The price is right (4), by dutchbuffy2305

Rating: R

Timeline: Season 7, AU after Showtime, some spoilers after that

Summary: All the women from the Summers' house seem to have disappeared. The men go searching for them. Spike thinks he's dreaming of Buffy, but Willow says they're meeting on a dream plane.

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Buffy opened her eyes to find herself back in the real cave with Willow and the others. Kennedy and Molly were sleeping on the bare rock floor; the other girls were still kneeling in their petrified praying postures. Praying to Artemis because they were virgins, according to Spike.

She still felt like crying. Her head tried to tell her she'd done the right thing, but her gut wasn't so sure. There seemed to be a kind of tension coiling there, on the scale of a driving-test or SATs, drawing her intestines in a tight knot. It felt as if she hadn't studied, didn't know left from right and was not going to get into college.

Why was it so hard to identify the right choice? Nothing seemed simple anymore. There wasn't the sense of hopelessness she'd felt last year, but the uncertainty about doing the right thing , the feeling of navigating through nearly indistinguishable shades of gray remained. Did she have to be General Buffy? Well, who else could do it? It just didn't seem fair she had to handle being a surrogate mother, counselor, friend, daughter and lover as well.

She sniffled a little, involuntarily, and was struck by the limestone smell and the faint hollowness of the small sound.

"It smells just like the other cave, Will," she said softly, not wanting to wake the others. "How can we know that this is real? Like Spike said, we haven't been eating or drinking or peeing or anything. This could be an illusion, too."

"But…" Willow started, but she too was unable to come up with a solid rebuttal to this point. "In the real reality, we are really gone. Something is doing something to us."

"I know. I meant, there's less point in us looking for a way out, if this is not a real place. There could be nothing behind those walls."

"'kay, I get it. If we want out, we might only be able to do it by traveling with our minds."

"Right."

Buffy was silent again. Talking about their situation had made her forget for a bit why she was feeling so crappy, but it hit again the moment she stopped talking. Did she even want to get out? Being stuck here had felt like a time-out from all her problems, and dreaming of Spike had seemed a natural follow-up to that. Not dreaming, but really meeting Spike on a thought-plane was far from problem- and consequence-free, the opposite of convenient, in fact.

"Buffy?" Willow ventured carefully. "Are you okay?"

"How could I be? I feel like hell." Maybe she could talk to Willow about it.

"Yeah, I can imagine. It didn't seem real, you and Spike…"

Maybe not so easily, after all. "You remember it was real, last year?"

She saw several expressions flit over Willow's face.

 "Yes, but... But you said you'd never – That you were over him. Gallons of no, and so forth."

Buffy frowned. "I don't think *we* talked about Spike at all, Will. You must have heard this from other people."

Willow swallowed. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I'm sorry you haven't been able to talk to me about this. I don't want to judge you. I want to support you in whatever you decide, be a good friend to you."

Perhaps she could tell Willow about all the nights she'd spent in the basement the past week? About what she had thought were dreams last night, and how they made her feel? More than she had thought possible, that was for sure.

She uncoiled from her cross-legged position and found a somewhat comfortable place against the wall of the cave. "I'm sorry, Will. I want us to talk, but I think there's someone I owe that even more to right now. I hope you can understand that."

Willow looked at her sadly. "I think I'm starting to. Take care, Buffy."

Buffy closed her eyes and willed herself to the other cave. When she opened her eyes again, she saw an orangey glow around a corner, and the diffuse light threw a vastly distorted shadow of Spike on the wall. He was sitting bowed, with his head in his hands. Her heart twanged. A fist closed around it and squeezed hard.

He must know she was back. How had she known he would still be here? She'd just been sure about it, and the implications of that were kind of creepy.

"Spike?" she said and knelt down next to him. Her hand hovered above his head, twitching with indecision, feeling the crisp curls under her hand from tactile memory. He didn't react. Of course, he was going to act like the real Spike did nowadays, careful and waiting for her signals, not as free and joyous as when they'd both thought they were dreaming. It was kind of sad to notice the difference. She had probably seemed as different to him! She remembered giggling and saying things that made her blush when she thought of them now.

She sighed. No point in coming back if she was gonna waffle like this. She was here now, he could hardly not listen to her.

"Spike. I'm sorry. Really sorry. I acted like a jerk, denying again what happened between us. I was just kind of thrown, because I thought I was dreaming, and I…"

"That's alright," he said quietly. "So did I. No need to apologize for that. That's what dreams are for, to do things you don't do in real life."

He still wasn't looking at her.

"But you are mad at me, aren't you? Because I came to sleep with you every night and I didn't tell anybody about it?"

He finally lifted his head and looked at her. "Well, yeah. But maybe more like sad about it. Or about myself. It made me hope, Buffy, and I realize that's just foolish. I should have given that up by now, but I can't seem to help it."

The torture instruments in Buffy's gut cinched tighter. She wasn't saying the right things. Maybe she should start using flash cards like Giles, this was going nowhere. Biting her lip, she moved a little closer and put her hand on his clenched ones. They felt tense, but warm. Spike was warm in his thoughts. The thought threatened to choke her up. He glanced down at her hand and made as if to remove it from his, but uttered a sigh instead and turned a face towards her that was a mix of patience and pain.

He cocked his head a little and regarded her steadily. Waiting. This was it, she guessed. This was the moment of truth, where Buffy Summers was going to show her true colors. Coward or fool, which one would it be? Her heart was galloping like crazy. Damn, she hated it when her body knew what she was going to do before she did.

She released his hand and sat down cross-legged next to the dying fire. "Okay. You win. I care. Now what?"

Spike just stared at her, mouth hanging slightly open. Not his cutest look, but she thought it was kind of endearing. This was, after all, a moment he had worked towards for about three years.

"Well? That's it? I thought you'd be happier. Smile a little, do a dance of joy? Roar? Kiss me or something?"

"Buffy. I'm not sure I'm hearing this right. Could you please repeat it?" His voice sounded strangled, and she could see his throat working. She flinched inwardly. Who could blame him for needing this spelled out three times, bold, with extra spacing? She'd trained him not to expect anything from her but pain and rejection.

She felt a nervous giggle escape her mouth. So not how she had pictured this moment in her teenage dreams. Of course, then she had dreamt of romantic candlelit dinners, violins playing in the background, and possibly the reading of poetry and hand kissing; not scenes from a horror movie where the world nearly ends and the battered hero and heroine find each other after the apocalypse has been averted at the last possible moment. Which was not even very accurate, as the apocalypse was still coming soon to a Hellmouth near you, but there was really no one she'd rather share apocalypses with.

"I care about you, Spike. A lot." It was even harder to say the second time. Wasn't it supposed to get easier?

Spike still had that dazed look, but he uncrossed his legs, sat up on his knees with the old, impossible suppleness, and took her shoulder in a bruising grip.

"Is this it, Buffy? Is this where you tell me? Do you mean you are gonna let me stand by you?"

"I do. Although death is probably gonna part us sooner rather than later…"

What the hell was she babbling about? Did she really intend that level of commitment? She gripped his ribcage in a death hug and now he was staring into her eyes as if she would disappear if he blinked or looked away for a moment.

The urge to act, to touch him, to do anything but stare into his soul like that was overwhelming. Her gut was giving her an 'all clear', even a 'we have lift-off', but she was still scared. This was putting all her money in one place, noir, impair. Faites vos jeux, Mesdames et Messieurs, faites vos jeux. The wheel was about to stop, and this was the last chance to hedge her bets. She left her chips where she had put them and kept on looking back.

"Buffy, I…" He looked so flummoxed, so helpless. "This is…this is…I don't know what to say."

"I'm thinking actions would speak louder than words." She took his chin in one hand and kissed him on the mouth, a little clumsily because of his slow reaction and all the elbows and knees between them. Clumsy was new, too. He clasped her hand and immediately drew back with an exclamation of surprise.

"So you did take my ring! Why are you wearing it if you weren't sure before…"

"I'm not wearing it! It's in the pocket of my jeans!" Her mouth was still saying this as she looked at her own left hand. Yep. The fug-ugly skull ring, Goth meets Pimp-Daddy edition, was on her ring finger all right.

Spike held her hand in his and looked at it with a faint gleam in his eye that made her heart's gallop falter for a moment. "I'm sure in reality it is in your pocket. In your cave. This, here, is only a representation of Buffy you made in your mind. I guess in your mind you wear my ring..."

She could only blush.

"But the next question is, why was it in your pocket?"

He drew back. All the way back, letting go of her hand, and regarded her with gentle amusement. "Scary, innit?"

"Yeah."

Her lips felt cold and stiff and numb with fear. He was right, it was downright scary. Why had he let go of her hand?

"Why is it like that? Don't you love me anymore?"

"Of course I do. I'll always love you."

He looked at her with such complete and utter surrender that a new fear started up in the pit of her stomach. This was so different. She was so afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing at this crucial moment that she was unable to move. Awkward was the understatement of the month, she was paralyzed. There were supposed to be huge happy feelings if you told the guy you loved him, not this sense of impending doom, of something inexorable gaining momentum and barreling towards them.

Without consciously having made a decision, she was kissing Spike again, and she closed her yes so she could shut out all sensation except for the feel of his lips on hers. No more awkwardness now, tracing the outline of those full lips with her tongue, feeling them move and respond, her tongue meeting his with that electrifying thrill. The taste was a recent memory, a basement memory, Spike without tobacco or booze.

Buffy half opened her eyes to look at his rapt face, so close, thick dark eyelashes fluttering faintly. His cheek so smooth against hers, nose to nose, skin to skin. Her heart twanged again, no longer in minor key.

Spike cupped his hands around her face, god, she had never let him do that before, way too tender a gesture, and he looked wonderingly back at her. He looked so young, so vulnerable like that. She vowed fiercely never to hurt him again. No one and no thing were going to hurt him if she had anything to say about it.

His hands moved from her arms to her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. Buffy gasped as her breasts were pressed against his chest, feeling her nipples hardening at that contact. This incredibly melty feeling was liquefying her whole body. Spike drew her head in the crook of his neck. She realized his hand was almost big enough to cup her head. They stayed like that for long moments.

There was no hurry here, Buffy thought, they would take their time from now on…She pushed thoughts of expiration dates versus immortality far away and locked them in a dark cupboard.

"Gonna get you out, sweetheart," Spike said in her hair. "Then I will really hold you."

She sighed, months of tension leaving her body with her breath. "I want to make love to you in my own bed and never get up again. Except maybe to get some ice cream so I can lick it off you."

She felt his smile in the muscles of his neck. "My thoughts exactly."

***

When Spike woke up, his elation threatened to lift him straight off the cot and bounce him off the walls. It was impossible to stay in bed one moment longer. He couldn't quite grasp yet what had happened. Could it really be true? Could all his suffering and hopeless months of waiting be over? The happiness couldn't be contained, it just was. He took a calming breath. Breakfast, shower, blood, find Buffy. Life was impossibly good, even when he considered the dangerous situation they were in. He didn't want to be anywhere else.

Going up the stairs, he tried to reset his face to neutral, but wasn't sure how successful that was. He thought of breakfast and realized it was dark outside. Had he been asleep so briefly or so long?

"Good evening, all," he said carefully.

"Back already?" Xander said, without noticeable malice. He was drinking beer. Giles was staring morosely into a glass of what looked like scotch. Andrew wasn't around.

Spike felt hungry, and ignoring the idea that he'd fed a couple of hours ago he headed for the fridge again.

"Did the books deliver the goods, Rupert?" he asked Giles, eyeing the scotch. Where was Rupert stashing it?

"No, they didn't," Giles said without looking up. "She's not in my usual demonology books at all. Of course, if she really is the ancient Greek goddess Artemis…" He dipped two fingers in his scotch and flicked a few drops to the kitchen floor, "we would probably just pour some wine on the earth or the altar and that would be a prayer…"

The world went fuzzy for a moment, as if there was a local brownout, and a tall athletic looking woman in a short draped dress stood leaning against the kitchen sink.

"Well done," she said in a rich contralto. "I was afraid I'd have to do it all by myself!"

Spike stood gaping. He could well believe she'd been a true goddess once. There was a presence to her, a shine he'd never seen in a demon before; nor had Glory possessed that kind of glamour, even discounting the awful fashion sense. She gave even the mundane counter clutter and drying dishes a reflected glow.

"Artemis?" Giles stuttered out.

"Indeed. Milady would be fine, too. I don't stand on ceremony anymore, I take what I can get. "She crossed her arms before her imposing chest and started pacing.

"So, gentlemen, what have we got here? You know I have your women?"

"Virgins, most of them,' Giles said hastily. "Surely you wouldn't harm them?"

"The maidens will be returned unharmed. But I must ask a favor in return. I need a boon that I can receive in a special way only, and for that, I've been forced to use you gentlemen. As you must be aware, balance must be maintained. To gain my desire, I have to give something in return. You are going to provide that gift."

Giles looked confused and a little disgusted. "This is just a ransom demand?"

"No need to be crude!"

Spike waited until she had turned her back on him and pounced. Without looking up, she lifted one arm and smacked him through the door halfway into the living room. Great plan, Spike. Remember Glory? With difficulty, he got up and gingerly made his way back to the kitchen, where Xander and Giles were sitting like frozen rabbits, staring at the gesticulating goddess. He felt rather than saw Andrew sidle up and peek into the kitchen.

"…will have to yield these offerings willingly. I could take what I needed, to restore the one I love, but the balance demands willingness. Hence, the kidnapping."

She turned her head and greeted him with a chilling stare. She had a high-nosed classical beauty, and a body like a Greek statue, which meant she would tower over Buffy and most of the girls. She stared down at him, and one corner of her mouth turned up in a semblance of a smile.

"I can simply take what I want," she repeated and lifted her hand imperiously.

Xander gripped his cheeks." Ouch! What did you do, ouch?"

"I don't like technology and artifice," she said contemptuously and waved her hand at Giles and Spike. Giles clapped his hands to his eyes, his face spasming involuntarily. Spike felt nothing.

"The other one, I will leave intact for now," Artemis said. "Think on my offer: If you give me willingly what I need, a sacrifice one might call it, your women will be returned to you. I will return here tomorrow."

She disappeared. The lighting dimmed momentarily and the microwave pinged. For a short moment, they all remained frozen, staring at the spot Artemis had been standing.

"What did she do?" Spike asked worriedly.

"Oh man, my fillings, ow, I think she took all of them, look at my teeth!" Xander complained loudly and opened his mouth wide to show Giles and Spike the empty holes in his back teeth.

"She ruined my glasses," Giles said. "The lenses are cracked. Bugger. Artifice and technology. Spike, hit me!"

"What?" But he knew full well what Giles was talking about. His chip must be out. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Wouldn't matter too much with the soul and all, would it? But would it bother Buffy?

He lifted his hand and slapped Giles cheek. He felt no pain.

"Harder!" Xander said. "That little tap hardly would have made it go off, anyway."

"Well, why don't I hit you, since you are so much more annoying!" Spike said, and acted on his words. Xander picked himself off of the floor with a grimace.

"Okay, so now we know you're off the leash. Should I feel unsafe now?"

"Suit yourself," Spike answered tiredly. "I have no more intention of harming you than five minutes ago."

He sank down on a stool and grabbed Giles' glass. He needed a bloody drink. Happiness was a pretty unstable feeling, really. It already seemed elusive again, and not an hour had passed since he'd woken up in the basement ready to sing and dance. He needed to talk to Buffy. The sooner she knew about the chip the better.

The scotch revived him a little. "Did you catch what she wanted our willing sacrifices for, Rupes?"

"She wants to restore her loved one," Giles cited. "I'm guessing, but either it's one of the classic human lovers or males associated with her, like Hippolytus or Actaion, or it's a new one who suffered the same fate. She might be repeating the same history over and over, always losing the mortal she loves to the same fate? What do you think, Spike?"

"I have no special insight in the psyche of ex-goddesses, Rupert. What makes you think I would?'

"Well, you're not exactly human yourself, Spike. Your immortal perspective is probably closer than ours."

"Bollocks, Giles. Hundred and fifty years versus a couple of thousand? Hell of a difference. Vampires and gods, also not the same thing at all. Let's get back on topic. Any idea what kind of sacrifice the bitch wants?"

"None. My guess would be not the microwave."

Andrew made an involuntary step in the direction of that device. Spike threw him an exasperated look.

Giles caught sight of his empty glass, and with a reproachful look at Spike got up to retrieve a bottle from a pail under the sink.

"Whoa, we finally found out where Giles keeps the booze!" Xander said.

"Hadn't found this one yet," Spike said. "In the magic box it was under the counter, far as I remember."

Giles looked slightly peeved, but after only minimal hesitation poured each of them a glass. Spike downed his in one great gulp and cleared his throat.

"I found out some new facts, too, mates," he said.

Giles eyebrows rose. "Dreaming again? Of, um.,…?"

"Yeah," Spike said defensively. "But it was real, I met the girls – Willow and Buffy – on a kind of plane of thought – this time," he amended quickly.

"Everyone alright? Dawnie?" Xander asked.

"Didn't see them, just Willow and Buffy. They said everyone was accounted for. In a cave, they were. Willow said to do a locator spell, Giles. She can't do magic, bounces back to her in there."

"Hey, Spike? You talked to the real Buffy, huh? No boinking now, I'm guessing?"

"Drop it, Xander," Giles said authoritatively. "Spike knows better than to try anything, don't you Spike?"

Giles' eyes conveyed many messages to Spike, none of which he wanted to hear. This was so difficult. Holding the knowledge inside, where it burned and danced and wanted to burst out and be shouted from the rooftops! Best say nothing at all. Once his mouth was open he could usually do bugger all to control it. He clenched his jaws and looked desperately at the scotch. Giles caught the look and slid the bottle over to him.

"Have one, Spike," he said encouragingly.

Spike sloshed an inch of scotch in his glass and shoved the bottle back to Giles. He caught a look from the watcher that froze him from the neck down. It held about triple the amount of distrust Giles had shown in their 'talk' yesterday. So much for Giles' supposedly lukewarm reaction to the loss of the chip. Spike was surprised to realize that he felt hurt and disappointed, even after their less than pleasant conversation. Hadn't Giles been the only one to treat him almost as a human being when he was first chipped, even going so far as to ask him to think about joining the side of the good? He shivered a little, and was glad Giles didn't know yet about Buffy's decision. That might just earn him a stake in the back at the earliest opportunity.

TBC