Buffy found herself gradually pulled from her sleep, and dreams that had become increasingly sweet of late, by an insistent, repetitive sound in the background of her dream. At first, she could barely make it out; it was barely above a whisper…and besides, she was quite thoroughly distracted.

She was lying on the bank of a river, surrounded by the sort of soft, surreal sunlight that only inhabits dreams, with her dream-vampire -- in more ways than one -- lying half beside her, half on top of her, his cool, strong hands gently, leisurely, exploring her body.

She was vaguely aware that the sunlight should have been an issue, but the soft pattering of the water on the rocks, and the shocking, blissful contrast of the sun, and her vampire’s cool hands, on her skin, kept her from questioning it too hard.

Her dream-vampire -- who bore a striking resemblance to her real-life-vampire -- was nipping at her throat with his teeth, alternating kisses with playful bites, while his hands drifted into far more daring territory. Buffy let out a soft moan of pleasure, allowing her own hands to explore the soft, strong angles and lines of his muscular body above her, closing her eyes to focus on the combined sensations of touching and being touched.

Could anyone blame her if she really didn’t *want* to hear that insistent, ever-louder sound in the background that seemed determined to wake her up?

*Probably just the alarm clock,* she thought, her lips forming a pout in her sleep. *Don’t wanna wake up…wanna stay here…*

*But,* she frowned, beginning to feel slightly troubled as the interrupting sound -- now clearly recognizable as a voice -- began to grow more and more urgent, *it doesn’t really sound like my alarm…*

She stood up reluctantly, scanning the area for the source of the sound, aware of the soft, beseeching voice of the vampire behind her.

“Buffy…” he urged her in a tone of protest. “…come back, love…”

*Wait,* she thought she’d spoken the word, but as is the way with dreams, it seemed she’d only thought it…and the sound seemed to have vanished.

“Buffy…”

She suddenly felt cool hands drawing her back down toward the grass, turned to see him kneeling where they had lain, his insistent, pleading grip urging her back down to join him, his blue eyes wide and pleading and tinged with a fear that did not seem to belong in this dream…

“Buffy…please, Buffy…help me…”

***********************************

She awoke with a start, immediately aware of what had awakened her, and why, even before she felt the helpless thrashing of Spike’s trembling body beside her. The sheets were yanked off her with a sudden jerk, tangling around him and further intensifying the panic of the dream that gripped him, as she heard again the low moaning sounds that had filled the outer edges of her own dream.

“Buffy…Buffy, love…please…”

“Spike,” she whispered, clearing her throat softly when she found her voice raspy with sleep. “Spike, Sweetie…” She edged nearer to him, trying to pull the entrapping sheets away from him while pulling him gently into her own less restrictive embrace. “…wake up, Spike…it’s just a dream…wake up, Sweetheart…”

For a moment his wild attempts to escape seemed to grow stronger, as a soft little whine of fear and frustration left his throat -- a sound that send a chill through her at the memories it evoked, memories of a time a few months ago when that had been about the only sound he had been capable of, and panic seemed to be his reaction to everything around him.

That weak, terrified version of the vampire she now held in her arms had all but vanished.

All but in his dreams.

“Spike,” she said, her voice a bit stronger, more urgent. “Wake up, Spike! You’re having a nightmare -- you need to wake up!”

She wrapped her strong, gentle arms around him, pinning him close to her, forcefully stilling his struggles in a way that usually served to awaken him within moments. And this time was no exception. She felt the tremor of his muscles as he fought momentarily to break her grip, and then left out a single, strangled cry of fear when he found that he could not, and her heart ached for the fears that still haunted him in his sleep -- though not so often now.

And then -- he was awake.

Blinking, bewildered eyes of crystal blue gazed up at her for a moment, blank and confused -- and then, his hands were clutching her closer to him, his head rested against her chest, as he began to draw in deep gasps of relief, his eyes closed again, though he was far from sleep.

“Buffy,” he whispered, this time with full recognition. “Buffy, love…thank you…thanks, pet…I needed…I - I needed…”

“Me,” Buffy finished softly for him, running her fingertips gently through his disheveled hair, smoothing it back as she gazed down at him in affection and protective concern.
“It’s okay…it was just a dream…”

“I know,” he gulped in a deep draught of air, as he deliberately tried to steady his own breathing, to regain control of the racing adrenaline still coursing through him in the wake of the dream. “I know, Buffy…it’s okay…I’m okay…just a dream…”

“Uh-huh,” Buffy agreed with a nod, pushing him gently up and away from her slightly, smiling as she succeeded in catching his eyes. “And it’s over now. And -- it’s been like, three weeks since the last one. Did you know that?”

Spike stared up at her for a moment, as if not quite comprehending what she was saying, before recognition dawned in his eyes, and his face slowly broke into a soft, tentative smile. Tentative, because there was still a sort of distant, haunted expression in his eyes, as if they were still seeing the images that had filled his nightmare.

“Wanna talk about it?” Buffy asked him softly, reaching out a hand to tenderly touch his cheek when he looked away from her again.

Spike grimaced, visibly shaking the memories away, as he looked up at her apologetically and admitted with a little half-shrug, “Not particularly, love. Same old, is all. Same one I -- I told you about…”

The same nightmare had filled Spike’s dreams every night for nearly a month -- the nightmare that had led him to her side that first night -- but then, he had begun to have restful nights, nights in which they were not awakened even one time by the pain of his memories. And gradually, those nights had become as numerous as the bad nights -- and then, *more* numerous.

And now…

“Three weeks, yeah?” Spike looked back up at her, his smile a little steadier now, his eyes speculative.

Buffy nodded, returning his smile, already sensing where he was headed. “Three weeks.”
She knew what her vampire needed from her.

Connection. Love. Reassurance of who -- and whose -- he was.

“Seems like a milestone, don’t it, love?” Spike commented in a low, soft voice with just a hint of a growl to it -- a sound that sent a tremor from low in her stomach, rumbling gradually lower.

“Uh-huh,” Buffy nodded simply, her eyes shining with desire as her smile widened in delight.

“Cause to celebrate, yeah?” He had risen up on arms that were only slightly trembling now, until he was hovering over her, his eyes locked on hers, smoldering with an intensity of desire, and passion -- and a desperate need.

It was a need that she was more than willing to meet, whenever he found that he felt it.

“You’re my cause to celebrate,” she informed him softly, sliding down the mattress, closing her eyes slightly at the sensation as her bare skin slid against his, until she was lying flat against the bed, beneath him. Her hands slid down across the smooth sheets to rest on his, and she raised her mouth toward his in an invitation to a kiss, as she murmured, “Always…love you so much, Spike…”

He lowered his lips to capture hers, but not before she caught a glimpse of his eyes, and a depth of gratitude there that took her breath -- a gratitude that she did not feel she deserved.

“Need you, Buffy,” he whispered against her lips when he drew back to allow her to draw breath.

The shuddering breath she drew seemed to pull his mouth back down against hers, before she tilted her head back slightly, allowing his lips to continue a worshipful path down the column of her throat, as she gasped out, “Need you…too…Spike…I’m yours…you know I am…”

“Need to be…inside you, Buffy…need to…to know…”

He didn’t have to finish the statement. She knew what her mate needed, knew the wordless reassurance that he sought. She tilted her head further, exposing the month-old marks of his claim, two tiny pinpricks on her throat which had never quite had the time to heal completely.

Not that she really wanted them to.

At the same time as she welcomed him to reclaim her, her hand reached down between them to guide him toward her entrance -- and in moments, they were joined in the eternal embrace that now existed between them. Buffy gasped at the piercing sensation of pleasure-pain as his fangs broke through the tiny marks on her throat, and he began to pull deeply from her hot, potent blood. His body moved within her, as she felt the blood, the strength, of her body flowing out of her.

But it was all right -- because it was flowing into him.

This was her sweet nightly penance -- to give to him until she was trembling and weak and shattered in his hands, helpless beneath his increasingly powerful body above hers -- to know that the vampire who had once been so broken and devastated by her own foolish choices was now free, and strong, and whole, due to the sacrifice of her own life’s blood.

At least -- at first, she had thought of it as a penacne.

Now, it was the sweetest pleasure, to surrender control of her body and heart to the vampire she loved, the one she knew loved her still, in spite of all, more than anything or anyone else in the world. The sweet connection that bound them gave the act of his claim a deeper, more powerful intensity than any other pleasure she had ever enjoyed; and the knowledge of how deeply he needed her filled her with a contentment, a security, that had never marked her previous relationships.

Because he *did* need her.

The nightmares were few now, but no less intense when they came -- and they left Spike shaken, violently thrown back through time, to a place when he had been nothing but a sadist’s helpless toy. The nightmares made him forget the past months of strength and safety, the security he had finally found in Buffy’s love.

They made him forget who he was.

But Buffy helped him to remember again.

Because of the claim that now joined them, her blood spoke to him, sang to him, of what was in *him*, as well as what was in her -- history, emotions, and a strength that was slowly blossoming again within him. Combined with the power of *her* emotions, her love and need for him, and the intensity of strength inherent in her as the Slayer, the potent brew of her blood served to ground him when he was afraid, to refresh his awareness of his strength -- and to remind him of who he was to her -- and to himself.

Just when she was on the edge of feeling too light-headed, on the verge of blacking out, Spike withdrew his fangs, seeming as always to instinctively know her breaking point. He rose carefully up to meet her eyes, and was momentarily stunned by the shock of passion in her wide emerald gaze, matching his own. He held her gaze as he delivered a final, slow but powerful thrust within her, bringing them both to their completion.

Sated, he collapsed gently upon her, his cool mouth laving the wounds at her throat shut, as she sighed happily at the affectionate contact, as the ripples of her climax rumbled through her. As the haze of sweet exhaustion engulfed them both, they fell together into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The nightmares had fled for the moment.

And each was holding their own dream -- a dream which had become reality.