted of bridal magazines.
When the dust cleared, Buffy had looked around and noticed the absence of a certain platinum-haired vampire. She had gone to his crypt and found it empty, without even a ‘Dear Buffy’ letter, and the RV was gone from its hiding place.
“Stupid bleach-headed idiot,” she muttered, but the words had no force behind them. A note wasn’t strictly necessary - Buffy knew why Spike left, and there was no fair way for her to blame him. She had done the same thing, after all, when she thought she had failed, even if the only place she had run to was the inside of her own head.
The visions the First One had shown her included Spike being thrown from the tower, and the vampire’s expression had been clearly visible. His face had shown horror rather than fear: horror that he’d been unable to protect Dawn: horror that he hadn’t kept his promise to Buffy.
Once he knew he didn’t have to watch over Dawn, Spike had fled the scene of what he saw as his failure, and Buffy couldn’t go after him and shake some sense into him because she didn’t know where he was.
Leave it to Spike to haul up stakes…ugh, that was bad even for me…and take off just when I decided I wanted him around. And I do want him around. A lot.
Buffy shook her head. She wished she’d said something in response to his “I know you’ll never love me,” but some deep part of her had known the price she might have pay that night and had started mentally unplugging from the world. Now, it was too late.
“So here we are,” she sighed. “Or here we aren’t, I guess.” She turned to begin another orbit of the kitchen and came up short at the sight of Dawn leaning in the doorway.
“What are you doing? I thought you were packing for an overnight at Heather’s.”
Dawn shrugged. “I was watching you wave the celery around.”
Buffy looked down and realized she had been using celery to punctuate her thoughts. “Oh.” She set it down hastily. “Show’s over.”
Instead of leaving, Dawn slid into one of the kitchen chairs. “You upset over Spike vacating?” when Buffy looked surprised, Dawn smiled slightly. "Bleach-headed idiot was kind of a clue."
Her mouth automatically started to say, “No,” but Buffy stopped, thought about it, and met her sister’s direct gaze. “Yes.”
“He left because he thinks he screwed up didn’t he?”
Buffy nodded.
“Dork.”
Buffy nodded again, taking the chair across the table. “Do you think Spike screwed up?”
“No!” Dawn said immediately. “He tried really hard to help me, but that creepy guy stabbed him.”
“I don’t think he did either,” Buffy reassured her. “I wish…I wish I could tell him that.”
“Isn’t there some way to track him? A vampire underground or something?”
“Not that I know of, but I’ll keep my ears open. Look, don’t worry about this tonight. Get your stuff together or Heather and the others will eat all the pizza.”
“Are you going to be all right by yourself?” Dawn asked.
Buffy reached across the table and smoothed back her sister’s hair, touched by the younger girl’s thoughtfulness. “Me and the celery are good.”
Dawn started out, but paused in the kitchen doorway. “Buffy?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you…like…Spike now?”
That was the big question, the one she’d successfully avoided until now. Dawn said ‘like’ but they both knew what she meant. Buffy's mouth dried up.
When she had faced the images of Spike in...limbo or wherever it had been...and seen his love for her, everything had seemed simple. She had known she had feelings for him, and the thought of coming back and being with him had felt right. But then, she had come back and the world had crowded in, and he had disappeared. There had been time for her to think and question herself and become afraid again as she remembered her less than sterling relationship record.
She had been right: the hard thing was to live in the world especially when it involved answering questions like that. But she had chosen to come back and try.
“Yeah,” she said finally, finding it a little easier than she had thought it would be. “I do.”
Dawn nodded. “Good. I hope you can find him.”
Buffy raised an eyebrow in question and Dawn grinned. “I’m betting Spike will keep you so busy you won’t have time to get in my hair.”
“Dawny,” Buffy said lovingly. “I will always have time to get in your hair.”
Her sister safely settled at Heather’s, Buffy flopped on the couch and stared at the ceiling.
All those detective shows say that you should get inside the other person’s head, so if I were a depressed vampire in an RV, where would I go?
I have absolutely no idea.
That method exhausted, she turned her mind to what she knew about Spike. She didn’t think he would go back to Drusilla since he hadn’t parted with the insane vampire on the best of terms.
Besides, what she knew about Spike’s former personality didn’t exactly apply to Spike as he was now, because if it did, then she wouldn’t be trying to find him except to kill him, and…
“Oh, this is hopeless.”
She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands.
Either choice can bring joy if you have the courage to seek it out.
“Sure,” she snapped at the irritatingly calm voice of the First One. “How am I supposed to seek it out if I don’t know where it is?”
And then the knowledge of where Spike was sank into Buffy’s mind like a stone thrown into a pond. There was no uncertainty, no question, for there was only one place he could be. She grabbed for the phone.
“Hello?” Willow’s voice sounded frazzled.
“Will? It’s me. I need a favor.”
“A favor? Sure! I would love to do you a favor. You need me to come over right now?”
“No,” Buffy squinted curiously at the phone. “I have to…uh…go somewhere, so I need you to be Dawn’s contact tonight while she’s at Heather’s and then keep her with you tomorrow. Also, I need the keys to Giles’ car, but I can come to your place to pick them up.”
Instead of trying to haul it back to England, Giles had signed the car over to Willow and Anya as property of the Magic Box, especially when it was discovered that Tara could drive.
“This very minute? Of course. I’ll be right there.”
The light dawned. “Anya’s with you, isn’t she?”
“Exactly! I’m on my way!”
In the background, Buffy heard the ex-demon’s penetrating voice. “Is that Buffy? Ask her how she feels about Dusty Rose.”
It was only ten minutes before Tara pulled the car up in front of Buffy’s house with Willow in the front passenger seat and Anya firmly ensconced in the back. The pale-haired witch smiled wryly at Buffy over the roof of the car as the other two women climbed out.
“What’s the problem?” Anya asked curiously.
“I just need the car,” Buffy explained. “And for some of you guys to keep Dawn with you tomorrow. I already called Dawn and explained.”
“PLEASE don’t leave me with Anya!” Dawn had begged. "The last time I was with her, she spent an entire hour talking about centerpieces.”
“I’ll try, but think of it as an investment. A little pain now to gain sister-free hair later.”
“Oh.” Anya held a small fabric swatch up to Buffy’s face and squinted in the porch light. “That makes you look kind of sallow. Don’t you think?” she called over her shoulder.
“Whatever.” The two witches approached, Willow’s hand automatically resting on Tara’s arm. She had apparently decided that if she kept a constant grip on her lover, nobody would have an opportunity to injure Tara again. For her part, Tara seemed sublimely content to let Willow hang onto her.
Tara handed over the keys without comment, but Willow asked curiously. “Why do you want the car? I mean, it’s ok, but you and driving don’t usually go together that well.”
Buffy sighed. It was sort of unrealistic, but she had really hoped the question wouldn’t come up. Still, it probably came under the heading of ‘courage to seek out her joy’ or something.
“I know where Spike is,” she said, trying to sound calm. “I’m going to talk to him.”
“Oh.”
It got very quiet on the porch as the three women wrestled with her statement and the various possible meanings behind it. Willow looked unhappily at Tara, but the other smiled and reached to touch Buffy’s shoulder.
“I used to not like him, but he helped us a lot,” she said gently. “And he was kind to me when I burned his hand.”
“That’s true,” Willow said finally and tried to smile. She enveloped Buffy in an awkward hug. “It’s up to you, Buffy. Whatever you decide.”
“Thanks,” she said uncomfortably.
“Ask him if he’s willing to be an usher,” Anya said briskly. “And if he is, I’m going to need his measurements.”
Buffy didn’t know what image went through the witches’ minds, but their eyes went big and she was pretty sure that her own did too.
She drove carefully through the night, the radio turned up and a cup of coffee in the drink holder, not wanting the First One to have to offer her gift again because of a car crash.
The desert unfolded around her, and there was plenty of light to see by, what with the moon and approximately 40 bazillion stars, but nothing looked especially familiar. When she and Giles had brought her here, it had been daylight. Also, Buffy had to admit that one patch of sand, rock, and cactus looked pretty much like another to her.
Still, she wasn’t particularly worried.
I’m out here doing the joy-seeking. If The Powers That Be want me to find it, they’ll tell me where to turn off.
An hour or so later, Buffy felt a sort of tugging in her mind, and managed to pull the car over without running it into anything, which she considered cause for a minor celebration. She hopped out, locked the car, and opened the trunk. Giles might have been happy with twigs and a gourd, but she felt a little more secure with some extra water, a flashlight, and a basic first aid kit.
She flicked on the light and headed into the desert. A few minutes walking brought her to the place where Giles had drawn the circle to begin her quest.
“I could draw the circle, I guess,” Buffy said aloud. “But I don’t have a gourd to shake.”
Her eyes stung at the memory of her first time here, at the memory of Giles jumping in an out of the circle, determinedly shaking his gourd. He had been embarrassed, but had done it anyway because it was to keep her safe. He had always tried to keep her safe or as safe as the Slayer could be.
She dropped to one knee and laid her palm against the ground, missing her Watcher more than she would have thought possible. He had been willing to sacrifice Dawn, but he would have sacrificed himself as well. And hadn’t her need to protect Angel sacrificed Jenny Calendar? Yes, it had, and Giles had never held it against her.
Love. Give. Forgive. A sob tore from her throat.
“As soon as I get back, Giles,” she promised through her tears. “I’ll call you. We’ll work this out. Even if you can’t be my Watcher anymore, I want you to be my friend.”
Buffy swiped a hand across her eyes and looked up to see a mountain lion sitting a few feet away. “I really hope you’re my guide,” she said, standing cautiously. Apparently it was, because when she gained her feet, the lion turned and padded away into the night. She trotted along behind, her eyes fixed on the tawny bulk ahead of her.
After walking for what felt like forever, Buffy realized that she could see the lion more clearly and looked around to see that the sun was coming up. When she looked back, she saw that the form of her guide had been replaced by the hulk of the RV.
Buffy swallowed nervously. Her goal had been to get here, and now that she was here, she had no clue what she should do. What if Spike didn’t want to come back? What if he wasn’t interested in her anymore? What if he was shacked up in there with some vamp-type female?
Actually, she knew what she would do in that case. There would be some serious hair-pulling. Not to mention dust.
Mouth set, she stepped forward, pausing when her foot knocked against something that clinked. She looked down to see an empty Scotch bottle rolling away. It had a few friends.
Geez, Spike, you couldn’t go on a bender back in Sunnydale?
Buffy was surprised he hadn’t crashed the RV, driving drunk through the desert wastes, but she suspected he’d had some mysterious-oracle-type help.
She tapped at the door and felt a pang of fear when there was no answer. The sun was pretty much up. If he was outside…no…there…her Slayer senses detected the presence of a vampire inside, and only one, fortunately for them all.
Cautiously, she cracked the door open and peeked inside. Spike’s coat hung over the back of one of the chairs, and the available surfaces were covered with more Scotch bottles and a flask of animal blood. She sighed, stepped up and into the cramped space, closed the door behind her, and made her way to the sliding door at the back.
Spike was sprawled across the bunk, not even twitching when she shoved the door back and knocked one of his boots over. For a moment, fear clutched at her, then the Scotch fumes stung her nose, and Buffy shook her head.
Light a match in here and the place would probably go up like a fireball.
She scowled at the unconscious vampire for a moment, but her impatience faded when her eyes finished adjusting to the dimness and she got a better look at his face. His fall from the tower had added to his rather spectacular collection of bruises and cuts, but what touched her were the deep hollows that were visible even with his eyes closed and the tension that radiated from him even in sleep. Knocking himself out with Scotch was probably the only way he was resting at all.
She sat on the edge of the bunk and smoothed the pale hair back from his forehead. “Spike?”
He shifted, frowning in his sleep, but didn’t waken.
“Spike?” she tried again, shaking his shoulder gingerly with no noticeable effect.
“All right,” she said at last. “You can sleep now, but we’re going to talk later.”
Buffy was sleepy as well, and found herself eyeing the bunk with some interest. There was room for two if she pushed him against the wall, but she wasn’t quite brave enough for that. Spike waking up in her arms sounded romantic, but she wasn’t sure how it would actually play out. Certainly she wouldn’t get any sleep in the meantime.
She moved back into the main area of the RV and curled up on the bench behind the table. It would do for a short nap, and allowed her to guard the front door if necessary. Resting her head on her jacket, she dozed off.
“No. God, no! Dawn…BUFFY!!!”
She was on her feet before she was fully awake, and had no idea of her surroundings until she almost broke her hip scrambling out from the behind the built-in table.
The RV. I’m on the RV. The Knights must be attacking. Dawn, where’s Dawn…Oh.
Buffy shook her head to clear it. All that had already happened. Glory was gone, Dawn was ok, and she was here because of…
“Spike,” she said aloud and ran to the back of the RV just as a loud thud came from behind the sliding door.
He was coming to his feet as she got the door open, eyes wide and unseeing as he dropped into a fighting crouch.
“Leave her alone, damn you,” he snarled.
“Wait,” she began but that was as far as she got before he charged her, the tackle carrying them both to the floor.
Still a few bugs in that chip, she thought disjointedly as they tussled. In his dream, Spike fought demons, not humans, so it wasn’t stopping him. He was going all out too, raining blows down on her head that she was just managing to dodge or block. The Slayer decided to get in on the act, trying to send Buffy’s hand down toward the stake she’d automatically stuck in her belt before leaving the house.
She’d come too far to kill him now. Buffy braced, twisted and managed to throw them both into the side of the RV. He still for an instant, dizzy from shock and alcohol, and she used the time to wriggle out from under him and grab hold of his shoulders.
“SPIKE!” she shouted, giving him a hard shake. “WAKE UP!”
He jerked violently under her hands, blinked, and his eyes cleared. “Buffy?”
“Yeah,” she said wearily, letting him go and sliding across the narrow hallway to lean against the opposite wall.
He pushed himself into a sitting position. “I was dreaming,” he said slowly, glancing back down the hallway toward the bunk with a shudder.
She softened. “I know.”
She had dreamed some bad ones too: Ben turning into Glory, Giles killing Dawn, Dawn jumping because Buffy’s sacrifice wasn’t enough to close the portal, Tara’s wide-eyed empty stare, the deaths of her other friends. These last few days had left no shortage of nightmare material.
With a final head shake, Spike seemed to come back to himself fully and his eyes fastened on her with growing worry. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s happened. We usually get a few months’ break between apocalypses,” Buffy said trying to lighten the mood and failing miserably.
He frowned at her suspiciously. “What are you doing here, then?”
Somehow, facing him, her words dried up. “I came to…to see if you were all right. You took off so fast.”
“Right,” he snorted and stood, looming over her for an instant before he turned and headed toward the front of the RV, fingers plowing through his hair.
Buffy stayed where she was, watching as he fished cigarettes and lighter from the pocket of his coat. This wasn’t going at all as she had pictured. What happened to falling into each other’s arms? True, they had sort of done that, but she hadn’t anticipated he’d be trying to punch her in the head at the time.
Surprisingly, the alcohol-laden air didn’t ignite when he flicked the lighter, and Spike drew a deep breath on the cigarette before he turned back to face her, half-sitting on the edge of the table, face smooth and unreadable.
“Well, I’m just splendid, Slayer, thank you for asking,” he drawled. “Now that you’ve got that sorted out, you can trundle back to Sunnydale.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said sarcastically, climbing to her feet to face him. “You’re in great shape, which explains why you’re out here in the desert, drunk off your ass.”
“I’m celebrating. Destruction of the world avoided, Slayer miraculously returned from the dead, and so forth.” He caught up a random bottle from the table and held it out to her. “Care to join me? Or did you and the Scoobies party hearty at the Bronze?”
Buffy moved down the hallway, keeping her eyes locked on him. “Strange as it is, we’ve all been a little busy. That’s why it took me a few days to realize you'd left. Besides, I thought you’d say goodbye, Spike. To Dawn if not to me.” She caught the neck of the bottle as he raised it to his lips. “And if you want to celebrate my return,” she said softly. “Do it with me around.”
He pulled the bottle away and clunked it down on the table. “Where I go, and what I do, isn’t your affair,” he said coldly. “Don't mother me the way you try with the rest of them.”
The rebuff hurt more than any blow he could have struck, and the only thing that kept her from storming out was that she recognized the behavior and knew where it was coming from. It was much easier to be angry and lash out rather than admitting you hurt deep inside. She did it all the time.
God, I must be annoying. It’s amazing people don’t slap me regularly.
Still, even understanding what Spike was doing didn’t keep his words from making her angry. “So, you’d rather be out here by yourself, screaming yourself awake from nightmares than back in Sunnydale, where somebody could maybe help? That’s brilliant.”
He seized her arm in a bruising grip and yanked. She stumbled forward and ended standing between his knees, her face was an inch or so from his. “What were you planning to do, Slayer, kiss it better?” he snarled.
Somehow, her anger deflated rather than increased. Buffy raised her free hand and laid it gently against his cheek. “Spike. It wasn’t your fault.”
She felt a tremor go through him. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, still trying to sound cold although he didn’t pull away from her touch and she saw the muscles work in his throat.
“Yes, you do,” she said quietly. “What happened to Dawn, what happened to me. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Oh. That.” He did draw back then and release her arm. She let him go, but didn’t move away, watching mingled anger and grief flow through his blue eyes. “I must have missed something. You mean I defended Dawn as I promised, and you didn’t die? Strange how I don’t remember it that way.”
“You did defend Dawn,” Buffy pointed out. “You took a knife in the ribs and a fall from the tower defending Dawn. It could have been you that died, you know, if you’d landed on some of the construction stuff.”
He stared past her at some horror she couldn’t see. “Doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “At the end of the day, it was my fault you died.”
“Don’t be stupid!” Buffy exploded. She whirled away, pacing the small front area. “You want to hand out blame, Spike? There’s plenty to go around. How about Tara? She told Glory that Dawn was the key! Willow’s in for it too, because it was her fault Tara was by herself, also, she didn’t defeat Glory with magic. I’m sure I can think of something Xander and Anya did too, or didn’t do. And finally, what about me? I tied a bow around Dawn and handed her to Glory. Of course, that’s Giles’ fault too because how stupid was it for him to get wounded helping me?”
She ended up back in front of him. Spike looked away from her, but she caught his chin and pulled his head back around. Anger flared in his eyes, but that was better than despair.
“At the end of the day,” Buffy said firmly. “I died because of an insane hell god. Not for any other reason. Definitely not because of what anyone did to help me.”
He jerked his chin away but didn’t take his eyes from her face as the silence stretched between them.
Finally, Buffy said, “Ok, that was my first attempt at a Willow-type pep talk, so if it didn’t work, I’m going to be bummed.”
Spike’s lips twitched. “Don’t worry. It was very insightful. I’m all full of happy thoughts now.”
“Good.” She relaxed a little. “So, you’re going to follow me back to Sunnydale?”
“No.”
It was like a stake to the heart. “What? Why not?”
He slid past her, moved to the driver’s seat and began to sort the wires under the dashboard. “As you said, the current Big Bad’s been defeated. You and the others can handle the standard nasties.”
“But…” She spluttered, her upset increasing. “You’ve been in Sunnydale two years, Spike. You have a home. You’re accepted now, part of the group. I…Dawn would miss you.”
He still didn’t look at her. “Two years is it? Definitely time for me to be moving on, Pet. I don’t usually stay long in one place. Give my regards to the Niblet. Perhaps I’ll swing by on Prom Night, make sure her bloke knows to behave.”
“Damn it, Spike!” Buffy crouched beside the seat, trying to see his expression. “Why now? And don’t hand me that about it being time to move on! Why are you leaving?”
His voice was distant. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“All right then,” Spike turned in the seat and looked her in the eye. “I’m leaving because of you.”
“WHAT!? But…”
“Shh. You asked, so I’m telling you.” He took a deep breath. “I saw you die and my world ended. The only thing keeping me from the sun was I thought I could help Dawn in some way. Then you came back, and the others ran to you, all except me, ‘cause I didn’t have the right. And I understood that I never would have the right.”
“Spike…”
“Give us a minute, would you? It would have all gone back to normal, except maybe I would have been some kind of honorary Scooby. And that would be fine, except in the normal course of things, you’d find a new man. Or maybe Finn would sort out his head from his arse or Angel polish off that redemption and become human. Doesn’t matter. One way or another, you’d go with someone. And I couldn’t bear it. What are you doing?” he finished in some alarm as Buffy started banging her head against the arm of the seat.
“Spike,” she said through gritted teeth. “How did I find you?”
“What?”
“You didn’t exactly leave me a map. How did I get here?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” he said carefully, hearing the anger in her voice. “Location spell by the witches?”
“No. I had a vision, a vision that told me approximately where you were, and then a spirit guide led me the rest of the way. Here’s another question. You’ve been driving three days, but you’re only about 6 hours out of Sunnydale. Why is that? And do you have any idea where you are?”
“No?” he offered nervously.
She rose to a crouch, grabbed the arms of the seat and yanked so that Spike faced her full on. Leaning over him, she snarled, “You are in a sacred place, Spike. The place where I met the First One in a dream two years ago. The place Giles brought me for guidance. The place where I’m pretty sure the First One held your ass until I could find you.”
“Oh,” he breathed, cool fingers lightly encircling her wrists. Hope was spreading across Spike’s features, but Buffy felt as if she were going to explode with sheer panic. Adrenaline was surging through her muscles, urging her to flee through the door and into the desert.
Say it. Say it now while you still can. God, can’t I just jump off another tower?
She clamped her eyes shut and said without letting herself stop to think. “You said you were part of the reason I died. That isn’t true. But you’re a big part of the reason I came back.”
Buffy felt his hands tugging at her wrists and let Spike draw her shaking body into his lap, but she stubbornly kept her eyes shut even as he tucked her head under his chin.
“What is it?” he whispered. “Why is this terrifying you so much?”
“Because,” she choked, “You have this whole thing about me. You built a robot me. You let Glory torture you because you didn’t want me to be hurt. And I’m just not that good a person. I mean, I’m ok in a crisis, but I suck at the day-to-day stuff, and….”
His hands smoothed over her back. “I stalked you for a long time, remember? I know all your bad points.” He kissed her hair. “You’re bossy, bad-tempered, and you ball up like a hedgehog when something’s troubling you.”
“And bad puns,” she said, starting to unclench a little.
“Can’t forget those,” Spike moved her back against his shoulder, and Buffy felt his lips brush lightly over her eyelids. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and looked into the face so near her own.
“And you care enough for the whole bleeding world. I’m after the whole package,” he finished seriously. “Just be you. Just be Buffy. That’s all I want.”
It felt like iron bands cracked from around her heart. “No one else ever said that to me,” she said wonderingly, and it was true. She had never felt like a good enough daughter, good enough girlfriend, good enough Slayer. To be told she was enough as she was overwhelmed her.
Buffy didn’t have the words to tell him how much his statement meant to her, but there was another language she could use. She put her hand on the back of Spike’s head and pulled his mouth the rest of the way down to hers.
His arms tightened around her as his cool, soft lips moved against hers, and the feeling of freedom and safety that went through Buffy was similar to what she had known floating in the light, but with the added dimension of understanding that she could hold Spike up as well.
For a long time, the peace of simply being in his arms was enough, but then a different kind of tension began to fill her, making Buffy sit up in his lap then finally straddle him, the kiss deepening as their tongues lashed furiously together.
Spike tore his mouth from hers and slid it down her throat, and she cried out as his hand closed around one of her breasts, his touch on flesh that was sensitized even through her clothes sending a jolt straight through her.
He growled in response, yanked her shirt up and pushed her bra cup out of the way, and then she was writhing in his grasp as his mouth fastened on her nipple. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, torn between wanting him to stay there for the next year or so and for him to come back to her mouth.
The seat suddenly groaned alarmingly and Spike lifted his head from Buffy’s swollen breast.
“Back,” they said simultaneously and began frantically disentangling from each other and from the seat. They staggered down the hallway, managing to lose her shirt, his shirt, and her bra on the way, and collapsed across the bunk.
There wasn’t a lot of room back there, especially after Spike slid the door shut, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did any more except that Buffy had ended on top and it was Spike’s turn to groan as her hands and mouth slid over his chest.
“Buffy. Oh, God, love,” he gasped as she went lower, tracing the hard muscles of his abdomen with her lips.
She leaned up to stare into his eyes, her hand moving to the button of his jeans. He let her unfasten them, but before she could close her hand around his length, Spike caught her under the arms and pulled her back up the length of his body, twisting to bring her beneath him.
“Not yet,” he gasped in her ear, before crushing his mouth back down on hers, his erection cool and hard against her belly.
Long moments later, he moved down her body, mouth covering every inch of her torso from neck to navel. Then, he shifted to kneel beside her and Buffy could see him deliberately gather his control.
She began to shiver as Spike got rid of her shoes and socks, fingers teasing on the arches of her feet, and was shaking in earnest as he unfastened her pants and tugged them along with her underwear slowly, deliberately past her hips.
She started clawing marks in the back of the RV as his mouth moved between her thighs. Buffy twisted against him, but his iron hold on her hips didn’t loosen, and his lips and tongue didn’t cease their assault on her sanity. Long caressing licks and kisses alternated with a hard sucking that almost, but not quite, crossed the line from pleasure to pain.
Then she was screaming his name and arching like a bow as the contractions shot through her. Through the roaring in her ears, Buffy thought she heard a rustle. When his body covered hers again, she dimly identified the sound as Spike shedding his jeans.
I should touch him, she thought vaguely and reached for him, but he pushed her hands aside.
“Later,” he growled, self-control gone as he entered her hard and fast.
She wrapped around him, hips moving against his, tasting herself as their mouths met. After a few moments, Spike raised up a little, taking his weight on his hands. He thrust hard and deep and Buffy braced her feet against the bunk and met him stroke for stroke.
“Let go,” she whispered, leaning up to kiss him. “Let go, I want to feel you.” She drew a deep breath, and found the words weren’t as hard to say as she thought they might be. “I love you, Spike.”
His eyes went wide and defenseless and she felt him spill into her. Buffy lay back, drawing his head to rest against her shoulder, fingers playing in his hair.
Eventually, he shifted to lie next to her, sliding his arm under her head for a pillow, his other hand resting over her heart.
“You are coming back to Sunnydale now, right?” she asked sleepily.
“Well, yeah,” Spike snorted. “Unless you were plannng to move into the RV.”
“I don’t think that would work out with Dawn and all.”
“She could stay in your house. The Niblet’s a big girl. All 14-year-olds want their own place.”
“Uh. No.”
“S’pose I’ll follow you back then. I’ve got more having of you to do. What was it, ‘all the ways we can imagine and for as long as we can manage’?”
“Mmmm. And you managed a good while.”
“Oh, Pet,” Spike laughed softly. He took her hand, moved it down. “Give us a minute, and I'll manage some more.”
“Wow,” Buffy said, suitably impressed. “That reminds me. Anya wants your measurements.”
There was a pause, then Spike said carefully. “Anya wants my what?”
Buffy grinned. “Measurements. You get to be an usher in what’s going to be the wedding of the millennium. That’s what being part of the group means,” she added maliciously.
“It’s been fun, Love,” he said, “But I can see we’re going to have to go back to being mortal enemies.”
She sighed. “Oh, well. Guess I’ll get up then.”
There was another pause. “Fine. She can have my bloody measurements. But she’s not going to be the one to take them. I’m not trusting Anya anywhere near my inseam.”