"It's almost light, love."
His soft rumble-y words hummed deep inside her. They lay entangled, and he felt like a cool breeze on a hot, hot day.
She reached up and touched his chest where his heart didn't beat. He took her hand.
"Vampire, love," he said, dropping a kiss on her head. "It's been part of the package since long before we met."
She couldn't explain why it hurt her. "Spike."
"I got my soul back for you," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Am I going to have to roam the world to find a way to turn into a real little boy for you now too?"
Buffy's eyes widened and she rolled back to stare at the ceiling. "The Shanshu Prophecy," she breathed.
"What?"
"Nothing." Her brow crinkled. "I'm not sure. Something Angel mentioned once."
"Oh. Angel."
One chance for a vampire with a soul to become human again. Buffy rubbed her forehead. It was too big to think about just now.
She looked back at Spike and blinked. Rumpled, with a side of dazzling. Breathe.
"And—What? No," she clipped out primly. "No roaming. Where are you going to roam anyway? Rome?"
Spike pulled her closer, trying not to look pleased.
"We'd better get up," she said, "before the pitter-patter of clomping teenage girlie feet brings eyes to see us in our naketude."
"There's time, pet. Don't slip away from me yet."
She rolled her eyes, and threw back the sheet just as Spike's arms tightened around her with vampire strength. He radiated a subtle air of vitality she had never felt before. Nervous energy began to spill out of her in anticipation of the day ahead, but she felt the urge to . . . bask for a moment.
"You're my sun, pet."
"Wh-what?" She'd just dreamt of him being the sun. That was weird.
"Well, dead man walking and all that, I have no heat of my own. But in your bright, energizing light, I can feel some real warmth . . .without bursting into flames."
"Oh. Sort of a retile-y thing."
He sighed. "I was thinking more of a planet thing."
She twisted in his arms to stare up at him. "A planet?"
"Well, planets are cold, dead things, aren't they, love." He frowned and examined the ceiling. "Uh, while at the same time being impressive and, uh, scary good fighters." He looked sideways, then glanced at her.
An edge of regret crept into his voice for starting down this road. "Saw it on the Discovery Channel. They get their energy by gathering the heat of the sun and . . . . Well, just add water and suddenly they're teeming with life."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Has anyone told you, you have the soul of a poet?"
Spike sucked in an unplanned breath and choked, releasing her. She pounded his back when his eyes watered.
"You said before you're not much of a thinker, but that's not really true, is it. Maybe vampiring doesn't call for a lot of thinking, but you read books. I've seen it." She broke into a grin. "And you watch the Discovery Channel."
"You're poking fun at me," he said with strained distance.
"You may not have done well in school," she continued, "but as a counselor for all of a couple of months I know, school milestones are so random. Maybe all you need is another hundred years of reading and thinking to blossom into a real intellectual. Like Giles. You'll make some lucky Slayer a zesty Watcher some day." Intellect and toned pecs. I think I'm jealous of her, whoever she is.
"Intellectual? Giles? Watcher?" Spike scampered to the bottom of the bed and jammed himself against the wall, grasping the sheet to his chest. "Bloody hell, Slayer, you really come out swinging, don't you!"
"Well, now that the Watchers' Council has been eliminated, maybe it will be something different. But who better to teach a Slayer how to defend against demons than a vampire Watcher?"
"A vamp—?" He struggled for words. "You're the only Slayer I want to tangle with, Buffy."
"I'm not going to be here in a hundred years."
His mouth suddenly dropped open and his eyes went round. "I know what you're doing, you're planning a future for me without you!" He pointed at her, outraged. "Bollocks to that! You can stop it right now, you're not going to die today!"
Busted. She stood up and started pulling on her clothes.
"I'm just saying. I'm not going to be here forever."
"How do you know?" He grabbed his pants. "How many Slayers have died of natural causes? None, right? They keep getting picked off because there's only one of you at a time. But with an army of Slayers at your side and me watching your back, you might turn out to be immortal . . . like I am."
"I'm human."
He finished buckling his belt and turned to her, eyebrow lifting. "My ass," he said. "Your strength isn't human. Your healing isn't human."
She frowned at him in exasperation, trying to ignore his alabaster chest. "Would you quit all that thinkage?"
"You're going to get out of the Hellmouth alive," he said, stalking toward her. "I'll do whatever I have to do to get the job done, love. Because you believe in me. Because I'm your champion."
Their eyes locked, and she suddenly found herself in need of a cigarette.
He leaned in to kiss her, but she stepped back and turned her head. Not now, William, or I'll cry.
Refusing to look at him, she rummaged through the bed clothes, and came across the talisman. She turned it over in her hands. Shiny, and not in a good way. It was volatile and she didn't want him wearing it. But he had a right.
"We've got a big fight ahead of us," she said, handing it to him. "Let's get through that first."
"You'll swat the First's über-vampires like the mess of mosquitoes they are," he said, his fingers closing around the charm.
She looked at him at last. "We'll swat them, Champion."
A mischievous grin spread across his face. "You know," he said, "in the olden days, a lady gave her champion a favor to hang from his armor."
She frowned. "Favor? You mean, like a bag of candies?"
"Uh, well, usually it was a piece of clothing. Some sort of . . ." he moved his arm vaguely, "trim from her frock. Or a hanky. Something personal."
Buffy looked down at her clothes, her hands in an I-got-nothing gesture.
"Tell me," Spike pulled something from his back pocket, "will you be wanting these again?"
Her mouth fell open and heat swept into her face as she stared at the scrap of lace and silk woven through his fingers. She spun away, shoulders trembling, afraid she'd lose her composure, and then turned back to him.
"This time you can keep them," she said, unable to stop herself laughing out loud. "Just no hanging of the very private favor from the talisman."
"But it's tradition, pet!" he teased. "It was a matter of pride for the champion that people could see who favored him."
"What, you're an expert in history now, as well as science?"
"No, you got me, love," he said, slipping them back in his pocket. "You know I don't kiss and tell."
Buffy sighed in relief.
"I'm sure I can find a more discreet place to hang them."
"Spike!"
She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Spirits lifted, check. When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her, smiling.
He looked up. "Pitter-patter," he said with a sigh. "And so the day begins."
Buffy looked up too, but couldn't hear anything.
Spike captured his shirt from under the bed and, pulling it on, walked over to her. Buoyancy and confidence came off him in waves. His vibrant blue eyes drilled into her until nothing else existed.
"Tell you what, Slayer," he said, "today I can do anything for you."
Epilogue
I love you, Buffy. He watched her climb the stairs. But, to save me, you have to love Spike too.
She looked back once, smiled, and closed the basement door quietly behind her.
And sometimes I forget how young you are, love.
He turned away.