2675, approximately two hours later
Tracing my fingertips over Spike's bare torso, I lay in our bed with my head on his chest. His deep rumble of contentment echoes in my ear, and I feel him lazily trailing his fingers through my hair. Full of blood and sated on my lover, I sigh with happiness.
"You know, Buffy," he whispers, holding up and examining a lock of my hair in the dim lights. Foregoing all pet names, he only calls me Buffy in private. "I'm glad your locks are long, but I miss the blond."
Keeping my head in the same location, I roll over to face him with a smile lighting my face. "What? Don't like the red?"
"Well, I guess it's okay. It reminds me a bit of Red." He smirks.
I punch his arm in mock anger; I know he found Willow attractive at one point. Then, my face sobers. "I still miss Willow sometimes."
"I know, Buffy, I know. I do, too."
"She was the truest friend I've ever known. She and Xander."
Spike says nothing and merely listens; he's heard all of this before and knows he can say nothing to make me less lonely for my long-dead human friends. Willow had actually lived a couple of centuries because of the magic that infiltrated her very being, making her a little less mortal. Although she dated here and there, she never again found another lover quite like Tara. Xander eventually married when he was forty-years-old and had two daughters and a son. He died at age seventy-six while working on the site of his latest building construction.
"And Dawn," Spike adds with sadness in his tone.
"Yeah."
Dawn. . . sweet, precious Dawnie, an ex-mystical key endowed with latent anti-aging powers, outlived Willow and the children she had with her husband. She kept Spike and I company for three centuries before passing on after a fight with a Turg'sh demon who invaded the herb shop she owned in Sunnydale.
We remain silent for several minutes lost in our own thoughts. Flooded with memories of the past, I slowly begin to drift asleep. Spike's voice breaks through the haze of half-sleep.
"Buff. . . need. . . sure of. . . ."
"Hmmmm," I return.
Strong hands gently shake my shoulders. My eyes fly open.
"I'm awake. I'm listening," I say drowsily.
He bends forward and overcomes my mouth with his, sending shivers through my muscles. When I start to return the kiss with equal ardor, he leans back, ending our connection.
"Hey! Cheater," I tease and watch as the briefest hint of a time gone before flickers of pain wash over his face. He hides the emotion quickly, but I still want to make up for the pain I caused him when I was human. I pull the full length of my body onto him and murmur, "I love you very much. . . even if your name is Henderson."
At the mention of the awful name Roger picked for him a couple of centuries ago, he flips me onto my back in the tangle of sheets and tickles me until my ribs hurt. Then, he kisses my nose before standing from the bed and pushing the button on the slim wristband he always wears. Instantaneously, he is fully clothed in his usual outfit with his black hair slicked back and his body refreshingly clean and smelling of a light musk. I reluctantly imitate Spike's actions, and in seconds, I am clean and refreshed, and the bed is made.
Moving to the other side of the room, we sit at the table across from one another, and Spike places his wrist lightly over mine, so the devices we wear are touching. A small change in our minds, and we are connected. . . able to talk with each other in complete privacy.
The device in our brains was made to evolve as technology changed, and with the advent of the efficient wristbands that basically ran several aspects of our daily lives, our brains could also be occasionally connected. Although reading another's exact thoughts and feelings remains beyond the realm of current possibility, having a voluntary conversation is feasible. One of the reasons we have probably risen so high in Nabald's esteem is our possession of this technology so common among humans and so rare among demons.
"I've learned some interesting news today from Nabald, Buffy." Spike almost sounds as if he is speaking aloud.
"What?"
"Nabald is planning a raid on the learning institute. He wants to go for live food this time."
"What! Why?" I do not bother to hide my shock at Nabald's boldness. Children are sent from birth to age ten to live at the learning institute where their brains are fed information and trained in a specialized area. Although the place sounds like a negative experience for the children, in all actuality, the children are allowed to do most of the things children did in my time as human. The international government funds the institute so that even children from the poorest families are allowed and expected to attend.
"I know. The place is full of children," Spike acknowledges. "I asked him how he thought to get around the slayage crew. He said he heard a rumor that the slayer and crew are on Mars fighting a demon uprising there, leaving Earth vulnerable."
"Damn it. How can we stop this?" When Spike and I lost our identities two hundred years ago, we decided to use the new bios to our advantage in the demon world. After decades of trying, we'd finally infiltrated Nabald's infamous organization. We continued to help in the fight against the darkness even if the Watcher's Council wanted us dead and even if we couldn't leave the darkness ourselves.
At Spike's next words, I notice that he's grinning at me. "You'll be very proud of me."
"What did you do?"
"It's quite perfect if I do say so myself." He's enjoying keeping me in suspense.
"Grrr. Tell me," I insist.
"Nabald agreed to send us to Mars to keep an eye on the slayer."
"What?!" I am not quite sure what to say. "You're nuts!"
"Now hold your temper, pet," he soothes, "There's a reason I agreed to this."
"Oh, really."
"We're going to actually approach the slayer and her crew for help with the situation," he explains.
"I won't even dignify that with a response."
He grins again. "You just did."
I glare at him, giving him the ole Buffy evil eye.
His laughter bounces through my thoughts. "Now just wait a minute."
My hand under his threatens to rip away from his touch. He's determined to get us killed! In response to my tension, his fingers rub tiny circles on my wrist, which involuntarily calms me. Damn him!
"I thought that by going to the slayer, we could test out the current Council. See how they respond to us now. See what they've told the slayer about us."
I've known that Spike is tired of hiding for a while now. I just didn't realize how much he wanted to be in the open again. For him to suggest finding out the Council's views of us means he is very serious.
"But we'll lose our new identities," I counter.
"I'd rather be myself in hiding than anyone else." Spike is proud of being such an elder vampire, and he has always preferred to be nothing but himself. I suppose I'm surprised that he's handled the alternate identity this long.
"But, our freedom to travel. . . "
"Is already almost nonexistent because we're vampires." He pauses before adding, "And we'll be able to help the children."
He convinces me. "All right. We'll go to Mars."
Impulsively, he ends our mental conversation to pick me up and spin me around. I giggle at his giddiness.
When he sets me onto my feet, I encourage him to temper his enthusiasm with my next words, "But, we're going to take precautions and be careful."
TBC. . . Okay! It's revamped to explain why Dawn lived so long! Ooops! That was a bit of an oversight! Hehehe. . . Well, on to Mars!!! :o)
Tracing my fingertips over Spike's bare torso, I lay in our bed with my head on his chest. His deep rumble of contentment echoes in my ear, and I feel him lazily trailing his fingers through my hair. Full of blood and sated on my lover, I sigh with happiness.
"You know, Buffy," he whispers, holding up and examining a lock of my hair in the dim lights. Foregoing all pet names, he only calls me Buffy in private. "I'm glad your locks are long, but I miss the blond."
Keeping my head in the same location, I roll over to face him with a smile lighting my face. "What? Don't like the red?"
"Well, I guess it's okay. It reminds me a bit of Red." He smirks.
I punch his arm in mock anger; I know he found Willow attractive at one point. Then, my face sobers. "I still miss Willow sometimes."
"I know, Buffy, I know. I do, too."
"She was the truest friend I've ever known. She and Xander."
Spike says nothing and merely listens; he's heard all of this before and knows he can say nothing to make me less lonely for my long-dead human friends. Willow had actually lived a couple of centuries because of the magic that infiltrated her very being, making her a little less mortal. Although she dated here and there, she never again found another lover quite like Tara. Xander eventually married when he was forty-years-old and had two daughters and a son. He died at age seventy-six while working on the site of his latest building construction.
"And Dawn," Spike adds with sadness in his tone.
"Yeah."
Dawn. . . sweet, precious Dawnie, an ex-mystical key endowed with latent anti-aging powers, outlived Willow and the children she had with her husband. She kept Spike and I company for three centuries before passing on after a fight with a Turg'sh demon who invaded the herb shop she owned in Sunnydale.
We remain silent for several minutes lost in our own thoughts. Flooded with memories of the past, I slowly begin to drift asleep. Spike's voice breaks through the haze of half-sleep.
"Buff. . . need. . . sure of. . . ."
"Hmmmm," I return.
Strong hands gently shake my shoulders. My eyes fly open.
"I'm awake. I'm listening," I say drowsily.
He bends forward and overcomes my mouth with his, sending shivers through my muscles. When I start to return the kiss with equal ardor, he leans back, ending our connection.
"Hey! Cheater," I tease and watch as the briefest hint of a time gone before flickers of pain wash over his face. He hides the emotion quickly, but I still want to make up for the pain I caused him when I was human. I pull the full length of my body onto him and murmur, "I love you very much. . . even if your name is Henderson."
At the mention of the awful name Roger picked for him a couple of centuries ago, he flips me onto my back in the tangle of sheets and tickles me until my ribs hurt. Then, he kisses my nose before standing from the bed and pushing the button on the slim wristband he always wears. Instantaneously, he is fully clothed in his usual outfit with his black hair slicked back and his body refreshingly clean and smelling of a light musk. I reluctantly imitate Spike's actions, and in seconds, I am clean and refreshed, and the bed is made.
Moving to the other side of the room, we sit at the table across from one another, and Spike places his wrist lightly over mine, so the devices we wear are touching. A small change in our minds, and we are connected. . . able to talk with each other in complete privacy.
The device in our brains was made to evolve as technology changed, and with the advent of the efficient wristbands that basically ran several aspects of our daily lives, our brains could also be occasionally connected. Although reading another's exact thoughts and feelings remains beyond the realm of current possibility, having a voluntary conversation is feasible. One of the reasons we have probably risen so high in Nabald's esteem is our possession of this technology so common among humans and so rare among demons.
"I've learned some interesting news today from Nabald, Buffy." Spike almost sounds as if he is speaking aloud.
"What?"
"Nabald is planning a raid on the learning institute. He wants to go for live food this time."
"What! Why?" I do not bother to hide my shock at Nabald's boldness. Children are sent from birth to age ten to live at the learning institute where their brains are fed information and trained in a specialized area. Although the place sounds like a negative experience for the children, in all actuality, the children are allowed to do most of the things children did in my time as human. The international government funds the institute so that even children from the poorest families are allowed and expected to attend.
"I know. The place is full of children," Spike acknowledges. "I asked him how he thought to get around the slayage crew. He said he heard a rumor that the slayer and crew are on Mars fighting a demon uprising there, leaving Earth vulnerable."
"Damn it. How can we stop this?" When Spike and I lost our identities two hundred years ago, we decided to use the new bios to our advantage in the demon world. After decades of trying, we'd finally infiltrated Nabald's infamous organization. We continued to help in the fight against the darkness even if the Watcher's Council wanted us dead and even if we couldn't leave the darkness ourselves.
At Spike's next words, I notice that he's grinning at me. "You'll be very proud of me."
"What did you do?"
"It's quite perfect if I do say so myself." He's enjoying keeping me in suspense.
"Grrr. Tell me," I insist.
"Nabald agreed to send us to Mars to keep an eye on the slayer."
"What?!" I am not quite sure what to say. "You're nuts!"
"Now hold your temper, pet," he soothes, "There's a reason I agreed to this."
"Oh, really."
"We're going to actually approach the slayer and her crew for help with the situation," he explains.
"I won't even dignify that with a response."
He grins again. "You just did."
I glare at him, giving him the ole Buffy evil eye.
His laughter bounces through my thoughts. "Now just wait a minute."
My hand under his threatens to rip away from his touch. He's determined to get us killed! In response to my tension, his fingers rub tiny circles on my wrist, which involuntarily calms me. Damn him!
"I thought that by going to the slayer, we could test out the current Council. See how they respond to us now. See what they've told the slayer about us."
I've known that Spike is tired of hiding for a while now. I just didn't realize how much he wanted to be in the open again. For him to suggest finding out the Council's views of us means he is very serious.
"But we'll lose our new identities," I counter.
"I'd rather be myself in hiding than anyone else." Spike is proud of being such an elder vampire, and he has always preferred to be nothing but himself. I suppose I'm surprised that he's handled the alternate identity this long.
"But, our freedom to travel. . . "
"Is already almost nonexistent because we're vampires." He pauses before adding, "And we'll be able to help the children."
He convinces me. "All right. We'll go to Mars."
Impulsively, he ends our mental conversation to pick me up and spin me around. I giggle at his giddiness.
When he sets me onto my feet, I encourage him to temper his enthusiasm with my next words, "But, we're going to take precautions and be careful."
TBC. . . Okay! It's revamped to explain why Dawn lived so long! Ooops! That was a bit of an oversight! Hehehe. . . Well, on to Mars!!! :o)