Her dress, of a brilliant white silk, was bias-cut to hug her curves down to her feet, sleeveless, with gathers at the bodice where the seams framing her breasts were edged in the narrowest bands of fine burgundy lace, had been a lucky find at an exclusive London boutique—custom-made for a similarly-small woman who'd had second thoughts about her own nuptials. A few alterations had made it hers. As Willow dropped the gathered silk over her head, and it coursed down over her almost bare body, nipples and belly moist, the vee of her thighs still throbbing, Buffy knew she was aglow all over.

"Wow," Dawn breathed. "Oh Buffy. Oh my God, you look amazing."

"Do I? Oh I wish—" She caught herself. Wishing aloud was never a good idea.

Dawn nodded. "Mom, right?"

"I'd have liked to have her here."

"She knows, Buffy. I think she knows, and she sees us."

The sisters hugged, and with her eyes closed, Buffy could imagine it was Joyce who was holding her.

"It's time," Willow said. "They're all waiting on you."

She followed Willow and Dawn out of her turret rooms, down the stairs towards the great hall where everyone was waiting. Her heart boomed in her chest; her thighs were slippery, and the hand that held the bouquet of dark burgundy callas had gone numb. She had to remember to breathe, while at the same time, she felt like she was floating.

Spike was already there, a black pillar in the center of the circle of colorfully-dressed guests. She found it hard to look at him; she was dazzled and strangely shy at the assembly of slayers all looking so intently at her, at the sight of Andrew and Xander and Giles standing together, suited and tied, of Faith in a dark green satiny dress—Faith! she'd forgotten to invite her, and yet she was here!—smiling like she was the one who was so very very happy.

Spike seemed to go in and out of focus; the passage across the long room took a very long time; the balls of her feet burning as she tripped along on her thin-soled sandals, and the silk moving around her legs was cool and smooth like the skin of Spike's belly and thighs. The closer she came, the farther off he seemed to become. He didn't seem to have changed his clothes, to have changed anything since he'd fucked her a few minutes ago. Everyone was smiling at her. Some kind of music was playing—was it the music she'd asked for? It must have been, but she didn't recognize it. All the girls were bright-eyed; her glance pinged from face to face. In the center of the knot, Spike stood regarding her with an expression she'd seldom seen. Not smiling, but not solemn, exactly. As if he was waiting to tell her some important, marvelous secret, that was going to burst from him at any moment. She tried to hasten towards the welcoming hand he held out to her. The guests were murmuring—they were admiring her, her dress, her beauty. Dawn kissed her cheek and relieved her of the bouquet, and Willow kissed her again, and then she was moving forward the last little way alone, towards her groom's outstretched hand.

She could see him better now. He was not dressed the same. His black now was a suit, cut slim and close out of fine wool; beneath it a white silk shirt, the collar open; black shoes, long and squared, instead of his boots. A blood-red calla like those she carried was pinned to his lapel. His hair stood in disordered tufts just a little more artful than how she'd left it herself, when she'd tugged on it with both hands.

She steadied; felt herself smiling. Spike held her hand up, as if they were about to begin a minuet, and took her in, his gaze hot and appreciative and possessive. His lips moved, forming inaudible words. "Hello, cutie."

She broke out into smiles, flushing all over. The music faded then. They stood facing each other in the center of the circle, hands clasped. The crowd of guests, the vast room around them, faded back, and he was all she could see, the limpid blue of his eyes, looking into hers with an expression that beckoned her and knew her, a gentle conspiracy. The silence opened out around them, and for a long moment she thought this was it, that they would marry themselves without a word, because what really needed to be talked about? Everyone understood why they were here, and they themselves were brimful of one another, in complete accord.

Spike returned her reflexive grin. "Been thinkin' what to say to you in front of all these people. Half of 'em think this wedding is some sort of sham, slayer an' vampire, woman an' dead man. One or two maybe believe you're makin' the mistake of your life. But we've known each other a long time now. We knew each other even when I was out of my mind, yeah?"

She nodded, her eagerness welling up into her glowing skin, her fluttering smile. Spike nodded back, his gaze welling with tenderness. "You made me fall in love with you back in Sunnydale, an' then I needed to be a man. Took me a while to get anywhere close ... hurt you in ways it pains me to think on, along the way. But I've made a few changes, have't I, since then. An' now here we stand. Not to be parted again in this life. I belong to you. I mean to always cherish you, to take your side, guard your flank, hear your confidences, make you come, dry your tears, keep you company, tell you the truth. To bear you up, as the slayer, an' do all I can to please you, as my own sweet girl. Those are my promises to you, Buffy Summers."

This speech, and the powerful palpable force of his gaze, held her on a long caught breath before she could begin her reply.

"You've always been so good at honoring your promises to me. And at telling me the truth. And now it's my turn. Here's my truth, and my promises. I've been so lucky, as a slayer, to have friends who've always helped me and stood by me." She glanced around then, at Willow, at Xander, at Giles. "But you, Spike, you weren't like them. You started out as my adversary, my enemy. You went on to become my ally, and my firmest friend. You allowed yourself to suffer for me, you allowed yourself to love me when I had nothing to give back to you. You made my battles yours, you took responsibility for me and my family even when there was nothing for you in return. You've taught me so much about fidelity and attachment and the power of an open, yearning, vulnerable heart. Spike, I admire and respect you so much. I trust you with my whole self." She paused; from behind her, Buffy heard someone sob. She herself was trembling, and had to think about taking a deep breath before she could continue. "I love you, and I am going to love being your wife. I promise to share with you all my joys and sorrows. To keep you from being lonely and alone. To make a home for you where you will always be comfortable. To honor you and please you and stand up for you and lie down with you ... as long as I have breath in my body. My sweetheart, my best friend, my Spike ...." Her vision fogged, so for a moment she couldn't see anything but light, or feel anything but his cool fingers clasping hers. She was aware of the circle of people surrounding them, as if they were bearing her up, floating her on their attention and benevolent thoughts.

Then Willow stepped up to them, and there were the rings in her palm—both yellow gold, one that once belonged to Anne Pratt, another larger one that Buffy had chosen a few days ago at a London jeweler. She looked up at Spike again. He wasn't smiling now, he seemed rather stern as he picked up the little ring. Stern, and serious, but with a depth of joy in his eyes that filled her with awe, as he slipped it over the first joint of her finger, holding it suspended as he spoke. "With this ring—an' with my whole soul, an' body, an' mind, an' heart—I take you, Buffy Ann Summers, to me as my wife. Never more to be parted." He guided the ring the rest of the way to its seat, and brought her hand up to his mouth, pressing a moist kiss into her palm. She could feel him, overcome, forming her name, Buffy, Buffy, against her skin, whispering it into her flesh.

And then it was her turn. Willow handed her the other band. Buffy inhaled, looking up into Spike's face. There was so much in it, that for a moment she forgot everything else, in the pleasure of just taking him in. She swallowed, and inhaled, and smiled. "With this ring—and with my whole heart, and all my love, I take you, William Pratt—Spike—to me as my husband. Never to be parted." Sliding the ring home, she brought his hand to her lips.

Then Spike caught her around the waist, bending to find her mouth, and they were kissing. Buffy's eyes were closed tight, her arms joined around his neck. Beside her, she heard Willow clear her throat. "Ladies and gentlemen." Another clearing, and it sounded like Willow was trying not to laugh. "Ladies and gentlemen—you two, save some of that for later—Everybody, I present to you Mr and Mrs Summers Pratt."

The applause and cheering—Buffy hadn't expected either—flowed around the room like the noise of a great swirl of birds. Through tears, still holding onto Spike, she glanced around, absorbing the sound, the warmth, radiating from the whole gathering.

Then Dawn, in tears, plucked at her arm, and pulled her into a tight hug. "Oh my God oh my God that was so beautiful." To Spike she said, "You take care of my sister. Take good care of her—she's the only family I have."

"You'v got me, Bit. Aren't I your brother now? Haven't you always been my little sis?"

Dawn kissed him, and turning, Buffy found herself clasped to Giles's chest. "My dear, I hope you'll have every happiness." Giles put her back a little, to look at her, and she saw that he was in tears. He took Spike's hand then, with a tight, hearty grip. "I hope that between us all bygones are bygones."

Spike nodded. "No need to speak of it again."

"Then it only remains to offer my warmest congratulations. You've won something most precious, Spike, most rare."

"I know it. Don't I know it?"

"You do. Take care of our Buffy. I know there's no one who could it better."

The gathering had formed an impromptu receiving line; next it was Xander, embracing her and kissing her and telling her she was gorgeous, sounding like he meant it when he told her he knew she'd be very happy with Spike. Then she was hugged, or her hand clasped, by a succession of slayers. At her side, Spike received the same treatment, congratulations and embraces. Bakhita spoke to him in Arabic, squeezing his hands. Music was playing now, and Buffy began to smell the food laid out in the next room, as the doors were thrown open.

Last to appear was Faith, in her low-cut green silk, her twisted knowing grin.

"So, B. B for blushin' bride." Faith offered no hug, not even a touch, but she was the least guarded that Buffy had ever seen her, and her smile smoothed out and became wholly sincere.

"I never thanked you for taking Spike in when he needed a place to rest."

"Sure."

"I'm really glad you're here. Thank you for coming."

"To see you marry your sexy vamp? Wouldn't have missed it. It's one for the annals, right?"

Buffy nodded. "Right."

Faith leaned in close to her and whispered. "Be happy, B. You've fuckin' earned it."