Spike abruptly found himself standing at the foot of the stairs in Buffy's house. He turned about quickly, but saw no immediate threat. The unrelieved blankness outside the windows led him to conclude that whatever this nightmare was, it took place entirely within the home. There was a sudden thump from the floor above him, as of something - or someone - falling. Spike raced up the stairs.
"Buffy?" he called. "Are you there, love?" He paused at the top of the stairs to listen for a response. He had nearly decided to return to the main level when he heard a muffled groan coming from the bathroom, and he pulled open the door sharply.
The first thing to hit his senses was the smell. A sour stink of illness hung in the air, and he reeled back. But when his attention was caught by the small, still figure on the floor shrouded in the torn shower curtain, he steeled himself and moved quickly into the room, kneeling beside her.
"Buffy?" he repeated, fearing the worst, and was immensely relieved when she stirred and emitted a low moan. "What happened, pet? Who did this to you?" he inquired, as he helped her disentangle herself. Buffy rolled free of the constraining fabric and levered herself stiffly up to a seated position against the tub. She scraped back lank hair from her face with both hands, and looked up at him. The shadows under her eyes were so deep that they looked like bruises. Without warning, one fist lashed out and caught him just above his right ear, sending him sprawling. The look she gave him as he picked himself up was empty and cold, but her voice was hot with rage.
"You did, you bastard," she hissed. "You did this to me." Her words and the anguish in her tone were more painful to him than his throbbing head.
"Slayer," he said, gripping her wrists tightly to prevent her striking at him again. "This isn't real. It's a nightmare."
She laughed hollowly. "So we finally agree on something. My life has been a nightmare ever since I suspected . . ." She looked away.
Spike drew closer. "Suspected what, love?" he asked gently.
"That I was . . . p-pregnant," she blurted, and broke into sudden, shocking tears.
Spike's mouth shaped the word soundlessly. Pregnant? And by him? It simply wasn't possible, and he repeated as much to her.
"See for yourself," she demanded, pointing to the plastic bits scattered across the floor - remnants of a home pregnancy test shattered in anger, he deduced. Spike almost turned to look, so strong was her command, before he realized he was being drawn into her delusion. He moved his grip to her shoulders instead and held her firmly. Tracing back their conversation in his head, he realized where it had taken a wrong turn.
"When I said this was a nightmare, pet, I meant that literally. You are lying in bed at home dreaming it." He looked intently into her eyes, as though to convince her with the power of his will alone. "You're under a magical attack. We were in the cemetery, you and me, having a bit of a set-to, when you just up and collapsed," he explained. "Can you remember anything?"
"Cemetery . . ." she mumbled, confused and brushing away tears. "Can't see you . . . stay away."
He sighed. Trust she'd remember that. "Yes love. We were arguing about that again when you were attacked. You've been three days trapped in nightmares until Red's witchy girlfriend could send me in to find you."
"Tara? Sent you? Why?" Spike wasn't sure this monosyllabic response was actually an improvement on the crying.
"To pull you out. She's anchoring me there so as I can show you the way back. Take this," he said, unwrapping the second amulet from around his wrist and pressing it into her palm. "Put it on and Tara will know I've found you and will bring us back out." When she just looked at it blankly, he helped her twine the cord about her fingers and wrist until it was the twin of his.
She looked up at him, understanding blooming in her expression. "Spike! What the hell am I-" Her nose wrinkled abruptly. "Ugh! That's even worse than the burger smell! And if that's how I smell, how awful must I look?" she asked, bringing her hands up to her face. There wasn't a safe answer to that, so Spike wisely held his tongue.
Buffy looked around the bathroom and down at herself in dismay. "It was all so real. I actually believed . . ."
"We'll be out of here soon enough, now that your amulet is active," Spike said, indicating the soft golden glow of the central stone and just incidentally redirecting the conversation to safer grounds. "I'm just glad I found you - I've been chasing you through a number of unpleasant scenarios now. Tara found that a demon called the Nightmare Master was creating dreams from your memories, but twisting them. When you failed to protect your friends in the nightmares, it was feeding on your pain." It didn't explain this particular nightmare - but he wasn't going to ask.
"I can remember some of them now," she admitted. "I couldn't do anything to help them, and they died. Over and over again. No matter what I did." Her voice was bleak.
"It wasn't real, love. It never was. You've always saved them," he reassured her. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike could see the shimmering that presaged the movement between dreams, and hoped it signalled their retrieval. The prickling began in his skin again, and he seized the last moment to share one more sentiment.
"Buffy, I want you to know . . . if it had been true . . ." he spread one hand gently on her stomach. She tensed slightly, but permitted the intimacy. "If it could be possible that you were going to have a baby, a child of ours," he said, his voice soft and low. "I would have loved it . . . because it would have been a part of you."
The swirling colours stole any reply she might have made.
**********
In Buffy's bedroom, Tara suddenly opened her eyes. She leaned forward in the armchair that she had placed at the end of the bed and sighed, "He found her. Light the incense, Willow," she instructed. Willow moved to comply, directing the aromatic smoke over the two still figures on the bed. "Dawn, get the oil."
"Are they coming back?" Dawn demanded as she fetched the vial. Hours had passed with no visible change, except the candles had burned nearly half away.
"I'm bringing them out now," Tara said. "Anoint their foreheads, throats, hands and feet, Dawn. The oil of protection will help ward away the psychic energy of their nightmares and keep it from rebounding on us." Dawn worked her way around the bed, applying the oil as Tara had directed. As she stroked the last of it onto Spike's forehead, Tara began a low chant in an incomprehensible dialect. For long moments, nothing happened.
Unexpectedly, Spike's eyes snapped open. His body tensed until his back was arched completely off the bed. "Majinamizi!" he shouted, and collapsed again.
"Kyuumu," murmured Buffy softly, as if in agreement, her eyelids fluttering. The six candles surrounding the bed flared into torches of flame, and then went out as though a strong wind had swept through the room, though nothing stirred. Dawn screamed.
Tara rose shakily from her chair, clinging to the arms for support, and Willow was immediately by her side. "What is it Tara? What happened?" she asked.
Tara's expressive eyes filled with tears. "I've lost them. Something pulled them away from me at the last moment. Oh Willow, Dawnie . . . they're gone." And she crumpled to the floor, unconscious.