Resolutions

I cannot apologise enough for the delay in updating this fic. I had thought that finishing my studies would allow me more time to write, but alas it wasn’t so. From Christmas onwards Real Life turned out to be an extreme bitca. Now, hopefully, the worst is over and I shall be able to get back into the writing habit. If there is anybody out there who hasn’t given up on me and is still reading, please let me know as the muse desperately needs reassurance.

Also… I find myself in need of a beta/ betas. I don’t usually need help with grammar/spelling (although I lay no claim to being infallible, I readily admit to dropping the occasional clanger) but I do sometimes need assistance with plot development, nudges to keep to the story plan (yes, there is one) when I go off on a tangent, and to keep the young American characters sounding American and young (I’m English and er… not young). If you’re interested please let me know…

Now then… apologies again for the extended cliffhanger. Please read on to get your questions answered… well… a couple of them anyway! ;o)

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Chapter 6


His gaze riveted to Buffy’s slight body, Spike batted away the wooden paintbrush handle aimed at his chest. As it spun across the room he idly backhanded to one side the figure getting in his way and surged forward, just managing to catch the Slayer before her head crashed into one of the sawhorses.


He clamped his mouth over the hole in her throat and caught the second pulse of blood then as he swallowed he used his tongue to force the torn flesh back into place and pressed down hard to stem the bleeding.


For a few moments he sat motionless, with the limp form of his Mate held protectively to his chest. He closed his eyes and slumped in utter relief as he registered her continuing steady heartbeat, and tried to work out what had just happened.


“Spike?” Her hesitant whisper broke into his thoughts as her hand gripped his shoulder. “Spike? What…?”


He lifted his tongue to test whether the bite had begun healing, and when there was no sign of any more bleeding he allowed himself to relax and look around. “Dunno, Buffy.” He took in the circle of stunned faces staring at them and noticed that Xander was lying against the wall clutching at his head, scowling across at him. It didn’t make sense but it looked as if… He blurted in disbelief, “Reckon Harris went nuts and attacked you!”


Buffy turned shocked eyes to her friend and gasped incredulously, “Xander?”


Scrambling to his feet Xander began babbling hysterically, “I didn’t attack you, Buffy! I was saving you!” He looked around; waving his arms to include everyone in his frantic explanation. “You saw him! He was killing her!” He pointed at Buffy, who with Spike’s support was getting to her feet. She leant back against him with one hand held over the sore place on her neck that was already well on its way to healing while the other linked fingers with his held protectively over her stomach. “Look, he bit her! He was going to drain her! I had to get her away from him!”


He addressed Buffy again, “You have to stake him, Buffy! That’s what I was trying to do but…” Breaking off suddenly, he gaped for a second and then exclaimed in relief, “It’s thrall! He’s got you under his thrall, that’s what it is! You don’t know what you’re doing, Buffy. Remember? In LA he showed us he had thrall! It’s not your fault, Buffy! None of this disgusting mess is your fault! It’s all right! You don’t have to be with him after all, Buffy! The evil undead is controlling you and you’re bound to do whatever he wants you to! If you’d let me stake him you’ll be free again!”


As the room filled with various cries of shock, disbelief and derision, Xander dived for the paintbrush and came at Spike again only to find his way blocked by a very pissed off Slayer who wrenched the makeshift weapon from his grasp and tossed it away. In the same movement she caught Spike by the arm as he tried to lunge past her, intent upon making the young man pay for his insults.


“Quiet!”


Buffy’s harsh voice echoed around the bare room. When all the shouting had died down she squared her shoulders and angrily declared to the room in general, “First of all, understand this: nobody’s staking Spike. Second, I am not under thrall. Third, I’m not bound to do whatever he wants me to. On the contrary, I’ve never been so free. Free to be just me without having to pander to someone else’s expectations! Fourth, he wasn’t killing me. He wasn’t even hurting me.” She glared at Xander. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Xander, it was me holding Spike against the wall, not the other way around. What you just did hurt me, and you could have killed me if Spike hadn’t acted so quickly.”


Again, the room was filled with wildly gesticulating shouting Scoobies. Spike gave a resigned sigh, closed his eyes and concentrated on the precious vital woman in his arms, resting his cheek against her hair as he absently listened to the individual voices.


Dawn, his wondrous Niblet, was trying to make herself heard in his defence. She was insisting shrilly to anyone who would listen that he hadn’t done anything wrong and they should all leave him alone.


Tara was whispering a sympathetic explanation to Althanea while at the same time, Willow was pleading with the Englishwoman to allow her to do ‘this spell I know’ to paralyse Spike until Buffy could be made to see reason and he could be rendered permanently harmless. Spike opened his eyes briefly to look at the young redhead, caught another flash of swirling darkness in her eyes and shuddered. He couldn’t help wondering apprehensively what Willow’s definition of ‘permanently harmless’ was.


Giles was fast losing patience trying to talk Xander down from his continuing insistence that Spike should be dusted immediately, reminding him that if Spike had wanted to drain Buffy he had had numerous opportunities before, commenting that even Spike wasn’t stupid enough to try it in a room full of Buffy’s friends.


Anya was off to one side, declaring impatiently that they were all stupid and obviously knew next to nothing about vampires, for all they were supposed to be the experts.


Despite the Watcher’s apparent support, Spike suddenly had had enough of this display of rampant distrust from people who he thought had accepted him. He clenched his jaw in frustration and made a move to walk away and vent his anger somewhere else, but Buffy’s hand gripping his brought him to a standstill. She whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell them. Wait…”


He snarled angrily, “Really need to hit something, Slayer… and you’d probably prefer it wasn’t that idiot who nearly killed you.” He gestured at Xander.


“He made an honest mistake, Spike. He thought he was saving me. It’s my fault for not explaining. Wait just a minute, then you can go hit things for as long as you like.”


Spike sighed and squeezed her hand in acquiescence, although the thrum of angry energy coursing through his body was undiminished and would soon demand a release. The longer he had to wait, the bigger the eventual explosion of violence would be.


While Buffy continued to wait in growing irritation for the opportunity to be heard again, it was Anya’s shrill voice that silenced the tumult.


“Really, Xander! Buffy’s the Slayer. Do you honestly think that she would stand there and let Spike bite her unless she wanted him to? I’m sure he doesn’t hurt her, in fact I have no doubt he makes it very pleasurable for her. I’m astounded that he had sufficient self-control not to kill you the instant you came between them. You put his Mate’s life at risk, Xander. His overwhelming instinct would be to eliminate any threat to her and if he wasn’t so caring of her feelings you would have been dead in seconds.”


Xander gaped at his former fiancée in disbelief and protested, “But Buffy would never let Spike bite her! He…”


Buffy broke in impatiently, “But I did, Xander. I do. Every day.”


The young man gaped at her. “But… but…” He shook his head helplessly and protested, “Buffy, first you keep your whole relationship a secret, then you spring this on us? You have to make me understand why…”


Buffy’s eyebrows went up. “And of course you told us immediately about dating Cordelia, and then Anya who had just tried to get us all killed?” She turned to the former demon, “No offence, Anya. I like you now, I really do, but back then…” She cocked her head thoughtfully and turned to Willow. “Come to think of it… of course you told us about your relationship with Tara straight away didn’t you, Willow… not!” She shrugged as Willow flushed and looked down. “We didn’t understand, Xander… Willow… but we accepted your choices because we love you.”


“But this is different…”


“No. It really isn’t, Xan. I don’t have to explain myself to you. It’s not important that you understand. What I need is for you to accept that I’m with Spike and that part of our relationship involves him feeding from me.”


He registered her determined expression and slouched in disappointment, “In that case I’m not sure I know who you are any more, Buffy.


“I don’t think you ever did know me, Xander. Not really. I’m not the perfect hero you’d like to think I am. I’m just a girl who sometimes gets scared and makes mistakes like any other human being. I’ve fallen off that pedestal you put me on so many times… and every single time I’ve slipped you’ve picked me up, squeezed me back into that ideal little mould you chose for me when I was sixteen and shoved me kicking and screaming right back up there. The mould doesn’t fit me any more, Xander, if it ever did… and I never did belong up on that pedestal.”


As Xander clenched his jaw and turned away in angry defeat Giles stepped forward, frowning as he polished his glasses and hesitantly asked, “I’m having trouble comprehending, Buffy. Even after what Spike said about refusing human blood to reduce the temptation to hunt, you still permit him to feed from you every day?”


“No.” As mouths opened to protest she held up her hand to forestall them and firmly declared, “I don’t permit it. I insist upon it. Every day Spike tries to get out of it, but I won’t let him.” She took a deep breath. “If you disagree with it, it’s me you have a quarrel with, not Spike. I came to this decision wearing my Slayer hat and he’s accepted my reasons and is only following my wishes.”


When angry protests threatened to break out again, Xander’s voice easily the most prominent, she sighed and sadly added, “Xander, I wish you’d stop trying to convince me to stake Spike. It’s never going to happen. I’ve tried to explain it to you…” She shook her head in resignation. “I’ll try just once more. Buffy. Loves. Spike. Get used to it. There will be nobody else for Buffy. There can’t be. Ever. I’m going to be spending the rest of my life… and it looks as if it might be a very, very long life… with him. If something happens to him I will spend the rest of my life alone, mourning him. Nothing you…” She directed a meaningful look at Willow and then at Giles. “…or anyone else… can do or say is going to change that.”


She turned a beaming smile up to her Mate and assured him, “And I wouldn’t want it to.” She gave his hand a firm squeeze and released it, giving him silent permission to leave the room now she’d deflected the disapproving attention directed at him onto herself.


Understanding that she needed to sort out the situation with her friends without his distracting presence he gave her a little nod, gently cupped her cheeks in his hands and placed a quick kiss on her lips. He turned and headed towards the basement, passing closely in front of Xander in the process.


Stopping to look the taller man directly in the eye, his entire body quivered with a powerful urge to hit and rend and maim.


Resisting the impulse with all his might and instead deliberately fisting one shaking hand in Xander’s plaid shirt he pushed the uneasy young man down onto his knees. To the accompaniment of several anxious gasps, in the most cold, menacing tone he could muster he very quietly stated, “You’re gonna want to take care not to hurt the Slayer again, Harris. She’ll forgive you ‘cos she’s generous like that. Being who she is, having such a loving heart, she can’t not forgive you. I’m not that magnanimous. You hurt her again and…” He effortlessly lifted Xander back up and held him steady while he gulped nervously and struggled to gain a steady footing and continued, “…you might just find out the hard way how I earned my name.”


Releasing his grip and fastidiously wiping his hand on the seat of his jeans as if he was cleaning off something truly disgusting he sauntered out, only pausing to pick up the Slayer Handbook that had fallen forgotten to the floor.


While Xander spluttered and protested ineffectually about Spike’s actions Dawn darted over and put her hand on the vampire’s arm, kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear, “It was BuffyDessert, wasn’t it?” When he gave a slight nod she added, “Don’t worry, I’ll stay and back her up.”


He gave her a wink and small smile of grateful approval and continued on his way. Resenting the Californian sun that still shone brightly preventing him from going out to find a few big strong demons to beat up, he shed his shirt as he descended the basement steps, tossed it with the handbook onto the massage table, kicked off his boots and faced off with the punching bag.


Painting a mental picture of Xander Harris’ stupid smug face in the centre of the bag he threw a vicious right hook, followed by a left jab. Then after taking one deep unneeded breath to steady himself he let rip. Kicks and punches followed each other at dizzying speed as he took out all his negative feelings on the fortunately inanimate canvas and leather.


He lost himself in the physical expression of his anger and frustration, savouring the pain of bruised knuckles, elbows and feet as a positive sign of his own existence, and time passed.


Gradually his movements slowed and the blows to the punching bag became less ferocious, his mood slowly improving as Buffy’s guilt, anger and frustration abated.


With one final spin kick at the centre of the bag he came to a standstill, snorting in ironic amusement as the last impact sent it flying into the wall where it burst open, the chains holding it in place to the joist above and the concrete floor beneath finally having taken enough punishment and given way.


Not ready to go back upstairs into what he was certain would be a sickeningly sweet scene of tearful reconciliation, not to mention continuing domestic physical labour, he turned to the weight bench and began his customary workout.


Without the thuds of the rhythmic impacts and his accompanying grunts intruding, as he worked he absently followed the progress of the decorating interspersed with chatter, some cheerful, some less so, all underlain by the music from the dining room.


At first it didn’t register that the exchange he was half listening to from just the other side of the basement door was anything other than another light-hearted conversation between friends. Then it became a bit heated and he began to pay attention.


“…still don’t understand why you left me. Why won’t you come back home?”


“Because you don’t love me.”


“What are you talking about, Anya? Of course I love you!”


“No. You don’t. You love the part of me that you’ve known for the last three years, but even with my limited math skills I know that’s less than one percent of me. You like to pretend that all of my life before that didn’t happen. How would you like it if I didn’t let you talk about all the things you did growing up with Willow? How would you like it if I shushed you when you were talking about the things you learned or the places you visited before I met you because I didn’t understand them or found them unpleasant to listen to? How would you like me to keep telling you to shut up because I don’t get the stupid jokes you tell that aren’t even funny because I think they’re inappropriate? Which by the way, they usually are...”


“But Ahn…”


“Well that’s how you treat me, and that’s how I know you don’t love me… not all of me.”


But… I don’t understand. Don’t you love me any more?”


“That’s what hurts so much. I think I do, but it isn’t enough any more. I was drawn to you because you were the first person who showed an interest in me when I lost my powers and I was trying to find a way to fit in, desperate to cling on to someone who could help me make sense of it all, but Spike’s right. I deserve more.”


“Spike? I just knew this had to be all his fault! What did he…?”


“Don’t go nuts at Spike again, Xander. You’re wrong about him, you know…”


“What? You’re sticking up for the evil undead now too? What did he do to make you…?”


“He stuck up for me, Xander. It’s new for me, this having a male friend thing. I think I like it. I know he doesn’t want to have sex with me because he’s got Buffy, and unlike you I know better than to try to come between a Master Vampire and his Mate. That means we don’t have to try to attract each other so we can be completely honest with each other. Spike understands me. He helped me figure something out. If I’m going to spend the rest of my short pathetic human life with one person, I have to be certain that they accept and love all of me. I’m still trying to work out how to be human again and I think I need to do that on my own for a while. I need to find out who I really am when I’m not trying to change and become what I think you want me to be. I’ve seen all too much vengeance exacted because of people trying unsuccessfully to become something they aren’t, just to attract a lover.” She gave a sad little sigh. “That’s why I can’t be with you, Xander.”


The sound of deliberate footsteps passed through the house and up the stairs to the bathroom, and then there was a crash as something met the wall beside the basement door with some force. The resigned, matter of fact, “Ow” that followed a moment later confirmed Spike’s hunch that it had been Xander’s fist.


Spike realised that while he had been listening to the sorry little scene unfolding above he had been holding the weight bar static above his head and with some relief he reached back to settle it back on its stand. He relaxed his arms and rotated his shoulders as other conversations intruded on his consciousness.


In the dining room Althanea was chiding Willow, “…trifle disappointed, Willow, that when Buffy was hurt your automatic reaction was to reach for magic and do a paralysing spell on William, rather than to rush forward to help your friend. Clearly you need a lot more instruction in the ethical use of your power than I have so far been able to impart.”


“But it was Xander! I knew he’d never hurt Buffy! Spike was biting her!”


“And yet… once Buffy had explained, it became clear that the situation was not as it had first appeared and in fact it was Xander who was the threat. Had you performed the spell on William without pausing to ask my permission your impulsive action could well have cost Buffy her life.”


Willow sighed sulkily, “Well, I know that now…”


“I’ve come to realise that my little tutorials aren’t going to be enough. I think it’s vital to your own interests and the safety of those around you that you submit to the discipline of a comprehensive training programme, Willow. As a start I’d like you to seriously consider spending the summer with me at the coven headquarters in Devon where you can immerse yourself in the craft and benefit from my colleagues’ various skills as well as my own.”


“I’m being exiled? And… and you’re gonna gang up on me?”


“I must insist upon you accepting further training, Willow. If you choose not to travel to England I could arrange for an American coven to help you. I know of one in San Francisco, the leader of which I think has sufficient skill to help you, although his coven is smaller and he has a reputation for being a bit of a martinet....”


“I… I think I’d prefer to stay with you rather than start again with a new mentor, and if that means I have to go to England...”


“Good. I’ll start making the arrangements immediately.”


“You really think I need it that bad?”


“Yes, Willow. I’m very much afraid that I do.”


Spike was still amazed that these people who supposedly knew so much about demons and their abilities always forgot that no conversation within a building containing a vampire could be considered truly private.


In the living room Buffy and Dawn were tag-teaming Giles with their emphatic insistence that he should continue to trust Buffy’s judgement that Spike could feed from her on a regular basis without risking her safety. The vampire smirked in satisfaction at their sneaky methods and Giles’ increasingly ineffectual protests. With a matched pair of wheedling, pouting Summers sisters presenting a united front the Watcher didn’t stand a chance, although part of him wanted Giles’ initial insistence that the practice be stopped to prevail. He treasured the moments of profound and intimate connection the bite occasionally gave them when they were making love, but the daily feed was different. It was a constant reminder that he was, and always would be a monster when he was trying so hard to put that part of him aside to become the man that Buffy deserved.


It occurred to him to wonder whether Buffy had been in a position to hear Xander and Anya’s exchange. The little wave of sadness he’d experienced at its conclusion led him to believe she had, it hadn’t felt familiar enough to have been his own emotion. On the contrary he had been pleased at the way the former demon had stuck to her guns whereas he suspected that his romantic little Mate had wanted the pair to reconcile. He had always considered the former demon and the human boy to be a very unlikely couple, and was genuinely surprised the improbable relationship had lasted as long as it had.


Hearing the sounds of clearing up drifting down from the ground floor, Spike returned his attention to the weight bar until the door at the top of the stairs opened and Buffy trotted half way down the stairs to look around.


She sniggered. “You killed the punching bag again? We’re gonna have to make a regular order with the sporting goods store.”


Spike sat up astride the weight bench. “Yeah. Well you did it last week so it was my turn wasn’t it? ‘Sides, better the bag than that bleedin’ prat Harris. All forgiven and forgotten then?”


“Well… things are still a bit tense and Xander’s going to be a bit nervous around you for a while, but if they don’t understand now I don’t know what more I can do.”


While Spike smirked at the thought of the entertaining possibilities for putting a fright into the interfering young man as often as he could, Buffy descended the rest of the way into the basement. She sat on the weight bench between his legs, leaning against his chest as he sat with his arms around her waist.


“You hear him with Demon Girl?”


Buffy sighed. “Yeah. Poor Xander.”


Spike grunted in frustration. “Knew you’d be on his side. What about ‘poor Anya’? Don’t you think she deserves a better guide to being human than that pathetic twerp? Someone who accepts her as she is and thinks of her best interests first rather than their own?”


“Yeah, I guess…” She hesitantly asked, “Did you notice… the scent thing…”


Spike smirked, “You mean did I smell her and the Watcher all over each other? Yeah.”


There was a hint of desperation in her voice as she begged, “Please tell me it’s just ‘cos they share a house. It is… isn’t it?”


He shrugged nonchalantly, “As far as I can tell they haven’t shagged yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”


Buffy’s nose did that adorable scrunchy thing, “Oh could you be any more gross, Spike? It’s Giles! There’s that icky age difference…”


“Face it, Buffy. Any human the girl would hook up with is gonna be centuries younger than her. At least going from Harris to Giles she’d be trading up in intelligence and experience.”


Buffy huffed. “I always forget that Anya’s not the same age as the rest of us… she acts so young.”


“Not young, sweetheart. Naïve. Considering her history she’s surprisingly honest and open and I admire her for it. It’s high time for her to learn to be a bit more selfish, I think, rather than feeling she has to constantly appease doughboy.”


“I guess… And Willow’s going to be going to England as soon as she’s done with finals…”


“’Bout time she had a strong hand or six to guide her.”


“Oh, I know. Believe me, really I do. It’s just….”


“You’re gonna miss…”


“Come on, break it up you two! You’re the ones with superstrength! We need you to shift the furniture. They’re getting ready to do the spell!”


Buffy lifted her head and yelled back up to her sister, “Coming, Dawn!”

---

At Althanea’s insistence all the windows and external doors had been closed and all the internal doors opened. Each room now held a small brass bowl of smouldering herbs. There were two in the basement and three in the large living room, one on the turn of the stairs, and they’d even opened the trapdoor to the attic and placed a couple up there amongst the boxes and cobwebs.


The smell was beginning to make everyone a bit dizzy except Spike, who after the first acrid whiff had consciously stopped breathing. It seemed the smoke had to be allowed to penetrate every nook and cranny of the house before the spell could begin.


In the centre of the living room floor upon the single remaining dust sheet, Willow had used coloured sand to mark out a triangle around one bowl and then contained that within a sacred circle of sweet scented candles alternating with what appeared to Spike to be a random selection of crystals and pebbles.


After carefully checking the layout for accuracy, and positioning Tara inside the circle at one point of the triangle and Willow at another, Althanea lowered herself easily into a lotus position at the third point.


She looked around at her audience and instructed, “I need you all to take three deep breaths and hold each of them in for as long as you can, please.” She frowned at Spike who had deliberately not inhaled with the others. “Including you, William. The mystical properties of the herbs need to be absorbed into your bodies. Only the people present when the spell is cast and who have inhaled the smoke will have the ability to enter the house uninvited.”


As Giles raised a finger and opened his mouth to ask a question she added, “And as is customary, only people who are permanent residents in the house can issue a new invitation.” She turned apologetically to Spike. “Except you, William. I’m afraid try as I might I couldn’t find a way to alter the spell to allow a vampire to issue an invitation. Any change I might have made to make it possible would have risked the barrier being permanently disabled if you had done so.”


He shrugged sulkily, “S’pose it’s better to be safe than sorry…”


Buffy nodded in understanding and as the three witches reached out and joined hands and Althanea began her chant she whispered to Spike, “So at the moment that’s just Dawn, Tara and me. We’ll just have to hope that there isn’t an emergency needing someone else to come in when you’re home alone.”


The three witches had their eyes closed. Althanea half spoke half sang a Latin phrase, her voice rising and falling in rhythmic metre, then together Tara and Willow softly echoed her in their normal speaking voices before Althanea chanted a new phrase. Gradually the incantation began flowing more quickly, Althanea’s voice becoming more forceful, and Willow and Tara appeared to have to rush to get their repeat in before Althanea began her next phrase.


Spike abruptly shuddered. The air around him felt as if it was heating up and it was starting to sting his flesh. Buffy glanced up at him and smiled reassuringly, her hand reaching for his. When they made contact he found her hand to be trembling and raised a questioning eyebrow.


Buffy made a little moue of discomfort and whispered, “Kinda stings doesn’t it?”


Before he had a chance to respond, their attention was drawn back to the ritual in the centre of the room. Althanea’s voice had stilled for a few seconds then resumed with a new lighter, more lyrical song in a strange musical language that Tara and Willow didn’t repeat. The candles surrounding the three women flared up, the flames growing to over a foot tall. They gave off a blinding white light that forced Spike to close his eyes.


After a moment he ventured to open them a slit to follow what was going on and he was astounded to see that Althanea’s rich auburn hair had turned completely white and she was giving off a pale silvery light all of her own. Gradually her glowing aura expanded to envelop the two younger witches in the circle, but it had very different effects on them.


Tara lifted her face to the light, even though her eyes remained closed. A wide smile of sheer joy spread across her face as it seemed to embrace her and sink into her. The colour bled out of her hair until it was so pale it was a warm creamy white and after a few moments she began to emit her own gentle glow, although it was nowhere near as bright as Althanea’s.


Willow on the other hand had tensed and hunched her shoulders defensively, her face twisted into a grimace of discomfort. The glowing aura seemed reluctant to touch her, sliding and swirling around her but leaving a few millimetres of clear space all around her figure. Her hair remained stubbornly copper and she didn’t glow. Instead the light appeared to be dimmed in her immediate vicinity as it finally crossed the last gap and enfolded her.


Despite Willow’s obvious increasing distress the glow swelled again and rapidly spread to encompass the entire room and its occupants. It didn’t stop there though.


As the irritating tingle in Spike’s skin intensified and coalesced to become an excruciating burning pain in his chest the light billowed and expanded even further until it reached the outer limits of the house. It appeared to sink into the walls and be absorbed, leaving walls, doors and windows giving off a faint luminescence before it rapidly faded.


The three women sitting on the floor slumped into unconsciousness.


The only remaining evidence of the circle of candles were small melted blobs of wax on the dust sheet and the onlookers were left wide-eyed with shock and gasping for breath.

---

Spike lit a new cigarette from the end of the previous one and then carefully stubbed the smouldering dog-end out on the tin lid Dawn had set on the back porch for his use the previous summer when she had got fed up with going out every morning to gather up his spent smokes that had littered the back lawn.


Inhaling deeply to smother the lingering taste of the magic smoke, he pursed his lips and sent an evenly spaced group of smoke rings up at the stars. He absently rubbed his chest where a residual soreness in the region of his dead heart was all that remained of the burning pain he’d experienced earlier.


After a few stunned moments the Scoobies had surged forward to help the stricken witches, who had regained consciousness almost immediately. Glasses of water had been passed around to freshen dry, smoke-fouled mouths and Althanea had immediately begun babbling apologies to all and sundry.


Apparently the protection spell hadn’t gone entirely to plan.


Nothing new there, then.


When he had heard that, Spike had left them all to their questions and gone around opening doors and windows to finish clearing the atmosphere in the house, which as Althanea had predicted was already largely purged both of the fresh paint smell and of the mystical smoke.


He’d got as far as the bottom of the stairs when he heard someone else already opening the windows upstairs so he had emerged into the gathering dusk, sat down on the back porch steps and lit his first cigarette. He’d half listened to Althanea’s explanation about a spell taken over by a Goddess who hadn’t waited to be invoked, and her repeated apologies to Willow for exposing her to a ritual she hadn’t been prepared for.


It seemed there was supposed to have been a break between the protection spell and the subsequent cleansing and blessing during which Willow should have left the sacred circle. At the same time the triangle should have been replaced with a smaller inner circle, and the smoke pot with a single blessed pure beeswax candle.


Rubbing his chest again, Spike mused that even though Althanea was an experienced practitioner and the spell had been meticulously researched, it had still gone wonky. The night’s experience had reinforced his belief in the unpredictability of magic on the Hellmouth, and done nothing to dispel his ingrained distrust of magic as a whole.


He didn’t need to look around to know it was Buffy and Tara moving about the kitchen as they cleared away the debris of the decorating snacks and drinks and prepared mugs of hot chocolate for the younger generation and tea for the two older Brits. He smiled as he heard Tara instructing Buffy to warm the teapot with boiling water from the kettle before setting the tea to brew, the way he’d taught her the previous summer. Since moving in he had become aware that Buffy hadn’t even known that Joyce had owned a teapot.


He would never understand how Americans could consider a teabag dunked for a few moments into a cup of warm water, or even in cold water which was then heated in a microwave, constituted a proper cuppa. Tea needed to be covered with actively boiling water and left to brew for a few minutes before it became palatable, otherwise it was just flavourless coloured water.


His attention was drawn back to his girls when Althanea joined them in the kitchen, thanking them for the perfect reviving cuppa and apologising yet again for the unexpected results of her magic.


“Tara, my dear. There’s something I’d like you to consider. My Goddess… That is… During the ritual I’m sure you were aware of the welcome she extended to you?”


Tara murmured a quiet acknowledgement. In an awestruck whisper she added, “I felt so warm, so peaceful, so loved… It was just amazing!”


“I have the feeling she was inviting you to accept her as your Goddess too, Tara. She is a gentle mistress, although she doesn’t lack for power and isn’t afraid to exert it when she feels it necessary. Please give the possibility some serious thought. I know you are concerned about Willow and how she will react to being subject to the governing principles of the coven, so I’d like to suggest you join us for the summer in Devon. You could spend the time getting to know the Goddess and exploring your strengths in a safe environment while Willow learns the rules you didn’t even realise you were being taught at your mother’s knee, and consequently accept so naturally. I believe you would be able to give each other invaluable support.”

---

Spike was a bit surprised when it was Althanea who came out onto the porch to hand him a mug of hot chocolate with his customary cluster of little marshmallows bobbing about on the surface. He was even more surprised when she settled down beside him, amiably nudging him with her hip so he would shift over to make room.


She cradled her mug of tea and looked up at the stars for a few moments of comfortable silence, then seeing him once more absently rubbing his chest she commented, “Buffy mentioned you felt the same stinging sensation as she did when the Goddess’ blessing passed through you?”


“Yeah, at first. Then it felt as if my heart was trying to burn its way outta my chest. Still a bit sore.”


Althanea frowned at him. “That shouldn’t have happened. I wonder…” She put her mug down, got up and stood on the grass about five feet in front of him, then took a few deep breaths and went into a semi-trance. She examined him closely through half-closed eyes, then after a few moments she raised an eyebrow in surprise and called Tara.


When the young wicca appeared in the doorway, Althanea asked, “Come and take a good look at Spike, Tara. Tell me if you can see what I can.”


Spike started to become increasingly uneasy and shifted uncomfortably. He went to light a fresh cigarette to give him something to focus on other than the close scrutiny he was under, but was dissuaded by an emphatic gesture from Althanea.


After a few moments the two witches exchanged a meaningful glance, and Tara smiled and nodded. She looked back at Spike and called, “Buffy, could you come out here for a minute, please?”


Curious, Buffy came to stand immediately behind Spike, then at a gesture from Althanea sat beside him on the step. Anxiously she asked, “What is it? What’s happening?”


Without answering the Slayer, Althanea shook herself slightly to dispel the last vestiges of her trance and turned to Tara. “I was right wasn’t I? You can see them too?”


Tara nodded. “Yeah. It’s weird, I hadn’t really looked before. Spike has totally changed. He used to be just dead black with little flashes of demony red when he got angry or he was fighting. Now he’s glorious. Buffy’s changed too, she’s much brighter and more dynamic than she has been since she came back, and when they get together each of them kinda swells to include the other then they blend into each other until they match perfectly.”


Buffy wasn’t accustomed to being ignored and her questions going unanswered. Grabbing Spike’s hand and weaving her fingers with his for reassurance she demanded impatiently, “What do you mean we match? What matches? What’s swelling and blending? Would one of you please tell me what you’re talking about?”


Tara smiled sympathetically and explained, “Your auras, Buffy. Both of your auras have changed. It must be as a result of the Claim. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s quite beautiful the way that separately you complemented each other, and then when you sat beside Spike your auras kinda reached out towards each other and swirled together until they blended into a single entity.”


Althanea nodded her thanks and Tara trotted back indoors in response to a desperate cry from Anya, “Tara! Xander’s finished with the blinds and now Willow’s hanging the new curtains all wrong! Come and tell her she’s got to switch them around, she won’t listen to me!”


In the next second Xander poked his head out of the door. Deliberately ignoring Spike he said, “Buffy, I need you for a minute, please. I have to know where you want me to fix something…”


When Buffy had disappeared back inside too, the English witch reclaimed her mug of tea and leaned against the porch railing. “Now then, William. Ripper tells me that you and Buffy have been experiencing each other’s emotions since the Claim. We’ve discussed it and we’ve been wondering…” She sipped her drink, apparently to give herself a few moments to think over what she wanted to say while Spike waited with growing trepidation.


“The shared feelings are probably a factor, but that can’t be enough to explain... Let me put it this way. As a rule a vampire has a very simple aura, it’s the impenetrable blackness of death only highlighted by flashes of the demon’s basic emotions such as anger, fear and hunger… but now yours…” She shook her head in bewilderment. “The only explanation I can think of to account for the astonishing appearance of your aura is that you are somehow not only sharing Buffy’s emotions, but also her soul.”


The blond vampire could only gape at her in utter astonishment. Althanea simply nodded and smiled and continued to sip her tea.


At last Spike found his voice. He spluttered, “You gotta be bleedin’ kiddin’ me!” Althanea shrugged and shook her head.


Spike jumped up and began pacing back and forth, thinking about the ramifications of the Englishwoman’s theory. If he did share Buffy’s soul would it explain why he was finding it so much easier to resist the bloodlust without the chip than he had expected? Would it explain why he found himself again and again empathising with Buffy’s friends? Above all would it explain why he was once more suffering from the crippling effects of those inconvenient morals he thought he’d shed over a century before? His shoulders slumped dejectedly when he realised, yes, he had to admit it probably would.


He decided to ignore these uncomfortable consequences for a moment to wonder what impact the phenomenon might have on Buffy.


He came to an abrupt standstill and looked into the understanding eyes that were considering him and anxiously asked, “If I’m sharing Buffy’s soul does that mean she’s lost a bit and it’s jumped into me? ‘Cos if so… I really don’t think she’d like that very much.”


She shook her head and gave a low chuckle. “Oh I don’t think it works that way, William. I think that the nebulous thing we call a soul…” She made a vague wide circular gesture. “…well Buffy’s simply seems to have sort of expanded to include you too.” She turned to sit back on the step, setting her empty mug down on the boards.


Spike nervously withdrew yet another cigarette from the packet in his pocket and lit it to give his shaking hands something to do as he tried to process what she was saying.


In a quiet serious tone Althanea continued, “After learning of your request to have your soul restored I was so impressed I began looking into the possibility of gifting it to you as a blessing from my Goddess. Making the process into a blessing rather than a curse like Angel’s would have… let’s say… cleansed… your spirit and reduced to a minimum any guilt you may come to feel about your past actions as a vampire. I meditated about it and asked for guidance and I have to say your reaction to today’s ritual certainly appeared to be an answer of sorts. I hadn’t expected Her blessing upon the house to affect you at all but She seems to have included you in the process with no adverse effects other than the burning you felt. I have a strong suspicion that She was testing your reaction to Her purification procedure…”


Seeing Spike’s astounded expression she hesitantly asked, “Although… perhaps given this discovery you would be content leaving things as they are? Or are you still intent on getting your own human soul back?”


Spike didn’t get a chance to answer her.


“No!” Buffy appeared, standing uncertainly at the back door with one hand held out in denial towards the older woman who had turned to look up at her in surprise at her emphatic tone. “No, he doesn’t need his soul!”


For a few seconds he could only gape in astonishment. After all the times she had angrily accused him of being a ‘disgusting evil soulless thing’ he found it impossible to take in her apparent one-eighty on the soul/no soul issue. He finally found his voice and croaked, “But you always said…”


Obviously sensing his bewilderment Buffy took a few steps forward to the edge of the deck and frantically assured him, “I was wrong when I said that, okay? I get that now! You don’t need a soul, you have this enormous heart… I know you love me and I… I love you just as you are.” She turned back to Althanea and desperately cried, “You just said he shares mine, didn’t you? That’s all the soul he needs.” To Spike she whispered desperately, “A soul… you’d change so much… like Angel… how can I be sure you’d still love me?”


Spike shook his head in denial. “You are my life and my soul, Buffy. Nothing on earth could make me stop loving...” His own words made him break off abruptly as he had a sudden realisation.


During the very personal exchange Althanea had edged towards the door intending to leave the couple alone to discuss the issue, but she paused and turned back when Spike hesitantly addressed her, “Your Ladyship… If you think your Goddess…” He took a deep breath and declared firmly, “I wanna try. Dunno if I deserve the attention of a Goddess, in fact I’m certain I don’t, but if you’re willing and She’s willing…”


Buffy was suddenly at his side with her hand on his arm. “But Spike… I know you don’t really want…”


“Yes. I do. It’s vital!”


At Buffy’s puzzled expression he gently explained, “The prophecy, beloved. It says to destroy the Hellmouth I’ll give my life and soul.” He looked up at where Althanea stood in the doorway and told her, “If I’m gonna give my life and soul, I have to make sure it’s my own soul. I can’t run the risk of endangering Buffy if all I’m doing is sharing hers. D’you see?”


With an understanding smile the Englishwoman nodded and assured him, “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to try, William. It’ll be a while, though. Willow will need to go through a full purification ritual first. It’s the only way she’ll be safe participating and I think I’d like her to back me up as well as Tara. As far as I know the petition I’m going to formulate has never been attempted before and it would be a valuable learning experience for both of them.” She chuckled ruefully, “As well as for me…”


When they were alone, Buffy looked up into Spike’s eyes and quietly asked, “You’d really do that for me? Spike, I know how you feel about souls… and we don’t know that my life would be at risk in whatever happens with the Hellmouth…”


“Can’t take the chance, sweetheart. ‘Sides, despite what you’ve just said you know you’d be happier if I had a soul.” Over her halting protestations he added sadly, “You think I don’t know I don’t deserve you, and that you deserve so much better than me?” He stroked her cheek and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m trying to be a better man for you, Buffy. If that means getting a soul… then so be it. It’ll be worth any consequences for me if it means I can go into the big fight confident I won’t be risking your life in the process.”


Wide eyes brimming with tears gazed up at him as her fingers entwined with his. “You do know I love you without it? You don’t need to do it for that…”


“I know, but I do need to do it. I need to do it for me, Buffy. For my own peace of mind.”


As they stood wrapped in each other’s arms, foreheads touching in silent communion, the only sound apart from the intermittent chatter and domestic noises from indoors was the rustling of the breeze in the trees and the hum of distant traffic.


Until Anya appeared at the back door.


“You have to come back inside now. Xander insists that we can’t go over the road and order in until you’ve admired his handiwork. I’m tired and hungry and I want to relax and watch a movie. So you should come in and do that. Now.”


All traces of decorating had been cleared away and the large room looked fresh and clean and bright. The walls were an attractive shade of cream that Spike had noticed was called ‘barley white’ which complemented the wooden panelling and newly polished floor perfectly. The colourful rug and new golden yellow curtains added a cheerful note and all the furniture that had survived the backfiring of Willow’s spell had been put back in place, together with the pictures and ornaments.


The only jarring note in the elegant room was the group of primary coloured beanbags where the couch and coffee table should be.


Ensuring that Buffy was turned his way, Xander stepped to one side, dramatically sweeping his arm out to display the section of wall he had been shielding. The gesture revealed two new wooden fixtures attached to the wall. They were highly polished and intricately carved. The upper one featured fire-breathing dragons and the lower was decorated with birds rising dramatically from nests of flame.


Buffy squealed excitedly, gave the startled young man a fierce hug babbling, “Thankyouthankyouthankyou”, then turned and scampered up the stairs. She reappeared seconds later carrying her Japanese swords. She lovingly placed the pair with the scabbards engraved with golden phoenixes upon the lower sword stand, then handed Spike the other pair and stood back, suggesting, “You should put your own up there, Spike.”


He automatically took the weapons from her hands. Gaping at her he protested, “Mine? But the little emperor said…”


Still grinning she gestured him forward. “I’ve only got one pair of hands, Spike. I can only use one pair of swords. I figured I should keep the golden phoenixes as I’ve come back from the dead. You should have the silver dragons ‘cos you fought one.” Her face fell for a moment as she hesitantly ventured, “Unless you don’t want…”


He hurriedly reassured her, “’Course I want them, Slayer. They’re magnificent. It’s just… they’re valuable weapons. Didn’t think…”


She murmured softly, “What’s mine is yours…”


Smiling and nodding gratefully, Spike stepped forward and placed the pair of swords embellished with silver dragons on the upper katanakake. As he was left handed, for ease of use the hilts were turned the opposite way around from Buffy’s.


The proud smile had left Xander’s face as soon as he had realised that Spike was going to benefit from his hard work. Sulkily he complained, “Buffy, I didn’t make them for him, I made them for you! If I’d known…”


Buffy rolled her eyes impatiently. “Xander, you still don’t get it. We’re connected. What Spike feels I feel. What I feel Spike feels. Anything you do for me you do for Spike too, and anything you do to Spike you do to me. If you want to take Spike’s back, you’re going to have to take mine as well. Are you really going to do that?”


When an answer wasn’t immediately forthcoming she shrugged and stepped forward to remove her swords from their resting place, but was stayed by a large hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Buffy. It’s just hard…” He took a deep breath and continued, “I’ll try… Just don’t expect me to be nice to him, that’s all!”


Trying to disguise a smile, Buffy reassured her friend, “That’s all right, Xander. If we should catch you being nice to Spike we’ll know that it’s a sign of the next apocalypse approaching.”


Anya broke in impatiently, “Can we go now? I’m tired and hungry and I’d really like to sit down and eat lots of pizza while watching a movie.”


The tension broke and everyone started heading for the front door. Spike managed a surreptitious smirk with a hint of fang at Xander over Buffy’s head as he laid a possessive arm around her shoulders. When the young man started and edged away from him nervously he quietly celebrated his ability to put the fear of Spike into the pillock.


His gleeful gloating was only slightly spoiled a few seconds later by Buffy’s sharp elbow in his ribs as she caught on to what he was doing, although the twitching at the corner of her mouth showed she wasn’t too put out with him.

---

Spike leaned against the bar clutching his drink and scowled across the dimly lit crowded room at where Buffy was flirting… no flaunting herself in front of a group of mesmerised drunken dockers.


The lace-up black leather boned corset top that forced her breasts up into an impressive cleavage and left a wide expanse of honey toned stomach bare above the co-ordinating hip hugging leather micro skirt that only just covered her bum, coupled with the sheer black lacy topped stockings and the ankle boots with the totally impractical five inch stiletto heels, had had an immediate effect on him as soon as she had shed the soft black leather calf-length trench coat which had concealed her skimpy costume up until they had arrived.


When he’d bought the outfit for her he had intended her to wear it just for him. In private.


He could see that the sexy ensemble was having a similar effect on every other male person… and a few female ones… in the place and smirked proudly as he gloated that none of them would be lucky enough to be sharing her bed that night.


On the way to the club he’d protested against the heels, saying that she would be bound to injure her ankles again if she tried to fight in them, but she’d just grinned at him and lifted her foot to show him, “Look, wooden heels. Stomping stakeage potential!”


She was writhing and shimmying to the heavy beat of the deafening music, apparently completely ignoring everyone around her, but at the same time she managed to brush up against all the men in turn as she worked her way around the dance floor.


As she turned to ‘accidentally on purpose’ rub her bottom against a pimply youth’s crotch and then twisted away, easily avoiding his clumsy attempt to get a hold of her, he had to fight to suppress the urge to barge through the heaving mass of sweaty bodies and drag her off the floor to a dark corner where he could ravage her as she deserved.


Seconds later she was practically giving a scruffy biker type a lap dance and he let out a frustrated growl as the glass in his hand was crushed, spraying his faded blue jeans with the remaining few drops of bourbon.


He gestured at the barman for a replacement drink and then absently plucked shards of glass from his palm as he acknowledged that the wide grin she was sporting and the sheer glee pouring through their Bond demonstrated that she was thoroughly enjoying the rare opportunity to, as she had put it, ‘channel her inner Faith’ without fear of consequences.


She met his eyes briefly and winked mischievously at him before turning and wiggling her bottom in his direction, and he realised she was enjoying the chance to continue teasing him just as much.


He suppressed yet another in a long series of jealous growls as she stroked a single finger down the enthralled biker’s hairy tattooed chest before moving on.


A second later a new thought occurred to him. Was it possible she was wearing the third piece of the set? It abruptly became crucially important that he should discover whether there was a miniscule lace-up black leather thong under that skirt.


And that raised a whole new intriguing question.


Where the hell was she hiding her stake?


Spike took a generous mouthful of his fresh drink and as he kept a watchful eye on his Mate he pondered for the thousandth time; why oh why had he let himself be talked into this lunacy?

TBC