Good evening, All,
Well, I did manage to get one chapter out on time. Alas, it looks like I will only be able to get out one more this week. Look for it Saturday or Sunday. Real Life is giving me a beating at the moment and the muse is all pent up and frustrated. Possibly, she needs a Spike!Bot.
I want to thank you all for the lovely cards and emails wishing me well and supporting both my writing and my struggles with life. Your outpouring is simply amazing and something that I will always remember and for which I will be forever grateful.
All I ask is that you please be patient, and that you tell me what you feel about the work. I need your guidance and your support more than ever.
Many thanks to you all.
*Cheery Vibes*, Nimue
"As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Spike and a widdle Buffy and Spike wubs Buffy." James Marsters 14 July 2002
Title: California Dreaming (Chapter Twelve of The One)
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG -13
Pairing: Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.
Feedback: Yes, please
For instant notification of fic releases, straight to your mailbox, please visit Always_Everyday@yahoogroups.com
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (With, of course, the exception of Emma and William, who belong to Buffy and Spike)
Summary: Buffy and Spike share a dream that terrifies them both. But why? And what brings it on? Spike recounts the prophetic vision to Giles in order to sort it out. before it's too late.
California Dreaming
She stood, her white cloak now soiled and dusty from lying in the shed. Oil and grease from the lawnmower had seeped into the fabric and her skin. But it didn't seem to faze her. In life, she would have never been out in public in such condition. Now, it didn't matter.
The part of her that cared was just.gone.
The window was above her. There was a worn spot on the ground, under the tree, where someone had stood before her. Waiting. Watching. Staring up at the same, empty, dark, glass and hoping for a miracle. She was not the bringer of such things. No miracles here.
Just confusion and pain.
Her arm rose as if of its own volition, pointing like some ancient prophet of the window of the One. Only, the One was meaningless to her. All of it was. Some niggling doubt in the back of her mind said that what was behind the window might be. But the One, that thing that she'd been sent to scatter, was just a thing. A thing that needed to be dealt with. Not that she knew why.
Not that she cared.
The dragon coiled on her bracelet glowed once again. A deep, fiery, red. The colour of blood and death. It shone and danced, blinding her. Still, her arm pointed at the window as if aiming a gun. She might as well have been. This would do much worse.
The glow grew and turned into a serpent. A glowing, red serpent, to be exact. One full of fire and fury, silent in its slithering approach to the darkened glass. Her hand passed through its tail as the creature coiled around her wrist, tethering itself to her. It wasn't real. Then again, what was? What was real anyway?
The serpent passed through the glass as she watched, sliding its empty, glowing form into the house. She watched it, head tilted, waiting. For what, she didn't know. But the answer came when the entire room became bathed in that same red glow, and she could hear a little gasp from inside.
The serpent snapped back, recoiling into her wrist. She stood, watching as the flow faded like a cigarette put out by a giant. And then she moved. Slowly walking back towards the shed, silent on surreal feet. It was done. Or at least this part.
The oil and grease were calling her home.
Spike could feel her there. In the dream. It wasn't as if he could touch her or actually see her beautiful eyes staring back at him. But he could sense that Buffy was there. Sense her all around him, just as he did every moment of his existence as it had become. Always next to him. Every day.
It was like falling through time. It started by waking up. Only he didn't. And he fell through all the yesterdays of this existence and every other until he reached the First. That one moment where it all began.
Huddled next to the fire, he couldn't have been that much older than William or Emma. Maybe five. Six at best. Clinging to her hand. They were One. Always One. Since they came to the Earth. And until they would leave it.
He could feel his childish palms sweating, his grubby fingers wrapped through hers. They had taken daddy away. Mummy too. It was just them. That was all that was left. But they were One and they could beat anything. That's what the man said. That is what the lights told them when they came.
But the darkness came that night. By the fire. They held hands until the darkness took him away. He screamed. God, he screamed, watching her fade into the distance becoming smaller and more alone with every step the darkness took. Smaller. More frail. More alone. And he cried. Cried his soul into the night. Until it was gone.
And then the death began anew.
Like a clock righted, time began to spin forward again until he was waking up. Only he still wasn't. And now the paths had joined. But they were also crossing. He had taken part of her. She had taken part of him. But did it go too far? Did it know how to stop?
She stood before him as she looked now, dressed in white. So beautiful and perfect, like that night on the beach. His hand caressed her face and her eyes slid closed. When they opened again, they glittered yellow.
~~~~~~~~
She could see every night of her life. And every night of every other. Although seeing wasn't the word. Feeling. She could feel them pass with their anger and bliss, their joy and sorrow. Things she had never seen before but felt so familiar. Places she had never been, but were home.
Maybe because she could feel he was with her.
Home was not a place. It was a feeling. A need. A heart's desire. She could feel him there and the need fulfilled. So, she was home.
Time stopped, and she opened her eyes. A fire. She could feel a small hand in hers. A child's hand. She was a child. She looked a lot like Emma. Buffy was afraid to turn her head because *they* were coming. If she moved, they might see them. But she knew he was standing next to her, holding her hand. They were all that was left.
She clutched his hand, holding on for dear life. Knowing. Waiting. But the darkness came and they weren't big. They weren't strong and Mommy and Daddy were gone. They took him. She wailed as she watched them carrying him off, slung over a shoulder. Watched him screaming and crying and reaching towards her. Others held her back. She couldn't follow. Her heart was torn from her chest. And he was gone into the shadows.
Time spun forward again. The feelings of her lives were back, only home was gone. He was gone. Her hands felt tight and empty. The clock slowed again until the scenery became familiar. Her life, or something like it.
She stood in white before him. Her hair bundled atop her head. He was so handsome in that shirt. And his eyes were pools waiting for her to dive in. Welcoming her. Making her safe. The look on his face was perfect, unbridled love. Happiness. She looked at him for a second, her head tilting. Feeling the flames lapping at her dress.
Her eyes slid closed and it took her like a shot of adrenaline. Blood. Lust. Anger. Violence. All of those parts she had hidden away and that he had fought to make things right. She wanted to kill, to eat. She needed to eat. Her features tightened and her head throbbed, her blood thrumming with power.
When she opened her eyes, he gasped.
She screamed.
"Spike!" Buffy screamed, sitting bolt upright in bed. She was sweating, her heart pounding in her chest. "Oh God."
His eyes shot open at the sound of her voice. The nightmare. He knew. He had been there. But she didn't know he saw. "Buffy?" He asked, sitting up next to her.
Buffy turned to look at him, her eyes large and afraid. She was so beautiful. She stared at his face for a moment like a child. Waiting to see if it was safe to cry. His heart broke as her eyes welled up, spilling big, salty drops down her cheeks. She looked like Emma when she cried. Vulnerable and small and helpless.
The Slayer. Helpless.
"S'alright, Pet," Spike whispered, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She turned, dazed, and buried her head against his chest. Buffy sobbed, her body trembling in his arms, shaking like a frightened animal. "S'just a dream, Love."
But it wasn't. Somewhere he knew it wasn't.
Her eyes focused up at him, slowly, as if it were the most painful thing in the universe to look at him. Or maybe to let him look at her. "You were there, weren't you?"
Spike wasn't sure how to answer. He wasn't sure where the dream ended and the memories began. He nodded. "I was, Love." His fingers stroked her hair, trying to calm her hitching breaths.
"That was us, wasn't it?" She asked. Spike thought a moment. He wasn't Giles. Didn't pretend to have all the answers rolled into one neat package.
"Dunno, Love. But it could be," he answered quietly, still cradling her to his chest.
Buffy clung to him a moment, feeling his heart beat under her ear. "At the end. I... I was..."
Spike squeezed her, burying his face in her hair. "S'not real. Never going to happen. Won't let it, Love."
"A Vampire?" She asked. She didn't want to say it. He didn't want her to say it.
"No, Pet. Something else," Spike whispered. But it wasn't.
"I felt it," she whispered, her voice as soft as a child. "I wanted blood. I wanted." It was too much to say. To horrible to even let escape from her mind.
Buffy stared at him with enormous, frightened eyes. Never. Never would he let her live with what he lived with. His hand caressed her face again, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "We'll suss it out, Pet. Trying to tell us something, that's all. It's not real. All right?"
"How... how can you know?" Buffy whispered, desperately wanting to believe him, but afraid to ignore what the dream had told her. Had told them.
Spike smiled, his blue eyes dancing. "Because you're everything they're afraid of. Not a one would take on the likes of you." He had hoped that it would be enough to comfort her. At least until he could figure it out. She had enough to worry about with Draconius and with the tots. She didn't need to worry that she would be turned right under his nose.
Buffy chuckled. "You did," she whispered, brushing a tear from her face with the back of her hand.
"No one ever accused me of being bright, Pet," Spike snarked, brushing his lips against hers. "Besides. I know you. Know you better than the Powers ever could. Think you'd probably march your way up there yourself if they ever tried to turn you into anything but what you are."
Buffy let her head rest on the smooth lines of his chest, her sobs trailing off. "What do you think it means, Spike?"
Spike sighed, settling back down on the bed and drawing her with him. She curled against his naked form, her leg thrown over his thighs. "I don't know. But I think it might be time we actually asked Rupert and Cyrus to find out what the One really is. Besides interesting 'lil powers."
She looked up at him, eyes slyly sparkling. "You mean like this?" She asked, letting her mind wander to a particularly naughty place. Spike purred, his eyes slipping closed.
"Umm... just like that," he said, his hands stroking her bare back. "As much as I find it... useful... I imagine there's a reason for it."
"Other than this?" Buffy asked, her lips tracing his jaw and her mind pushing him a step further.
Spike tensed his body suddenly on fire. "Hell with it. Who needs a greater purpose?"
"You have the energy for this?" Buffy whispered in his ear, her tongue tracing his earlobe and setting fires in its wake. "I mean, what with the massive amount of demon slaughter and the nightmares and recovering from the big holiday shindig, I don't want to wear your old bones out." Really, it wasn't about sex at all. She needed him close. Needed to latch on.
Spike opened one eye, arching an eyebrow at her curiously "You know you're asking for it, Slayer."
She giggled, the tension escaping like air from a tire. "You couldn't handle me."
"That's it," Spike huffed, spinning her and tossing her on her back in one fluid movement. "You're going to regret that."
His lips trailed down her cheek, her jaw, her shoulder. "Is this punishment?" Her voice was still laced in fear, but she had found her home again. Even if only for the night.
Spike smiled against her skin. "Right, Pet. It's, uh, tongue lashing."
"I'm a bad girl," Buffy whispered as she sank into bliss.
It was almost daylight. Buffy was dead to the world, in a manner of speaking, curled against him. Her face was gentle, a half smile playing on her lips. Still, after time and life, she was his golden goddess. Softly, he let his lips brush her forehead and gently disentangled himself from her.
Spike slid into his pajama bottoms, silently slipping from the room. Emma's door was shut tight. He walked towards it, letting it click open softly under his grip. Emma was curled up in a ball in front of Dawn. He had forgotten the younger Summer's girl room was probably over run by Harris's. Still, it was rather sweet the way that his daughter had curled into his Niblet's arms. Not independent. Not yet.
Slowly, Spike made his way to Will's room, peeking in through the open door. He half expected to see River missing, now that Xander was certainly home and he and his lovely wife had taken up residence in the basement. But William was still lying with the pretty little girl sheltered under him. Fast asleep.
Spike's mind was rattled as he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He may have played it off to Buffy, but the dream was real. It was there, trying to tell them something. If not, then why would they have shared the nightmare? He closed his eyes, padding through the dining room on bare feet and the glare of yellow eyes, *her* yellow eyes, haunted him.
"You're awake?" A familiar voice asked. Spike's eyes fluttered open to see Giles still huddled over the kitchen counter, looking disheveled and exhausted.
Spike stared at the Watcher a moment. "Thought you would've gone home."
"I thought about it," Giles answered frankly. "But something told me I needed to stay here. Anya called and she was home with Randy and told me it was all right if I..."
"Why did you think you should stay?" Spike asked, interrupting Giles and beginning to make coffee... Blood seemed utterly unappetizing this morning.
Giles removed his glasses, laying them on the counter top. "I don't know. I just. I was about to leave and I felt something. Something."
"Terrifying," Spike muttered, pulling two mugs from the cabinet.
"Yes," Giles agreed, quirking a brow at the Vampire. "Why? Did you."
"Nightmare," Spike answered, the smell of coffee beginning to fill the room.
"What kind of nightmare?"
Spike was silent. He didn't want to say it. He didn't want to articulate that kind of horror, even to her Watcher. But he had to. "Buffy," Spike said quietly. "She had it as well."
Giles was quiet, turning back towards the books on the table. "Both of you shared a vision?"
"Not a surprise there, Rupert," Spike defended, leaning against the sink. "Share most things, nowadays."
"Dreams?" Giles asked.
Spike nodded. "More often than not."
Giles chuckled. "Must make for some interesting conversations after certain fantasies."
Spike shook his head quite seriously. "Can honestly say that my last Playboy playmate dreamscape was before Buffy and I. were together."
"Hunh," Giles answered frankly, nodding. "But this one last night was."
"Frightening," Spike answered, shuddering. "Lots of bits about the past which I am sure you'd love me to recount ad nauseam once I've gotten the house underway." It was a warning more than a promise. One that said to let him handle this at his own pace. "But the crux of it is, Rupert, she was turned."
"Turned?" Giles asked, spinning towards the Vampire. Spike leaned over, pouring coffee into the mugs.
"Turned," Spike repeated. "Won't let that happen. You know I'll never let that happen."
"You can't always be there," Giles answered softly. He knew because he had tried.
Spike sighed, handing the Watcher a mug. "I can and I will. Not going to let this one come to pass, Rupert."
Giles nodded, understanding, but still weary. "Spike, we do need to pay attention to Slayer dreams. They're rather prophetic..."
Spike glared at him for a moment. "I will protect her from it. Not a single one will get close enough to sink their sodding fangs into her. Won't let it happen."
The Watcher stared at him, trying to make sense of it all. "You will fill me in on the vision in its entirety?"
"Soon as I've got a handle on this day," Spike answered, taking a long draw of the hot liquid. "Need to suss it out myself."
"I trust you will watch her back, Spike," Giles said, his voice quiet. "But we need to straighten out why this would happen. We need to be prepared."
Spike wanted to argue, but knew the Watcher was right. Slowly, he nodded. A thought, a horrible one at that, came to mind. "Giles?"
"Yes," the Watcher answered, sipping at his coffee.
Spike was silent, thinking. "Anya is. protective of Randy, isn't she? Rather rough and tumble bird?"
Giles smiled, nodding. "I wouldn't trust anyone more."
"If anything happens.. If things get. Just..." Spike stumbled over the idea, but felt he had to say it. "If things get out of hand here, I want you to take Emma and William to Anya. Have her remove them somewhere we can't find them. "
The Watcher's eyes grew wide. "Take. take your children?"
Spike took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air. "I need to make sure they're safe, Rupert. If anything happens, promise you'll send them to Anya until it's safe again."
Giles nodded slowly.
This was more serious than he thought.
To be contd.
Well, I did manage to get one chapter out on time. Alas, it looks like I will only be able to get out one more this week. Look for it Saturday or Sunday. Real Life is giving me a beating at the moment and the muse is all pent up and frustrated. Possibly, she needs a Spike!Bot.
I want to thank you all for the lovely cards and emails wishing me well and supporting both my writing and my struggles with life. Your outpouring is simply amazing and something that I will always remember and for which I will be forever grateful.
All I ask is that you please be patient, and that you tell me what you feel about the work. I need your guidance and your support more than ever.
Many thanks to you all.
*Cheery Vibes*, Nimue
"As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Spike and a widdle Buffy and Spike wubs Buffy." James Marsters 14 July 2002
Title: California Dreaming (Chapter Twelve of The One)
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG -13
Pairing: Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.
Feedback: Yes, please
For instant notification of fic releases, straight to your mailbox, please visit Always_Everyday@yahoogroups.com
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (With, of course, the exception of Emma and William, who belong to Buffy and Spike)
Summary: Buffy and Spike share a dream that terrifies them both. But why? And what brings it on? Spike recounts the prophetic vision to Giles in order to sort it out. before it's too late.
California Dreaming
She stood, her white cloak now soiled and dusty from lying in the shed. Oil and grease from the lawnmower had seeped into the fabric and her skin. But it didn't seem to faze her. In life, she would have never been out in public in such condition. Now, it didn't matter.
The part of her that cared was just.gone.
The window was above her. There was a worn spot on the ground, under the tree, where someone had stood before her. Waiting. Watching. Staring up at the same, empty, dark, glass and hoping for a miracle. She was not the bringer of such things. No miracles here.
Just confusion and pain.
Her arm rose as if of its own volition, pointing like some ancient prophet of the window of the One. Only, the One was meaningless to her. All of it was. Some niggling doubt in the back of her mind said that what was behind the window might be. But the One, that thing that she'd been sent to scatter, was just a thing. A thing that needed to be dealt with. Not that she knew why.
Not that she cared.
The dragon coiled on her bracelet glowed once again. A deep, fiery, red. The colour of blood and death. It shone and danced, blinding her. Still, her arm pointed at the window as if aiming a gun. She might as well have been. This would do much worse.
The glow grew and turned into a serpent. A glowing, red serpent, to be exact. One full of fire and fury, silent in its slithering approach to the darkened glass. Her hand passed through its tail as the creature coiled around her wrist, tethering itself to her. It wasn't real. Then again, what was? What was real anyway?
The serpent passed through the glass as she watched, sliding its empty, glowing form into the house. She watched it, head tilted, waiting. For what, she didn't know. But the answer came when the entire room became bathed in that same red glow, and she could hear a little gasp from inside.
The serpent snapped back, recoiling into her wrist. She stood, watching as the flow faded like a cigarette put out by a giant. And then she moved. Slowly walking back towards the shed, silent on surreal feet. It was done. Or at least this part.
The oil and grease were calling her home.
Spike could feel her there. In the dream. It wasn't as if he could touch her or actually see her beautiful eyes staring back at him. But he could sense that Buffy was there. Sense her all around him, just as he did every moment of his existence as it had become. Always next to him. Every day.
It was like falling through time. It started by waking up. Only he didn't. And he fell through all the yesterdays of this existence and every other until he reached the First. That one moment where it all began.
Huddled next to the fire, he couldn't have been that much older than William or Emma. Maybe five. Six at best. Clinging to her hand. They were One. Always One. Since they came to the Earth. And until they would leave it.
He could feel his childish palms sweating, his grubby fingers wrapped through hers. They had taken daddy away. Mummy too. It was just them. That was all that was left. But they were One and they could beat anything. That's what the man said. That is what the lights told them when they came.
But the darkness came that night. By the fire. They held hands until the darkness took him away. He screamed. God, he screamed, watching her fade into the distance becoming smaller and more alone with every step the darkness took. Smaller. More frail. More alone. And he cried. Cried his soul into the night. Until it was gone.
And then the death began anew.
Like a clock righted, time began to spin forward again until he was waking up. Only he still wasn't. And now the paths had joined. But they were also crossing. He had taken part of her. She had taken part of him. But did it go too far? Did it know how to stop?
She stood before him as she looked now, dressed in white. So beautiful and perfect, like that night on the beach. His hand caressed her face and her eyes slid closed. When they opened again, they glittered yellow.
~~~~~~~~
She could see every night of her life. And every night of every other. Although seeing wasn't the word. Feeling. She could feel them pass with their anger and bliss, their joy and sorrow. Things she had never seen before but felt so familiar. Places she had never been, but were home.
Maybe because she could feel he was with her.
Home was not a place. It was a feeling. A need. A heart's desire. She could feel him there and the need fulfilled. So, she was home.
Time stopped, and she opened her eyes. A fire. She could feel a small hand in hers. A child's hand. She was a child. She looked a lot like Emma. Buffy was afraid to turn her head because *they* were coming. If she moved, they might see them. But she knew he was standing next to her, holding her hand. They were all that was left.
She clutched his hand, holding on for dear life. Knowing. Waiting. But the darkness came and they weren't big. They weren't strong and Mommy and Daddy were gone. They took him. She wailed as she watched them carrying him off, slung over a shoulder. Watched him screaming and crying and reaching towards her. Others held her back. She couldn't follow. Her heart was torn from her chest. And he was gone into the shadows.
Time spun forward again. The feelings of her lives were back, only home was gone. He was gone. Her hands felt tight and empty. The clock slowed again until the scenery became familiar. Her life, or something like it.
She stood in white before him. Her hair bundled atop her head. He was so handsome in that shirt. And his eyes were pools waiting for her to dive in. Welcoming her. Making her safe. The look on his face was perfect, unbridled love. Happiness. She looked at him for a second, her head tilting. Feeling the flames lapping at her dress.
Her eyes slid closed and it took her like a shot of adrenaline. Blood. Lust. Anger. Violence. All of those parts she had hidden away and that he had fought to make things right. She wanted to kill, to eat. She needed to eat. Her features tightened and her head throbbed, her blood thrumming with power.
When she opened her eyes, he gasped.
She screamed.
"Spike!" Buffy screamed, sitting bolt upright in bed. She was sweating, her heart pounding in her chest. "Oh God."
His eyes shot open at the sound of her voice. The nightmare. He knew. He had been there. But she didn't know he saw. "Buffy?" He asked, sitting up next to her.
Buffy turned to look at him, her eyes large and afraid. She was so beautiful. She stared at his face for a moment like a child. Waiting to see if it was safe to cry. His heart broke as her eyes welled up, spilling big, salty drops down her cheeks. She looked like Emma when she cried. Vulnerable and small and helpless.
The Slayer. Helpless.
"S'alright, Pet," Spike whispered, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She turned, dazed, and buried her head against his chest. Buffy sobbed, her body trembling in his arms, shaking like a frightened animal. "S'just a dream, Love."
But it wasn't. Somewhere he knew it wasn't.
Her eyes focused up at him, slowly, as if it were the most painful thing in the universe to look at him. Or maybe to let him look at her. "You were there, weren't you?"
Spike wasn't sure how to answer. He wasn't sure where the dream ended and the memories began. He nodded. "I was, Love." His fingers stroked her hair, trying to calm her hitching breaths.
"That was us, wasn't it?" She asked. Spike thought a moment. He wasn't Giles. Didn't pretend to have all the answers rolled into one neat package.
"Dunno, Love. But it could be," he answered quietly, still cradling her to his chest.
Buffy clung to him a moment, feeling his heart beat under her ear. "At the end. I... I was..."
Spike squeezed her, burying his face in her hair. "S'not real. Never going to happen. Won't let it, Love."
"A Vampire?" She asked. She didn't want to say it. He didn't want her to say it.
"No, Pet. Something else," Spike whispered. But it wasn't.
"I felt it," she whispered, her voice as soft as a child. "I wanted blood. I wanted." It was too much to say. To horrible to even let escape from her mind.
Buffy stared at him with enormous, frightened eyes. Never. Never would he let her live with what he lived with. His hand caressed her face again, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "We'll suss it out, Pet. Trying to tell us something, that's all. It's not real. All right?"
"How... how can you know?" Buffy whispered, desperately wanting to believe him, but afraid to ignore what the dream had told her. Had told them.
Spike smiled, his blue eyes dancing. "Because you're everything they're afraid of. Not a one would take on the likes of you." He had hoped that it would be enough to comfort her. At least until he could figure it out. She had enough to worry about with Draconius and with the tots. She didn't need to worry that she would be turned right under his nose.
Buffy chuckled. "You did," she whispered, brushing a tear from her face with the back of her hand.
"No one ever accused me of being bright, Pet," Spike snarked, brushing his lips against hers. "Besides. I know you. Know you better than the Powers ever could. Think you'd probably march your way up there yourself if they ever tried to turn you into anything but what you are."
Buffy let her head rest on the smooth lines of his chest, her sobs trailing off. "What do you think it means, Spike?"
Spike sighed, settling back down on the bed and drawing her with him. She curled against his naked form, her leg thrown over his thighs. "I don't know. But I think it might be time we actually asked Rupert and Cyrus to find out what the One really is. Besides interesting 'lil powers."
She looked up at him, eyes slyly sparkling. "You mean like this?" She asked, letting her mind wander to a particularly naughty place. Spike purred, his eyes slipping closed.
"Umm... just like that," he said, his hands stroking her bare back. "As much as I find it... useful... I imagine there's a reason for it."
"Other than this?" Buffy asked, her lips tracing his jaw and her mind pushing him a step further.
Spike tensed his body suddenly on fire. "Hell with it. Who needs a greater purpose?"
"You have the energy for this?" Buffy whispered in his ear, her tongue tracing his earlobe and setting fires in its wake. "I mean, what with the massive amount of demon slaughter and the nightmares and recovering from the big holiday shindig, I don't want to wear your old bones out." Really, it wasn't about sex at all. She needed him close. Needed to latch on.
Spike opened one eye, arching an eyebrow at her curiously "You know you're asking for it, Slayer."
She giggled, the tension escaping like air from a tire. "You couldn't handle me."
"That's it," Spike huffed, spinning her and tossing her on her back in one fluid movement. "You're going to regret that."
His lips trailed down her cheek, her jaw, her shoulder. "Is this punishment?" Her voice was still laced in fear, but she had found her home again. Even if only for the night.
Spike smiled against her skin. "Right, Pet. It's, uh, tongue lashing."
"I'm a bad girl," Buffy whispered as she sank into bliss.
It was almost daylight. Buffy was dead to the world, in a manner of speaking, curled against him. Her face was gentle, a half smile playing on her lips. Still, after time and life, she was his golden goddess. Softly, he let his lips brush her forehead and gently disentangled himself from her.
Spike slid into his pajama bottoms, silently slipping from the room. Emma's door was shut tight. He walked towards it, letting it click open softly under his grip. Emma was curled up in a ball in front of Dawn. He had forgotten the younger Summer's girl room was probably over run by Harris's. Still, it was rather sweet the way that his daughter had curled into his Niblet's arms. Not independent. Not yet.
Slowly, Spike made his way to Will's room, peeking in through the open door. He half expected to see River missing, now that Xander was certainly home and he and his lovely wife had taken up residence in the basement. But William was still lying with the pretty little girl sheltered under him. Fast asleep.
Spike's mind was rattled as he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He may have played it off to Buffy, but the dream was real. It was there, trying to tell them something. If not, then why would they have shared the nightmare? He closed his eyes, padding through the dining room on bare feet and the glare of yellow eyes, *her* yellow eyes, haunted him.
"You're awake?" A familiar voice asked. Spike's eyes fluttered open to see Giles still huddled over the kitchen counter, looking disheveled and exhausted.
Spike stared at the Watcher a moment. "Thought you would've gone home."
"I thought about it," Giles answered frankly. "But something told me I needed to stay here. Anya called and she was home with Randy and told me it was all right if I..."
"Why did you think you should stay?" Spike asked, interrupting Giles and beginning to make coffee... Blood seemed utterly unappetizing this morning.
Giles removed his glasses, laying them on the counter top. "I don't know. I just. I was about to leave and I felt something. Something."
"Terrifying," Spike muttered, pulling two mugs from the cabinet.
"Yes," Giles agreed, quirking a brow at the Vampire. "Why? Did you."
"Nightmare," Spike answered, the smell of coffee beginning to fill the room.
"What kind of nightmare?"
Spike was silent. He didn't want to say it. He didn't want to articulate that kind of horror, even to her Watcher. But he had to. "Buffy," Spike said quietly. "She had it as well."
Giles was quiet, turning back towards the books on the table. "Both of you shared a vision?"
"Not a surprise there, Rupert," Spike defended, leaning against the sink. "Share most things, nowadays."
"Dreams?" Giles asked.
Spike nodded. "More often than not."
Giles chuckled. "Must make for some interesting conversations after certain fantasies."
Spike shook his head quite seriously. "Can honestly say that my last Playboy playmate dreamscape was before Buffy and I. were together."
"Hunh," Giles answered frankly, nodding. "But this one last night was."
"Frightening," Spike answered, shuddering. "Lots of bits about the past which I am sure you'd love me to recount ad nauseam once I've gotten the house underway." It was a warning more than a promise. One that said to let him handle this at his own pace. "But the crux of it is, Rupert, she was turned."
"Turned?" Giles asked, spinning towards the Vampire. Spike leaned over, pouring coffee into the mugs.
"Turned," Spike repeated. "Won't let that happen. You know I'll never let that happen."
"You can't always be there," Giles answered softly. He knew because he had tried.
Spike sighed, handing the Watcher a mug. "I can and I will. Not going to let this one come to pass, Rupert."
Giles nodded, understanding, but still weary. "Spike, we do need to pay attention to Slayer dreams. They're rather prophetic..."
Spike glared at him for a moment. "I will protect her from it. Not a single one will get close enough to sink their sodding fangs into her. Won't let it happen."
The Watcher stared at him, trying to make sense of it all. "You will fill me in on the vision in its entirety?"
"Soon as I've got a handle on this day," Spike answered, taking a long draw of the hot liquid. "Need to suss it out myself."
"I trust you will watch her back, Spike," Giles said, his voice quiet. "But we need to straighten out why this would happen. We need to be prepared."
Spike wanted to argue, but knew the Watcher was right. Slowly, he nodded. A thought, a horrible one at that, came to mind. "Giles?"
"Yes," the Watcher answered, sipping at his coffee.
Spike was silent, thinking. "Anya is. protective of Randy, isn't she? Rather rough and tumble bird?"
Giles smiled, nodding. "I wouldn't trust anyone more."
"If anything happens.. If things get. Just..." Spike stumbled over the idea, but felt he had to say it. "If things get out of hand here, I want you to take Emma and William to Anya. Have her remove them somewhere we can't find them. "
The Watcher's eyes grew wide. "Take. take your children?"
Spike took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air. "I need to make sure they're safe, Rupert. If anything happens, promise you'll send them to Anya until it's safe again."
Giles nodded slowly.
This was more serious than he thought.
To be contd.