Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cobblestone Midnight

Author’s Note:

A bit of explanation.  In 2016 a very good friend of mine was going through some hard things and needed/wanted to stop writing fanfiction.  That friend, xsphinxslady, asked if I would adopt her stories which I agreed to for all but one of them.  This is what came out of one of those adopted stories which was titled Fade Into You, the title I’m using for the new story and direction is a line from the song that shared that title with the fic.

With that explained, this first chapter of Cobblestone Midnight contains all of the updated and edited fic Fade Into You, with all the following chapters being strictly mine instead of a mix.

That said, I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer:  BtVS and Angel belong to Joss, et al.  This is merely a work of fanfiction that in no way is an attempt to claim ownership over the characters of the Buffyverse.

“Fade Into You” by Clare Bowen ft. Sam Palladio is the song that I reference and use in this story.  A really pretty, meaningful song that you can find a video for on YouTube if you’re interested.

Chapter One: Fade Into You

“I want my Slayer.”

Feral yellow eyes – demon eyes – stared implacably at Wesley Wyndham-Pryce through the bars of their cage.  There was a scheming intelligence behind those eyes.  The eyes of Angelus, the Scourge of Europe.

Wesley finally understood how Buffy always knew the difference between the two: Angel and Angelus.

The eyes gave the game away even when the demon wasn’t at the fore in gleaming gold.

Angelus sat nonchalantly on the floor of his cage without a care in the world.  They made the mistake of bringing him back.  Now they get to deal with the consequences of what even he – although he deeply appreciates it – has to admit was an epically stupid idea.  And he’ll be damned – again – if he helps out Soul-Boy’s little posse without getting something in return.

They’d prepared well.  Angelus would give them that.  There was no way out of this cage for him, he’s already discovered that for himself.

The only way out was if they let him out.

Even with the monumentally idiotic stunt of de-souling him in the first place…he doesn’t think realistically that they will be that suicidal.

Which left him with his demand – one that he knows they’ll bow to no matter how much it rankles the former-Watcher and company.

“Which Slayer would that be?”  Wesley asked him coolly.  “As I recall you’re on rather better terms with Faith than you are with Buffy.”

Angelus scoffed.

Soul-Boy might’ve fucked up their relationship with their Mate but Angelus certainly hasn’t.  As if that brunette psycho was even a patch on his Buff.

“Don’t be stupid, boy.”  Angelus replied with his trademark smirk.  “You know very well who I mean.”

“Yes,” Wesley shook his head slowly as he turned to stalk from the room and make the damned call.  “I do.”

The jaunty tune of one of the most vicious demons to ever live whistling “Molly Malone” ringing in his ears long after he was safely tucked away in his office.

…

Buffy stared at her surrounding in confusion for a brief moment before recognized where she was.  Or wasn’t since she burned this particular warehouse to the ground after Angelus snapped Ms. Calendar’s neck like a twig.

There was Spike – looking every inch the Big Bad – stroking one hand down Drusilla’s fine brown hair as they watched their Sire before them.

And it was definitely Angelus.

From the leather pants to the smirk to the posture that screamed confidence and power, that body that taught her the gentlest of touches and some of her worst emotional pain was Angelus.

The funny part was nothing Angelus did ever came close to breaking her.

Not once.

Only Angel – sweet, soulful Angel – was the one with that dubious honor.

She couldn’t hear what they were saying, only one phrase carried to her over the white noise that pervaded her prophetic Slayer visions.

“To kill this girl you have to love her…”

The scene changed turning into the blank walls and sterile environment that was almost – but not quite – the peaceful setting that she spent her death in until Willow and the others pulled her back down to Earth.

“Never were truer words spoken.”

Buffy recognized that voice.

Turning she faced the never-changing figure of Whistler as he propped himself in all his badly-dressed glory against one of the plain white walls.

“I know that better than anyone.”  She agreed with an arch look at the messenger.  “I’ve died twice and twice it was to save those I loved.  First my Mom and the rest of my friends in Sunnydale, then to save Dawnie and all the worlds that would have been torn apart in Glory’s maddened idiocy.  Believe me, I’m well-aware of my fatal-flaw.”

Whistler tsked at her.

“There’s more going on than what you think.”  He said with a shrug.  “You needed to see that for a reason.  Just like you need to see what’s coming next.  Otherwise…”

“Let me guess,” she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.  “Let’s see if I’ve learned anything these last six years of Slaying.  Willow meddled with things she wasn’t supposed to when she brought me back.  I know it.  Spike knows it.  Giles knows it.  Hell, everyone knows it except for Willow herself.  If I had to take a stab at what you’re trying to warn me of, I’d say my unplanned reanimation tipped the balance somewhere and now Big Bads of massive proportions are coming out of the woodwork.”

She gave his indulgent face a sarcastic look.

“How’d I do?”

“Pretty close.”  He admitted after a moment.  “You were supposed to be at peace.  The only reward for a Slayer has always been her final rest.  In all the thousands of years Slayers have been around, only a handful ever lived passed eighteen.  Of those, none ever died and came back twice over.  You’re not just a Slayer, you’ve become The Slayer…”

“And the other team doesn’t like that.  Joy.”  She gave a mock-sigh.  “Just when I thought things weren’t going to get any weirder, you have to show up with a whole new bag of wiggins.”

“You’re going to get a call soon.”  Whistler said, treading carefully close to the line.  He can’t say too much or the Powers will visit some hideous punishment on him.  But if he doesn’t give her enough, things are going to go to Hell.  Literally.  “There are two paths for you to choose from coming.  Choose carefully.”  He gave her a stern look.  “What you see next is supposed to help you decide.  I don’t agree with it…but then…I’m just the messenger.”

With that he snaps his fingers and she’s sucked through what looks suspiciously like a black-hole.

…

“Are ya sure about this?”  An Irish voice confronted Whistler as Doyle stepped out from his hiding place.  “I still say you’re not givin’ the lass enough credit.  With all she’s been through she’s not the same shiny-haired lass that Angel fell in love with.  I don’ know that pushin’ her down this road is wise.  The potential for it all to go wrong...time is a tricksey bitch.”

“Don’t underestimate her.”  Whistler gave his co-conspirator a firm look.  “You don’t know the Slayer like I do.  You didn’t see the look in her eye when I handed her that sword before she sent Angelus to Hell.  She might’ve been all fire then but she’s been tempered and changed by death and time.  She won’t break.”

“Angelus,” Doyle pointed out needlessly.  “Burns hotter than the flames of any Hell dimension.  Especially when it comes to that lass.  A fire that bright could melt even the toughest steel.”

“Maybe.”  Whistler allowed with a sigh, running his hand over his head.  “But it’s a chance we have to take.  If the Slayer is going to survive at all she’ll need both of them with her.  This is the only way I can see her accepting them in her life.  A dark path is better than no path at all.”

…

When she came out the other side of the black hole she was nothing more than a ghost again, watching scenes pass her by as she stood there helpless to change anything.

She saw herself storm into Angel’s office after his stalkerish Thanksgiving visit to Sunnydale.  She saw the demon, the attack, and the chase turn out all very differently that what she remembered.

Than what she thought she remembered.

She saw herself standing on a pier – and then Angel her Angel walking towards her in the sunlight, as human as a dream.

She saw them sitting awkwardly in his kitchen.

She saw them making frantic love against the refrigerator – followed by every other flat surface in his apartment and culminating in ice cream-flavored kisses in his bed.

Then things changed.

She saw him go to the Oracles.

She saw the deal he made.

Then Buffy felt that last vestige of love that she carried around for the man dissipate as if it never been, replaced by a yearning that the monster had carried out his gruesome tasks those years ago.

Either killing her or turning her because either of those would’ve hurt less than watching them get everything they’d ever wanted – a chance at a normal human life together – and have Angel throw it all away from some misguided need to protect her.

Like she needs protecting by him.

More like protection from him and his shitty decision-making skills.

Then she saw something that truly filled her with rage.

Both at Angel and at the Powers That Be.

Buffy watched helplessly as a light – a soul – was pulled from her.

Not from her heart or her chest where souls reside based on what Angel told her once of what it felt like to have his soul shoved back inside him.  No, her soul was more or less safe.

The light – the soul – came from another source.

It came from between her hips, right over where her womb would be.

And Buffy fell into a black wave a rage that seemed to never end.

…

“The lass isna taking this well.”  Doyle watched Buffy in true concern as she screamed herself hoarse.  “Not that I thought she would but…”

“Hush.”  Whistler demanded, not sparing a glance for his accomplice.

…

When she woke from her rage, Buffy found herself shackled inside a shadowed cave, filled with strange, primitive cave-drawings.  Taking stock she noted that her hands were free but one of her ankles was secured by a manacle into the solid bedrock.  Giving it a few practice tugs, she realized that she couldn’t break the chain that bound her.  Not without finding a weapon of some kind.

Her plans for escape were disrupted when a quartet of what had to be African tribesman walked solemnly into the cave and surrounded her, each taking a point until she was at the very center of their little box.  Not sparing a glance or a word for her bound form, the four men began chanting and banging their ritual staves upon the stone floor.  Hearing a few words she recognized from her vision quest where she met the First Slayer, Buffy felt herself begin to panic.

She didn’t know what the fuck was going on but she knew for sure she didn’t want any part of it.

“Hush, pet.”  The words carried to her on the wind, the voice achingly familiar in this dark place.  “Tis only a dream, luv.”

Buffy could almost feel the cold, elegant hand stroking her hair.

As the chanting got louder and the beating of the staves more rhythmic, Buffy felt something begin to rise, both within herself and within the box the chanting tribesmen have placed her in.

A black mist rose from within the shadows and started swirling around her in a vortex.

“This is where our power came from.”  The First Slayer stepped from the shadows, unexpectedly eloquent, as the clearly-demonic power threatened to consume her.  “They bound me here and let it take me.  I was only a girl but they thought a girl would be easy to control.”

The two Slayers shared a vicious grin.  “Foolish men.”  The First Slayer said with a laugh and a shake of her head.

“What is this going to do to me?”  Buffy asked, resigned.  She knew now why Whistler warned her about what was coming next – and why he didn’t agree with it.  Letting a Champion be consumed by a demonic-entity is usually not for the good.

“It will help you see what we really are.”  The First Slayer said cryptically.  Buffy hates the fucking cryptic.  “It will help you find what you will need.”

And then Buffy was lost as the black mist possessed her.

…

Buffy snapped her eyes open with a gasp as she jolted into awareness.  Her mind screamed at her that it was all a dream but her new-and-improved Slayerness just snorted in derision and rolled its eyes at her mind – if such a thing was possible.

The Angel thing…that was a vision, a dream.  Not a very good one since it unlocked a secret that Angel was clearly willing to do just about anything to keep.

But it was still a dream, like the scene in the warehouse.

Although dreaming of Angel’s betrayal, Angelus’s prior emergence, and getting a power upgrade via demon-dust isn’t exactly a trio of events that inspired the warm-fuzzies.  If she wasn’t sure before, she was sure now.

She came back wrong.

A large part of her light…her goodness…that piece of her that drew people to her and inspired the Scoobies to follow her had been lost in her afterlife.

Now that she was living in her after-afterlife she’s having prophetic dreams again and getting demon-mist shoved down her throat.

Although…that might not be a bad thing.

The First Slayer said that the mist, the source of the ancient Slayer power, would help her “find what she needs.”  Not that Buffy has the slightest idea…

Oh god!

She’s in Spike’s crypt!

Before she could so much as squeal or start to freak out, the man er, vamp, himself sauntered around the corner towards the large bed she was still reclining on.

“Good to see you’re up, pet.”  He said with a flirtatious smirk.  “Singin’ and dancin’ all day n bloody night plus a good snog must’ve really taken it out of ya.”

Buffy just rolled her eyes as she climbed from his bed – thankfully still mostly dressed except for her jacket and boots.  She remembered now going with Spike back to his place to avoid the angsty-drama that was sure to be her house following the aftermath of Sweet’s spell.  She can still hear some of the words from the previous day ringing in her ears.

Tara and Willow breaking up over Willow’s misuse of magic.

Dawn’s shoplifting.

Giles deciding to leave again.

Xander being as hopeless as ever, summoning the demon in the first place.

But it’s her own song – and Spike’s – that really haunts her.

“This isn’t real, but I just wanna feel…”

“Let me take my love, and bury it, in a hole six foot deep…”

“I touch the fire and it freezes me…”

“Just let me rest in peace…”

“I look into it and it’s black…”

“I died, so many years ago…but you can make me feel…”

Yeah, Sweet had it right when he said that secrets just kept pouring out.  Who would’ve guessed after all that Spike would be the one to stop her deadly dance?  Or that she would leave everyone else at the last moment to go out and share poignant duet and a stunning kiss with the chipped vampire…

“Once more, with feeling.”  She murmured as she tugged on her boots.

Spike heard it and knew what was plaguing her mind.  They’d both revealed a helluva lot more to each other than they would’ve wanted to.  But that’s the nature of the beastie.  Muck everything off and then enjoy the resulting carnage.

“You weren’t dreamin’ of yesterday when you were screamin’ in your sleep, pet.”  He said as he took a drink straight from the whiskey bottle held loosely in one hand.  “And you were screamin’ to wake the dead, Slayer.”

“No,” she looked at him out of eyes even more haunted than normal since her return from Heaven.  “I wasn’t.”

Arching a brow at this sudden bout of honesty he leaned up against the wall of his lair as she sat wearily on the edge of his bed, having tired after pulling on her boots.

“Care to share with the class, luv?”  He asked.  “Since I did hold you through it, I’d like to know what the bloody hell it was about.  It wasn’t a normal nightmare by any stretch, pet.”

“It wasn’t a nightmare.”  She sighed, staring up at the rocky ceiling.  “Not really.”

“Slayer vision, then?”  Alert now, Spike pushed off the wall and came over to crouch in front of his – well he’d like her to be his – girl.  “Bad one?”

“Mixed bag of wiggins.”  She said, looking him straight in those vibrant blue eyes.  “I don’t know what to make of it.”  Besides the whole demon-mist thing.  That part she actually understood.  Vampires are demon-kin.  Bastard creatures created by mixing true demon blood with humans.  To hunt demon-kin in the ancient times you would need something just as powerful.

Who cared if they were essentially dooming countless innocent girls to death and possession by a terrible force, an ever-hungry, ever-hunting, never-satisfied power?

They needed their Slayer.

Oh yeah, she understood that part of her vision alright.  She’s been living it for years.  Men more concerned with their own survival than with right or wrong.  She’s seen it over and over again in humans – not least among the Watcher’s Council – and demons alike.

It’s the rest of it that’s thrown her for a loop.

“Care to share, Slayer?”  Spike reached out and chafed her chilled hands, trying to reassure her without overstepping the invisible and constantly-shifting boundaries she kept throwing up in their way.

“It was all things from the past.”  She said after several long moments, her brow furrowed as she considered that oddity.  “That’s never happened before.  Usually my visions are of future and near-future events.  Not things that’ve already happened.”

“What kinda things, pet?”

“Did Angelus ever talk to you about how to kill me?”  She asked abruptly, wanting to check the factual content of her visions.  She wouldn’t put it passed the Powers to screw with her to manipulating her into doing what they want.

And something big must be coming if they want her ties to Angel completely severed.

Now Spike was the one confused, rearing back on his heels as he watched the churning emotions crossing her face and stirring in her eyes.  There was something else there, in those green depths.  Something dark that wasn’t there before.  At least, not completely.  Something woke something up in the Slayer, his demon could feel it.  Yearned for it just when he thought he couldn’t want the girl more.  Whether to the good or bad…there was a new darkness in her.

“Yeah he did, pet.”  He answered after a while.  “You had both of them – Peaches and the Scourge - all tied in knots.  Couldn’t decide if he wanted to break ya, or turn ya, or just kill ya.  Or all three.  Made him go a little mad.  Angelus had always been cruel.  Sadistic.  But never mad.”  A weary smirk kicked up at the corner of his mouth.  “That was Dru’s territory.”

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly as the full-importance of his confirmation crashed down on her.  She’d lost something.  Something big.  Before she even knew she had it.  All because Angel couldn’t handle being a normal human.  Because he had to protect her.

To borrow a phrase from Spike – the fucking wanker.

“You ok, pet?”

“Yeah,” she shook her head in an attempt to clear it.  Bigger picture, Buffy.  There was a thing or things out there that she needed to find and her new demony-fresh-essence is supposed to help her do it.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  Looks like something big and bad is coming and for once they’ve given me a decent heads-up.”  At least she hoped that’s all there was to it.  “There’s something I need to find.  Something that has to do with me being the Slayer.”

“Any idea what?”  Spike arched a brow.  Slayer-lore is it?  Well, she’s talkin’ to the right vamp, he knows a thing or two about Slayers.

“I’m not sure.”  She said as she climbed to her feet and grabbing his hand tugged him towards the ladder.  “But I think I know where to start looking.”

…

They’d walked a while in silence from the crypt before Spike understood where they were going.

“Your place to start looking is the Mansion then, is it pet?”  He gave her a sardonic look.  “The bloody poof left you a present then?”

Buffy laughed drily.  If he only knew…  Angel had left her plenty of things.  Almost all of the bad and of the mental-emotional scarring type.

“Not Angel.”  She said as Crawford Street came into sight.  “Angelus.”

“They share the same mind, luv.”  Spike pointed out gently.  “What one knew so did the other.”  And there’s no bleedin’ way Peaches would let his demon leave little “gifts” for the Slayer.  He would’ve taken care of those right-off when he came back from his holiday in a hell dimension.

Casting him a witchy look from under lowered lids, Buffy took out a key from its hiding spot next to her favorite stake before turning it in the lock and opening the doors.

“Not necessarily.”  She said as they moved inside, and she flipped on the master switch that turned on all the lights in the main rooms of the house.  The sudden illumination wasn’t kind to either of their pairs of eyes and it took them a moment to adjust.

Once his eyes stopped screamin’ Spike took a careful look around.  Someone – no need to guess who – has been maintaining the Mansion.  A small part of him understood it but the rest of him was boggled.  For all that Peaches stayed here for a time, the Mansion was one hundred percent Angelus’s territory.  One of dozens of grand homes scattered all over the world for the Master vampire to call his own.  Why would the Slayer spend her own time and energy on keeping it up?

Leading him to the stairs she explained.

“Angelus, as I’m sure you well know, beneath all the rage, hate, and plain crazy, is an extremely intelligent and meticulous creature.”  She began leading him to the Master suite – a suite that had chains criss-crossing the door and held with another lock that she swiftly undid.  “He knew that there was a chance – however insignificant it was from his perspective – that he could lose.  Either by being re-souled or by being given the true death.  So he made a contingency plan.”

Buffy took a deep breath as they entered Angelus’s lair.  She hasn’t been in here except to clean once a month or so for years.  The impossibly wide and deep bed still had the red silk sheets he selected.  Weapons and fine art of all kinds were scattered about the walls and showcased in display cases.  Tapestries and “lost” masterpieces hung side-by-side Angelus’s own artwork.

She knew the moment Spike saw the focal point of the room, one you can only see facing away from the bed as it was positioned to be seen from the bed.

A life-sized oil painting – one of Angelus’s originals.

“Bugger me.”  Spike breathed his eyes wide.  “That’s the best work of ‘is I’ve ever seen, pet.”

And hate him all you wanted, Angelus had both talent and time to perfect it in spades when it came to his art.

Well, his art other than torture.

Though it rang true for that as well.

Kneeling before a section of paneling under the bed, Buffy only nodded her head, well familiar with the content of the painting.  Brushing her hand carefully down the intricate carving on the bedframe she found the catch she was looking for and pressed it, making a section of the paneling release with a faint click.  Opening the hidden cubby, she removed the chest Angelus had placed there for her and carried it over to his desk, looking up at the painting at last.

She never posed for it.

Angelus had done it strictly from memory and fantasy.  Or given recent events, perhaps from a vision.  Over six feet tall, it was a nude study of Buffy, arms secured with silk wrapping around her wrists and held above her head.  Her head was thrown back with a look of ecstasy upon her face, eyes barely shown from under lowered lids.  Angelus was behind her, his sulky mouth buried in the crook of his neck while his burning eyes stared out from the painting.  He was nude but largely concealed behind her own form, large hands wrapped around her tiny waist.  Another set of hands – elegant and pale but still very masculine – trailed up her outer thighs.  You couldn’t see who the hands belonged to outside of the wrists and a turn of a shoulder.  But you were sure that there was another present, if concealed by the shadows.

It was an intricate – and erotic – work of art.

And on all three of the left ring fingers was a ring in the same motif – if very different styles.

They all wore claddagh rings.

Finally turning from the painting, Spike noticed the chest that Buffy was unlocking and opening.

“What’s this then, pet?”

“Angelus’s contingency plan.”  She answered, staring down into the contents and then lifting out a letter and holding it out to Spike.

Scanning it quickly, Spike let out a soundless whistle.  Bloody hell.  The great ponce was a wily one.  Found a way to conceal certain memories from the soul.  Didn’t want Peaches interfering with something that could potentially save the Slayer’s life – if Angelus wasn’t around anyway.  Lifting his eyes from the fine vellum, he commented.

“He always was possessive of you, luv.”  He said with an arched brow.  “Wanted your everything for himself, he did.  Whether it was your life, your blood, or your death, it all belonged to him.  Doesn’t surprise me that much that he would find a way to protect you, pet, if he couldn’t kill you himself.”

“That’s pretty much my thought.”  She agreed with a bitter laugh.

“What are these gifts he left you then?”  He asked setting the letter in the open lid of the chest.

Silently she lifted out a thick file and set it aside before taking out a delicate ancient text – and the translation in a journal written in Angelus’s own hand – followed by a dagger and a wrapped velvet bundle.

“The file is a compilation of all the Slayer’s who lived passed eighteen.  Of the six in our known history besides myself that have done that, it turns out that all of them were known to have had at least one affair – one-nighters or otherwise – with a demon or vampire.  He didn’t want me to let them guilt me.”

She finished on a whisper, thinking about Angelus’s note that he’d left on top of the file.  A note that she tucked away with Angel’s claddagh and cross as well as the drawings and flowers the demon gave her.

“Bloody hell, pet.”  Spike flipped through the file, taking it in with the rapid intelligence he hides so carefully behind his flamboyant nature and outrageous attitude.  “That’s one helluva secret the Council’s been keepin’.”  And after all the shit she’s taken from her Watcher and friends over Angel of all vampires.  At least Captain Forehead had a soul.  The other Slayers couldn’t make the same claim about their lovers.

“That’s not even the least of it.”  She said with a sigh gesturing to the old texts.  “Turns out that there are actual Slayer weapons, lore, texts, and artifacts that should’ve been passed down to me.  Instead they’ve all been either lost or are being hoarded by the council.  That dagger is one of them.”

Setting down the file, Spike lifted it.  Feeling a wave of unease tingle down his back he set it down abruptly.  That pretty piece wasn’t for the likes of him.

“How’d the Sire come by it?”

“Stole it from a museum in England.”  She laughed genuinely.  “Apparently he got wind of it when he was looking for Acathla in Europe and took a side trip.”

“Sounds like the wanker.”  Spike said without rancor.  There were times he missed the bastard.  Angelus for all his evil was quite a bit of fun at times.  Not like Peaches with all his brooding and gloom.

“You don’t even know the half of it.”  They shared a chuckle.  “But that wasn’t the gift.  Not really.  What he wanted me to find if he wasn’t around was something else.”

Flipping open the text she found the page she was looking for and showed Spike the drawing.  Spike gave a long whistle as he took in the faded image.

“That’s a thing of deadly beauty, it is.”  He gave her a teasing look.  “Just like you, luv.”

Nudging him with her shoulder she told him what she’d figured out.  Well…what she figured out before Angel returned from hell anyway.  Angelus’s minion lawyer had tracked her down in L.A. and given her the chest and the letter.  But once Angel returned…

There just didn’t seem much point.  Especially once he left her.  So she just let herself forget.  Only the First Slayer’s prompting sent her diving back into Angelus’s plots.  That and her fury with Angel.

“It’s a scythe.”  She said stroking the page with her hand.  “The first and ultimate Slayer weapon.  Forged in our blood and ‘dark’ fire.  It’s been lost for over a thousand years.”  She gave him a vicious grin.  “And we’re going to find it.”

“All right, luv.”  Spike nodded after taking in her nearly-glowing face.  Most life he’s seen in her in ages.  “Where do we start lookin’?”

“There’s a symbol.”  She turned the page and pointed.  “It seems familiar.  Really familiar.  If I could just…”  She trailed off feeling what she needs to know being just beyond her grasp.

Taking a look, Spike felt his eyebrows hit his hairline.  He knows exactly where he’s seen that little beastie before.

“It’s on a tomb.”  He said, interrupting her reverie.  “In the same cemetery as me crypt.  You’ve probably walked and ran by it hundreds of times, pet.”

She cursed as the image of a pyramid tomb with that symbol on its entrance became clear.  He was right.  It had literally been in front of her every other night for years.

Packing everything away, except for the dagger that she tucked into her belt, her hand lingered for a long moment on the velvet wrapped bundle.

“What’s that then, pet?”

Shaking her head, she put it along with everything else away and handed the chest to Spike who returned it to its cubby.  Some secrets were too private for her to share.  Not yet, anyway.  And she didn’t want anyone to stumble upon Angelus’s gifts.  Not with all the issues they’re already having and Dawn’s currently wandering fingers taking whatever she wanted.

“Nothing I want to talk about.”  She said firmly before locking up and leading him out of the Mansion.  Maybe soon she could confide in him about that.  But not right now.

…

The next night after dealing with all of the fallout from Sweet’s spell – including Tara moving out and Dawn’s grounding – Buffy met Spike outside the tomb.

She hates walking into these things blind.  After everything she’s lived through – and not lived through – she absolutely hates being in the dark about what’s going on.

She had another dream last night.  This one of Angelus plotting, and finding, and putting together the chest he left for her.  After all a dream was how she knew where to hide it to keep it safe and secret.  God knows Angelus never would’ve told her about that secret cubby in his bed.

Spike brushed one hand down her back and gave her a sideways hug, ending with a kiss on the top of her head.

“It’ll be alright, luv.”  He whispered against her hair.  “I’ve gotcha and I’m not goin’ anywhere, pet.”

Not unless she sends him away.  One thing he’s got figured, leavin’ this girl is the surest way to hurt her.  How that poofter Peaches never learned that in his years with her, Spike’ll never know.  Wanted to do the “noble” thing and wound up losin’ the best thing that ever happened to the broody bastard.  Bloody idiot.

 Taking a deep breath she sent him a shy, grateful glance from under her lashes.

“Thanks, Spike.”  She whispered almost too low for even a vampire to hear.  “You don’t know what that means to me.  Not just to hear it but to know you mean it.”

“Yes I do, luv.”  The sideways hug moved into a full-on embrace as he rested his cool cheek against her hair.  “I study Slayers, remember pet?  Even when I wasn’t here I kept tabs on ya, always knew I would come back for ya.  Just never thought…”

“That you really would turn into Love’s Bitch?”  She teased him looking up into his cornflower-blue eyes.  She remembered how Angelus and Angel both used to taunt him over his attachment to Drusilla.  Even more so after he came back to force Willow into doing a love spell for him when she left him for a chaos demon.

“Yeah,” he groaned.  “That’s me alright, pet.  Never could get rid of William the Bloody Awful Poet no matter how hard the Sire tried to beat ‘im outta me.”

She gave a giggle, one of the first pure sounds of enjoyment she’s made since her return from the dead.

“The Bloody Awful Poet?”  She laughed, leaning her forehead against his rock-hard chest.  “That’s how you got that name?”

“Yeah.”  If a vampire could blush he would be right about now.  Stupid Slayer with her puppy dog eyes, always makin’ ‘im say things he shouldn’t.  “I was a gentleman ‘fore Angelus turned me for Dru.  Wrote the most godawful poems.  Never let me live it down, he did.”

Recovering her composure, Buffy moved away, squaring her shoulders and turning to face the entrance to the tomb.

“Well,” she took a deep breath.  “Here we go.”

With Spike at her back she pushed open the door to the tomb, taking in at a glance the lit torches and the alter behind gauzy white hangings.  Pure white pillars like those in a Greek temple, complete with gold leaf at the tops, lined the center of the single room.  As they moved farther into the room, a figure moved from the shadows behind the alter.

What in Spike’s lifetime would’ve been called a “handsome woman” of indeterminate age, the priestess was dressed in the Greek fashion, all flowing fabrics and braids.  There was a frown on her ageless face.

“Slayer?”  She spoke in a mellow timbre.  “What are you doing here?  The time has not come yet.”

Buffy just rolled her eyes with a snort.

“I think that’s for me to decide.”  She said in a commanding tone that had Spike watching her carefully.

Death has changed her more than she knows if she can carry that off so easily.  In the past anytime someone connected to the Slayers had something to impart, Buffy would at least give them a small amount of deference.  A respect that is completely absent in her voice and carriage now as she struck out viper-quick and grabbed the older woman by the front of her flowy tunic, pulling her into striking distance with a snarl.

“I am tired of being pushed around and treated at best as a child and at worst an expendable tool.  I am more than a Slayer and I am done playing by someone else’s rules.  I make my own rules now.  And.  I.  Want.  What’s.  Mine.”

Spike could barely control his arousal at the sight of watching the Slayer go all fierce and dark.  Worse now than any of the fights they’ve had.  Before she was all shiny and bright, a rich foil for his evilness.  Even when they “danced” together as they fought a mutual enemy she was never this commanding.  All that power and passion wrapped in a beautiful blonde package.  Oh, yeah, Willy-boy.  He thought to himself.  You’ve got it bad.

“A v-vineyard.”  The Guardian stuttered out.  “A few miles north of town.  In the caves beneath the complex you should find what you seek.”

Tossing her away, Buffy gave her a smirk copied from Angelus himself.

“There,” Buffy tossed her dagger and caught it one-handed.  “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?  What of the other artifacts?”

Straightening, the Guardian brushed herself off before answering.  What has this world come to that this dark creature was the ultimate champion of light?

“Most have scattered to the four winds.”  She said with a sigh.  “The one you seek was by far the most powerful and so I was commanded to keep watch over it.  Many have been collected by those fools in the Watcher’s Council.  The sword remains hidden, although I do not know of its location.  Somewhere in Europe I believe.  You already have the dagger…”

“That’s all then.”  Buffy turned to walk out, casting Spike a fathomless look, not missing his blatant arousal.  “Have fun in your tomb.”

“Wait!”  The Guardian cried before they could leave.  “There is a great evil coming!  You must be prepared.”

“Lady,” she said with a sigh, casting her a look over one shoulder.  “There’s always a great evil coming.  Each as different and unique as the next.  There is no preparing until it tips its hand.  Something I would think you would know if you’re as old as you claim.”

…

“Command looks good on you, sweetheart.”  Spike purred as they made their way to his disreputable DeSoto.  “Think we’ll be able to get back to dancin’ like we used to now, pet?”

Climbing into his passenger seat she gave a little chuckle as he cranked the engine and started off in the direction given by the Guardian.

“Probably.”  She said, thinking about her Slayer-demon-upgrade.  “I have to admit…”

“It’ll be nice to have a proper match again?”  Spike sent her a devilish grin.  “Couldn’t agree more, luv.  Hasn’t been much real action for either of us since you came back.  No way to tell how powerful you are now, pet, what with the Slayer-essence an’ all.  You goin’ to explain that bit?”

Briefly Buffy explained the original spell that gave her the First Slayer as a spirit guide before she died and then her vision-that-wasn’t-a-vision with the cave and the demon-dust.

“Bloody hell, pet.”  Spike shot her a look as he pulled off on a side road about a quarter-mile from the vineyard.  “No wonder you’re so brassed off about it.  That’s all kinds of fecked up, ‘specially for a bunch of white hats.”

Leading the way towards the outbuilding that Spike pointed out as likely being a storage facility for the wines to age – and the most probably site of underground access – Buffy felt a tingle trace up her spine.

“No argument from me.”  Buffy said, ignoring Spike’s mumbled “for once”.  “With the whole “Sometimes-They-Come-Back” adventure and then the Slayer-dust-possession I’m treading more on the grey side of things these days anyway.  Kinda like a chipped vamp I know.”  She shot him a teasing glance.

He’s been there for her.  Professions of love and steamy-sexy-kisses aside, Spike has been there for her more than anyone else.  He got it.  What they did…bringing her back, it had consequences.  Only instead of Willow and Xander paying the price, she is.  Or at least that’s what her little visit from the messenger would imply.  Surprise, surprise.  Willow and Xander get into trouble, poke a hornet’s nest, and Buffy’s the one that gets stung saving their butts.

Again.

For probably the hundredth time.

Spike was continually fascinated by the new sides of Buffy she’s taken to showing him – if no one else – since she came back from the dead.

“Time used to be, luv, that you wouldn’t even admit to there bein’ a grey area.”  He cast an eye up and down her leather-clad body.  “All that time floatin’ with the angels has changed you, pet.  Here I thought you’d go haring off to round up your Scoobies and investigate this new evil and instead you put that bint in ‘er place and stuck to your own plan.”

“And?”  Buffy whispered as they crept into the storage facility, searching for the basement access.  “I thought you liked the new, darker me?”

“I do, luv.  Don’t get me wrong now, sweetheart.”  He shrugged, catching sight of what could be a seam in the floor.  “I’m just kinda…proud, is all.  Of the woman you’ve become.  You’re not little Goldilocks anymore, pet.  You’re a wolf, a predator.”  Just like me.

Finding the latch he opened the trap door, revealing a set of stairs leading straight down.  Giving her a wicked look, biting his bottom lip, he leapt down into the darkness.

Blowing out her breath, Buffy forced herself to ignore the heat wave that followed his little bit of a flirt, as he would call it.  Stupid vampire making her wet before they have to go into a dark underground cavern.  Damn tease.

Following him down into the darkness, her enhanced night vision caught sight of him standing a little way away in front of her, fiddling with something on the wall.  Taking advantage of his preoccupation, Buffy crept up behind him and plastered her front against his back, pressing her lush curves against his solidly-muscled and cut body.  Coming up on her tip-toes, she gently caught his earlobe between her teeth, ignoring the little gasp he let out at the aggressive act.  Biting him lightly, she whispered in his ear.

“It isn’t nice to tease the Slayer.”  Reaching one arm around him she stroked his chest with her hand from collarbone to his beltline.  “I just might bite you know.”

“Keep that up, pet.”  Spike nearly moaned at her touch.  After all this time she was finally making an advance, giving him some sign that he’s not once again chasing after something he can never have.  “And I will bite.”

Retrieving his lighter from his pocket, Spike lit the torch that he’d found in a holder on the rough stone wall, shedding some much-needed light into the dark cavern.

“Well, sweetheart.”  Spike said once he found his voice.  “I’m guessing the pretty bauble buried in the stone all Excalibur-like would be yours, then?”

…

Back in the DeSoto with the Scythe resting across Buffy’s lap, the Slayer stroking one hand up and down the blade and handle as if it was some kind of touchstone – and for a Slayer it very well could’ve been, Spike asked her where she wanted to go next.

“Nowhere.”  She said with a sigh, letting her head rest against the seat back.  “Everywhere.  Anywhere but here.”

“Well I can probably go for two of the three, luv.”  Spike cradled her cheek in one cool hand, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb.  “But that’s not likely to fix what got ya all tangled up.”

“Then the Mansion, I guess.”  She said, nuzzling against his hand for a split second before reclaiming her upright posture.  “If a ‘great evil’ is coming I’d just as soon keep it to myself until I have a better handle on it.  No need to get everyone all worried and scared when they’re all trying to recover from the singing and dancing fiasco.  Worry and recovery are very unmixy things.”

“Angelus left you more than an old book or two and a treasure map, didn’t he pet?”  Spike asked shrewdly, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“Partly.”  She nodded, still stroking the Scythe.  “And partly…an idea I had after I found out about the Watcher’s Journals and then died and came back.  I’ve kept an account on every Big Bad or even Semi-Bad that I’ve come up against.  And researched any that I thought might come back somehow.  Seemed like a silly idea so I never mentioned it, but…”

“If you can die and return twice, what’s to stop the other side from borrowing from your playbook.”  Spike hit the nail on the head with his analogy.  “Who all have you kept tabs on then, luv?”

Buffy began ticking off fingers as she thought over the major threats she’s gone head-to-head with.  Of course the first name on the list was also the most obvious.

“Angelus, Master Nest, The Judge, Order of Taraka,” she shot him a glare over the assassins he sent after her back when they were still enemies.  “Drusilla, The Demon Research Initiative, The First…you…”

“What?”  Spike arched a brow at her.  “I made your list of ‘might-return-and-kill-me’ baddies?”

“Well, you came closer to ending me than anyone else besides Angelus.  And on his part it was more because he couldn’t make up his mind about me that I’m still around than anything else.  And you did keep coming back.”

“Point taken, Slayer.”  He shot her a wink, proud and absurdly pleased he made her list of Bid Bads.  He is the Big Bad after all, just like she’s the Slayer.  “Point taken.”

“Until I have more dreams or we get some sign of what’s going on, refreshing my memory on old enemies and ‘dancing’ with you and patrolling is really all I can do about this great evil to come.  And there’s no time like the present to get started.”

Shooting him a wicked look of her own, she darts into the sparring room of the Mansion, setting down the Scythe on the floor near a wall.

“Too right, luv.”  Spike gave her a smirk as he shifted into a crouch.  She’s not the same Slayer that she was before her second death and definitely wasn’t the same Buffy.  But he liked this new version.  They connect on a visceral level.

And whatever “great evil” thinks that it’s going to take his Slayer, his Buffy away from him has a nasty surprise coming its way.

The Big Bad is back and he’ll protect his fierce little future-mate with everything he has.

…

Less Than Two Weeks Later

“I.  Want.  My.  Slayer.”  Angelus growled.

…

A week after finding her Scythe, Buffy was resting – if you could call it that – in the most unlikely of places.

With the mess that’s been made of her after-afterlife, she’s taken to coming to the Mansion when she’s so wiped out she can barely function anymore.  There was just too much drama and angst filling her and Dawn’s house for her to really be able to rest there.  She would sleep at Spike’s, he offered once she told him about how bad trying to sleep undisturbed has gotten for her, but she knew that wouldn’t work.

If the sexy-vibes in the air from being that close to the hot-as-sin vamp didn’t keep her from sleeping, everyone would think to look for her there which pretty much made it pointless.

Two phrases kept repeating through her dreams, the refrains clearly part of the Slayer package.

From beneath you, it devours.  Which was just all kinds of fun times, and: the way forward is back.

Just buckets of yay with the cryptic.

Only Spike knew about her upkeep of the Mansion.

Only Spike knew about a lot of things.  The vamp having transitioned seamlessly from somewhat-mistrusted-ally into highly-trusted-confidant-guy with her return.  Seeing for herself and hearing from Dawn all about how he took care of her – constantly watching over “his Niblet” combined with his friendship with her late mother…well.  It would take someone with a heart of total stone not to soften over his high regard for her two favoritest people, even if one of them is dead and gone.  One thing was for sure she trusted him not to try and bring her back to life and damn the consequences.

She had a feeling – no it was more than that – she knew that Spike was dead-on when he accused Willow of knowing something could go wrong and needing a backup plan.  Buffy believed down to her bones that when he said that if even a part of her was Buffy, he would move heaven and earth to keep her alive and kicking his butt.

Well…that’s not exactly what he said…but close enough.

He knew where to find her after patrol now, if he didn’t come along for some reason.  Before her vision and claiming her Scythe she would always just head back home and go through the motions of being the Slayer.  Try and sleep despite the nightmares of Spike’s torture by Glory or crawling out of her own grave.  Get up, get Dawn going, work, slay, repeat.

She knows that her friends and Dawn are worrying.  She knows that Willow gets scared when she doesn’t come straight back from patrol and that Dawnie is only going to keep acting out the more that she’s not there at night.

She just can’t seem to make herself care anymore.

She’s spent every second of every day worried and concerned about everyone else and what everyone else thinks, afraid to step one toe out of line for fear of losing everyone, since the day she was Called.  She’s lost Merrick, her first Watcher, Pike her first semi-boyfriend-person who knew about her “other” life.  Her Mom is gone, Giles up and left.  The only person she knows for sure who won’t turn their back on her or abandon her is Spike.

Spike.

It always circles back around to him.

Banishing the thoughts from her mind, Buffy forced herself into sleep, hoping that maybe this time when she wakes she’ll have an idea of which way to go or what the refrains in her Slayer dreams mean.

She’s tired but more she’s tired of standing still.

…

“Hello, lover.”  The sultry voice whispered against the back of her neck as a pair of lips moved down to caress and nip at the trio of scars on her neck.  The Master’s marks were nearly obliterated by Angel’s while Dracula’s were almost dainty in comparison.

Turning in his encompassing arms, Buffy looped her arms around his neck as she met those dancing eyes.  Angelus always looked like he was either in the middle of or plotting some mayhem.  There was a joy in him that was absent in his souled state, without the weight of his misdeeds crushing him.  He leaned down and nuzzled his mark on her neck again, this time with a firm bite that was just shy of breaking her skin.

“Angelus,” she sighed as her head fell backwards.  “It’s been years.  Why am I dreaming of you now?”

“Things are changing, lover.”  He breathed in her ear as he ran his strong hands down her lush body.  “You are changing.  Not the blindly stubborn little girl you used to be.  I always knew you would have to be broken before you could become the woman I saw in you.  Before you would be comfortable unleashing your power and heeding its call.”

He leaned back and running his eyes down her matured form gave her one of his patented smirks.

“But even I never thought those idiot friends of yours would do my work for me…”

…

His voice was still ringing in her ears as she bolted awake, panting in part arousal and part fear.  Sensing a presence in the room with her, she snapped her head around as she gathered the blood-red silk sheets around her, concealing her nude form.

“Well now, pet.”  Buffy traced that distinctive voice to the far corner of the room, finding the glowing end of his cigarette illuminating his face.  “That must’ve been some dream to get you smellin’ like that.”  He was back to the panty-soaking purr.

Great.  Now she has Angelus hitting on her in her dreams and Spike flirting during her waking hours.  At this rate if she doesn’t get some relief she’s going to spontaneously combust like the victims of Sweet’s enthrallment.

“Not now, Spike.”  Weary, her rest not exactly being of the restful variety, she struggled back into her simple jeans and t-shirt she wore to patrol after work.  Dropping the sheets at her feet she strode from the room, ignoring the vampire bolting along after her.

“What is it, luv?”

Spike was more worried about her than ever.  That job of hers was sucking the life out of her and her friends aren’t bein’ much better.  For that one night last week he saw a glimpse of her old flame and power being harnessed by her will.  It seemed to have disappeared with the dawn.  She needs to bloody sleep, not keep catching brief moments of rest between nightmares and visions and her so-called life.

“I need to kill something.”  Reaching the secluded beach that backed up against the Mansion proper, she turned and pinned him with a look.  “Short of that, I need a good fight.  You up for it?”

A grin split Spike’s face.  “Thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.  No trainin’, no rules, just a spot o’ violence eh?  That’s the ticket, pet?”

She gave a short nod as she cracked her neck.  Just a spot of violence.

Just something to take away this feeling of dread that Angelus is somehow, someway, coming back.

…

Willow clutched at the cordless phone as she curled up in bed.  Everything is wrong.  Just wrong.  And Tara being all holier-than-thou over her magic usage isn’t helping things either.  Leaving her over one little spell.  Pfft.

“Willow, I don’t get it.”  Xander’s voice was gruff from him being barely awake.  She’d called him at two in the morning to tell him that Buffy isn’t home yet.  While he understood her concern, he doesn’t know what she expects him to do about it.  “Buffy’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.  She probably just needed some time alone.”

“No, that’s not the point!”  Willows frustration carried through the phone clearly.  “You’re not listening to me!  Ever since that singing-curse-thing she’s been even more withdrawn than ever.  I think something happened or is happening or something…”

Xander cut her off.

“Something did happen, Will.”  His voice went from gruff to harsh in a nano-second.  He’s had enough of Willow’s uber-drama over Buffy.  Time for her to face facts.  They’re not in high school anymore and it’s time Willow realized that.  “You happened.  You decided to bring Buffy back to life.  Yeah, you did it thinking you were “saving” her but all you really did was pull her out of Heaven.  If she wants to spend some time alone,” away from you, “then I think that’s not too much to ask.  Goodnight Willow.”

Xander hung up and tossed the phone back on the nightstand.  Anya stroked one hand through his hair, worried about her snuggle-bear.

“She needed to hear that, Xander.”  Anya said gently, hugging him from behind.  “All of you have moved on since high school.  Even Buffy, she’s not the same bubbly blonde anymore.  Willow needs to stop relying on everyone else so much.”

“I know, Ahn.”  Xander took one of her hands and kissed it, turning to face the woman he loves.  “But it’s still hard for me to say.”

“I know.”  She snuggled up against his chest.  “I know.”

…

Willow stared at the now lifeless phone in disbelief.  Xander hung up on her.  Xander.  If it was Buffy or Anya or even Giles that would be one thing but Xander hung up on her.

All she wanted was a little commiseration.  A little understanding.  But no.  This was even worse than when she brought Buffy back.  She would’ve thought someone would’ve at least said thank you.  But no.  They were all “Bad Willow.”  “Selfish Willow.”  “Amateur Willow.”  “There’s consequences Willow.”

It burned.

Lying in bed she chucked the phone against the wall, never mind that the phone didn’t actually belong to her.

…

Spike ducked a roundhouse punch to his head only to get caught by a knee to his ribs.  Blowing out a breath he dodged around her, eyeing Buffy’s sweat-slicked body with appreciation.  They haven’t danced like this since he got that bloody chip in his head.  Missed it, he has.

Five minutes passed, then ten, as they traded blows.  Dancing around each other, neither really drawing blood or causing any damage.  As always it was one of Spike’s smartass comments that set her off.

“Feel alive yet, pet?”  He licked his upper lip with a leer.  “Or ya need a little more of Dr. Spike’s tender-loving-care?”

With a wordless shriek she pounced and the next ten minutes were silent except for the sound of flesh crashing against flesh with a force that would cripple or maim less powerful creatures.  They danced all around the Mansion’s private beach then Buffy made a wild leap only to be caught and held by Spike as the momentum forced them to the ground.  Nearly panting, Spike flipped them, pinning Buffy to the sand and shackling her wrists with his hands, using his own hips to leverage her into the ground and keep her from wind milling her legs to get free.

Staring down into her face, beautiful and flushed from the excitement of a fight, he pressed his hips into hers in a whole other manner, relishing the little gasp and accompanying rush of moisture he could sense at his maneuver.  With a wicked grin, he let go of her hands, tunneling his cool fingers into her hair and taking her in a powerful, commanding kiss.  Moaning helplessly in a way that made his inner demon roar, Buffy grasped the hair at the back of his neck in one hand and the back of his leather duster in the other as she returned his heated kiss with equal fervor.

This is what she’s been missing.

This feeling of heat and fire and life, instead of the cold, dark, nothing that’s been her constant companion since her…rising…except for here, in his arms.

Spike, a Master among the undead, makes the Vampire Slayer feel alive.  The irony is not lost on her.

Before she could faint from lack of oxygen, he lifted his head and stared down into her pleasure dazed green eyes.

“We better take this somewhere else, luv.”  He rasped, too aroused to even pretend that he was unmoved.  “Unless you wanna give the neighbors a show?”

“No,” Buffy tossed her head as she ground her hips up against his iron-hard arousal.  Clenching her hands around him she held him to her.  “Here.  Now.”

Burying his head in the crook of her neck as she worked her hips against him, twining her legs around his hips for better leverage, Spike gave in with a heart-felt groan.

Screw it, then.  If the bint wants to get ravished in near-public, he’s more than demon enough to do it and give her a proper seeing to.

Growling, his hands were nearly cruel as they stripped her, her own no less frantic as she ripped and tore his shirt from him only to be stymied when he batted her hands away before she could give his pants similar treatment.  Bearing her back against the leather duster he laid out while she was otherwise occupied, he simply undid his jeans and hooking her legs over his arms, slid into her pulsing wet heat without further ado.  Groaning at the damp-silk feel of her and purring at her pleasure-ridden shriek, Spike tried to force down his demon as he burrowed his rock-hard member into her folds with rapid strokes.

Buffy moaned at the cool/hot feeling of having him inside her took her over.  His flesh itself was cool, a blistering contrast to the volcanic heat he caused in her.  Spying the tell-tale amber glow in his eyes, her instincts sucked her under completely as she canted her head to one side, offering up the unmarked expanse of her neck to the demon fucking her brains out.  With a soft snarl, Spike dropped fang and buried his fangs in her smooth neck, making both of them go off like a rocket at the intense dual-penetration.

Realizing what he’s done only after his fangs parted her silken flesh, Spike took only the barest of sips, just enough to sate his demon before closing the wounds with the most tender of care as they both enjoyed the afterglow of being well-loved, his erection – his constant companion for months it seemed like – finally abating…for the moment.

Pulling himself away from her just long enough to fix his jeans, he reclaimed their clothes before wrapping her still-naked form in his jacket and cuddling her up against his chest, swept her away from the Mansion and off to his crypt at true vampire-speed.

…

A few days after Buffy and Spike decided to give having a – gasp – adult relationship a shot, they were play-sparring in the Mansion’s ballroom, Spike having hunted and chased the Slayer all through the massive house.

Although she was shrieking with laughter, Spike still saw a shadow hovering at the edges of her eyes.  Deciding on a course of action, he suddenly swept her up in his arms, tickling her until she was nearly boneless.

“Give!”  She squealed helplessly.  “I give!”

“Knew you would, love.”  Spike looked down into her happy, shining face with a self-satisfied smirk.  Dropping her back onto her feet, he held her in a loose embrace as he sobered.

“What is it?”

“Are you happy then, sweetheart?”  He asked her seriously.  He knows that some of the darkness that’s been haunting her has lightened but it wasn’t entirely gone.  They still went out and hunted beasties every night, and most nights she’ll wake up panting from one nightmare or another.  Those friends of hers haven’t been helping either.  Red’s on a sure path for megalomania with her magic bit and the whelp is as self-absorbed as ever.  Only the Niblet’s been supportive of her sister spending so much time with ‘im.  But then the Bit’s rather biased in his favor anyways.

“I’m worried.”  She admitted after a long moment, nibbling at her lower lip.  Wrapping her arms around him she snuggled into his chest.  “Things have been going so well after we found the Scythe and then our…”  She looked up at him with a naughty grin.  “I just can’t help but feel like something is coming, this great evil or whatever.”

And her dreams weren’t helping.

Like, at all.

“You’re waitin’ on the other shoe to drop.”  He said, giving her a squeeze from his leanly muscled arms.  “You’re not used to bein’ happy anymore is all, love.  You’ll get there, promise.”

“Yeah,” she said, resting her head on his chest.  “I think that’s a big part of it.  The last time I was this happy…”

“Your boyfriend spent months terrorizing your friends and family.”  Spike finished for her knowing exactly where her mind was.  “I’m not Angelus, pet.  I’m not a cursed-souled-poof.  ‘M not gonna up and decide to go all torturer on ya one day cause I got too happy, love.”

“It’s Angelus I’m worried about.”  She whispered, lifting her gaze to his.  “I’ve been having dreams…”

“Dreams about the Great Wanker or Peaches the Giant Poofter?”  Spike needed her to clarify.  Angel having a hissy fit over their budding relationship is one thing, Angelus going feral over his Childe bumpin’ uglies with his Mate is something else entirely.  Like needing to know if he should bring an umbrella or build an ark.

“Both at first,” she continued in a whisper as he rocked her back and forth in his arms.  “Only Angelus now.”

“You afraid he’s this great evil, love?”  He tilted her head up to meet his gaze.

“No.”  She said at once to his surprise.  “I don’t.  Angelus for all that he went totally psycho last time he came out to play isn’t usually trying to end the world.  He likes playing in it too much for that.  After dealing with the Initiative I’m more concerned about where we stand if a human evil comes knocking than a Big Bad Wannabe.”

“Oi.”  Spike objected, stroking one hand down her golden hair.  “I’m a big boy love.  Can take care of myself if push comes to shove.  You just focus on your Slayer dreams an’ let me worry about the other, yeah?”

…

 “William, me boy.”  Angelus shook his head in mock-disappointment at the lean figure hanging from shackles on the dungeon wall.  “I thought I taught you better, dear William.”

“Angelus.”  Spike groaned opening his bruise-swollen eyes.  “Fuck off, wanker.  This is my dream.”

“Ah not sweet William after all.”  The angelic face smirked at him as his eyes flashed amber-gold.  “I’d begun to wonder, boyo.  What with you sniffing after me Slayer.”  Angelus’s voice was thick with the flavor of his native Ireland, a tell-tale sign that he was about to unleash bloody-hell on his latest victim.

Spike smirked in turn, ignoring the twinges it caused as he felt every bruise this apparition had apparently pounded into his face.

“Not yours any more, Sire.”  He sneered.  “Your ‘better half’ right bollocksed you up there, mate.  Abandoned your claim he did when ‘e woke from ‘is delirium.  Drac knew it, bloody hell, everyone, knew that Peaches left ‘is mate high an’ dry.  No one to blame for my claim on the Slayer but your own fucking soul.”

“But William,” Angelus mock-pouted at his Childe.  “Me soul won’t be about for me to punish once I wake.  And I will wake.  Sooner or later I always get what I want…”

…

He came awake to the best – or worst – bloody vision a vampire ever could see above him.  His very own Slayer-nursemaid pettin’ his forehead and watching him with loving eyes.  Yeah, the Great Wanker can take a bloody fucking hike.  For all his threats and warnings, he doesn’t have a bleedin’ leg to stand on when it comes to Spike’s girl.

Soul or no soul, she was forsaken.

Any vampire could’ve claimed her.  Drac sure as hell tried with ‘is thrall an’ all.

She’s his now and he’s never lettin’ her go.

Never.

Angelus can go bugger ‘imself if ‘e thinks he’s gonna take ‘er from ‘im.

The Poof.

Buffy leaned down, baring her neck in a wordless command.

Grasping her by the nape of her neck, Spike went into his game face before biting down on his bite scar, tapping her vein and drinking her down.  No hesitation or discretion this time, just pure lust to possess her – all of her – including her rich, powerful blood.  Anything to strengthen his claim.

Moaning, she arched her back forcing her body into sharp contact with his own.  Letting her head fall back, she held onto him as she ground her aching clit onto his denim-covered leg, her hair brushing the bed as he continued to drink.  With a groan, Spike pulled back licking the gash in her neck closed and sending another streak of heat through her already fevered system.

Impatient, he grabbed her hips and repositioned her, opening her legs until she straddled his lap completely.  Biting her again, this time with his blunt human teeth, Spike growled, sending them both over the edge.

…

“We need to go to the Magic Box.”  Buffy said, breaking the euphoric aftermath.  Lifting her head from its resting place on Spike’s motionless chest she stared down at the vampire who just cracked an eye open bad-temperedly.

Sighing she get up from his bed and threw on her clothes, a simple pair of black leather pants, combat boots, and a blood-red turtleneck halter top that covered her bite scars.  Too many times she’s had fangs buried in her neck and only half the time it was with her consent.  She isn’t ashamed of them…but she isn’t proud of the history that mars her otherwise unblemished skin either.

She was willing to die at the Master’s hands.

And she did.

She was willing to die to save Angel.

Then he left.

Dracula put her under thrall to seduce her.

Only to be undone once she tasted his blood in turn.

The one mark she doesn’t regret is Spike’s.

And it’s the one that isn’t concealed by her top.

The one mark she’s proud to bear made by the vampire she’d be proud to call her mate even if all her instincts warned that it wasn’t the time.  Not yet.  Her inner-demon nearly purrs with every stroke of his hand and become delirious with pleasure when he buries his fangs in her neck, wanting to taste his blood in turn.  A step she isn’t quite reconciled with.  She’s adjusting to having a real, live demon in her…but there’s still things…urges…she isn’t comfortable with yet.

Blood play between mates being one of them.

Although tying Spike to their bed sounds like fun…or maybe handcuffs…

“Why’re we meetin’ the Scoobies then?”  Spike asked as he pulled on his black jeans with a black T-shirt and his boots.  “We’re new lovers.  All we should be doin’ is lolling about in bed.”

Sending him a wistful glance over her shoulder she climbed up to the upper level of the crypt as he leered at the nice view of her ass she gave him in the process.

“Because if I keep avoiding them they’re going to think something’s up.”

“I’d say that’s an understatement of the situation, pet.”  Spike arched a brow as he joined her beside the sarcophagus.  Moving to her side he entwined their hands as they ventured out into the night.  He noticed something about her left hand as it was encompassed by his.  “When did you stop wearing your ring, sweetheart?”

His voice was soft with understanding as he asked her the question.  She got the undertones.  What he really wanted to know was when she stopped considering herself Angel’s property.  After she left the ring at the Mansion and then recovered it upon Angel’s return from his hell dimension she started wearing a plain silver band that covered her entire knuckle.  A simple thing that had a world of meaning.

“When I had the first vision.”  She said as they neared the center of town, their walk having been silent as Spike waited patiently for her to answer his question.  “When I found out how little value he placed on us.”

When I found out how much one choice of his – made without any consultation or discussion – changed both our lives forever.  When I found out the price of his arrogance.

Spike gave her hand a comforting squeeze, somehow knowing in that way he has that there was more to it than that but being willing to wait for her to tell him.  Their relationship being confirmed gave him a security about his place in her heart, bed, and life that allowed him a certain magnanimous attitude towards her former relationship with his Sire.  He could afford to be patient and gracious.

He won.

The Poof lost.

Life – or rather undeath – is good.

Grabbing the door handle, he held it open for his lady, the gentleman that he once was rising to the fore with all the loyalty and devotion that he’s always lavished on the female of…well…any species.  He adores his womenfolk whether they’re human, demon, Slayer, or in the case of the Bit a “green glowing ball of power.”  His womenfolk are his womenfolk and are for him to protect and adore even if they require neither.

Even if that makes him a bit too close to being a poofy ponce like Peaches…well…he’ll bloody well deal with it.  He can still enjoy a good slaughter or a bit of violence, he just likes having a soft, sweet-smelling Slayer to come home to.

Even better if that spot of violence includes watching her kick ass.

“What’s Captain Peroxide doing here?”  Xander asked absently as he munched on the contents of one of the several pizza boxes on the table.

Spike growled, his eyes flashing amber.

“What you gonna do?”  Xander scoffed, ignoring the cautioning look from Buffy.  “You can’t touch me, fang boy.  You’re just a toothless, shock-collared puppy.”

Spike ignored the whelp and lifted his love’s hand and gave her a kiss on her knuckles as the shop phone rang.  Dawn hurried over to answer it, her head spinning from the heaviness that’s swamped the room as the Scoobies watched Spike and Buffy gobsmacked and building up a head of steam.  She’s just a kid for all that she’s an immortal key-thing.  She’ll think about all of this stuff later.  Right now all she wants to think about is this new development between Buffy and Spike that’s flown right under the radar but must have been building for a while for them to be so comfortable about coming out with it.

“Hello, Magic Box.”  She chirped.

“Ah yes,” Wesley tugged on his collar.  “Is Buffy available?”

“Let me see.”  Turning to her sister she covered the phone’s mouthpiece.  “For you, some English dude.”

“Giles?”  Buffy cocked her head to one side.

“Nah, not stuffy enough.”  Spike chuckled at the Niblet’s answer.

Intrigued Buffy took the phone.

“This is Buffy.”

“Buffy, excellent.”  Wesley breathed a sigh of relief.  The last thing he wanted to have to do was drive down to Sunnydale while Angelus is locked up in the basement.

“Wesley?”

“I’m afraid we have something of a situation…”

…

Buffy stared at the now-dead phone as she hung it back on the cradle.  Turning she faced the implacable face of her vampire.

“You know.”  She whispered, knowing he heard the whole conversation she just had with the former-Watcher.  “There’s sometimes I just hate being right…”

…

“Wesley me boy.”  Angelus greeted the man with false cheer as he came down the stairs.  “How’s that delicious little thing…Fred was it?  Could smell the tension there…”

Wesley just gave him a haughty look as he kept well clear of the white “safe” zone line.  They’d marked three zones on the concrete floor.  White “safe”, yellow “warning”, and red “danger” zones for dealing with this…creature.

“I want my Slayer, Wesley.”  Angelus’s voice was chilling when paired with the playful smirk on his mouth.  “Where’s my Slayer?  Aren’t you Watchers supposed to be able to control your Slayers?  Oh that’s right…”  His tone was pure mocking now.  “You’re a failure as a Watcher.  Couldn’t even pretend to control my Buffy and that Faith…”  He tsked.  “A murderess.  Such a proud legacy for your family’s Watcher dynasty.”

Angelus always did know where to turn the knife, preferring to use the truth to wound than any pretty lie.  The pain is so much more exquisite that way.  A veritable feast for his senses.

“She’s coming.”  Was all he could say.

What else could he say?

All Wesley felt was shame but not for the reasons Angelus would think.  For how he treated Buffy after he found out about her inability to kill Angelus.  How was any seventeen-year-old girl supposed to face off against this creature?  Especially when it wears the face of her first love?  That she finally after months of his torment sent him to hell was nothing short of miraculous.

“Oh goody.”  The demon grinned, holding his arms behind his head.  “I can’t wait to see her.  So much for us to talk about, you know.”

“She’s not the child you tormented.”  Wesley commented as he turned to leave.  “Not anymore.”  Not for a long time.

“Wesley, Wesley.”  Angelus shook his head with a mocking sigh.  “I am always here.  Always watching.  I know what Buffy has become.”

“No you don’t.”  The disgraced Watcher whispered almost too low for the vampire to hear.  “Because Angel hasn’t the foggiest notion of who she is.  Not anymore.  You don’t have the slightest clue of who Buffy is.  Not anymore.”

…

“The way forward is back.”  Whistler stepped once more from the shadows of Buffy’s dreams, face grave.  “The way back is forward.”

Buffy groaned, plopping her head into her hands at the cryptic.

Always with the cryptic.

Looking up, she frowned lightly, recognizing her old high school before it was destroyed taking out the Mayor.

Specifically, the area in the library directly over the Hellmouth.

“Can I buy a vowel?”  Buffy asked waspishly.  “Or a coherent hint maybe?”

“What have you learned since I visited last?”  Whistler asked, dropping down into one of the spindly library chairs and kicking his feet up on the table.

“Angel’s a fucking asshole who – intentionally or otherwise – killed our child.”  Buffy bit out, pacing in restrained fury.  “Angelus is back thanks to an epically stupid decision from the Fang Gang.  My friends are falling apart, I’m demon-kin, and I’m in love with my second Aurelian Master Vampire, and some unnamed Big Bad is coming thanks to my being pulled out of Heaven.”

“What if I told you there was a way to fix it?”  Whistler prompted.

“I’d ask you what the price was.”  Buffy replied immediately.  “I’m already paying the consequences of being resurrected.  I know my muted emotions aren’t normal and the Big Bad is a major problem.  I don’t think adding to the situation is the best idea in the world.”

“You’re right, it’s not.”  Whistler told her.  “Before you were pulled things were headed in a certain direction.  Maybe not the best future but there was a future.  Now, even if you defeat the one that’s coming, there’s always another and another each worse and worse.  Evil that makes Glorificus’s little tantrum seem like a nice walk in the park.”

Buffy froze in her tracks, turning slowly to stare in shock at the balance demon in service to the Powers That Be.

“How do you fix what’s already broken?”  Buffy whispered.

“Forward is back.”  Whistler repeated.  “The way back is forward.  The cost of undoing a single day was Angel bearing the memory of what could have been.  That was to be it.”

“But it wasn’t.”  Buffy’s fists curled, nails digging into her palms.  “A life was taken as well.”

“The life of a Champion.”  Whistler added, nodding when her bright green eyes darted to him in shock.  “He wouldn’t have had quite your strength or speed, but he would have been a glory to behold.  A fighter through and through.  The life of a Champion was taken by the Oracles.  The Powers can’t give it back in the current state.  But.”

“But,” Buffy sighed, shaking her head and blinking back tears.  “It could be used for something else in return.”

“Forward is back or from beneath you it devours.”  Whistler told her.  “Which destiny you want to face you have one day to decide.  If you choose this path, you’ll bear the same burden as Angel, remembering all while the others are unaware.  If you manage to get your hands on Angel’s soul while you’re in LA, you might be able to bargain it for a boon, depending on how you want to manage things whatever you choose.”

“Only a day?”

“Trust me.”  Whistler snorted as the dreamscape started to fade away.  “It’ll be more than enough.”

…

The sound of footsteps roused Angelus from his waking dreams.  Opening his eyes as he laid flat out on the concrete floor with his hands behind his head, he turned to face the door leading down to his basement cell.  Over the last day since they locked his body in this cell before removing the soul, only Wesley has braved the demon in their midst.  Not even Angel’s whelp has come to goggle at the monster in its cage.

These steps were lighter – but furtive.

Someone doesn’t want to be caught talking to him.

As the door opened Angelus found himself rather underwhelmed.  Damn and he was hoping for a surprise to relieve his boredom until his Slayer gets here.  Although he did arch a brow as the rather cubby brunette unplugged the camera before walking into its range.

“You’ve really let yourself go, lass.”  Angelus drawled, taking in Cordelia’s shorn hair and heavy figure.  “I doona see what me soul was thinkin’ keepin’ you around.”

“Oh shut up, Angelus.”  Cordy snapped as she stepped up to the white line.  “I’m here to make you a deal.”

Sitting up in an absent flex of muscle, the demon eyed her.  Surely the woman knew that the ex-Watcher already made a deal with the devil as it were.  What could she possibly have to offer him that he would be interested in?  Cocking his head to one side as heard the faintest clicking of heels coming this way as a wicked grin flashed across his face, a grin that the creature before him completely misinterpreted.

“Are ya, now?  Well that’s interesting.”  And completely predictable.  “What are you here to bribe me with to cooperate?  A bright new car?  I’ve heard the new Mustangs are a thing of beauty.”  He flashed a smirk as he heard the steps pause just outside the door…

…

Gunn looked up from polishing his favorite knife as the doors to the hotel blew open at the sudden entrance of a pair of blondes.

“Can I help…?”  He trailed off as the duo completely ignored him, the woman turning to the man and looking up at him.

“Where is he?”  She asked her companion.

The tall, lean male in the leather duster gave a suspicious sniff before jerking his head towards the door to the basement – and Angelus’s cell.  Acting like none of the AI team existed, Buffy strode for the door as Spike dropped the bag in his hand on the floor and dropped down into one of the chairs in the lobby, sprawling out with his usual lack of concern.

Wes saw their less-than-lowkey arrival and moved into the lobby to intercept them.

“Buffy,” he greeted her, flashing a look of contempt towards her vampiric companion.  William the Bloody.  Marvelous.  Because they don’t have enough crazed vampires from the Order of Aurelius running around L.A. these days.  “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“You call, I come, I slay.”  She said after a moment, giving him an indecipherable look from her bright green eyes.  “Whose idea was it to unleash one of the most vicious and powerful vampires ever upon the world?”  She needed to know who to slap first.

“Well,” Wes pinched the bridge of his nose.  “It was a group decision, as such.”

“Oh goody.”  She said giving a now-scathing glance at the team that has steadily gathered in the lobby.  “Well then, feel free to share this with them.”

With a resounding “smack!” she backhanded him, making his head turn to the side as he nearly stumbled with the force of the blow.  The AI team moved to attack only to be held up at a gesture from Wes.  Spike remained spectacularly unconcerned about all the by-play.  All he wants to know is what beastie they need to hunt and kill so he can take his girl back to their lair.

“No.”  Wes shook his head, one hand rotating his jaw to ensure it was still attached.  “I rather deserved that.”

“Yes.”  Buffy said simply, crossing her arms over her chest.  “You did.  Unleashing Angelus, for any reason, is a bad idea.”  Her voice softened, sending chills up the backs of the AI team.  “You weren’t there, Wesley.  For all your studying and research and the time you’ve spent with Angel, you weren’t there.  You’ve never dealt with Angelus.  That Angel would agree to this is what really confuses me.”

Turning her back on Angel’s team, Buffy strode onwards towards her nemesis wearing the face of the man who used to own her heart.

She’d planned carefully for this confrontation.  The subtext of her conversation with Wesley was easy for anyone to read.  They don’t know Angelus.  But she does.  And she’s used what she knows to prepare herself.

That included what she wore since as surely as he’s a demon, he still appreciates a beautiful woman.  It was a part of his essential self that carried over from his human lifetime.  Angelus has the refined palate of an artist.  And this is one time where Buffy has no problem playing up to it.

Taking off her leather jacket, she tossed it to her vampire and strode from the room, leaving the others speechless in her wake.

Her hair and makeup had been done with a deft hand, playing up her more mature beauty versus the ingénue that Angelus fought years ago.  Blonde locks spilled in a wild tumble down her back, as if they’ve been tussled by a lover’s hands.  Her eyes were done up in smoke greys while her lips were a rich red.  Blood red silk covering her body.  Red leather high-heeled sandals covered her feet and exposed matching red-tipped toes.  Her dress was modest enough in the neckline by barely exposing her collarbones but lost all pretensions at modesty when it came screaming to a stop at barely below her ass while her entire back was almost exposed by the dress’s deep v.

But the coup de grace was her necklace.

A gift from Angelus himself – which made Spike snarl when she finally showed him what was in the velvet wrapped bundle in the chest – it was a choker-collar of white gold and stunning red diamonds.  Over two inches high, it banded across her neck in a luxurious display of wealth – and ownership.

Spike is her lover and it chafed at him to have her wear something that smacks of another’s claim on her.  But in this situation it can’t be helped.  This Beast demon has blocked out the sun and only Angelus seems to have any information.  Her chances of actually getting it from him will be a lot better if she plays to his vanity.

To that end she also has the dagger he left her strapped to one thigh.

Her Scythe she left with her vampire, hidden beneath his jacket.  No one knows as yet of her possession of the weapon and that’s how she’d like it to stay.  Whatever she decided.  Her conversation in her catnap from Sunnydale to LA something she was holding close to her chest for now.

Hearing voices, Buffy came to a stop before the door separating her from the creature that still haunts her.  Cocking her head she listened a moment.

“…No, something better.”

Buffy arched a brow.  What the hell was Cordy doing down there talking to Angelus?

Angelus scoffed, shaking his head.  “What’s a better ride than a new Mustang?”

“Me.”

Opening the door Buffy couldn’t hold in her giggles as she came down the stairs, instantly gaining two sets of eyes watching her upon her entrance.

“Wow, Cordy.”  She laughed, shaking her head as she locked eyes with Angelus.  “Desperate much?  Must be all that extra weight you’ve put on recently…”

“Shut up, Ms. Slays-A-Lot.”  Cordelia snapped, enraged by the woman’s inopportune timing.  “I’ll have you know Angel loves me now.”

“Really?”  She asked Angelus skeptically, arching a brow.

“No accounting for taste, lover.”  He answered with a shrug as he climbed to his feet and sauntered over to the bars.  With a wicked smirk as grasped them in his large hands, casting his eyes up and down her silk-clad form.  My, my.   His little Mate sure has grown.  “Personally I prefer dangerous blondes, meself.”

Tossing her head, Buffy gave him a wicked grin of her own, catching her tongue between her teeth in a gesture stolen from Spike.  Recognizing it, Angelus gave a little growl.

“See,” Cordy said with a dismissive wave of her hand.  “No need for,” eyeing Buffy’s clothes in distaste, “Slutty the Vampire Layer here.”

“Oh, I wouldna say that Cordy, lass.”  Angelus interrupted her with a pouting look.  “Angel may be infatuated with you, but I only want me Slayer.”  Turning to face his favorite blonde, he gave her a charming smile.  “I see you got my presents, lover.”

Running one hand across the necklace so Cordy knew exactly what Angelus was talking about Buffy watching in undisguised glee as Queen C stormed from the room.  Waiting for the pounding footsteps to retreat, the vampire and the Slayer watched each other warily.  Once she was sure of being alone, Buffy collapsed in giggles against the wall as Angelus watched her in amusement.

“I’ve wanted to put her in her place for sooo long.”  She finally said as she caught her breath, wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Glad to be of…service, lover.”  Angelus said his voice ripe with seductive intent as he watched her saunter closer.  The little cheerleader is long gone.  This Buffy is a whole new creature, one that if possible fascinates him even more than her formerly-naive self.

Buffy just arched a brow.

“You demanded my presence before you would tell them what they want to know about this demon.”  She spread her arms in a wordless “here I am” gesture.  “What is it you want in exchange for your assistance?”

“Do you really have to ask, lover?”

“Besides your freedom.”  She said immediately, a faint hint of regret coursing through her.  Regret?  Why would I ever regret not letting this monster out of his cage?  What is going on with me since I came back?  Before she could panic over her conflicting thoughts and emotions, he spoke again.

Angelus gripped the iron bars of his cage until his knuckles whitened.  There was something off about her.  Something has changed since the soul saw her last.  Whatever it was it went far deeper than her return to the living.  Inhaling deeply he stared at her eyes, a little smirk playing across his mouth as rage sparked in his eyes.

“Someone’s been a bad, bad girl, lover.”  His voice was deceptively calm.  “And someone’s been a very bad Childe.”

Fear trickled along her back at his words.  Fucker.  He knew.  Somehow he knew.

“Whatever we’ve been,” she said at last, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he still frightens her.  Although the effect now is radically different than it was before.  Her reaction to Angelus now was entirely feminine and primal, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her…much…but he wouldn’t hesitate to punish her for what he obviously saw as a major infraction.  Before she would’ve been scared for her life and running for the door.  “It’s none of your affair.  Not anymore.”

With a curse he punched the iron bars in front of him, making them rattle.

“You’re my Mate!”  He roared.  “And you gave yourself to that whelp!  I’ll gut him and hang him from the rafters and you…”

“He’s my lover.”  She strode right up to the red “danger” zone and stared him down, her green eyes flashing silver for a moment, making him pause in his rant.  “Spike is mine now.  Not you.  Not anymore.”

“What?!”  The group at the door exclaimed in unison, the presence of the majority of the AI team going unnoticed by the combative duo.  Only Lorne and Fred had remained abovestairs to keep an eye on Spike while Connor was out and about somewhere.

Wesley eyed the pair, seeing for himself for the first time just how volatile the combination of the Slayer and Angelus was.  Cordelia was still seething over the dismissal from Angelus and plotting how to use this information against the blonde once Angel was back.  Gunn was just skeeved out over how the pretty woman could fuck not one but two vampires.

“Is this true, Buffy?”  Wes demanded, ignoring the growl from Angelus over his disrespect to his Mate.

His Mate no matter what fucking shit the soul pulled or what bonds have been formed in his absence.  She’s still his fucking Mate.  No matter what, she always will be.  He wants no other.  That silver flash in her eyes was very interesting though.  He wondered if either Buffy’s Scoobies or the soul’s team knew that the Slayer was part demon?

“Yes, lover.”  He mocked Wes.  “Is it true that you’re a dirty, dirty Mate who needs to be punished?”

Buffy just rolled her eyes and brushed past the gathered group and out of the basement.

“I came, he saw me.”  She said as she strode from the room.  “He’s your problem now.”

…

When the AI team came up from the basement, Gunn left immediately after grabbing Fred to go investigate the Svea Priestesses that Angelus told them about after much mocking and disdain from the vampire.  Some of the things that creature said about his Fred…  Gunn shook his head.  He didn’t know how the little blonde had survived dealing with that mouth for months the first time Angelus slipped his collar.

Cordelia simply stormed off upstairs, infuriated all over again by Angelus’s constant scathing remarks.

Rubbing his forehead, Wes moved over to the trio that was seated comfortably in the lobby.  As he sat, a look from Buffy sent Spike off into the hotel.

Her vampire had better things to do than play nice with her former Watcher, this entire situation stunk to high heaven and while the others were busy there wasn’t going to be a better time for Spike to do a little digging into this group’s dirty laundry as it were.  Hopefully all he’ll find is that Wes and Cordy were carrying on an illicit affair, but Buffy rather doubted that whatever secrets this crew was keeping close would be that benign.

“We have a problem.”  Wes stated bluntly, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.  “As you’ve…taken up with Spike, a soulless vampire, it makes it difficult if not impossible to trust the pair of you.”  Especially with Angelus still claiming that she’s his Mate and Spike being Angelus’s Childe.

“But you need me, and my soulless vampire,” she said the last bitterly.  “For this fight you’ve got going on.  You’re out-classed and out-gunned.  And that was before you let Angelus out to play.”

“Precisely.”  Wes heaved a heavy breath.  Her summary of the situation was apt enough.  “We need to be able to trust you Buffy.”

Sighing, she crossed her legs and leaned back against the couch she was sitting on, eyeing the green demon that had spent the last half-hour sipping a Sea Breeze and chatting gregariously with Spike.

“I suppose that’s where you come in?”  She shot Lorne a look.

“You bet, my little strudel.”  Lorne toasted her with his drink.  “A little ditty from you and I can set everyone’s mind at ease.”

…

Speeding silently through the hotel, Spike searched for the faint presence he felt pinging in the back of his mind.  Contrary to what Peaches’ people obviously thought, he and his girl didn’t just walk into this situation blind.  As soon as they heard from Wes that they’d released the soul from Angelus, the two of them came up with a rough plan.  His little love was pulling off her part superbly, keeping everyone off balance with her beautiful bitch routine and throwing Angelus for a loop with her screwing another vampire.

Now it was his turn to go to work.

They needed the soul in their possession.

Spike had already sussed out that it wasn’t in Peaches’ safe like it was supposed to be.  Someone among the group was playing a deep game of their own.  The only real question was who.  As he got closer to the captive soul – that buggering irritating presence that’s crawling around and getting on his damned nerves – Spike smiled.

There were only two scents prevalent in this corner of the hotel.

One was the great poof himself and the other…the poofter’s little cheerleader.

Cordy, Cordy, Cordy.  Spike tsked in his head as he entered the empty room.  Following his instincts, he flipped up the blankets that covered the bed and peered into the space below the frame.  As he picked up the glowing orb, sturdier than an Orb of Thessula, Spike shook his head with a sigh.  And Angelus said Buffy’s been a bad girl…

…

“That’s nice in theory.”  Buffy sighed after Lorne and Wes described how the green demon’s powers work.  “But there’s a problem.”

“What?”  Wes asked shortly.

“Mates.”  She said quietly, eyes focused on some distant point not visible to the other men…ish people.  “Mates are bound to each other completely.  I don’t think Lorne will be able to get any kind of clear read on me.”

“Do a duet then, sugar plum.”  Lorne shrugged, sipping at his drink.  “You and Angelus’s auras will mix and mingle and I can get a read that-a way.”

“What’s this then?”  Spike asked, coming to stand behind his girl and dropping one hand on her shoulder, the orb safely hidden away in a secret compartment in the DeSoto.  “You wouldn’t happen to be tryin’ to make us burn, are ya?”

“Had a run-in with a red demon?”  Lorne asked, casting them a surprised look.  Sweet usually didn’t leave survivors.  “Kinda like a demonic Fred Astair?”

Buffy just cringed as Spike told the others about their run-in with the singing-cursing demon butthead.

Lorne shook his head, so much talent in Sweet but always with the child-bride thing.

Wes caught Spike up on Lorne’s powers, casting an impatient look at his wrist-watch.  They didn’t have time for this.

Sharing a resigned glance Buffy and Spike knew instinctively what they would sing for the demon.

“I touch the fire and it freezes me…”

“I died so many years ago…”

“I look into it and it’s black, this isn’t real…”

“But you can make me feel.”  They finished together, daring Lorne to speak out of turn about them and their relationship.

The green demon gulped, catching the warning clear as day in their combined auras.  Hokey, then.  No talky about demon essences or mating or anything else.  But what a future…too bad I can’t see a big chunk of it and I need to talk to the little cutie alone…stat.

“We can trust them.”  He said once he gathered his thoughts.

“Excellent,” Wes brightened up considerably, coming to his feet.  “Now then…”

“But there’s a problem.”  Lorne interrupted the demon hunter.

“Problem?”  Spike asked his voice silky with threat. 

Wes just gave Lorne a frustrated glance.

“Greatttt….”  Buffy laid her head on the back of the couch with a groan, staring up at Spike.  “You know that the problem is, dontcha, love?”

Spike grimaced.  He knew all right.  He just fucking hated it…for the most part.  Part of him was kinda…relieved and excited that the wanker was such a big part of them.  The fucking fecker.

“What?”  Lorne asked, clueless.

“Angelus.”  Buffy said at once, closing her eyes.  “He’s my Mate and Spike’s Sire.  The missing piece to our little song is Angelus.”

…

“And how do you suggest we convince the Great Wanker to make with the doe-ray-mes then?”  Spike mocked Watcher Jr. relentlessly as Wesley and Lorne slipped into a debate over the missing chunks of Spike and Buffy’s auras and futures.

Buffy leaned back into her vampire’s embrace, tucking her head into his shoulder.  They’ve barely talked about any of it – Angel/Angelus, the funkiness that’s going on with the Fang Gang – but their plan was still mostly valid.  She’d felt through their bond earlier the satisfaction and surprise Spike felt when he found Angel’s missing soul.

And Lorne at least trusts them after his reading which is a plus.

She shivered thinking about how sideways things seem to be going – and fast.

No wonder Whistler told her it would only take a day for her to decide if things were as fucked up in LA as they were in Sunnydale.

Looked to her like her resurrection wasn’t the only problem.

How to fix it, even if she took Door Number One, was the question.

Before it was easy – super-pissed at Angel, never want him back in her life, still scarred from her last run-in with Angelus and hoping he never returns.

But now…

Angelus has returned, he still sees Buffy as his, and hating him…

Yeah.  Things got wonky the second she stepped through the doors of the Hyperion.

Before even.

From the moment she unwrapped his necklace and locked it around her neck.

Spotting her shiver, Spike pulled her closer, wrapping her discarded jacket around her dainty shoulders.

Devil take the stubborn bint, but she’d insisted on facing his sire alone.  Not that Spike thought his own presence would’ve helped matters much.  He’s evil not delusional.  But it’s tearing him up inside feeling all her turmoil and confusion flowing through her scent.

Yeah, that little vampire perk got right muddled up once Green-Jeans told them about their missin’ bits-and-bobs.

Nah, he’s lyin’ to ‘imself.

Spike could bloody well smell ‘is Sire’s satisfaction, arousal, and burning anger from his seat in the bleedin’ lobby.

An’ only the Sire and Spike’s Slayer know what was said between the two of them while they were alone down there, an’ more what the cunning arsehole figured out just from seein’ her and talkin’ to her, watching her every move and every flicker of expression crossing her face.

Angelus is a fucking master of that shit, one of the things that made him so damned good at torturing damn near everybody around him.

“Ok, then sweetheart?”  Spike whispered in her ear, his nose gently nuzzling among her riotous golden curls.

“Trying to hold it together.”  She admitted brushing his cheek with her hand.  “The thought that either Angel or Angelus is still such a big part of us that we’re not, our future’s not, complete without him…”

She trailed off a moment slamming her eyes closed as she sucked in a harsh breath.

“Not of the good.”  She finished, Spike giving her an understanding nod.

As Wesley raised his voice in frustration, Buffy focused back in on their companions, the ex-Watcher and the demon still fighting it out.

“What’s the what?”  She asked wearily.  “All we need is my evil ex-boyfriend to sing a few lines with me and Spike, right?”  She arched a brow.  “Angelus isn’t exactly all that hard to bribe as long as he’s stuck in that cage.”

Now if he got out it would be a whole different story…

“You’re not gettin’ in that cage with ‘im, love.”  Spike said immediately, knowing better than most what kinds of demands the Great Wanker was likely to make.

She rolled her eyes at him before staring at Wesley in clear expectation.

“We’ve, er,” Wesley fumbled a moment.  “Tried.”

“Evil-Angel-cakes won’t even hum a ditty for me.”  Lorne twirled his Sea Breeze.  “He knows all too much about my power.  Closest he’s come is whistling a few Irish songs.”

“Molly Malone?”  Spike hazarded with a grimace.  The two of them would sing/shout that tune whilst drunk on, well, drunks.

Not really one of his proudest moments from being a fledge.

“Quite.”  Wesley said, distaste firmly planted in his voice.  That damned tune is going to be stuck in his head for ages now.

“Other than that,” Lorne waved a hand dramatically.  “Zip, nada, nothing, my blonde-strudels.”

Buffy cocked her head to one side as she “hmm’d” under her breath.

Oi.  Spike was familiar with that look on her face.  It was the same one she had when she was explaining about the Sire’s little treasure hunt that he left behind for her.  And the same that she wore while kicking Hell-God ass.

That look – cold, determined, and thoughtful all at once – usually heralded that arrival of a bit o’ wickedness from the mind of a damned excellent strategist and warrior.

For all that his Slayer likes to sand-bag and play dumb-blonde, she’s quite the bright lil bit o’ muslin.

“What’s brewing in that tricky brain of yours now, pet?”  He eyed her with carefully concealed pride.

His dangerous little mate.

“I know a way we can force him to sing…”  She flashed Spike a knowing look.  “Whether he wants to or not.”

Lorne caught her meaning at once with Spike and Wesley not far behind him.

“My magic doesn’t work like Sweet’s, Buffy-kins.”  The demon shook his head regretfully.

“I don’t think it’s your magic she’s plannin’ on using.”  Spike said, his eyes locking on his girl’s, asking a wordless question with his gaze.  “Is it, sweetheart?”

She just gave him a bright airy smile and stood, shrugging off her jacket and taking Spike’s hand, towing him along at her side towards the basement door, Lorne and Wesley jumping up and following the mated pair down into the basement and Angelus’s temporary domain.

“I don’t quite understand.”  The ex-Watcher protested as they all descended the stairs into the damp underground level, Angelus cocking his head to one side and moving over to the bars while the group came into view.  “If Lorne’s magic cannot be used to replicate Sweet’s effect on Sunnydale, then what are we doing down here?”

“Lorne can’t do it.”  Buffy nodded in pleasant agreement as she and Spike stopped just out of reach of Angelus, facing him with their hands entwined to the elder vampire’s serious displeasure.  “Doesn’t mean I can’t do it.”

“What?”  Wesley spluttered as Lorne simply frowned thoughtfully as he leaned against the far wall, content to watch events unfold.

“Now there’s me lass.”  Angelus grinned wickedly as Spike gave a low growl at his use of the possessive word.  “Does me heart good to see you made good use of the presents I left you.  How’s that collar feel?”

Spike’s face flashed to his demon for a moment as he wrestled for control before he tore out the wanker’s fucking throat.

“What does he mean?”  Wesley demanded as the trio near or behind the bars seemed content to have a staring competition.

“Council of Wankers,” Spike sneered at Wesley.  “Have been hidin’ information on and from the Slayers.  Didn’ want them gettin’ too powerful, too independent from the Council.  So they hid weapons, tools, and lore to make the Slayers feel more vulnerable, like that damned Cruciamentum bollocks.  Made ‘em more controllable didn’ it, and the ones that didn’ last or weren’t controllable well that was no great loss.  Another Slayer always pops up.”

“Ooh.”  Angelus said with a spiteful look in his eyes as Buffy leaned into Spike for a millisecond at the reminder of her own Cruciamentum.  “Wee Willy’s been crackin’ the Slayer’s books open along with her knees.”  He finished with a leer.

The pair refused to flinch at the accusing, betrayed tone buried in Angelus’s voice.  They knew when they consummated their relationship that if he ever came back he would be indescribably pissed over their union.  From his perspective it was a betrayal of the lowest sort, worse by far than their alliance during Acathla, that of Childe and Mate not merely Childe and Enemy.  No matter what his soul did to help bring it about, Angelus would have his pound of flesh out of them over it one way or another.

And if his ire caused dissention among the soul’s Fang Gang all the better.

Frankly, both Spike and Buffy would rather he took it literally from their bodies than be forced to listen to him talk about either one of them with that lewd smirk.

Angelus’s words have a way of cutting much deeper than any knife or whip could in his hand.

Buffy spared Wesley a glance from the corner of her eye.

“Slayers, all Slayers, are inherently magical.”  She explained as she crouched pricking her finger and drawing a rune on the floor in her own blood.  “It’s one of the things that separates a Potential from a Slayer.  Just one of many things the Council has hidden in recent centuries.  After Sweet’s unhappy departure from SunnyHell I learned how his spell worked just in case he ever decided to come back for revenge.”

“You’re not resoulling me, now, are you lover?”  Angelus’s voice was silky with his implied threat.  As bad as his Childe and Mate joining as lovers themselves without his approval was, nothing would be as bad in his eyes as Buffy shoving that damned soul down his throat herself.

Spike snorted.

“Nope, Sire.”  He answered for his otherwise occupied consort.  “Jus’ need you to sing a nice little tune with us for Green-Jeans over there.”  He pointed cheerily to Lorne, a mocking smirk on his face as Angelus growled.

“I don’t sing.”  The pissed-off Master vampire hissed as Buffy stood with a patronizing giggle.

“Oh, lover.”  She tsked.  “Who said you have any choice in the matter?”

With a little grin her eyes flashed silver before she began the song using a modified version of Sweet’s spell.  It would only affect the three of them and only for this one song.  Each would join when needed and Lorne could get the reading the Fang Gang seemed so fucking desperate for.

Buffy: “If you were the ocean and I was the sun, If the day made me heavy and gravity won, If I was the red and you were the blue, I could just fade into you.”

Spike: “If you were a window and I was the rain, I’d pour myself out and wash off your pain.  I’d fall like a tear so your light could shine through, then I’d just fade into you.”

Angelus felt the pull of her damned spell sucking him under as the two of them stared into each other’s eyes before turning the full effect of their gazes onto him.  As their voices joined together the magic grabbed him by the balls and pulled the words out of him.

Buff and Spike: “In your heart, in your head, in your arms, in your bed, under your skin.  Until there’s no way to know where you end, and where I begin.”

Angelus: “If I was a shadow and you were the street, the cobblestone midnight is where we first meet.  ‘Til the lights flickered out, we dance with the moon, then I’d just fade into you.”

Lorne gasped as he saw Angelus’s aura for the first time.  It was so different than Angel’s.  That was to be suspected, he was a soulless psycho killer after all, but there was something else to it too…  Lorne could almost put his finger on it when his attention was drawn to the future spiraling out before him as Buffy and Spike joined in for the chorus and bridge.

All three: “In your heart, in your head, in your arms, in your bed, under your skin.  Until there’s no way to know where you end, and where I begin.  I wanna melt in, I wanna soak through, I only wanna move when you move.  I wanna breathe out when you breathe in, then I wanna fade into you.”

The men’s voices faded away as the spell started to lose its grip, leaving Buffy alone to finish the song that she’d begun, the words haunting in their meaning.

Buffy: “If I were just ashes, and you were the ground, and under your willow they laid me down.  There’d be no trace, that one was once two.  After I fade into you…”

She almost hit her knees except for Spike’s arm around her waist as the spell let go of her, the magic leaving a void in its wake.

“Oh.  My.  Showbiz.”  Lorne gulped down his Sea Breeze, stunned by what he saw in the three of them both alone and combined.

“What?”  Wesley whispered harshly, although it was rather pointless with three super-charged beings in the basement.  “What did you see?”

Lorne gave a small smile as the spell broke.

“Perfection.”  He whispered more from shock than any attempt at secrecy.  “A perfect triad made from utterly balanced power.”

He gestured towards the implacable form of Angelus, the vampire’s arm still reaching for Buffy’s weakened form through the bars from when she almost collapsed.

“Passion.”

Then he motioned to Buffy.

“Strength.”

Finally to Spike who turned his head to stare at the demon with a glint of gold in his icy-blue eyes.

“And loyalty.  Together there’s nothing the three of them can’t do.”  He shook his head with a cluck of his tongue.  “Now getting them to work together…that’s the hard part.  And I wouldn’t make any bets on how or why it’ll happen.  All I know is it’s not going to be easy.  Not for them or anyone around them.”

He chuckled as he walked towards the stairs with a light spring in his step.

“Should be very, very entertaining watching the fireworks though…”  He glanced over at Buffy who was being held tight in her vampire’s arms.  “Need to have a word with Buffy-kins, however.”

“What?”  Wesley frowned even as Spike and Angelus hissed poisoned barbs at each other.  “Why?”

“A private matter, sweetcheeks.”  Lorne told him firmly, holding out his elbow gallantly for the lovely petite blonde.  “Doesn’t have a thing to do with the Beast, demon’s honor.”

…

Chapter Text

Cobblestone Midnight

Author’s Note: As a reminder, the first chapter was a mashup/edited/retconned version of xsphinxslady’s Fade Into You and we are now officially into strict Sif Shadowheart territory.

Enjoy!

Chapter Two: Until the Lights Flicker Out

Buffy tucked one scarred but dainty hand into the corner of Lorne’s offered arm, allowing the Pylean empathic demon to escort her up the basement stairs to the lobby and into what looked like Wes’s office, the former-Watcher turned demon hunter still occupied with Angelus along with Spike…though the latter was much more likely to be sniping and snarking with his Sire than doing anything particularly helpful even from her newly more tolerant of his foibles perspective.

Lorne, gentle-demon that he prided himself on being, lowered her gallantly into one of Wesley’s office chairs then sat down facing her, leaning over until his eyes were even with her own and asked:

“They don’t know, do they?”

“About the dreams and the offer?”  Buffy checked, jaw tightening at Lorne’s slow nod.  “No, not…not really.”

“Good.”  Lorne told her with a seriousness he rarely exhibited.  “If you’re going to take it you need to keep it that way.”

“They’ll stop me, won’t they?”  She sighed, having already figured Angelus for that much at least, though Spike wasn’t a major surprise either.  Both were educated demons who knew more about the arcane than a human could learn in a single lifetime, they would know the risks and costs of what Whistler offered better than anyone.  That didn’t mean she was going to ignore the incessant prodding of the Powers That Be.  Part-demon or not, she played for their team no matter how dark she grew.  And she really didn’t want to meet a Big Bad with the tagline of “from beneath you it devours” if it can at all be prevented.

“Mhmm.”  Lorne hummed his answered, pleased that Buffy seemed a lot more mature and grounded than either Angel or Cordelia’s tales had made her seem.  Though, and it had always struck him, Wesley who had more reason than anyone to speak badly of her given their rocky history never had.  No.  The former Watcher, Buffy’s former Watcher, had given her a level of respect that was often hard-won from the Englishman.  “You’ve only ever seen them at odds, strudel.  When those two work together their enemies shudder and kingdoms fall.”  Lorne shivered at bit at what he’d seen when Angelus’s and Spike’s auras had mingled during their song.

“Yeah.”  Buffy shook her head with a wince.  “I kinda got that impression from the Watcher journals.”

“They’re the Whirlwind, blondie.”  Lorne told her.  “They were famous in demonic circles and infamous everywhere else.  Darla and Drusilla played their parts but together Angelus and Spike represent a fierce intelligence and cunning that’s second to none.  Are you sure you want to gamble all our futures on it?  Dead certain that you’re not doing this for the wrong reasons?”

“As I can be.”  Buffy shifted, uncomfortable with the intense scrutiny of the demonic empath’s insight.  “Angel hurt me.  Broke me in ways Angelus would never conceive over ego of all shitty things.  I admit it.  It would be easy to say I’m taking the chance I am to get back at him…but while there is some of that there, I’m the Slayer.  Personal vendettas have to come second to the greater good, even if I had to learn that the hard way.  If you saw anything about me in my song, you saw that.”

“Then don’t say goodbye to them.”  Lorne told her, giving her the best advice he could under the circumstances.  He’d been right after all.  He couldn’t see a way with how things are for the trio needed to save the world – a lot – to come together as they should.

That didn’t mean one didn’t exist.

It simply didn’t exist in the now.

“Don’t look back at them, don’t give them a chance to change your mind or make you regret it.  If you try and say goodbye, you’ll never say goodbye until the lights flicker out of their eyes and they’re nothing but dust and ash.”  Lorne cautioned.  “The only way forward now is through.  You started the path, now you have to see where it ends.”

“You pulled me away to let me go, didn’t you?”  Buffy asked as she rose to her feet with a wry smile.

“My gifts aren’t total, I’m not omniscient.”  Lorne answered.  “But if you got what you wanted here how could anyone ask you to find the strength to let go and risk losing it there?”

“Time travel’s a headache.”  Buffy winced, wrinkling her nose.  “And I haven’t even been dropped in the past yet.”

“No kidding, dollface.”  Lorne gave a sympathetic grimace as the balance demon stepped out of nothing and into the office.  That fedora with a bowling shirt was not a good look.

“Take care of them for me, Lorne?”  Buffy asked with a soft look in her eyes.

“How ‘bout you look after them for me?”  Lorne smiled.  “Then this whole convo will be moot in the first place.”

“Sounds like a plan.”  The blonde turned to Whistler, stone-faced with resolve.  “Let’s do this.”

…

Whistler placed one hand lightly on her arm and the office around them faded, leaving them in that same not-right version of her high school library, only there was a glowing book open in the center of the wide conference table.

“The way forward is back.”  Whistler told her once more, removing his touch from her person and waving the deceptively delicate blonde towards the book.  “Where is your choice.  Given all that has and had and will happen again, I suggest you choose wisely.”

Silk mini-dress still in place along with her diamond choker and Slayer dagger, Buffy took his implied invitation, setting her hands down on the table beside the book and watching with eyes raging between hot regret and cold conviction.  When even a prophetic empath can’t see a way forward, the future was fucked.  Now it was up to her to decide what she was going to do about it.

Before her conflicted eyes, the pages of the book turned, each page a captured moment from her life, starting from the moment of her Calling and moving forward alternating with the moment she left with Whistler and moving backward, the scenes far-past and near-past facing each other with every turn of the page.

“What about my memories?”  Buffy thought to ask as she noted what was throwing her off about the far-past memories.  Namely, that Dawn wasn’t a part of them.  “Will I have the correct set for the time or the ones I have now?”

That she was going back to before Dawn went without saying.

If Lorne was right, and she was inclined to believe him, then she needed both Spike and Angelus onside.

By the time Dawn was inserted into her life, any chance of that was well and truly gone.

More…Buffy saw no reason that her son should die twice because his father was a selfish ass who couldn’t handle being human, which meant she had to go back to the summer before college at the absolute earliest.

“The correct set up until Dawn’s insertion point then everything that comes thereafter.”  Whistler told her after cocking his head to the side as if listening to a distant voice.  “If that same future with Dawn comes to pass then the monks will once again alter your memories to account for her.”

“Considering that my death at Glory’s hands was one of the reasons the future was fucked.”  Buffy observed drily.  “It’s in my best interest to make sure it doesn’t – wait.”  She told the book, relieved when it stopped.  She’d already watched as her first year as a Slayer sped along with the death of her first Watcher and her taking out of her first Master Vampire in Lothos whilst on the other end of things near-past Buffy was learning of the fates of her sister-Slayers at the hand of Spike after a near-death experience of her own.

God.

Was that only a year ago?

“Where’s the asylum?”  She asked, puzzled.  There was no “revelation” talk with her parents either.  It had skipped straight from her being accused of burning down the gym at Hemery to her parents fighting and then the sit-down about the divorce.

Whistler watched her with unbearably gentle eyes, fiddling with the rolled edge of his ratty old hat.

“That was…ah…”

“Sonuva…”  Buffy hissed, biting back the scream that threatened to pour from her.  It was a fucking fake memory.  Her mother died with Buffy still resenting her for something that had never even happened curtesy of those fucking monks.

They couldn’t do their own damn jobs so they mind-whammied Buffy and everyone who’d ever even known her who was still alive to insert Dawn into her life and her protection.

Well.

At least she has a plan A: make sure no one will consider putting a powerful artifact into her protection.

Mating Angelus should fix that in a hurry.

If not, then a memory retrieval spell should take care of the rest.

“Continue.”  She ordered the book, having a better idea with that revelation of where and when she wanted to be dropped into her own timeline.  Her dad still gave a damn about her without the mystical tinkering of the monks.  Given that he’d been only semi-present during Buffy’s first semester at Sunnydale High to finish out her sophomore year and Giles and her friends, plus Angel, all knew she’d legitimately died fighting the Master it was a single window of opportunity that would let her adjust to being in the past without blowing major alarms.

Though as she eyed some of what she considered fashionable a handful of years ago, Daddy’s credit card was going to get a workout that summer.

“Stop.”  She commanded the book once more, finding the perfect spot.  Sixteen-year-old her was asleep in her mom’s Jeep on the way to LA for drop off two days after school let out.  “There.”  She tapped the picture, barely noting the one opposite it: Adam in all his monstrous glory.  “That’s when I need to go.”

“You’re sure, Slayer?”  Whistler frowned.  He would’ve figured on her choosing either before she arrived in Sunnydale at all or when Spike arrived, not an ordinary day months before the bleached menace showed up.

“Peachy with a side of keen.”  Buffy told him, even as she wasn’t looking forward to being a teenager again with all the hormonal drama.  Though given her current life she couldn’t say that’d ever gone away.  There were worse things than reliving part of high school.  Like her lover killing – unknowingly or otherwise – their child out of his own ego and inability to deal with being mortal.

Xander had been mortal most of the time baring possession or freaky accidents and he’d managed to help a lot more than most people thought despite it.

Angel could have done the same.

He hadn’t.

And it had led them here.

“Any boons you want to trade for?”

Buffy glared him down, nearly snarling.

“The Powers That Be might wager and trade on souls but that’s not my game.”  She spat.  “Whatever happens to Angel’s soul in this reality or time or whatever isn’t my call once I’m gone.  I’d rather lose a few things,” like the dagger since she couldn’t see how she’d end up with that a second time even with it strapped to her thigh.  “Than play goddess.”

“Fair enough, Slayer.”  Whistler nodded, eyeing her with no-little respect.  He’d wondered when he’d seen her send her vampire after the orb whether she’d decide to use it or not.  Glad to see that he and Doyle hadn’t been wrong about her – in this matter at least – after all.  “One sweet sixteen summer coming up.”

…

First there was tearing pain, Buffy almost able to hear Angelus and Spike scream as they were torn away from her.

As she was torn away from herself.

Then there was an endless nothingness, a nothingness she knew all too well.

And then she slammed down into the meat and bone and blood of corporeal form, eyes snapping open and coming awake with a gasp.

…

Los Angeles, CA; June 1997

“Buffy?”  Her mother looked over, worry etched into her face.  “We’re here sweetie, are you okay?”

Her twenty-two-year-old daughter opened the eyes of her sixteen-year-old body and smiled, even though she could already tell that the Powers That Be had dealt one from the bottom of the deck.  She’d chosen her insertion point better than she’d known.  Buffy was going to need every last second of her summer vacation with her father to acclimate to having not only her twenty-two-year-old memories, now including what life was like before Dawn, but also her recently upgraded demonic essence.

They hadn’t just sent her back.

They’d sent all of her back, super-Slayer-deluxe, mental baggage, and all.

All, that is, except for her bond to Angelus and her blood-link to Spike.

No, reaching up to her neck she lightly traced her hand over the already healed and scarring bite mark from the Master, that part of history hadn’t come back with her.

Just everything to do with the Slayer.

Goodie.

Now she just had to teach her much-younger body to fight and deal with her much-older moves, power, and instincts.

Joy.

“Fine, Mom.”  Buffy’s smile grew until it was nearly beaming.  “Just excited to spend some time with Dad.”

“Alright, honey.”  Joyce smiled back, glad to see Buffy being a bit more, well, Buffy instead of the moody teenager she’d been over the last few days since the end of school dance.  “There’s your Dad,” Joyce nodded towards the form of her ex-husband who was just then exiting the building that housed his condo.  “Have a good time and call me, okay?”

“Of course, Mom.”  Buffy leaned into the squishy hug from her mother, something she hadn’t felt in longer than she wanted to think about, Joyce’s death in that other future far too painful to deal with when she had the real living thing wrapping her up in her arms.  “Don’t have too good of a time without me.  No parties, young lady!”

Laughing at her daughter’s joking admonishment, Joyce waved to Hank as Buffy hopped out of the Jeep with her one backpack in hand thanks to the limited wardrobe the teenager kept at her father’s in addition to Hank already being set to take her shopping on his day off, then pulled away from the curb and back into traffic to fight her way back to Sunnydale.

“Buffy!”  Hank cried, wrapping up his daughter in a bear hug and swinging her around.  “You look wonderful, sweetheart!”

Buffy melted, just a bit, at the reminder of what a good dad Hank could be when demons and monks weren’t playing with his mind.  Not the most reliable.  More than a bit over his head when it came to dealing with a teenaged daughter with Slayer-sized issues.  But good nonetheless and could certainly be worse as she had unfortunate cause to learn the hard way after it was all said and done.

“Thanks, Dad.”  Buffy grinned up at him as he grabbed her bag in one hand and threw his free arm around her, the two walking in step up to the second-floor condo and skipping the elevator.  “Sunnydale’s been good for me.”

“I’m glad, sweetheart.”  Hank told her, giving her a squeeze.  “How’re things going with those friends of yours?”

“They’re great.”  Buffy told him honestly.  And really, they were at the moment if she overlooked Xander’s unfortunate crush that doesn’t die its slow and painful death until he’s wrapped up in Anya.  She’d have to do something about that.  Set boundaries.  No way was she dealing with jealous Xander for years again, the same with I know what’s right and best for you Willow and Giles.  “They like me weirdness and all and don’t care if I’m a cheerleader or whatever.”

“That’s great.”  Hank said with no little amount of relief.  Sudden dive into arson aside – a clear cry for help and response to the tensions at home or so his therapist had told him – he was genuinely glad to hear that his little girl had found some good friends instead of Barbie clones like at Hemery.  “Any, um, boys, or…”  He stumbled through the question, distinctly remembering the rebellion boyfriend that went with the arson event named Pike of all things.  Please say no, please say no.

“Sorta?”  Buffy offered hesitantly, peeking up at her dad through golden lashes.  “Nothing steady or serious.”

Oh thank god.  “Well,” Hank perked up.  “No need to worry about any of that right now.  I had Jana,” his cleaning lady.  “Put fresh sheets on your bed, the fridge is stocked with your favorites, and I have even rented The Cutting Edge for your approval, Madame.”

Buffy giggled at the hangdog expression her dad put on for one of her favorite movies.  Even at twenty-two she hadn’t outgrown it.  She’d missed this.  She hadn’t even known how much until her dad swept her up in a hug, the wounds of Giles and all that baggage much fresher than the semi-mystically-induced Hank ones.

“Sounds like a date, Daddy-O.”

“Welcome home, Buffy.”

“Thanks, Dad.”  Buffy said with quiet, soul-deep, relief.  “I’m glad to be back.”

…

Buffy slept deep and true that night in a bedroom decorated in a truly appalling amount of pink and yellow, unlike her bedroom in Sunnydale that had an acceptable level of pink and almost no yellow.  Ouch.  At least they weren’t eye-gouging shades but her decorating taste definitely needed the same overhaul she was planning for her wardrobe.

As it turned out, her dad’s “next day off” literally was the next day, Buffy treated to hot cocoa in Hank’s kitchen before being whisked off to IHOP for breakfast with a shopping spree to follow, her dad at least canny enough to intersperse his interrogation into the second half of her sophomore year with the purchase of cute tops and a new bedspread not to mention the rest of Buffy’s preliminary haul though for the most part she stuck to workout clothes since she knew she needed to spend most of her time in either the condo building’s gym or at the local gymnastics center that her dad had kept up her membership at as she tried to make her body do everything her mind and instincts said it could.

Cute – and more adult – clothes could wait until she was due to return to Sunnydale.

Even if looking around at what passed as fashion in the late 90’s she knew that she was going to take a hard pass on the sweaters so large they could swallow her whole and the overalls this time as well as the overly baggy everything.

For his part, Hank found himself in turns gratified by the grounded, stable, Buffy that had arrived for the summer.  Divorce was hard on everyone, not just the formerly-married and Buffy’s seeming dive off the deep end proved that out better than anything else.  Starting over had been the right thing after all.  A girl needed her mother, Joyce had made that more than clear during the custody battle, but when he’d heard about struggling grades and sneaking out there had been a cold stone settling in his gut that letting Joyce take their daughter away had been the wrong move.

Seeing his girl now, it was a fear that lifted, though if he was reading her purchases right his little girl intended to take advantage of being back in the city to get back on the pommel horse.

Her failure to take back up with activities that had once encompassed her days had been another red flag regarding the move to Sunnydale, this sign that it was a lack of opportunity rather than interest being very heartening.

…

That first day set the tone for the rest of summer, breakfasts at the kitchen island then Buffy spending her days at either the gym or on the mats teaching her body things she already knew and skimming away some of her lingering baby fat in the process.

Well, either that or her new-and-improved demonic essence was working at returning her to the form it remembered from when it was shoved down her throat.

Either way, she’d been right to wait until closer to the school year for serious wardrobe updates, her dad tagging along like a good-natured pack mule as he followed her from shop to shop and handed over his credit card, though in the case of her underwear he’d blushed and stammered a bit before handing over some cash instead and letting her go off shopping on her own for that particular necessity.

A good thing, since if the idea of basic underwear made him a stammering dad-guy the kind of things she bought with an eye towards reclaiming her vampires would have given him a coronary along with some of the racier clothes she bought simply by not showing them off like she did some of her more innocent choices to keep up the act of being bubbly Buffy.

She loved and hated that thanks to an extra six years of pretending to always be “peachy with a side of keen” that her father couldn’t tell the difference.

Honestly, after being taken out by the Master even if only for a minute, Buffy expected that everyone would likely brush off whatever little differences they noticed from her clothes to her grades with her time spent at the gym accounting for the differences in fighting with the only real problem area being Angel.

He liked to pretend that he didn’t listen to his demon half, but push come to shove he was more like Angelus than he’d ever admit and while Angel might ignore weirdness to keep up his harmless act Angelus wasn’t nearly as easy to fool.

How fucked up was it that the one being she had to worry about was the one that she had no way to deal with or placate until she convinced Angel to stop gripping his rosary for a minute and – as Spike would say – shag her blind?

How was this her life now?

Oh yeah, that’s right.

Her best friends broke the future and Angel broke her leaving her without any other good options.

Buffy’s mom welcomed her back with a big hug and a copy of her schedule for the upcoming school year that she’d picked up on her behalf from the registrar since school started the next morning, even if Joyce took one look at the several duffle bags and garment bags filled with clothes, shoes, and accessories and side-eyed the hell out of her dad for spoiling her.  Buffy ran away from that confrontation like her ass was on fire, staking a vampire that she remembered trying to snack on her friends, only to watch in astonishment as what was maybe her first sign that she was changing things took place before her eyes.  It was like watching a train wreck.

It was a kiss.

It was Xander and Willow.

Well…crap.

That wasn’t good.

Rather than deal with that mess before she had to Buffy spun and took off, hoping against hope that they’d make out and get it out of their systems early this time before Cordelia almost died trying to save Xander while he was busy macking on Willow despite both of them dating other people: namely Cordy and Oz.

She had a room to redo and a vampire to see and no time for the Xander and Willow show though she had hope that if they worked out the better friends-than-lovers angle early maybe that’ll be one less thing to pile on the weird over next year.

…

“Are you sure about this Buffy?”  Joyce frowned as she helped her daughter take down posters and pack up old clothes.  “You just decorated in January.”  When they moved to Sunnydale after the divorce and the unfortunate incident of Hemery’s gym.

“I’m sure, Mom.”  Buffy said from the depths of her closet, tossing lots of old clothes and only a couple pairs shoes to give to Goodwill out onto the floor of her room while her mom, who had a better eye for art than Buffy ever will, put up a few art prints that Buffy had picked out and emailed to her mom for her to pick up through her contacts, saving some money on resale and framing if nothing else.  Her room at least wasn’t as bad as she’d remembered, the mint and white striped wallpaper not nearly as bad without the hot pink comforter to clash.  Down with the boyband posters and up with a Starry Night and a Waterlilies, a bedspread in a shimmery dark blue with thin silver geometric patterns, and she was in business and not wigged out over waking up to daily reminders of how obstinately normal she tried to be.  Because fighting demons was the epitome of normal.  “Boybands are so sophomore year.”

Joyce chuckled a little at that, even as she eyed the growing pile of cast-offs in concern…though considering how generous Hank had been about Buffy’s back to school shopping at least with all the donations her daughter would actually have room in her closet for her new clothes and shoes, even if there was a lot less teeny-bopper clothing and a lot more low-rise leg-hugging jeans and touchable sweaters than she’d prefer.

She was a female who’d been a teenager once.

She knew what was likely behind the switch and she was banking on it having everything to do with that older boy Angel who was – supposedly – tutoring Buffy in history.

At least Hank was ignorant of that, she had no intention of holding her ex-husband’s hand through his eventual and inevitable freak out over Buffy seriously dating someone the way he’d done over that Pike boy who’d tried to convince Buffy to run off with him on the back of his motorcycle.

“I know we’ve already discussed it when your grades came in.”  Joyce broached the touchy subject while she had Buffy as an at least partially captive audience.  “But this year I need to see some real improvement, Buffy.  You were a straight-A student your Freshman year, there’s no reason for you to be barely scraping by.”

“I’ll try my best mom.”  Buffy promised, holding in a sigh.  She was so not looking forward to two more years of high school.  At least she’d never need college.  Being the Slayer and involved – somehow – with a pair of old and wealthy vampires had its perks.  “Promise.”

…

Chapter Text

Cobblestone Midnight

Chapter Three: Dance with the Moon

One crypt – consecrated ground soaked in holy water or not, looking back on it she can’t believe they just locked the Master away and thought nothing bad would come of it – broken into and one manky big-bad Bat Faced skeleton smashed into itty-bitty-dusty pieces and Buffy was loping back through the graveyards towards Revello Drive.

She’d needed a bit of smashy-smash anyway after seeing the wiggins-inducing sight of Willow and Xander macking on each other a year – give or take – ahead of schedule.

Even though it had to wait until the next night, she was ecstatic to take out that weirdness on the Master’s remains.

Of all the things she’d planned to change with her Powers-Given Redo, messing with people’s love-lives – other than her own – wasn’t on the list.

Buffy considered swinging by the warehouse district instead of smashing the Master’s bones, kinda a taking off the head of the snake deal, but she honestly didn’t know if without the Anointed One trying to rally the Aurelian vampires behind his banner if Spike would’ve known where to find Angel to fix Drusilla.

From the bits and pieces she’d picked up over the years regarding Angel’s non-relationship with Angelus’s childer and the entire Aurelian line, something about the soul curse had smothered a lot of the connection that most Sires had with their childer.  Whether it was the curse itself or Angel doing it she didn’t know.  Either way, without Angel around helping her and riling up the remaining vampire element with the team-up Spike wouldn’t have had an easy time finding him.

Whether Spike would still come to the hellmouth or not in search of a third Slayer or whatever else might bring him her way, it was all way to murky for her to try and count on when she already knew all the other pieces were in play to bring him – and his demonic girlfriend, which she’d have to do something about – to her.

And all it took was Buffy just not preemptively staking the Anointed one the way she was planning on handling more than one of the big bads that’d given her so much trouble before.

Plans and ideas roiling through her head, Buffy snuck back into her bedroom via the window, already anxious to tell her mom her secret and put a stop to all the – in hindsight – really risky and irresponsible behavior that must’ve worried the crap out of her mom at the time.

Just one more thing on a list that instead of growing smaller with each minor thing she knocked out seemed to get bigger and bigger the more she remembered now that she was back in Sunnydale and not insulated from a lot of the worst memories in LA with her dad.

…

Compared to the constant routine of the summer, waking up and getting through her first day back at Sunnydale High was nothing but a surreal blur.

Until the final bell rang and it was time to face the music.

Or in her case: the Watcher.

She’d shrugged off Willow and Xander’s attempts at digging into her summer easily enough with tales of shopping and gymnastics, and played dumb (which was far too easy which she took to mean that either her friends had a much lower opinion of her smarts than she thought or that they were more gullible than she thought...or both) regarding the change in both her looks and her look.   Willow’s questions at least were understandable as her only girl-friend at this point in time.  Xander’s...well, she’d have to nip that ugly little crush of his in the bud sooner than she’d thought.

Giles, however, for all his mostly hands-off approach when it came to her home life, would be the hardest non-demonic acquaintance to fool regarding her change.

Though whether Angel paid enough attention to what Angelus picked up on was a question she never had gotten a straight answer to, despite having ample proof that the opposite was true.

“Buffy, ah there you are.”  Giles looked up from sorting the latest shipment of lore the Council thought “fitting” to send him.  Though what use a set of tomes on the various demonic realms would see with a non-studious slayer like Buffy around he couldn’t even begin to imagine.  It was esoteric at best.  Even for someone like him who appreciated a good research binge.

Removing his glasses, he studied her closer, nearly doing a double-take as what he saw caught up with his cognitive function.

Well.  He blinked in surprise.  Perhaps her summer away had been more beneficial than he’d feared.

“And in fighting trim.”  He finished his thought differently than originally planned.  “Most excellent.”

“I’ve already done a patrol.”  Buffy tilted her head a bit.  Huh.  That was it?  No lecture or anything?  Just by showing up in time and not throwing a fit?  Noted.

She wasn’t doubting for a moment, however, that if this had been the Giles she’d left behind in another time, one who knew her almost as well as she knew herself, that he never would have shrugged off her changes so easily.

But then she’d chosen her place and time with care.

This Giles would never grow to doubt her the same way or to question and undermine her the same way if she had anything to say about it.

And look at that: she did.

…

Spike, also known as William the Bloody, watched with pure indulgence as his charge and beloved Drusilla rose for the night with more energy than he’d seen in her eyes since they’d been chased out of Prague and nearly lost Dru in the process.

As it was, her injuries were so severe that even for a vampiress of her age and strength, she had yet to truly recover.

Malaise had never been Dru, though she could have fits of melancholy at times.

Frankly, what her mental state often lacked in stability, her body had always made up in vigor.

To see her so weak and retiring had been a shock to his system, even as bloody-ecstatic he’d been that she’d survived at all.

“The stars are singing my Dark Knight.”  Drusilla sighed, lashes fluttering as she imparted one of her many visions for Spike to interpret.

At least, as best he could anyway.

Visions were difficult even for beings that weren’t off their bloody rocker before being turned into demons, which made Drusilla’s recitations both impossibly bloody accurate at times and also a frustrating quagmire to decipher.

But then, it’d been her gift even as a human that had intrigued their Sire, for all that Angelus would’ve been better served to not break his toys when it came to trying to exploit her gift for his own gain.

“An’ what do the stars have to say tonight, pet?”  Spike asked as Dru rocked and hummed to herself.  “A quick ditty or a ballad or two?”

“Yes and no, my Spike, yes and no.”  Drusilla hummed, then pouted, crossing her arms over her chest.  “The sunshine has turned into moonlight.  Embraced the dark and the night.  Not fair.  Not fair at all.”

Spike just arched a brow and didn’t even try to figure that one out without more clues or context to save himself a headache.

“Boca del inferno,” Dru half-sang.  “Cures and curses, knights black and white.  Boca del inferno, masters made and unmade, where a Queen will rise with Aurelius at her side.”

Spike hummed under his breath, already putting pieces together.  The master unmade bit was easy enough, as Heinrich-bloody-Nest had been both trapped and then killed by the newest Slayer at the California hellmouth.  But a Queen rising with Aurelius at her side...that didn’t sound like Dru was talking about herself, though they were both Aurelian vampires.

Black knight was him, easy enough, though he’d never heard her call someone a white knight before.

But of it all it was the curses and cures part that interested him the most.

“California to heal you up then, is it pet?”  Spike asked, then nodded when Dru seemed to hum before snuggling back into their current bed.  “Right.  I’ve arrangements to make, my wicked plum.  Rest and let your William take care of it.”

“Won’t be my William.”  Dru pouted deeper, even as her words had him screeching to a halt half risen from their bed.  “Not once you dance with the moon.  Won’t ever be my William again…”

Pulling himself together, Spike rushed through getting dressed and then out the door of the house they’d, ah, appropriated from the previous owners.

There was only two reasons he could think of for why he’d part with Dru, and neither of them were anything he wanted to think on too hard:

His final death or finding his mate.

No, he shook himself and set Dru’s warning aside.

He couldn’t focus on that, not now that he finally had a direction for getting Drusilla back on her feet.

Until that happened, everything else - from his potential staking to his potential mate - would just have to bloody wait.

…