American Girls

by Sweetprincipale

Set in an alternate late season six. Spike can't believe he's this happy. He can't believe he's changed, she's changed, and that together they have this little bubble that hasn't burst yet. In over a century of looking for the real meaning of happiness and true love, he's found it in the most unlikely of places. It must be these American girls that have won his heart and his loyalty.

Author's Note: This time, unlike the other chapters, this picks up IMMEDIATELY from the last chapter.

Author's Second Note: The music of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers provides the lyrics for multiple sections, they get all the credit. May I suggest "You Wreck Me Baby" for your listening enjoyment as you read?

Dedicated to: The wonderfully patient readers! I don't update this one often. It's my safe place to come and visit, where I can always create a fluffy, happy world!

Part VI

I wake up to an elbow in my side, digging and twisting. I can't have been rude in my sleep, so she's not doing the not-so-subtle nudge to keep quiet and mind my manners

She's having that dream again. Her sleeping voice is just a babble of frantic noises and whimpers as her arms move and her legs kick. She reaches over her head, hands groping the air.

She's climbing in her sleep.

Shit. I wake her up fast before it gets to that part. I know this dream. I still see it myself, awake or asleep.

"Buffy. Wake up, Baby, it's all okay." I haul her up, none too gently. Speed is of the essence here.

I think I made it just in time. She wakes up with wide, panicked eyes, gasping, "DAWN!"

"Shhh. She's safe. They didn't get her."

"I was— I was fast enough?" She looks around, wild eyed, orienting herself to the waking reality of our room, our home.

"You were always fast enough." I rock her in my arms, lips on her hair. She digs her fingers into my ribs and my shoulders, feeling all over to make sure this is real.

Silence. We roll back to the softness of the bed we share, holding on tight. Good. Maybe she can sleep again. We've only been asleep for an hour or two, I realize as I look at the clock.

"What if I'm not?"

"Hm?" Not what? What did I miss? She has to stop wriggling against me. My heart and mind know she's only cuddling up after a bad dream. My body says the Slayer is twisting all over me in a baggy little tee-shirt with nothing under it and that's the kind of gift you don't refuse.

"What if I'm not fast enough the next time? What if I… what if I don't save her?"

"I'll save her. Or Willow. Or Tara, Xander, Anya, Rupes. One of us will save her. I promise you."

I promise this a lot and it always makes my jaw tight.

I didn't save her the one time I needed to. The promise broke. Buffy never throws it in my face, and she has a right to.

Again, she gives me an ocean of unspoken forgiveness, nestling to my chest and kissing my throat lazily as her adrenaline drops. "What if…?" she trails off and tries again. "Saving her is the most important thing to me. Everyone else, too, I would do anything for Wills and Xander, for Giles. But, Dawn? Spike, I— I don't know how to explain it."

"You don't have to. I get it."

She tries anyway, hands raking over her anxious face. "I would save her the most. I promised Mom I'd protect her."

Shit, I hate that dream.

"I know and you will." I swallow painfully, the ball of grief and memories hard to dislodge from my throat.

"At all costs."

I understand what she's saying. She'd die for Little Bit.

Well, so would I. It's not even an option not to risk my life for Niblet. The demon doesn't even rear its selfish opinions. Dawn is first. Slayer is first. These girls, my girls, are more important than anything else, even this endless life.

Another swallow. "At all costs. Me, too. Slayer, I'm all in."

She sits up suddenly, her eyes ablaze, melting me and inflaming me all at once. "I know you are. You really are. I want you to be her guardian officially."

"The papers prove I'm your regular average Joe Human, Pet."

"You wouldn't have to prove anything if we're married. You and my dad would legally be her next of kin."

Okay. Maybe this is a dream.

Ever since I found her sobbing at the dining room table a couple of weeks ago and we riled up Angel and got him to send us some judge-proof papers, Buffy has seemed… subdued. It's a happy, peaceful sort of subdued.

I thought.

I didn't bring up marriage again. I heard her say yes. My heart went into a full West End production, lights, choreography, music, and all the rest. I have everything I could want, I told myself. I have her heart and her love. I have her answer.

So I didn't push. Smart, aren't I?

Or not.

Or this is a dream.

"You said someday." It's not the best response, prolly.

"I know." She twists her hair around her finger, eyes nervous.

"Bloody hell, you aren't lookin' like that 'cause you think I've got cold feet?"

Buffy evades danger and tricky questions like a champ. "You always have cold feet."

"Oi. We've established I'm not cold! I'm pleasantly room temperature. And I warm right up in certain conditions," I hint, seduction sneaking into my voice.

"I know."

"I would marry you this second. Although you'd probably want to put on a dress or at least some undies," I smirk. "Course, I wouldn't mind if you didn't."

"Pig!" She swats my shoulder.

"Don't let Mr. Gordo hear you talk like that about us," I gasp in mock offense.

"Spike, I'm being serious!"

"So 'm I! Let's get married tonight. This week. We'll drive to Vegas. I'll find a registered warlock! Or a ship's captain. I want to marry you, Buffy Ann Summers. I'll take your name, if you want, to shut up any nosy parkers. We'll be Spike, Buffy, and Dawn Summers, the happy little family on the Hellmouth. It doesn't matter when you walk down that aisle to me, because I'll always be waiting at the end of it. I'm. Not. Budging."

I settle back, arms behind my head, stubbornness in every inch of me.

Her eyes are aglow, filling up. Her heart is beating so loud that it breaks the constant background noise I've become accustomed to. She's happy. She's— Getting out of bed?

She slips to the foot of the bed and her t-shirt glides down to her toes. She stretches and arches, a blend of innocence and temptress. My bride. My beautiful bride.

Who always has to win.

"Not budging, huh? I bet I can make you move," she whispers, voice deliberately husky. Her fingers slip into her mouth and then down over her nipple, down to her clit, putting on a show. "You'd better come and get me, Spike. Better enjoy these next few weeks. Pretty soon, I'll be the old ball and chain."

She could chain me up to anything.

She reads my mind, too. "Although, that might be kinda fun, too. You could always teach me… if you have enough energy?"

Dammit. "You always win," I hiss, leaping up and seizing her, cradling her in my arms as I swoop her back into our bed.

"I'll let you win whenever you want. Hubby." She winks, beaming as I slide down her.

"Nah, Baby. I'm not complaining."

Now. Where did that fancy silk scarf go?

To be continued…

Thank you to those who are supporting S.C. Principale on Pat-reon and who are checking out the paranormal and contemporary romances available on Amazon! I'd love it if some new readers try my Spuffy-inspired CrossRealms series! The next CrossRealms book is on track to release in December!