Chapter 1

It started the night he waltzed into her life, like the rest of her relationships. Buffy was the type that fell headfirst into love, wrong as it may be, especially if the intrigue was mutual. But with him, it was different. He'd always been different…She'd known it from the first time they met. She'd known there was something more there, something more than Angel ever could have given her. She'd thought Angel to be the love of her life, but, well…she was just a sixteen-year-old girl then. This, on the other hand, was special.

Sighing, Buffy shook off the thoughts of her past lover, and felt the cool night's breeze whisper against her nape, fluffing her hair. She shivered, relishing in the way that it felt. Tonight, Buffy felt strong. She felt invincible, and this was enjoyable…She liked feeling unbeatable.

Buffy decided she'd call it a night; she'd staked all the vampires she could find. She didn't get off on it the way she used to, however, and she felt a twinge of fear at that fact. She'd probably never be the same, but who could be the same?

She hadn't been herself lately – okay, she hadn't been herself since her friends pulled her from paradise, but that wasn't the point. She felt so goddamn lonely, even more so than back then. She couldn't remember a recent date in which she hadn't succumbed to the miserable agony that lived in her dreams every night.

…Her dreams of Spike.

She relived everything, every moment they'd ever shared; whether it was rage, bloodlust, intimacy, annoyance, or even mirth. She relived it every night in her dreams. The night at the Bronze, when he'd stepped from the shadows in his overly cocky manner. The night he'd returned, searching for some damn gem that'd give him the ability to walk in sunlight. The time when Willow's spell had backfired and she and Spike had been "engaged." And then the worse memories were the ones of realizing he loved her, having him pursue her, creating that nasty 'bot, and fucking each other senseless. But the ones that turned her dreams into nightmares were the last days. When the First had used him, kidnapped him, tortured him. When he'd held her for three nights, and when he'd sacrificed himself.

Buffy had never been more proud of him than then, when he'd saved the world. The others – Giles, Willow, Xander, Dawn, and even Andrew – had always given him partial credit and said that Buffy had saved the world, but they were wrong. They hadn't seen the light radiating off of him, or the determination in his eyes that had so resembled his old cockiness.

That was when she'd realized she loved him. But then again, Buffy knew she'd loved him for a long time, but had been too scared to let herself believe it. She couldn't have it shoved in her face, not like Angelus had by killing her friends, and not like Riley had by ditching her.

Somewhere, though, deep down, she knew that Spike would have never betrayed her like that. He'd gone to get a soul for her after that terrifying night, to make him worthy of her. She'd been so damn blind before, but her thoughts rang loud and clear in her mind now: Spike did so much more for her without a soul, and she didn't give him the time of day. He'd loved her, protected her sister, killed for her, and been a comrade to her, and she'd attempted to chase him away. She kicked herself daily for not realizing that he was something special, especially compared to Angel, who tried to kill her when he didn't have a soul. Angelus was so far beyond human emotion, and she'd been so attached to the Angel-with-a-soul that she even became somewhat beyond human emotion then, too.

But really…how could she have done that to Spike? He was so much more than Angel ever was to her, he'd loved her without a soul and she hadn't given a damn.

A sudden but expected bout of remorse filled her gut then, and she tried not to gasp in pain. She'd somehow found her way to the house that she and the other Scoobies (plus Andrew and Kennedy) had rented, and since there were less bedrooms than people, she was boarding with Dawnie, who was currently asleep next to her – and she didn't wanna wake the poor, tired girl.

Oh, Dawn. A lifetime of guilt spawned from her little sister, too. After Buffy had died, he'd stayed around to keep Dawn safe, to protect her like he'd promised Buffy he would. He'd honored that promise, and for that she was so, so grateful. But when she'd come back, she'd only rejected Spike more. And then she'd used him for sex, to feel.

He'd let her, too, which was the sad part. He'd said he didn't care that she was using him, and although she knew that his words were true, she knew that she'd hurt him. He'd said he knew Buffy would never love him, but he was so wrong about that.

I do love you, she thought dumbly. I do.

Buffy curled up, facing away from Dawn, and looked out the window at the somewhat starry night. She wondered if Spike was where she'd been; in Heaven, or paradise, or whatever one would call it. He deserved it. She shivered for the second time that night, but not because she was cold. It was because she felt him, like she always did.

His ghost-lips brushed her forehead and then her hair, as his ghost-arms managed to slide around her, in his gentle yet protective manner that she'd always found so damn comforting. A tear slipped from her right eye, landing on the pillow underneath her head. She didn't bother to wipe the moisture from her face; moving might cause the feeling of Spike to vanish.

And oh, god, she never wanted him to leave. He haunted her, not in the ghostly-spooky manner, but in the way that a dead lover would. She felt as if she'd been widowed, and it had been by Spike's own choice that he'd died.

But Buffy could never be angry with him for that; he'd done it for the greater good. He'd saved the whole world that day.

Somehow, Buffy drifted into sleep, all the while in her ghost-lover's arms.

It takes forever for you to fall asleep, you bloody daft woman, Spike thought. Or said. He didn't really know. All he knew was that he was alone but not lonely, where no one could hear him.

Oh, pet, look at you, Spike breathed, whispered, whatever. He was sure as hell he wasn't breathing, nor could he make a sound.

Pretty much all he could do was think, and watch his Slayer and her friends' lives on the sodding planet Earth, which, thanks to him, was still intact.

He was happy here, no doubt. He felt safe, complete. Even warm. But he missed his pint-sized piece of a Slayer, and he missed getting pissed up, and he even missed having a dick.

Spike was grateful, though, that he had the ability to visit Buffy in her dreams. All he was good for was recreating memories, and he felt like a fucking wanker for torturing her with them when all he wanted to do was comfort her.

He lived in her memory of him, could feel her when they touched in her dreams. He hadn't figured out how to just communicate with her, and it sickened him – if he were able to get sick – whenever the memories of him fighting her came into play.

"So drowned in loneliness / So dreadfully cold / She mourns the loss of me / She begs me to come home / Her radiant light darkens / Her emerald eyes glaze over / Her want for me burns stronger / Me, her ghost lover," Spike recited his latest poem in his head – well, he would've if he had a head.

He'd given up writing poetry after that old wench Cecily had thrown his fancy for her in his face, but Spike had found it was a remarkable way to keep himself from being bored. He thought, smugly, that he'd gotten rather good at it.

The first memory Buffy dreamt up was the time they'd been "engaged." Spike loved this one, especially the way the girl remembered it. It was so different from the way he'd experienced it, and it thrilled him good and proper to get to relive the moments with her every night.

It was very real, the feeling of her nibbling on his ear. He felt his body smile, but he couldn't move it on his own, which was bloody useless, because it was so difficult to have the woman he loved sitting on his lap with her hand down his shirt, tracing circles all over his abdomen and not be able to do something about it.

He thanked his former, undead self each night for squeezing her ass whenever her Watcher and her pals turned away. Oh, not to mention the one time when Buffy's friends all went into the other room, Watcher and ex-demon included, that he got a good tongue down her cleavage, gently gliding his elongated fangs over her ripe breasts. Damn her gang of chumps for deciding that that was the time to call for her attention from the other room.

She'd reluctantly gotten off of his lap, and he'd reluctantly let her go. Spike groaned in what was very real arousal as he watched memory-Buffy trot into the other room through his own memory-eyes, hating that he hadn't gotten a good peck in then. His eyes, both present and past, watched her lithe little body move, and Spike was very grateful for what came next: a hard-on. Damn his past self for deciding not to jerk off.

The memory faded into another, from an earlier time. He hated this one, but at least there was physical contact in it. There was in almost every memory.

It was outside his Slayer's house, when Angelus was the great big bad and Dru was on his arm, and they were plotting to destroy the whole sodding world.

He'd approached her after he'd finished with a copper, and the first thing she'd done was hit him. Spike had known better than to hit her back; he wanted her help. So he just grasped her shoulders and took the blows, waiting for her to let him speak. She backed up in alarm, and he began explaining to her.

The next memory was of when her friends pulled her from the sodding Earth, making her breathe and live again. He'd never been happier in his entire life than when he saw her breathing. She'd given him this blank look, but he knew she recognized him, and that was such a good feeling.

The memory after that was just after her mother had died, when they'd sat together on her back porch. Then the time he'd shagged her against the wall of that pissing awful fast food joint she'd worked at to keep food on the table for her little sis.

Every memory, every moment of reminiscence, every single dream she had made him love her more. Bollocks, he'd never stop loving her. Every fiber of his essence, of what he was now, was made up of loving Buffy. Like she was part of his soul.

Spike lived in the memory of her beating him to a pulp and yelling at him outside the police station when she'd thought she killed a woman. Then when they'd first met.

He heard her ask him what would happen the coming Saturday, and his response. He laughed to himself, thinking of how foolish he was back then. He knew that the moment he'd seen her dancing in the club, that he wanted to kiss her…but he was going to kill her.

Spike had been inexplicably drawn to her, and that imploring feeling had never ceased to exist. He could feel it now and he could feel the way it had been back then, when he was undead; it ached, it swelled, and the moments when Buffy had treated him nicely, it gave him a high.

The next memory was when he'd told her that he knew she'd never love him, but he was grateful that she treated him like a man instead of a monster. She'd looked at him with something he couldn't understand in her eyes, and invited him into her home. When that had happened, he knew that there'd never be anyone else for him.

Finally, after several more memories, they relived the time he found the Gem of Amarra and fought her under the sun. This was currently the second-to-last of all the memories they remembered together every time Buffy found the time to dream.

Every single goddamn memory, they went through it together. And this one would be painful for both of them. It was the day that they'd saved the world from the hands of the First; the day that she'd told him she loved him.

Dawn had woken up to Buffy tossing and turning in her sleep, getting tangled in the blankets that covered them both. She'd watched her older sister's pained, erratic expression as Buffy said "no" over and over again, and she'd kept watching for some time while Buffy's words changed again and again. 'Yes,' 'Stop,' 'Hold me,' and 'Come in' were dead giveaways that her sister was yet again dreaming of Spike.

Dawn knew Buffy would keep her up all night, but she didn't begrudge Buffy for that. The woman was in mourning. Dawn got up when Buffy said 'What happens on Saturday?' and headed to Willow's room, to find the witch awake as well.

Willow turned to Dawn with sad eyes, knowing why the girl had come to her. She opened the sheets of the bed on her left side; Kennedy was sound asleep on her right.

"It's him again, isn't it?" Willow said softly, a wise look on her face.

"Yeah," Dawn replied, sliding under the covers. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

"I wish she could let go," Dawn said a little bit later in a tired voice. "Not because she wakes me up, but because she's so depressed all the time."

"I know what you mean," Willow said, stroking Dawn's hair like she would a little sister or daughter. It was noticeably different from the way she was playing with Kennedy's hair – Kennedy was her girlfriend.

Dawn knew that Kennedy would never be Tara to Willow, but Kennedy would be Kennedy. She could see it written on Willow's face sometimes; Tara had been Tara, Oz had been Oz, and Kennedy was Kennedy. All were different for Willow, but none were meant to replace one another. Tara didn't replace Oz, and Kennedy didn't replace Tara. Dawn could tell that for Willow, no one would be able to replace Tara.

Willow rested her head against the headboard of her bed, listening to the sounds of the thrashing Buffy in the next room.

"Is there any way that you can bring him back?" Dawn asked suddenly, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"I'm sure there is," Willow said. "When we brought Buffy back, she came back just fine, but she had been living. Spike was dead for around one hundred and twenty years, and he was a vampire, so I think it'd complicate things a little."

"You're probably right."

Willow took a deep breath. "It's not that I haven't thought about bringing Spike back, or that I don't want to do it," she began, looking cautiously at Dawn. "It's because I don't think Buffy would want me to. You remember what she hid from us, right? After she came back?"

Dawn nodded, tears coming to her eyes. "She thought she'd been in Heaven," she answered.

"I know how much it hurt her when we brought her back. Everything here is violent, and cold. I think she believes that Spike went to Heaven, or wherever she was. He did sacrifice himself for all of us, and the entire world. I'd say that'd earn him a place there even with every naughty thing he'd done before he went to Sunnydale."

"When Buffy killed Angel, he went to a Hell dimension," Dawn said. "Do you think that Spike might've gone to a Hell dimension? I know the circumstances aren't the same, but…"

"I think that if he did, it wouldn't be much of a problem. He'd been to some before, if you can remember," Willow replied. "He could even speak some of the languages."

Dawn chuckled. "I remember. But there's no way of knowing where he went, is there?" The way she ended the question made it sound more like a statement.

"I don't know," Willow said thoughtfully. "Maybe it's just beyond my experience, but I've never heard of a way…See, when Tara died – no, when she was murdered, I tried to bring her back, you know. I called up the forces and whatnot, and they told me that I couldn't bring her back like I'd brought Buffy back. She'd died a human death of human causes, unlike Buffy's mystical, supernatural death."

Dawn recalled watching her older sister jump into the swirling portal, landing on the ground and dying. She remembered, with a gulp and more tears that threatened to fall, that Spike had been devastated. That's an understatement, she thought bitterly. Watching Spike fall to pieces like that, crying and shaking and screaming at Buffy's motionless body, begging her to wake up, had been awful. If it weren't for her own pain and everyone else's, she wouldn't have understood how a vampire could react in such a way to the Slayer's death, of all things. She still found it kind of unbelievable, but she knew that Spike really did love Buffy.

"When she jumped, it almost killed him," Willow said, guessing Dawn's thoughts. "It was kind of a wakeup call for the rest of us. We'd thought he'd just been lusting after her with his naughty demonic ways, and maybe he had, but when we saw him…crumble like that, it was easy to tell that he was in love with her."

"He stayed because of her, too," Dawn said. "He told me he'd made a promise to her, to protect me, and after she was gone, he extended it to you guys, too…even though you didn't really need it, what with your witchiness."

Willow laughed. "Yeah, I think the only one who really needed watching was you."

"I'm glad I don't any more, though," Dawn said dryly. "But there were times, when you guys would go out and he'd watch me, that he'd talk about her. He went a little loopy, you know. Didn't even bother to comb back his hair anymore. That was a major sign of loopiness."

"I figured he would've," Willow said. "He was crazy about her. And when she came back, we treated him poorly…again. Mostly me and Xander."

"It's not your fault," Dawn comforted the older woman. "You were trying to look out for Buffy. She needed it then. Besides, you guys knew Spike was a monster. Or at least, he had been. I wonder if he would've still gotten a giant raging crush on her if he hadn't gotten that chip…But that's beside the point. They slept together…the First said it was because she wanted to feel."

"I don't think that was just it," Willow said. "I know that she thought she was using him, though. She told me a lot after we all…found out. Maybe she was using him, maybe she thought he was a soulless asshole, but she had feelings for him."

Of course, the unspoken truth was that both Dawn and Willow knew that Buffy had feelings for Spike back then. They knew that she was afraid of getting hurt again. She hadn't had good experiences with boys. Angel had turned into Angelus, killed her friends and tormented her, and when he'd gotten his soul back, he'd left her, saying it was for her own good. It probably was, but Buffy had still been hurt. After all they'd been through, after she accepted him again, he left. Then there was Parker the sleazy party boy, who pretty much used Buffy to get off one night. There was Riley, whom Buffy had loved and shared around two years with. He'd left her – ditched her, really – because he'd thought that she wasn't putting every ounce of her being into their relationship.

Then there came Spike. He'd been chasing her even when she was dating Riley, but it didn't matter to him. And Buffy began to have feelings for him, even though their relationship, to her, was based on sex. It had scared her, because she was afraid of getting hurt again. She didn't want to lose anyone else.

"What's it like?" Dawn asked. "To lose a…significant other."

"That's a tough question. I'm sure you know what it was like for me. I mean, I went all evil, and villainous, and dark. I-I guess in general, everybody experiences the grief differently. But for me, it was…It felt like I'd gotten my soul ripped out of me. The one thing I knew best in the world was stolen and I couldn't save her, couldn't get her back. We'd just made up…And then she was just gone. She was dead and so was my heart. I know this sounds cheesy, but it's the truth."

Willow paused, trying to find words to say. Taking a deep breath, she continued. "I…turned to magic…it was like a drug for me. I knew she wouldn't have wanted me to, but I sought revenge. I skinned Warren alive, and it didn't even ease my pain. I was so…distraught, and overcome with shock that I didn't think, even for a moment, that she was really gone. I couldn't make myself believe it. And it changed me more than discovering magic did, or meeting Buffy did. It changed me more than Oz did, more than being gay did. I don't think I'll ever be the same. And I have a feeling Buffy won't be, either. Especially after everything that's happened since she and I first met…she wouldn't allow herself to go back to the way she was anyway."

"Wow," Dawn said sorrowfully. "I'm…sorry. I loved Tara, not in the same way you did, but she was like you are to me. As for Buffy…she couldn't return to how she was. To her, that'd mean forgetting, and she doesn't want to forget."

"I think that's why she's so sad. She doesn't want to forget, but she's trying to."

Buffy turned over in her sleep for about the hundredth time that night, getting herself more and more entangled in the bed sheets.

"Spike," she whispered as the last memory flooded into her dream.

She was battling the First on the Hellmouth, and saw Spike standing with the Amulet. It had a bright light shining out of it, and she knew that it was time. She ran to him, telling herself not to beg him to take it off. It was probably too late for that anyway.

Buffy grasped Spike's hand as they talked for the last time. Their clasped hands went up in flames, but it didn't hurt. It felt right; it felt warm.

She felt tears spring to her eyes as she looked into his, seeing a touch of sadness in his astonishingly blue irises.

"I love you," she said. She squeezed his flaming hand with hers, and saw in his eyes that he didn't believe her.

"No you don't," he replied.

He'd said more after that, but his denial of her feelings for him was ringing in her ears. It got louder and louder, until it felt like her head was about to explode. It became a chant, and then it changed to flat-out screaming the words.

No you don't, no you don't, no you don't.

She heard it for what felt like hours, yet at the same time, barely a minute. It was something that the First would've done, she thought sadly. Turned a simple, unbelieving rebuttal into an accusation.

It was when she felt his arms cross around her middle, in a hug from behind, that the screaming stopped. There was no doubt about it – those were his tight, corded arms. She could almost feel his leather duster on her skin.

Buffy laughed mirthlessly to herself as she thought of how instantly comforting just a simple touch from him was. She leaned into him, delighted to feel his chest against her shoulder blades.

She felt him lean down, breathing lightly, and sighed. Buffy was content now, and she was happy. She knew this would end soon, but she allowed herself to be happy, even if for a fleeting moment.

Spike's breaths were soft and silent, tickling her ear just slightly. He leaned down just a bit further, as if to plant a kiss on her neck. She rubbed her head against his shoulder, loving how good it felt to be in his arms. Then, he turned his head so his mouth was at her ear, caressed her cheek with his left hand, and spoke to her in a voice that was shockingly harsh, but a whisper all at once.

"No you don't."

Buffy woke with a startled, choked gasp, then cried out for him. "Spike?" she panted, frantically looking around. But she already knew the answer to her unasked questions: he wasn't there.

The dream-Spike's words seemed to echo throughout the room, and Buffy brought her knees up to her chest, hooked her arms around them in a sitting-up fetal position, not even noticing that Dawn was gone, and burst into tears.

She sobbed as quietly as she could for the rest of the night.

Dawn's eyes shifted to Kennedy, whose slumber it seemed would only be interrupted if there was a major earthquake. She was glad hers and Willow's voices didn't awaken the older girl.

"I don't think Buffy could forget even if she wanted to," Dawn said.

"That's probably true. I know I'll never forget Tara, even if…" Willow leaned down and kissed Kennedy's forehead softly.

"I understand. But do you think Buffy will ever…you know, move on?"

"I'm sure she will eventually. It takes time. Different amounts of time for each and every relationship."

"I just want her suffering to be over."

"We all do, Dawnie," Willow said, tears coming to her eyes. "She's lifeless. It's scary. She…goes through the motions, like she did after we pulled her out of H-Heaven."

"I think she's glad you did." Dawn comforted her softly. "Maybe she wasn't immediately after you did it, but she started to enjoy life again. She got a job as a counselor at my school, worked her way back into her life and made the best of it. It's Buffy, it's basically what she's programmed to do."

"She always makes the best of everything," Willow said shakily, not allowing herself to cry. "But she's a Slayer. She's destined to suffer."

"She's got us to fall back on. That's something the Slayers before her didn't have."

"Buffy won't fall back on us on purpose, though. She's unbelievably strong…mentally, physically and emotionally. She knows it's okay to show that she's hurt, but she thinks it makes her look weak. I just think that after all this time, she's afraid of being vulnerable."

"I know," Dawn said, wiping at a tear that had managed to escape. Willow looked at the younger girl and reached for her hand, grasping it firmly. They exchanged sad smiles.

Just then, they heard a voice call out in desperation.

"Spike?" – Buffy, in the next room. There was a beat of silence, and then Buffy began crying. Willow and Dawn shared a look.

"Should we…?" Dawn asked.

"No…if she wants comfort, she'll come to us," Willow said after a minute. "It's 2:AM; if we go in there, she'll feel guilty and think she woke us up. But we can talk to her in the morning."

"Okay."

And for the remainder of the night, they listened to Buffy cry.