Hi. First of all, thanks for the reviews. It's nice to see some of the regular readers of JFT have found their way over to the sequel. Welcome to new readers too. Anyone who wants to be informed when I post new chapters, let me know.
Sorry this chapter took a bit longer to get out – I had to have a couple of days out to read the new Harry Potter and then a couple more to deal with a hangover. If this chapter isn't up to scratch then blame it on my poor, depleted, abused brain cells. :-)

After The Fall

CHAPTER FOUR:

Hustle of noise, irritable knocks on bathroom doors, calls for eggs of every variety, yells about being late. Bustle of activity around him as he sat, sipping at some over-heated blood. Dawn was the first to go, encouraged on her way by a subdued Willow who handed her a lunch bag and a pile of books.

"Bye, Spike."

"Bye, pet. Uh, enjoy... school."

She groaned at the concept but treated him to a wide smile before exclaiming something about the bus and sprinting for the door.

Willow took it upon herself to add to the breakfast mess by mindlessly moving pots and pans about and very consciously ignoring Spike.

"So, uh, where's the missis?"

She turned her head to reveal a frowning profile. "What?"

"Your bird. Her of the infinite serenity and sunshine smiles."

Flash and she whipped round to face him. Flicker of something in her eyes and shiver of something in the air around her. His shoulders stiffened in automatic readiness for defence and he knew, it was written in her glare. Danger. Little witch-let got all significant over the summer. And then he remembered: raising the dead. Hardly child's play... no matter what the Niblet claimed.

And he couldn't resist. Stir the pot. Fan the flames. Damn the consequences. "What's a matter? She dump you? Run off with another bird?"

Extinguished by the air carrying his words, the flicker died and Willow deflated against the counter. Bowed her head and suddenly everything once crackled with the potential for destruction was heavy with a vulnerability that unnerved him more than the threats that belonged to a moment ago. She had borrowed plenty of that beleaguered thing from patent holder Buffy, it seemed.

And he couldn't resist. Never could see a woman burdened with grief without reaching out. "If she means enough it's... worth the struggle."

Her eyes met his and she said it simple, quiet. Admittance. "It's worth it."

"I hope you're not talking L'Oreal commercials." Buffy's voice, incongruously light with rays of the morning sun, preceded her entry into the kitchen. She frowned at the disconsolate atmosphere and then groaned at the mess. Chose to remain ignorant of Willow's distress with an enquiry of: "Dawn get off to school OK?"

"Yeah. All loaded up with school survival gear. Books, lunch... crucifix." Willow attempted a grin, gave up and complained about headaches and the need to study before heading out of the door.

"Something I said?" Buffy said as she sidled up to Spike and put her mug next to his own. Fingers reached for his hair and she frowned at the state of his roots.

Spike shook his head, careful not to uproot her fingers. "No. Something I said."

She rolled her eyes, slapped him on the shoulder with her free hand. "Should have known." Started as she looked into his eyes. "I missed that."

He felt his eyebrows work around puzzled amusement. "What?"

"The way you look at me."

Placed his hands on her hips, urged her closer. "Just making up for lost time."

God he was bored. She'd gone out. Left him there to do 'what ever he pleased' and all he could do was heave himself from room to room with heavy sighs and wait for her to come home. Turning in to a right bloody wanker. He'd admit that much - but never that he really didn't mind.

Yanked himself into the lounge by pulling at the door frame and stood at a loss.

Lost.

Until he saw his name.

He took it as a direction. Curiosity impelled him forward to the far side of the armchair. 'For Spike'. Written in green curly letters, a smile hovering over the i. Dawn. Felt himself smiling and the smile broadened as they fell upon his present. A stack of videocassettes, all labelled only with simple numbering system that ran 1-5. "Curioser and curiouser."

Fed number one into the video machine and waited for the automatic tuning to do its thing. God Bless technology. The fuzziness abated to reveal a clear image of her. The little one. Or not-so-little.

"— Well I was gonna start this with one of those cheesy 'If you're watching this now that obliviously means you're back' kinda things, but I decided against it." The vision of Dawn rambled on with a animated sense of purpose and hints of self-consciousness colouring her cheeks. "I'll keep this short. Basically I saw Amelie recently and there's this bit where the French girl tapes stuff for the creepy hermit guy and I thought... I didn't know whether you had a TV." Vision-of-Dawn rolled her eyes. "You probably think this is really stupid but knowing how you love your outrageously bad TV I... taped you some. In case you—you know—didn't have a TV. Watch what you want, skip what you want." Vision-of-Dawn shrugged, "What can I say? I got bored.", an extended finger came at him and she disappeared, replaced by a few seconds void of blue screen.

His face hurt. Forced his face to drop the grin and settled down to watch as the titles of some made-for-TV movie began to roll.

A familiar sting leached across his scalp and he winced.

"Wimp."

He protested with a scowl. Got the point across while allowing her to continue her work.

"Have you not redone your roots since...?" She trailed off, didn't need to finish. Only way they could address it was in codes or across a breach of silence. His head motioned that no, he hadn't touched up his roots since... since the world stopped turning but time rolled on. Time measured in the length of his roots and that was what she was doing. Masking over it. Taking back the lost time.

He felt the urge to sigh and suppressed it. Channelled his attention to her, standing between his seated legs. Reached for her top and folded it up to reveal her midriff. Palms on her hips, he leaned in and nuzzled his nose into her navel. Her belly tensed, then relaxed and it took him a moment to understand that she had laughed. Felt the relief fleeting, defeating and he kissed the flesh of her abdomen.

Flash. Spike blinked at the influx of blinding light. "Bloody hell, bugger—"

"Stop complaining." Buffy pouted. "I forgot just how much of a grump you are."

Bite of irritation amongst the discomfort and he bit back. "Yeah, well, maybe I should have stayed away longer and you'd have forgotten me altogether."

Flash. The hurt in an instant stained on her face and then gone. Suppressed into a void of expression and suddenly she was so far away. The sea of white bathroom tiles between them warped with metaphoric significance. A few seconds picked their way through his brain and any apologies forming on his tongue lapsed into extinction. A clear, vivid white heat of self-hatred burned along his solar plexus and he relished it. Besides touching her the only time he felt alive when his was raging against himself, his innards at war and coiling into a fist of bile.

And bugger it if he wasn't going to let silence dominate, the distance prevail. Damn it if he wasn't going to struggle against his binds and only hope that she had the strength to do the same. "Well, how do I look, then?"

She jerked, glanced up at him and back at the photograph developing between her fingers. Held it out to him and he reached out to take it. No, she didn't like that idea. Snatched it back as his fingers closed around it. "Mine. You can look, but it's mine."

Met her eyes and understood. Played along. Laughing at the notion he reached for it again, only for a repeat performance. "It's a photo of me. My property."

Buffy guffawed, squirming out of his grasp with a giggle. "I'll think you'll find it's my camera..." she pointed at the Polaroid camera laying on the side for effect. "My film, my boyfriend so therefore my photo—what?"

He was staring at her and he didn't need a Polaroid to tell him he'd never looked at her that way before. She'd said it. He belonged. He was hers and she'd said it. Admittance. "God, I love you."

Shit. No true. Admittance and she'd heard. She wasn't in denial mode yet, the shock had cut too deep and she was there before him. Stunned into frozen animation. Rabbit caught in the headlights. And there was light and fear and the sure knowledge of the fates all aligning themselves to criss-cross at that very moment. This is it, Buffy. Make or break. Here's your final Out 'cos there's no going if you don't walk away now.

That was it. She was suddenly there in front of him. Unblinking and searching his eyes for a residue, a trace of the truth. Short of pinch him it was all she could do. All she could do to tug him down into a kiss. Taste the trace of truth on his tongue. She seemed convinced, pulled him closer until he felt that her cheeks were wet, tasted the salt on her lips. Fingers embedded themselves in his hair as they descended to the bathroom floor. Let themselves drown in the metaphoric sea.

TBC