**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this piece… you're all fantastic, and I'm glad to have entertained. After this chapter, there is an epilogue, so no frets… all will be tied up in a solid, if not a bit hokey, way. I've truly loved being inspired with this piece, and being reviewed by other Buffy and Spike fans. Thanks again.**
The world froze, the colors in it abnormally bright. Buffy's eyes had locked with Spike's, and though she hadn't recognized the sandy-haired, foppish man in her dreams, there was no mistaking the eyes. She tried to speak, but found she couldn't; the air pressure had grown unbearably low, her ears popping and her breaths shallow. The pain in her ears, her head, was excruciating, and she thought she was going to have to take the last of her breath to scream when—
The world came back into normal focus with an audible pop, making Buffy stumble.
"Spike!" she said, starting forward. "William!" She reached out for him, and he crumpled to the floor.
~~~
He'd gotten a look at her, one good, solid look before everything seemed to slow down, the already unbearably humid air thickening to nearly solid. He was still a bit unaccustomed to breathing, to the weight of it, the rhythm, and he was near to hyperventilating from the weight around him. But it was beyond him now, beyond his caring, for she was standing in front of him.
He'd thought he didn't care, didn't remember, but even a soulless man could appreciate beauty. He'd never seen anything more beautiful than the relaxed slayer, recumbent in her pajamas and tousled hair. His lips curved in a sweet, sweet smile completely unlike any expression Spike had ever worn.
William smiled at the woman he knew he could love just before the world slammed into him.
~~~
Ramie was the only one who saw
it, he was certain. The air behind
Spike's Slayer shimmered like air above a desert floor, warping itself and
forming into something new, atoms and molecules shifting to make way for
something that hadn't been there before.
The Slayer froze where she was just when the disturbance started to solidify, a face clearly forming in the sheen of air. William Bryce's face, gelling like cooling wax in midair, followed by the rest of his body. His eyes, harder even than Spike's soulless gaze, roved over the Slayer and he winked, a lascivious grin shaping those full lips under the chiseled cheekbones.
The Hub had arrived.
~~~
She knelt at his side, her hands roaming over his narrow, pale face, gently fluttering over his lips, lips that had met hers not so long ago. Buffy drew in a quick breath as she felt what she hadn't expected: warm breath flowing out from the two warm lips. No more unyielding coolness, no more breathless proclamations. Spike, no matter how unconscious he was at the moment, was alive.
He was human.
"Wake up," she said, shaking him, taking care to keep her touch gentle. What was she to do with him now that his strength no longer matched hers? And why hadn't she bothered with gentility before? "Wake up, wake up, wake up," she chanted desperately, her eyes finally flying to the broad-shouldered man who stood in the doorway. "What's the matter with him?"
"He doesn't know," a voice said from behind her. She turned to look, her hair sweeping over one shoulder.
Another William strode toward her, in identical clothing to the one on the floor.
I'm still asleep, she concluded. Of course I am. But she had seen stranger things in her life. A mayor that ate the principal, Jonathan as a superhero, two Xanders. She could believe this as well as she could believe anything else.
"I did not call you, nor did she," the long-haired, dark man spoke to the second William. "Why are you here, Hub?"
"Won't you just chill out, Alain?" the Hub said in the sarcastic, overdrawn tones of Spike at his most exasperated. "I came because I was sent, not because I was called." He let out a snort and raised an eyebrow at the slight girl kneeling on the floor. "A girl, a girl, always about a girl," he chanted. "Though she's a sight prettier than some I've taken souls for."
"What are you?" Buffy asked, her voice full of loathing. There was something she couldn't quite put her finger on, something slimy about him that made her skin crawl. It was like watching something through a flash-lit scrim; sometimes he looked solid, like William, and at brief, almost subliminal moments, there was a flash that lit what was beneath the face.
"I'm his salvation, cutie, and don't you forget it." The Hub nodded down at the unconscious Spike. "I knocked him cold, because believe you me, bloke doesn't want to be awake for this." He raised his hands and rubbed them together dramatically.
"Stop," the man called Alain commanded. "Explain yourself, Hub."
"Stupid bloody humans!" the Hub roared, flinging his hands in the air. "You're quite right to be eaten, you buggering, questioning, overcurious sods!" Sighing and shoving the heels of his hands to his head in a gesture eerily like Spike's when his chip had worked, he spoke in low tones. "The soul I'm wearing is a loan. Only a loan, and I knew that when I took it from him." His gaze wandered to Buffy, and he continued to speak.
"He was slated to live his life out when he had fulfilled his destiny. But saving the world was only part of his destiny, and so he was only slated to live out the life he'd begun long ago. You are his destiny, Slayer." He looked up at William's traveling companion and sneered. "You, Alain, were his traveling companion because the Powers demanded it. Demanded that he have help in fulfilling his destiny, should he choose to do so." He laid a hand on Buffy's head, making her jerk back in disgust. "Now that he's here with you, love, he can live out his life. But I have to give this pretty face back."
"It doesn't look good on you, anyway," Buffy said, turning her attention back to William and brushing his hair back from his face. The glasses were so thin, so fragile. He looked… he looked like a scholar, she thought with a sad smile. Her heart swelled and she blinked back tears. "Give it back to him," she said, her voice strong and loud. "I think he's earned it."
"I think he's earned it," the Hub mocked in falsetto. He flicked his fingers as though trying to rid them of something dirty, his face changing into an elderly Asian woman as he did so.
"Hello, love," Spike's voice, changed in ways Buffy couldn't identify, reached her ears just as tears spilled from her eyes.
"You're back," she said, clasping his fingers in hers.
"I am," he agreed, struggling to sit up. "All of me." He pulled her to him with what little strength he had and put his arms around her.
He'd never been home before.
~~~
She'd felt in her heart that something was going on, and though she'd ordinarily have written it off as a load of hooey, Kelly didn't believe in coincidence much anymore. She set off at a brisk walk from her house, two blocks away from Buffy's, but her steps had accelerated to a near-run by the time she was in sight of the small white house.
Someone was sitting on the stoop of the house, and it sure as heck wasn't Dawn, and it sure as heck wasn't Buffy. Immediately tensing herself for a fight, she stopped at the edge of the lawn. "Hey," she called, one foot planted back to poise herself. "Who the hell are you?"
He'd been watching her approach, her arrival a distraction from his burning need for coffee. She had come running down the sidewalk, going much faster than he was sure she was aware of. Her curly hair bounced behind her, and he could see she was ready to fight him before she could even clearly see him. He wasn't looking for a fight as she seemed to be; he merely escaped the house into the horrendously sticky weather because he'd felt rather superfluous, watching the two lovers reunite. Now he just felt superfluous and hot.
When did women learn to speak so brassily? he wondered, tilting his head and looking at the approaching girl. She was unsure of herself, he could see, her balance constantly changing, her eyes flitting around. "I the hell am Laramie," he said simply. "Charmed to meet you."
She continued to approach him like a cat on the prowl, her eyes never leaving his. When she had crossed half of the yard, she stopped and gasped in recognition.
It was one of the men from her dream, he of the light eyes and… yup, there was all that gorgeous hair. "You're here!" she said, dropping her fists and running the rest of the way to him. "Is he with you? Did he come?"
Amused, Laramie stood as his manners demanded. "Yes." He extended a hand, waiting for her to place hers in it when she instead grabbed it and shook it, squeezing it harder than she intended in her excitement. Hissing and throwing his pride to the wind, he jerked back his throbbing fingers. "Slayer?" he said, cradling the hand against his chest. He'd not be a bit shocked if his fingers were broken.
Biting her full lower lip nervously, she looked down at her shoes and nodded. "Yeah. Sorry."
Women wearing pants. It had been a been difficult to get accustomed to since landing in this time, but the more Laramie thought about it, the nicer it seemed. Especially on some women. Oh, no, Laramie, he told himself firmly. A Slayer is most definitely not someone whose lovely legs you need to look at. "No matter," he said. "At the moment, I have an extremely urgent request. Lives depend upon it." Her eyes widened and he could tell he had her attention. "Tell me where I can find a good cup of coffee."
~~~
It was weird. Not the feelings, not the place, not anything that passed between them, but he had to admit, it was weird. Women weren't supposed to carry men to bed. "Let it go, love," he said when she started fussing over him. He knew he looked like hell; the mirror at the foot of the bed had more than adequately showed him the purple crescents beneath his eyes, the wild mass of his hair, the crooked glasses. He wasn't worthy of her.
Buffy forced herself to stop straightening, stop fluffing pillows and pulling sheets. Closing her eyes, she thought of the man she loved with all her heart, the man who had acted on instinct and had always known what she needed. Opening her eyes with a smile, she leaned over the bed and slid her lips over hers, humming in approval when he kissed her back.
They fit. Of course they did, but it was amazing, after the months they'd had, after the years they'd had, to fit so well, so perfectly. "You're warm," she mumbled, leaning back to let him catch his breath. Catch his breath, she thought, a funny little thrill rippling through her chest. It would take some getting used to.
"You'll have to be gentle with me, ducks," he said reaching up a hand to cup her cheek.
Eyes sober, she nodded. It was something she'd given some thought to, to the new state of Spike, to William. But he wasn't finished speaking.
"You'll have to be gentle," he reiterated. "Because William is most definitely a virgin."
Her laughter had never sounded sweeter.