A/N: dedicated to the following: dedicated to the following: 31r3h, Peaceheather, MaireAilbhne, Spike is the BIG BAD, Rms Thakoer, Seapea, Swoonforsirius, Blade Redwind.

Thank you for your reviews. Kudos to Blade for being my sounding board, offering key suggestions and encouragement and for saving my ass with a last minute beta.

A/N: In my world the New York subways run 24 hours a day and stop where I want them to - and, if I so desire, move sideways and through wrinkles in time (haha j/k).

This chapter was brought to you by James Marsters and his band Ghost of the Robot and their song "Finer Than Gold" *sighs* such a beautiful voice! Thank you ITunes! I am trying to get permission to use some of the lyrics in this fic, cross your fingers that permission will be granted.

Ricochet

New York, 1977

He blinked and she was gone.

Vanished, and, with the clarity of a drunken haze, he doubted if she was ever really there in the first place.

Perhaps he had become too comfortable and that was his mistake. Too content and too certain of his place in her life, and now, he was being punished by her absence. No matter how hard he tried, he could never love her just right. It was always with too much passion, too much intensity. Too much love.

Love. She had said the word with such scorn, such disdain – and some broken (wrong) part of him wondered why it was so awful to love someone with every fiber of their being.

The subway car took a sharp turn on the track and Spike's thoughts were jolted into the present as his body swayed loosely with the turns. The car was empty, save his inebriated self. He pulled the flask of whiskey from the inside pocket of his leather jacket, unscrewed the cap and took a sip. A few drops spilled onto his tongue from the empty container and he shouted an expletive.

Nothing was going right.

He hated New York. It was supposed to be their new kingdom…they were going to rule the night together - at least that was the plan until that fucker who called himself The Immortal waved his dick around and Dru left him with not so much as a "by your leave".

Again.

Too painful. Don't think about it.

This time they'd had eight years of blissful depravity and sinful delights and he supposed he should have been grateful; it was the longest she had stayed faithful to him – he had actually started to believe that she had decided he was enough (why wasn't he ever enough?). The last time she had left was while they were at Woodstock where he experienced the Vampire version of a psychedelic acid trip and Dru disappeared.

She instinctively seemed to know when he started to feel secure and was unapologetically ruthless in her ability to shatter his illusions.

After Woodstock, in an uncommon display of independence, he headed to Africa on a cargo ship following yet another false Gem of Amara treasure trail. He knew it was a waste of time, but it was a good way to waste time until she came back. She always came back…eventually… and 238 days later, she found him. By then, he had disproved yet another Amara legend and was returning from a disappointing Slayer encounter on the outskirts of Addis Ababa (the Slayer hadn't been called for more than two days, and her hand shook so much from terror at meeting him - she dropped her stake twice- before he told her to stop). Using a few words of Amharic he had picked up, he told her if she lived another two years, they would try again.

He had been at loose ends and, desperate enough for any distraction, he had seriously been tempted to follow up on an interesting rumor regarding a series of trials a bloke could pass in exchange for a reward (any reward) near a village at the base of Kilimanjaro in Tanzania when Dru showed up. Like all of the times before, he let himself be folded into her cold, hard embrace and stifled every confession his un-dead heart wanted to whisper. I'll do anything. Never leave me again. Please stay. Why am I not good enough?

Eight years after Woodstock and his trip to Africa, she had left him alone again.

He hated being alone and the feelings of isolation and shame it brought.

I am not that person anymore. I am the thing that makes the night tremble in fear. He tipped his flask for more alcohol and scrunched up his mouth in annoyance when he remembered it was empty.

She'll be back.

The words didn't bring the same reassurance that he used to feel and he decided he needed a diversion. Perhaps it was time to follow up on that old rumor, pass those trials and ask for the Gem of Amara.

Perhaps.

~spuffy~

The next night, he wandered into a smoky, dimly-lit demon bar on 42nd street shortly after sunset looking for a game and hoping for a fight. Spilling blood always raised his spirits. He sauntered into the back room and flung enough cash onto the table to raise more than a few eyebrows, but the collection of demons and hybrids seated around the scarred poker table barely gave the money (and Spike) a glance.

Spike didn't care to be ignored.

"Room for one more?" He pulled out a pack of Pall Malls and shook a cigarette into his hand.

"Your money's no good here, Vampire." A small, squat Fhrewh'ard demon tossed two cards on the table and motioned a stumpy, fingernail-less digit to the dealer.

"Is that a fact?" Spike spoke softly and another demon (Spike couldn't recall the kind of demon he was, but he would have made a Chaos demon look attractive) nodded in agreement.

Irritated, Spike stepped forward and wrenched the head off of the unfortunate demon and the movement caused the demon's body to fall off of its chair. All of the demons at the table paused and looked at Spike as he filled the vacancy.

"Oh look, a space just opened up." He inhaled on his cigarette and his lips twitched at their annoyed expressions.

"Your money is no good here Vampire." The Fhrewh'ard repeated.

"Oi! I'll have you know…"

"Calm down Vampire." The Chipr demon on Spike's left gave an exasperated huff and tilted his wart-covered head at the Fhrewh'ard. "Marv here just meant that we do not play with money. New York has a Slayer, which means our main food source is not so easily available and we've to resort to more…creative methods. Those furry little delicacies-" another warty-head tilt toward a large carton in the corner "will be a delightful treat to the winner."

Spike rose and walked over to the box and stared inside where various hues of blues, greens and browns blinked sleepily at him.

"Kittens? All I need are some kittens?"

The others laughed. "This ain't some two-bit game we run here Blood Drinker, this is a high stakes game…purebloods and rare breeds only." The Chipr licked his warty lips.

Spike noticed the papers on the table, which he realized were being used as a substitute for money.

"I take it this is proof that the little fuzzballs are pure." The others nodded and Spike flashed a smile showing his pearly white (and blunt) teeth. He could have let his demon face out but preferred to use his human face instead. "Well, we all know the rule is 'You keep what you kill', so I'll be playing with my inheritance." He gestured to the rather tall stack of papers in front of the dead demon's seat. Fortunately, he had killed the demon that was winning. "Looks like I am in the game now."

Spike sat down again.

"New York has a Slayer, eh?" He scooped up the cards that had fallen from the deceased demon's fingers when Spike had ripped off its head. It was not unusual for any local demon population to react this way when a Slayer was present as they had an annoying tendency to bring down the death population in their general area. The smart ones left, others kept their noses clean and heads low to avoid unwanted attention and the dumb ones died.

Spike was never one to follow a crowd.

He glanced at his hand, immediately discarded three cards and motioned for more cards. The others grumbled under their breath, but the dealer just blinked his rheumy eyes and sent three cards flying his way.

"So. Tell me about this Slayer…" Spike licked his lips in anticipation as he picked up his new cards. The cards were shit, but news of The Slayer was just the distraction he was looking for until Dru came back to him. If he was lucky, this one would be worth the effort it took to track her down

He hoped she was good. He was looking for a challenge.

Wistfully, he remembered the Chinese Slayer as he rearranged the cards in his hand. Oh what a night! She had been the epitome of single-mindedness - quick, agile and focused with each attack. Fighting her had been like dancing the tango on the edge of a thin tightrope over a bed of wooden nails - erotic, terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

He had been so certain that she would have been the death of him and when he won that battle he felt invincible for the first time.

Her Slayer blood had kept him hard for days - Dru didn't even look at Angelus (or any other demon) for most of that time – and it had been a turning point for Spike. Everything seemed to click after that. Angelus had backed off and vanished shortly after (Spike never thought too hard on his grandsire's whereabouts, he was just grateful that Angelus hadn't taken Dru with him). Dru would still take off, but never for longer than a few weeks. No matter where Spike ended up, she would just wander in dreamily, as if she had been enjoying an evening stroll and had forgotten the time. She had never, until Woodstock, stayed away for longer than a few weeks.

Fucking Immortal! He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the sudden recollection of why Dru might have "lost track of time" this time. Fucking pretentious prick! Recklessly, he tossed a few pedigree papers into the pot. "I'll raise you a Himalayan and a Kurilian Bobtail."

"Kurilian Bobtail?" With a disgusted sigh two out of the six demons folded and Spike's lips curved at their muttered "Too rich for my blood" grumblings.

The Chipr, answered with a raise of his own. "Sokoke."

With a grimace, Marv threw down his cards.

Wordlessly, Spike flipped through his stack of papers before selecting six Siamese. He tossed them in to the pot. "So, tell me about this Slayer." He repeated.

He lost the first round and got a description of the Slayer. During the third round, Spike asked if any of the demons present had stood face to face with the Slayer and snickered at the way their faces blanched.

This time it was Marv and Spike who remained in the game. Conversation continued as they raised and countered each other.

"Who would want to go up against a Slayer? Not many do and live to tell the tale, Vampire." More papers tossed into the "kitty". Spike gave his cards a considering look and unconsciously rubbed the scar on his eyebrow.

"Some do." He smiled at the laughter that erupted in the room and lazily rubbed his index finger over the scar. Laughter faded and, in the ensuing silence, Spike's grin widened.

"Plenty around that have killed one slayer. Slayers are like the tails of the Shirati – cut one off and another grows back in its place." Marv grunted and tossed a short stack of papers into the pot. "Now, killing two Slayers, that would be an accomplishment worth bragging about."

The Chipr gave Spike a hard look.

"I've never met a vampire with a scar before. What kind of weapon leaves a scar?" The other's shifted, uncomfortable when Spike placed his cards on the table and pulled another cigarette from his pack. He picked up his lighter and brushed his thumb along the small wheeled flint to ignite a spark. He puffed a few times on his cigarette, letting the flame from the lighter stay on far longer than he needed. A Tarrykez demon, possibly more flammable than Vampires, looked on in fascinated revulsion.

"Blessed sword. Got it in China some years back."

Recognition flickered in the violet eyes of the Chipr. "Lived in China myself for a while. Heard a rumor about some Vampire that went up against the Slayer during the Boxer Rebellion. Slayer died but the Vampire still walked away with a little token of the battle."

All eyes were on Spike.

"Well, I hate to brag…" Spike began, then he chuckled. "Who the hell am I kidding? I love to brag!"

By the end of the night, Spike won three hairless Sphinx cats (among others) and bets were placed on whether he would be skillful enough to bag his second Slayer. Spike scooped up his unused cash, his box of felines and took his leave. As he walked out the door, he heard Marv's gravelly voice.

"Remember to bring proof, vampire or the wager is void."

Proof? He could do that.

~spuffy~

He found her the next night.

He followed her through some of the backstreets of The Bronx, discretely at first, gradually closer as he tested her range until her Slayer abilities alerted her to his presence (one hundred feet and some change). He knew the exact moment she became aware – a slight misstep and straightening of her spine followed by a surreptitious glance. Silently, he retreated until she took the bait and hunted him down. He appreciated her stealth and single-mindedness as she stalked him. When he reached the abandoned factories along the waterfront, he stopped until she approached him.

She fought like she had never known anything else, which told him that she knew hardship and had been fighting for far longer than she had been a Slayer. Where the first Slayer had been deadly and precise, this Slayer was resourceful with a brutal right hook. He fought back with less intensity - this wasn't the end battle, it was just more of a skirmish to see what kind of fighter she was (mental note: she favored a right jab with a double-left jab combination).

Nikki wouldn't be the death of him - he didn't feel the same frisson of danger that the first Slayer had given to him - but he wasn't ready for the fight to be over yet.

In their second encounter, their skirmish in the rain brought some kind of excitement back into his life and he had every intention of ending it that night. However, her hits were just a little too wild, a little too desperate - she was good, but there was something about her that told him she wasn't at her best. He left the fight before he killed her, not out of compassion or anything as laughable as that, rather the fight had been far from satisfying and her distraction only irritated him. Besides, knowing there was still another skirmish ahead pushed away the melancholy that surrounded him with Dru away. The longer he could postpone killing the Slayer, the less he felt like William – the pathetic excuse for a man he had been, once upon a time.

The rain poured down in great sheets, soaking through his leather jacket and the thin material of his t-shirt beneath. In a short time, he was below ground. The tunnels were full of vagrants seeking shelter from the storm and he selected a young waif with short russet-colored hair. He suckled her neck, observed the scattered track marks on her thin arms which explained why her blood had the cloying sweetness of syrup, good for a few licks and taste but left an unpleasant after-taste after he drank too much, a result of her drug use.

He still drained her dry of course.

He had lost track of time below ground and guessed the time to be close to midnight when he happened upon the train tracks of an old subway line that lay on the ground. He followed them until they joined with another line. Eventually, he made his way toward a subway station and leapt gracefully onto the deserted platform.

Less than a minute later, he walked into the subway car and sat on the seat. Like the platform, the car was deserted. He pretended that he didn't care, that he wouldn't welcome a little human interaction, even if it was to elicit fear. Fear on a human was like an a drug to vampires that intoxicated while simultaneously brought on a hyperawareness that made the hunt all the more thrilling and, when the prey was drained, left the vamp craving more.

The subway climbed up from below like a giant, segmented worm until it was streaking through the city over the night time traffic.

If Dru were here, he thought wistfully, perhaps he wouldn't feel this shadow of dissatisfaction. He was torn by his feelings – knowing that evil, soulless creatures such as he shouldn't do anything as pathetic as pine, but unable to help the (loneliness) bitterness from spilling over, something that would have amused Dru. They were above such human feelings she would remind him, subtlety implying that he was somehow unusual (wrong) compared to the rest of their kind.

Like his "queer obsession" (Dru's words) for Slayers. Angelus, Darla and even his beloved midnight goddess couldn't fathom why he sought out Slayers.

Angelus wondered why Spike even bothered. '"Too much risk and not enough reward" he would scoff. Angelus preferred to use his preternatural abilities in the deliberate annihilation of which ever poor bird had become his latest fixation.

Darla preferred to amuse herself similarly, proof that she and Angelus were well matched. She was perfectly content to leave Angelus to his "entertainments" while she sought to pass her time by engaging in the endless pursuit of pleasure; the more depraved the pursuit, the more satisfied she seemed.

It bothered him that they only appeared to put up the slightest pretense of tolerating Dru; they treated her like she was some small pet to be stroked and adored when she was amusing, and kicked to the side when she became bothersome. Dru always ran back to them when they called though; even when Spike tried his best to reason with her Dru would never listen. He understood that Dru would return to them whether he was with her or not, so he followed her the way she followed them in some awful macabre parody.

And yeah—he could see the parallel between Dru's behavior and his own. And like Dru, he didn't care. He would push away the hurt and the pain the second she crooked her elegant, deadly fingers toward him, eager for whatever scrap of affection she choose to bestow. He couldn't blame her. Angelus had her so well trained to be grateful when he showed attention that she thought that was the model of how they were supposed to behave.

Perhaps she was right.

Once again, Spike was the oddity, the source of scorn and ridicule… too ridiculous to even warrant pity. He sought out the Slayers, hoping that the day he got staked would be the day that he finally earned some respect and was proof that he had been worthy.

Absently, he watched the brightly lit New York skyline and wondered what it was about him that never seemed enough to keep others around. The subway made a few stops, but Spike remained alone. The train descended back into the ground and the lights in the car flashed when they entered the tunnel.

He was staring straight ahead when he saw her reflection. She sat straight up with her head tilted slightly forward, eyes closed. He could see the outline of the NYC skyline behind her head. Certain he was seeing things; he blinked and scanned the area around him.

With the exception of himself, the car was empty.

He looked back at the window and saw the woman's body sway slightly from side to side. The lights in his subway car flashed, as if some had flipped a switch to turn them off. Two seconds later, the lights flashed back on and the woman in the reflection had opened her eyes and was staring straight at him.

As they locked eyes, he was instantly flooded with knowledge about her. He knew this woman. He knew she appeared fragile and helpless but was far from it, and that in her small hands the most innocuous objects could become a deadly weapon. He also knew intimate things: the softness of her lips, the touch of her hands on his skin, how she tasted, smelled and felt pressed against his body. He didn't know her name, but he knew the throaty noises she made when she moaned his name.

An image of her straddling him while he lay on a bed, each arm cuffed to a bedpost flashed in his mind and then disappeared. He leaned forward unconsciously, as if she were right before him. The movement stirred the air around him and for a moment he could smell her. What kind of trick was this? Warily, he looked around and confirmed that the subway car was still empty.

"What the fuck!' he said. Ghosts? Spirits? He had heard of such things of course, but had never met one.

At his words, an expression of such happiness formed on her face and something in his gut responded.

"No use haunting me love…" he started but lost his train of thought as her eyes swept up and down his seated frame and then back to his face. If my heart could beat, it would break my chest he thought, then scowled. That part of him died years ago… and she can make me feel like it isn't so…

If she was tangible and corporeal he would have snapped her neck for making him feel such things... in his whole un-life he had never sunk to such derisible depths. He looked around again, mainly to break contact with her eyes. The silly chit should be petrified of him, not looking at him with veneration.

"William Pratt." The whisper tickled as if she were breathing the words right into his ear.

"What game is this?" he whispered and despised how shaky (weak—like William) his voice sounded.

"My champion, my love." Some part of him wanted to weep at her words and brutally (he was not that man any more), he buried it. Consciously, he reminded himself who he was now.

"Ain't no one's Champion, luv. Far from it." And proud of it he finished silently.

"You're my champion."

'William the Bloody' a Champion? He snorted in disbelief. This crazy spirit was off her rocker!

"No one would ever believe that." it was the truth. Never - no even as William- had someone likened him to a hero. He met her eyes in the mirrored window and felt a jolt go through him. The lights flashed and she was gone.

~spuffy~

That day, after the dawn, he dreams were haunted by a pair of green eyes, the warm clasp of a small hand in his as he stood in an inferno and light exploded all around him while her sweet voice said three little words that broke his un-dead heart. I love you.

When he woke, there were tears on his face and, in furious confirmation that William was long gone, he destroyed his hotel room and ripped the throats of the three employees sent to see about the disturbance before he leapt gracefully off the balcony into the alley below.

Present day (Buffy)

After the sisters exited the subway station, they climbed the stairs until they were once again strolling on the sidewalk toward the limousine. Dawn crawled across the backseat first and by the time Buffy settled into the seat, her sister had already pulled her legs up on the seat and rested her head against it. She gave Buffy an exhausted and satisfied smile.

"I had a great time Buffy. Thank you for suggesting a 'Summers Sisters' day out'." She reached out a hand and squeezed Buffy's. "I love Willow and everyone, but sometimes it is nice for it to be the two of us."

Resolved to focus only on her sister, Buffy pushed away her latest "hallucination" and returned her sister's squeeze with her own. At the touch, Dawn's throat closed up as she continued speaking.

"I don't deserve it. Not after…we did that…we…God Buffy, I would give anything to take that back. It was wrong on so many levels and I am so ashamed that I was part of something that hurt you so deeply."

It was not the first time someone had approached Buffy about the way she had been evicted prior to the last battle with the First. When Buffy had returned the morning after she had been evicted from her home by her friends, there had been tentative smiles and half-hearted attempts to address the incident by Willow, Dawn, Xander and Giles. At the time, she had been able to push her emotions to the side and put all of her focus into her strategy with the First. She had brushed them all aside with a simple "It's okay…I understand."

She had assumed that they understood that it was not the time for apologies, not when they had the First on their heels and very little time to put her plan into effect.

She had said the same to Faith, once the Slayer had regained consciousness. As soon as they were alone, Faith looked her in the eye and told her they had been wrong to tell Buffy to leave her house. As she had with the others, Buffy had tried to brush off the apology stating that it wasn't a good time. Faith had simply laughed told her to shove it, she was going to apologize anyway.

Once the battle was over, Buffy assumed that Xander, Willow and Giles would privately take her aside and offer a sincere apology as well. She was saddened when she realized that they had thought there was no need and berated herself for being so petty.

She wasn't angry at them, but she no longer felt she could trust them as blindly as she had in the past.

"Thank you, Dawnie."

It was amazing how her sister's apology lifted a weight from her shoulders. Buffy leaned across the backseat and pulled her sister into a hug. To her surprise, at her touch Dawn's body began to shake and she heard soft shuddering sobs from her sister. Buffy tried to pull back, but Dawn just pulled her closer.

"Dawnie?" she asked. At a loss, Buffy used her palms to rub circles onto her sister's back.

"I don't want to lose you Buffy. You have no idea how sick I have been, worried that you wouldn't want me around because we…because I-I…I wouldn't blame you." She could feel the wetness from Dawn's tears on her neck, and to her surprise, tears filled up her eyes as well.

Buffy took a steadying breath. "It's oka-"

"No! It wasn't." Dawn interjected, shaking her head against Buffy's neck. "It was hateful and spiteful and I was…I am so ashamed, Buffy."

With surprising strength, Dawn held her in a hug and unsure of what else to do, Buffy simply stroked her sister's hair until eventually she felt the younger girl begin to relax. How long they remained in each other's embrace she did not know, but eventually the brightness of the city lights dimmed as the car moved them toward the countryside.

Later, they sat side by side, Dawn's head on her shoulder, hands linked.

"I want you to know that I never blamed you." Dawn made noises to protest and Buffy rested her hand on her sister's cheek, gently turning her sister's face. "I made a lot of mistakes, Dawn. My biggest regret was pushing you away. After I …" she searched for the right words, "came back, all I could see was my own pain and I had no right to treat you the way I did. Being 15 is hard enough without adding in the loss of a mother, an emotionally distant sister and an apocalypse."

"But I hurt you."

Buffy was quiet. "Honestly, yes. However, I realize that I am not entirely blameless here either."

Both sisters were quiet as the limo turned into the long driveway of Kennedy's estate.

"Buffy, I know that any memories that we had that are older than three years are just fabrications but I hope…one day…that we could have the kind of closeness that could have been…if the memories were real. If you ever need to talk, or just want someone to listen, you can come to me. But if you…feel like you can't talk to me or…the others, then you can have this." There was a crinkling of plastic and a book was placed in Buffy's lap.

"It's a journal. For you."

~spuffy~

Why New York? Why the subway? Why was she seeing images of Spike? The answers escaped her.

The first time he had looked exactly as she remembered, but on the subway he looked different – harder and more like the Spike she had met when he first arrived in Sunnydale. Why two different versions of Spike? Her only tangible clue to her sanity was in her fingers as she once again opened and smoothed out the faded receipt.

William Pratt. The signature was written in a surprising elegant script, so at odds with the rebel image he had carefully cultivated.

Could that really be Spike? Had she really looked into a mirror in California and was somehow able to get a glimpse of the past? Was such a thing even possible? And why did she get another glimpse of Spike on a NYC Subway of all places? Was there a connection? She felt as if she was missing an important piece of the puzzle – a forgotten memory that disappeared when she closed her eyes. It was (in a word) maddening.

William Pratt.

Casually, she had mentioned the name to Giles, asking if the name seemed familiar, but didn't mention that it was a possible alias of Spike.

"William Pratt? Hmmm….William Pratt. I don't recollect meeting anyone with that name…maybe he went by some variation? Billy perhaps? Hmmm….I'm sorry Buffy." He shook his head. "The name doesn't ring any bells."

She wanted to say more, tell him about seeing images of Spike, but some part of her held back, the same way she held back from Willow and Xander. She loved them, loved Dawn, but she just didn't trust…as easily as she used to. This of course was laughable; she was hardly an open book before.

Perhaps that was why she went to Andrew.

After a cursory walk through of the mansions rooms on the ground level she decided to try to his room. She tapped on the door and took a step back when a small clocked figure whipped the door open.

"Doesn't anyone read the sign?" A pale forefinger poked through the long sleeved arm of the cloak toward a note tacked on the outside of the door.

DO NOT DISTURB while game is in session.

Buffy read the sign and rose up on her tip toes to look over his shoulder.

"Oh, good. You are alone. I guess the game hasn't started yet."

"Au contraire, Slayer of the Vampyre. The game has been in progress for over five hours." Andrew pursed his lips and then stepped back as he motioned for Buffy to come into his room.

"What's with the weird-speak? I thought we settled this 'Slayer of the Vampyre' crap." She asked as he closed his door and sat down in a chair in front of the computer.

"I'm in character." He whispered. Holding up one finger, he picked up his headset.

"Werdna The Lightstriker has returned." He said in a low voice into the microphone. There was a pause, then "Oh. Okay guys, it was fun to be back! And, Wendell the Wise? You'll let me know about those quests? Thanks. Talk to you all next week."

Buffy flopped on his bed and gave it an experimental bounce before flopping backwards.
"Comfy." She stated. Then she rolled over on her side and placed her elbow on the bed and propped her head with her hand.

"So. Werdna?" she raised an eyebrow and then grinned. "Let me guess, Andrew spelled backwards?"

He pointed at her and touched his nose. "Ah Slayer, you know me well." His eyes dimmed when her grin faded.

"I forgot…you don't like being called that, it always drove you nuts when Spike …called you–" he stopped when Buffy rolled on her back and squeezed her eyes shut. She heard the sliding of the chair wheels on the hardwood floor and then felt the mattress dip when he sat on the edge of his bed. You will not cry she told herself.

She expected the awkward pat on her shoulder, but she was surprised at the comfort she immediately felt at the small gesture and even more shocked when she opened her eyes and saw the tears pooling in Andrew's.

"I miss him." Andrew whispered and catching Buffy's surprised look, he continued. "Don't look so shocked. Other than Dawn, he was nicer to me than the rest of you, he even let me film him once; did you know that?" Buffy shook her head. "Besides, we like totally bonded when we went on that quest."

Buffy brushed away a few tears and sniffed. "I can't talk to anyone about him. The others – they don't understand…and— I could talk to Dawn, but she was so angry with him that I just…Dawn and I are in such a good place right now finally but if she said anything… bad… about him, I just – I just –" Buffy looked away, uncomfortable with anyone seeing her so vulnerable, so raw.

Andrew must have sense how close she was to bolting. He tipped his head and looked out of the panes of the French doors that led to his balcony. "I think Spike scared them." He whispered and Buffy snorted. "It wasn't because he was one of the most dangerous vampires they had ever met…" he scrunched his nose and amended his statement "I meant it wasn't just because he was one of the most dangerous vampires they had ever met. It was because he saw them so clearly, saw what motivated them, and called them on their bullshit." He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I am not explaining myself very well."

Buffy nodded, recalling all of the times she wanted to run from Spike because he refused to let her lie to herself. He had a knack for seeing the truth and pointing it out to others.

"I remember when we got back from our quest," he stopped and smiled slightly "our trip; and he found out that you weren't at the house. Everyone was waiting for him to give them the news on our discoveries and he just looked around the house and told them 'I'll wait for Buffy first'. I had left to go to the bathroom but when I was on my way back into the kitchen, I heard him yelling at all of them."

Andrew paused and his gaze hardened slightly and Buffy avoided his eyes, unsure why she felt self-conscious about their betrayal.

"Did you know they said that you decided to leave?"

~spuffy~

Buffy stood on the deserted platform and slowly chewed the bite of the Hershey chocolate bar she had just opened as the air around her stirred. The subway car rushed toward the platform and, with a squeal of metal on metal, slowed to a stop in front of her. Thankfully, the car in front of her was empty. It was well past her bedtime, but she found the only way to calm her restlessness was to ride the subways. Living in a constant state of choas over the past year before their battle with The First had her appreciate the moments when she was alone. Too often, she escaped from the clausterphobic atmosphere of the mansion and found herself drawn to the subways. Something about the possibility that Spike had ridden these same rails comforted her.

It had been three weeks since she had "seen" him in the reflection of the window, and three weeks since she had "heard" his voice; each night after she haunted the subways hoping for another glimpse.

She couldn't decide if she had imagined it or if it was real. The only tangible proof lay in the fading yellowed paper that now was crisscrossed with creases and the feel of the thin paper between her fingers brought re-assurance that the men in white jackets didn't need to be called… yet.

Warily, she looked inside the car and then stepped confidently inside and sunk down with a relieved sigh into the first seat she saw. Just before the subway doors closed three figures dashed into her car and chuckled when the doors lid closed behind them.

Buffy shifted and looked around the car. Mistaking her cursory glance for fear, the tallest of the trio chuckled and approached Buffy.

"I love it when we just happen upon a little midnight snack!" he said as the bones on his face shifted and his fangs lengthened.

Buffy raised her eyebrows and took another bite from the candy. "Sorry, boys. I never share chocolate with guys I just met. I am just not that kind of girl."

NYC 1977

He sat sideways in the empty subway car, legs stretched out before him on the seat and one elbow resting on the back of the seat and cigarette dangling dangerously from his fingertips when the car jerked to a stop and the doors opened. Scents, both foul and mouthwatering, drifted in through the open doors and one side of his mouth curled up in anticipation.

She slipped through the doors moments before they closed.

For one moment, she dropped her head and her chin touched chest as her hands grasped the pole beside her. Though her weight was evenly balanced on her feet, her posture was slightly relaxed and he knew that she had not noticed him yet. Casually, he raised the cigarette that he had pinched between his thumb and forefinger and inhaled.

Ah. She knows now. Her spine stiffened, her head came up and her fingers flexed on the pole.

Spike drew long and deep on his cigarette until the ember at the tip was a bright glowing red. Casually, he pulled his arm back and stubbed it out on the back of the seat. He exhaled slowly and quietly, eyes on the back of the woman's head.

He was about to rise from his seat when the lights flashed and immediately, his eyes were drawn to the window. The train pulled forward and he was aware that Nikki was turning toward him, but he didn't look at the tall Slayer. His eyes were riveted to the scene playing like a movie in the reflective surface of the window.

Three vampires, all in full game face, clustered around the woman (spirit? ghost?) he had seen a week before. She had two vampires, each bracing an arm and a shoulder while the third was talking. Suddenly, her legs flew up and in a heartbeat, her legs gripped the vamps neck. The vampire struggled and his two companions watched in morbid facination.

He stopped paying attention to Nikki, only vaguely aware that she was pulling something from the deep pocket of her duster. The woman in the mirror stilled when she stared forward and once again he locked eyes with her.

"Spike." his name spoke no louder than a sigh, no more than a whisper on the wind. Then her eyes grew wide. Entranced, he didn't notice the stake that came flying toward him.

One of the vamps took avantage of her momentary pause in her stuggle and pulled a savage, serrated blade from somewhere behind.

Their words spilled from their lips at the same time.

"On your left!" he shouted.

"Stake!" she cried in alarm.

~spuffy~

Stay Tuned...

A/N: I really really hoped y'all liked this chapter. Also, I know I left a few things hanging at the end, but I promise there will be more of Buffy/Andrew's conversation, more Buffy growing closer with Dawn and a gradual strain between Buffy and the Scoobies. There will also be more Spike.

FYI - This will be something of an Epic fic. Not too sure of the length, but there will be three parts to this story. And, yes, time will be a-travelin'!