Buffy struggled against her chains. Her heart pounded in time with the Shadow Men’s primitive rhythm. A seemingly ordinary box was opened and placed on the floor. It was nothing special except for what was inside. What they expected to be inside her.

Sentient tendrils of black smoke pulsated and licked at the air. Looming above her, it searched for her weaknesses then struck. Forcing its way inside, it writhed and twisted up her nose and in her ears. With every ounce of strength, she fought back—screaming. Releasing hold, it retreated to the ceiling before returning. Coiling and snaking around her in a macabre dance.

Wide-eyed she watched it expand and take shape of the Master. His fruit-punch stained mouth twisted in a sneer. Then it shifted, changed. She shivered under Angelus’ demonic gaze roaming over her in a lewd perusal. Then it shifted again. Changing into what she dreaded far more. From beneath a ridged brow, piercing blues bore into her very soul.

“Slayer.”

Buffy jolted and sat straight up, panting. Fisting the bedding, she tried to stop from shaking.

“Nightmare, sweetheart?” Groggy, Spike sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes.

“Yeah, I hate that one.”

“Come ‘ere.”

Spike opened his arms and Buffy slid into his embrace, nuzzling and molding into his side. She held onto him tightly. Needing to hold onto this, onto him. He became her anchor as she weathered the maelstrom of emotions swelling and storming inside her. And when the tears broke free, she burrowed her face deeper into his chest and held on even tighter than before.

Buffy welcomed the solidness of his arms around her. Welcomed the coolness of his skin under her cheek, the feeling of him steadily stroking her hair and the unneeded rise and fall of his chest. When the tears finally subsided, she absently wiped away the wetness left behind. The whole time he hadn’t spoken a word, yet he made her feel safe and feel as nothing beyond this very moment existed or mattered.

Please, just a little longer

Buffy wasn’t ready to let go. She feared this was another form of torture her mind had concocted. Instead of her being in his arms, he was gone and she was in Rome with only a handful of half-way decent memories and far more regrets to keep her company. She just needed a while longer, and then she’d have the strength—strength to let him go.

“Care to tell me what brought this on?” She felt his lips brushing against the crown of her head.

“It’s just…this is real, isn’t it?”

Buffy dreaded asking this and even more so, dreaded hearing the answer. Yet if this was all a slight of mind and he was to disappear, she knew that this time together, for however brief, would get her through.

At least for a little while

Spike gently shifted her until their gazes were level. He cupped her face and with the tender sweeps of his thumbs, dried her remaining tears.

“Yes, this is real.”

He drew her in for a kiss. The barest touching of their lips held so much tenderness, but soon she needed more. She threw her arms around his neck, straddled his hips and deepened the kiss. When air became an issue, she pulled away and began scattering kisses over his face, all the while whispering, “You’re real” following each one. She must’ve landed a dozen or so kisses before he spoke up.

“Not that I don’t love all this attention, luv, but care to fill a fella in to what’s goin’ on?”

Buffy gave a final peck to the tip of his nose and slid back, just enough to look him in the eye but not too far to loose contact.

“The short version? Totally freaky nightmares and an unreadable book. The long? Well, it all started about seven months ago with a hero and his sacrifice that saved the world…”

Buffy meant every word. He was a hero. He was her hero. Yet despite how over the years she’d bared witness to his usual cock and swagger, it was when it mattered, truly matter, Spike was oddly humble. This was one of those times.

“Nah. Just showed up with the shiny bobble ‘round my neck that was all. No hero here but you, Slayer.”

And just like that, he brushed off her claim. Buffy wanted to tell him he was wrong. Tell him he’d done far more than that, but she knew he wouldn’t listen. So she moved on, focusing on the others lost in the battle: several potentials turned slayers, including Amanda, and how they lost Anya. They each remembered the fallen in silence for several moments, then Spike asked what happened next. Buffy explained that the bus hadn’t stopped until they reached Angel’s. And how the next week they held up there, taking time for healing and figuring out what they’d do next, before the group slowly headed off in different directions. Principal Woods and Faith set their sights on another Hellmouth in Cleveland. Some slayers returned home to wait for their Watchers, while the rest headed to England. From there, some stayed with Giles to rebuild the Watcher’s Council and for training, while she and Dawn relocated to Rome and the remaining Scoobies struck out on their own searching the globe for newly called slayers.

She and Spike talked for what felt like hours, only stopping for bathroom and smoke breaks, answering the door for take-out delivery, and lots and lots of smooching. It felt like the most normal thing in the world for the two of them sitting there sharing, laughing, teasing, kissing, just being.

With the complications of their relationship finally simplified, there was no need to define themselves. Not as a slayer and a vampire. Not as enemies with a truce or frenemies with benefits. Not even as a man and a woman. They were simply Buffy and Spike. And it was, amazing.

It was sometime later as she found comfort in his arms, she told him about the nightmares. It was cathartic holding nothing back. Sharing with him every minute detail. Sharing with him how she felt in the midst of each nightmare and how she felt when she woke. And when the tears started again, he held her close. All the while assuring her he’d do everything in his power to help her figure this all out.

“Thanks, you can’t know how much that means.” Buffy pressed a kiss to his chest and slid from his arms. “And since you offered, there is something that needs figuring out.”

“Wait a bleedin’ sec. You never said we had to leave this bed for this figuring. Forget it. I don’t wanna.” Spike pouted and Buffy was so tempted to give in, but she remained focused and busied herself by searching through the discarded clothes on the floor.

“Too late,” Buffy sing songed while pulling on Spike’s shirt. “You said you’d help. Everything in your power, kinda help. Now get up, lazy bones.”

He still hadn’t moved. She knew it’d take a little more persuasion getting Spike out of bed. And this persuasion came in the form of how his black tee hung just below the cusp of her ass and when she bent over just so while slowly slipping on her panties…

With a coquettish smile, she looked over her shoulder taking in Spike eying her like the predator he was. His intense, demanding stare made her body hum, which was then upped to a full-out quivering when Spike’s purred, “I am up.” and gestured to the prominent tenting in the thin bed sheet draped across his lap. It took all her will power to not say, “To hell with it” and joining him back in bed. But before she had a chance to change her mind, Buffy threw Spike his jeans and headed into the living room.

After a few minutes and a few choice curse words on his part, Spike finally joined her on the couch. Thankfully, for her raging libido and in the hopes of getting any work done, he was partially dressed.

It didn’t take her long to tell him what she knew about the book, since it was pretty much a big ol’ helping of nada with a side of bupkis. Finally at the show-and-tell portion of the conversation, Buffy pulled the book out from her courier’s bag and handed it to Spike.

“So this is it, then?”

“Yeah, not much to look at, but this bad boy ain’t giving up its secrets for nothin’. Not even Giles or a gaggle of wicked Wiccas could translate so much as a single letter, symbol, or whatever those squiggles are.”

Spike carefully turned the page. “Hmm…interesting.”

Buffy moved closer to him on the couch, her eyes wide and hopeful. “Hmm, interesting, good? Or hmm, interesting, bad? Wait, you know what it says? Oh boy, Giles is gonna be sooooo jealous.”

“Well, actually, neither good nor bad. Or maybe it’s both. Don’t know either way. Haven’t a bleedin’ clue what it says. Pure gibberish, if you ask me. ‘M just finding the book itself interesting, is all.”

“Pretty cool, huh? Xander traded this with an African shaman guy for some of his Baloney Five comics. Giles said this book is really old. Like not using paper, old.”

“That it is. Care to take a gander what it is made of, Slayer?”

Buffy paused and tapped her finger against her lips. “Um, I’m guessing leather and valium.”

“That’s vellum, luv. And yeah, you’ve got the skin of something right, just not the golden calf you suspect.”

Buffy eyed Spike’s smirk and wanted so much to smack it off his face, that, or kissing it off. She couldn’t decide as each was equally tempting at the moment.

“Looky here Mr. Smarty-pants, this whole I-know-something-you-don’t-know shtick is already getting really old, really quick. Just tell me. It’s not like I’m all dainty girl. It’s no big deal what it’s made from. Not like I’m going to freak out, it’s only—”

“Human.”

“What?” Buffy paled and backed away, rubbing her palms briskly against the couch cushions. “You mean…that’s…oh, I’m so going to kick Xander’s ass for not knowing that is from Buffalo Bill’s private collection. Can I say, there totally isn’t enough ‘Ews’ to cover that all this time I’ve been touching dead skin.”

“Well, you weren’t exactly taking issue there last night touching the skin of the dead. I fondly remember quite the opposite, sweetheart.” Spike lustfully eyed her. His tongue curled behind his teeth as he grinned wickedly the whole time.

“That’s totally different and you know it, sicko. Spike, be serious, how can you not be grossed out that this was made from a person? This so wrong, on so many levels.”

“Turnabout is fair play, lamb. Humans have been prancing around in animal bits for centuries. And actually, it’s people, plural. I wager, maybe a dozen so or more. Going off how the scents are stronger in the front than the back, this was made over a long period of time.”

Spike continued looking through the book as Buffy watched on with the unmistakable revulsion.

“Awesome. Nothing says time to get a new hobby more than human scrapbooking, I always say.” Buffy moved closer, her hand hovering over the book. “I hate admitting this, and believe me nothing grosses me out more, but I felt, well, actually still feel some weird connection to this book. I don’t know if it makes any sense but—”

“Actually, it does. More than you know.” Spike stopped turning the pages and gestured to his find. Engraved in the center of two pages was a large symbol: a crude sun accompanied by three stars.

---

Baloney Five comics was a verbal play off the Babylon Five comics.

Buffalo Bill reference: Silence of the Lambs https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Silence_of_the_Lambs_(film) is a 1991 physiological thriller about an imprisoned serial killer who helps the FBI to locate another serial killer. This killer nicknamed Buffalo Bill, because he skins his victims and makes a “body suit” of their flesh, has kidnapped a US Senator’s daughter. If you haven’t seen the movie, you need to do so. Amazingly creepy.

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