Disclaimer: The story's mine - the characters aren't. Don't sue me. Please.
Spoilers: None. Glory is mentioned...but only in passing.
Distribution: Isabelle's CarnalSins, Trish's Heat.Desire., eventually Kelly's and My NoBarrier. Anyone else, sure - definitely, but please ask first and let me know where it's going so I can be humbled by your kindness. Thanks.
Summery: Set ten years in the future. It's a special night for a Slayer and a vampire. A yearly event, so to speak. Buffy is in for the fight of her life...again. B/S because if not, what's the point?
Rated: NC-17
Notes: I want to thank everyone out there who told me I could write more than just Eternity. I guess now we'll just have to see, won't we?
Dedications: This one is totally, thoroughly, for Queenie. Enjoy, luv.
Special Thanks To: Kelly, because you're the reason for all of it. Helen, my long lost twin separated at birth (*eg*). Isabelle, a staunch supporter, sounding board, and true friend. Trish, without you I'd be dreaming up stories in my head, too afraid to put them out there. And to OGD and everyone kind enough to leave me amazing reviews. Truly, you are the inspiration.

The Anniversary
by Tracy (AKA Jericho TGF)
>> send feedback << - >> author profile <<

Part One

A petite blonde woman stepped elegantly from her Mercedes sports coupe after screeching rather inelegantly to a halt in the driveway of her home. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled back demurely in a beautiful, antique, cloisonné hair clasp and she was clothed expensively in navy Armani slacks and a cream-colored silk blouse. Moving with fluid grace, she removed her leather portfolio from the tiny space behind the driver's seat and closed the door, hitting the button on her key ring to lock the car behind her.

At the sound of the locks being engaged, the woman spun around and moved hastily up the walkway of the house on Revello Drive. A quick glance at the slender, gold-banded, Rolex watch at her wrist had her cursing softly under her breath.

She was running late.

Fitting the house key into the lock on the front door, the psychologist mumbled unintelligibly under her breath. Had any of her patients heard her, troubled teens all of them, they would have thought she'd finally gone around the bend.

Half of them were convinced she was already. She was certainly the oddest mental health professional they'd ever seen before, and they'd all seen many.

Most of the teens had often questioned just how broad a term 'professional' was when referring to the rather unorthodox methods this petite woman used in dealing with them. But they could never argue with one very important detail. Her methods worked.

Ms. Summers was a woman on a mission when it came to kids who had nowhere else to turn. Kids just steps away from either killing or being killed. How did she do it? Well, when the 'Untouchables' - as the worst of the worst were called before falling under the guidance of the small woman - first came to her office, an office set up more like a workout room than an actual office despite the very beautiful, large, oak desk in one corner, she was always dressed not as she was now, but in ragged sweatpants and a tee shirt that had seen better days.

And when those sullen, angry kids were sent to her for their refusal to abide by anyone's rules but their own, the first thing she did was fight them. And win.

No one could ever say that she hurt anything more than their pride, she never hit them, and in truth, after winning on the mats, Ms. Summers spent endless hours using a combination of physical training and the more accepted psychological regimen to bring her kids around. And each and every one of them had turned their lives around with remarkable speed. She hadn't lost one yet.

But if any of them heard their beloved counselor ranting about the rigidity of vampire schedules and the inflexibility of one particular, bleach-blonde, fanged fiend as she let herself into her home, they would have thought that the thirty-one year old had taken one too many blows to the head in that odd office of hers.

For Buffy, it was just another day on the job - and not the one that her kids had affectionately labeled 'The Torture Trail'.

Knowing there would be no one home to hear her, she didn't bother calling out a greeting in the house that she'd lived in for the past sixteen years. She just tossed her portfolio down on the floor next to the door and started stripping out of her delicate blouse even as she rushed up the stairs to the master bedroom.

In less than fifteen minutes, a new Buffy record if she did say so herself, a totally different person descended those same stairs.

This person was clad in tight fitting, black leather pants and a close-cropped, matching black leather jacket over a white tank top that molded to her body like a second skin. Her hair was no longer pulled back; it fanned her face and bushed her shoulders in soft waves. In her hand, not a portfolio, but a sharp wooden stake. The professionally modest makeup she had been wearing had given way to dramatic black eyeliner and glossy red lipstick. Gone was the respected counselor and in her place was a startlingly young looking Slayer.

And she was prepared for the fight of her life.

If she hurried, she'd make it to the cemetery on time and her opponent wouldn't need to know that she'd fallen behind today. One less thing for him to taunt her with as they battled to the end.

Not bothering to drive, she locked the front door behind her and ran down the streets of Sunnydale on her way to the cemetery. It was a well-worn path, one she'd taken more times than she could count in her lengthy sojourn as the Vampire Slayer, but this time was different. This was a battle that she knew was coming, had prepared for, had always prepared for.

Tonight was Buffy's anniversary, her tenth anniversary. And soon she would be fighting for her life against the same vampire she fought on this one day each and every year for the past ten. Spike.

Buffy grinned as she ran, not afraid of the battle that was coming, but thrilled by it. Her blood heated as she used the short jog to warm up, to limber muscles that had never really gotten the chance to tighten between working with her kids and her patrolling duties.

And as she ran, her memories pulled her back in time to the first. She thought back on that first fight. The fight that had started this all. The fight that set Buffy on a path vastly different than she'd ever thought she would have, mostly because she'd never truly believed she'd be alive to see this much of her life stretch out behind her.

But because of the war that had been waged ten years ago, she had. And there was never a day in her life that she didn't thank whatever, whoever, was responsible for making it possible for her. For making it possible for Spike. For leading the vampire down the path necessary for getting that government chip deactivated.

Buffy knew that if he hadn't, if the chip had never been shut down in vampire's brain, then Spike would never have attacked her that night so long ago and she would never have accepted that true change was possible for a vampire without a soul.

She would have missed out on a decade of love and companionship and life.

~*~*~*~*~*~

At twenty-one, Buffy's life had settled into as much of a routine as was possible for a young woman who fought demons and Hell God's as an interestingly dangerous hobby. She had put the Glory incident behind her, all of the Scooby gang had, and she'd picked up her life with a sister that she loved more than anything, friends she'd die to protect, and a vampire she'd finally accepted as a friend.

Everything had been going along fine, or so she'd thought. Dawn was doing well in school, Giles was helping with many of the details of managing their household, and when he was unavailable, or the shop was taking up too much of his time to be around as much as he'd like, Spike was always there. Always there. He'd become almost an institution.

Dawn cared for him, and her friends finally stopped worrying that he had some nefarious ulterior motive in being nice to the Summers girls. Buffy, well, to Buffy he was just Spike. Dependable. Trustworthy. A friend.

She hadn't had the foggiest idea how stupid she'd been in relegating him to such a bland category until he disappeared one night.

He had told Dawn he'd stop by for one of their bi-weekly self-defense training sessions. It would have been something Buffy felt responsible for, teaching Dawn how to protect herself from Sunnydale's nasties, but Spike had offered, and Buffy was on overload at the time, with a full course load at school and with raising an almost sixteen year old hormone bomb. She'd been grateful to her friend for the help.

But he didn't show that night.

Nor did he come by the next night, or the night after that. And Buffy's temper had flared to outrageous proportions with each day he was missing in action. She cursed the day she'd ever met him, she was furious that he'd disappointed Dawn, that he'd blown the trust that had grown grudgingly between them.

For eight long days, no one wanted to be on her bad side - which was the only side she had at that point. Even her friends started to feel the Slayer's temper.

It was finally Xander that made her realize that it wasn't anger she was feeling, it wasn't hatred of the vampire as she'd so loudly and repeatedly proclaimed over and over since he vanished. It was fear.

And when she could finally admit to herself that she was terrified that something bad had happened to him, she could finally go and try to do something about it. She started looking for him.

That's when it happened.

Just outside of his crypt that night, as she was getting ready to slam her way inside to look around for possible clues to his whereabouts, that familiar accented voice spun her around in her tracks.

"Slayer! Just the girl I was looking for. And how're you tonight, luv?"

When she saw him step out of the shadows of a tree off to her left, her heart skipped a beat in her chest. Clothed in his normal wear, black tee, black jeans, black boots, long black leather jacket, he looked just like he always had...except for one small thing. He was in full game face. It had been so long since Buffy had seen him with the bumpy forehead and fangs that it almost didn't register.

"Spike, where the hell have you been? I...Dawn's been worried about you! You told her you were going to help her learn some new moves last we- "

"Shut your yap, Slayer. What is it about you, anyway? Do you just like the sound of your own voice so much that you can't help but drone on endlessly like that? No bloody wonder you can't keep a man."

Ten years later, Buffy still remembered how his words had hurt her feelings.

"What...Spike, are you drunk?" She hadn't wanted him to know how this new - well not new, exactly, more like a return of the old - Spike bothered her.

"Yup, I do believe so. Drunk, Slayer. Though not on spirits, mind. Power. Pure power, luv."

The vampire had stalked over to her, stepping fluidly and purposefully forward. There was an animalistic feline grace in his movements.

When he was mere inches from the tiny girl in front of him, he smiled, and his demon gold eyes bored into her with cold ruthlessness. "You see, pet, there's been a change in my life of late. That lovely little chip I've been burdened with for so long? Well...lets just say I don't think the little plastic bugger will be comin' between us any longer."

Buffy stared up into those eyes and felt fear pool in her stomach and grip her heart in its bony grasp. Her worst fears had just been realized. Spike had been de-chipped. Her friend, the person she'd come to rely on for the past several months, was gone.

Something in her broke a little when she realized that she'd been right all that time ago - in a warehouse one night before things had taken such an awful turn in her life.

He really was just like a serial killer in prison.

Except now, somehow, he'd gotten paroled.

She had pushed away the sorrow and anguish. She had known that this day would come, after all. There had never been any doubt in Buffy's mind that, one day, Spike would get that chip out...or disabled...and they would finally have to finish that dance they'd started so long ago. She just never thought it would come so soon.

Glaring up at him with all the hostility her Slayer side could muster, she said icily, "So, I finally get to kill you."

Leaning over, whispering in her ear, he made sure to force a bit of air from his dead lungs to stir the wisps of hair at her neck. "Oh, you get to try, pet. You do get to try."

That was all the warning she was given, Spike used his crowding position as leverage and grabbed her by the shoulders. His hands bit painfully into her skin before he picked her up and threw her bodily back into the stone wall of his crypt.

Surprised at the suddenness of the attack, Buffy didn't rebound until he'd stepped forward and slammed his left fist into her face. She could see that there were no longer any ill effects at hurting humans and she allowed the Slayer in her to take over completely. She didn't even bother with the witty puns that were normally her trademark. If the Big Bad was set to kill her, she wasn't going to be able to spare a thought for being amusing.

Buffy spun and brought her outstretched arm around to collide painfully - for him - into the side of his head.

Stepping back at the blow, Spike felt the spinning roundhouse kick that followed the punch without actually seeing it coming. He shook his head to clear it and growled low in his throat.

The bloodlust that Buffy saw spring to his golden eyes turned her stomach. When he just leered at her, she knew this was one fight that was long from over.

"That's right, Slayer! That's the tune I like to dance to! Let's go then, pet. I don't think you're bleedin' quite enough for my taste - so to speak."

"Bring it on, Spike. You think you can take me? Bring it on."

There was nothing left in her but the Slayer, and this fight was going to be to the death of one of them. She knew it. She accepted it. Her heart broke because of it.

Spike lunged at her and she brought up her fist to meet him. Pivoting after the blow landed, she grabbed him by his jacket and used his momentum and her strength to shove him, head first, into the crypt wall.

Spike dropped like stone but he didn't stay down, he rolled out of the way of an incoming kick aimed at his ribs and leapt to his feet in time to block a vicious-looking uppercut. Grabbing the incoming fist, he yanked the Slayer forward and head-butted her hard.

Staggered by the blow, Buffy paused for a brief moment then dropped into a cartwheel and brought one booted foot down on the top of Spike's head.

It didn't matter, no matter what she did, the vampire kept coming.

They fought hard. It was bloody, it was painful, and it was long. Both took injuries that would have landed either of them in the hospital if they'd been human, or just human. Buffy even managed to stake Spike at one point, but a quick twist of his body as the blow landed had prevented it from being a dusty ending.

For almost thirty minutes they fought, tooth and nail, to stay alive. But the Slayer was weakening. She was tiring. And she couldn't believe that Spike just kept coming at her. She'd hit, kicked, thrown, and even staked him - but he just kept coming. That was when she admitted to herself that she may just be in real trouble.

And she knew real fear.

But then Spike slipped up. He made a mistake and the Slayer in her saw it. He had thrown a punch that she ducked under, but this time he didn't do such a good job keeping his balance. She saw the tilt of his body and used it, kicking out the knee of his left leg, the leg that was supporting all of his weight.

Spike crumbled to his knees, bellowing in pain and rage and Buffy didn't waste any time in spinning around with a kick that sent him flying backwards. He lay for a minute, flat on his back, and for the first time he didn't rise.

Power and victory coursed through the Slayer's veins and she stalked to where his body had fallen. Straddling his hips, she sat on his stomach and grinned coldly down into his bruised face. Her stake jabbed him in the chest, directly over his dead heart.

"You should have known, Spike. You can't beat me. You finally bit off more than you can chew."

Buffy could never actually say she remembered what happened next. One minute she was preparing to send Spike on his way to a dusty hell, the next his hand had shot out, grabbed her wrist tightly - pulling the stake away from his chest - and he'd rolled his body out from underneath her.

Before she could blink, it was she that was lying with her back on the ground, it was she who felt the pressing weight of an enemy on her chest, and it was she who was about to be killed.

Buffy stared up into the gleaming eyes of a killer and shuddered. She knew that he'd played her. He was waiting for her to do just what she did. And now she was going to die for it.

Spike grinned at her realization that it was over. She lost. "Always been your problem, Slayer. Overconfidence. One day it just may get you killed."

She was furious in her defeat, and not willing to go calmly into the long, cold night.

"Shut up, Spike. You won. Congratulations. Why don't you just finish it so I don't have to look at you any more. Looks like you get to have that one good day, after all."

He stared at her, the fire in her eyes. He may have won, but she was in no way defeated.

Spike bared his long canines at her and lunged for her throat.

And licked the salty wetness of her sweat that had formed there.

Buffy's eyes, eyes that had squeezed tightly closed of their own volition in preparation of the coming bite, flew wide when she felt only the cool wetness of his tongue against her heated flesh.

When Spike raised his head from her neck, he shook off his demon visage and stared down into the wide, confused eyes of the woman he loved. Gone was the monster, there was nothing but the man shining brightly in twin pools of blue and he smiled at her slightly.

"Don't think you heard me, luv. I said, 'One day it just may get you killed.' Didn't say anythin' about that day bein' today."

Buffy didn't understand. She sputtered at him in confusion.

"Wh-what? Spike? What the hell...get off me!"

"Oh, I don't think so, Buffy. Not just yet, anyway. One, I happen to like this particular position, what with finally bein' between your legs and what all, and two...well..." his amused and sarcastic expression faded away and he stared down at her with all seriousness, "this is the only way I know that you'll really listen to what I have to say."

Part Two

It had been eight days since he'd seen her. Eight self-imposed days of exile. Every time he did this to himself it almost killed him, being away from her. But he did it. Because this one thing he did was the only way he knew to remind not only her, but also himself, just what he was willing to do to be with her. And for as long as she lived, for as long as he lived, that's what his whole world revolved around, being with her.

So, for eight days out of the year, every year for the past ten years, he left her. He never told her where he went and she knew not to ask.

He had never told her a lot of things.

Like how, ten years ago, before the deactivation of his chip, he had felt like little more than a vampire version of Captain Cardboard. Without the nifty little horizontal perks that Commando boy had enjoyed. Sure, he had been grateful that Buffy treated him like a man back then, but he knew her. Better than anyone. She had accepted him as a friend and tucked him away in that neat little labeled box, even trusting him to a point. But that was all she would allow.

As long as he had that chip in his head, that was all that Buffy would ever allow.

Oh yeah, he knew her. And he understood her. Buffy's deepest fears, fears she never admitted to anyone - not even herself - were broadcast to him with an ease and clarity that defied reason. But he never questioned the knowing.

Spike knew that as long as he had that chip in his head, she was comfortable with him. She didn't have to examine what his behavior really indicated. He was a serial killer in prison, as she had called him once. She didn't have to face the ramifications of being wrong about that because he could never prove it.

So he'd been forced to take action. Knowing that he risked his very existence, he had gone to Giles, another thing that he had never and would never tell Buffy. Spike smiled wryly when he remembered the horrified reaction the Watcher had when he'd explained what he wanted from him.

After all, it wasn't every day a vampire pleaded with a Vampire Slayer's Watcher to persuade the Watcher's council to try to find a way to get the chip in his head either deactivated or removed. A chip that prevented said vampire from hurting or killing humans.

In the end, it was Glory - that vicious Hell God from the bitch dimension - that had been instrumental in saving Spike from being staked right then and there. It had only been about seven months after the Glory incident, and Giles well remembered how devastated Spike had been that night, how much help he'd been in the events leading up to that night. Something in those memories demanded Giles at least hear the vampire out, even if he ended up staking him anyway.

But after listening to everything Spike told him, he hadn't staked him. In fact, Giles had been almost convinced that the vampire wasn't trying to return to his evil ways. Almost. It took a witch and a whelp to bring him the rest of the way. Spike had offered to let Harris tie him to a chair, stake in hand if he tried anything, while Willow cast a truth spell on him. That's how much it meant to him.

He wasn't really surprised when they took him up on it, and even now, ten years later, he winced at the reminder of just how enthusiastic Xander had been in his roll of designated vampire trusser upper. Spike had ended up with some wicked rope burns on his wrists and arms when it was all over. Thankfully, his kind were known for their excellent recuperative powers - that wasn't all they were known for, of course, but he tried not to focus on the negative.

When Giles heard the truth from Spike, knowing beyond doubt that it was the truth, he didn't know what to do. Spike had proved that he had no desire to hurt any of them, to hurt anyone. His love for Buffy had, in fact, given him something remarkably similar to a conscience. It had fascinated the Watcher in him enough to proceed with Spike's wishes.

Giles went ahead and contacted the Watcher's council with an interesting offer. Taking full responsibility, and guaranteeing them that he would kill Spike himself if anything went wrong, Giles made his proposal based on the offer Spike had made.

The vampire would allow Giles to turn him into a blood drinking guinea pig. He offered himself up for whatever kind of testing or profiling Giles deemed necessary, would give a full account of every detail of his existence down to the most insignificant crumb, if the Watcher's council would pull whatever strings necessary to get the chip in his head nullified - however it could be done.

It was a ground breaking and irresistible offer, being granted full access to the inner mind and unlife of a demon, although the council had needed Giles' assurance that it would be the Slayer, not him that would hunt the vampire down if anything went wrong. Giles had hastily, if a little guiltily, agreed. The guilt was because he had no intention of ever letting Buffy know what his role had been in this. Neither did Xander or Willow, actually.

That worked in Spike's favor, though. He certainly wasn't going to tell the girl.

The word had eventually come down from Travers, the pompous and sanctimonious...but cagey and intelligent, head of the council. They had agreed to assist the vampire, to form a tentative alliance of sorts. And they gave Spike the name of a person who could deactivate the chip for him.

That's when it all really started. Spike had left that night for Los Angeles and was back in Sunnydale before the sun came up the next morning, chip neutralized if not actually removed. He promptly holed himself up in an abandoned warehouse as far away from the Slayer and her gang as possible.

For eight days he prepared for the coming battle. Trained, fed - on the same packaged blood he'd been drinking before the chip got zapped, he didn't hunt, he wouldn't hunt - and then trained some more. He needed time to prepare.

There was never a question that to be successful, Spike would have to fight for his life. If he wasn't at peak performance, she would kill him. Hell, even if he was, she could still kill him. But that was what it was all about. That's what it needed to be about.

So, with one last demand of the vampire, a demand proposed by Xander, actually, the plan was set in motion. Xander had insisted on being there for the fight that Spike had willingly admitted to planning - before the truth spell had been cast. Xander insisted that He and Giles both be there, hidden but watching, when Spike went into battle against the Slayer. And if it looked like he was going to change the rules mid play and made a move to kill her, they'd dust him then and there.

Spike hadn't liked the idea of an audience but he'd agreed. It was the only way. And he had known that it was him, not Buffy, that was really risking anything here.

Buffy wouldn't know that Spike had no intention of killing her. So, not only did Spike have two overly protective - and crossbow wielding - men watching his every move, he also had a Slayer that would do everything in her power to dust him when the fight went down. And if anyone could do it, Buffy could.

Spike was the one with everything to lose. With one decision, one choice made to follow a different path, he had risked his existence, the love that he had waited over a century to feel, his new friends...as odd and human as they were, and the trust of a young girl that had come to mean just as much to him as her big sister did.

That's why now, ten years later, he was standing alone in his old stomping ground, underneath a tree outside of what used to be his home. He grinned to himself as he slipped off the Cartier watch and tucked it into his inside jacket pocket.

A lot had changed in ten years.

Sure, he was still clothed in his old standard, black jeans, black boots, black tee shirt, long black jacket, but these were clothes he only pulled out once a year, now. Like dressing up for a costume party, except there was nothing festive in the look at all.

Normally, his everyday attire was a bit more upper class than what he was currently wearing. He was, after all, rich as sin.

As it turns out, the man that had been a bloody awful poet over a hundred and thirty years ago had become a vampire with a flair for storytelling. And when Spike was searching for something to do to occupy his time during the day, more than a year after the fight that had changed both his and Buffy's lives forever, he'd started jotting down some of his more tame stories for Nibblet.

He recalled that Buffy hadn't been terribly pleased when they had given the then seventeen year old nightmares for weeks on end, but she had come up with the suggestion that he use his stories to try to do something - and she actually used the word 'good', which was rather ironic, really - to carry his weight around the household. It wasn't as if Spike could work a counter at Burger Barn after all, as he himself had pointed out once. So Buffy had suggested he try to sell his historically factual stories about demons and monsters...as fiction.

There was quite the market for it. Spike sold more books than Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and all the rest combined. Darkly erotic tales of terror and evil and redemption, Spike's books touched a chord with his audience. Horrifying, haunting, mesmerizing, his readership grew to shocking levels.

That the author of these masterpieces of sinister fantasy had never been seen in public, that nothing was known about the 'man' that wrote under the assumed pseudonym Spike, made him even more popular. And the money just rolled in.

Most of the time, Spike just laughed about how amusing and gullible his human fans were, so cloaked in darkness. Keeping eyes tightly shut about the truth of the world around them. But the money was nice. And he could support the people he loved in style - not that they really cared about that.

There was one time, a few years back, when Anya, the little day trading genius that she was, had asked him if he loved his money as much as she loved hers. He had shrugged at her and gave her a half smile.

"Keeps me in blood and beers."

No one ever mentioned it again.

So he was different. Things were different. Life was different. Nothing ever stayed the same. But once a year, for the anniversary, he had always returned to a rigid set of self-determined rules.

Same eight day separation, in which he did nothing but train, feed - again, only packaged blood, he hadn't fed from a human since before the chip had been shoved up his skull...though Xander had tried his resolve on more than one occasion in the past - and train some more. Same clothes. Same location. Same night. Same girl, though she was a woman now. Same fight.

He was a creature of...habit. And the celebration of everything he won that night deserved no less. You see, Spike hadn't lost the fight - obviously. In fact, he'd won more than he ever dreamed remotely possible, ten long years ago now.

And he remembered it like it was yesterday.

~*~*~*~*~*~

During the eighth day of his preparation, Xander had slipped into the abandoned warehouse, looking guilty and more than a little depressed.

"How long you gonna make her wait?" He'd asked.

Spike had been pummeling a punching bag at the time, trying to work through the pain of being away from the girl he loved by punishing the inanimate object mercilessly. He used the unending ache in his chest as fuel for his training.

"Dunno. Figured I'd try to do my best to not get staked through the heart. To do that, I need to be prepared. She's stronger than me, ya know."

"Yeah, well, she's not feeling too strong right now, you ask me."

Spike stopped his pounding and grabbed the swaying bag in front of him. He tried to sound casual, but his stomach had twisted sharply at Xander's words. "What do you mean? She's all right, inn't she? Nothin' bad's gotten a hold of her?"

Xander had snorted ruefully. "Oh, she's fine. Miserable but fine. Making our lives miserable, but, hey - what's wrong with that, right? Disappearing without a trace, not letting us tell her that you're at least all right. She's been pretty hard to live with, Spike, and I'm not real happy about the decisions you're making here."

Spike turned and glared balefully at the morose young man.

"You think I'm happy 'bout this you're dead wrong. This is the hardest thing I've ever done, Harris. It's easy bein' evil, it's easy bein' bad - specially when you've got no soul to make you feel guilty 'bout it. Bein' good, doin' good is harder. But I've changed, can't help it. It just happened. And it's not that I'm tryin' to be good so she'll love me. I've made a choice to be good because I love her - and Little Bit. And yeah, I've even grown fond of the rest of you weird bunch of Scoobys." Spike smirked. "Cept for you, of course."

Xander finally grinned a bit. "Of course. Wouldn't want that now, would we?"

"Be a bleedin' tragedy, that."

The shared amusement waned and Xander became serious again. "She thinks she hates you, thinks you betrayed her trust. You are not on the tops of her best fiend list right now."

Spike barked out a dry chuckle. "Best fiend list, eh? No, don't imagine I am."

Xander didn't know if he should tell Spike what he really thought. He didn't know if it would make it better...or worse. In the end, it didn't really matter.

"She says she hates you, but she doesn't. She misses you and she's afraid something bad happened to you but she's denying it to herself - and she's taking her anger out on us."

That stopped Spike cold. He stepped toward Xander slowly, searching his face for the truth. "She misses me? Really? You're not just sayin' that?"

"Spike, come on. Do you think I'd come here just to brighten your day? Cuz I'm really thinking not. She misses you, and she's afraid for you. I don't know how much longer she's gonna be able to hold it together."

That decided Spike. He could handle his own pain, being separated from the woman he loved, but he couldn't bear the thought that she was in pain. It was time. It would just have to be enough time.

"Fine. Right then. We'll go tonight, that soon enough for you? Can you get her to go to the crypt?"

Xander nodded, knowing that all he would have to do was show Buffy how she was really feeling - just like he'd done one time before. He'd been too late to help with Riley, but that was probably for the best given the stuff that happened later. Spike was made of stronger stuff. He clung. Like soap scum, but still. Now, if he could just stay alive...or...undead...or...whatever.

"She's probably going to kill you."

Spike stared at Xander with absolutely no expression on his face whatsoever. Finally, after long, tense seconds ticked by, Spike nodded slowly one time.

"I know."

There was nothing left to say, Xander left Spike to whatever preparations remained.

On his way out the door, he looked back. Spike stood with his back to him, head and shoulders slumped. And then, as if coming to some internal decision, Xander saw the vampire draw in a deep, unneeded breath and square his shoulders purposefully. His head came up and he swung out again at the punching bag that had already seen so much abuse.

Xander closed the door quietly behind him, shaking his head at the lengths the vampire was willing to take to get his message across to the woman he loved. But Xander knew, of any woman on the planet, Buffy was worth it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He'd done what he needed to do that night. He'd let the demon in him have full sway over his actions and the battle between the Slayer and him had been long and brutal as a result.

And almost fatal. That stake in his chest had been one very near thing. But finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, he had her right where he wanted her. Really right where he wanted her, though not exactly in the frame of mind he would prefer her be in while he was nestled between her legs.

But the fight was only the first part; it wasn't an end in itself. Now he had to let her know what it meant. And hope that she wouldn't stake him just for the hell of it after.

He held her down and glared at her with his demon gold eyes, then lunged for her throat where, instead of biting her like she assumed he would, he licked her. That was actually just a spur of the moment bonus that sprung to his mind. She tasted so good, salty and hot. It thrilled him, burned his senses, almost pushed him over a sexual peak right then.

And he still just pulled back and looked down at her, shaking off his demon face. Choosing the right road. It wasn't even hard, really. And that had kind of been a surprise - a pleasant one.

She'd been understandably confused when he hadn't killed her. She stared up at his human face and tried to get her mind around what was going on.

"Wh-what? Spike? What the hell...get off me!"

"Oh, I don't think so, Buffy. Not just yet, anyway. One, I happen to like this particular position, what with finally bein' between your legs and what all, and two...well..." his amused and sarcastic expression faded away and he stared down at her with all seriousness, "this is the only way I know that you'll really listen to what I have to say."

"I said get off me, Spike. I'm not listening to anything you have to say. You're a monster."

Her words cut into him, but he wouldn't let her go. She had to finally get it.

"Yeah, I am a monster. Never denied that. But guess what, luv. You're not dead. You could be, I could have sunk my fangs in your warm little neck just now, but I didn't. And now it's your turn to finally admit what that means, no matter how much it scares you."

Buffy glared at him with suspicion and venom in her eyes. "Spike, I'm warning you, if you don't get off of me-"

"You'll do what, Buffy? Wound me with harsh language? I have somethin' to tell you, somethin' to explain to you and for once in your bloody life, just keep your mouth shut and LISTEN!"

Okay, so he'd lost his temper a bit...but he was what he was - a man in love with a woman who, right now, detested him. And he was sore, and wounded, exhausted physically and mentally, and sick in the heart. But hey, at least she'd stopped talking. Sure, she was glaring at him with hostility and he could almost feel himself turning into a big pile of dust at the sharp pointy sticks she was mentally shoving into his heart - fellow can't be too choosy, though.

"You never got it. All the time you've spent shovin' me into a warm, fuzzy little box - treating me like a man, a friend, you never got it. Deep down, you just wouldn't let go of the idea that I'm nothin' more than a serial killer in prison. Because if you did, if you ever questioned that, you may have to open yourself up to somethin' your petrified of."

Buffy snorted and rolled her eyes. "I get it. Haven't we played this scene before, Spike? Sure, I'm not chained to a wall in your crypt, and you're not chipped - but it's the same damn thing."

"No. It's not. I'm not here to try to prove something to you. You needed to see the truth. I'm a full vamp now, luv. No more a cautionary tale for good ole Spike. Coulda drained you dry. I didn't. And now you have to face the fact that you were wrong in everythin' you ever believed about vampires. That thing you're petrified of...it's the knowledge that evil isn't a given. It's a choice."

That had come from left field, and Buffy was suddenly very confused. She practically snarled at him. "What?"

"I can't help bein' a monster. Comes with the vampire package, that. But, Buffy, I'm not evil. Haven't been for a while but you couldn't see it - thought it was the chip that was holdin' me back. Don't have a soul, don't want one, but I still have a choice. You never wanted to be faced with that possibility and it scares you senseless."

"Really not following, Spike."

Spike sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. Not that he ever thought it would be.

"Took me awhile to catch on, gotta admit. But I finally figured it out. It's not that you were afraid that if I got the chip out, I'd go back to the maimin' and the killin'. Oh, sure, that's what it was originally and you've convinced yourself that's what it still is. It's not. You haven't let me in because you were afraid I wouldn't."

When she looked like she was going to interrupt him again, he rolled right over her words.

"You were afraid to find out that vampires can chose the path they take. Most of us choose evil, I grant you. But a choice it is, luv. You don't want to believe that, though, do you? Because you're deathly afraid that you would have to admit to yourself that Angelus could have made the same choices I have, but he didn't."

Spike thought he'd had Buffy securely captured beneath him. He should have known better. As soon as he mentioned Angel's soulless alter ego, Buffy went ballistic. He was thrown off her body before he had a chance to prepare and he crashed quite painfully into a headstone several feet away.

Buffy was up on her feet, feral rage shining brightly in her eyes, and one pointed stick firmly in her grasp.

"Shut your mouth! You don't know the first thing about that. Don't you even say his name, Spike, or I swear to God I'll stake you right here."

Coughing up a bit of blood, Spike got to his hands and knees. "It's always about him, Buffy. It's what you measure the rest of us against. Vampires and men. But it's wrong. He is the one that you shouldn't measure any of us against."

Buffy stalked over and stared down at Spike for a second before bringing her leg up to smash into his chin. The vampire flew back and landed hard again. He stared up at the cloudless sky a second before rolling up to his feet. His game face was trying to force its way forward. He wouldn't let it.

"Dammit, Buffy. Look at you! You can beat me into a bloody pulp, stake me, kill me for good but you aren't strong enough to look into your heart and see the bleedin' truth!"

She practically screamed at him. "What truth, Spike? Tell me what truth! You seem to have all the answers, spell it out for me!"

Spike stepped forward, knowing full well she could stake him at any time, and grabbed her upper arms in a strong grip. He searched her face for something, any glimmer that she was finally getting the message he was trying to send. It didn't look promising.

Knowing he was out of options, he sealed his fate. Spike's head swooped down and claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. She tried to pull out of his grasp, he held her tighter. She tried to turn her head away, he shifted his grip and wrapped one arm around her and sent his other hand to fist tightly in her hair, holding her head in place.

And the assault on her mouth continued. His tongue invaded, but she tried to bite him. He pulled his head back just enough to growl in frustration. "Let me in, Buffy. Let me in, please, luv."

Stormy, tawny colored eyes clashed with passionate blue ones. Pride, hurt, anger, and confusion danced in the depths of the tawny pools. Heat, desire, and a hunger that had nothing to do with blood swam in the blue. When he lowered his head again, slowly but just as desperately, he brushed his lips gently against hers. It was a question and a promise in one.

Something within Buffy, some part she had buried deep into the recesses of her heart, responded to the gentle caress despite her mental protests. Her lips parted slightly, and Spike's cool tongue wasted no time gaining entry. Question became fiery demand; promise became sworn oath. It was a heady feeling and one that even Buffy couldn't resist. She was swept away by the sensation and finally, grudgingly, surrendered to the longing inside her. Longing she'd never admitted she felt for the sexual creature in front of her.

Spike had been granted a view of paradise with that kiss. He shook under the intensity of the feelings it inspired in him. God, he loved this woman.

But she didn't know, yet. She hadn't got it. He pulled his head back, his eyes roaming over her flushed face. He could hear her erratic pulse throbbing at her neck and her quick, panting gasps for air.

"The truth is that you love me and you know it. But you won't let yourself feel it. Won't let it penetrate that glass box you keep your heart locked away in. Let him go, Buffy. It wasn't your fault. Angelus couldn't make the choice - he couldn't. Angel's soul twisted his mind. Made him worse than he was before, and that was bad. You saw it - saw how he loved the torture, drank in the torment. He punished Angel for his soul because he'd been punished by it."

Buffy's body was trembling and she couldn't make it stop. Spike's words pounded her, battered her heart and mind. Tears swelled in her eyes. The only thing keeping her upright was his embrace.

"Look at me, please, luv."

Her eyes met his again and she could see emotions that people didn't even have names for shining brightly and intensely in them.

"I love you, Buffy. I'm not Angel and I'm certainly not Angelus. I don't have a soul twisting my mind, nor do I have one to lose. I'm free to make my choices. And you know what - even if you never let me into your heart, it won't change the path I've chosen to take. I'm not doin' this to get you to love me. I'm doin' this because I love you. That's what's changed me. And it's not goin' away. I've fought against it for so long I can bloody well guarantee that. I won't be wakin' up one mornin', takin' up with bad habits."

Spike felt her body shaking and he released her slowly, dropping his arms to his sides and stepping cautiously back and away. He was slightly encouraged by the fact that she didn't move to plunge her stake in his heart.

"Now you know. And maybe, one day, you can trust me enough to let me in. Not like I'm goin' anywhere, right? Tried to push me out 'nough times to realize that, I expect."

Continuing to retreat, he watched Buffy stand still and alone in the cemetery. Turning away from her when she was like this was going to be the hardest thing so far. But he had to. He had to give her time to process everything he dumped on her tonight. He tried to make light of his departure.

"I'm just gonna be takin' myself out of stakin' range now, luv. You need me, you know where to find me. I'll be around."

With a spin and a flare of his long black duster, the vampire had disappeared into the shadowy darkness of night, and Buffy was left, standing alone in the cemetery. She had nothing but the echoes of his words rambling ceaselessly in her head to keep her company.

Part Three

The thirty-one year old Vampire Slayer made it to the edge of the cemetery before slowing her jog down to a brisk walk. She was full of excited energy, practically tingling in anticipation of the fight that was coming. Not to mention she hadn't seen him in eight days, thanks to his damned rigid schedules and rules.

There was still a grin on her face as she sifted through the memories of the battle ten years ago and the conversation that had come after.

It had been more than painful at the time, but when viewed through the lens of time and distance, and knowing how wonderfully it had all turned out, even the most poignant memory could be viewed fondly.

But 'fond' was a far cry from what she'd been feeling at the time.

At the time, she'd been little more than a trembling, aching shell. Alone in a cemetery, haunted by words she was deathly afraid were true - even as she denied them vehemently.

She'd felt tiny and lonely and lost after Spike had kissed her, claimed her, scorched her with a heat that shouldn't have been possible for vampires to exude. And she'd been very confused.

Spike was chipless and he'd attacked her. He hadn't killed her. He told her things that made her stomach writhe and churn. Dug up fears she had buried so deep that when first hearing them aired publicly, she'd raged against them ferociously.

And she would have just shoved them all away, she really would have. Pushed them back down into that dark place inside that no one ever examined. Thinking back on that night she could admit to herself that what Spike had told her had been so brutally honest, stripped her so bare, that her first, second, and third instinct was to bury it again and forget it ever happened.

That's what she would have done. But someone else had shown up that night, someone she'd never told Spike about. She had kept the secret all these years so he would never have to know that it hadn't just been his words, his actions that finally opened her eyes and freed her heart.

Knowing the truth may hurt him, and she didn't want to do that.

She could never tell Spike it had been another man entirely that prevented her from turning her back on everything he told her.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Buffy collapsed to her knees after Spike left, exhausted and emotionally spent. Her mind and heart were in turmoil, struggling to push away everything he had said.

It was absurd. Vampires couldn't change. They were evil. If Spike had that chip out, it was only a matter of time before he returned to his old habits. Sure, he hadn't killed her tonight when he could have - that was just an aberration, though...right?

It had to be. If it wasn't, if Spike had really changed then that meant that Angel could have...

But Spike told her he couldn't. And it was because of the very soul that Buffy had loved so much. How's that for punishing irony? It couldn't be true. That wouldn't be fair. How much was she supposed to be able to take?

"Nice night, isn't it?"

The voice made her jump, she hadn't heard anyone approaching - not generally a good thing for someone who was well aware of the badness that stalked the cemeteries. It was just lucky for her that the voice belonged, not to a demon, but a friend.

She wiped at her eyes hastily and got to her feet, meeting Xander's concerned gaze.

"Xander, hey!" False enthusiasm was better than a weepy Slayer.

Xander watched her defenses shoot up and sighed internally. Looked like it was intervention time...again.

While he and Giles had been crouched in the bushes, watching the fight between the two supernaturally strong warriors, they had been concerned that Spike, while having good intentions, wouldn't be able to control his darker nature and would give in to the blood lust, seriously hurting or killing Buffy. As they watched, though, they saw Spike get staked - almost dusted - before she brought him down a few minutes later. Concern shifted to the vampire.

Toward the end - though he couldn't believe he was even contemplating it - Xander had made a move to stop Buffy from plunging the stake into Spike's heart. Only Giles' restraining grip stopped him.

"Spike is doing this willingly," the Watcher had whispered, "you have to let it end the way it's going to end."

Grudgingly, Xander agreed.

But he really didn't like it. Somehow, at some point after the whole Glory thing, Xander had started to consider Spike as something akin to a friend. A friend he still mostly disliked...but, hey, he didn't want the guy dead...oh wait...he already was. Okay, so he didn't want him any deader. He'd rather cut off his own arm than admit it, but it was true. And Spike had proven that he loved Buffy more than anything; he would never hurt her. That had gone a long way with Xander. He had really changed.

So when the fight was over, when it was obvious that the two warriors weren't going to kill each other, Xander suggested to Giles that they take off - let Buffy and Spike work the rest out on their own.

He didn't tell him that he was planning on doubling back to eavesdrop on the rest.

Xander waited until Giles got into his car and pulled away before heading back towards Spike's crypt. And what he'd heard, the truths that Spike disclosed to Buffy, had left him in stunned amazement. It was so obvious when you think about it. He never had, even though he'd known for a while now that Buffy felt something for the vampire.

She wouldn't be so aggressively opposed to the idea if it weren't true.

But he had never guessed that the reason she had only allowed Spike in so far was because she didn't want to admit he really had changed. That's just...bizarre. And, as usual, it was all because of Angel.

Man, now that was one vampire that had done a lot of damage - both with his soul and without.

Listening in, Xander finally saw Spike leave. He watched as Buffy sank to her knees, looking despondent and alone. Not real promising. He had to do something.

"How's it going, Buffster?"

"Good. I'm good. Don't I look good?" Buffy's hyper rambling sounded off even to her own ears. She tried to calm down. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Just out for a walk, listening to the...night."

Buffy glanced at him like he'd lost his mind. Her eyebrows rose and she tilted her head slightly, waiting for him go on with his ridiculous explanation. Then it hit her. He knew.

"The night, huh? Interesting, what with the bugs and the chirping frogs and the...bugs. Hear anything special?" Her hands fisted at her hips and she narrowed her eyes in warning.

"Actually, I did," he continued calmly. Calm was the only way this was going to work. Calm and rational. "Heard all kinds of nighty specialness."

Nodding his head in the direction Spike had gone, he made his words as gentle as possible, "He was right, you know. About all of it."

Buffy's stomach was just destined to not be calm and happy tonight. It lurched into her throat. "I'm not talking about this, Xander, not with you, not with anyone. Leave it alone."

"I can't do that, Buffy. It's happening again and I can't just stand by and let you do this to yourself."

"Do what to myself?" she asked harshly. "What are you, anyway, my self appointed guardian angel? News flash, Xander. Big girl here. More than capable of taking care of myself."

There was barely controlled hostility in her voice.

"And you don't know everything. You don't know what's going on. Spike's chip is gone...or down...or something. He can feed again, be a killer again."

"Yeah. I kinda got that. But he didn't, did he? You know he won't. You just didn't want to deal with what that meant. Now you have to. And personally, I think Spike forgot to mention one other thing that you need to deal with."

Glaring was something Buffy excelled in, a fact that her friend was uncomfortably familiar with as she burned holes into him from steps away.

"That's good, Xander. Cuz I don't have enough on my plate right now. Please, add another yummy helping. Go ahead, tell me what else you 'think' I need to deal with."

Somber and serious, Xander stared into Buffy's stormy eyes for a long second before answering.

"Angel doesn't deserve the homage you continue to pay to him."

His words shocked and wounded her. It felt like he reached into her chest and ripped out her still-beating heart. Buffy couldn't even respond. The pain was so bad she fled from it. Spinning on her heels, she tried to stalk away. Xander's hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.

"Listen to me, Buffy, you really need to hear this. Angel left - maybe Spike's right, maybe Angel's soul prevents Angelus from making the choices that Spike can make, but it was Angel that left you. He wanted you to have a normal life. What, was he nuts? Vampire Slayer, fighter of all things terrifying, guardian of a Hellmouth, savior of humanity - NOT NORMAL. Big not normal. And if Angel didn't get that then he didn't get you. He didn't. He left. Riley didn't get it, either. He left, too. Spike hasn't. And guess what, Buffy? He's not going to. He's the one that gets it, gets you. You finally found what you said you've been looking for. A good guy that you don't chase away."

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest defensively and rolled her eyes at Xander's characterization of Spike as 'good'.

"Okay...so not a typical good in that 'white hat charges to the rescue' kind of way. But he is a good guy, Buff, good for you. One you don't terrify with your alarming strength and remarkable self-involvement - your words, not mine."

Her head reared a bit in surprise when Xander hit her with what she'd told him a year ago. She remembered the conversation. She'd been willing to change her habits, cut down on slaying, laugh at bad jokes, anything to be able to keep a guy that would...well, keep.

"Spike has seen your heart Buffy, that amazing heart of yours, and he fell in love with it. Of course it changed him, how could it do anything but? And he knows you love him. It's up to you. Do you want to live your life alone or do you want to finally let go of Angel and accept the love that you've been hoping for?"

Just the thought of living a life of aloneness sent the cold dagger of lonely plunging into her heart. She didn't want to be alone, she wanted to share her life with someone that she didn't have to lie to or hold back from. But she also wanted one that wasn't likely to wake up one day and decide to go all evil bad guy again.

Like who, Buffy, Parker? He was a 'normal' guy...and hello to the hurt and shame, there. Not to mention Ben, the poster child for Multiple Personality Disorder.

Buffy's thoughts weren't really helping, but she couldn't stop them from flitting through her mind now that they'd started.

What about Riley? How did you really feel, knowing you always had to hold back a bit on who you really were so you didn't bruise either him or his ego?

She didn't have an answer to that one. Buffy could feel the tears welling in her eyes. And Xander wasn't finished.

"You're not normal, Buffy. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. You'll only be happy if you embrace the non-normality. And that's Spike in a nutshell. Soulless vampire loves a Vampire Slayer, chooses to do good - he's even less normal than you are. And you've found another guy that doesn't hold back with you. Another one that risked everything for you. Don't let this one go, Buffy."

A single tear dropped, trailing down one soft cheek. Buffy stared at Xander with wide, wet eyes as her lower lip trembled. Something around her heart - maybe that glass box Spike referred to - shattered and dropped away, piece by razor sharp piece. It hurt, it really did, but it was a healing pain.

Everything Xander told her was absolutely true. Everything Spike told her was absolutely true. And if she were strong enough to accept it, she wouldn't have to be afraid any more.

Slayers and Summers girls are all about the strong.

Buffy turned her back on Xander when he finally stopped talking. She didn't walk away, she just stood and stared up into the dark sky. Her mind was spinning, her heart was pounding, and her stomach was doing somersaults in her throat.

Xander was right. She couldn't deny it anymore. And it was her turn to make a choice.

She faced her friend again, a small smile on her face. "I thought you didn't like Spike." Her voice was shaky but she was trying to get herself under control. Teasing Xander was always good for that.

Xander looked down at the ground sheepishly. "Yeah, well, he kinda grows on you. Like fungus."

Buffy sucked in a deep cleansing breath and reached up. Grabbing Xander's very surprised face between two hands, she pulled his head down and kissed him firmly on the lips. She grinned impishly at his floored expression before she stepped back - not saying another word - and spun around, running off in the direction Spike had gone.

Xander just stared after her, slack jawed and thunderstruck. Great, he thought to himself, you finally get a Buffy kiss. All it took was sending her into the arms of a vampire. That's one way you hadn't tried before.

He shook his head slowly but grinned. He'd done it. And things were going to be different for all of them from now on. Different but better. How cool is that?

~*~*~*~*~*~

Spike was bouncing off the proverbial walls. This last bit of waiting had always been the hardest for him. He knew she was coming, knew he would see her soon, but soon was never good enough. Nowhere near good enough. Not after eight long, lonely days and nights.

Leaning against the tree, he tried to calm himself down. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his pack of smokes, grinning as he remembered how hard Buffy had tried to convince him to give up what she considered to be his most disgusting habit. She was so bloody stubborn. It had taken three years before she finally gave up. As long as he didn't smoke in the house, she left him to it.

Spike could have quit, and he would have. He'd do anything for her. But he had been so amused that Buffy considered his most disgusting habit to be the smoking, not the blood drinking, that he couldn't let go of that one vice. It had become a symbol of how comfortable she was with the less pleasant requirements of his kind. She accepted him.

After lighting a cigarette, he pulled his game face forward to maximize his senses. As soon as she was anywhere near, he would hear her steps, her heartbeat, taste her scent on his tongue as his nose picked up that familiar smell of vanilla and spice that always preceded her arrival.

Ten years. Perhaps that wasn't so long when compared to the potential un-lifespan of a vampire, but it was huge for a relationship between a vampire and a Slayer. Not too shabby for a normal couple, either. And each one of those years had been more thrilling, more challenging, more exciting than any of his previous century plus.

They were good for each other, but he'd always known they would be. Who else but Buffy, a contradiction in her own right, could give him such a heady blend of fiery passion and tender caring.

He burned for her, ached. When he let himself be distracted by the more sensual delights that would follow their upcoming confrontation, his chest tightened at the sheer magnitude of feeling. A very long time ago he had admitted to her that she was in his gut, in his throat. She still was. That had never changed.

She was his eternal flame, shining bright, ever lighting the darkness that he, by his very nature, was shackled to. He could never be lost in that darkness with such a beacon of fiery life guiding him, enveloping him.

But after that first fight, after he'd walked away from her, he had despaired of ever finding his way through the endless night. He had despaired of ever being let into her heart.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Each step he took was torture. Spike trudged through the cemetery and away from the girl he loved more than his own unlife, misery slumping his shoulders and bowing his head.

He was kicking himself. He pushed her too far, too fast. He'd ruined everything. She would never let him near her now.

Oh man, she wouldn't let him anywhere near Little Bit, either. Damn it.

You just had to kiss her, didn't you, you soddin' git. What the bloody hell were you thinkin'? Iddn't some flouncy fairy tale, ya know. Are you really so daft that you thought you'd kiss her and she'd have some kind of bleedin' epiphany? Don't work like that, mate. Not in real life, anyway.

She hadn't staked him though, right? That had to count for something.

Unless she was just so mightily pissed off that she didn't know whether to shove a sharp stick into your chest or rip your head right off your body, and you just got lucky and escaped before she'd made up her mind.

So what was he supposed to do now?

Every ounce of common sense he had was telling him to leave her alone for a while. Let her calm down. Let her get used to the chipless but non-killing Spike.

But since when did he ever take the common sense road? Truly a road less traveled with Spike.

Unfortunately, he didn't have any others this time. It's not that he was afraid that she would stake him good and proper if he went back and talked to her...well, okay, so it was a little of that. But mostly it was because he knew her so well.

If he went back to her right now she would turn all that hurt and confusion into a stone wall of anger, shutting him out completely...forever. If she hadn't already.

Bloody hell.

Irritated...no, just plain mad at how his good intentions had gotten so royally buggered, Spike's steps sped up unconsciously.

Damn Angel to hell, this was all his fault.

It wasn't enough that Brood Boy took one women he'd loved away from him just by being around - and that still stung, remembering just how fast Dru had turned him out for her ponce of a papa - but the poof was also the reason the only other woman he'd ever loved wouldn't give him the time of day if she were standing next to a bloody clock.

Nancy-boy wasn't even in the damn picture anymore, and still he had Buffy closed up tighter than a virgin's knees. The sod.

Spike paced cagily in a small clearing on the edge of the cemetery, temper flaring hotly.

Problem wasn't that you kissed her, mate; you just didn't kiss her enough. You know what you should do? You should get yourself back to the girl, grab her up into your arms, and not let go until you've buried yourself deep inside her. If she's gonna stake you anyway, may as well dust happy. Get some action comin' and goin', so to speak. Least you know she wouldn't be thinkin' of the poof anymore. Not after she took a walk on the wild side with good old Spike.

Back and forth and back, Spike stalked. His body caught fire and burned at the idea of plunging between Buffy's legs, driving all possible thought of Angel - of any man that wasn't him - from her mind. The demon in him was goading him, stirring up his lust and craving for the girl to a fevered peak.

Images burst forth in his mind in blinding Technicolor. A stream of raw sexual fantasy that had him hard and heavy and ready for release. And they completely numbed his other senses to his surroundings.

"Spike."

He didn't hear her approach. He didn't notice her standing in the shadows, watching him with curiosity, wondering about the pacing. He didn't hear her call his name softly as he growled in sexual hunger at the scene in his head.

But the breeze shifted. And it brought her scent to him on warm night air heavy laden with jasmine. His body froze and he turned his head slowly, following the scent with his senses. Blue eyes, lit from within and searing in the intensity of their gaze, met hers from across the clearing and he gave her a pure animalistic grin she didn't understand.

Buffy took a deep breath. This was one of those moments that changed lives forever. And now all that was left was the letting him know. She needed to tell him he was right - about everything. Even about the part that she loved him. She wanted to apologize to him, for refusing to accept him for so long. For refusing to see what her eyes had been telling her for about a year, since he'd almost died under Glory's less than gracious hospitality for protecting Dawn. Oh, and she had some questions, too.

She didn't get a chance to form the first words.

Mindlessly, Spike lunged at her. Moving faster than she'd ever thought possible - even for a vampire - he was on her. She didn't get time to react.

Spike was driven by the endless fantasy playing in his head. When he caught her scent, he had to act. His hands reached out and grabbed her hips, yanking them into him, slamming them against his body. He heard her gasp when she felt his arousal pressing hard against his jeans. He felt her hot hands slap into his chest for balance, but she didn't push him away. Not that he would have let her, even if she had.

No, her hands, so hot, so small and hot, seared his flesh through his tee shirt, but they didn't push him away. He didn't take the time to question why.

Tilting his head, he stared down into her huge eyes, feral hunger blazing brightly. He watched for her reaction as he moved his hips from side to side, grinding against her, teasing his aching cock with the friction from the back and forth movement across her stomach.

Buffy couldn't move, after that first gasp of air she couldn't breathe. She was pinned to his body by vice-like arms and a stare filled with naked longing. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before.

It was too much, way too soon. And it felt way too good.

She could practically taste his hunger for her, it was huge. It was incinerating him. Skin normally cool to the touch gave off wave after wave of heat. Or maybe that was her heat, and he was just radiating it back to her. Because make no mistake, she was on fire.

She loved this man in front of her, a man that was pressing his hard shaft into her stomach purposefully, a man that was waiting for a response of some kind from her.

And she couldn't think of a single one of the things she needed to tell him. They were gone, fled right out of her head as her arousal - sparked by his - heated her blood and her body.

When her fogged mind realized that he was holding himself back, that he was still waiting for her word to continue, she tried to force words through her parched throat.

"Spike, I think I -"

"Shut up."

She frowned slightly in confusion.

"Through talkin', Buffy. Through playin'. No more bloody discussions. This is me." He grabbed at one of her hands and brought it down to his demanding cock. "Feel it. Feel what you do to me. You burn me, luv. Set me on fire hotter than the sun and I can't fight it anymore. I won't fight it anymore. Stake me if you're gonna, but do it now, because once we start, you won't get another chance. I'm takin' you tonight. You're gonna feel the flames. Dance with me, Buffy. Give it me good."

At the feel of him in her hand, her breathing had started back up with a choked gasp of surprise, but it was ragged and gasping. Her heart sped up and slammed erratically in her chest, throbbing almost painfully through her veins.

Suddenly, the words could wait. Her body couldn't, her needs wouldn't. This was Spike at his most honest and she reveled in it. The girl and the Slayer, together in one petite body, neither holding back, neither bothering to worry about hurting or getting hurt.

Buffy stared at him, breathing heavily. He still hadn't moved. Despite his words, he was still waiting. And she knew what she wanted. She gave him her answer.

"I want you."

And it was as if a dam had broken for both of them.

A rumbling growl of need rose from deep in his chest and he released her hips to grab her arms and pull her even closer. Starving for her touch, for her lips, his head dropped and captured her mouth even as her fingers clutched at his chest.

She opened under his assault, matched his greed. She felt his hand tighten around a handful of hair before he pulled her head back, exposing her neck to him. Fearless, she opened her eyes and watched him gaze longingly at her throbbing pulse. She smiled seductively.

"See anything you like?"

He was surprised, glancing at her eyes and seeing the acceptance, the desire, the hunger that so closely matched his own. He sucked in a deep breath and his eyes grew wide with a possessive gleam.

"Damn right, I do."

Baring his teeth, his blunt, human teeth, he sent her a look of pure sex before lunging to her throat. He chewed gently on the skin above her pulse and Buffy almost came right there. It was so erotic, so powerful. She trembled in desire.

Two could play that game.

She tore at his shirt, trying to remove the offending barrier to his flesh, pulling it out of his jeans and sliding her hands underneath it. She was rewarded when he shuddered as her hands came in contact with his stomach. His tight, muscular stomach. She slid her hands up each ridged muscle, exploring the texture of his skin.

Wanting more, wanting to push him over the edge, she dragged her nails sharply and quickly down the path her hands had come. His head snapped back and he hissed in a combination of pleasure and pain.

He had to struggle for control; he almost lost it when he felt her nails. Too many clothes. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her womb and he wanted it now.

But not here. Not at the edge of a cemetery where some daft bugger could stroll by at any minute and catch a show.

His hands, warm from the contact with her body, slid slowly and sensuously up her sides. As if she weighed no more than a feather, she felt him lift her off the ground. Shaking with want, her legs wrapped around his slender waist and she hugged his shoulders tightly. She buried her hands into his short hair and pulled his mouth back to hers, biting down on his bottom lip before laving it with her tongue.

Teasing him, she pulled back when he leaned his head forward, trying to delve into her mouth. Taunting him, pushing him higher and higher, she buried her head in his neck and bit down, matching his earlier move.

She was rewarded by his tortured moan.

Spike cradled her to him, felt her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, felt her teeth at his neck, and bit back an oath. She was going to kill him. He'd had no idea. She was really going to kill him if he didn't get inside her soon.

Unfettered by the weight of the girl in his arms, Spike walked quickly back towards his crypt, plundering her mouth the entire way. Playing, sipping, drinking from those lips as he moved her closer and closer to her capture. He had no doubt that by the end, she'd belong to him just as securely as he belonged to her. He didn't know how or why he'd been given this chance, but he'd stake himself before he passed it up. He belonged to her.

And the time for talking would just have to be later...much later.

Part Four

Buffy's Slayer sense was on full overdrive. As soon as she drew close to Spike's crypt, she could feel his presence. He was waiting for her. She hadn't expected anything less but it was still comforting after their separation.

She had developed an interesting ability over the last ten years. For some reason she could never explain, she could tell the difference between Spike and other vampires. His presence affected her differently than the rest.

As he had a tendency to pop up unexpectedly when he challenged her, keeping her on her toes and well trained, it had probably kept him from getting accidentally staked on more than one occasion.

Spike had been following her progress through the cemetery for several minutes. He could see her, moving through the shadows about a hundred yards away, hidden in darkness to all but his vampire sight. Her pulse was racing. He couldn't hear it quite yet, but he knew her. She was always thrilled by their battles.

This wouldn't be like their multitude of other exercises. There was only one night a year that he fought her to win. Most of the time he just worked to advance her training, sparring, not actually inflicting any damage. Basically stuff he could have done even with the chip...more or less.

Not tonight. Tonight was a full out war. It had to be. That was how it started. And it was time to begin.

"Slayer!"

Spike stepped from under the tree and tossed his cigarette to the ground. Demon gold eyes drank in the sight of her perfectly toned body, a body he knew better than he knew his own.

"Just the girl I was lookin' for. And how're you tonight, luv?"

There was a gleam of anticipation in her eyes as she emerged from the dark and into the cool moonlight. Her stake was in her hand. Beauty and the beast, warrior and weapon. She was ready.

"Must not have been looking very hard, Spike, I've been around. And I'm much better than you're going to be in a few minutes."

Each year he said the same thing, asked the same question, and each year she answered differently. Not to be difficult, but to stake her own claim on the evening, so to speak.

For Buffy, this night meant more to her than she had ever explained in words to Spike, though she had a sneaking suspicion he knew. Tonight wasn't just about his changes; it was about hers as well.

That first fight hadn't just opened her eyes to the truth about vampires, about him. It had moved her past the death wish Spike had called her on once and gave her a full life in its stead.

Buffy had ten glorious years behind her. Years that provided her with thousands of days that she hadn't woken up wondering if that day was the day she'd die. Days where she no longer felt those brief, agonizing flashes of just wanting it to be over, the fighting, the battles, the unbelievably difficult choices of life and death. And it was because of him.

As much as she loved her sister, her friends, Giles - who was so much more than a friend, it was Spike's love for her, his dedication to her, that had filled her, stripping away the inherent loneliness of her sacred duty.

She was the Slayer and the girl to him and he loved her not despite it, but because of it. That was his gift.

She walked toward her lover, her best friend, her love, her oldest adversary and staunchest ally. When she was close enough to touch, close enough to see the barely disguised passion in his gold eyes, she brushed a hand down his cheek. She shivered in anticipation when he pressed into her hand and closed his eyes in pleasure, soaking up her warmth.

He had missed her. A lot. She knew it, had always known it. Every time he took himself away from her it almost killed him. She respected his sacrifice and loved him for it.

Didn't mean she wasn't going to try to beat him, though.

Cradling his face in her free hand, she brought her other arm up quickly. The stake was aimed at his chest and coming in fast.

Spike felt her body tense through the contact with her palm. Without even opening his eyes, he grabbed the swinging arm and spun her around to press her back into his front.

"Now, now, pet. That wasn't nice. At least give me a second to enjoy seein' you again before you try to make me all dusty."

Buffy rubbed her butt against him, feeling his arousal. "Hey, not my fault you disappear for eight days. You know the rules, no quarter given to the enemy. Play to win, right?"

She could feel his chuckle rumble through her chest.

"True enough, luv. But you're gonna have to do better than that." He lowered his head and nibbled on her neck, grazing a fang along the pulse in her throat.

Buffy laid her head back against his shoulder and gave herself over to the feelings his mouth gave her. She'd missed him, too.

It was a brief interlude.

Spike picked her up and threw her several feet away from him. She lost her balance and went down, rolling gracefully and regaining her footing as she bounced back to her feet.

The vampire snarled at her. "Time to dance, pet. Let's do this."

He spun around and brought his fist in hard to meet with her face but she ducked under his arm and knocked his feet out from under him. He didn't stay down long enough for the kick she aimed at his chest to connect.

Spike grabbed her leg as he sprung up and sent her flying into a headstone. He winced a little at the sound of her head cracking into the marble, but he didn't let it stop him. Neither did she.

Shaking her head to clear it, Buffy glared at the hyper vampire in front of her. He was dancing on the balls of his feet like some prizefighter. How annoying. Especially as he was several fights up on her. Out of the ten years they had fought this battle, Buffy had only won three. It was positively embarrassing.

"Losin' your touch, are you Slayer? Gettin' a little soft in your old age?"

It was Buffy's turn to growl. She lunged at him and hit him with an uppercut that moved so quick he didn't have a chance to block it.

As his head snapped back satisfyingly, she said snidely, "Soft! In your dreams, you miserable excuse for a bloodsucker. You wanna talk about old, you should take a close look at your resume."

"True, luv." Spike ducked the right hook she followed up with, but got slammed by the spinning drop kick. "But I'm not one to deteriorate like you are. Immortal and what all."

"Immortal!" Buffy took a left jab and a right cross that had her staggering backwards. "You're not immortal, Spike, just long lived. A fact that I can remedy at any time."

Spike swooped in and grabbed her around the throat with his right hand, shoving her against the crypt and holding her slightly off the ground. His left hand closed painfully over her right wrist until she had no choice but to drop her stake. Her numb fingers just couldn't hold on.

Spike leaned in close to her ear and whispered, stirring the hair at her nape with his breath on purpose. "You get to try, pet. You do get to try."

Clawing at the hand around her throat and struggling to breathe, Buffy rolled her eyes in disgust. He loved that line. Used it on her every single year. And he always found a way to work it in, even if she didn't give him as good a chance as she had just now. The fiend.

She kicked him...hard...in the groin.

Spike felt the kick and winced as the pain exploded inside him. The fiery heat was so bad he may as well have been standing on the beach at sunrise. Doubled over, he turned his head to sneer at her but her fist came down to knock him the rest of the way to the ground.

Buffy bent down calmly and picked up her stake, twirling it in her hand as she smiled wickedly. "Now, if it wasn't for your amazing recuperative powers, I would be worried that the rest of the evening is ruined. Unless, of course, you're not feeling up to...performing later?"

Sucking in air to balance the agony from her kick, Spike barked out a wry laugh that would have been more effective if he wasn't flat on his back and his eyes weren't watering in pain. "And when have I ever not felt up to performin' when you're around, pet?"

"Well," she taunted with a teasing glint in her eye, "there was that time four...no, five years ago, now."

Spike rolled out of the way of a booted heel aimed at his midsection, wincing slightly but recovering even as he leapt up. He grabbed Buffy by her left arm, and flipped her over his shoulder with a quick swivel of his hips.

She landed hard on her butt and he yanked her back until she was lying at his feet, then spun around, slamming one boot into her stomach to prevent her from flipping out of the way.

He didn't let go of her arm and he felt the muscles in her shoulder give a little as he brought her right arm up above her head to meet her left. He sat on her chest and glared down on her, insulted.

"Oh, please! I sincerely hope you're not referrin' to the set to we had with that Rhomlix demon, or I'll have to remind you that I was sufferin' third degree burns over all my more delicate parts at the time. An injury I got while savin' your tasty little ass from bein' toasted crispy, if you remember."

Buffy winced at the pain in her shoulders, her mind leaping through all sorts of possible scenarios to get herself out of his grip. It didn't keep her saucy mouth from responding on its own. "Details, details. You asked for an instance, I gave you one. Now, you gonna get off me so we can fight or are you going to sit there and bore me with history lessons?"

Spike stared down at her. The fight was over. He knew it. They could go another round or two; they had in the past, but tonight was a special night. It wasn't just another anniversary; it was their tenth.

Every year they danced to this tune, it came down to this one moment. The killing moment. And no matter how much time had passed, or how much they loved and trusted each other, or who won, this was the moment that defined who they were over what they were.

Because bottom line, Spike was a vampire. Buffy was a Vampire Slayer. And each knew that but for the choice they had each made, they could kill each other. That's why it was so important to play this deadly game every year. And when it came to this moment, whoever was the victor in the fight, the loser couldn't help but feel a sliver of fear. A brief second to wonder - would the choices be sustained, or turned away from? Would they give in to their nature or would they rise above it?

Spike shook off his demon visage and stared down at the woman he loved. She was surprised at the change of routine but tried not to show it. Usually he went in for the kill before shoving the demon away, just like she did, thrusting the stake towards his chest, only to turn the end at the last moment and lay it gently on his chest. This was different.

He slid down her body until he was no longer sitting on her, but lying on top of her, still holding her hands over her head.

"Ten years," he said to her, emotion choking his voice. "Ten years and you're still the most beautiful, most challengin', most excitin' thing I've ever laid eyes on. I'm a lucky bloke, Buffy. Happy anniversary."

Buffy was unsure at his actions. He was always so bound by the rigid rules and schedules. She was thrown. "W-what's going on? Aren't you going to go for the kill?"

Spike smiled slightly and shook his head; twin pools of blue dancing merrily as they met her surprised gaze. "Not tonight, woman o' mine. Not tonight. I've made my choice, Buffy, you've accepted it. I'm breakin' with tradition just this once. Hope you're not disappointed."

The Slayer in her relaxed a little and she wriggled one hand out of his loosened grip to trace a finger down his chiseled cheek. "Disappointed that you're not lunging for my throat, all fangy and 'grrr'? Don't think so. Disappointed that you beat me AGAIN? Just a touch. I'm sure you'll find a way to make it up to me, though, so I'm not terribly worried."

The vampire grinned and grabbed Buffy up, jumping to his feet with her nestled securely in his arms. Her heart pounded, he could feel it. It had nothing to do with the fight they just finished and everything to do with the dance that was starting. He brushed a gentle kiss to her forehead and strode over to the door of his crypt.

Buffy's eyebrows shot up in surprise. It had been ten years since she'd stepped inside the dingy place he used to call home. When Spike turned his back to the door and slammed it open with his shoulder, both of them were rocketed back in time to their first night together.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Spike shouldered open his front door with less grace and more force than he'd intended, but he was overly occupied with the bundle of sexual energy wrapped clingingly around him.

The door crashed open and Buffy started in surprise, pulling back from his mouth just long enough to throw him a wide eyed, dazed stare before focusing again on his lips and diving back in for more.

She wanted him. She was on fire for him. Spike couldn't believe it but didn't dare deny it unless it was some kind of three-dimensional fantasy that would be stripped away from him if he examined it too closely.

Striding over to the cement slab of the tomb, he set Buffy down and pulled himself away from her just long enough to light a few candles, grinning as she whimpered a bit when he broke contact.

She would just have to wait, if he was going to be granted access into paradise, he damn well wanted to see it.

When he first caught her scent in the wind and lunged at her back at the edge of the cemetery, his demon had been driving his actions, but at some point on the trip back to his crypt, Spike had regained some measure of control. As tenuous as it was. He was no longer ready to mindlessly plunder the girl in front of him. He was ready to plunder her mindfully.

She was staring at him. The heat in her eyes, the desire, it was unmistakable. But he was enough of a man to need to hear the words again. He wanted to hear them.

"Buffy?"

Stalking slowly closer, boring into her soul with his glorious eyes, she heard the question he was asking. Even after everything, he was still giving her an out. He would let her go, even now, even as hungry for her as he was, if she just told him no. It was her last chance to turn away from him.

Never had she wanted to do anything less. Never had she wanted anyone more. Oblivious and uncaring of her surroundings, Buffy was driven by a force inside her that was greater than rationale, greater than common sense, greater than anything but the want of this man in front of her.

"Spike."

It was a sigh and a scream. It was a blessing and a curse. It was admittance into heaven and torture in hell. And it was all for him.

Spike stepped between her parted legs and brought his hands up to cradle her face. She raised her chin and closed her eyes as his mouth descended, brushing at first gently, then more in