Hello to everybody!

Thank you so much for continuing show of interest and support of this story! Can't do it without you, you know that:)

It's sooo late, but I soooo wanna get this chapter up today! I know it's already a day late. (Aghast!)

So, warm thanks to ReeseAnn (I am happy!) ;), Mel (whoa, girl! Amazing outpour of love from you this time! Thank you so much for all the absolutely fantastic comments on chapters 9 through 16! Happy to have you back, my friend!) :), Shadowsbabe (heh, yeah, like that'd ever happen! ;) And, yeah, that really would!) :), Brunettepet (Very happy you sound positive about it!) :), hmm... (happy to read that!)

Shelly (Thanks, girl! Wonderful to read!) :), Megan (Thanks for the compliments, my friend! I'm thrilled to receive them! Very pleased that you're liking! And glad you're admitted into the realm of reviews once more.) ;), Kendra (That IS a good thing!) :P, SlaYeRGiRLkaL (Well, hope you shalt like! And you did! Here's more!) :), Scarlet Ibis (Weeeell, if you have connections...) :), MaidenRo (Happy for the love!) :), kim (Seems like a lot of the being without service has been going around, which sucks, I know how it is. Nice to have you back! And commenting on your comment: yes, alas, it is so.) ;)

Thanks to all and to all a good night!

A.M.L, Annie.

PS. Hopes of enjoyment go out to all!

¤

Last Wish

¤

Buffy arrived at home, having bought ice cream, stubbornly ignoring the memories the isle had given her of that last morning before her memory came back to her. God, she had been high on pure energy and happiness. "Stubbornly ignoring" it was. Now she put the ice cream in the freezer and headed into the living room, where she found Ath sitting on the couch with her eyes closed.

Buffy stopped by the table, waiting for a reaction. It came in the form of Ath's eyes opening, her gaze meeting Buffy's calmly.

"I do feel better," she said with a smile.

"I'm glad," Buffy replied, returning the smile and coming to have a seat next to her.

"I lied before," Ath stated and Buffy raised her eyebrows. "There's no sorority."

"Yeah. I actually asked someone about that and he said that there's never been any of those at my college so I figured there was something you... didn't wanna tell me?"

"Can't," Ath corrected.

"You're not from around here, are you?" Buffy wondered and Ath smiled broadly.

"No," she confirmed. "Not exactly."

"Did mom give you the grand tour?"

"Complete with basement and all bathrooms," she nodded, making Buffy smile again.

"I have the strangest feeling we've met before," she said.

"I've never been to Sunnydale," Ath replied. "Have you lived here long?"

"A few years," Buffy shrugged. "Where you from?"

"Oh, all over."

"Really? I've always wanted to go there."

Ath smirked, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around them.

"Why did you say we should put cucumbers on our eyes?" she asked, Buffy laughing.

"Bad joke," she said. "Then again..."

Two hours later they were smeared with Reddi Whip all over their faces. Towels on their heads and cucumbers just being cut. They were in the kitchen, the ice cream standing on the counter to thaw out a little. Buffy was laughing, telling Ath about one of hers and Willow's earlier adventures at the Bronze. Excluding the vampires, of course.

"Willow sounds like fun," Ath said, grabbing a slice of cucumber and – as with everything else she touched – turning it around and around between her fingers, holding it up to get a better look and then slipping it into her mouth.

"Willow is fun," Buffy replied. "I guess we've just been busy lately. With various things. Haven't had that much hang-out time."

"Oh?"

"We will, though. Things are brightening up."

Ath's eyes went to the Slayer's.

"Oh?" she repeated.

"I don't wanna bore you with details."

"You wouldn't."

"Sorry, that was code for Really-Don't-Wanna-Talk-About-It."

Ath smiled, though her gaze didn't leave the Slayer's face as the latter turned back to the cucumber.

¤

Calor muttered to himself as he gazed toward the front door of the dorm he had been told hosted a certain Buffy Summers. It had been dark for an hour. It was getting chilly.

"Dear darling little brother."

"Oh, great," he sighed, turning his eyes skyward as he added: "Checking up on me, Ath? I do not need your input or your opinion. I feel you've done quite enough."

"I apologize," she said, coming up behind him and having him jump high with surprise. "I'm here to do a lot more."

"What! Father did not tell me of you falling from grace... Interesting."

"I didn't fall... Well, not from grace, anyway." She smiled, looking him over with a frown. "Your clothes don't fit you."

"Oh, do shut up."

She giggled.

"I am still upset with you," he warned, making her give him a friendly shove.

"I'm still getting used to the five senses, myself," she stated. "How about you?"

"I'm marvelous! A bit cold. A little agitated. And I have the strangest stabbing feeling in my stomach, but other than that."

Ath furrowed her brow.

"Have you eaten anything today?" she asked.

Calor looked wondering for a few moments, then his face brightened up.

"I forgot about eating. Have you eaten?"

"I have."

"What's it like?"

"I can't describe it, you have to try it."

"You speak as an earthling."

"I know. Isn't it delicious? Come on."

"Come where?"

"There's someone I want you to meet." She grabbed his hand and pulled him with her. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"I'm waiting for the Slayer. She lives right over there."

"Ah," Ath said.

"Is that supposed to tell me something?"

"No. But I can tell you that the Slayer won't be walking through that door tonight. She's staying with her mom for the weekend and will trot back to school tomorrow morning."

"Please, do not have this end with you having met her," he muttered and she smiled widely, merely pulling him along.

¤

Buffy approached the entrance to Spike's crypt. She made herself focus, and felt every last insecurity slip away. At least every other last. She drew a breath and walked through the door. The crypt was empty, dark. She looked around and then headed up to the nearest of the three candelabra, striking a match and beginning to light the candles. When she was done she moved over to the niche, lighting those as well. Finished with the task she paused, wondering why she had bothered.

Heading up to the loveseat she gently touched the fabric; images, sensations of the first time she had kissed him trickling through her... She squared her shoulders.

Where is he? she thought, turning from the piece of furniture and walking up to the ladder.

"Spike?" she called down.

He might be sleeping. And if he is I can yell till I'm hoarse... Better climb down.

And she did, continuing into the room on light feet.

"Spike?" she whispered. "Are you here? Why the hell am I whispering?"

"Yes, why the hell are you?" he asked, making her twirl around as he came up to her.

Her mouth nearly fell open. He was wearing one of the sweaters she had bought him. It was light-blue. A bold choice on her part, since he never wore anything light in color and since he had specified no pastel – she nearly smiled at that memory, but willed it down promptly – the color had been such a perfect match with his eyes that she hadn't been able to resist. Now, that part to him looked at her with such a vacant expression it sent a shudder through her.

"You're... wearing..." she mumbled and he cocked an eyebrow. "That," she said. "I... bought that."

"No, you didn't," he replied.

"Yes, I did."

"No. I got this," he stated and she crossed her arms over her chest, beginning to get irritated.

"Spike, I bought that for you. It took me twenty-five minutes to decide whether I should or not, whether you'd wear it or not, but then I pictured you in it and I knew I had to..."

He tilted his head a little to the side.

"Buy it?" he filled in with a sudden familiar twinkle in his gaze and she couldn't keep down the emerging pout on her mouth.

"Yeah," she muttered.

She despised the rising satisfaction at having him look at her in that way again. The coldness had evaporated; there was life there once more.

Damn it!

"It's done. Riley agreed," she said and he grew serious in an instant.

"Great."

"Isn't it?"

He eyed her; then smiled a slight smile.

"Yes, isn't it?"

"Yes." She glanced at him before she headed for the ladder saying: "I should go."

"Patrolling beckons."

She turned to him, looking him over before she replied:

"I have a rep to rebuild."

He smirked at that and she beat her response down before ascending the ladder. She walked outside, feeling the lightheadedness dissipate as she got some fresh air. Air was good. And then Spike came up at her side. She gave him a look.

"What?" he asked. "Don't I get a last wish?"

"Your last wish is to go on patrol? With me?"

"There's something I need answered," he said.

"I don't know if it's a good idea..."

"What? Killing things together? Isn't that what we do best?"

She pushed back the smile, again threatening to occur, and looked away from him; fastening her gaze straight ahead.

"What is it you need answered?"

"When it's answered – I'll tell you."

"I hate it when people do that! Say something like that and then say that they won't tell me what it is. You really shouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"Etiquette! What if it isn't answered?"

"Then I won't tell you."

"But..." She stopped herself, not able to find the words that could persuade him he was wrong. "Fine. Let's find something and kill it and then we can finally have some sort of closure."

He cocked an eyebrow, observing her for a moment before asking:

"Is that what you need, Slayer?"

"It's what I'm getting," she replied, tone laced with a warning not to push it and he smirked, backing off.

There was something else there now, when he looked at her. Something soft somewhere that he didn't particularly enjoy. But then she looked at him and the softness spread like rings on water and it turned into pure desire, making him want to grab her and get every last piece of clothing off her and... then it changed again; her profile making him grow thoughtful as he remembered watching her fall asleep. As he thought of having her in his arms as they danced at the Bronze. As he could practically feel his fingers slipping through her soft locks.

"Demon," he said, breaking away from further musings and she turned her head to where he was looking; then moved her gaze to the opposite side of the clearing they were in, saying:

"Vampire."

"I'll take the larger one," he said.

"Yell if you need help."

He was about to respond to that, but she ran off, meeting the attacking vamp and he muttered before approaching the oversized demon. They sidestepped each other a few times and then went head first into battle mode.

Buffy met the punches of the vampire easily. It was a fledgling and as such was pretty much done for. However, reaching for her stake she received a massive blow to the chin, which had her spin around and fall to the ground.

"Ow," she murmured, spotting her dropped weapon lying a few feet away and beginning to crawl towards it.

The vampire landed on top of her heavily, pinning her down. She fought to get loose, reaching for the stake and being only an inch or so away from it. Making her hands into fists she beat them upwards and back, hitting the vamp in the face. It growled with pain and she smiled to herself. Good. Then its fingers slid over her neck, moving her hair away and she clenched her jaws together.

"Don't think so," she said, rising on all fours and shrugging the demon off of her. "But thanks," she added as she grabbed the stake and spun around, "that gave me the adrenaline I needed."

"Buffy!" Spike exclaimed behind her, her arm getting ready to throw the stake into the heart of her assailant.

She turned her head to the bleached just in time to see a large chest take up all her view. She frowned, looking up at the demon Spike was supposed to be getting rid of as it pushed her to the ground with one large paw of a hand. With that it took off into the trees, the vampire close on its heel.

"Bloody..." she muttered, sitting up and spitting a few strands of grass out of her mouth, looking up and meeting Spike's gaze as he came up to her. Holding her hand up, showing off a brand new cut, she said: "Bloody."

He smiled a little, reaching out a hand and she took it, letting him help her to her feet.

He kept her hand in his, turning it over to get a better look at the wound.

"It's deep," he said.

"It's a scratch," she stated.

"It's bleeding."

"Thought you'd like that."

"You got it for me? Shouldn't have," he said and suddenly she smiled.

He stared at her, not prepared for it whatsoever. Seemed she hadn't been either as she pulled her hand out of his grasp and took a small step back, growing self-conscious as her face became serious.

"Did you see what I saw?" she asked.

"The demon helping the vamp? Yeah, I caught that," he nodded, eyeing her.

"I need to talk to Giles. I've been so out of it I barely know what's what... with Adam and everything."

"Right," Spike nodded. "Adam. Big Bad and all that."

"Yeah," she said. "I mean... you could come with, but..."

"Alright then."

She paused.

"Alright then," she agreed, both of them beginning to walk.

"But my crypt is closer. I have some stuff there; I could..."

"What are we doing?" she stopped him, halting and facing him as he did the same.

"Getting you fixed up; is what we're doing. You're dripping all over this nicely paved path here," he said, gesturing to where they were standing before grabbing her by the arm and leading her back the way they'd come.

Soon enough she brought her arm out of his grip; still, succumbing to the idea of stopping the blood-flow and kept walking aside him, glancing at him once in a while, trying to straighten herself, him and this whole thing out. Failing miserably, at that. She was thinking that if she could only somehow know exactly what she felt around him, then maybe... But it was all a blur. A warm, fuzzy, chilled, creeping, terrified, subdued, upfront blur that made her head spin. And her knees weak. And every time he looked at her... she didn't want him to stop.

Stop! she hissed at herself. Thank God I won't have to deal with this for much longer. Oh, what am I doing with him? What am I doing going to his crypt? His crypt! The man lives in a crypt, for crying out loud! And he wears that idiotic leather thing and he bleaches his head white! His age sure doesn't show in his taste. ...Hmh, doesn't show anywhere.

She smirked to herself, then blushed just as fast and drew a slight breath to stop the trail of thought from progressing.

They reached his abode, and he entered it. She hadn't noticed how far they'd gotten. Shaking it off, she followed him inside.

"Take a seat," he instructed, slipping the duster off as he went into the kitchen area.

Where does he come off, with all this self-assured smiling and directing and taking-charging? she grumbled, walking up to the loveseat and sitting down with a sigh.

She looked at her hand and grimaced.

"Dripping's the word," she mumbled, pressing her other hand over the wound and making a face of pain.

"Not for long," he said, having a seat beside her with the supplies.

She looked at his face as he gently made her move the hand covering the cut. He glanced up, noticing her questioning expression.

"I won't bite," he assured and traces of a smile appeared in her eyes.

He began the cleaning; her jaws tightening being the only sign of the stinging she was suffering under. Her gaze didn't leave his face. He was concentrated. His hands moving to grab the tape he needed to keep the lesion closed. Fastening two pieces he grabbed the square piece of bandage and some more tape to stick it on with. Finishing he softly stroked her palm with his fingertips, meeting her gaze. She felt a strange tremor go through her. Its force beckoning to be reckoned with.

Then he let her go, looking away.

She stared at him, her heart beating heavily in her chest.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He rose, giving a one-shoulder shrug, gathering up the stuff left over and taking it back to where it belonged. She got to her feet as well. He came back, stopping as he saw her get ready to leave. She rested her eyes in his, hers narrowing as she observed him for a moment, then said:

"I don't understand you."

"Asking me to explain?"

"Drop it," she snapped. "You walk around being all Slayer-gonna-get-it and when push comes to shove," she held up her hand, "this is what I get?"

"I'm thinking I should stay on your good side, since you're holding the bloody key to my release and all," he retorted, her eyes widening.

"That's not why you came patrolling with me," she disagreed.

"You're right, it's not."

"So did you get your answer?"

He glared at her, loathing filling his gaze before it slowly dispersed and left was only defeat. She couldn't recall ever seeing that expression on him before.

"Suppose I did," he muttered, his eyes going to her hand and then he suddenly smiled, shaking his head.

"So tell me," she urged.

He met her gaze again, holding it so intensely that she could barely keep her eyes in his.

"Fine," she said, "don't tell me. I have to go..."

"So do I, apparently," he stated. "Why is that?"

She cocked an eyebrow; then merely crossed her arms over her chest, impatiently.

He felt annoyance bubble to the surface. She could wear that indifference as easily as she'd like, but he could tell there was more underneath than what met the eye. If he so had to pry it out of her, he would get to it.

"Why should I leave?" he asked again.

"Because I can't. I'm bound to this town. Find a way to break my shackles and I promise I'll go," she replied.

"Why should I leave?" he repeated.

"Well, why the hell shouldn't you? Is there anything tying you to this place?"

"No, nothing. I'll miss it, though. You're robbing me of my home; you do realize that, right?"

"This isn't your home," she said.

"It isn't? I live here, I eat here; I bloody steal, lie and cheat here... I consider this my home, Slayer. I have all my friends here. Some of whom you've met, some of whom you haven't. I'm not sure how to part with them."

The memory of him sharing a deep kiss with a vampiress came before her eyes and she blinked it away, sudden jealousy rising without warning as she drew conclusions of exactly what he was talking.

"Send a card," she said, her eyes growing hard.

He tilted his head a little to the side, wondering how far he should press this.

"So impersonal," he replied.

"Call them up."

"From a phone?"

She merely gave him a look and he smiled a sleek smile.

"Throw a party, whatever is the demonic way," she said; his smile widening.

"Might be a good idea," he nodded. "Invite all the special people who've enriched my stay in Sunnydale. We could have a sleepover, my bed's large enough."

She clenched her jaws together.

"Thought you didn't need buffers anymore," she remarked icily.

"Thought you agreed that was none of your business," he shot, feeling his self-control slipping as the agitation was gaining.

"Oh, so what? You decide to parade all of this in front of me? Parties and sleepovers and beds!" she exclaimed.

"It was your idea!"

"Not the last two! Then again, I'm sure you'll have to have many pajama parties to cover all the special friends you've made. God knows you kept me up an entire night, how many wouldn't it take to saturate your hunger for a year!"

"You kept me up, Slayer. I never had someone so eager between the sheets."

"Shut up! Shut your mouth or I'll do it for you!" she screamed, stalking up to him.

"I'd actually like to see that."

"And to think – I did this. It's the biggest mistake of my life and in a week it'll be erased for good! You'll be out of my life and I'll never have to think about you ever again! I'm going crazy! I can't buy ice cream without thinking about you!"

"You think it's easy for me? Everywhere I'm used to going to get away from you – you've been! With me! I'm bloody sick of it and yeah, it'll be good to get the hell away from this town when every time I see you I feel like I'm waking up from a really bad dream."

"Oh, that's nice!"

"My life, Buffy! My existence that ended being familiar the moment you stepped through that door that night. God, I resisted you. I resented you. I didn't want any of it and still you managed to make me weak to the point of wanting to stop time, if it meant you wouldn't go away. I don't know when, but I fell for you like it was the easiest thing in the world!"

He said the words, and moments later grasped the truth of them.

He had.

He had fallen for the Slayer, for her, for Buffy.

He was in love with her.

She stared at him. Stunned. Then doubt crept over her.

"It wasn't real," she said, voice lowered. "It wasn't me."

"It was," he replied, still processing and yet feeling as though he finally understood what this was all about. For him, at least. "It was always you, love."

"Don't call me that," she objected, voice strained.

A part of her couldn't believe it, another was a knot so tight she was scared it might splinter into a thousand pieces, and a third wanted to smile at him. Really smile. But she couldn't. The shock was too new, the art of mastering the situation not yet hers to own. And she was suddenly furious. He had no right! He had no right to tell her this, to actually claim that he...!

"You can't love," she got out, her gaze growing colder by the second and he stared at her.

This again?

"Is that what you need to believe?" he asked.

"It's what I do believe," she stated. "A week with me and a night in the sack won't change you," she added. "You're a killer."

"So are you," he pointed out, his face setting into the same quiet disdain she was showing him.

"Not that kind."

"What kind is that?"

"I don't feed off of Innocents!"

"Is that what this is about?"

"No, it's not. It's about me not trusting you. I could never trust you."

"I think you're wrong."

"You think?" she asked, one of his eyebrows rising. "I'm leaving."

And then he was before her, grabbing her and pulling her close. She drew a breath, her head tilting back so that she could look into his eyes. With her hands against his chest she felt a longing start that was so deep it made her legs quake.

"This," she murmured. "What I'm feeling. It isn't love."

"You're feeling," he said. "That's a start."

"Let me go."

"Mean it," he urged, eyes attentively in hers.

She wanted to demand it once more and mean every word, but couldn't.

He waited another few moments, and then his lips found hers, kissing her harshly, his tongue finding hers and her hands grabbing fistfuls of his T as she pushed herself closer to him. He backed her slowly up against one wall, her hands moving to his upper arms as she wanted him nearer. Then he slid one hand over her stomach and down, snaking it inside the hem of her jeans and in the next moment her eyes shot open, her mouth leaving his as she tilted her head back. She moaned, his lips against the side of her throat as his fingers kept moving inside of her.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, feeling her tremble as the climax began to build. "Tell me this is what you want!"

She drew a sharp breath, then opened her eyes and met his gaze.

"Yes," she breathed, her mouth catching his again.

He yanked her pants open as she tore at his T, getting it over his head. He got her pants off her, his eyes now in hers as he unzipped his pants, pushing her against the wall and grabbing her legs, making her wrap them around his waist as he pressed against her. Then he entered her, his mouth finding hers as he kissed her again.

It was rough, and quick, their groins grinding together and then reaching the peak at the same time. Cascades of pleasure pouring through them as they met each other's gaze once more.

She clung to him, staring down at him and wanting to tell him about what torment she was under, what confusion, what uncertainty of everything she knew being right.

"Buffy," he murmured and the craving was reborn.

She kissed him then, deeply, hungrily.

He got her sweater off her, licking his way down over her left collarbone, removing her bra and having his tongue circle one of her breasts. The rush of rapture was back, her hands burying themselves in his locks as she stood on both feet, him kicking his pants off fully and then twirling her around, dropping them to the floor where she landed back first on one of the cushions. He was inside her again, her hips meeting his thrusts and their mouths exchanging breaths as their bodies unraveled their secrets.

¤

She woke up five hours later, having slept for no longer than thirty minutes and feeling completely dazed. Something had woken her, but she wasn't sure what. What day was it? She racked her brain, but couldn't answer the question. Then she realized that she was cold, and that was what had woken her. She looked down at her naked frame and frowned before she remembered. Closing her eyes she cursed herself silently, sitting up slowly and turning her head to look over her shoulder on the sleeping vampire next to her.

This is insane, she thought for the thousandth time. What you just did is sick! You had no excuse this time! He's a liar! There's nothing good in him, Buffy; he's just playing tricks. Look what it got him – he's having the chip removed! He'll be back to slaughtering as fast as you can blink. He doesn't have a conscience. He doesn't have a soul. He's just a mirage, all of him. Nothing about him is real. He's a reflection of someone else.

Her mind kept on churning this speech through her head, but her eyes took in the subtle sculpture of his cheekbones, his jaw, the fullness of his lower lip and the scar at his left eyebrow. A face she had feared, and loathed, and which had repulsed her with all that it stood for. And now she didn't want anything to happen to it... she just wanted to look at it.

You need to get your butt out of here, her mind declared, having her rise slowly. Look away from him and you'll see it'll be easier.

So she did, and in a way it was.

In another, it made it harder.

She gathered up her clothes, putting them on carefully. Her pants were busted, but stayed up. The thought of why they were in that state sent an urge to wake him through her so powerful she almost jumped over the loveseat to land on him.

But the voice of reason was stronger, and it pointed her feet in the direction of the door.

She exited, feeling evil.

He doesn't love you, her mind said practically. Perhaps something in him believes it knows what love really is. Perhaps he's twisting it around. Whatever it is that's within him – it isn't love like you know it. Don't even begin to believe that it could be, because then you are lost.

She felt more and more miserable the closer she got to Revello Drive and when she finally climbed in through her window and splayed herself on her bed it was as though she had gone completely numb.