Spike never felt close to her. Of all the times he'd held her in his arms and looked at her, committing every curve of her face to memory, wondering what she'd dream of, Buffy never acknowledged she needed him…until tonight.

She needed his touch, to feel his arms surrounding her, in order to feel safe and as a reminder that she wasn't alone whereas, in the previous year, his touch served as a mode of escaping the harsh atmosphere, a temporary reprieve from a world she struggled to live in again.

Running his hand through her hair delicately, he pondered all that transpired in the evening and what would be ahead. He'd never felt truly needed by anyone; no matter how happy it made him feel, fear still lingered in the back of his mind and clawed a path inside, pausing millimeters before penetrating the soul he'd reacquired to be the man she needed - and wanted - him to be.

That the bliss emanating from her and coursing through him now could be a fleeting sensation in the wake of something darker approaching terrified him.

The potential outcome scared him even more.

Closing his eyes, he shuddered at the prospect that at the end she would be alone again, and that he'd never share the type of life she warranted with her; realizing that being a slayer was a calling that she'd ultimately never escape from, at most she wanted to balance her obligation to protect the innocent, save the world, and still create a haven for herself.

That was her dream and his as well.

In the interim, how much more pain did she have to endure?

Who else did she have to lose?

In her young life, she'd lost plenty already.

First, there's Joyce who sorely reminded him of his own mother, Anne. She was the type of woman everyone warmed to; with a generous nature and easy disposition, it would be difficult to find one person who had anything but glowing words to offer in reflection. Her life continued through Buffy and Dawn, her influence breathing new, fresh life into collections of memories.

Next was her loss of independence, normalcy. There were so many dreams she'd wished for herself but could never pursue because there was a world that constantly beckoned her talents.

Then, there were her friends who loved her so much that they pulled her from heaven, a place where the light would hold and welcome her, where she could know some form of peace - the same friends who she had died twice for and tonight repaid her generosity and sacrifice by expelling her from the only home she ever knew and a war that only she could contend with.

Last, there was Giles. Leaning back until his head made contact with the headboard, Spike felt a primal anger rise within him.

"Why didn't I see through it?" He reprimanded himself.

This is bona fide with real ramifications.

Not once did it cross his mind that Giles would use his departure, an investigation into Caleb's whereabouts, as a golden opportunity to take advantage and back Buffy into a corner, but such a development should have been anticipated in lieu of recent events.

Why Giles and the rest of the lot, potentials included, didn't consider the damage such a move would inflict on Buffy escaped him; to her, betrayal was worse than dying. Living with the knowledge that the people you love don't trust you anymore, no longer believe in you, was the worst imaginable reality - one he experienced first-hand.

Why didn't they see that?

She was already in a delicate position, punishing herself for what happened to Xander and still engaging in a years-long struggle to internalize why the world and the responsibility, the burden, of protecting it fell on her shoulders. It culminated into the sight that greeted him only hours ago, with her curled in the fetal position staring off into nothing.

Sad, ungrateful traitors in retrospect had been a lenient interpretation, accurate but still lenient.

"Wankers."

"Hmmm…"

The girl stirring in his arms deflected Spike from his train of thought.

"What's wrong?" She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"It's nothing, love. Go back to sleep," He placed another feather light kiss in her hair.

Nestling deeper into his shoulder, Buffy sensed the layer of uncertainty in his voice; reluctantly raising her head, she brushed the hair from her face and propped herself against the pillows next to him without relinquishing his hand, studying him with soft eyes, as his right arm which had pillowed her head wrapped around her waist and held her close to him.

"It's more than nothing. Tell me what you're thinking, please."

Spike considered his words.

"I should have seen through Giles, when he spoke of ramifications. If I had thought for one second that they'd…Just don't like to see you hurt, that's all. I should have been there."

"You're not responsible for them. It would've happened anyway."

"You can't know that…" He trailed off, watching as Buffy focused on their entwined hands.

"It's more than Giles, the girls, Faith. It's more than what happened tonight at the house," She looked up at him then. "You're talking about your soul, aren't you?"

All Spike could do was nod.

For as well as he could read her, look into her eyes and know instantly if she was inventing or in earnest with him, he underestimated her powers of deduction - that Buffy could peer into his eyes and decipher the truth in them equally well.

She grasped not only the source of uncertainty in his voice but also the tension that took residency in him since the chip was removed, since she chose to have it removed.

"They only know what you were, not what you are. They don't know how I see you, the changes that I see in you. I look at you and see your journey, the struggles and all the pain you endured to regain your soul, and it makes me proud," Buffy paused, leaning in until their foreheads touched.

"I don't think of your soul as a burden. I think of it as a gift. It set you on a path that led you back to me. It's because of your heart and the strength inside, strength I've always admired, that my heart is open again."

Watching the emotion - intensity, wonder, and awe - flicker in his eyes, she raised his hand to her lips and kissed the back of it reverently.

"Last year, I didn't feel worthy of praise, that I deserved to be loved, but I don't feel that way anymore. I can't lose you and I won't - not now, not ever - because that isn't the price for how you've changed. For what you've done, what you've given to me…you deserve a new life. You've earned that and my love."

Without hesitation, Buffy kissed Spike softly on the lips, parting her mouth as his tongue brushed over hers.

Blinking his eyes to suppress his tears and calm his heavy breaths, he opened them only as Buffy relinquished his hand and wrapped her left arm around his shoulders, pulling him into her embrace - guiding his head down to her chest, strewing her right leg over his hip so they were full length against one another.

With his right arm firmly underneath her, Spike draped his left across her waist and hugged her, allowing the ambiance of the moment to wash over him. He could feel the weight lifting from his shoulders, the burn in his chest ease, as she cradled him and closed his eyes as her heartbeat resonated in his ear, lulling him.

Running her hand lightly across his forearm before settling her hand over his wrist, Buffy peered down at Spike and watched his mouth curve into a small, boyish smile. It wasn't until she felt him relax beneath her that she allowed herself to do the same, buoyed by thoughts only of him and the assurance that his presence brought to her.

With the pale light of dawn blanketing the room, it wasn't until Buffy settled her eyes on Spike who appeared to be sleeping soundly that relief, a sense of calm, enveloped her.

The dread of being alone was overwhelming as she slowly came to from a dreamless sleep, the type of sleep that had evaded her for…She couldn't even remember the last time she wasn't woken in the middle of the night by one of her prophetic nightmares, an inclination to check the house from top to bottom or to tend to someone else's needs.

Studying the peaceful look on his face, Buffy raised the hand that had been holding his wrist to caress his face, starting with the scar over his left eyebrow. To the naked eye, the scar would be considered a blemish but she knew better; to her, it symbolized the warrior within regardless of how he acquired it - it was a mark unique to him.

Next were his cheekbones which in sleep had softened and highlighted his vulnerability, the humanity that had been enhanced rather than destroyed in his becoming a vampire.

She traced the curve of his mouth with her fingertips and kissed him on the forehead - thinking of how the being that once craved the hunt, lived for the taste of human blood, had evolved from the inside - before returning her attention to what she regarded as his most beautiful feature: his eyes. They were the ocean blue mirrors to his soul, to the man she realized had always lingered beneath the surface; though closed, she could still feel them on her, searching for her.

Buffy hoped that the pride and love she held seeped into his skin as realization of what she had to do, what task she had to perform, crossed her mind.

You were their leader, and you still are. This isn't something you gave up. It's something they took.

And the difference is?

We can take it back.

Focusing again on the cone-shaped ray of daylight playing across the hardwood floor, his words echoed in her mind so clearly. There was somewhere else she had to be, but her heart she'd leave in his care, in a house that for one night belonged to them.

Carefully extricating from his embrace, she smiled fondly as Spike frowned, missing the warmth of her body, but didn't waken. Instead, he tucked his right hand by his head while bringing his left arm close to his side and went perfectly still again instantly.

Rounding the bed quietly, Buffy pulled the blinds inward and rifled through several drawers before finding a piece of stationary and a pen. She didn't want him to wake as she had, nervous - anxious - of what her surroundings would bring.

Gazing intermittently at his prone figure, giving her perfect view of the musculature in his back, she allowed her heart to be her guide as she stroked and filled lines on the empty sheet.

Slowly waking, Spike smiled as her scent and the memory of her words assaulted him. Reaching over to her side of the bed and feeling only warm sheets there, he blinked his eyes and raised his head from the pillow in confusion, surveying the now empty room.

Had this been a year earlier, he would've scoffed at the scene, muttering something along the lines of how she'd left for fear or shame of being seen with a dead, soulless entity incapable of feeling. Things were so different between them now.

Together, they'd constructed a solid friendship - beginning with trust - which transformed into a love deeper than either had felt or given to another before, a love that until last night hadn't fully risen to the surface, instead emerging in fits and spurts.

Senses alerting him to daylight, Spike returned his gaze to her pillow, spotted a folded sheet of paper there, and sat up to examine its contents, driven by curiosity.

Spike,

As you're reading this, I'm at the vineyard uncovering what Caleb has hidden from me. Giles said to me once that it was time for me to step up, to be a general, and now I'm ready to answer that challenge.

Right now, you're probably thinking that you should be here with me, that I shouldn't be doing this alone, but I'm not doing either - we're doing this together.

I keep you near to me always. I keep you in my heart.

It's because of the comfort and strength you provided me last night as you held me that I have the strength, the belief, to overcome any obstacle.

It's your love that drives me onward, encourages me to continue fighting, and gives me hope for what awaits us after the apocalypse - it's a silver light that shines beyond Sunnydale and stretches toward a life that we have a second chance of creating and sharing together.

Being held by you, laying next to you, sleeping with you, together it's the foundation for my own personal slice of heaven - a reminder of the time I spent there. I felt warm and safe, knowing that nothing could harm me. I felt loved.

When I've finished at the vineyard, I'll come back to you. I want you to be the first person I share the First's "secret" with. Use the time until I return to rest, and don't worry.

My love for you will keep me safe.

Always,

Buffy

Tracing her signature with his fingertips, Spike re-folded the note carefully and placed it on the nightstand before lying back down, slowly succumbing not to her recommendation to rest but the emotional exhaustion of all that transpired. Even so, his mind continually wandered to her foray at the vineyard.

He knew she would return to him as promised.

If something had happened or were to happen, he'd know - he'd feel it.

But he worried just the same.

Rolling over onto his right side, facing away from the blinds, he sank deeper into the sheets and closed his eyes, inhaling the familiar vanilla fragrance from where she had lain next to him hours earlier. In the stillness of the room, he could practically hear her voice whispering in his ear.

I love you.

"I love you, too," Spike muttered into the pillow.

He was on the verge of drifting off until he picked up on four signatures entering the house, all human, incapable of posing a threat with exception to one. Therein was power being suppressed, controlled, like a flame trapped in a glass cylinder.

They were all familiar.

Raising his head, he chuckled at the scowl on Xander's face before taking in the range of looks emanating from Dawn, Willow, and Anya - caution, surprise, and indifference.

"Let me guess, Red did a locator spell…" Spike pushed himself upright, wanting to be perfectly clear since he was in no mood for debate. All he wanted to do was rest and awaken again only when she returned, not a moment before or after.

"And you figured it was best to check up on Buffy, is that right?"

"You would be," Xander interjected, casting a glance to Willow who continued to appraise the vampire warily. "Where's Buffy?"

"A bit late to be concerned now, isn't it? Allow me to be equally plain. Buffy's whereabouts are for me to know and for you to find out later, should she choose to tell you. Now get out."

To his surprise, no argument came from the small group. He swung his legs up over the side of the bed until his feet touched the floor as all but Dawn vacated the room. She motioned for Willow to wait for her outside before returning her eyes to him.

Patting the edge of the mattress, Spike invited Dawn to sit down next to him which she did.

Spike covered her hand with his, waiting for her to speak. Hesitation emanated in waves. Whatever she had to say to him was important - if she hadn't, she would've left already.

"I never meant to hurt her. You know that, right?" Dawn watched him nod before continuing. "It's just, with all that's happened…I got so caught up in the frustration and fear that I…I didn't know what to do. I couldn't think for myself."

"You were scared, that's all. Don't start selling yourself short, Niblet."

Dawn smiled at the familiar term of endearment, remembering how pivotal he'd been in helping her get through the months following Buffy's death.

She'd defended Spike so many times, to Xander mostly. Perhaps out of not wanting to upset her in combination with dealing with his own grief, Giles never voiced displeasure. Tara understood the situation best of all; so did Willow. She insisted that he sit with her during the nights, per chance that he didn't stay at the house during the day. His grief equaled hers; they both loved Buffy dearly and were similarly devastated.

She didn't want to him to be alone.

She needed him, and he needed her.

When Dawn finally looked up at him again, Spike saw the question in her eyes.

"Big sis and I will come by the house later, I promise," He paused, studying her small smile and the tears welling. "She isn't angry with you, and neither am I if that's got you worried."

Dawn nodded, grateful for Spike's being so attuned to her emotions. "I've missed you." She said sadly.

"I've missed you, too…" He trailed off, watching her eyes close as he ran his hand through her hair, a gesture that she so loved and missed.

In the present moment, Joyce came to his mind immediately. She would be proud of her girls, he mused. Her youngest in particular was blossoming into quite the lady. It wouldn't be too long before he'd have to scare off some poor blokes who presumed to think they had a chance with her.

A part of him never wanted to let her go, but he had to.

She was growing up, too quickly for his liking almost.

I'm counting on you to protect her.

'Til the end of the world.

He relished the role of protector, taking care of her and ensuring she had everything she wanted. If she asked anything of him, Spike would yield on the spot; no matter how hard he tried, he could never deny either her or Buffy anything.

It was his love for them, and their love for him, that sustained him.

Dropping his hand from her hair to her shoulder, he gave it a light squeeze before speaking again. "Don't want to keep the mates waiting too long."

"Yea," Dawn sighed, taking his hand in hers again as she stood. It was for the best that she leave now, keep speculation to a minimum. There would be enough questions since their spell didn't reveal what they intended.

"I'm glad you were here for her, Spike. I want both of you to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted…well that and keeping you in the family at any cost."

They shared a laugh over that last point.

"I do love you, too."

Again, she nodded. "I know."

He could only smile. Drawing Dawn into a hug, Spike kissed the top of her head before pulling away, keeping his eyes transfixed on the outer hall as she left.

Certain that the small group left the premises, Spike settled back down on the bed and closed his eyes, drifting easily with thoughts of his two favorite girls foremost on his mind.

THE END