The Weight of Forever

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Prologue

The bride smiled under her veil, her eyes wide and brimming with tears as she looked past the throng of people and stared at the man she would marry. For his part, the groom had gotten through the morning with flying colors if you didn’t count losing a shoe, losing his suit jacket, and not finding either until ten minutes before the ceremony. He reached a hand out, gently helping her up the steps, then nodded at the man who had escorted her down the aisle to give her away.

Some people had balked at a nighttime wedding, saying that California weddings on the beach were meant to be enjoyed in the sunlight, but the bride and groom understood that their guest list contained certain ‘special needs’. A big white tent had been pitched near the waters edge and the entire event had been planned to avoid a full moon, since at least three of the guests were werewolves. The front area of the tent was an explosion of color as every type of tropical flower had been arranged around the altar. The bride herself carried a colorful bouquet that was almost as big as she was.

The vows were unique and had been written by the bride and groom, with lots of help from their closest friends. Anyone who knew their story had trouble reigning in the emotion as the groom said, "I feel like I’ve waited a million lifetimes for this moment. I feel like any life before this one was a dream, that I did not become the man I was meant to be until you taught me how. For that, I will love you until the day I die and for that you will have to keep my heart secure. It isn’t mine anymore."

Spike glanced around the groom and smiled at Buffy, who was holding her bouquet and the big arrangement that Christine, the bride, had carried up the aisle. He winked at her, just like he said he would, when Miles, the groom, spoke the lines that Spike had actually written for him. Buffy would have known without the acknowledgement from Spike. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she mouthed the words "I love you" with an easy smile.

Their eye contact was broken by the priest asking for the rings. Spike leaned down, whispering to the little ring bearer who held up the pillow that contained the two rings with a big, cheesy grin. Buffy sniffled a little, all the while telling herself not to cry, that she had run out of waterproof mascara, but as the deal was sealed with a kiss and the priest announced Mr. and Mrs. Miles Porter to the room, she was smiling through tears.

Spike offered her his arm as they fell in step behind their friends. "You cry at weddings, love?"

"Shut up," she replied, wiping her cheek with the handkerchief he had pulled from his pocket for her. "It was beautiful."

"I meant every word of it."

"Why didn’t he write his own vows?"

"Because he’s been working non-stop with you every night."

Buffy glanced over at him. "Was he mad?"

"I think he was glad to have the diversion. He’s been a nervous wreck."

"I don’t know what I’ll do without him for two weeks."

"Davies will fill in for him."

"Yes, but Davies isn’t Miles. I adore Miles."

"Miles adores you, too. So does Christine."

"How weird is it that we’re doing all this normal stuff together? Movie night with Miles and Christine. Dinner night with Colin and Dawn. It’s like we can forget sometimes that we’re who we are."

"I’m fine with who we are, baby. Who else could survive our sex life?"

They reached the flowered archway at the mouth of the tent and stopped for photographs. They smiled, posed, laughed, and hammed it up for the camera before they set off down the path to the second tent which had been set up for the reception. The rest of the night passed in a happy blur for Buffy. She laughed until her sides hurt when the band announced that the Best Man had requested a special song and dance with the Maid of Honor and began playing a cheesy version of ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’. The minute Spike took her into his arms, however, it became the most romantic dance she’d ever had and the kiss he gave her left her breathless.

A while later, she slipped her shoes off and stepped into the cool ocean water, hissing a little as the salt seeped into the blisters that had formed on both of her feet. "Ow."

Spike, who had removed his shoes as well and was helping her hold her dress up, had to smile at the irony. "You know, it seems like only yesterday we were in this very same spot with you trying to fight me and me drowning you to teach you a lesson."

"My how far we’ve come. The last time you tried to kill me was with sex last night. I’d call that a change for the better." Buffy wiggled her toes and groaned in relief. "That’s it. I’m over strappy heels."

Spike caught her arm and pulled her toward him. "Life is good, innit?"

Buffy looked up at him, cupping his cheek with her palm. "Life is perfect. We’re perfect. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Resting her head against his silent heart she closed her eyes. "I want to feel like this forever."

He kissed her. "Forever isn’t long enough, baby, but it’ll do."

~ 1 ~

Buffy took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and turned to face the monster that had been steadily increasing its size in the past few weeks. It was mammoth, dominating the small space that she liked to call hers. She crossed her arms and glared at it, daring it to make a move, but it didn’t. It sat, mocking her and she came close to growling when Harmony strolled into the office and added yet another folder to the pile that took up every conceivable surface of her desk.

"Are you ever going to finish these?" Harmony asked, indicating the monster that Buffy had been contemplating moments before. "I mean, this is why you have filing cabinets and if I can file then so can you."

Buffy began to hum ‘Another One Bites The Dust’ and grinned when Harmony fled the room without another word. With a sigh, she sat down in the buttery leather chair behind her desk and took a deep breath. It wouldn’t be hard. After all, in the amount of time she had worked at Wolfram and Hart she had closed every case file on her desk. What remained was for her to read through the accounts of the cases, file the ones that were correct and to correct the inaccuracies and send them back out to reporting. Instead, she kept pushing them aside, rearranging and moving to the next case.

The bone deep exhaustion she felt manifested itself in a loud yawn and Buffy contemplated shoving the work wily nily into a drawer someplace and leaving on time for a change. It would be incredible to actually spend more than fifteen minutes with Spike that night. They lived together, slept in the same bed, but with the hours she kept their time was very limited. She had her own suspicions as to why, but hadn’t said anything yet. It was building, though. It had been far too long since they had been able to do anything except kiss goodnight and fall asleep.

Defeated, she opened the top most file and read through the account of the assassination of a Fergunga demon that had been preying on virgins in the valley. She read through the facts, which she had relayed to the Reporting Division herself and signed her name with satisfaction that it had been recorded correctly. Standing, she gave herself a pat on the back and then carried the file to the corner and stored it under ‘F’ for Fergunga.

"One down. One trillion to go." She poked out her bottom lip as Harmony charged in, dropped another folder, and ran back out. "Damn it."

"Bad day?" Spike poked his head into the room and smiled at the picture she made, leaning back against the wall with a lost look on her face. He surveyed the mountain of work and grinned. "This is actually something you have to do every single day, love."

"Who has the time?" she snarled, slamming the ‘F’ file closed and stalking back to her desk, where she flopped into her seat. "Between the planning, the killing, the reporting, and the other things like eating and trying to sleep for about four hours a night that is."

Spike frowned. It wasn’t the first time he had considered how exhausting her new role as the Head of Assassination had become. For months, she had thrived on the momentum, the fast pace of things, the Slaying and the deadlines. The rush in her veins felt like coming home to her and she enjoyed it immensely at first Now, however, he could see the physical toll it was taking on her. "Let me help."

"Unless you can wave a magic wand --"

"Baby, you told me about most of these. I know what happened and I can check it just as well as you can."

Buffy gave a contented sigh. "I love it when you call me that."

Kissing her on the top of the head, he reached past her and grabbed a stack of files. "We’ll get it done."

They worked together for the rest of the afternoon, pausing to eat lunch and make a few corrections in the reporting of her assassinations. Finally, Spike put his last file in the proper place and stretched. "Next time you’re on your own. This was my day off."

She closed her remaining folder and propped her hand on her chin. "Can I ask you something?"

"Always."

"Maybe it’s nothing, but-"

"What?" Spike asked her when she trailed off.

"Do you get the feeling that Angel is trying to purposely keep us apart?"

The thought had definitely crossed Spike’s mind and he had confronted Angel about it weeks before. When he heard Angel’s explanation, however, he realized that it was Buffy’s own fault. At Angel’s request, Spike had not said anything about it and agreed to let her work through it herself. He hadn’t known it would take quite so long, though. He shrugged, appearing nonchalant. "I don’t know. We’re busy."

"That’s it? We’re busy?"

"We’ve got a job to do."

"Well, I can’t keep doing it. I only see you for ten minutes here and there."

"You just saw me for the entire day."

"I need you the rest of the time, too."

"And here I thought we’d be together at least a year before you’d put me on such a short leash." He smiled when he saw that Buffy wasn’t sure how to take his comment. "Not that I mind. I’ll even help you pick out the chain."

She grinned a little. "It just feels like my entire life has become Wolfram and Hart. I didn’t stay in Los Angeles just to work here. I stayed to be with you and I don’t feel like I am."

"If you want to transfer jobs, pet, you can talk to Angel."

"No. I don’t want to transfer. I actually like being paid to do what I was doing anyway. I just don’t have to like working twenty hours a day most of the time."

"So talk to Angel."

Buffy frowned. Since she had been at Wolfram and Hart her interaction with Angel had been limited to the occasional hello in the elevator or briefings in the conference room about new targets and threats. The ease with which they used to speak had been replaced with an all business approach that didn’t allow for small talk or idle chatter. The only time that she had seen him outside the office had been when she was patrolling and stopped for a coffee. He had been leaving a restaurant with Nina and Buffy quickly turned the other way to avoid *that* awkward encounter.

It had become commonplace to see Nina around the office, visiting Angel, bringing him blood, talking to Fred. Fred had actually been the one to introduce Buffy and Nina. It hadn’t been as strained as it could have been, but Buffy felt as though every pore on her face had been scrutinized and found lacking by the other woman. Buffy had made a habit of staying in her office as much as possible unless she had something pressing to do.

"What are you thinking?" Spike asked her.

Buffy jumped a little, startled as he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. "I don’t want to talk to Angel."

"You want me to do it?"

"What would you say, Spike? I haven’t shagged the Slayer in over two weeks! We need to get off. Literally. I don’t think that will win us any points."

Spike grinned and stated what was right in front of her eyes. "Or you could let the other people in this department pull some weight and stop doing it alone. They keep asking when you’ll let them do the job they were doing before you got here."

Buffy suddenly felt very stupid. The department had been running fine for years without her. Of course there were other capable people and instead of utilizing them, she had done everything herself. It wasn’t possible to keep the blush from creeping into her cheeks. She was bitching about something that she had created.

As if reading her mind, Spike said, "You’re used to doing things yourself. Even with a million new Slayers running around, you still want in on every kill. You still quiz Giles and your friends about what’s happening and you ache to be a part of it. It’s no different here. You just have to let other people do their share."

"Why didn’t you say anything?"

"Tell the most hard headed woman I’ve ever met how to do her job? Not aching to get staked, love."

"Never stopped you before," she snapped irritably, then checked her watch. "I have to go get ready. There’s a demon that-"

"Let Miles do it." Spike pulled her to her feet and gave her a kiss. "Tonight belongs to me."

"Mmmm, that sounds good." Buffy hugged him, then giggled a little as he playfully nipped at her neck. "I’ll talk to Miles. You think he’ll do it on such short notice?"

Spike nodded. "He’s been begging us to tell you that he’s ready and willing to go out without you. The man’s been training more than you have."

"He could have mentioned it to me."

"Some things you have to learn for yourself. We had to wait for you to realize that you’re not alone anymore." Spike grabbed her wrist and checked her watch for himself. "I have to go do a few things. I’ll see you back at the apartment in an hour. Okay?"

"Absolutely."

Buffy watched him go, her heart swelling with love. It hadn’t been easy for the first couple of weeks, living with him and getting used to his quirks. They had argued over the stupidest things, found the most idiotic things hilarious, and had finally begun to understand what was happening between them. Spike had been right ... it wasn’t perfect, but it was real.

She got her data together and called Miles and two other field agents into her office. After explaining how to kill the demon, what it used as a defense and where to find it, she gave them a list of weapons that they should carry and wished them luck. It was comical to watch all three giving high fives and bouncing in excitement. You would have thought that they had been given a million dollars. Buffy had not forgotten how the thrill of the hunt and kill felt. Granted, she had lost that for a while after Spike had ‘died’, but in the first few weeks she had taken over at Wolfram and Hart, that feeling had come back tenfold. It was exhilarating at times, stalking the demon, besting it, and earning the accolades of her co-workers. She found herself smiling at them, joining in their enthusiasm.

Miles hung back as the other two agents headed for the supply closet. He flashed a boyish smile, causing the dimples in his cheeks to wink at her. It was hard to believe he was approaching thirty considering his baby face, but the hard lines of his body were purely man and the women around the office didn’t mind talking about his attributes at length, even moreso after he had gotten married. He smiled and said, "I appreciate you giving me the chance to lead instead of follow. Even though I usually don’t mind following you around. It’s pretty neat to watch you in action. You’re amazing."

"Are you kidding? You almost kick my ass every single time we spar. That’s amazing."

"I think you let me."

"Well, not completely." When she had taken the position, Miles had been the first to welcome her, the first to pick her brain about past demons she had faced and the first to volunteer to partner her on their search and destroy missions. She had taken an instant liking to him and enjoyed his company when they were researching or lamenting the long hours over a bag of M&Ms. "But I wouldn’t let you do this tonight if I didn’t have faith."

"Faith, my ass." Miles sat down across from her, tilting his chair back as he studied her. "You have a date, right?"

"Shut up," she said, grinning at him. "I earned it. Did you not just tell me last night that I needed a day off?"

"It’s a record or something. You bagged what ... three hundred? Four hundred? Just since you been here?"

"Just call you King of the Overstatement. Of course, it felt like a million when I had to file it all this afternoon." Buffy opened her drawer and took out a jar of candy, taking out a Tootsie Roll and holding it out to him. "So, what’s the game plan?"

Miles unwrapped the candy and stuffed it in his mouth. "Kill it."

"Can you get more elaborate-y?"

Chuckling, he said, "I did the research on the demon myself, Buff. To get more ‘elaborate-y’, this thing is too weak right now to head into the city. It’s sticking close to the cave and eating little forest creatures to build up its strength. We’re gonna let it feed, get tired, and take it out inside the cave while it’s contained."

"Keep in mind that the more it feeds on animals the stronger it is. So if you get a chance in the woods ... while it’s feeding ... then nail it. It may come back to the cave and have more strength so fresh from the hunt."

"You just finished telling me that you have faith in me." Miles grabbed the candy dish from her with lightning speed, dug out another Tootsie Roll and winked at her. "So, what are you doing tonight?"

"Hopefully I’ll get plenty of sleep."

"Yeah, right. You forget that I’m just down the hall. The walls are thin."

"It’s not like you and Christine don’t do your fair share of keeping people awake."

"Newlywed here." Miles flashed his ring at her, then studied it himself, rubbing it as he often did when they patrolled.

"It’s nauseatingly cute," Buffy assured him. "If anything happens tonight, I’ll have my cell on and I’ll-"

"You’ll turn your phone off, rest, relax, and have the perfect night." He tossed the candy back and her and stood. "I’ll see you tomorrow, squirt."

Buffy watched him go, smiling. As he reached for the knob, her smile faded and she said, "Maybe I should come with you."

Miles stuck his tongue out at her. "Quit being a martyr. Go, be in love."

"Be careful."

"If I can’t, I’ll name it after you. Or on second thought, I wouldn’t do that to my kid."

Buffy threw a piece of candy at him, but he had already shut the door. She sat at her desk for a while longer, watching as the sun began to set. Finally, she filed the remaining folder, straightened a photo of her mother that she kept on her desk, and took a deep breath. Maybe delegating the work wouldn’t be so bad. And maybe if she could stop worrying about the tasks she had delegated she would be able to enjoy the night.

*~*~*~

"You have no concept of time," Spike announced as she opened the door. He was sitting on the sofa, twirling a long stemmed rose.

Buffy gasped when she surveyed the room. The floor was littered with rose petals and she could see that they trailed down the hallway toward the bedroom. Soft music was playing from the stereo and there was a bottle of grape juice chilling on the coffee table with two glasses on either side. It was a reminder of the struggle she’d had with alcohol when they first got back together and a testimony to how much Spike had helped her overcome that demon. "You know," she replied, shutting the door and leaning against it. "I was already seduced. You just had to show up."

"Come ‘ere." He patted the seat next to him and watched as she slipped her shoes off. He shifted uncomfortably as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her pants and slowly pushed them down, her hips moving in time with the music as her lacy red thong was exposed. With a low growl, he started to stand and go to her, but she shook her head. He sat back down, narrowing his eyes as she slowly unbuttoned her shirt and turned away from him, letting it skim over her back. When it was barely dangling from her fingertips, she turned and glanced at him over her shoulder, and the heat that radiated from her gaze drew him to his feet. "I’m not waiting, pet."

Buffy unhooked her bra and let it slide over her shoulders and down her arms, her back still to him. Despite his declaration, he stood perfectly still, unable to tear his eyes away from the picture she presented. Reaching up, she pulled her ponytail free and shook her head, letting her hair fall around her shoulders. She gave him another glance over her bare shoulder and arched an eyebrow, then she hooked her thumbs in her panties and eased them down, bending at the waist as she did and giving him a full view of her backside.

"Bloody hell," Spike snapped, dropping the rose and stalking across the room.

Buffy kicked her panties at him, grinning. They hit him in the face and she seized the opportunity to dart past him. He caught her in the hallway and pinned her against the wall. "I said I’m not waiting."

She gasped as he dropped to his knees, pulling one of her legs over his shoulder. She arched against him as his tongue moved against her swollen flesh, gripping handfuls of his hair. He growled her name against her and she threw her head back, undulating against him as he slid one finger, then two, into her. It had stopped amazing her that he could work her body so well. She closed her eyes and melted under his touch, knowing that her release was going to be fast.

Spike caught her as the orgasm rocked through her, causing her legs to buckle. He laid her on her back and watched her, watched the healthy color flood her face, watched her heaving breasts. The rose petals were spread around her, tangling in her hair and sticking to her arms. Reaching up, he laid his hand against her chest, feeling her heart pound. She was so alive, so beautiful, and she was his.

Buffy heard his zipper being snatched down opened her arms to him. He settled between her legs, kissing her softly as he gently pushed into her. "No. Do it harder."

Spike complied, moving back and then slamming against her. He felt her lifting her hips and rose to his knees, pushing her legs upward as he continued to pound against her. The pressure built too quickly and before he knew it, the sounds of her second orgasm sent him crashing over the edge.

Spent, he flopped down beside her. "And to think, we still have hours to go."

"I’m not complaining." Buffy stifled a yawn and curled against him.

A few moments later, her breathing was even and slow and a snore passed through her parted lips. He kissed her forehead, lifted her and carried her to the bed where he tucked her beneath the cover. He sat next to her, watching as she burrowed into a more comfortable position, still unable to believe that this was his life. "I’m not complaining either," he whispered and watched her sleep for a while.

~*~*

Buffy walked into the break room, bleary eyed and disheveled, in search of coffee. She poured herself a cup and sipped it, willing her body to wake up and furious at herself for sleeping almost fourteen hours when she had wanted to utilize every second of her night off with Spike. She didn’t even remember him taking her to the bed, but that was where the alarm had yanked her from sleep.

Her brain was fuzzy as she took another sip and glanced at the newspaper that was lying on one of the tables. The headline caught her eye and she opened it all the way, reading through the front page.

Body of Missing Girl Found Mutilated In Woods

After almost three days of intensive searching for the little girl who wandered away from her campsite, the body of Ashlee Sanchez was found in the woods near the famed Hollywood sign. Her death appeared to have been caused by wild animals. No word yet on the animal in question, but a rash of coyote sightings has-

"Buffy," Angel said quietly, watching her from the doorway.

Buffy was so startled that she jumped, sloshing coffee on her black slacks. "Damn it."

"I’m sorry." He grabbed a handful of napkins and held them out to her, watching as she took them and wiped at her pants. "I need you to come with me."

Something in his tone forced her to stop what she was doing and give him her full attention. She had left Spike in bed, surely he was okay. Where was Dawn? "Why?" she asked, swallowing hard.

"Come on," he replied, gently taking her elbow and leading her back towards the main lobby.

Buffy fell in step beside him as they walked through a small crowd of people and then stood next to him at the elevator. As he pressed his palm against her back to usher her inside, she stiffened. "What happened?"

Angel glanced at the cloister of people and shook his head. "Not here."

When they were alone inside the small compartment, Buffy crossed her arm. "You know, I like this cryptic act about as much as I did in Sunnyda-"

"I’m not being cryptic." Angel interrupted. "I just-"

"You just what?"

"You don’t want me to tell you this in front of anyone, Buffy. I’ll tell you when we get upstairs."

"Fine." Buffy pondered the reasoning behind his motives as they elevator stopped a few times to let people in or out. Maybe he was firing her. Maybe he was going to declare that he could not work with her anymore. Maybe he was pissed that she had finally taken a night off.

When she stepped out into the chaos that surrounded Angel’s office, she knew it was probably none of those things. Fred rushed past her, red eyed and sniffling. Matilda, the manager of accounting, was blowing her nose loudly into a frayed handkerchief and one of the men who had accompanied Miles on the mission the previous night was standing with his back against the wall and his head down. Buffy drew up short when she saw that the man was holding Miles’ coat, a green pea-coat that she had teased him about relentlessly for weeks.

Angel turned to face her. In that instant, he knew that she knew. He leaned down toward her and said, "It was quick. He didn’t suffer."

"No." She took several steps back and shook her head. "Don’t. Don’t say it."

"Buffy, listen to me." He reached out and gently shook her. "He didn’t make it. Miles is dead."

"You’re wrong."

"I went and got him myself."

"Where is he?"

"Let’s go into my office."

Buffy let him lead her past Matilda, who reached out and squeezed her arm. She heard the older woman telling her something about Miles loving his job and knowing the risks, but nothing really registered. Sitting on the leather sofa in Angel’s office, she buried her face in her hands and tried to convince herself that she had not actually woken up yet, that it was all a bad dream. She felt a hand on her knee and looked up. Angel was holding out a glass of water which she accepted, but didn’t drink. "Tell me," she whispered.

Angel pulled a chair up next to her and said, "I got a call from Davies, one of the agents who went with him. He told me that Miles had gone down about ten minutes into the fight. The demon was stronger than they expected, stronger than it should have been and it killed him."

"How did it kill him?"

"I’m not giving you the details."

"Tell me!" Buffy shouted.

"You don’t need to know that."

"You know I’ll find out. Everyone finds out everything at this place." When she saw that he wasn’t budging, she added, "I’d rather hear it from you."

Angel considered that for several seconds, then said, "The demon has a sharp blade like bone that juts from the tail." He paused, trying to choose the right words. Nothing came to him so he was brutally honest. "It cut his head off."

Nausea washed over her and she had to swallow back the bile that rose in her throat. Closing her eyes, she pictured it clearly in her mind. Miles would have been fighting hard, his dimples nowhere to be seen. He would have probably attacked from the left and jumped in with both feet, not worrying about the size of his opponent. She pulled on an image of him on his wedding day, staring down at his new bride with adoration and pride. That was the image she wanted to keep. "Did you kill it?"

"No." Angel studied her, noting her shaking hands and the way her eyes focused on nothing. "We tried, but it was just too strong. The only way it could have gained strength so fast is with human-"

Buffy’s eyes widened. "The little girl in paper! They said that she was found in the Hollywood hills. It must have gotten her."

Angel considered that. "You may be right."

"No one told me that she was missing."

"You can’t be everyone at once, Buffy. You can’t save everyone."

"It’s my job to try." Standing, she went to the window and stared out at the throng of cars on the street below. "What about Christine? Who told her?"

"I did."

"Is she okay?"

"No." Angel was struck by how frail the Slayer appeared, arms wrapped around herself, her head resting against the window. Her size had always thrown him, always made him think he had to take extra care with her because she could shatter at any second. She always surprised him, though. Just when he thought she had reached the limit of her capabilities, she dug a little deeper and pulled from a hidden reserve that had boundless strength. "Are *you* okay?"

"How do you think I am?" she asked in a small voice. "It never stops. I say the word, make a decision, and someone dies. A Slayer, a friend-" She turned and looked at him. "You. Spike."

Angel went to her, seriously considered hugging her, but settled for resting a hand on her shoulder. "This is not your fault."

"It is." She leaned against the window again. "I sent him out there because I was selfish and tired."

"You’re only human. You couldn’t keep burning both ends the way you were. No one could."

"I’m not only human. I’m a Slayer. They were the human ones and I sent them to do my job."

"Stop it!" Angel pulled her around to face him and shook her, hard this time. "You’re not a Slayer here. You’re part of a team and they weren’t doing *your* job, they were doing *our* job. They knew the risks, just like you know them, Buffy. One goes down and another comes along and steps in. It’s the exact same process."

"It is not the exact same."

"They chose to do this! You didn’t have that option. That’s the biggest difference."

Without thinking at all, she pushed his hands off her shoulder and leaned against his chest. "What am I supposed to do? Angel, what happens now?"

Angel hugged her, resting his cheek against the top of her head. "We’re gonna close for three days out of respect for Miles. I’ll call a meeting with everyone in a little while and let them know what Christine decides as far as the funeral and -"

The door opened and Spike stepped into the room, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Buffy in the other man’s arms. He cleared his throat, trying to appear unfazed by their embrace, although he was anything but. "I just heard. I’m sorry, love."

Buffy stepped away from Angel and rushed to Spike. He kissed her softly on the cheek and held her against him, his hand resting on the back of her head. Speaking low, he said, "That’s how he would have wanted to go out. He loved the fight, that one. You were always telling me that he loved the fight more than you did."

"I want to go home," Buffy whispered.

Spike glanced at Angel over the top of her head, an eyebrow raised. "Are we done here?" When Angel silently nodded, Spike led her from the room, shielding her as much as possible when the people in the main area began to ask her questions. Once inside the elevator, Spike brushed her hair back and studied her face. She was pale and sweat was appearing at her hairline. "Hey, look at me." He tilted her chin and gave her a small smile when her watery eyes settled on his. "It’ll be okay, baby."

Buffy said nothing, simply nodded absently. Her mind was elsewhere.

On a demon in a cave that she would be seeing very, very soon.

*~*~*~

Spike opened the door to discover a tear stained Dawn standing on the other side. He had to hand it to her, she was putting up a good fight with the emotion that was very close to overwhelming her. Wordlessly, he opened his arms and she stepped into them. "I hate death," she choked out between sobs. "We all had lunch together a couple of days ago. He kept stealing Buffy’s french fries and she made him go get her more and threatened to kill him if he touched them. She told him she would slit his throat. We never even suspected -"

He rubbed her back, then fished a tissue from his pocket. He had put them there in case Buffy needed them, but so far the Slayer had not let loose a single tear that kept dancing in her eyes. He waited for Dawn to blow her nose and toss the tissue into the wastebasket before he said, "Buffy’s in the bedroom."

"Is she sleeping?"

"She’s doing a good job of pretending."

"The old avoiding trick where she won’t talk about it, acknowledge it, or allow herself to hurt at all? Classic Buffy move."

"How are things out there?"

"Angel called a meeting. Told everyone that Miles was a hero and that he fought through to the end. Christine asked for a traditional service and asked to see Buffy."

Spike nodded. "Thought she might."

"You think she’s mad at Buffy?"

"Grief does funny things to people. If she is mad it won’t last. It wasn’t Buffy’s fault."

"Did someone say it was?"

"No, but it’s human nature to look for someone to blame, innit?"

Dawn nodded. "I guess so."

Spike nodded toward the kitchen. "Want a soda?"

"Sure."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, Dawn drinking a Diet Coke and Spike sipping a cup of warm blood. Part of loving Buffy meant that they both ached when she ached, they both laughed when she laughed, and they both grieved for her when she couldn’t properly grieve on her own. The bond between Spike and Dawn had more to do with their love for the Slayer than affection for one another, but at the heart of their relationship was the desire they both shared to see Buffy happy.

Spike drained his cup, rinsed it at the sink, and put it in the dishwasher. Lifting a dish towel, he ran it over the counter top, wiping up a couple of blood droplets, then he opened the oven door to check on the casserole that Matilda had dropped off for their dinner. He poked at it with a fork and decided that it was either very done or supposed to be very hard and unappealing. "Right then. Pizza it is."

Dawn had to grin. "You know, you used to have that whole sexy demon of the night thing working for you. Playing house with Buffy ruined it."

"Who said we’re playing?"

The phone cut her reply short and she finished the last of her cola as Spike picked up. She could gather from the conversation that Giles was on the other end inquiring about things in Los Angeles. As Spike filled him in, Dawn seized the opportunity to go and check on Buffy. She walked down the hallway, smiling when she saw a couple of rose petals lying here and there. If nothing else, Spike still got a few things right.

Knocking lightly, she poked her head into her sister’s bedroom. "Buffy?"

The bed was turned down and she could make out where someone had been lying under the covers, but Buffy wasn’t in the bed any longer. Frowning, she turned on the light, crossed the room and lifted her hand to knock on the bathroom door. It was ajar, however, so she pushed it open. It was empty. "Spike!" Dawn cried. She immediately moved to the closet, looking for Buffy’s trusty leather Slayer bag, but it was not on the hook.

Spike came running. "What is it?"

"She’s gone."

"Bloody hell!"

*~*~*

Buffy had waited over an hour for the demon to wake up, but it wasn’t obliging her. She sat next to it, staring at the razor sharp tail that had cut Miles’ life short far to early. After patrolling with him so often it was easy for her to imagine what had happened. Judging by the blood that was spattered all over the cave and the fact that one of Wolfram & Hart’s weapons lay a few feet in front of her, she knew it had taken place in this very spot. Miles, true to form, would have entered ahead of his team. He would have assessed the demon, taken in the surroundings, and made the first move, trusting that everyone would know their job and how to handle it. The tail of the demon probably would not have crossed his mind as he attacked it. He likely never saw it coming and that upset her more than anything about the situation. He never saw it coming.

It would have been so easy to lift the machete that was in her bag and slice through the thick green neck, bringing the demon the same kind of death it had wrought, but she decided it would be better to look the demon in the eye when she destroyed it. She wanted to make sure it knew exactly who did it and give it the chance to fight back. She knew that time was valuable. Spike had probably already realized that she was gone and what her intentions were.

She lifted a heavy rock that was wedged into the ground beside her and threw it, striking the demon in the side of the head with it. It grunted, cried out, and lifted its head, blinking large, orb like eyes as it focused on her. Buffy tilted her head to one side. "You don’t look like much to me."

The demon screeched at her, whipping its tail in her direction. Buffy had anticipated this, but she wasn’t fast enough. It caught her in the shoulder, slicing her flesh open and sending her flying back against the cave wall so hard that the breath was pushed from her lungs. Moaning and more than a little stunned, she crawled back to her bag and yanked out the machete just in time to sever the blade like bone that Angel had told her about as the demon moved to hit her again. It broke apart with a loud ‘pop’ and the demon screeched again, this time in pain. She looked back into the face of it, noted the wide eyes, and hacked again, further up the tail, severing it from the backside of the demon completely.

It began to rise, screaming and flailing, struggling for balance now that the tail was gone. On its hind legs, it stood at least ten feet tall. She was struck for a moment how closely it resembled the prehistoric birds that she had seen at the zoo. The only real difference she could see was that instead of a beak, it had long fangs and a wide mouth. It had short, stubby arms that had ridges and scaly armor that matched the scales on its back and tail. It made a swipe at her with one of those arms and Buffy laughed. She would have to be on its belly before it could reach her that way.

"This is normally never personal for me, but you killed a friend of mine last night." She slammed her boot against its fleshy underbelly, wrinkling her nose when the flesh burst open and spilled blood, guts, and whatever it had eaten the night before on her expensive leather shoes. "Now it really is personal."

Limb by limb, tooth by tooth, and piece by piece, she ripped the demon apart until finally she sat in nothing more than flesh and gore. Every inch of her was coated in blood: hers and the demon’s. She was aware that she was hurt, aware that the demon had damaged her arm, but she was too exhausted, mentally and physically, to do anything more than bow her head and finally cry.

She was unconscious when the search and rescue team from Wolfram and Hart found her a while later.

Davies, who had seen enough of the cave to last a lifetime, but volunteered to find Buffy anyway, strapped the Slayer down on the back board and nodded at his team, then he turned and surveyed the scene before him. "Jesus," he mumbled softly.

*~*~*~

Spike was in the command room when the word came down that Buffy was being airlifted back to Wolfram and Hart. He waited to hear the extent of her injuries, then rushed to the infirmary, where everyone had already prepared the emergency room in anticipation of her arrival. Dr. Hanover, the main surgeon, entered the room. He glanced at the vampire and said, "If you’re going to insist on staying, which I’m sure you will, you’ll need to wear a mask."

"I’m dead. I can’t carry germs."

Dr. Hanover held out the mask anyway. "You’ll need to stay out of the way." To one of the nurses, he said, "The Slayer donated blood last month. Did you type it?"

"Yes, we have six pints here and three more ordered from the lab in case we need it."

Spike secured his mask and allowed a nosy nurse to strap him into a yellow gown, growling the entire time. The helicopter could be heard and he moved to the back of the room, wringing his hands with worry. Angel came in, also wearing a gown, his blue, with a mask on his face as well. He joined Spike. "What have you heard?"

"She’s alive, but unconscious."

"Did she get the demon?"

"Does that really matter at this point?"

They both drew back as the bloody lump that was Buffy was brought into the room. Instinctively, they both lowered their masks and sniffed the air, then nodded at each other. A majority of it was the demon’s blood. Spike moved forward and pushed her sticky hair back from her face. "Bufffy?"

"Move or leave the room," Dr. Hanover said, glaring at Spike until he moved to stand next to Angel.

"Let them work." His own anxiety was powerful, but Angel remained as stoic as possible, then politely turned away when they began to cut Buffy’s clothing from her body. After a few seconds, he nudged Spike. "What do you think?"

"It looks like she’s okay except for her arm. It cut her to the bone."

"Damn it. What the hell was she thinking?" Angel shook his head. "Did you know she was doing this?"

"What the fuck do you think? No! I didn’t know she was doing this or I would have stopped her."

"You were with her! How did she-"

"I don’t know! Okay? I have no idea."

"Good of you to admit it." Angel crossed his arms.

"Piss off. Why are you here?"

"Moral support?"

"From an amoral asshole? I’ll pass."

Angel didn’t say anything else for a while. Finally he said, "Is she covered up yet?"

Smirking, Spike nodded. "She’s been covered up all along, mate."

"Dick," Angel snapped as he turned and glanced over at the gurney. He frowned when he saw the extent of the damage. He moved forward, touching Dr. Hanover on the arm. "Will you have to operate?"

"Yes. The injury is severe and I’m very concerned about the nerves here." The doctor pointed at a ghastly looking patch of stringy flesh. "It could have easily took her head off if it had hit just a few inches higher. Just like Miles."

Spike walked around to the other side of the gurney and took a washcloth from the basin, rubbing away some of the blood and grime from her face. He glanced down at the IV in her hand. "Are you giving her pain medicine?"

"We’re giving her morphine."

"And she won’t wake up while you’re slicing on her, right? If she wakes up I’ll make sure you don’t."

The doctor smiled a little behind his mask. "No, we’ll keep her under. It should take about an hour."

"Is there a possibility that she could lose this arm?" Angel asked.

"She’s the bloody Slayer!" Spike snapped. "She heals faster than anyone alive."

"I think we can save it." Hanover motioned for another doctor to join him at the head of the bed. "We need to intubate her and get this bleeding under control. Why don’t you both wait outside."

Angel nodded and headed for the door, but Spike hung back, leaning over her and kissing her softly on the lips before the tube could be inserted. "I’m here, baby," he whispered.

In what they all considered the ‘waiting room’, a comfortable beige room with a plasma television and plush leather furnishings, they found a frantic Dawn pacing back and forth. Colin, the young attorney that she had been seeing, gave them a pleading look and held up his hands in mock surrender. She spotted them and rushed across the room, staring from one to the other. "How is she?"

"They’re operating."

"What!?" Dawn cried. "Oh my god. Buffy has never had surgery. Not a real surgery! Riley stitched her up a couple of times and -- how bad is it?"

They explained as best they could, then sat down together. Colin, her boyfriend, reached forward, taking her hand and kissing it. "She’ll be okay," he told her. "She’s tough as hell."

"What the hell was she thinking?" Dawn asked. "What was she doing? She needs her ass kicked, the fucking idiot."

Spike stared at her, wide eyed. "Watch your mouth, ‘bit."

"It was stupid. It was stupid *and* dangerous."

Before Spike could reply, Angel cut him off. "Buffy has always let her heart dictate her actions. This wasn’t different. She’s going to be just fine."

They sat in silence for a while. Spike stared at the clock on the wall, watching as each minute ticked past, his aggravation and anger growing in leaps and bounds. It *had* been stupid and dangerous. In one breath she promised him forever and assured him that she loved him, but she still had an uncanny ability to cut him out of her life in the moments when she should lean on him. He had taken it in stride for the last time. If she survived, he would make damn sure she understood what they could lose.

After an hour and ten minutes, Spike stood and headed for the door. "It’s been too long."

The door opened, however, and Dr. Hanover entered. He motioned for Spike to join the others and sat next to him across from Angel. "Spike was right about her healing abilities. Once we began working on the tissue it seemed to fuse back together before our eyes. The damage was intense, but I feel it’s safe to say that the extent of it doesn’t come close to what we feared. It took quite a few stitches and we’ve given her plenty of blood to compensate for the loss she suffered. She’ll need a while in recovery and then she should be fully awake."

"I want to be there when she wakes up." Spike stood and left the room without a backward glance. He had a few things to make very plain to the Slayer.

~*~

"Spike?" She moaned, trying to flex her arm which was heavily bandaged and throbbing severely. "Spike. Hurts."

Spike gently caught her arm, easing it back down to the bed. He brushed her messy hair off her face and kissed her softly on the temple. "Don’t try to move it, love."

Her eyes fluttered open and she found his face, trying to focus and make sense of where she was and what had happened. The worry on his handsome features added to the guilt she already felt. Little by little, the pieces of the day began to fit and she squeezed her eyes closed again, shaking her head. The tears came, hard and fast. She sat up, despite his attempts at keeping her on her back and wrapped her good arm around him. His embrace calmed her somewhat. She sniffled and leaned back, looking into his eyes. "I’m sorry."

Everything he had felt the entire day was renewed in that instant. She was sorry and it didn’t make a difference to him. He was furious at her. "Damn you, Buffy, you better be," he ground out between clenched teeth.

His comment caught her off guard and her eyes filled with tears again. "I had to do it."

"You bloody well did NOT have to do it. You could have died. Do you understand that? Do you care?" Without thinking, he gripped both of her arms and she cried out. He swore and slid off the bed, putting several feet between them because he didn’t trust himself not to shake her until her teeth rattled. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I don’t know."

"You don’t know?! Then how can you be sorry?" Spike yelled. He stalked back to the bed and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "All you had to do was ask me and I would have helped. I would have been there."

"I needed to do it myself."

"What about what I needed?" He let her go and turned away from her, shoving his hands in his pocket to keep from throttling her. "You think Miles was just *your* friend? You think you’re the only one who cared enough to want a piece of that demon?"

"You’re pissed because you didn’t get a piece of it? Whose fault is that?" she yelled, bursting into fresh tears. "You didn’t send him out there! I did!"

"I told you to!"

"It’s not the same!"

"It’s no different!"

"I don’t want to fight with you."

"You know I’m right."

"It was something I had to do alone. Maybe you don’t understand -"

"You want to be alone? I can leave."

Buffy cried even harder, choking out, "Why are you doing this? Why are you so mad at me?"

"Because you scared the hell out of me!" He turned and glared at her, ready to yell at her for an hour, but it was Buffy and he couldn’t. She had her face buried in her one good hand and she seemed so fragile, so beaten, that he went to her. He pulled her against his chest and held on tight. "Don’t ever do it again, Buffy. I swear if you do-"

"Don’t say something you can’t take back." She sniffled and looked up at him. "And don’t be mad at me for doing what I’m supposed to do. I mean, Slayers always fight alone."

"You didn’t go out there as a Slayer. You went out there as a friend. Don’t confuse the two and don’t pull the damn Slayer card every single time you do something stupid."

Any response that she could utter died in her throat when the door opened and Christine walked into the room. At barely five feet tall, she was one of the only people Buffy could claim to have a couple of inches on. Her dark hair was pulled back into a pony tail and her face was pale, her eyes red and puffy. The sweater that she wore dwarfed her and was easily recognizable as one of Miles’ sweaters. She drew herself up to her full height and stared at Buffy. "I was planning to come in and yell at you, but I could hear Spike handling it. You did very well," she directed at Spike. To Buffy, she added, "You deserved it."

Spike stood, giving Christine a quick hug and speaking to her in a low voice. He turned back to Buffy, his face hard and unreadable as he said, "I’ll be back later."

Buffy opened her mouth to protest, but he was out the door before she could say anything at all. She glanced over at the other woman, but quickly looked away, unable to meet her eyes. The seconds crept by and neither said a thing. Finally, Buffy said, "Are you okay?"

Christine moved closer to the bed, staring at the bandages, reaching out to touch the IV in the back of Buffy’s hand. "They said they operated."

"They did." Her voice was hoarse from the amount of crying she had done that day and it hurt from where the tube had been inserted. She cleared her throat, not sure what to make of the topic change. "I wanted to tell you that-"

"I already know, Buff." Christine sat on the edge of the bed and took Buffy’s hand in hers. "It’s okay."

"You don’t hate me?"

"You’re an idiot." The dark haired girl smiled sadly. "The only thing I hate you for is trying to get yourself killed. We’ve had enough death to last forever."

"I know," Buffy replied.

Christine was silent for a while, then she said. "When are they letting you go?"

"They haven’t been in to talk to me yet."

"Well, if they let you go in time, I’d like for you to be a pall bearer."

Her eyes were as wide as saucers as Buffy processed the request. "A what?"

"You’ll have to use your good arm for it, but it’s only right that you’re involved. Miles would have -" Christine suddenly broke down, sobbing hysterically. "liked that. He would have wanted you to do it."

Buffy hugged her with her good arm, unable to think of anything at all to say that would make it better.

*~*

She was released the next morning, and ignoring the doctor’s orders to stay in bed for at least twenty four hours, Buffy spent most of the day helping Christine arrange the funeral. Christine jumped into the planning of it the same way she had planned her wedding, leaving no small detail ignored. Buffy found herself accepting the role as a pall bearer and being fitted for a pair of black slacks, a very slim black vest and coat over a midnight blue shirt. It was exactly what Christine had chosen for Miles to wear as well, and even though the coffin was to remain closed, Buffy could imagine how he would have looked in it.

Despite his promise to return the previous night, Spike never came back to see her. Dawn had visited and Angel had dropped by to bring her flowers and to give her a very harsh talking to that left her feeling even worse than she already did. He had insisted that she come into the office on Monday before she reported back to duty. Both visits had left her in tears and the fact that Spike never came back and didn’t answer the phone prevented her from sleeping at all, no matter what pain medication they pumped into her veins.

When she had arrived at their apartment that morning, Spike was in the kitchen, drinking blood from a Pooh mug. Dawn had taken one look at Spike, handed Buffy her prescription bottles and left before Buffy could tell her goodbye. Buffy walked into the bedroom, noting that the bed had been made and set the bottles down. She didn’t look at him as he entered the room and opened his closet door. She pulled fresh underwear from her drawer and went into the bathroom where she stripped and finally took a hot shower, submerging even her wounded shoulder under the water with no regard to what the doctor had suggested.

Spike had been gone when she emerged and she had spent the day with Christine.

Now, however, she had no place to go except back home. Her arm had begun to throb again and she was almost certain that a couple of stitches had popped open while she had been fitted for her suit. After her shower that morning she had hastily stuck extra large bandages over the incision instead of taking the time to wrap it with the gauze that she had been given. She would have needed help wrapping it and help couldn’t be found.

She entered the apartment, very aware of how silent it was. The silence always came with death and she hated it. She flipped the television on, then turned it up a notch, satisfied that the noise would be a nice distraction. She kicked her shoes off and carried them into the bedroom. It was empty. She had half expected to find him napping and had envisioned herself crawling next to him, pretending that they hadn’t endured the past twenty four hours at all. It was already dark outside and she realized, for the first time, that she had not eaten all day. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had ignored the food that had been laid out on Christine’s kitchen table.

She put her shoes in the closet and slipped out of her jeans and shirt, dressing instead in sweat pants and a small tank top that left her stomach exposed. In the bathroom, she was shocked at how pale her face was and turned sideways, gasping when she saw that the bandages she had slapped on her arm were heavy and bulging with blood. They resembled leaches and she cringed when she gently pressed against one and felt the blood squish against her flesh. Only the adhesive was keeping it in and judging by how engorged the actual bandage was, that hold was fleeting. How had she not realized how bad the bleeding was? And why was it still bleeding anyway? She had gotten sliced in the stomach the day Spike had ‘died’ and that had healed before they had reached Los Angeles in the shaky, dirty bus that had been their getaway car.

It would make a mess if she attempted to clean herself up at the sink so she stripped off and hopped into the shower where she wet the bandages to make the removal easier. The stitches had gotten caught up in the tape and she hissed as she felt a couple of them pop open. She worked until the water was cooling and the shower was streaked with blood. The water that swirled in the drain was completely red by the time the last of the bandages had come off. She sighed in relief and leaned back against the shower wall as dizziness rocked through her.

When her teeth chattered, she stepped from the shower and wrapped a towel around her arm as tightly as she could. She used one arm to dry herself and pull her clothes back on. Her face was even paler as she stared into the mirror and she leaned against the sink as her eyes refused to focus on anything. Something was wrong. She didn’t know what it was, but something was definitely wrong with her.

After a while, the dizziness passed and she slowly began to unwrap the towel, which had soaked up even more blood. She turned and really looked at the wound. It was swollen and her skin had a sickly greenish tint to it around the incision. Bruising, she told herself. It’s just bruising. Taking her time, she dug through the first aid kit until she found the butterfly stitches and ‘glue’. She used the entire tube of glue trying to get the areas of the cut closed back up. She used a ton of tape and a box of sterile gauze to tightly wrap her arm like a mummy. It wasn’t pretty, since she had done it one handed, but it seemed to be holding up and there was no blood leaking through that she could see.

She took three very strong pain pills and curled up on the bed, too exhausted to cry and feeling too sorry for herself to not want to.

*~*

Spike smelled her blood when he walked into the apartment. He put the Chinese food he had picked up on the kitchen counter and carried a vase of flowers that he had bought for her into the bedroom. The balloon said ‘I’m sorry’ and the small card that sat proudly amongst the roses said simply, "I didn’t mean it, love". He turned the light on and saw her hair spread out on the pillow, peeking from beneath the comforter. He sat the flowers on the end table and eased the cover back.

She infuriated him. No one had ever gotten under his skin the way she did. And no one had every gotten into his heart the way she did either. The months that they had shared had been the best months of his life and while they had had their fair share of rocky moments, he wouldn’t trade it. Even now, with his anger still strong enough to flare up inside of him, he loved her enough to be the one to apologize.

He watched her sleep for a few moments, loving the way she always curled on hand beneath her cheek. She had his pillow pulled against her and it moved him for some reason, thinking that she had used it as a substitute for him. He took one of the flowers from the vase and trailed it over her cheek. A small frown line appeared on her forehead and he grinned, moving it under her nose. She made a small sound in the back of her throat and rolled onto her back.

"Buffy?" He kissed her forehead, frowning at how warm she felt and how pale her skin was. He shook her, worried now. "Wake up, love."

She stirred a little, mumbling something about being tired. Spike eased the cover back, looking at her arm. The bandages were fresh and stopped at her elbow. He took her hand, noting how blue and swollen it looked. He shook her again, more insistent this time. "Come on, baby. Wake up."

With a moan, her eyelids fluttered open. "I love it when you call me that," she said softly.

"You don’t look well. Are you okay?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Are you still mad at me?"

Spike moved back a little and picked up the flowers, bringing them closer to her. "What do you think?"

She grinned and sat up, groaning as her arm protested and pain ripped through her. She caught the look of concern on Spike’s face and forced a smile, taking the single rose from his hand. "It’s okay"

"You’ve been bleeding."

"I changed the bandages."

"I would have-"

A little spark of anger flared in her. "You weren’t here and you refused to speak to me this morning."

Spike pointed at the flowers. "You get that I’m sorry, right?"

"Why?"

"Why am I sorry?"

"No, why didn’t you come back last night? Why didn’t you come and get me this morning or answer your phone."

"You pissed me off when you said you wanted to do everything alone. I was leaving you alone."

Buffy felt her blood pressure rise. "I said I wanted to kill the demon alone. Not be alone."

"That way you’re feeling right now? That’s how I felt yesterday when you left *me* alone to go after that demon."

"I said I was sorry."

Spike pointed at the balloon and said, "Then we’re even."

Buffy wanted more than anything for him to take her in his arms and promise that things would be fine. Instead, he went to the dresser, emptying his pockets of loose change and his wallet. "Where have you been?" she finally asked.

"Working."

"Angel said that we’re closed. What were you doing?"

"He came to see you?"

She nodded. "So what were you doing?"

"We got rid of what was left of the demon you destroyed."

The image of what she had done flashed in her head. It had taken her an hour to rid herself of the caked on blood in the shower. "Oh."

He softened a little as he watched her. The paleness of her skin was bothering him. "Remind me never to *really* piss you off, love."

"Too late." She gave him an almost smile and stood, stumbling a little as dizziness hit her again.

Spike was beside her in an instant, holding her around the waist. "Should I call the doc?"

"No." She took a couple of deep breaths and leaned against him. "I didn’t remember to eat today. That’s all it is."

He eased her back onto the bed, telling her to stay there. To avoid pissing him off any more than she already had, she complied and was grateful to him when he returned with a plate full of her favorite Chinese dish. He put a soda on the nightstand and watched as she ate a few bites. "Good?"

"Very. Thank you."

He told her he was going to grab a shower and that he didn’t want her moving around much and went into the bathroom. He emerged seconds later, carrying the wastebasket. "You’re still bleeding this bad?"

Buffy chewed slowly, mulling over her answer. If she told him that the bleeding was still horrific, he’d have her back at the infirmary. "I was fitted for a pall bearer suit today. I think I popped a couple of stitches. It looks worse than it is."

He put the trash can in the corner and moved around the bed. "Let me check it."

"It’s fine. It finally stopped hurting and I really don’t want to irritate it again."

"You were fitted for a what?" He finally registered what she said.

"Christine wants me to be a pall bearer."

"Absolutely not. You just had surgery. And you’re a girl."

"I told her I would. And since when is being a girl enough to stop me from anything?"

He sat next to her, brushing her hair back behind her ear. "Are you sure you can take it? I mean, emotionally?"

She swallowed the rice she was eating, suddenly very full and very sick to her stomach. She reached past him, putting the plate beside the vase of flowers. She finally nodded. "I can do it."

He cupped her cheek and tilted his head to one side, making a study of her. "You don’t always have to be the strongest. If you want to tell her no you can and no one would fault you for it."

"I don’t want to tell her no." Buffy reached up, putting her hand on top of his. "And I’m not the strongest. I think I’ll die if you don’t put your arms around me and tell me that we’re going to be fine."

He did.

~*~

Buffy woke up the next morning feeling like her head had been run over by a big truck. It throbbed, making her eyes water. She stumbled into the bathroom just in time to throw up in the toilet. Splashing cold water in her face, she stared at her features. Somehow her eyes appeared to be sunken, her cheeks hollow. Chalking it up to grief and worry, she brushed her teeth and applied enough makeup to give herself some color. Leaving her hair long and loose, she walked back into the bedroom and chose a long, black dress from her closet. The suit she would need to wear would be ready at five that afternoon.

Christine had opted to have a very quick funeral. The plans that she and Buffy had made the day before were detailed, but simple. Instead of a ‘viewing’ day, which was normal, Miles would lie in the main ball room of Wolfram and Hart for twelve hours, allowing ample time for everyone to pass by the closed coffin. At six o’clock that night, they would proceed with a traditional service and then head to the cemetery. Christine’s parents had argued about the nighttime ceremony and Miles’ father had questioned it relentlessly, but Christine had explained about the ‘special needs’ of some of the guests who were allergic to sunlight.

The zipper on the back of the dress presented a major problem for Buffy. She was relieved when Spike stepped up behind her and handled the situation. When she turned to thank him, her voice caught in her throat. He was wearing a black suit and a midnight blue shirt, identical to the one she had been fitted for.

Spike nodded. "She asked me, too."

"Do you know who else?"

"I know that Davies and Colin are doing it. I don’t know if she chose four or six of us."

She tried not to cry as she considered it, but couldn’t help herself. "This is going to be really hard."

"I know."

"I don’t know how I’ll do it."

"*We’ll* do it."

She took a deep breath and nodded. "I guess we should go down and sign the book or something. I mean, the actual thing is hours away and my clothes aren’t ready and -"

He took her hand and kissed the back of it. "If you need to leave or if it gets too hard just say the word."

"Okay."

They met Dawn and Colin at the elevator. Dawn looked pretty, her hair in a very adult french twist and wearing a dark grey suit and light pink shirt. She hugged Buffy, then Spike. "I can’t believe the last time we all dressed up and met at the elevator was for their wedding."

Buffy, who had been telling herself not to cry the entire morning, remembered helping Miles look for his shoe the day of the wedding, remembered finding it under the edge of the bed and watching him hop towards her because he had heard it was bad luck to walk in one shoe ... and she lost it.

Spike nodded at Dawn and Colin as the elevator opened and said, "Go on. We’ll be down in a minute."

Buffy walked down the hallway, trying to reign in her emotions. Spike walked behind her. He gave her enough space to let her breathe, but stayed close enough to let her know he was there. After a good five minutes had passed, he said, "Miles would understand if you couldn’t do this."

"He would, but I wouldn’t." Buffy composed herself and wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. "You’d think I’d be good at this death thing after having so much practice."

"Some things only get harder the more you do it."

"When did you become Wisdom Guy?"

"I’ve always had wisdom, you just chose to pretend that I didn’t. Like, when I wanted us to be together and you said ‘oh no, my friends wouldn’t approve’ or when you tried to dance yourself into a flaming mess and I had to stop you and sing those very smart, very full of wisdom lines about living or when you were drinking your weight in cheap liquor and I-"

"It wasn’t cheap and I get the point."

He smiled at her. "I’m glad that I didn’t have to bring up the whole Soldier-Boy thing because I knew that wouldn’t work out from the get go. And it makes me mad as hell to think about it."

She actually laughed, something she thought wasn’t possible. "Good one."

"I could go on, but I don’t think I need to."

"You really don’t."

He offered her his arm. "Ready?"

"Stay right with me, okay?"

"Absolutely, love. I’m not going anywhere."

*~*

Buffy gripped the handle on the dark blue coffin and gritted her teeth, trying not to think about the precious cargo inside. She had been crying almost hysterically when the choir had finished singing and the director motioned for the pall bearers to rise and take their places. Spike had leaned in, telling her that she didn’t have to participate, she could just walk next to them, but she had reached for the handle with her black gloved hand and nodded at the others.

As they carried the coffin down the long center aisle that had been created by rows of chairs, she felt Angel reach out and give her hand a reassuring squeeze, the one that lay limply at her side, throbbing with renewed persistence. The pain had become as constant as the agony she felt and she had slipped away to take a couple of pain pills earlier in the day. They had not taken the edge off. She glanced at Angel, inclining her head slightly as fresh tears burned in her eyes. They spilled over as they all stepped into the cool night air and she stared at the hearse that sat waiting for its priceless freight.

For a moment, she thought her legs would buckle as Christina’s wails began again behind her. She felt Davies put a reassuring hand on her back and glanced at Spike, who was across the coffin, but directly beside her. They had been positioned at the very front, leading side by side. Spike raised an eyebrow and she looked away, focusing on the lining of the hearse. Gently, as delicately as she could, she lifted the coffin as high as her arm would allow, to get it inside the car. Her corner bumped the edge and she instinctively brought her bad arm around, using it to lift it the rest of the way.

Davies made a sound behind her, trying to tell her that he had it, but she used both arms and then moved back so the others could walk it in the rest of the way. Massaging her shoulder, she watched as Spike shut the door and turned to her. "Are you okay? Did you hurt it?"

"I don’t think so." she lied, trying to keep her face as blank as possible as pain radiated through her.

"I told you-" He stopped himself before an argument started and hugged her. "You were perfect. You did a good job."

Christine walked up and took Buffy’s hand. "You can ride with me. Both of you."

Buffy nodded and they followed her to the limousine. Both sets of parents were inside, so they moved to the nose of the car and sat side by side. Buffy leaned her head against Spike’s shoulder as the car eased away from the curb, following behind the hearse. He could feel the fever through his jacket and touched her forehead, then lifted her hand and gasped. It was so swollen that her fingernails looked like they should snap from the nail beds.

"Something’s wrong with me," she whispered, then stopped him as he leaned toward Christine, obviously about to tell her that they needed out of the car. "Don’t. I can do it."

She made it through the service and all the way back to the car before she fainted.

*~*

Spike still wore his suit and as he paced back and forth across the small expanse of the ‘waiting room’, but he yanked off the tie he had worn and shoved it into the pocket of his jacket. Fred rushed in, looking frazzled and out of sorts as she dropped a big box full of folders into a chair. "That blade on the end of the demon’s tail isn’t a blade at all. It’s a fang that it uses to inject venom into the victim’s blood stream to make them weak enough for it to eat them."

"Like a snake?" Dawn asked, picking up the top most folder and glancing inside. "Eww. It’s ugly."

"What’s the antidote?" Angel picked up a folder for himself and flipped through it.

"We’re mixing it up now. We’re waiting on one last ingredient, but Wesley has gone to get it."

"What is it?"

"Some belladonna from the Magic Center."

"What can this venom do to her?" Spike glanced over Dawn’s shoulder at the contents of her folder. "And how did she miss this information?"

"Well, it should have technically killed her," Fred replied. "I’m thinking the reason it didn’t was because she lost so much invenomated blood and received so much fresh blood in the operating room. It must have diluted the poison. Plus, she’s a Slayer and her composite may be such that she can’t be affected the way it would affect me or Dawn. And she didn’t miss it. Somewhere along the way the information we had about it got mixed up with another demon’s file. It was all just a clerical error."

"Well, the clerical staff needs to be fired," Spike growled.

"Excuse me!" Dawn shot back. "I actually need my job and half the time the paperwork we get in is a jumbled up mess and it takes us hours to try to sort it."

"Then try harder! You almost got your sister killed!"

"I didn’t do this file, Spike! I’ve never even heard of it! She’s the one who went after it half cocked! Why don’t you blame her!?"

"I have been blaming her, ‘bit! It’s been hell between us!"

"When will the antidote be ready?" Angel asked Fred, moving around the bickering duo.

"As soon as Wesley gets back."

Angel nodded at the others. "I’ll go call him."

Spike sat down in the chair closest to the box and began rifling through the contents. He was ashamed of himself for not noticing that Buffy had quite a few of the symptoms that had been described in detail in the literature. He had been too busy being furious with her, something he was feeling more often than not lately. What had happened to them?

Angel returned a few minutes later. "They giving it to her now."

"It should work instantly if it’s going to make a diff-" Fred trailed off, apparently realizing what she was saying. "It’ll work," she added hastily. "No worries."

Fifteen minutes went by and the door opened. Everyone was shocked to see Buffy standing there, looking none the worse for wear. Her color had returned and the bandages were off her arm completely. She held it up, posing like a muscle man and burst out laughing, leaning against the door jamb as she cackled. In the very next instant, she was sobbing hysterically. Spike looked at Fred, who shrugged and said, "The antidote is also called ‘Bottled Euphoria’. But the belladonna was really fresh and that can cause some serious mood swings." She looked over at Buffy who was laughing again, hugging Dawn and punching Colin affectionately on the shoulder so hard that he fell backwards. "Maybe you better get her away from people."

"Great," Spike replied. "While I try to take Sybil upstairs why don’t you see if you can find out how long this will last."

~*~

By the time Monday morning arrived, Buffy was completely back to normal. Wolfram and Hart had reopened, but the dreaded silence that accompanied death had carried over into the new day. As she headed for the meeting Angel had requested, all conversation around her ceased. Even Harmony, who usually gave an unwanted critique of Buffy’s outfit or hair, moved out of the way and silently watched her pass. It put Buffy in a foul disposition and as she emerged from the elevator and headed toward Angel’s office, she was openly glaring at people.

She knocked on Angel’s door and he motioned her in, shutting the blinds as she took a seat across from him. "What did you want to see me about?"

"How are you feeling?"

"I’m perfectly fine."

"No side effects?"

"I’m pretty sure I ate an entire tub of ice cream and tried to talk Spike into shaving his head and cried when he wouldn’t, but other than that I’m peachy."

He smiled a little, reminded of the time in Sunnydale that she had used that same word to describe herself. She had been anything but peachy at the time, given the fact that she was being plagued by nightmares of the Master. He forced himself not to remember that time and place. "I’m sorry that you’ve been through this."

"What’s that saying? If it doesn’t kill me it makes me happier?"

"Stronger. If it doesn’t kill you it makes you stronger."

"So that’s why I’m so damn strong." She shrugged a little. "So, what’s up?"

"We need to discuss your actions the other day."

"We already did. You yelled at me for ten minutes in my hospital room."

"I yelled at you as a friend. Now I have to address it as your boss."

A flutter of nervousness ran through her and she bit her bottom lip. "Wolfram and Hart was closed when I fought the demon."

"That’s exactly right and that’s where I have a problem. You went against me and my orders. I said that Wolfram and Hart would be closing out of respect to Miles and you still took it upon yourself to-."

"I went there as the Slayer. Not as the manager of Assassination."

"Well, the manager of Assassination is suspended with pay pending a psych evaluation."

She forced herself to close her mouth, which had dropped open as he spoke to her. "You have got to be kidding me. You’re punishing me for doing my job?"

"Your job was to manage your department which you did not do."

"How the hell does that translate into a psych evaluation?"

"It’s standard procedure. You worked the closest with Miles and have obviously been affected by it."

"Anyone who knew him is affected by it! Is everyone in the department going to go through this?"

Angel stared at her for several seconds, then shook his head. "Everyone in your department didn’t do what you did, Buffy. You could have died. Davies will take over in your absence. Your evaluation will take place within the week and if they say that you’re fine then you can return to work next Monday." He waited for her to reply. She didn’t so he picked up a file on his desk and opened it. "That’s all. You can go."

Wordlessly, Buffy stood and turned on her heel. The anger she felt was vivid enough to make her shake and there were a million things she’d like to say, but she bit her tongue. As she reached for the door knob, he spoke again. "No one knows that you’re suspended. They think you’re taking a short leave due to what happened."

"Tell them the truth, Angel. I’d rather them know that you’re a fucking jackass than think that I’m too weak and pathetic to come back to work." With that, she slammed out of the office and for once, the silence that followed her to the elevator was the last thing on her mind.

~*~

"It’s a little early in the day for something that strong, isn’t it? It’s barely ten a.m."

Buffy glanced to her left. Lorne, Angel’s demon friend who owned the bar she was currently sitting at, had moved the purse she strategically placed in the seat next to her to avoid company. "Not when it’s the kind of day I’ve had," she replied.

"Well, to bad days then." He lifted his own glass of water in a mock toast.

Buffy lifted her drink, tipped it in his direction, and downed the contents. It burned all the way to her stomach and she set the empty glass back on the bar with a grimace. "I haven’t had a drop in months."

"Should I be stopping you? Telling your boss that you’re drinking on the clock?"

Buffy motioned for the bartender to fill her glass again. "No. And I don’t want you telling Spike either."

"Ooh, sounds bad, precious. Trouble in paradise?"

"Paradise is perfect. It’s the rest of the damn world that needs to piss off." She tossed back the next, more liberal, helping of cognac and made a face. "I had forgotten what this junk tastes like."

Lorne shook his head at the bartender as he started to refresh her glass again. "I heard about Miles. He was a good one. Used to come and sing on the weekends."

"He liked to sing when we patrolled, too."

The bartender laid the bill on the table and Lorne glanced down at it, eyes widening. The Slayer had downed seven shots in the thirty minutes she had been inside the bar. He watched as she dug through her pocket and pulled out a crumpled fifty dollar bill and laid it on the counter. When she reached for her purse, he caught her arm. "You really don’t need to drive."

"Unless Wolfram and Hart has moved in the time I’ve been gone, I’m walking back across the street."

"Why don’t you favor us with a song?"

"Trust me, Lorne, you don’t want to get inside my head."

"Sometimes singing is the best therapy in the world."

Buffy glanced up at the stage. Spike had tried repeatedly to get her to sing for The Host since she had returned to Los Angeles, but she had refused each time, saying that she had done enough singing in Sunnydale to last her a lifetime. A part of her wanted to, wanted to stand up and lay herself bare for the demon’s perusal. She wanted to find out what life had in store for her. "What do you see when people sing for you?"

"It’s always different. Sometimes I see their fears, their passions. Sometimes I see glimpses of their future or relive the pain in their past. It can be an emotional ride."

"Does it matter what the person sings?"

"Not at all."

She surveyed the deserted bar and shrugged, beginning to feel the effects of the cognac. "Why the hell not?"

"Excellent." Lorne stood, pulling her barstool back for her.

Buffy followed him up to the stage and took the hand he extended as she climbed the six stairs. He handed her a book, telling her to choose her poison, but she handed it back to him and pointed to the piano. "May I?"

"You play?"

"Once upon a time, my parents entertained the notion that I would be a famous concert pianist. They forced me to take lessons from birth."

"Are you any good?"

"I used to be. Hell, it’s like riding a bike, right?"

"You’re a woman of many talents." He lifted the lid on the piano and eased the microphone stand down into the correct position. "Trip the light fantastic, babycakes."

Buffy sat down, stroking her fingertips along the ivory keys. She glanced out at all the empty chairs and found Lorne sitting midway in the room. "Any requests?"

"Whatever turns you on."

Taking a deep breath, she began to play a slow, familiar tune that her mother used to beg her to play and sing: ‘Yesterday’ by the Beatles. Closing her eyes, it was easy to imagine that she was a little girl again, needing phonebooks under her bottom to raise her high enough to press the keys on the old black piano that had belonged to her grandmother. With each word that she sang, she could imagine her mother’s face, beaming at her from across the room. She could imagine Miles singing, badly, with her on patrol. She envisioned a million yesterdays in Sunnydale with her friends, back when the weight of the world had been heavy, but they’d propped her up under the pressure. God, how she missed them all. How she missed her old life.

As the song ended, Lorne was snapped from his reverie by the bartender clapping loudly. Blotting the tears from his eyes, Lorne stood and walked back to the stage. For someone so unbelievably strong and tough, the writings on her heart and soul were painful to behold. He had known that she had suffered in her short life, but nothing prepared him for the glimpses of what she had endured as a Slayer, as a friend, as a child, as a lover. Most of all, he had been shattered by the glimpse of what was to come for her, something only she had the power to prevent. Taking her hand, he helped her down the stairs, noting the way she wobbled on her feet.

Buffy smiled at him. "It was bad, right? Bad enough to make you cry."

Lorne sniffled. "No. It was beautiful. Sit with me for a moment."

She complied, sitting across from him and propping her chin on the palm of her hand. Her mind was fuzzy, the alcohol clearly working to rid her of the pain, just as she had known it would. "So what crazy things did you see?"

"You’ve had more pain and suffering than anyone I’ve ever read." Lorne leaned forward a little, taking her hand. "But you’ve also loved more and better than anyone I’ve read, too. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever seen. But, you should know that big things are about to happen. I’m not completely sure of what, but I saw you on the beach, fighting a demon, alone. It was killing you, Buffy, and you were trying so hard not to let it, but it was. It will. Don’t fight alone. No matter what, don’t fight anything alone. You run if something attacks you."

"Run?"

"I mean it, kitten. I know it goes against your nature to haul ass, but something nasty this way comes."

"What kind of demon was it?"

"Big. Ugly. And with pieces of you all over it."

Buffy stood, reaching past him for her purse. "In other words, Angel is really trying to drive home the fact that I don’t work alone, right? He told you to tell me this?"

Lorne shook his head. "I can’t control what I see. I wish there was a white picket fence in your future and maybe there will be if you listen to me, and get through this. Don’t go out alone. Not for a while."

"How long is a while? Is there a time frame on your visions?"

"Give it a week and then sing for me again."

"Fine," Buffy said absently. "Whatever. I need to go."

"Come back in a week," Lorne called after her as she staggered for the front door. "One week! I mean it!"

*~*

Spike could hear her retching when he opened the door. Frowning, he dropped his jacket and made his way to the hallway bathroom where she was praying to the porcelain so fiercely that he half expected her pass out from lack of oxygen. The smell of alcohol was strong and he leaned over, flushing the toilet of its contents as another round of nausea hit her and she rose to her knees to empty the remaining contents of her stomach.

He wet a washcloth and moved behind her, pulling her hair back and wiping down her face. She moaned. "Oh god. I’m dying."

"Serves you right." Spike held her hair as she dry heaved a while longer, then she slumped back down, resting her forehead on the rim of the toilet. He said, "I’m gonna let you have this one, love, but we are not going down this road again. Alcohol isn’t a cure-all and I’ll be damned-"

"You can’t yell at someone who is sick!"

"Do you want me to show you what yelling is?"

"No." She sniffed, holding her hand out for the washcloth which he gave to her. "I really don’t."

"How much did you drink?"

Buffy shrugged. "No more than I used to. It just hit me all at once."

"‘Used to’ being the key words there. It’s been a while. Did you eat breakfast?"

"No."

"Where did you get it?"

"Lorne." Buffy moaned again and adjusted her weight, trying to find a more comfortable position. "What time is it?"

"Almost noon. You want to tell me why you did this?"

"Angel is an asshole. I hate him."

"If everyone who hated Angel got shit faced then we’d all be drunk all the time."

"I don’t want to talk about it."

"He told me what happened, Buffy. He said he suspended you with pay."

"Talk about kicking someone while they’re down. He’s such a prick."

"You do realize that you deserved that and more, right?"

"What?" She looked up at him so quickly that it made her dizzy and she had to puke again. Spent, she moved away from the toilet and sat with her back against the bathtub, her knees drawn to her chest. "Don’t talk to me."

"You’re not in any position to demand anything. You got what was coming to you! You have got to learn, sooner or later, that there are consequences-"

"Will you stop channeling Giles!? If I needed to hear this shit I would call him!"

"And the problem is that you won’t listen to him either!"

"Shut up! Do you not see that I’m miserable?"

"I do see it and I’m enjoying it."

"Leave me alone."

"Right! How could I have forgotten that you want to be alone. You want to slay demons alone. You want to drink alone. You only want me around when it’s convenient for you. I hope you drank to old times this morning, Buffy, because that’s right back where we are."

"Spike, I didn’t-"

Saying nothing, Spike turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Feeling sorrier for herself than she had in a while, Buffy curled up on the floor and willed the room to stop spinning.

*~*~

Buffy emerged from the bathroom, freezing cold and clear headed several hours later. She had slept on the cold linoleum, balled up against the chill. It surprised her to think that he hadn’t covered her up, had not taken her to their bed. He always thought of her comfort first. Body stiff, she walked down the hallway and into their shared bathroom where she brushed her teeth, rinsed with mouthwash for a good ten minutes, and grabbed a quick shower.

She emerged, dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a baby tee, to find him sitting in the living room. She had dried her hair and pulled it back from her face in a long ponytail. She sat next to him on the couch, tucking her bare feet under her. He didn’t acknowledge her and stared at the television instead. She hit the mute button on the remote in his hand and waited patiently.

"What?" he said finally.

She put her hand on his face and made him look at her. "I love you, Spike, and I’m really sorry."

He stared into her eyes for a long while, then kissed her softly on the mouth. "Me too."

"Do you really think I only want you here when it’s convenient?"

"I was mad when I said that. I didn’t mean it."

"You feel loved, right? I mean, you feel wanted and important to me? Because I’ve never been really good at love and I tend to screw everything up and people leave and I would die if you -"

He kissed her again, silencing her. "It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. I know that you love me. I have the letters you wrote me to prove it and you drilled that into my head when you came to Los Angeles to bury your mum. I haven’t forgotten." He caught a tear that spilled down her cheek. "We’re learning as we go, love. We’re bound to make mistakes and it’s going to be hard sometimes, but all the good things are hard to get and harder to keep."

"I hate the way it’s been between us the past few days."

"I do, too, but it’s okay now." He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against his chest, kissing the top of her head. "I love you, Buffy, even when you annoy the hell out of me or make me mad enough to kill you."

"Do you love me enough to order a pizza?"

Spike laughed out loud. "I see how you are. Play on my emotions to get dinner."

Buffy grinned at him as he picked up the phone and dialed the numbers. When the pizza was ordered, she slipped across his lap and thoroughly kissed him. "I have the entire week off. What will I do to pass the time?"

"Me."

"I should get started then." Sitting back, she pulled her t-shirt over her head and let it fall to the floor.

Spike reached up to cup one of her breasts, but she pushed his hand away. His jaw tightened as she slid off his lap and slowly pulled the tie in her drawstring pants. Shaking his head, he caught her hands in one of his and pulled the tie with his teeth. "You made me watch you last time. That won’t happen again."

She shivered a little in anticipation as he hooked his fingers in the waistband and pushed her pants, and her panties, over her slender hips, kissing her exposed flesh as he went. Staring down at him, she watched as he nipped her pelvic bone, then circled her belly button with his skilled tongue. He glanced up, catching her eye and winking at her as he urged her to step from her pants and move to the sofa. She needed no coaxing. Naked, she lay back against the cool leather and arched her back as he skimmed the flat of his hand along her ribcage, then down her thigh.

Her legs fell apart, a silent plea for him to touch her where she needed it the most, but he pointedly ignored the invitation and moved lower, massaging first one foot, then the other. He kissed her knees, her ankles, her calves and thighs, until her body was tingling with need and moisture pooled at her center. He put his hand on her belly, holding her down when she attempted to rise up and pull him down, and he silenced her protests with a deep kiss.

"Please," she moaned, breathless.

Tugging one of her nipples with blunt teeth, he dipped his hand between her legs and slid his fingers against her wet flesh. She rotated her hips, pushing up against the friction, then cried out as he pulled his hand away. "Spike!"

He stood up next to the sofa and tugged his shirt off, then attempted to unbutton his pants, but his own arousal had left him shaking and he fumbled the button twice before she sat up and deftly worked the fasten and zipper. His erection sprang free as she shoved his pants down and he started to kick them out the way, then froze as she took him into her small, hot mouth. "Bloody hell." His eyes crossed and he threw his head back.

Buffy wrapped her hand around him, tightening her grip as his hips began to move against her. Suddenly, he was yanking her to her feet. He laid on his back in the floor and motioned for her to come to him. She knew without words what he wanted. She sat on his face, looking toward his feet and cried out as he tongue lashed against her aching flesh. Leaning forward, she took him into her mouth again, trying to make him feel as good as she did.

Her orgasm came so fast that she wasn’t prepared for it. He was in the back of her throat when it hit and she cried out, her tonsils vibrating against him which forced him to join her. She swallowed, taking him and his spendings further down her throat. Slowly, she eased back, letting him slide from her mouth and licked the tip of his cock, still pumping him. She squealed a little when he gripped her hips and pushed her forward, rising behind her and slamming himself into her.

On her knees, she leaned against the sofa, burying her face against the leather as he slammed into her. He grabbed her ponytail, pulling her upright so he could slip his hand around them and massage her clit, which has swollen again despite her recent release. Still gripping her hair, he drove into her, hard and fast while his hand did things to her that she had never experienced before.

She reached behind her, clutching at his thigh as she came again, his name a hoarse cry on her lips. He let go of her hair and let her fall back against the sofa. His flesh slapped against hers and the feel of her vaginal muscles grasping and spasming sent him over the edge. He shoved into her one last time and stayed there, buried as deeply as he could go. Leaning over her, he closed his eyes as his own release pulsated through him.

"Oh, god," Buffy moaned a few seconds later. "I can’t move."

"I don’t want you to move."

"You gave me carpet burns."

"And you enjoyed every second of it."

~*~

Despite the sadness she still felt about losing Miles and the anger she had towards Angel, the next two days passed quietly and without drama. She had cleaned the apartment, watched more television than she could stand, and spent a lot of time with Christine, who had decided that she wanted to take some time off from work and go back home to Nevada for a few weeks. Buffy wasn’t sure how she felt about her friend’s decision, but had spent Wednesday night helping her pack her suitcase and throw everything away in the refrigerator.

On Thursday morning, the phone pulled her from the nap she had been indulging in on the sofa. "Hello?"

"Buffy, it’s Angel."

She contemplated hanging up, instead she said, "What do you want?"

"Your evaluation has been scheduled for three o’clock this afternoon."

She checked her watch. It was just after ten a.m.. "Where?"

"My office."

"Will *you* be there?"

"Not if you don’t want me to be."

"I don’t."

"Fair enough."

"Do I need to bring anything? Hair samples? Urine? A pound of flesh?"

"No. And could you not bring the attitude either?"

She hung the phone up and sat it on the table, wringing her hands as she contemplated the next few hours.

Salvation came in the form of Christine, who rang the bell and slipped past Buffy when she opened the door. "What’s up?" Buffy asked as she joined her on the sofa.

"Can you drive me to the airport?"

"Sure," Buffy replied instantly. "Why?"

"I just can’t stand the thought of not having anyone there to see me off. Miles’ parents left already and my folks went home the night we buried him. You don’t mind, right? I mean, I know traffic will probably be a bitch this time of day."

"Hey, if you can tolerate my driving we’ll be fine." Glancing at the clock again, she added, "I have to be back by three, though. What time does your flight leave?"

"It leaves at one. You’ll be back in time."

Unbidden, Lorne’s warning flashed through her mind. ‘Don’t go out alone. At least not for a while.’ It was broad daylight, her mind reasoned, The creepy crawlies usually came out with the moon. Still, she felt uneasy about the prospect of being by herself after such an ominous admonition and hung back, grabbing her cell phone off the charger and checking the bars. She had two. It wasn’t a full battery, but it should be enough for the rest of the day. She called Spike, letting him know what she was doing and about the evaluation that would take place that afternoon. He offered to ride with her and wait in the car, since all cars at Wolfram and Hart blocked out the sun, but she had politely declined. If something was going to happen in broad daylight he couldn’t go there with her. And she would not let him die trying.

Buffy was unable to accompany Christine to the gate due to post 9/11 security so she had to be content to hug her, cry with her, and wave her off with the crowds of other people who stood clustered together near the escalators. She hung around, watching the departure board, and was satisfied that Christine’s flight had gone on schedule with her friend on board. Going into the bathroom, she splashed water on her face and dried it, then went into a stall.

She was finishing her business when a low, raspy whisper caught her attention. She ceased her movements and tilted her head to one side. It sounded like someone was in the stall to her left, speaking in low hisses that she couldn’t understand. She was about to lean down and look at their shoes when someone in the stall on her right responded, in that same, gravelly tone and she heard one unmistakable word in the jumble of alien jibberish. "Slayer."

Trying to appear as though nothing was out of the ordinary, she stood, pulling her pants up, keeping her eye on the floor lest something reach under and try to pull her feet out from under her. The whispering abruptly halted and she waited, silently, to see if they would make a move. Someone came into the bathroom with a small child who was protesting loudly about something to do with ice cream and Buffy quickly unlocked the door and stepped out, watching as a young mother led a small boy into an empty stall at the end.

She leaned down, looking under the stalls just in time to see a very human foot encased in a pair of pink flip flops disappear upward in the stall that had been next to hers. Moving a little to the side, Buffy glanced between the cracks of the door. She couldn’t see anyone which was impossible since she had just seen someone’s foot. In confusion, she turned and started back toward the door, then froze, not believing her eyes.

There, in the mirror, was a girl with flip flops and ratty hair.

She would have appeared human except for one thing.

She was balanced on the top edge of the stall, squatting like an animal about to spring at her. Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but the girl put her finger to her lip and smiled. "Slayer," she hissed softly, barely audible, but undoubtedly there.

Then she exploded, sending blood and flesh all over the Slayer in question and the woman and child who had emerged in time to scream in shock.

*~*~

Buffy gave her statement to the police and allowed the paramedics to fawn over her, worrying over the small cut on her forehead from a piece of the door that had flown at her during the blast, effectively downing her. She refused to go to the hospital and was relieved when they stopped badgering her. A cop wrapped her in a blanket, and led her through the crowd of people toward the police escort out front. Reporters kept thrusting microphones in her face, screaming questions at her, and by the time she made it halfway to the car she was in tears, both from nerves and the actual ordeal. She leaned her face against the officer, who lifted the blanket a little higher to help hide her and put a protective arm around her, yelling at the reporters to give her some room.

The young woman and the little boy were on the seat next to her. Buffy stuck out her hand, "I’m Buffy."

"Feefee," the little boy said and shocked her by climbing into her lap and hugging her.

"Oh, sorry! He never meets a stranger." The woman made a move to get the little boy, but he drew back, opening his mouth to cry.

"It’s okay." Buffy wrapped her arms around him, taking a little comfort in his presence. "What’s his name?"

"God, you’d think my manners blew up in that bathroom. That’s Jameson and I’m Melissa Rainey."

"How old is he?"

"Just turned three."

Jameson reached up, touching the necklace Buffy wore. "What that, Feefee?"

"That was a present from my boyfriend." Holding the chain, she let him finger the little charms there, a silver B and a gold S. "Can you say Buffy?"

"Feefee. You my Feefee."

It felt stupid to grin from ear to ear, especially considering that they were all covered in glops of dead girl, but that’s exactly what she did. They made small talk and convinced Jameson to strap into the seatbelt while the car pulled away from the curb. Safely on the interstate, Buffy felt immense relief to see that none of the reporters had been allowed to follow her. Hopefully her identity would remain a secret and she could concentrate on figuring out what the hell had just happened. She gave the officer directions and finally called Spike, telling him that she was almost home. They stopped only once, to let Melissa and Jameson get into another police car that would take them home.

Jameson lingered. "Bye bye, Feefee."

"Bye, Jameson. Be a good boy." Buffy waved out the back glass as they made their way back to the freeway and Wolfram and Hart.

When she gave the officer the code to enter the parking deck, she saw a small crowd had gathered at the elevator, clearly waiting for her. She groaned until the car moved closer and she realized that it was her friends. Dawn, Colin, Angel, Fred and Spike all rushed forward as one, helping her from the car. Dawn didn’t even fuss about the state of Buffy’s clothing as she hugged her, getting an alarming amount of gore on her pretty white shirt.

Spike had stayed back a little, allowing Dawn the opportunity to see for herself that Buffy was okay, then he stepped forward and held her, closing his eyes. "You’re killing me, love."

"This time wasn’t my fault," she replied, hugging him as Fred patted her on the back.

Angel thanked the officer and joined the others in the elevator, studying Buffy closely. He gently touched the bandage on her forehead. "How bad are you hurt?"

"I’m fine." She pulled the blanket a little tighter. "It wasn’t a bomb. There was this girl and she looked human, but I don’t think she was. She kept whispering really low in a language that I didn’t understand, but she said Slayer. Twice. And she looked right at me before she went boom."

"Why do you think she wasn’t human?" Fred asked.

"Because of how she sounded. And she was doing a really other worldly balancing act on the top of the bathroom stalls. And hello, the last time I checked normal people didn’t blow up."

Spike and Angel glanced at one another. Angel said what they were both thinking. "Or maybe she was a messed up kid who wanted to make a statement, protest the war or something."

"She called me Slayer. I heard her, Angel."

"Buffy you’ve been through a lot in the past few days. It’s possible that you -"

The elevator door opened Buffy stepped out on her floor. "I know what I heard and what I saw, Angel. If you still need to give me a psych evaluation to prove that I’m not crazy that’s fine, but we have to find out what this thing is. She wasn’t alone. There were voices whispering on either side of me and I don’t think this is the end of it."

Spike joined her and put an arm around as the elevator door closed. "Come on, love."

He led her to their place, then into the bathroom, where he peeled the blanket and layers of clothes from her and started the shower. She stepped inside and gasped when he joined her, fully clothed. "Spike, what are -"

"Shhh." He moved her under the spray of water and ran his hands over her hair, massaging away the dried blood. Staring down at her, he was overwhelmed by the emotions that ran through him. The prospect of losing her was always in the back of his head, bugging him, making him worry that every second with her could be the last. Coming so close in the past few days was terrifying and the magnitude of it was finally sinking in. He felt his eyes well with tears and leaned against her. "I thought I told you not to scare me again."

"I’m really trying to work on that, Spike."

"Work a little harder, love."

Buffy let him bathe away the remnants of the day. Something in his face bothered her, something in his eyes as he inspected every inch of her for himself made her uneasy.

And the last thing she needed was another reason to feel uneasy.

*~*

Her face was plastered all over the news and she groaned as the phone rang again, sending a slash of pain through her head. So far it had been people from Wolfram and Hart, telling her to turn on the television or asking her if the media knew who she was and so far, no one had leaked her name. Every time the phone rang, however, she feared the worst. "Hello?"

"Buffy, my god! Are you all right?"

"Hey, Giles. I’m okay. I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night. It was kinda hectic."

"You’ve been all over the world news."

"Why would it be showing over there?"

"Well, they think terrorists hit the airport. Do you agree with that?"

Buffy told him everything she had witnessed and listened quietly while he mumbled to himself. He asked a couple of questions about the appearance of the young girl and asked if Buffy could give him a demonstration of the sounds she made. Buffy did what she considered to be a pretty good imitation and listened as he rattled off what she had told him to someone else.

"How’s the gang?" she asked, when she heard Willow in the background.

"They’re fine. We’ve all been a bit overtaxed with a couple of feuds going on amongst the Slayers."

"The Slayers are fighting each other?"

"Not an all out war by any means, but there has been hair pulling and gossip. You know how girls are."

"Hundreds of mini-me’s running around ... I can’t say I’m sorry to miss it."

Willow began speaking in rapid fire in the background and Giles asked Buffy to hold on. When he came back on the line he said, "Are you near the computer?"

"Yes."

"We’re going to email you some photos that Willow is currently scanning. Take a look at them and see what you think."

Buffy agreed, promised that she would try to visit as soon as possible, and went into the bedroom to find the laptop. She contented herself to search online, looking at upcoming movies and some music reviews, while she waited for the email to arrive. Five minutes passed before it finally appeared in her inbox. She quickly opened the attachments, waiting for them to load completely.

Another five minutes passed as she sat in stunned silence and stared at the face that had been burned into her memory.

The young girl who had blown herself into a thousand pieces was smiling back at her in the photo, looking exactly like she had in the bathroom at the airport. She looked at the next file, then the next, gasping each time she did so. There were at least fifteen photos of the girl, all with the same hair, the same cherubic face, but there were differences in the teeth, the nose, the eyes that made her realize that they were all different, yet the same.

She clicked out of the attachment and read through Giles’s email.

Buffy,

Is this the girl you witnessed? If so, it’s not just one girl as you may have gleaned from the photos. No one is sure where they originate, but the demonology tomes are full of accounts of the havoc they wreak. They are a type of fairy and not the kind that has been portrayed in Disney movies, although I’m fairly certain Walt Disney was a witch since he included so much of what is real into his stories. That, however, is a conversation for another day.

Fairies can be deadly. This particular sort is called the En Kindle. They explode, as you are well aware, when they reach a certain age or when they have been assigned the task of killing someone. Most of the times, news reports call it Spontaneous Human Combustion, but in all cases, the En Kindle has to be physically touching the victim. It’s possible that she would have reached under the stall and grabbed you or leaped upon you. I imagine that she simply ran out of time and nature forced her to erupt before she was able to attack you.

Know this ... once they set their sights on someone and fail, they will attack again. The attacks come in threes, as most things do, and if you survive the third and final, the task is complete and they will deem you worthy of life. They may not attack you as what they are, however. They can shift their shape and employ various other demon breeds who are enamored with them to do their bidding.

Working in your favor is the fact that they only have six days to complete the second and third attempts. If they cannot reach you or draw you out, they’ll move on. Not working in your favor is the fact that the woman and child who were in the room with you at the time of the explosion will likely garner their attention.

Call me if you have any questions. I hope that I have explained it fully.

Get some rest. You’ll need it.

Giles

Buffy read the email through a couple more times and then printed everything. Carrying it under her arm, she made her way to the office supply room and found a report cover to hold it all together. She stopped to make small talk with a couple of the women from the mailroom, who gave her a stack of letters and cards from her co-workers, and made a concerted effort to turn her frown upside down as she entered the elevator and engaged Harmony in a war of wits which she easily won.

The chaos that greeted her as the doors slid open was a sure sign that Angel was in his office. People fluttered back and forth, handing off files and books, they sorted through paperwork and arranged their desks. When Angel was away it was a completely different scene. People were usually engaged in online gaming, solitaire, or had their noses pressed between the pages of trashy romance novels. Buffy herself had participated in a game of Freeze Tag a few weeks earlier when Angel had flown to China.

She crossed the mayhem and tapped on Angel’s door, waiting patiently for him to open it. She was a little shocked when Spike pulled it open. His own shock mirrored on his face. "Hey," he said, looking at her in confusion. "I thought you were sleeping."

"I thought you were using the sewers to track down that informant."

"I finished early." Spike reached out, touching the fading mark on her forehead. "It looks better."

Buffy had a sinking suspicion that she had interrupted a conversation about herself. It made her uneasy and worse, it made her mad as hell. She stepped past him and walked to where Angel sat at his desk. "You know that girl who was probably just protesting the war? Turns out she wasn’t." She tossed the literature on his desk. "I’m wrong about a lot of stuff a lot of the time, but not this."

Angel picked the file up, flipping through it. He read through the email Giles sent and rose, pulling a book from the mass amounts in his personal collection called ‘Fayerye, Elfin, and Trolls’. He checked the index and turned a few pages, sitting back down at his desk.

Spike picked up the discarded file and thumbed through it, then glanced at Buffy. "You’re not leaving my sight for the next six days, pet."

Buffy normally would have been touched by his concern, but she was actually quite annoyed that he had been consorting with someone she considered her enemy at the moment. "Apparently you didn’t read the part where Melissa and her son will be in danger if it doesn’t get a shot at me."

"Not your problem." Spike closed the file and handed it back to her. "I talked to Lorne. He told me that you sang for him and what he saw."

Angel glanced up from the book. "What did he see?"

Buffy threw her hands in the air. "My god! Isn’t there some client privilege that says he has to keep stuff a secret unless I tell him he can blab? Don’t I have to sign a waiver or something?"

"No," Spike told her. To Angel, he added. "He said that he saw her being killed on the beach. And apparently it’s not something she thought was important enough to tell me."

"Lorne’s wrong," Buffy shot back. "I was drunk when I did it."

"He’s never wrong and I thought you stopped drinking." Angel closed the book and looked up at her. "What he sees will happen, but he also gives you the tools to prevent it. What did he tell you to do?"

"Take two aspirin and call him in the morning," she said with a shrug. When Spike made a move towards her, his eyes narrowed, she took a couple of steps back, putting the chair between them. "Okay, okay! He said that I should run if something attacks me."

"That’s not all he told you," Spike snapped. "Why don’t you tell him the entire story since I wasn’t good enough to hear it?"

Buffy stared at the floor, knowing where the conversation was headed. "He told me not to go out alone."

"But you did anyway. You didn’t give me a single thought, did you? I can’t decide if it’s me you don’t care enough about or you." Spike’s jaw was clenched so tight that his teeth actually ached. "Angel and I were talking and we don’t think-"

"I knew it!" Buffy accused. "If you want to say something about me then say it to me! Don’t go behind my back like a couple of ... stupid catty bitches!"

"Fine. I’ll say it." Angel motioned at the chair, but she didn’t take it. "You’re not coming back to work yet. You’re not ready and I’m not entirely convinced that you’re in the right department."

Spike noted the look on her face and hastily added, "But we’ll find you something, love."

"What department would make you idiots happy? Is there a knitting department? With a padded room?" Buffy shouted, her blood pressure rising so fast that it caused her ears to ring. "I slay. That is what I was born to do and that’s what I’m going to continue to do whether you pay me for it or not."

"We think you’d do well in ambush coordination." Angel picked up a leaflet on his desk and held it out to her.

"Yeah, sit on my ass all day and tell other people how to attack things and wait for word that they’ve been killed. It’s not like I don’t have any residual guilt left over from all those girls dying in Sunnydale or sending Miles to an early grave. That would be the perfect job for me! If the guilt didn’t kill me the boredom would."

"You could give it a try." Spike took the paper from Angel and flipped it open. "You already know this stuff."

"Yes, I do. And I apply it to my slaying."

Angel held up another brochure. "How about the tactical field?"

"No." Buffy could feel her heart pounding, feel the flush of anger creeping into her face. "I’m not changing jobs. Are you really trying to take away any credibility I have?"

"You don’t have a say in the matter," Spike shot back. "It’s been decided."

"Why?" She shouted. "I have more years, more kills than anyone in this place! You both are really quick to tell me that it’s not my fault that Miles died and then you fire me for it!"

"You’re not being fired." Spike reached out for her, but she batted his hand away. "Buffy, you’re in over your head."

"I have NEVER been in over my head! I have been doing just fine! It’s funny to me that the first night I DON’T do my job someone died!"

"That’s not the point," Angel said quietly.

"Tell me what the point is, Angel. Tell me why I suddenly can’t do my job!" The feeling of dejavu was intense as she made the demand.

Angel held her gaze for several seconds, then he stood and moved around his desk, leaning back against it as if it were a casual, every day conversation and there wasn’t a very pissed off Slayer ready to hit him. "I don’t think for one second that you *can’t* do it, Buffy. What bothers me is that you won’t. We all know that you’re the most capable person here. You’ve proven it a million times and I kept my mouth shut while you did it. I watched you going out every single night, most of the time alone, occasionally taking Miles with you. I watched you skip meals, lose sleep, lose weight, and track of what you were supposed to be doing here. I watched you neglect your paperwork, neglect your friends, and heard all about how you were neglecting Spike straight from him." He gave a small, subtle shrug. "I know you. When it comes to sending someone out in your place you’re gonna see Miles’s face in theirs and you won’t do it. You’ll go yourself and one night you’re going to be too tired, too weak, and too exhausted to beat it. Your job isn’t to go after these demons. As the manager ... your job is to make sure your staff gets it done. You won’t.

"I’m looking at you, Buffy, and *I* am seeing Miles. If you don’t like the departments that Spike and I talked about then pick your own, hell, create your own and I’ll pay you what you want. Just don’t ask me to put you back into the fire because I can’t do that."

Buffy exhaled the breath that she had been holding as he spoke. His words hit close to home. Part of her recognized the truth in his words, but another part of her felt like she was reliving the past, when her friends had kicked her out of her own house because they felt she couldn’t do the job anymore. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she did her best, clamping down on the lump that had formed in her throat as she did so.

Some things you knew as a Slayer and knowing when you could not win was one of them. S