Authors note: Thank you so much for all your encouraging comments for this story, I’ve been frankly overwhelmed by the response. I am also delighted to have been nominated for The Truce at the Spuffy Awards, the Shades of Grey Awards, Forbidden Awards and Lie to Me Awards. All gob-smacking stuff. All wonderful.


***

Previously…

“What are you, Buffy? You can't be human, so what are you?”

***

Panic. He’d cornered enough prey to recognise the look on her face, even without the corresponding struggle to rise.

"No!" Swiftly gripping her shoulders he held her in place. “No,” he said more quietly, knowing that if it weren’t for her weakened state she’d be off and running by now. While the thought of this appealed to him on a base level he also doubted that he was in any condition to give chase.

She’d gone very white and then in a blink a deep flush flowed up past her throat making her green eyes almost glow in contrast. Shock. Fear. Anger.

“I’m human, how dare you say I’m not! Why... why do you say that?” She was fighting tears.

Spike knew he should back off but this was too important.

“Well, let’s see.” Spike glanced up at the sky as if asking some heavenly body for patience before returning his penetrating gaze to the girl before him. “You’re selected to guard your ambassador despite being half the size of anyone else in your team. I’ll accept that you could be a crack shot with those weapons of yours, so that isn’t proof of anything much, but in the water you ripped that lacuna apart with your bare hands! Then you survive a bite that is not just harmful but fatal to any living creature. With no exceptions! Couple this with the dreams you’ve been having and yeah, I’d say that you have a bit of explaining to do.”

But Buffy had only focused on one part of his speech.

“You saw my dreams?” Buffy stared at him, horrified.

“Not in detail, just images.” He smiled at her expression, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “Enough to recognise the yearnings of a fellow predator.”

She didn’t like that at all and turned her head away sharply, but he was determined to get to the truth. Being hostile wouldn’t work so he’d try something else. Edging forward he straddled her legs with his thighs. One arm snaked around her shoulders, his right hand drifted up, a thumb stroking rhythmically along the bone just behind her ear.

He could feel her quivering at his touch, the material of her loose gown not disguising her warmth or the rising of her tight breasts. ‘Would be so easy to snap her neck, if I wouldn’t be effectively snapping my own,’ he mused, squashing down a little voice in his head that was giving a horrified yelp at the thought.

The accusatory tone was gone and he spoke quietly. “So I’m asking you again, what are you?”

Buffy stiffened again. She’d been asked that question before, many times, and in some very hostile circumstances. She could deny everything and refuse to admit that she was different but really, what was the point?

His fingertips were now sliding under her hair, while his thumb continued to sketch little circles on her skin. Strange sensations travelled down her spine, confusing her, her heart stopped pounding and she began to feel drowsy. She should slug him for saying such things, really she should but his touch felt really good and it had been so long since anyone had been this close. Breathing him in she was assaulted by the scent of sun heated skin, clean soap and well worn leather, of polished buttons and buckles and wood spitting on a campfire in the dead of night.

‘Get a grip, Buffy, you’re becoming delirious. Those herbs of Tarah’s must really pack a punch.’ But she could clearly picture him now, silhouetted against the flames, sitting, legs splayed, the sword blade he was cleaning, reflecting red. He was laughing at something one of his men was saying before returning his attention to the fire. With a snap the image was gone.

Buffy wasn’t stupid, she knew that Spike was soothing her for his own purposes, but she also knew, deep down, that these strange people might hold the answers to the very question he was asking. The dreams and hallucinations were trying to tell her something. She just wished she knew what.

Slumping a little against his chest, Buffy decided to be honest. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I am.” Her voice so soft he could barely make out the words.

Tilting her head so that she had to look at him, he gave a genuine smile. “Then I reckon we’ll find out together.”

***

Instead of an interrogation, Spike had moved away and changed the subject, although it literally pained him to do so. Buffy looked a little dazed and didn’t even notice the now vivid red markings on his hands; he’d bet his second best sword that her hidden hands matched his right now. Not to mention another part of his anatomy, now dancing on the border between exquisite pain and the far less pleasurable kind.

He’d had some blessed relief while he’d been so pathetically weak - apparently even grooms got a break when they were at death’s door - but feeling better came at a price, and touching her had rekindled the lustful urges which had plagued him since the wedding. The girl was a mystery he intended to solve, but she needed to trust him first and pouncing wouldn’t help matters.

Spike was conflicted. He hadn’t asked to be put in this position, severed from Droosilla then tied up with a bow of mystical chains and dropped into the enemy’s lap like an unwanted present; but, while well aware that he’d been manipulating Buffy through their imperfect bond, he also felt a sneaking fondness for this brave scrap of a human. He also believed her - she didn’t know what she was and he’d touched a raw nerve by asking.

To provide distraction Spike shared stories about his upbringing, how beautiful his world was and some of the favourite places he had played in as a child. When describing some of the unbelievable creatures that populated it she had finally protested.

“Come on, there’s no such thing as dragons. They’re just fairy stories.” She was trying to stay cynical but her eyes were bright.

“Well, all right, what we have now are pale imitations of how they once were, just reptiles really, with wings that span about ten feet across. Still breathe fire, a little. Not very good eating though. Taste of smoke.” Spike pulled a face at the memory.

“Eww. Okay, then explain to me why we have legends about dragons on Earth,” Buffy challenged with a grin.

“Who knows, pet?” Actually, Spike had a pretty good idea that a few must have entered her world during the ‘banishment’ but he wasn’t going to mention that.

“Oh, come on, Spike, you’ll be telling me next that trolls and witches, werewolves and goblins are real!”

Spike merely looked at her. “How do you explain us then, Buffy? I eat food but I also drink blood to survive. Injuries permitting, I can live for several hundred years before showing any sign of ageing, and I am a demon.”

“Well, that’s just some weird alien thing, right? Otherwise I’d have to believe you were some kind of vampire that doesn’t get toasty in the sunlight.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I’m just a weird, alien thing.”

Realising that she’s hurt his feelings Buffy reached out to touch his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Spike.”

“Don’t be. I’m not ashamed of what I am.”

She could find nothing to say to that.

***

Surprisingly, they managed to resume a more or less friendly conversation, although they quickly learned to stop digging when the other became guarded. Topics to avoid included anything that might reveal military strengths or weaknesses, which was understandable. Previous relationships and parents also made it to the forbidden zone, making them secretly wonder what the other was hiding. Instead, Buffy told him ordinary but revealing stuff about her life on board the Watcher station, and Spike spoke more about his world and some of its strange inhabitants.

Tarah and Dorn, who had until now given the couple privacy, quietly joined them. The young girl chattered away to Spike, occasionally sneaking the odd look in Buffy's direction. She had excellent hearing and had caught Spike’s earlier question. Dorn was itching to pick up where he’d left off but managed to restrain herself at Tarah’s warning glance.

The healer unwrapped Buffy’s bandages and carefully examined her wounds, pleased at their healthy colour. Already the jagged edges made by the serpent’s teeth on her palms and fingers were knitting together and, although there would always be some scar tissue, she hoped that Buffy would eventually gain full use of her hands again.

The backs of her hands were brightly marked with calligraphy and Spike pointedly folded his arms to hide his when Dorn gave a muffled snigger. Tarah returned her attentions to Buffy and applied fresh poultices to her skin with spidersweb before binding them with new strips of cloth.

When Tarah asked Buffy to pull up her dress so she could check her wounded thigh, she caught the flicker of masculine interest in Spike’s eyes followed by a wince of pain.

“You feeling all right, Spike?”

“Um yes, just a touch of cramp.”

As Buffy awkwardly pulled the fabric up over her knees, Spike gave an indrawn breath. Tarah couldn’t resist. “How's that cramp, Spike? Still bothering you?”

“What? Oh. Yeah.”

She hid a smirk in her hair.

With a murmured word Tarah performed a simple spell, revealing a few clear, frozen lumps in the palm of her hand. “Maybe you should put some ice on it.”

Glowering, Spike got to his feet and hobbled away with as much dignity as he could manage.

Puzzled at his hasty exit and by the odd feeling of loss at his leaving, Buffy looked at the two openly giggling females who were now crunching on the refreshing treat. She accepted an offered piece and sucked on it.

“Okay, what was that about?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Buffy. Really. He’s just hoping that you make a full recovery and soon.”

Buffy eventually caught on. She stared at her hands.

“Not just his hands, dear.”

Buffy stared at the healer in shock, before biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud. She could see Spike’s back briefly stiffen in the distance before he resumed walking.

Tarah finished treating her leg and covered her with a light blanket. “Now just lay back and rest. We won’t be far if you need us.”

Dorn paused before leaving, her earlier amusement gone. “He’s a good person, Buffy, and you’re lucky to have him. If you hurt him in any way you’ll have me to answer to.”

Satisfied that she’d said her piece, Dorn left Buffy alone with her thoughts.


***


Buffy awoke from a light doze. Spike had returned and was sitting close by, whittling a piece of wood with his knife. Although still pretty worn out, she was keen to do more than sleep the day away.

“Could we go for a little walk?”

“I don’t know, perhaps you should just rest.”

“Please, Spike.”

With a shrug Spike got to his feet and leaned down to pull her up, careful of her injuries. Dorn and Tarah were nearby, sorting herbs for the next batch of medicine but neither made a move to stop them.

They didn’t go far. Buffy had to grip onto Spike’s arm almost immediately, her leg was stiff and sore and she was afraid it might give way. Spike measured his steps to hers and didn’t comment. After walking twenty yards or so into the wood they found a pretty circular clearing. Even the insects had made themselves scarce, though Spike could sense a few shy creatures regarding them from a safe distance. Buffy looked exhausted from their little stroll although she was smiling.

“Can we rest for a bit?”

Instead of replying he shrugged off his jacket and laid it on the springy moss, carefully following it downwards. Now lying on his back with his arms underneath his head and one knee raised, boot flat on the ground, he gave her an innocent smile but his eyes were wicked.

“S’pect you need a little lie down, Buffy, get your strength back in no time.”

To his surprise she smothered a grin and sank down next to him, mirroring his pose.

Looking up she could see where the surrounding trees touched, leaf tips overlapping, shifting together, a canopy of green with glittering sparks of sunshine. She turned her head towards him, dappled light illuminated his face and form like a moving blanket.

“Tell me another story, Spike.”

With a half hearted mutter about bossy women, he closed his eyes. For some reason the choice was easy, and his deep voice began to weave one of the oldest tales he knew.

“Once, when male and female were truly equals in war and love, there were two fierce warriors. He had hair as white as autumn grasses and eyes that rivalled the sky. She had long curls that matched the rich, damp earth after a broken drought and eyes the colour of the sea before a good storm. They were enemies by tribe, and by nature, and met during many a battle.

"She wielded an axe that was like no other and it burned with a righteous fire, just as she did. He used any weapons that came to him, plus he was fearless, clever and as unpredictable as a clawed striper. He would boast that she would soon be impaled lifeless on his fangs after an impaling of a different kind, and she would laugh and reply that long before there was any chance of that happening his head would be winnowed from his neck and ground beneath her dainty feet. Each was as a clinging shroud made from the spiny thornbush to the other, yet when it came to dealing the killing blow they would let themselves be distracted long enough for the loser to flee till the next time they met.

"Saya was the name given to the woman, and Wyll was the name of the man. They engaged in frequent bloody dances on the bones of friends and foes alike.

"It is the nature of hate that it can cloak burning feelings of another kind and, when it came to pass that a new evil came to the land, the two combatants were forced to lay their differences aside long enough to face it together. It was during this time that passion overcame anger and they came together as lightning and thunder do, explosive forces tied as one, their lusty cries enough to make the heavens shake. But as they revelled in their new found love, this evil, which possessed no name, stole over the world until darkness threatened to consume everything.

"Finally, there came a day when Wyll and his Saya stood side by side for the last battle. Their combined armies were flanked by mages and witches, lending their strength to oppose the seemingly endless horde of demons which surged towards them. After endless hours of bloody slaughter, Wyll was separated from Saya in the fighting and was overwhelmed. She felt the cold moment of his death and it was as if he’d torn out her heart with his passing. Sinking to her knees, she keened at the loss of her mate and would gladly have followed him into the earth but for the frightened pleas of the soldiers around her. A calm then descended and she turned to the magic users.

“'My reason for living is gone,' she told them. 'I have just one purpose now and I choose it willingly. Bind me to this evil and place our essences in a secure place. Send us far from here and I will wreak vengeance upon it for all eternity, for the death of my love and for all the unspeakable things it has done to my people. My soul will twist around this foul thing as sharp bright blades and it will not know freedom but will learn fear.'

“And so it was done. A rough wooden box was brought to Saya and she carried it to the place where Wyll’s torn body lay. As powerful magicks filled her senses she reached into his wounds and annointed herself with lines of scarlet and tears. And the earth shook with rage that both brave children would be no more and it lent its strength to the spell being performed.

"The evil that had briefly tasted such sweet victory was plucked from its form and dragged across the plains, its will not strong enough to resist the summoning, screaming as it descended into the box. Saya took up her axe, broke off the blade and plunged the splintered shaft into her own breast. As the final words were chanted her blood rained down in sacrifice and her gleaming spirit pursued it into their dark prison.

"With the loss of their master the invaders were filled with confusion, while the armies of Aurelia were filled with resolve and new purpose. Without mercy, they slew the enemy until every last creature lay dead or dying.

"And, to this day, the soul of Wyll mourns for the soul of his mate, waiting patiently in the Beyond for Saya to finally win her battle with evil and return to him."


***

Silence.

No, not quite.

Spike opened his eyes to find his audience of one openly sobbing. In a smooth motion he rolled and drew Buffy towards him, laughing gently as she covered her face in embarrassment.

“It’s only a story, pet. Next time I’ll choose something with a happy ending. Yes?”

“It was a g..good story, S..spike,” she hiccupped. "But it can’t end like that. It just can’t.”

“Well, there is an extra bit to this tale, which some people believe is true.”

Buffy looked up with pleading eyes.

“Okay, then.” Spike adjusted her now pliant body until her head rested on his chest. He played with her hair as he thought of his next words.

“It is said that a mage with the gift of clear sight performed a second spell over the sealed box before spiriting it away from where it had lain hidden for centuries. Before he died, many, many years later, he told his apprentice that he had removed it from the world and sent it to where it could one day be opened by those who needed her most. Part of Saya’s warrior spirit would be freed and live on through others like her until she could finally return to her one true love.”

Buffy sighed.

“I like that ending much better.” She closed her eyes at that and promptly fell asleep in his arms, dreaming of blue skies and stormy seas and of dancing with an axe in one hand and a splinter of wood in the other.

***