Disclaimer: see chapter 1

7: THE CHAMPION

Angel appeared in the Magic Box, completely alone. He was busy deciding on a plan of action when two more figures shimmered into existence beside him.

Spike clutched at his head, groaning at its spinning. "Bloody hell. Hangovers and swirly mojo don't mix...You alright, Bit?"

"Yeah...I'm not hung over," she said, smiling. Teasing Spike.

The vampire noticed that the bitty Buffy wasn't really so bitty anymore – the Slayer's sister was his own height at least, and definitely taller than Buffy. I'll bet Buffy's loving that, he thought sarcastically.

Angel interrupted the playful conversation. "Spike. Do you know where we are?"

"Magic Box." At Angel's blank stare, it occurred to Spike that his Grandsire may never have been to the shop. "Giles and Anya's store. He opened it when the Council of Wankers sacked him."

Angel blinked.

"Riight, you were gone. Well, they put up shop about two years after you left. And they worked there until Red destroyed it while trying to end the world – ALSO while you were gone." Spike surprised himself with his bitterness, but he realized it was rooted in genuine feeling. He did resent Angel for abandoning Buffy. "And how could you do that to her, mate? Leave her? She loved you – hell, she still does – and you just skipped bloody town?"

"It was for her own good!" Angel defended heatedly. "I didn't want to leave, but I did it to give her a chance at a normal life!"

Spike faced Angel off, growling. "Buffy...is the bloody SLAYER! She can't ever have a normal life! Everyone around her wants her to be happy, but they just don't understand that Buffy –"

"Hey guys." Buffy emerged from behind a maze of bookshelves. Spike and Angel traded apprehensive glances, not sure how long she'd been listening. "What about me, Spike?" Her tone was gentle and curious, but he was still expecting a barrage of don't-plan-my-life-for-me's.

While she waited for the vampire's response, Buffy rushed over to Dawn and fiercely hugged her hello. Spike felt nervous, flustered, and afraid, the way he always felt around the bliss that was Buffy. "I...you look...How are you doing? This place...treating you alright?"

The sweetness of his concern compelled Buffy to lie. "Yeah, it's alright. Not heaven, but hey, neither is the real world." She smiled a crooked smile to accompany her dark joke.

Dawn fidgeted; talk of Buffy's death still made the teenager uncomfortable. Spike, however, showed nothing but sympathy. It made Buffy's smile wider and happier.

"So, Buffy." Angel interrupted the moment, "How are the cookies doing?"

"Uh..." she quickly glanced at Spike and then back at Angel. Spike raised his eyebrow, but she mouthed, "Just don't ask," at him. Still refusing to meet Angel's eyes, she answered, "I...They're almost ready, I guess..." she winced at her blatant omission of exactly how ready they were, remembering her earlier encounter with Spike. The cookies were definitely baked and steaming.

Just then the door opened, streaming sunlight into the room and causing both vampires to jump back. An almost-20-year-old Buffy stormed past the four of them and threw open the door to the training room.

The other Buffy closed the open door and cut off the sunlight. "Sorry," she said to Spike upon returning to his side.

He looked at her amusedly. "You don't have to apologize for that, luv."

"Not that...This."

She walked towards the training room, beckoning for the others to follow.

"C'mon, I'm supposed to be your guide." Spike, Dawn, and Angel followed Buffy to the training room. She indicated a door and then proceeded to walk through the wall, causing Angel's eyes to widen.

Spike, deciding not the waste time gawking at Buffy's bizarre abilities, went for the door, which slammed shut behind him as if on a very powerful hinge. Angel followed, the door decisively closing behind him as well. Dawn wondered if her Summers blood enabled her to walk through walls as well, but she took the door to be on the safe side. It slammed shut behind her.

The group was instantly greeted by the sound of punching.

"Spike!" 19-year-old Buffy pronounced with disgust. "Spike wants me, how obscene is that?" Punch, punch.

Giles responded, deep in thought. "Well, it is very strange. I can't imagine what he's thinking. Uh, not, not that you're not, uh, attractive..."

Suddenly the punches stopped. "I feel gross," said Buffy. "You know, like, like, dirty." She went back to punching Puffy Xander.

The older Buffy winced, and glanced at Spike. She didn't want to show him this memory, even if he realized she didn't feel that way anymore. But subconsciously, she knew the path she took through the strange land of her memories, and she was just guiding her friends down it. One friend in particular.

"That's ridiculous, you can't be responsible for what Spike thinks, or, feels."

"Well, aren't I responsible?" Buffy ranted. "I mean, something about me had to make him say, 'woof, that's the one for me!'"

Spike swallowed. It hurt to see this, even though she'd said the same thing to him many times before. One couldn't desensitize to something like that.

The younger Buffy delivered a storm of violent punches to Puffy Xander, releasing some of her anger. "That's my secret to attracting men. You know, it's simple really, you slap 'em around a bit, you torture 'em, you make their lives a living hell –"

Buffy was watching Spike. Shit, he's taking this like I was afraid he would... "Spike..." she tried, but he was fully caught up in the memory they were watching and didn't hear.

"- And sure, the nice guys, they'll run away, but every now and then you'll meet a real prince of a guy like Spike who gets off on it."

Of course she feels that way, thought Spike. It's natural...I'm a monster, not even a man really...And then I went and threw myself at her, buggering git.

Buffy looked at Xander sadly. "I just wanna know that there's gonna be another good one. One that I won't chase away."

"There will be," her friend consoled. "Promise. He's out there, he could come along any minute."

"Yeah, and the minute after that I can terrify him with my alarming strength and remarkable self-involvement."

Spike started to back up slowly, trying not to draw attention. This was ripping him up inside, and he didn't want Buffy to see him cry. On his way past her she shot her hand out and grabbed his. "Spike, wait."

"Buffy..." He looked away from her.

"We can go. Get out of here, go somewhere else?"

"Maybe I could change. You know, I could, I could work harder. I could spend less time slaying, I could laugh at his jokes, I mean, men like that, right, the, the joke-laughing-at?"

Buffy pushed Spike out of the room, feeling guilty.

Xander turned to Buffy, speaking with Xander wisdom. "Or maybe you could just be Buffy, he'll see your amazing heart, and he'll fall in love with you."

Buffy looked at Spike's back, thinking what a prophet Xander was. Spike, however, listened and smiled weakly. It didn't occur to him to wonder why that sentence had found its way into Buffy's selected memories.

"Where are we going, pet?" He ran beside the Slayer.

Buffy looked thoughtful. "I dunno. Somewhere nice." Corridors whizzed past them, and various Buffy memories leaped out only to get sucked into the expanse of territory rapidly disappearing behind the vampire and the Slayer.

Spike watched her search her mind for a refuge. He didn't understand how her brain worked – one moment she hated him and the next she was rushing to take him somewhere. She was such a mystery. Just the kind of mystery he intuitively understood. "Buffy, it doesn't have to be posh. Won't somewhere peaceful and quiet do?"

She smiled. "Yeah, I guess it will." They ran a bit longer, until their surroundings seemed to slow down and eventually settled around them. The pair stood inside the cement walls of Buffy's Sunnydale basement. Spike's bed sat against the wall, complete with chains.

"Guess you really took me literally when I said it didn't have to be posh, didn't you, pet?"

"I dunno. I kinda like it." She scanned the room with her hazel eyes. "I mean, it doesn't have any distracting furnishing. Just the bare necessities," she commented, smiling seductively, turning her gaze away from the bed. "And it's nice, how it's just us."

"Just us?" echoed the vamp, a question hiding behind his words.

"That's what I said, Fangface."

Spike frowned but didn't protest when she pressed against him, her hands on his chest. He looked down into her face, which displayed a scared, unsure expression. Delicately, the vampire took a section of her golden hair between his fingers and moved it in front of her shoulder, letting his touch follow as he laid the hair against her chest.

Buffy shivered pleasantly as the outside of his fingers brushed over her hardened nipples. "Spike..." she murmured.

Immediately he removed his hand, taking a minute step back and eliminating all contact. "What is it, luv?" He was never going to hurt her again the way he had before, not ever. Not for the rest of his unlife would he do something she didn't want.

"Nothing," she assured him, smiling in confusion. Pouting, she resumed their pressed-together position, assuring herself with the hardness of his erection that he still wanted her. "I was just bothered by the fact that you are still completely dressed." She slid her hands up the front of his shirt, offering to help address the problem.

Grinning, Spike aided Buffy in the removal of her shirt. He ran his cool hands down her bare arms, kissing her neck. His fingers reached the waistband of her skirt and slipped inside, stroking her stomach. "Like the skirt, luv."

"Thanks, it's new. Nordstrom, on sale."

He combed her hair through his fingers, kissing her gently. "I'll remember that, in case I want a skirt to add variety into my wardrobe," he told her, not forgetting to add in a healthy dose of sarcasm.

Buffy guided him over to the bed, stroking his pale chest and stomach. "You sound so sincere. It's touching, really."

He reached over her to unhook her bra, and began licking and sucking on her hardened nipples. With his hands he slowly slid her new skirt down her legs. "It's cos I care." He ran his fingertips over the lace of her panties.

"Spike?" she asked softly, toying with his fly. Suddenly she pulled it open quickly, allowing his erection to poke out. "Still no-underpants-man, I see. I want you to shag me." She glanced over at the chained handcuffs and pulled on them experimentally, a playful grin on her face.

He moved over her, smirking. "I like a woman who knows what she wants. Especially when she admits it." He loved how she used his word too, especially when she applied her terrible mock-British accent.

Buffy flicked her tongue against his cool chest. "Sorry you had to wait so long for that."

Pausing in his feverish kissing of her face and hair, Spike watched Buffy in bewilderment. Maybe she knew what she wanted...but he had no fucking idea.

Angel and Dawn followed the younger Buffy, who had quit complaining about Spike. She seemed much more interested in yelling at Angel.

"So, where do I go next?" the vamp asked.

"Can you shut up already!" Buffy demanded. "You can't just walk back into my life!"

Angel continued on in an angrier tone. "And what was that last memory about anyway? It didn't get me any closer to knowing how to save you, it just made Spike leave the room!"

"With the other Buffy," Dawn pointed out. She wasn't too keen on looking for them – she had a vague idea of their current need for privacy.

Their Buffy turned to Angel furiously, preparing to answer his question as loudly as physically possible. "The memory was important. Maybe not to you, but can't you get it into your head that not everything's about YOU! The CHAMPION needs to see it to understand how to save me!"

Angel stared at her in silence. "You're not telling me what I thing you're telling me – That's what you're telling me, isn't it? You're saying Spike is the champion."

Buffy didn't even honor his revelation with the trademarked Sunnydale "Duh," although she did roll her eyes. "Yes, Spike is the champion. And that memory was important for him."

Angel felt himself sinking into deep brood mode. "What does he have to do, tell you he loves you?" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Something like that," the Slayer muttered. She stalked on ahead of her brooding ex, Dawn at her side.

"Spike!" Buffy screamed as she came. She loved how there was no one around to hear, no one to come and interrupt the happiness of the basement. The vampire thrust into her a few more times before climaxing, and then collapsed beside her, exhausted. Buffy smiled and snuggled into him, but a wave of nausea flooded her briefly. Strange, she thought, sitting up. She didn't notice Spike's worried look, because her surroundings swam around in her head. Once the dizziness cleared, she realized what was happening to her. She was deteriorating, fading away, and there wasn't much time left for Spike to save her.

There wasn't much time left to make him understand.

Maybe it'll be alright, she told herself. Maybe he doesn't need to, maybe he already gets it. Maybe.

"Spike," she announced reluctantly, "We have to go see the next thing. Unfortunately, I think that means you'll have to get dressed..." Her eyes scanned his naked form approvingly. "It's really such a pity."

Spike smirked, and kissed her forehead. Then he rolled off the bed to locate his jeans. Buffy sat up and fished her clothing out of the sheets. Now that she was paying attention to her health, she realized that she felt unquestionably crappy. Not of the good, she thought to herself.

Once she'd managed to replace her crumpled clothing, she stood up, shook off the dizziness, and pressed herself up against Spike. "Mmm...Sexy vampire," she murmured, nuzzling into the black cotton covering his chest and enveloping herself in his smell. He smiled at her and stroked her hair.

She looked up at his face, resting her arms comfortably on his shoulders and crossing them behind his neck. He was a wonderful height – his mouth was close enough to hers that she could kiss it without wearing four-inch heels, but he was tall enough to enclose her in his embrace. They were the perfect match, and they fit perfectly.

"Spike," she ran her index finger up his chest, "How much do you love me?"

"Without lapsing into god-awful poetry, I love you...Even my stuffy British education didn't teach me words to express..." He brushed one finger under her chin, keeping her face right in front of his. She smiled. "I love you more than life itself. Or unlife, as the case may be. I'd rather die again than have you be upset."

Buffy just looked at him. She had a slight grin in her lips and worry softly etched in her eyebrows. "I love you," she told him, being assured of the futility when he looked away from her. His hands continued stroking her back, but the rest of him was gone somewhere else. "C'mon," she said without emotion. "We have things to see."

Aww...so sad. sniff Hopefully everyone feels pleasantly emotionally distraught...

On a different note...whisper reviews?