In Buffy's neat little flat at the top of the tower, Dawn cooked and Willow laid the table, while Buffy wandered around chattering at Spike, telling him all sorts of things Dawn knew he wasn't taking in, about the castle, its history, its situation, its lay-out, the neighborhood, the name of the mountain range they could see out the windows, that the hot and cold taps were on different sides than in California, and on and on. Spike sat in the big armchair with a beer in his hand, not really drinking it, not really listening, eyes fixed in a thousand yard stare.


Dawn, cracking eggs, thought of the night she'd overheard the news that she herself wasn't really human. Maybe that's how Spike felt right now.


"Buffy."


The nervous chatter cut off. "What?"


"Was any of that true? What you said out there?"


"Any of it? What do you mean, any of it? It wasall true. It was something I should've said to them all a long time ago."


He got to his feet then, but instead of going to her, he went up to Willow, who was folding the cloth napkins into elaborate mitres to give herself something to do. "Tell me, why'd I go off an' get a soul? Why would a demon blood-sucker do such a thing? Or is that some kind of metaphor?"


"It isn't a metaphor." Willow concentrated on what she was doing with her hands. "And ... I don't know why. I can't tell you."


"Can't, or won't? You, Miss Dawn. Why'd I do it?"


She couldn't look up from the crackling frying pans—she had two of them going, trying to get everything done at the same time. And that was good, because she thought if she looked at him then, she might lose it.


Buffy was at his side now, her hand on his arm. "Spike, we can talk about it later, when—"


"This business of the soul, I don't understand it. Dunno whether to believe in it."


"It's because you have one, that it seems so improbable," Willow said. "It's just in you. And because of the amnesia, too. When you remember everything, it'll all make sense."


He ignored this, his burning gaze still fixed on her. "Miss Dawn. Tell me."


Willow came beside her and quietly took the long fork from her fingers, freeing her to move away from the stove. She felt addled by the question, by the intensity of Spike's glare, the roiling potential in him for anger, outrage, protest. Her sister looked like she'd lost control of a wild animal and didn't know what to do next.


Dawn said, "That's easy. You did it because you loved us."


He seemed stricken. Spike stared. His lips moved; she could see him sounding her words over to himself: because you loved us, as if he couldn't credit them, couldn't believe them.


Buffy laid her cheek against his shoulder. "That's right," she said. "That's exactly why. Let's eat."







They were interrupted at their meal a few times, by slayers knocking at the door with errands or questions elaborately concocted to sound spontaneous and casual, as if they had no idea at all that Buffy had a visitor inside. Willow dealt with the intruders smartly in the foyer, not letting anyone into the apartment. "You'll see him when you see him. Tell everyone, they don't want to be crowded."


Each time it happened, Spike, who was barely eating anyway, put down his fork. The haunted stare returned, as the three of them still at the table listened to Willow at the door.


After the third intrusion, Spike said, "Stirs 'em up, doesn't it, all those slayers, havin' a vampire in their midst? They feel it."


"They're young girls who want to see a good-looking celebrity," Willow said. "That's all. Don't worry about them."


"Your friends, Harris an' Giles. Giles who runs this whole op. Loathe me. Suppose they have their reasons?"


Willow and Dawn both started to speak, but Buffy cut them off. Her mouth a thin line. "No one loathes you. They're misinformed, that's all."


Spike's silver clattered onto the plate. He pushed back hard from the table. "What did I do to them? They bloody know, my crimes 'gainst them suck at their very marrow, any fool could see it. Any fool 'cept me who did the deeds an' doesn't know what they are!"


Dawn was a little scared by this outburst, but more distressing was watching her sister, who looked like she wanted to tear her own heart out and hand it to him, if it would help. She stammered, but never got a sentence started.


Seeing her distress, Spike softened. "Sorry pet. Bit jumpy, I expect."


Willow put down her cup. "We should go, you two are exhaused. Dawnie, come, let's say good night."


"The dirty dishes—"


Willow gestured at her. Forget the dishes.


Spike got to his feet. "What's—what's to keep me from getting loose from here while Buffy's asleep, an' causing some trouble?"


Buffy said, "You aren't going to do that," at the same time that Willow said, "I can put a little ward on the door, that'll make a noise if you try to go out before morning. Will that make you feel secure?"


Spike nodded.


As they left, pulling the heavy door shut behind them, Dawn paused at the top of the descending stairs. Willow was already starting down.


"What about the spell?"


"We don't need a spell. He'll think it's there, that's will set his mind at ease."








Buffy locked the door. Spike still stood by the table, head and shoulders drooping, the misery and dejection pouring off him in sheets.


"Might not have been the best thing, us comin' here."


"Just give it a little time. The slayers will find you charming, and as for Giles and Xander, they'll adjust." A yawn overtook her, but at the same time she didn't think she'd ever be able to fall asleep. Nor that either of them should, before they'd attended to each other, alone. She slipped her arms around his waist. "Come to bed. Make love to me a little."


It was the right thing to say. There was enough of the true Spike ever present in him that he couldn't hear this suggestion and be unmoved. The press of her groin against his was answered by a growing bulge. His mouth tasted faintly of Tabasco, enough to make her own tingle as she swept her tongue languidly against his.


"How's this feelin'?" He fingered the edge of her turtleneck. Buffy stepped back and pulled the sweater up and off, then tore the bandage away. "All healed. That's a perk of being a slayer."


He leaned in, examining her neck with a frown. "There'll be a deep scar."


"Good."

Good?"


"I could get 'B loves S' in a heart tattooed on my butt. But tattoos are so common, don't you think?"


That made him smile. As did her fingers undoing his flies, tugging them open. She pulled up the hem of his shirt, knelt to press kisses on his belly, down to where the patch of wiry brown hair sprouted. She teased it with her fingers. "Your pretty cock. Show me it."


"Pretty?"


"Your huge manly cock. Okay? C'mon, actually it is very pretty. Which is something very few guys can legitimately claim." She nuzzled his crotch through the denim, felt it bulge bigger. Was tempted to suck him off right there, but she wanted bed more, and sensed he did too, that exciting as it was when she went down for him, he needed a more equal conversation right now. "I want you horizontal."


She was glad that, despite her complete lack of prospects, she'd splurged on the biggest size bed when they moved here. Glad there was plenty of room for them to roll around, to shake off the constraints of the long long day, get all mixed up and upside down. Spike seemed to shed about a hundred layers of doominess with his clothes. Her cloudy, fatigue-addled head cleared a bit when she was tangled with him, sparking and teasing with lips and hands. His erection was caught between their bellies, making her sticky. They both wanted to stretch out the moments before he went inside, filling them up with expansive, inquiring kisses, hands stroking and exploring.


"You are quite the leader," he said suddenly, the last remark she expected as his fingers caressed up into her pussy. "Those ladies were persuaded by you."


"Just call me General Buffy."


"I was ... moved. Even though I don't know all you were referring to."


It was William who spoke, the shape and tone of the voice not-so-subtly different.


"I should have said all that stuff a long long time ago. I make everything harder for myself, by keeping so quiet."


"You've suffered a lot of pain and hardship, haven't you? For many years. I didn't really grasp it before. I still don't, but ... I'm starting to see."


"I do my job. And really ... I couldn't imagine a different life. Not anymore. Saving the world, it gets kind of ... addictive."


"Does it?"


"You should know. You've done it twice. At least," she kissed his breast-bone, his nipple. "At least, once for sure, and I believe again in L.A. I think the world is intact because of what you helped do in that alley. Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it."


He laughed a little, very softly, the air puffing against her neck. "So we're two heroes, are we, fucking, like in some dirty verses one mustn't translate from the Ancient Greek."


She giggled. "Let's translate it. Let's recite it out loud."


When she straddled him, putting him inside, he reared up and caught her against him. "Like this," he murmured. "Need to kiss you. See you." Need you close."


"We are close. Sweetheart, we are."


"Need you closer."


Buffy sat on his crossed legs, folded hers around his hips. Face to face, mouth to mouth, fucking more with muscle than movement. His mouth on each breast in turn, tonguing gasps out of her, matched by his grunts as she tugged his hair. She knew he was struggling with an excess of emotion, too vivid even for what they were doing, straining together, longing to somehow become one.


Then it passed, the wave of feeling. He exhaled, sighed. Smiled. Kissed her hair, her eyes. "Adorable girl. My adorable girl."


He praised her. Not the way he had in the old days—when he'd say things like "Always knew you were a dirty hot cunt, Slayer, always knew you'd fuck like a cat in heat. Knew you wanted Big Bad to sort you out. Wanted Big Bad to fuck you with my big hard cock." Words she'd hated, that made her twitch and flail and come.


He was a little more polite, but his remarks still whipped her up. "Got an action on you, Buffy, could drive a fellow mental. Tight little cunny grips my pego like a fist."


"You are the most ..." she searched for a word, was a little startled by the one that popped into place. "... the most compelling fuck I ever—"


"Compelling?" He laughed. "Pay a forfeit." The forfeit was taken in kisses.


They rocked harder then, pushing each other to the edge. When Spike spent, his eyes flashed gold; the sight registered on her like a thumb on her clit, just right. Without a word, each knowing what the other wanted, she dug in, flexing, and got him hard again; he grinned. "Most fellows can't do this, can they?"


"No. Vampires only." She nipped at his throat. Wanting to see his other face, to bring it in so she could show him that even though he'd bitten her, scarred her, it wasn't something he had to hide or deny or fear.


"Know what you're doin'," he whispered, mouth buried in her hair, under her ear where his lips, his breath, his voice, made her shiver.


"Is it all right?" she whispered. "I want it to be all right."


"Want to be fucked by a brute, do you?" His tone curious, interested. "Ugly mug against yours, makes you wet."


"Maybe. Sometimes."


The flash again, the gold eye, but no ridges rose, no fangs. He tumbled her over, covering, pushing her knees up.


"They all like that? All the vampire slayers? Or just you? Just you wants to part her little thighs for the monster?"


"J-j-j-just me. Oh God. Just me. Just us. Spike. Spike. Spike. Just us."


Afterwards, sated and logy, lying side by side, he brought his face close to hers, noses touching. She gave him another kiss, lazy and completed.


"Like feelin' your sweet breath against my lips."


"I don't know how sweet it is."


"Smells good to me. Like all your smells."


You always did. He'd liked her sweaty, stinky, liked to lick out her sodden armpits, would plead with her—never successfully—to come to him when she was menstruating so he could eat her pussy. She'd let him do it if he still wanted to. There was nothing, she thought, floating out into a drowse, that she wanted to deny him now.