Summary: Sequel to Ahead of Her Time. Meeting Eden has changed the way Buffy sees Spike. But with Buffy rushing the relationship, Spike itching for his soul, Glory after Dawn, and Riley out for vengeance, how will they even make it to next week-much less to the future they've been promised?

Author's Note: Thanks so much for the encouragement and enthusiasm, everyone!

Awaiting Eden

Chapter 2

The stinging sensation woke her, but she was familiar enough with antiseptic to recognize its cold burn. She opened her eyes to find herself lying atop a sarcophagus in Spike's crypt, her scarf and sweater gone and her white camisole rolled up to just below her breasts. Spike was carefully tending to her wound, a look of such intense concentration on his face that he didn't even notice that she was awake.

"Hey," she said.

His eyes found hers, and she could see the worry written in them. "Know it stings, luv," he said. "Had to get it cleaned out, though." He went back to tending her wound, his cool hands on her warm skin distracting her completely from the pain in her abdomen.

Stabbed. By a totally insignificant vamp. With her own stake.

"I can't believe I blacked out," she muttered.

"Can't believe I let the git stab you," Spike replied.

"I think I was the one who let that happen."

"Thought you were just having a good rough-and-tumble with him. Next thing I know, there is a stake in your bloody side and that Van-Halen wannabe was about to get a taste of you."

"He got me with my own stake. How completely embarrassing. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

Spike chuckled, and the sound of it made Buffy feel warm inside. It made her smile, too.

"Not if you don't tell anyone I was following you around like some love-sick ponce."

"Why were you following me, anyway?" she asked.

He looked sheepish. "Dunno. Wanted to be near you. Didn't know if you felt like company. Seemed like you were trying to work some things out."

"I'm not your wife," she said.

"No, luv, I know that." He looked away. "Think we need to get you to a hospital, let a doctor take a look?"

Buffy shook her head. "That would just make everyone worry. Slayer healing anyway, remember? I'm sure I'll be shiny and new in the morning. I should probably-" She moved to jump down from the sarcophagus, but winced, holding on to her side and lying back down. "Or, you know, maybe I will just hang out here for a few more minutes."

"You need to rest. Come on, let me carry you downstairs, settle you into a nice comfy bed, give you some time to heal up."

"You have a bed?" She asked, curious. "Like, a real bed?" What was down there on the bottom level, anyway?

Spike looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Course. What kind of monster do you think I am?"

She snorted. "I think I'll just refrain from answering that."

"Ha bloody ha," he said, as he tucked one arm beneath her neck and the other under her knees, and then scooped her up. "Hang on, okay?"

She nodded, and hesitantly wrapped her arms around Spike's neck. God, she was so close to him. Spike-smell invaded her senses—tobacco and alcohol and something dark and masculine that was better than any cologne. If it weren't for this stupid injury and all of the ouchies every time she moved, then maybe she would…she couldn't resist, even with the wound—she darted her tongue out and licked the cool skin of his neck.

Spike froze.

"Did you just lick me, Slayer?"

She flushed, glad he couldn't see her face. "I…uh…maybe?" she stuttered. "Sorry, I don't…it's just, you're so close and…and…I'm injured and possibly in shock…and I just wanted a taste, okay?" She buried her face against his shoulder, knowing he would mock her.

He chuckled again, his throat vibrating against her skin and she had to keep herself from licking him once more. Bad Buffy. Bad. "Pet," he said, unable to keep the smirk off of his face though he knew she couldn't see. "You can taste me anytime you like. Anywhere you like, too."

He didn't tell her how much he wanted to return the favor, taste her blood and the salt of her skin and that delicious nectar that flowed between her legs when…bloody hell, he'd given himself an erection. He shook his head and dropped through the hole in the floor to the bottom level of his crypt. He landed gracefully, Buffy only realizing they'd jumped by the flash of wind against her hair and the slightly cooler temperature below.

And holy crap! There was a real bedroom down here. Spike's four poster bed sat majestically in the center of the room, made neatly with fluffy pillows and a soft-looking gray comforter. Fancy rugs overlapped and covered almost the entire cement floor. And books. Spike had three bookshelves, all covered with books that looked way old. All in all, it looked surprisingly unlike a crypt basement.

He set her down gently on the bed.

"Nice place," she said, quietly.

"Thanks, pet."

"Spike, you know I can't…I can't stay here. I've got to get home. There's Mom and Dawn, and they need me. They'll worry." But now that she was here, in Spike's cozy bed, she didn't really feel like moving.

"Relax," he said, settling next to her on the other side of the bed, his back propped against pillows and his legs atop the covers. She stared at his bare feet, elegant toes. Was it even possible to have elegant toes? Yes, yes it was, she decided. The nakedness of his feet felt extremely intimate. Erotic, even. She swallowed hard and looked away.

"Let me call Joyce," he said. "You've got your carry-around phone, right? Celly? I'll let her know that you're all safe and shacking up with the Big Bad tonight, okay?"

She hesitated. She knew she needed to get home. There was Glory to think about, the hellgoddess who was bound and determined to get to Dawn. She needed to be there to protect her, in case tonight was the night.

But…maybe tonight wasn't the night, and moving was really becoming an effort, and there was something so soothing about being here, in her former enemy's cozy bed with all the candles glowing and Spike there next to her.

"Okay," she said, wiggling around as she reached for the phone tucked in her back pocket. "But, um, try to word it a little differently, okay? No need to give my mom the extra-wiggins." She passed the phone to Spike, the device still warm from being so close to her body.

He pressed the buttons and hopped from the bed, pacing the room as he waited for Joyce to answer. His voice was soothing when he spoke, assuring Joyce that Buffy'd had a small mishap and was absolutely, perfectly fine, just resting up there at Spike's crypt, which was completely safe and homey and not at all the creepy place Joyce might have expected a crypt to be.

Answering those questions when she got home was going to be a boatload of fun. While Spike chatted with Joyce (the conversation appeared to have somehow turned casual), Buffy looked around the space. For the hidden bottom level of a crypt, she had to admit that it was cozy…and sexy. Thick white candles on silver plates lit the room in a warm glow. An old wooden dresser sat against one wall, a completely unnecessary (for him, at least) oval-shaped mirror attached to its top. Her eyes continued to survey the room appreciatively. The vamp had done a lot with the place.

She let out a surprised gasp when she saw the cluster of sketches. Some were propped on top of one of the bookshelves, some were tacked into the wall. White paper sheets with charcoal drawings. Sketches of Eden, drawn so skillfully that the little girl looked as though she might leap off of the paper and into existence right before Buffy's eyes.

Buffy had asked Asher, casually, as though it hardly mattered, if she could take a snapshot of Eden, but he'd told her, emphatically, that it couldn't be done—something about leaving physical proof of Eden's existence behind and badness, badness, etc. And she'd been wildly disappointed, but she hadn't argued. But these sketches were almost as good—better, even, because Spike had drawn them. She could practically see the emotion in each stroke of charcoal.

She needed to see them up close.

Careful not to twist her torso more than was absolutely necessary, Buffy climbed from the bed and made her way to the drawings. Spike kept a careful eye on her, but didn't stop her from getting a better look. She let her fingers ghost over the lines, tracing them but not. Eden on the floor of the cavern the night they'd rescued her, little eyes bright with tears. Eden on the sidewalk bench where she'd sat with Spike after her rescue, legs kicking the air, smile on her face. Eden with her tiny fangs out and that golden glint in her eye that Spike had somehow managed to capture with only his pencil. Eden in Joyce's lap, playing with the brown curls of her grandmother's hair. And Eden clutching Buffy in an embrace. It was Buffy's face on display in this one, her eyes closed and features soft.

"Wow," she whispered. She heard Spike end the call. "You made these?" she asked.

He looked sheepish. "Well, I just…didn't want to forget, is all."

"They're amazing."

"Yeah?" he asked, as though he had somehow thought that she might be angry with him for the drawings.

"Yeah."

They were quiet for a moment, staring at the sketches. Their daughter.

"Why are vampires such good artists, anyway?" Buffy asked. She shuddered, remembering the sketches Angelus had liked to leave behind.

Spike shrugged. "Have to be, if you're old enough. Cameras weren't always around, pet, and the old ones didn't capture my kind anyway. Wanted to hang on to a memory, you had to put it on paper, either draw it out or write about it."

"Hmm."

"Charmed your mum into being okay with you staying here," he said. "So, let's get you tucked into bed, yeah?"

"I won't break, you know," she said, looking at him with an expression of wry humor. "This isn't my first injury. Might be my most mortifying injury, but definitely not my first."

He frowned. "I know. Course I know that. Just…it bothered me, you know? Seeing that stake sticking out of you like that. Let me take care of you, luv? Just for a bit?"

She sighed. "Okay."

She let him lead her back to the bed. He paused to pull back the covers for her.

"I'm gonna get your sheets all gross," she said, pointing to the mess of dried blood on her tank.

"Here," he said, pulling out a black tee shirt from the dresser and dropping it on the bed in front of her before she could argue. "Can you get out of that top without hurting yourself?"

She nodded, shrugging out of her camisole. Spike stared at her, completely shocked by her lack of modesty. He hadn't even had a second to talk himself into being a gentleman and turning around, and he had to hold back a string of appreciative curse words at the sight he'd been unprepared for. He studied her torso with the bandage spread across her side—a shock of white against the healthy tanned skin. And her breasts, covered by a satiny white bra. Incredible.

She felt his eyes on her and looked up, suddenly self-conscious. Oh my god, I am undressing in front of Spike! What the hell was wrong with her, just pulling off her clothes in front of him like it was natural? Like they were a couple or something. Their eyes met and Buffy's cheeks turned pink at the inspired look on Spike's face. She pulled his tee shirt over her head, surrounding herself with all that darkness and those delicious Spike-smells. She wondered if this was the same shirt she'd worn the night they rescued Eden. How many black tee shirts did he have, anyway?

"In the other time line…" Buffy said, hesitantly. "How do you think it happened? Us growing close, I mean."

Spike was thoughtful for a moment. "Dunno. Can't even imagine what would make a woman like you settle for a thing like me."

They climbed back into the bed in silence, Buffy tucked beneath the covers, Spike lying atop them, still wearing his jeans and tee. He didn't need to look at her to see that she had fallen asleep quickly; he could tell by the slow, steady strum of her heartbeat. But he looked at her anyway. That golden hair spilling around the pillow was irresistible, and he ran his hands through it softly so as not to wake her, leaned close to inhale the tropical, familiar scent of her shampoo.

"Spike?" He stopped. "Are you…sniffing me?"

"I…uh…"

She laughed lightly, and drifted back to sleep.