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A little late, but hopefully the wait was worth it.
Feedback as always greatly appreciated.

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The evening had been nice, as nice as things got these days, but now Buffy could feel that Giles’ inquisitive mood wasn’t going to fade. She drew him into the living room, where they would be able to sit down to talk.

“What I meant,” she answered his question quietly while keeping an eye on the stairway for Dawn in case she came back down, “is that I need to figure some things out. And until I do, I’d rather not start patrolling with Spike again.”

She could see Giles’s question before he even voiced it; and she answered it right away or at least tried to. However, it wasn’t easy seeing how it was one of the things she wanted to figure out. “We’re OK. As a couple, I mean. At least, I think. It’s just… the slaying stuff is getting in the way.”

Giles frowned and, predictably, took off his glasses for a bit of fine polishing.

“The slaying stuff is getting in the way?” he repeated, sounding perplexed. “I don’t mean to pry into your relationship, Buffy, but… He’s been patrolling for you since…”

“Yes he has,” she cut in quickly, unable to hear Giles refer to her mother’s passing. “And that’s part of what I need to figure out. I know he’s here, I know he’ll take patrol as long as I let him, and… it’s easy to do that and not worry about vampires a little longer. But at the same time, slaying is my job. My calling. And I shouldn’t rely so much on him.”

Buffy’s eyes had dropped to Giles’ hands, and she watched absently as his fingers slowed down and finally stopped rubbing at the lenses.

“He helps you, yes, but so do your friends, and so do I. It never seemed to bother you.”

“It’s different,” she sighed. “Because he’s a vampire and…”

She shook her head, unwilling to continue and let Giles know how she had allowed a vampire to walk free because Spike had asked it of her. How she had started doubting her own decisions, her own strength; because so often, they meshed with Spike’s, and she couldn’t see where she ended and he started. She wasn’t sure anymore that she could truly be the Slayer if she let him have that much of an influence on her. She loved him, more than words could say; she still reveled in his presence when he came to see her after patrol and stayed, sometimes for an hour, sometimes for the night. But despite Angel’s word of advice about accepting all the help she was offered, despite all the thoughts she had given it since the funeral, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that, as the Slayer, she ought to stand and fight alone.

“I’ve been training so hard this year to be a better Slayer,” she murmured. “So why do I lean so much on him? Doesn’t it negate what I was trying to do?”

She looked up to meet Giles’ eyes, and sincerely hoped he would have an answer for her. What he had, instead, was an offer.

“If what you need is to discern what makes you the Slayer… I might have something for you.”

She gave him a quick nod as she sat up straighter, and he continued. “While doing some extra reading for your training, I found references to something… a quest of sorts.”

“A quest? Like finding a grail or something?”

”Not a grail. Maybe answers. It would take a day, perhaps two.”

She stood and shook her head. “I'm not leaving Dawn. Not with Glory looking for her.”

Dawn chose that moment to enter the room, and insisted on knowing what they were talking about.

“Just ask Spike to stay here while you’re gone,” she suggested when she knew. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Buffy winced at the idea of asking Spike for yet more help. Giles seemed to understand as he quickly jumped in.

“Spike is busy with patrols,” he pointed out. “Maybe Willow and Tara? Or Xander and Anya?”

And with a few more words and a phone call, it was decided. Buffy would go the next day with Giles on a spiritual quest, and hopefully manage to find the answers she needed. It seemed simple when she explained it to Willow over the phone, but it was considerably less easy to tell Spike about it when he came by later that night.

“A quest? A quest for what?”

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, looking at him where he leaned against the windowsill. With the only source of light coming from outside, she could see the outline of his face, but little more.

“For myself, mostly,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. “Or at least, the Slayer in me.”

Somehow, she had been sure he would protest her leaving or would have asked to come along. Instead, he remained quiet for a moment, before finally nodding.

“I’ll miss you,” he said. “But if it helps…”

He stepped closer to the bed and leaned down for a kiss, barely brushing his lips to hers. She drew back first and he sighed as he straightened again.

“Wish I could help, luv,” he sighed, and she could hear the intense frustration in his voice.

“I know.”

He left soon after, wishing her well on her trip, and she could only wonder what else he wasn’t saying. Wonder, also, whether the next time she would see him things would be any different.

Even though he struggled to keep his composure, Spike was shocked. Warren had done a magnificent job of reproducing Buffy’s features; all that was missing was a heartbeat and a scent and the robot would have been able to fool even him. At least, its appearance could have. He still needed to see whether her movements could pass for human, and more importantly, whether she could fight decently.

“It looks good,” he conceded. “But what about the rest? Talking, walking, fighting?”

Warren looked nervous as he stuffed books into a backpack, and Spike couldn’t help but wonder whether it was because of a problem with the robot or because he was afraid of his vampire customer.

“She can do all that,” he said quickly. “I had to improvise on some stuff, like adding to her memory bank so she’d know who her friends are and how to react in all sorts of situations. You were rather vague on…”

Spike frowned at him, and Warren’s eyes widened. “Not that I mean you didn’t give me enough information to work with,” he added, almost tripping over his own tongue. “Just that I made good use of the memory possibilities. So you’d be satisfied.”

The human gulped and Spike returned his attention to the robot, about to comment that he wasn’t sure yet whether he was satisfied or not. But at that moment, the robot’s eyes opened and it smiled, a huge, delighted smile, the same kind of smile Spike hadn’t seen on Buffy’s lips in far too long.

“Spike!”

The voice sounded alright, if a tad too cheerful, Spike mentally noted. Before he could make any other observation though, the robot had crossed the few steps that separated them, grabbed his shoulders and pressed its lips to his. Too startled to move, Spike remained immobile until the robot had let go of him. Then he blinked, twice, and turned a murderous glare to Warren.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

“There… there are several kissing programs if… if you don’t like that one,” Warren stuttered. “Just tell her to try another…”

“Kissing programs?” Spike repeated, incredulous. “Who the hell asked you for kissing programs?! I asked you to make a Slayer robot!”

Spike was two seconds away from vamping out, and Warren looked like he was about to get sick.

“You said to make her like Buffy,” he pleaded. “And I did just that. She’s the best girlfriend you…”

“A Slayer!” Spike cut in, exasperated. “I asked you for a Slayer, not a bloody girlfriend!”

Through the broken explanation that followed, Spike understood that Warren, in good faith, had believed that Spike wanted a sex-bot and had programmed the machine as such. However, he promised, Spike simply had to instruct the robot not to act in a certain way and the girlfriend programs would be overruled. Spike was rather dubious as he eyed the still smiling machine, but if it could truly fight, it was worth a try. And undoubtedly, it was a good thing Buffy would be out of town while he made it clear to the machine that kissing - and anything more - was out of the question. This certainly would have been easier to do if she – it – hadn’t kissed so nicely and made Spike wonder what else it could do exactly.

After a day spent in his crypt trying to teach the robot proper etiquette where he was concerned, Spike was almost ready to call it quits. Despite his repeated attempts at forbidding what would have been delightful flirting from the real Buffy but felt an awful lot like cheating from this mechanical version of her, he was seriously beginning to doubt this particular plan of his would work. He had sparred with the robot, and as Warren had promised it could fight, but the chattering and touching were driving him crazy. He had even tried to order the thing to remain in the upper level while he caught some sleep in the lower part of the crypt, but after an hour or so he had been awoken by a very much nude and eerily familiar body pressed to his own.

He had been tempted, God only knew how much, especially after not being able to do more than hold Buffy for the past dozen nights, when she accepted his touch at all. But he wasn’t that desperate yet as to pretend a robot was the real thing. He had ordered her out of his bed, and had tried not to watch as, pouting a little, she had put her clothes back on. She wasn’t exactly like Buffy, but he doubted anyone other than him and Buffy herself would have been able to notice.

Now that the sun had set, he was intent on finding out if the robot could pass for the Slayer; he almost wished it couldn’t, so that he could put this idea behind him and forget about it before Buffy even found out.

“Come on, let’s go patrol.”

With a huge smile on its face and a bounce to its step, the bot followed Spike out of the crypt.

“It is so good of you to help me slay,” it chirped. “You are such a good boyfriend!”

Barely suppressing a growl, Spike stopped dead in his tracks and pointed a threatening finger at the blonde menace.

“Listen, for the hundredth time, I. Am. Not. Your. Boyfriend!”

The smile didn’t fade and the robot nodded. “Of course. You’re more than that. You’re my partner and…”

Refusing to hear any more, Spike pivoted on his heels, rolling his eyes. And came face to face with Anya and Xander. The two of them looked rather bemused.

“Is there a problem?” Xander asked cautiously, his eyes going from Spike to the bot and back.

Spike had to think fast. If he told these two, there was no way he would be able to keep the existence of the robot from Buffy if he decided it wasn’t working, which seemed more and more likely.

“No problem,” he said with his best grin. “Is there, luv?”

If possible, the robot’s smile widened as Spike looked back and it approached to thread its arm with Spike’s. It rubbed against his side, and Spike couldn’t help himself, he had to break the contact.

“There is no problem,” the robot said nonetheless, making googly eyes at him. “Everything is perfectly perfect since you are here.”

Biting the inside of his own cheek so he wouldn’t groan, Spike considered the couple across from him. Could they be oblivious enough to believe that this extra smiling and cheerful Buffy was the real deal? Apparently, they were.

“You’re back already?” Xander asked the would-be-Buffy, frowning slightly. “How was the whole vision-quest experience?”

The robot looked straight at Xander and after a second, answered: “I don’t understand that question. But thank you for asking.”

Spike winced at her reply, and rushed to find an explanation to her words. “She’s still… you know… out there.”

Thankfully, three vampires chose that instant to show up, preventing Spike from having to be any more convincing. He took care of one, leaving one to the bot and the last to the two humans. He kept an eye on the others as he fought, and his distraction preventing him from dusting his adversary as quickly as he ought to have done. Similarly, the robot was apparently watching him, and it ran to his aid when Spike failed to finish his fight right away, staking the vampire before fussing over him.

“Are you alright? I like watching you fight, you’re so manly and strong, but I was getting worried.”

For a second – not even that, half a second – Spike forgot that the concern in the lovely eyes looking at him wasn’t as fake as the bot itself. Buffy looked at him like this, sometimes. Or at least, she used to. Would she ever again?

“’M fine,” he said gruffly, and pulled away from the gentle petting the robot was doing.

Sending Xander and Anya home wasn’t too hard, even though Xander looked as if he weren’t as oblivious as Spike had hoped. Leading the bot back to the crypt wasn’t complicated either; it obviously believed that something would happen there. But to explain to the machine that if it didn’t stop acting as though they were in a relationship Spike would pull the plug was something else altogether.

Strangely enough, Spike couldn’t help the unpleasant feeling that by doing that, he was breaking up with Buffy.

The view outside the window started becoming familiar, and Buffy stirred in her seat, stretching sore muscles. Back in Sunnydale – even if the town sign seemed to be broken again – after a night spent in the desert. Straight back to Go, without the end of turn bonus or sudden enlightenment.

She had met her guide, just as Giles had said she would, a guide who had taken the form of the First Slayer she had met in her dreams almost a year earlier. And it had taken not only her appearance, but also her oh so frustrating way of speaking. A year before, the First Slayer had reproached Buffy for her alliance with mere mortals and, worse, a vampire, and Buffy had refused to hear her. That night, the guide had been much less clear, and Buffy wasn’t even sure her questions had been answered.

She could love, the guide had said. She was full of love. She could even love a demon if that was what she chose. But she had to keep in mind another love, more primordial, more important, that was to be protected beyond everything.

But what love was that? Her sister’s? Her family’s and friends’? The guide had refused to tell, only insisted that she ought not to hide behind the fact that she was the Slayer to refuse to love. Then… then the truly spooky talk had started, with the guide linking together love and pain, and claiming that love would bring Buffy to her gift. A gift that, apparently, was death.

She still had no clue what all that meant. She only knew she didn’t like the sound of it one little bit. Yet, she kept hearing the words, echoing in her mind. Was there a clue, in there, to help her be the best Slayer she could be? To help her defeat Glory, even, perhaps?

“Buffy? We’re there.”

Startled, she looked at Giles, then through the windshield. They were, indeed, parked in her driveway.

“Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?” she offered. “It’s been a long day and night.”

She hadn’t told him much about her encounter with the guide, requesting time to think about it. But maybe talking to him might help her decipher the riddle. He seemed to sense her mood, because he gave her with that piercing look he sometimes used, the one that appeared to read everything that was on her mind.

“Coffee,” he agreed. “Or tea, if you have some. I’m going to stretch my legs, I’ll join you inside in a minute.”

The empty house Buffy thought she was entering turned out not so empty after all, and she quickly discovered the almost complete gang assembled in the living room. Confusion ensued, and soon she was almost persuaded that she was still in the desert, dreaming senseless dreams.

Then the robot appeared, and everything became luminous.

Spike had had a robot made to look just like her. He had, if Anya’s and Xander’s accounts were to be believed, been patrolling with it, pretending that it was her. He had also, it seemed, been rather abrupt in the way he dealt with it, to the point that, concerned, Xander had gone to talk to him. In other words, he had gotten a toy that looked like her, was unbearably perky, and didn’t mind that he treated it like the cheap piece of plastic and wires it was.

“I am so going to stake him,” she muttered, incensed.

“Oh, but you can’t stake him,” the robot protested cheerfully. “He is my boyfriend. And he looks good naked, too.”

“And I’m going to destroy you before I do anything else,” Buffy added, already taking a step toward the robot. “I can’t believe he tried to replace me with that… that… thing!”

Giles clearing his throat behind her caught her attention. “It wasn’t about replacing you,” he said, sounding a little uneasy. “He thought that this robot might help with patrol, lighten your load. It seemed like an interesting idea…”

Blinking slowly, she stared at him, incredulous. “You knew? You knew and you let him…”

“People!” the robot cut in. “Friends of mine. You’re forgetting the most important thing. Glory has Spike and she’s going to harm him.”

And those simple words answered Buffy’s questions about love, Slayerness and vampire boyfriends more than the guide had. It didn’t matter whether loving Spike was right or wrong, or if he sometimes did things she didn’t approve of. She did love him. Period. The only proof she needed was her heart almost coming to a halt at the idea that he was in Glory’s hands. And she would do anything to get him back.

Seeing her in that hall, fighting Glory’s minions to save me… I never would have believed I could have loved her any more than I already did; I was wrong.

Gotta admit I passed out in Giles’ car while they were driving me home – her home. Or maybe I just fell asleep. Yeah, that’s it, I fell asleep. Sounds better.

I woke up in her bed, lying on a towel, wearing only my jeans. Buffy was at my side, a washcloth in her hand already tinted red with my blood. She half smiled when she saw I was awake.

“Back to the world of the almost living?”

I tried to smile back, but even that hurt. God, but I was trashed. She continued to clean me by gently dabbing at my wounds, her movements so tender that I could barely feel her touching me at all.

“So tell me,” she said after a few moments. “What is it with people skewering you with sharp, pointy objects? Do you like, dare them or something?”

I realized she was trying to lighten up the mood, and I tried to do the same, but my attempt fell flat.

“Actually, she just shoved her finger in my chest, not…”

The look of distress on her face stopped the words in my throat.

“Hey, kitten, t’s OK, just give me a couple of days and I’ll be as good as new.”

There were tears gleaming in her eyes, and I managed to reach up to cup her face.

“None of that, now.”

“She could have killed you.”

“But she didn’t.”

She sniffled. “Good thing she didn’t ‘cause I swear I’d have dusted you if she had.”

I remember trying to hold in the laugh, because if simply talking hurt so much, laughing would have been even worse. She frowned as she looked at me, and then seemed to realize what she had said.

“You know what I mean,” she said with another of these half smiles.

Yes, I did.

I fell asleep lulled by her quiet words and soft gestures. I awoke briefly when she carefully climbed into bed next to me, and pulled her until she was lying right alongside me, where I could feel her. She tried to resist, I guess she didn’t want to hurt me, but I didn’t let go until she was right there where I could feel her. It hurt, yeah, but it was worth it.

Neither that night nor the following days did she ask me if I had told Glory what she wanted to know, even though I kept expecting the question to pop up. We did talk about the bot. Hell, she ranted about that until I thought my ears would bleed, and it didn’t seem to matter to her that I was as relieved as she was that the thing was broken. I think she still was a bit scared that I had tried to replace her with a not so needy version of herself, and it took me a while to convince her it had never been my goal.

I asked her, eventually, why she wasn’t asking about what I had told – or not told - Glory. She answered with a small smile, and said that she knew, and she didn’t need to ask.

See the thing above about not thinking I could love her any more?

Yeah. I was wrong again.