A/N…I must make mention that this fic was written BEFORE the second half of season 3 aired. Yes, it's taken me a time to post. Oops? I want to thank everyone who has reviewed so far. I'm a little surprised, probably not expecting too much of a following since I am a long time out of the Buffy fandom, but I appreciating your taking the time to read. Cheers!

Many, many thanks to Susan who betaed this chapter, and for Tami who is as always, my cheering squad when I doubt everything about myself.

Chapter Two

Spike rolled to a stop beside the car, put his hand on the bonnet and felt the warmed metal of an engine that hadn't been idle for long. He rode to the front of it and pulled over to the side of the road. Buffy jumped off the bike, heading back to the car to check it out. Before she could utter a word about the mystery, they heard gunshots coming from the woods. Without a single thought, she took off running into the trees and Spike sighed before following blindly after her. He caught her up in less than a minute, grateful for his vamp speed and eyesight for when she'd often run off wildly without warning through the night. The silly bint didn't seem to even think of the untold zombies floating around the countryside. Not even after she'd been bitten.

"How long has it been since we ran into a real live human being, Spike?" she threw over her shoulder, not even puffing when they'd been running full tilt for what felt like fifteen minutes, ducking and diving through trees and walkers—the latter littering the forest floor as they both cut a swathe through them, sword and scythe working together like they were mated.

He shook his head, an amused smirk playing at his lips. Her enthusiasm to meet new people filled his heart with joy. He hoped they found them, and that they were still alive when they did. That hope dwindled the more they heard of what appeared to be a gun battle, screams reverberating in the empty air around them. It sounded like war and once again, Buffy was running straight into the middle of it.

She slid to a halt behind a small group huddled behind abandoned cars, slowly lifting the scythe in front of her. Spike prepared himself—there was no knowing these days who the good guys were from the bad and for all intents and purposes, this lot, hiding from the sentry on the wall up ahead, could be the bad guys preparing to attack a town. He took a close look and sniffed the air. Blood hung heavy on them, and fear, and Spike knew without asking that these ones were escaping. From what he had no clue, but if they were running out into a world full of dead people that wanted to eat their flesh, he figured it couldn't be anything good.

A battered warrior stepped out in front of them, facing the other group which was obviously wary of—and angry—with her. Her dreadlocks, glistening dark skin and her wicked sword made Buffy gasp. The whole of the group turned as one toward them, brandishing every weapon they owned, but the ones worrying Spike the most were the guns. Guns might do some damage to him, but they wouldn't kill—despite everyone's penchant for the head shot these days—but Buffy wouldn't be so lucky. Once, she had been, but a second go round with a bullet and Spike suspected their last kiss would be a goodbye.

"Whoa," he said, stepping around Buffy with his hands held up to show surrender. He'd sheathed his sword and left himself defenceless—unlike Buffy and her scythe. "Don't mean any harm here. We heard shots and haven't seen real people for a while. Sla—Buffy was a bit eager to talk to humans, weren't you, luv?"

"You're British?" a young Asian boy asked, the words obviously painful for his pummelled face to deliver, and Spike wondered if he might be a bit giddy from a few obvious knocks to the head to be wasting his breath with such a stupid question.

Before he could make a snappy comeback about this boy's intelligence or priorities, Buffy put her hand on his arm and drew forward. He looked at her and frowned at the intent look she gave the scary bint with the sword, and the way she ignored the group with their guns trained on her head. "Spike, that's her." She took a step closer, the group aiming the guns right back at her with more fierce expressions on their faces than he'd seen when the home team was on a losing streak. "Oh my God, we've been looking all over Georgia for you."

Buffy lowered her scythe, stepped right up to the girl and held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Buffy, and I'm a Slayer."

A look of wonder passed over the other girl's face, and then she also lowered her weapon. As the sword came closer to the ground, it became obvious that this girl was injured. Spike could see at least three wounds, not including what he thought was a bullet wound on her thigh. Despite her strength, he wasn't concerned about her. Buffy had piqued enough interest with her that he thought it was peachy, but this other group still stared at them menacingly, distrust weighing the situation down heavily.

"I am Michonne." She stuck her hand out and Buffy clasped it warmly, sisters-in-arms without ever having known one another. Spike chuckled.

"Yippidy-bloody-doo, luv. Can we go home now?" Spike joked, wishing with everything he was that there wasn't half a world of zombies out there desperately trying to eat up those that were left so he could take his girl back home to her sister and friends.

"This is a really tender moment, but we're a little in the dark here." A man stood, getting in their faces, his eyes wild. By the way he stood—the way he took control of the situation, Spike could tell he was the leader, and if he wasn't mistaken, he suspected he might be an unofficial representative of the now defunct law. "Who the hell are you, what do you mean you've been lookin' for her," he pointed accusingly at Michonne, "and what the fuck kind of name is 'Buffy'?"

"Rick, we can't be worryin' about that now," said a young woman, her face betraying how much a deeper part of her was broken, despite how pretty she was on the outside. "We've gotta decide what to do. Are we goin' back in to get Daryl, or are we goin' home to work out what to do about comin' back to get Daryl?"

The one she'd called Rick looked conflicted, and Spike felt sympathy for him. Hard enough to make life and death decisions these days, let alone when in hiding, possible walkers streaming in from behind and being shielded by the dark. Spike could appreciate that this situation was less than ideal.

"We're goin' back," Rick confirmed, twisting round to look at the young woman with dark hair. She clung to the Asian bloke. Spike wasn't a complete idiot. These two looked like they'd been beaten and tortured, and in this world Spike knew there were some questionable characters benefiting in the end of days. It didn't take a rocket scientist to work out that a different kind of evil existed beyond the walled off area just ahead of them, a man stationed at the top on watch with his big gun swinging back and forth.

"You've still got a man in there?" Buffy asked, throwing herself back into the line of fire. "We can help you." The offer was matter-of-fact and while Spike knew where her heart stood with helping the hopeless, he didn't think this group of people—with their physical and emotional wounds—was going to so easily trust her offer.

Rick looked like he was losing it, Spike sensing the rise of hysteria in the man as he threw caution to the wind and stood up, aiming the gun dead centre to Buffy's head.

"I don't know you," he said, as if that was enough explanation for his hostility—and maybe in this world, thought Spike, it was. He rarely betrayed himself these days, knowing that it could easily spook the most knowledgeable of people, but Spike knew some kind of diffusion was necessary if this little standoff was to progress to anything but a massacre. He'd almost lost Buffy to a walker bite; there was no way he was losing her to a human with an inferiority complex and a gun. Before anyone blinked, he was next to Rick with Rick's gun in his hand, clicking the safety back on and holding it in his palm.

"We don't know you either, mate," he said gently, trying to calm everyone down, but then he felt the tip of a sword at his Adam's apple and he was forced to look at Michonne.

"You walk with a vampire?" she accused Buffy, her voice full of disgust.

"Beats walking with dead people." Buffy stayed straight-faced for all of two seconds before she giggled. As she did so, she knocked the sword deftly from the dark slayer's hands and then trod on it as it lay in the dust. "Spike has a soul," she told the other girl as she locked eyes with her. "He won't hurt you." She turned to the others, her face soft and innocent. "He won't hurt any of you. We can help you. Let us, and then we can hash it all out later."

Exhaustion hung heavily on them all as they seemed to speak silently amongst each other before finally deciding to concede. That kind of conversation without words bespoke of a deep, underlying trust, and Spike felt a new respect for them rub over him. For once he was glad of Buffy's impetuous need to run into the thick of danger. It'd be nice to have conversation again. He'd always liked to talk, and these new people would be sure to have new things to say. He grinned happily as he absently rubbed the little nick on his throat from the other slayer's sword. Other slayer. The miracle of it was bloody brilliant.

"What do we do about Merle?" the Asian one asked, one eye swollen shut as he looked to their leader. "You think Daryl is going to come without him? Hell, he's probably in there now swapping survivor stories. He could be telling them everything about us now."

"Daryl wouldn't do that," Rick denied hotly, though Spike sensed a small amount of self-doubt.

"No?" the Asian said a little too loudly , his voice cracking on the word before suddenly remembering they were trying to hide and lowered his voice. "What makes you so sure?"

Rick seemed to need to think about his answer. He looked at each one of them, trying to find inspiration before finally realisation crossed his face.

"He found Carol."

"Carol's alive?" the brunette whispered, tears in her eyes. Rick nodded, his own pleasure at being able to give the news evident in his genuine smile. The two with bruises—internal and external—considered this for a while, then they both nodded, a smile settling painfully on their lips.

"All right. So, we go in, an' if Daryl is with Merle, he's comin' with us," Rick confirmed, then remembered the new members of this strategy meeting and he glanced to see if they were on board.

"Daryl and Merle. Got it," Buffy agreed, then that cute little look of confusion twisted her brow and Spike wished he could kiss her on the tip of her nose. "Uh, how do I know who they are again?"

"Just look for the rednecks, pet. With a name like Merle, he's got to be one." Spike looked away from the glare Michonne aimed at him and decided it might be best if he let Buffy handle her and he handle this Rick. Seemed the man was a little unstable; Spike sensed grief around the man that hadn't been fully dealt with. Despite the obstacle of his trust, Spike thought he might be a decent bloke, if given half the chance. "So, what's your plan?"

"I'm open to ideas," Rick said, exhaustion making him stumble as he settled back into a crouch behind the shelter of the car, but the only person who spoke was Michonne.

"We kill the Governor," she hissed, then bent down and retrieved her sword, Buffy's foot lifting to release it.

"Is he human?" Buffy wondered out loud, and Spike prepared himself for a battle.

"Barely," Michonne almost growled, and Buffy nodded.

"If he's human, and he has to die, then Spike gets to do it."

All eyes turned to her in shock, including Spike's.

"You haven't fed properly for months," she justified to him, and with guilt in his heart, he dropped his eyes and nodded. He'd sustained himself on sips from Buffy, supplemented from any game he'd managed to catch. He'd be eternally grateful to not have to suck down the life essence of a squirrel for a while.

Not entirely happy with the arrangement, Michonne turned to him, her eyes searing him with her distrust. "You may find him in the hospital," she said, and then a genuine smile touched her lips. "I stabbed him through the eye with a shard of glass."

All eyes turned to her, incredulous.

"He is sick and twisted," she defended herself. "He had severed heads in fish tanks in a locked room, and…and a young girl he calls Penny—turned and locked away with a sack over her head." She hefted a revolted breath and looked intently at Spike. "He must not remain alive."

Spike suddenly had no doubts she'd inflict heavy punishment if he got her brief wrong. The Governor was to die, and after the grizzly image she'd just painted, he wasn't going to argue.

The roar of a crowd was suddenly heard from within the town and they all turned abruptly, seeing the man on watch turn away from what wasn't happening outside his town to look at the action going on inside it.

Rick was all business. "Glenn, you go back to the car with Michonne. Neither of you are fit enough for this fight and I don't want to lose you," he said, but he was only looking at Glenn as he mumbled the words. Michonne nodded at him, knowing herself that her strength was better spent trying to save the Asian boy she'd just led them to rescue. "Maggie, you can go with them if you want, or you can come with us."

The young brunette struggled with her answer, her eyes pleading with Glenn to understand as she turned to Rick and said she'd go into battle with him. Glenn snorted then left, Michonne helping him stumble away from the town of Woodbury and back to the road. Spike just hoped that between them they could hold off any walkers that might still be lingering about.

"Time to move," Rick ordered, and as one they crept back toward the fence, a mission to save this Daryl and Merle first and foremost on their minds.