AN: Enormous apologies for taking so long to post this chapter. It's actually been written for quite a while but I had four versions of it and had to meld them all back together! Anyway, huge hugs and thank you's to Susan, my ever-patient beta. I hope you enjoy—if you can remember what the story was even about.

Chapter Seven

"So…I'm a Vampire Slayer?"

Buffy looked sideways at Michonne, squinting in the powerful sunlight as walkers milled around the fence they were patrolling. "Yup. One girl in all the world here to kill the vampires. Except...there's more than one now. Obviously."

"And other than Spike, you haven't seen any vampires since all this shit hit the fan?"

Buffy nodded, a frown settling on her lips. "That's about it."

Michonne looked out at the trees, her expression unreadable—not passive and not quite angry. Buffy found her almost impossible to gauge.

"Huh."

She didn't think there was a response left in her repertoire for that, so she left it to drift off in the gentle but putrid wind, keeping an eye out at the woods. They were waiting for the hunters—Daryl and Merle—to move back into sight, and when they did, they were jogging ahead of a small group of walkers. Fury seemed to encase the younger Dixon brother as he spun on his boot heel, shot his brother a filthy look before starting to eradicate their groupies with a series of well-aimed arrows .

Buffy moved casually toward the gate, trying not to grin when the last walker hit the dirt and Daryl balled his fist while stabbing at the air in front of his brother's chest with the pointy finger on his other hand.

"Just shut the fuck up for once, Merle."

The older brother erupted into an amused guffaw, his lewd expression seemingly stirring up Daryl's ire even more.

"Oh come on, baby brother. You mean to tell me you been with that little lady for a year and you still haven't slipped her some good ole' fashioned Dixon charm? What the hell's wrong with you, boy?"

Buffy couldn't hold it back if she'd tried. Hysteria bubbled up and blew over, and before she knew it she was gasping hard, Michonne actually giving in to a few unexpected chuckles beside her.

"I bet that Dixon charm just makes you a hit with all the ladies, Merle," Buffy giggled, laughing harder at the disgusted glare he threw at her as the men marched through the gate, little furry things strung up and swinging from their belts.

"Sugartits, if your pet weren't likely to drain me dry, I'd show you just how much charm I got." His changed tactic and not-so-subtle leer as he got up closer to inspect her assets renewed Buffy's mirth, but Michonne didn't take his proximity well, the tip of her blade making a small cut in the centre of his tank—right over his heart.

"Knock it off, Merle," Daryl warned, stepping in and pushing the katana away from his brother. Merle gave Daryl a shove, his eyes darkened with dislike at the sword-wielding slayer.

"Point that thing at me again, sweetcheeks, an' you best be plannin' on some follow through."

"Oh, you can bet on it, redneck. I always plan on follow through," Michonne snarled in her low and threatening tone and Buffy's laughter dropped away from her abruptly.

"Michonne, that's enough. We don't kill humans, even if they are behaving like an ass."

"You may give assholes a pass, but I won't be," she told Buffy, her manner forthright and brooking no argument. The other woman's lips turned up in a sneer as she eyed Merle up and down and Buffy frowned, concerned. Her body a lithe and graceful example of a panther in action, Michonne moved away from them all and went to take up residence in the bus that lay on its side in the yard.

The other three didn't move and without expecting to, Buffy was caught in Daryl's intent gaze. "We gonna have a problem with her? We ain't got time for problems. As much of a dick as Merle can be, I ain't gonna stand by and let some bitch with a sword gut him right in front o' me."

Buffy nodded, understanding the strain Michonne's attitude was going to place on the group if Buffy didn't make it real clear, real fast just what the parameters of their role within the prison fences was going to be.

Buffy jumped as Merle spat in the dirt, turning her nose up in revulsion. "You keep that black bitch away from me and we'll all get along fine," he growled, then as he aimed one last confused glance at his brother, he walked away back up to the prison, giving the overturned bus a wider than usual pass.

"I'll talk with her," Buffy promised. Then, as quickly as the dark cloud had drifted over her earlier mood, it was lifted and a smile once again settled on her face. She didn't think she'd felt this peaceful and safe for a long time. Probably not since before she was Called, if she was honest, and the knowledge made her want to laugh all day. She was in a world far worse than the one she'd first been called into, now the dead were everywhere, not just the occasional enemy to run across on her nightly patrols. All her friends were likely dead—including her sister—but with this group she'd found a sense of acceptance and hope she didn't think she'd ever see again. Here she could relax behind the fence, venture out when she wanted rather than being compelled to every single night of her life—and maybe she finally would have time to sort things out with Spike.

"You look like you got a lot on your mind," Daryl said, and Buffy appreciated the effort it took for him to stay outside with her, his feet pointed toward the prison with the obvious desire to go in search of the others.

Buffy nodded. "It's a big adjustment, for Spike and me as well as for all of you. We've been going at this alone for so long—didn't think we'd ever find actual people again. Good people," she emphasised. She had a feeling it was something Daryl needed to know she recognised. He dipped his head in appreciation at her comment, silently agreeing with her.

"Took me a good while at first, too. An' Merle… he ain't so bad once you get to know 'im. Gettin' to know him, though, that's the trick."

"He's got layers?" Buffy asked with interest.

"'Bout a thousand of 'em,' Daryl confirmed, grinning, then finally he made his trek toward the prison. Buffy tagged along, finding she liked talking to Daryl—especially as she knew how Carol felt about him.

"Well, maybe Spike can get through to him. He's got this thing about onions."

Daryl stopped and looked at her oddly, shaking his head before picking up the pace and then slamming into Cell Block C.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, how'd y'all meet, anyway?" Little Beth Greene had taken some time to warm up to the strangers, but now that they looked like they were staying, she thought it kind of romantic that a vampire had fallen in love with a woman who was meant to kill his kind.

Buffy looked over at Spike and everyone sitting around, dinner bowl in hand, could plainly see the devotion written all over her face. Her eyes softened every time she looked Spike's way—the vampire himself falling instantly under whatever spell she wielded. Beth thought it was cute.

"It was some special vampire holiday—" Buffy reminisced, thinking more fondly over a day she'd once held to be one of the most annoying of her life.

"The Feast of St. Vigeous, luv."

"Sid Vicious?" Glenn piped in, suddenly perking up to the conversation. Buffy snorted in response, giggling softly.

"Didn't take you for a punk fan, China," Merle said, inching his way slyly into the group.

"Didn't take you for one who'd know there was such a thing as punk, redneck," Glenn countered, almost good-naturedly if you ignored the sharp corner of his mouth.

"I know things about all kinds of shit you couldn't even imagine," Merle gloated, and even though there was nothing purposeful about it, the words still sounded dirty.

"So what happened on this vampire holiday?" Beth asked, steering the conversation away from the friction between Glenn and Merle and back onto the only thing close to a fairy tale left in this new world.

"Oh! It was kind of funny, actually. He came looking for me, watching me fight, then announces he's going to kill me on this Feast of St. Vigeous. It was pretty cool as first meetings go." Buffy grinned as Spike shot her a glare of frustration.

"Silly bint never took me seriously, even back then," he mumbled, obviously with his wounded ego still not quite repaired.

"You are so wrong," Buffy countered, moving to sit beside him and taking up his hand as she smiled with a happiness that hadn't been evident in most of the time he'd known her. "I took you plenty serious, right up until you got the chip."

"I take it Spike failed, then?" Hershel asked, leaning forward on his good leg as he, right along with the others, became engaged in the story.

"Oh yes, though he came pretty close. That was the first time my mom saw a vampire. She totally saved my life."

Spike chuckled. "Joyce was always was pretty handy with a fire axe."

After another hour running down memory lane, Buffy went quiet, standing with a shiver and moving away from the group. Spike watched her carefully, his concern piquing when a frown marred her previous gentle smiling face and she went to leave the cell block completely. Without a word he indicated to Rick that he was planning to follow, and then he was after her, keeping a respectful distance at first but then catching her when she wandered over to the metal seats overlooking the yard and sat down on them, her gaze drawn to a pocket of walkers that never seemed to move on.

"They can sense us in here, even when they can't see us," she said, and Spike dropped his head and stared at the cement between his boots. It pissed him off, all of it. Even at his most evil he'd never foreseen how the world could go so totally arse over tit in the space of weeks. He'd thought he was the only variety of the dead that could cause chaos amongst the population—and that kind of chaos had been bloody funny, back in the day. Now he was trying to keep his slayer's spirits up, and why? They were locked up tight as fuck in a prison in Georgia—in a state too hot to breathe, surrounded by dead bodies that never stayed still unless they'd had their brain taken out with a decisive blow, the strength of their passing clinging to them like cigarette smoke, but a million times worse. It was a scent that permeated everything, got in your nose and your clothes and it stayed there while you slept, while you walked, while you talked and, he'd be willing to bet, while you shagged yourself bloody. Not that he'd had any of that in an overly decent while.

"That's the world now, luv. Whatever Apocalypse it was, Rupert forgot to let us know."

She made a funny sound between a snort and a sob, strangling it so thoroughly that Spike almost reared back to look at her in as much light as he could find. Instead, his body tensed as she slid across the seat and tucked herself under his arm, one deceptively strong hand curling around his abs and fisting his t-shirt.

"I just want to know if they're okay, Spike. Why can't we know? If they're all dead then…fine…I'll deal, but not knowing? It's driving me crazy."

He knew then that she was crying, releasing giant, silent tear drops to track her grief in the way that Buffy was an expert at, and his heart broke a little more for all she'd been through and for what was surely still to come. He had his theories why she'd survived the bite, why she'd been surviving mortal wounds for years now without putting it all together, and while he suspected he was going to be ecstatic to have her forever by his side, he figured she might have a bit of trouble dealing with the reality of never aging past that which misery and hurt always etched on one's face.

Her hand was warm in his when he took it, his thumb stroking her palm. God, he wanted to kiss her, but he wasn't going to rush. Wasn't going to push. When Buffy was ready, he'd be there and she'd let him know in the way Buffy always shared her big decisions—with fire and violence, just the way he liked it.

"Buffy, I'm sure if there's anyone left, they'll find a way. They always do."

She pulled back, searched his face for the lie he wasn't telling, then a small, accepting smile broke out on her face.

"Yeah," she agreed, an emotional tremble in the single word betraying a moment of vulnerability. "They always do."