I'm standing in the Slayer's bedroom. I know immediately I'm dreaming, 'cause there's no way in Hell she'll ever let me into this part of her life.

It's dark out, but not that dark, and the Slayer is standing beside her bed. The sheets are a mess, and she's staring down at the bundle like she expects the bed to make itself.

"Pet?"

She looks up at me. There's no anger in her eyes, and no demand for me to leave. Definitely a dream. "Spike. Will you help me make the bed?"

Seems like an odd request, but this is a dream, so… "Sure. Your mum not around to help you?"

"Mom lives inside the walls," she replied. Bloody surreal, that is. "She has to. It's the only way I can keep her safe."

"She hit me with an axe one time. Wager she doesn't need you to protect her." I step forwards and pick up a sheet. I grab two corners and the Slayer grabs the other two.

"Faith usually helps me make the bed," she continues. "I told her to be back before Dawn. I don't think she will be."

I glance out the window. "Dawn will be here soon."

The Slayer nods. "So much to do before she gets here."

"You mean Faith?"

She doesn't reply, just continues to make the bed. I help.

This is my dream, and I know I'm dreaming. I can make anything happen. I can seduce the Slayer and do all sorts of naughty things to her once the bed is made. If I can't have her in the real world, I can have her in my dreams.

But it feels… wrong. Like I'm tainting her, or taking advantage. She's not real, not here, but doing those sorts of things to her in a dream, when the real deal will never let me do anything of the sort… She's already hurt over the monks' violation of her body. I can't bring myself to do near enough the same thing. To keep my bloody feelings in check, I stare at the white sheets instead of looking at her.

Blood starts dripping onto the sheets. On her side of the bed. I look up, and my eyes widen in horror at the sight.

There's a big gaping hole in her stomach. Blood is pouring out of it; covering her hands, her shirt, and the stake that she's suddenly holding. I realize that was the weapon that hurt her, but why would she stake herself?

The Slayer doesn't react. It doesn't even look like she's in pain. She just holds the stake out towards me and says, "This is my gift. Death is my gift."

"Buffy!"

I bolt upright in bed as I scream her name.

It was a bloody dream, I remind myself. And yet, she can die any day. She's a Slayer, and every Slayer has a death wish. It's a consequence of how they were wired; born to fight evil, as beacons of light in the world's overwhelming darkness. But eventually, that darkness consumes them.

And if she dies, it won't just be her I'll be losing.

I leap out of bed. It takes me a few seconds to remember I'm stark naked. I wanna just say sod it and run out into the night in my birthday suit, and while I don't mind if the Slayer sees me like this, I know she won't appreciate it. So I grit my teeth and quickly get changed into my shirt and jeans. I slip on my boots before I grab my duster on the way out of my crypt.

It doesn't take me long to track her down. First comes her scent, and then the closer I get, I start to make out her witty banter.

"You know, it's probably none of my business, but I just gotta ask… did you smell this bad when you were alive?"

I follow her voice until I come upon her fighting off a sodding eighties reject. Now, I'm a big fan of the music of that era, but bloody hell, humankind deserves to die in the next apocalypse for the crime of inventing the mullet. And this bloke is sporting the worst one I've ever seen.

"If it's a post-mortem thing, then hey, so not your fault, and boy, is my face red…" Buffy continues as she exchanges blows with the berk. "But just so you know, the fast-growing field of personal grooming's come a long way since you became a vampire."

She raises her arm and prepares to stake him. But the bloke sidesteps, and in an instant, I know what he's about to do.

I sprint across the grass in less than a second. I don't think I've ever moved so fast in my whole unlife.

Mullet Head has her by the wrist. He twists it and prepares to use the stake against her, and that's the moment when I dive in between them. Next thing I know, my left side is burning with pain.

I bite down on my lips to stop myself from screaming and fall to my knees on the grass.

"Spike!" I feel the Slayer's arms around me.

"Hey, man! Get your own snack!" Mullet Head snarls.

Quick as a whip, the Slayer pulls out the stake still stuck in my side and throws it at the vamp. It hits bullseye, and Mullet Head turns to dust.

Then she's in front of me, eyes wide and full of concern. "Spike! What the hell were you thinking?! He could've staked you!"

"I was thinking you were about to take a hit to the stomach, and you could've lost the Bit," I tell her. "And he did stake me, in case you didn't notice the blood. Good thing he didn't get my heart."

Her hands are on my shoulders. I don't draw attention to them; she's touching me, and that's all that matters. "Is this gonna be a regular thing? Because it was bad enough with Riley."

I nearly snarl at the mention of her wanker of an ex. "Don't compare me to Cardboard. I only jumped in because I knew he was gonna hurt you. Until then I was content to watch you kick his arse."

"Oh." Her anger dies. "I can't believe this is happening."

"With you on that one, pet. My coat's got a bloody hole in it! Do you know all the trouble I went through to keep it in good condition?"

She rolls her eyes. "Forgive me for not caring. You're wearing the corpse of a dead animal."

"Why do I get the feeling those are Red's words and not your own?" I don't tell her that I stole the coat off of the corpse of the last Slayer I killed. I she learned that, she'd kick me in the head and leave me here to bleed out.

"We're getting off track here," she says. "What I meant was, I was hoping we could get back into our usual routine."

"Usual routine?"

"You know…. I patrol, you show up, we banter, I punch you, we part. Wash, rinse, repeat. But now…" She gestures to the wound in my side. "Now the Slayer of Slayers is saving a Slayer's life…"

"So what?" I tell her. "Do you dance the same dances every time you go to the Bronze with your mates? The same old song and dance gets stale after a while. We've gotta change it up once in a while."

She doesn't look so sure, but she's not running. Doing things differently doesn't scare her. Still, probably best that I keep my feelings for her to myself. The last thing any of us need right now is her kicking me to the curb.