In the aftermath of the battle, Buffy would have enjoyed nothing more than spending a few intimate hours with Spike. She was still brimming with the power offered to her by her friends, still bursting with more energy than she could contain; it would have made for quite an interesting night, she was sure.

Beyond that, being alone with him would have allowed for a little discussion about the chip, and whether he had truly tried to have Adam extract it. She trusted him, with or without the chip, no reserve and no doubt. She wouldn’t allow herself to have doubts, not anymore, not when he had proven her how wrong she had been before. But at the same time, she saw the chip as her ultimate argument against any criticism of her relationship with Spike. He didn’t have a soul, but who cared about that? Souled humans murdered innocent people every day. Spike didn’t – couldn’t – wouldn’t. It was as simple as that. And that was why the idea that he was seeking to get rid of the chip was a little troubling. The prospect of his skull being opened for surgery wasn’t exactly reassuring either.

But whether to talk or to make love, she didn’t get the opportunity to spend time alone with him when they finally came out of the Initiative complex. She wasn’t the only one still filled with energy, and it only took an instant before the gang had decided on a movie night at her mom’s house. A glance at Spike was all Buffy needed to confirm that he was a bit disappointed too, but a few quiet words once they arrived at Revello ascertained that he didn’t mind, far from it, his casual inclusion into the group’s night and choice of movies.

“If it means they’re over whatever mistrust they had for me, I can survive a few more hours in their company.”

The sudden silence confirmed that the other members of the group had overheard the smirked comment meant only for Buffy’s ears. She held her breath, waiting for their reaction to the mildly stinging remark. The reconciliation Spike had instigated was still fresh, still fragile, and she couldn’t help but fear…

“Survive?” Xander snorted. “Is that a joke, undead boy?”

A lopsided grin made his words teasing where instead they could so easily have been blows. He walked past them and toward the living room, holding a bowl of popcorn he had supposedly helped Joyce prepare.

“You’re stealing my best friend,” Willow mock-accused him, pointing a finger at him as he had done to her the night before. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t change you into a toad at your first argument. Or beat you up with a shovel.”

She winked at Buffy as she joined Xander. That left Giles, who merely rolled his eyes at the whole act and didn’t comment. Spike laughed and shook his head incredulously as he watched them go.

“I’m off to bed,” Joyce announced to the two of them. “Have a good night.”

The maternal kiss to her forehead was nice and comforting to Buffy; the same kiss pressed to Spike’s cheek was even nicer to witness.

“Shall we join them?” Spike said, grinning widely, and Buffy took his offered hand. The gang had left them the sofa. They lay down together, Buffy’s back to Spike’s front, huddled under a blanket but hands out and in plain sight. No naughtiness allowed. Not until they were alone.

All five of them were ready for a night of movies. All five of them were asleep before the first show even started. All five of them were haunted by the same angry ghost.

Walking through unknown woods when he had no clue how he had arrived there wasn’t exactly exciting to Spike; barely being able to see farther than his own hand stretched out in front of him wasn’t good either. The world was a blurry, fuzzy mess, and no amount of rubbing at his eyes was making things any better. The worse though had to be that heightening sense that sunrise was close, very close, and he had to find shelter soon or he would burn. Or maybe the worse was that feeling that he was being followed – no, stalked – by an unidentified presence. His foot caught on something – a tree branch, maybe, although he thought he caught a glimpse of a corpse – and he stumbled forward. He didn’t fall though, and when he straightened up glasses were pushed onto his nose.

“There you go. You’re a Watcher now!”

Blinking, he looked around him, his vision now perfect even though the glasses had no lenses. Giles was in front of him, grinning proudly as he cleaned his own glasses with a handkerchief. On his left was Buffy, and on his right… another Buffy. One looked at him as if she were about to stake him, glaring with arms crossed over her chest, the other appeared to have more amorous intentions as she smiled lovingly. They were in Giles’ living room, Spike realized, just as the Watcher clapped a hand on his shoulder and guided him toward the door.

“I can’t be a Watcher,” he tried to tell Giles, frowning as he tried to understand how he had come from the forest to the Watcher’s flat. “I’m a vampire. I just can’t…”

Ignoring him and still grinning, Giles opened the door and pushed him out, where, to Spike’s horror, the sun had risen. The vampire shouted as he expected the pain to start, but nothing happened. Amazed, he stared at his own hands, still not smoking or catching fire, and suddenly noticed his attire. He was clothed entirely in tweed. Not only that, but he was standing in a sandbox, Buffy sitting cross-legged at his feet.

“What the…”

“She’s out there,” Buffy said as she looked up, seemingly not surprised in the slightest that he was standing unharmed in the sun. She was playing with a small bucket, filling it with sand, but the more she added to it, the less it appeared to hold.

“Who is out there?”

“I don’t know her name.”

The answer was from Buffy, but it came from behind him and when he turned toward it the scenery changed to a cemetery at night. It was more familiar, but the odd feeling from earlier was back. Buffy stepped closer to him and he could feel her shiver.

“She’s hunting us,” she murmured, worry in her voice. He wrapped his arms around her, a little surprised to discover his duster was back.

“I’ll protect you,” he replied. “You know I will. I’d battle anyone or anything for you.”

Wide doe eyes looked up at him, and for a fraction of a second Buffy seemed younger, her hair darker, longer.

“Would you battle even gods?”

“Is that what’s stalking us?”

Shaking her head, Buffy pulled free of his arms.

“I know what she is. But she won’t surprise me. Be careful.”

A kiss was pressed to his lips, and she was gone. The sensation of being watched remained, however, and something moved on the edge of his vision. He didn’t like being the stalkee, had never liked it and never would. He’d much rather be the hunter. Without thinking, he followed his senses and started running toward the shadow that in turn circled him, ran away, and then came closer. He thought he had her, was sure he did, but the elbow he caught was that of a bald man who offered him a slice of… cheese?

“Cheese is perfect for all occasions,” the strange man stated cheerfully.

A noise behind him caught Spike’s attention; he turned to discover Willow, eyes closed and features grim as she sat at the center of a circle of candles. Her lips moved but he couldn’t hear a word of what she was saying. Past her, the door of a crypt banged shut – his crypt. He went to it, wary of whom he would find inside. But when he stepped in, he was suddenly outside.

Again, it was hard not to flinch in the sun, even more so now that he was in a desert, no shelter to be found anywhere. Pink fabric flying in the wind caught his gaze, and he squinted as Tara approached him, barefoot in the golden sand, calmly serene.

“You should be afraid of her,” she warned him, and a flicker of her eyes to something behind him made him turn. The same shadow he had caught sight of before was now crouching a few feet from him, and for the first time he could see her clearly. It was a dark skinned woman adorned in dreadlocks and rags, her face painted in gray ash.  She had a stake in one hand and a feral light in her eyes. Something about her felt old, more than old, ancient. Something more was also familiar, even though he knew he had never seen her. It was when she threw herself at him, stake raised high, that he made the connection, and he stumbled out of her way, startled.

“Slayer.” he murmured.

“The first of them,” Tara confirmed coolly. “She doesn’t like you.”

Spike snorted even as he walked sideways, keeping a safe distance between him and the Slayer. “Wouldn’t have guessed. Any particular reason why?”

He had directed the question toward Tara, but it was the Slayer who answered with a growl.

“Vampire!”

Again she jumped at him; again he sidestepped.

“Good vampire,” he informed her, hands raised inoffensively toward her. “I help her. I help Buffy.”

Another growl at Buffy’s name made it clear that she knew whom he was talking about.

“Bite her,” she growled. “Killed two before. Kill this one too.”

“No!”

The shout seemed to echo in the empty desert. He turned to Tara, who looked at him dispassionately.

“Tell her!” he gestured toward the creature that was almost as old as his demon. “Tell her I’d never hurt Buffy.”

“But you already did. You almost drained me. Don’t you remember?”

Startled, he once more faced the Slayer; the first one had disappeared, replaced by Buffy. She held the same stake, had the same markings on her face, the same light in her eyes, and he knew it was the Slayer spirit in front of him, not his lover.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he pleaded nonetheless. “You know I didn’t.”

He blinked, and in that short second the first Slayer replaced Buffy again.

“Bite. Kill. Stake,” she growled.

Without prompting, Tara’s voice rose, explained, and made everything even murkier. At the same instant, the Slayer struck again, and this time she and Spike fell down in the sand. They rolled together, struggling for possession of the stake, her smaller hand tight around it, Spike’s own covering hers.

“You kill her or she kills you,” Tara said calmly. “There’s no other way out of it. You bit her before, you will bite her again.”

Spike’s hand squeezed hard enough that the Slayer yelled in pain and finally dropped the stake. It slid in the sand, quickly out of reach, and Spike pinned the Slayer down. A flash of fear in her eyes made him realize he had shifted to his demon visage without meaning to; before he could shake it off, Buffy had taken the first Slayer’s place again, and two crimson dots on her neck marked the place where he had bit her a year before. He froze as the sight brought back the memory of her blood sliding down his throat, of her body so close to his, her warmth suffusing him, her life slowly slipping away…

“I won’t. I won’t betray her trust.”

His voice was quiet, this time, in complete contrast to his earlier shout. Quiet, but determined.

“I’ll protect her with my life if need be. Until the end of the world.”

Releasing her hands slowly, he stood, took a couple of steps back and witnessed her changing again.

“I won’t betray her,” he repeated, and turned his back on the first Slayer. He hadn’t taken three steps that she had thrown herself on him and they were fighting in the sand again. She had the advantage this time, and despite all his efforts he couldn’t prevent her from shoving the stake into his heart. The pain was excruciating and he shut his eyes tight, the image of Buffy and so much regret filling his mind as he lay in the sand in a crumpled heap.

I can’t say this is my fondest dream, far from it. And I’d rather we changed the subject.

Buffy and the others asked me, of course, what I had dreamed of, whether the first Slayer had attacked me too. I kept the details to myself. They certainly didn’t need to be reminded that I had bitten the Slayer before, didn’t need to wonder if I’d ever do it again.

Yes, I know what you’re thinking. With that bloody chip in my head, I couldn’t do it anyway. But I’ll admit that by then I was beginning to have my doubts. Pain is a fickle thing, so is intent. The question was beginning to form in my mind, not fully clear yet but a beginning, as to how exactly the chip knew when to fire. How it knew when I wanted to hurt a human. What the limits were. As many questions that found answers, eventually, though sometimes not as complete as I would have wished. In any case, I hadn’t abandoned the idea of getting the chip out; Adam was just a first try. And since the Slayer hadn’t seemed particularly horrified at the thought, I fully intended to try again, maybe even with her help.

It wasn’t long until we got to that subject. It wasn’t long until we argued about it. It thankfully wasn’t long until we reached an understanding and made up.

And that’s our whole relationship summed up in two lines.

Want to try to develop the topic a bit?