Swirls of red and black smoke danced in patterns, and the scent of roses mixed with burning sugar was strong. Candles flickered. The room was cold, far colder than it should have been.

Magic was in the air.

“Clos est mi hubra e tourno la. Clos est mi hubra e tourno la,” Willow chanted, her face partially obscured by the smoke. Her eyes were shut tight, her entire body tense, holding a small red stone out in front of her. Giles sat next to her, sprinkling a glittery mixture into a small stone bowl, and chanting his own incantation.

“Deva est mi breva e mourno mi. Deva est mi breva e mourno mi.”

“Do you actually think this is gonna work?” Xander muttered.

“Shut up,” Buffy snapped angrily, willing her tears to cease as she tried to think positively. “It has to work. It has to.”

The two sat the stairs of the library, watching Giles and Willow cast their spell. Buffy was clutching her silver cross necklace so hard it nearly drew blood from her hands, and attempting to suppress her nervous panting.

In the week since Angelus turned, The Slayer had wandered about in a daze. Colors didn’t seem as bright, sounds didn’t seem as loud. Nothing could touch her. She floated along in an emotionless stupor. She went to school, she went on patrol, she did everything that was expected of her, even occasionally smiled. But something inside her had died that moment when she realized Angel, her Angel, was gone. And she couldn’t even seem to breathe without her heart hurting.

So wrapped up in her own misery, she hadn’t noticed the frantic research going on in the library. Giles had remembered something he’d read years before, and enlisted everyone he could—Willow, Xander, Oz, and Cordelia---to help him search. Their constant studying and awkward moods didn’t even register with Buffy.

So when Giles ran up to her the previous day, breathless, stuttering, she had been completely confused at his ramblings until he managed to spit out, “I think we can give him back his soul.”

She hadn’t been able to move at she stared at the book he was holding. Old, obviously, as most of his books were, it was bound in smooth black leather, with an intricate design in silver etched on to the cover.

“It’s not the same spell that cursed him originally,” Giles explained as he walked her to class. “Those magics were lost long ago. But this, this book, tells of an ancient ritual, it’s quite fascinating actually, analyzed by Glorio Black, in regards to—“

“Giles, get to the point!” Buffy snapped.

“There’s a spell,” he said. “I can’t guarantee it will work, but from the translations, this spell would give Angelus—Angel---his soul. Permanently. And I think we can do it.”

It was like something out of one of her dreams.

And so now they were here.

Annoyed with Xander’s fidgeting and occasional cracking of inappropriate jokes, Buffy rose and cautiously approached the table, stopping five feet away when Giles raised his hand to warn her to stay away. Her eyes roamed over the scene in front of her, until her gaze focused on the red stone in Willow’s palm. A Stone of Filenia, Giles had told her, as if she wanted to know about the details. As long as the spell worked, it could use deer blood for all she cared.

About the size of a tennis ball, it was a deep blood red, with jagged edges and missing chunks, and it glittered prettily as the candlelight reflected off of it. As Buffy inspected the stone, it started to shift and change in front of her. Within its depths she could see more than just red, but black, and green, and gold, and blue. It grew and shrunk, mutated its shape, began to show her images she didn’t recognize.

She couldn’t look away.

From the base of her spine, a shiver began to creep up, and the room got even colder. Willow continued to chant, louder now, and Giles dropped something into the bowl.

Then, a flash of bright light from above their heads illuminated the entire room in a firey golden glow.

Willow screamed and ceased her chanting.

“Buffy?” Xander yelled, but his voice seemed muffled.

Giles fell to the ground, as if pushed by some unseen force.

She couldn’t look away.

From deep inside her belly, she felt an insistent tug that grew in strength and power until it felt as if her insides wanted out. Her eyes began to burn. The skin on her face felt frozen. Goosebumps appeared on her arms. More and more smoke swirled around her, until all she could see was the stone.

It was glowing from within.

The ground seem to fall out from beneath her feet, and she felt as if she was spinning through the air. Buffy wanted to cry and laugh and scream, she wanted to throw up, she wanted to die. She reached out in the dark for something to hold on to, and found nothing.

Suddenly, her feet hit something solid with a thud. And with a searing pain up her spine and out the top of her head, Buffy collapsed, unconscious.


“Buffy? Buffy, are you alright?” A deep voice emerged from the darkness.

As she slowly regained consciousness, she became more aware of her surroundings. Cool tile on her cheek, warm sunshine on her back, and a gentle hand stroking her hair.

“Ow,” Buffy muttered, all at once feeling the pain in her body. She struggled to open her eyes, recognizing that she on the floor, in the library, right where she’d collapsed. But now, it was daytime. Her gaze still blurry, she moved to sit up, but strong, firm hands stopped her.

“Don’t move, you could hurt yourself more,” that same slightly familiar voice said. A British accent, but not Giles kind of British. Rougher, younger. “Should I call a doctor? Buffy, what happened?”

Her vision finally cleared, and Buffy turned to look into the face of the man kneeling beside her.

Impossibly blue eyes.

Chiseled cheekbones.

Pale skin.

“SPIKE?” she cried out in fear, and leapt away from him. Oh, it was Spike alright. Curly light brown hair instead of bleached white, a tweed suit instead of those inappropriately tight jeans and leather duster, but those eyes were the same. It was Spike.

“Spike? Why would you call me—“ he started to say, as the door to the library burst open and two dark haired figures entered.

“Pratt, any way you could write me a note to get out of gym?” The boy asked as he tossed his book bag on the counter.

Buffy’s almost felt her heart bubble up in her throat as she looked at the person in front of her.

“Angel?” she whispered.

“Uh, yeah?” he said, confused. He glanced at the older man, who was still staring at Buffy with concern. “What’s going on?”

“Yeah, are you okay?” the girl asked. Buffy managed to tear her eyes away from Angel, dressed as she’d never seen him in baggy jeans and a blue polo shirt, to see that his companion was Drusilla. A young, smiling Drusilla.

Something finally clicked in her brain, and she darted behind the table and grabbed a cross that was laying there.

“You all stay the hell away from me,” She threatened as she held the feeble weapon in front of her.

“Um,” Drusilla said slowly. “Okay. Buffy, did you hit your head or something?”

“Yeah, Buff, you look kind of pale,” Angel said. “Maybe you should eat a cookie. Get some sugar?”

Buffy stared at the three of them, wild-eyed. “I will stake each and every one of you before I let you touch me.” She knew if all three of these sadistic monsters chose to attack her at the same time, she had no chance, but the fury in her body kept her from showing her weakness. What the hell had they done to her?

Spike started to move slowly towards her, saying “Buffy, what the bloody—“

The girl lunged forward like a cat and pressed the cross to his chest. He glanced down at it quizzically.

“What the…” Buffy whispered, staring at the religious artifact, which was having no effect on the man in front of her. She glanced up at Spike, who was now staring at her as if she had grown a second head. She backed up slowly and let the cross fall to the ground, glancing individually at each of the three vampires in front of her.

Except that, they weren’t vampires.

The cross didn’t burn Spike.

Drusilla was standing in a patch of sunlight.

And Angel…oh God. Angel was breathing.

She fainted to the ground again.

This time, when Buffy awoke, she was on something soft and comfortable, with a cool, wet cloth on her forehead. She sat up quickly and took in her surroundings.

“Okay, I’m in Giles’s office,” she mumbled to herself. “This is good. Just a dream. The weirdest dream ever.”

But as she looked around a bit more, she realized everything was all the same, but different. The office had just as many books and weapons as it usually did, but was far messier than Giles would ever let it be. Empty coffee mugs were scattered about, and various files and papers were sitting everywhere. She glanced down at herself, finding that dressed in the same clothes she’d been wearing when they’d been casting the re-ensouling spell. She touched her head, and found it free of any bumps that would signify a head injury, which would mean memory loss.

There was only one explanation.

“Stupid magic,” she moaned, trying to suppress her natural reaction to scream her head off in fear and frustration. She considered her options, and decided first and foremost, she needed to see if she could find Giles. He’d know what was going on.

She stood up on shaky legs and moved to leave the office, when Spike, or whoever he was, stepped through the door. Buffy jumped back in fright, and the man raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and said, “Buffy! I’m not going to hurt you, okay? Don’t…freak out.”

Her Slayer sense was telling her this man was not a vampire, despite looking exactly like Spike down to every last muscle and scar. She didn’t know what was going on, but decided if she was ever going to figure it out, she couldn’t just run away. And her gut told her that, whoever this was, he wasn’t her enemy.

She nodded. “Okay. No freaking out. For now.”

“Alright, good,” Spike—or not Spike---said, gesturing to the couch she’d been sleeping on. “Let’s sit down, yeah? Are you feeling better?”

“Fine. A little headache-y,” she admitted, sitting cautiously on the far end of the couch and watching the man who was not Spike with wary eyes.

“Drink your water,” he gestured to the bottle sitting next to her.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, opening it to take a gulp. They sat in silence for a moment, and she finally blurted out, “So who are you and what am I doing here?”

He looked surprised and worried. “You have no memory of who I am?”

“Well, I have a memory of who you are,” Buffy tried to explain. “But the you I remember can’t be you, because you’re not…the you I know. Does that make sense?”

“Not at all.”

Buffy sighed and tried to figure out what was going on, and how to explain it to this Spike shaped person. “Look, can you tell me your name, at least?”

“You don’t remember? Right, sorry. William Pratt. But you called me Spike earlier, which was strange, because I…well, I used to be known by that name when I was younger, and I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

Narrowing her eyes, Buffy said, “So I know you?”

William nodded.

“And you’re not…evil?”

He shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Okay. Thousand dollar question, for all your points. So are you now, or have you ever been, a vampire?”

William burst out laughing, but stopped as Buffy glared at him. He sobered up and looked carefully at the girl in front of him. Something mystical had clearly taken over her, because she was still Buffy, right down to her glare, just clearly without any memories. This was troubling. But she looked the same as he’d last seen her, for the most part, except she was obviously tired, and her green eyes were perhaps a touch older, more knowing. “I---uh—no, no, I haven’t. Ever been a vampire.”

“See, that’s weird!” Buffy exclaimed, jumping up from her seat. “Because for the past few months I’ve been fighting a vampire who looks exactly like you, no, IS you, named William the Bloody. Spike.”

“But…” William couldn’t seem to respond to that.

“So is this some weird alternate reality?” the blonde wondered, hands shaking. “Because, you’re not you, and Angel and Drusilla---“

“What do you mean alternate---” William tried to interrupt.

“I really need to find Giles, he’d be able to explain this---“

“RUPERT Giles?”

“You know Giles? Oh thank GOD, something is right in this crazy universe—“

“Buffy, you really need to—“

“---because obviously that spell went completely wonky---“

“I don’t understand what you---“

“---I am really freaking out and---“

“STOP!” William roared. Buffy slammed her mouth shut and stared at him in surprise. “I’m sorry, but please, bloody hell, you’re giving me a migraine and I still have no idea what is going on.”

“Look,” Buffy sighed. “I don’t either, all I know is I really, really need to talk to my Watcher.”

William stared at her. “Buffy…I’m your Watcher.” He said slowly, as if speaking to a small child.

She gawked at him. “You’re my what now?”

“Your Watcher,” he repeated. “You really don’t remember anything at all?”

“NO!” She pouted, throwing herself back down on the couch and crossing her arms angrily. “I don’t understand. This is just…how are you my Watcher? Where’s Giles?”

“By Giles you are referring to Rupert Giles?”

“Yes, Rupert Giles. British, stuffy, hair on top?” Buffy said. “Duh. Where is he?”

“We clearly are thinking of two different people, or creatures, really,” William said slowly. “The only time I’ve heard the name Rupert Giles is in reference to Ripper.” At Buffy’s blank look, he said, “The vampire?”

All the color drained out of Buffy’s face. “But…no,” she shook her head forcefully. “It must be someone else then, because Giles…Giles is not a vampire.” He couldn’t be. This was all just some sick dream brought on by exhaustion, and depression, and she’d wake up at any time. Yes. Any time now.

She shut her eyes tightly, and waited. When she opened them again and found everything to be the same, she let out a groan of frustration.

“Buffy,” William sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing his temples. “Why don’t we just try and figure this out logically. What is the last think you remember before…before you woke up on the library floor?”

She bit her lip. “We were casting a spell to give Angelus, or Angel, back his soul.”

“Angel didn’t have a soul?”

“He was a vampire with a soul, but then he lost it. He had a Gypsy curse.”

“Ah,” William nodded indulgently, coming to the conclusion that something must have given Buffy some very vivid and confused hallucinations. That, or she’d gone mad.

“I’m not crazy! Don’t look at me like I’m crazy,” Buffy yelled as if she could read his mind. “I’m telling you, this is some imaginary hell dimension, and I’d really like to go home, please.”

At the panicked tone in her voice, William reached out to brush her hair away from her face, “I’m sorry, pet. We’ll figure this out, yeah? I’ll help you.”

Buffy glanced up at him, and their eyes connected. There was a tenderness, a kindness within William’s blue depths, two things Buffy had never seen in the eyes of the vampire with this same face. And suddenly, she felt this warming where he touched her. She pulled away quickly, surprised at the immediate rush of affection she felt towards this stranger.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, dropping his hand as if her face had been on fire. “Okay, so you were casting a spell?”

“Yeah,” Buffy sighed. “And I got like, totally hypnotized by this stone we were using, a stone of…something, and then I was being jerked through some sort of abyss and it REALLY hurt, and woke up here, the same spot I’d been in before, but it was day. And well, everything’s weird.”

“You don’t remember what the stone was called?”

“It was red?”

“It would help if you could be a bit more specific.”

She concentrated. “Um…the stone of Filter? Finley?”

“Filenia?” William supplied.

“Yes! Filenia.”

He frowned, rose from his seat and headed out into the main part of the library without a word.

“Um, Spike?” Buffy ran after him. “Or William, whatever. Do you know what I’m talking about?” Hope began to creep into her heart and mingle with the fear.

He stood in the book cage and started looking through a stack of tomes. “I have a book here somewhere that speaks of the various uses for those stones, I just…ah, yes,” he pulled out a huge volume and carried it over to the desk. He was surprised that Buffy even knew the name of this kind of magical artifact to incorporate into her delusion.

Buffy watched him curiously. Aside from being identical in almost every way to the vampire she knew, he reminded her so much of Giles. The clothes, the bookish attitude, the glasses. Younger, cuter (did she just think this Spike like person was cute?), but definitely Giles-like. It was eerie, really. Were all Watchers exactly the same, regardless of the dimension they were in?

“Stones of Filenia,” he read. “Used in spells spoken of in the Black dialogues, primarily for inter dimensional transportation or, yes, re-ensoulment.”

“See? I’m not crazy,” Buffy insisted happily. “Willow must have screwed up the spell. So we just have to figure out how to undo it---”

“Willow?” His eyes widened.

“Yeah…is there a Willow in this world too?” Buffy asked eagerly.

“I…probably not the same Willow.”

“Red hair, really smart, aspiring witch?”

“And a vampire,” William added.

“Are you KIDDING me?” Buffy cried out, her heart falling again. “What kind of nightmare place is this? Next you’re going to tell me Xander’s a vampire too.”

“Xander?” Drusilla said weakly from behind her, having just entered the library. Buffy spun around to see the girl’s eyes filling up with tears. Buffy instinctively backed up, although again, without that immediate onslaught of terror, she could tell this girl wasn’t a vampire.

“Dru, it’s okay,” Angel put one arm around the girl’s shoulders and glared at Buffy. “Why would you bring him up, Buffy? What the hell wrong with you today?”

Buffy felt his words strike her like a knife, and had to avert her eyes from his too familiar face in order to keep herself together.

“Angel, stop,” William said firmly. “Something very strange is happening.”

“Gee, you think?” Buffy snapped. “I don’t know what is going on, but I want to go home!”

“Buffy, I don’t know what to tell you,” her Watcher said slowly. “But you ARE home.”


“So let me get this straight,” Angel said slowly. The group had finally calmed down enough to talk out this strange situation, and Buffy had just finished relaying the basics of what she knew was different between this world and her own thus far, and how she ended up here. When she’d gotten to the part of her story about who Angel was to her, she’d almost broke down crying, but managed to keep it together. He’d stared at her as if she’d turned into a frog or something, and it was embarrassing. “You think---“

“No, I know!” Buffy exclaimed, again averting her eyes so she didn’t have to directly look at this…boy who wasn’t her Angel. It just hurt too much.

“Okay, you KNOW,” he repeated condescendingly. “In this other whatever world, I was your vampire boyfriend who lost his soul, Drusilla was a bat-shit crazy vamp, William, or ‘Spike’ as you keep calling him, which by the way Pratt, dorky nickname, was her boyfriend, but you were still the Slayer.”

Buffy nodded.

“And all your friends from this other world are vampires in this one?” He was clearly mocking her.

Buffy chose to ignore it and sighed. “At least Giles and Willow are, apparently. Everything is upside down.”

Just then, Cordelia Chase entered the library, yelling, “I need a book on Marie Curie, pronto!”

“Cordelia!” Buffy shrieked in happiness, running to throw her arms around the girl. At least SOMEONE was where they were supposed to be.

“Um, get off of me, freak,” Cordelia said, gingerly removing Buffy’s arms from around her neck with a look of disgust on her face. “In what world do we hug?”

“Apparently not this one either,” Buffy muttered, stalking back to her seat. “Yeah, she hadn’t changed at all,” she said to a wide-eyed Drusilla.

William directed Cordelia to the appropriate area of the library, and signaled to the three students to cease conversation while she was present. Buffy sighed and dropped her head on the table, exhaustion suddenly hitting her body like a ton of bricks.

How could she fix this? How did this even happen? How long was it going to last? What kind of mistake did Giles and Willow make to create this strange hallucination—because it had to be a hallucination, right, or was she really in another world, or she was dreaming a very vivid, sense-filled dream—and why would Angel and Drusilla be alive anyway, even if they hadn’t been vamped they’d be dead hundreds of years ago—and WHY was William Pratt, Spike, her Watcher, he should be dead too! And Cordelia was still Cordelia and she was still, her, the Slayer, was anything else the same? It was all too confusing to think about.

“My head hurts,” she moaned pitifully.

When Cordelia finally left, Drusilla spoke for the first time since Buffy had begun telling her story. “What about Xander?” she asked tentatively.

“Xander’s my friend too,” Buffy said. “Dating Cordelia, as totally weird as that sounds. Why, where is he, here? God, that’s confusing.”

Drusilla stayed silent, and William cut in, “The story you presented in regards to the, well, other Angel, is rather analogous to the situation we are currently dealing with in regards to Xander.”

“I was dating Xander?” Buffy squealed in disgust.

“No,” Drusilla said softly. “I was.”

“Oh. OH!” Buffy understood. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, as she suddenly realized the full ramifications of that. If everything in this weird universe was comparable to something in her world, she knew exactly how Drusilla was feeling.

“Yeah,” Drusilla nodded sadly. Buffy felt an uncomfortable sympathy for this girl, a girl who wore the face of a vampire she hated. It was unsettling.

Angel patted Dru’s shoulder comfortingly and turned to the librarian. “So, Pratt, how do we fix Buffy’s crazy?”

“I’m not crazy!” Buffy insisted. “What we need to research is how to get me back home.”

“Uh, Buff,” Angel said. “No offense, but I’d say you crossed the line into crazy a long time ago. You may think you’ve been transplanted from some other universe, but you’ve been here the whole time.”

“You have, Buffy,” William insisted. “You were perfectly normal this morning, then all of a sudden you collapsed on the floor and woke up thinking you were, well, someone else, in a way.”

“Does that mean maybe our Buffy is now back where this Buffy came from?” Drusilla asked helpfully.

“Two Buffys?” The Slayer said in shock.

“It could very well be,” William mused. “I’ve done very little study on alternate dimensions specifically, but of course they exist---“

“I still maintain Buffy’s just crazy,” Angel said.

“Thanks, that’s really supportive,” the blonde snapped.

“Look, we’re all tired, it’s getting dark, perhaps we should just pick this up tomorrow,” William interrupted. “You two should get home,” he gestured to Angel and Dru. “If you’d like to help with research tomorrow, I’m sure Buffy would appreciate it.” He looked at the scowling girl pointedly.

“Yeah, I would,” she sighed. “Help get me out of this freak show, please.”

Angel rolled his eyes and stood up. “Yeah, I’d like normal non-crazy Buffy back now. See you tomorrow, Pratt. Come on, Dru.”

The girl waved cautiously at Buffy, who smiled weakly at her before she departed.

“So I have a home in this world, I guess?” Buffy sighed. Clearly, she wasn’t in any immediate danger, and if she was stuck here until tomorrow, she needed the comfort of her own bed. “It’s going to be fun to try and seem normal to my mother, I swear, the woman…” She trailed off at the stricken look on William’s face. “What?”

“Buffy…” William seemed to be gathering the strength to speak, and a dread began to build up in the girl’s chest.

“Spit it out.”

“Your mother died a few months ago. Vampire attack. You live with me,” he rushed out the news quickly, hating that he had to remind Buffy of this.

“….oh,” she whispered, tears welling up in her hazel eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Buffy,” William said softly. He had no idea what to do in this situation, if it wasn’t already after midnight in London he’d call the Council straightaway. Clearly whatever had infected Buffy to cause these hallucinations, or if she truly was from an alternate universe, it wasn’t going to right itself. And he felt for the girl, because regardless of where her memory loss and materialization came from, she was obviously scared.

Buffy took a deep breath and said, “No, it’s okay. It’s okay, because this isn’t real. This is some…screwed up spell and when I get back home, it’ll be fine. Because it’s not real. It’s not.”

William sighed, and decided perhaps it was best to allow that line of thinking for now. “Why don’t you grab your bag, and we’ll go home?”

She nodded, and followed him out of the library.

The car ride was completely silent. Buffy had no idea what to say to this stranger, while William didn’t know how to talk to the girl who didn’t even remember who he was.

“This is my house!” Buffy cried out in happy surprise when they pulled up in front of 1630 Revello Drive.

“Uh, yes,” William said. “When your mother…I moved in here, was appointed guardianship of you.”

“How’d the Council managed that?” Buffy asked as she climbed out of William’s black Desoto and headed up the front walk.

“Well, they have certain powers of political persuasion,” he shrugged. “It wasn’t too difficult.” It was so strange to explain these things to her, things she was present for. Yes, they needed to get to the bottom of her memory loss immediately.

Buffy impatiently waited for him to unlock the door and darted in ahead of him, grateful to be entering what she’d always considered a safe, comforting environment.

And everything was mostly the same. The furniture, the pictures on the walls, the only really obvious difference was the huge TV instead of the tiny one they’d always owned. There were other masculine touches around too, piles of books, a guitar. But for the most part, it was her home, and Buffy was relieved.

She felt William watching her, and suddenly felt awkward. She lived with this man? Who she hardly knew? Who was Spike, but not? Every time she tried to make sense of the crazy universe she’d landed in, it just deepened the pain right behind her eyes. Giles would be proud of her calmness, though. She’d have to tell him how well she handled it all when she got back. Because, she would get back.

“I’m hungry,” She announced to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Right! Yes,” William said, realizing he’d been staring at her for far too long. “I could cook, or we could order Chinese?”

“I’m always down for some moo-shu,” Buffy shrugged. “And we might as well start researching a bit, if you have any books here that would help?”

“Buffy Summers volunteering to research on her off time?” He teased. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Desperate times and all that,” she giggled, surprised at how the mood had lightened.

“And you’ll patrol after dinner? Or, if you’re still feeling ill, you did faint--”

“No, yeah, I should probably. Since the Buffy from here won’t be here to do it.”

“So you really think that’s the explanation,” he ventured cautiously as he led her into the kitchen.

“I KNOW that’s what happened, Spi---William,” she said. “I still remember my real life. I’m not crazy, and I’m not hallucinating. Well, I may be hallucinating, but I’d be hallucinating YOU, not…the other stuff. The other stuff is real.”

“Alright,” he nodded, choosing not to argue. “Well, you call for the food, and I’ll gather up some books.”

He pointed to where their standard order was written on the menu, and Buffy picked up the phone, aware and slightly afraid of the feeling of normalcy at this domestic scene. If she was a different Buffy than the Buffy that was here, why was this all sort of familiar?

Thinking about it was really getting her no where. Her brain just didn’t hold the answers. Books. Books held the answers, that seemed to be Giles’s motto, and it would hopefully serve her well in this situation.

She placed their order and yelled to William---it was so weird to call him that, even in her head---that she was going to go change. She ran up the stairs and towards what she hoped was still her room.

It was, but when she entered, she stopped short and gasped. She clearly lived here, but it was nothing like how she decorated at home. Filled with dark colors and art prints, it was far more sophisticated than her little girl room. Her weapons and holy relics were casually strewn about, as opposed to hidden like they needed to be back home, and Mr. Gordo was nowhere to be seen. Something caught her eye, and she turned to the dark wood vanity, with pictures lining the mirror. She gasped again.

Pictures of her with Dru, her with Angel, all three of them smiling and laughing, pictures of her with a boy she vaguely recognized, giving him kisses. Pictures of her and her mom that she never remembered taking.

Buffy staggered back, the weight of her situation finally hitting her with full force. If this was a hallucination, it was a little too detailed. And if it wasn’t, if she was really herself, but in this alternate universe…how was she going to get back? And who was she when she was here?

She felt the familiar sensation of oncoming tears, a feeling she’s gotten used to since Angel became Angelus. She didn’t want to cry, couldn’t cry, not in this strange house with this strange man in this strange life. But all of a sudden, she felt well and truly alone, and a sob burst forth from her fatigued body.

She went over to the bed and curled up in a ball, allowing the grief and fear and guilt to wrap her up in their grasp, allowing the tears to fall. It was slightly comforting, really, to feel this same misery, regardless of the circumstances.

William paid for the food and set it next to the books he’d gathered that may help shed some light on the current mystery. “Buffy, food’s here!” he called, and frowned when he received no answer. He climbed up the stairs and headed to Buffy’s room, pausing right before he was about to knock when he heard the sounds of muffled sobs.

His brain told him to turn back, to leave her be, to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. But he couldn’t just leave her there, his Slayer, his Buffy, crying, suffocating under what he assumed was the weight of serious confusion. He opened the door slowly and saw her curled up on her bed, her face covered by her hands and hair.

William walked quickly to the bed before he could change his mind and laid down next to her, wrapping her small body up in his arms. She stiffened at first at the unexpected contact, then relaxed into his warm and soothing embrace.

“Shh, it’s okay, pet,” he murmured into her hair. “We’ll figure it out, yeah? It’ll be okay.”

Buffy sighed, and allowed the comfort of his words and his touch to lull her into oblivion. His arms were firm and protective around her, and it was strange, but their bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, like pieces of a puzzle. Or like they’d lain like this before.

William heard her breathing slow and felt her body settle down in his arms, and realized she had fallen asleep. He carefully pulled away and headed back downstairs, quickly putting the food in the fridge to keep until she woke up.

That was a stupid thing to do, he knew. Even if Buffy didn’t remember who he was, especially if Buffy didn’t remember who he was, he needed to keep his distance. Keep himself in line. She was his Slayer and his ward, nothing more.

He poured himself a whisky and headed into the living room to start researching what could possibly have brought on this situation.


“Hi,” Buffy tentatively said when she came downstairs about an hour later, dressed in sweats. William was spread out at the kitchen table, at least four or five books and a laptop organized around him.

“Did you get some rest?” He asked.

“I did, it was definitely needed,” she said. “Thanks for…being nice.”

“Of course,” William said. “Would you like something to eat?”

“God, yes,” she said. “I’m still starving.”

He jumped up quickly and went to warm up her dinner.

“I can do it,” Buffy said. “You don’t have to wait on me.”

“It’s no problem,” he insisted, and busied himself in the kitchen.

Buffy watched him carefully. The longer she was in this…whatever it was, the more certain feelings about it came back to her. She did feel as if she knew this person, despite having no actual knowledge about him.

She decided to rectify that.

“So, tell me about you,” she said, settling into one of the barstools.

He glanced at her. “Tell you what?”

“I don’t know, anything,” she said. “I mean, you’re my Watcher? And we live together. Clearly we’re pretty close, and I have this…feeling towards you, that I know you, but I don’t even know anything about you. And I don’t like that.”

“What do you mean, a feeling?” He asked, confused.

“It’s so weird. Like, I do know you, but I don’t, really, you seem comfortable, and familiar. And I saw all these pictures in my room, and I don’t remember taking any of them, but I sort of remember…how I felt,” she tried to explain. “I’m not making sense.”

“No, you are a bit,” William said. “Perhaps whatever is causing this memory loss, or mutation, rather, is starting to fade.

“No!” Buffy said firmly. “That’s not it, because I still know this place isn’t RIGHT. Home is right.”

William shook his head and placed the plate of food in front of her. “Buffy, I think if we’re going to get to the bottom of this situation, you need to open your mind to all the possibilities, yeah? Not just what you think might be true, or want to be true.”

“You know what,” she said around a mouthful of food. She swallowed quickly and continued, “Let’s not talk about this anymore. That nice cry-fest and nap managed to cure my headache, and I can already feel it threatening to come back if we keep on going.”

William nodded, “Of course, we can take a break. Are you feeling up to patrolling or should we cancel on account of ill health?”

“God, you sound just like Giles,” Buffy said. “Can’t you just say, ‘do you feel like crap’?”

“Well do you?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I want to kick some vamp butt. That’s got to be the same in every dimension.”


It was, in a way.

For the first hour or so, nothing seemed different. See a vamp, kick a vamp, stake a vamp. It was easy, it was simple, it felt familiar. William made obnoxious comments about strategy and form just like Giles would have, and Buffy felt the tension of the day start to seep away.

But when they hit Restfield Cemetery, three vampires came out of the dark.

“Oh fun, a party,” she said brightly. “You know, I don’t remember getting my invitation. Not polite, boys.”

“Slayer,” one of them growled.

“Yes, that’s right! A gold star for you,” she quipped, before leaping into action.

She had the upper hand for a while, instantly knocking one vamp to the ground with a swift kick to his knees and staking him as he lay prone, then turning to focus on fending off the other two. But one of them got a lucky shot to her ribs, followed up but a brutal kick to her face, and she staggered back and fell on the ground, disoriented.

Just then, William sprang into action. Buffy regained focus quickly and staked the vampire nearest to her, then watched in awe as William fought the final attacker.

He moved with the grace and calm of a trained fighter, almost cat like in his smooth movements. More like a panther, really, or a jaguar, as he delivered brutal, punishing attacks to the vampire who had knocked her down. Quick as lightning, he pulled a stake from his pocket and staked the monster before it knew what had happened.

“Wow,” Buffy said in shock.

He turned to look at her, wiping dust off of his jacket. “What?” he asked, breathing hard.

“You’re really, really good,” she complimented him. “I mean, really. Where’d you learn to do that?”

He shrugged modestly. “I was originally training to be an operative for the Council, certainly comes in useful living on the Hellmouth.”

“Wow, very cool,” Buffy smiled appreciatively. “Giles…” A sharp pain hit her in her gut when she realized, for just a moment, she’d forgotten her situation. “Giles was not the greatest fighter. Could have broken a hip or something.”

William noticed her change in mood and asked if she was ready to return home.

“Let’s make one more sweep, then yeah, I could go for some ice cream. Please tell me we stock ice cream?”

“Chocolate chip cookie dough,” William smiled.

“That is some good ice cream.”

“Your favorite, right?” He questioned.

“Yeah,” Buffy said sadly. “My favorite.” She caught the concerned and distressed look in William’s eyes, and regretted putting it there.

They returned back to the house in silence, and Buffy tried to act normal, just for the rest of the night, just to keep that look from appearing in William’s eyes again. She didn’t understand why it hurt her so much to hurt him.

She took a shower, she brushed her teeth, she’d gone through her whole nighttime routine, While it all felt familiar, it also all felt wrong, and it was too exhausting to play pretend.

When she finally collapsed in her unfamiliar room, she cried herself to sleep as she had every night since Angel.

When Buffy awoke the next morning, she held her eyes shut longer than she needed to, squeezed so tight she could see multi-colored stars in the darkness. She began whispering into her pillow.

“When I wake up, I will be in my own bed. Mom will be downstairs, Giles will be mad I’m going to be late to class, and…and Angel will be Angelus, because that’s just how it is.”

She opened her eyes to her dark red and unfamiliar sheets, and winced.

Wishing didn’t make it so.

It took every ounce of energy she had to drag herself out of the soft comfort of her bed. She only made it a few feet before she collapsed in the chair at her vanity, and stared at herself intently in the mirror.

Why were things so much harder today then yesterday? After a night of sleep, things were always supposed to be better, right? A new perspective and all that, get some rest, recharge your batteries.

But today was worse than yesterday, because if she went to sleep, and woke up, and was still in this sick, twisted world, than she was really here. And it wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t an illusion, and she had no idea how to get home. Her body was sore, her head still hurt, her heart felt heavy, and her eyes wouldn’t focus. She just wanted to get home, was that so hard?

“Buffy?” William’s voice came through the door tentatively. “I haven’t heard your alarm, and we’ll leave for school in fifteen minutes, yeah?”

“Okay,” she croaked out.

“Are you o—“

“Fine, fine, just woke up late,” she interrupted. “I’ll be right down.”

She heard William walk away and she sighed. After appraising herself in the mirror for a moment, she turned away in disgust. Screw makeup, who was she trying to look good for anyway?

She pulled on a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting black tee shirt, neither of which were items she recognized from her wardrobe at home. The clothes were perfectly normal, things she would probably buy, but they felt awkward and scratchy and uncomfortable on her skin. She quickly pulled her hair into a messy ponytail, grabbed her school bag and trudged down the stairs.

“I really don’t think I’m going to class today,” Buffy announced when she entered the kitchen. “We should just buckle down, research like our lives depended on it, which, kind of, mine does, and get me home.”

William frowned. “So I take it this…affliction didn’t fade overnight?”

“You mean the affliction where I’m not where I’m supposed to be? I’m still here aren’t I? So no.”

“You seem less optimistic than you did yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, I am,” Buffy sighed. “The glass has quickly gone from half full to half empty.”

“Well, as your guardian I’d have to say you should go to class,” William began, but at Buffy’s look of barely contained rage, he shifted his answer, “But if you want to research, that’s what I’m willing to do. I’ll run intervention with the principal.”

“Peachy,” she said with forced pep. “Then let’s go.”

She downed a glass of orange juice, refused food despite William’s efforts, and then followed him out to his car. They drove in silence, as they did the night before, and Buffy examined Sunnydale in the light of day as it was in this weird world.

It was completely, exactly the same, down the stop sign on the corner of Maple and 3rd that was slightly crooked, the tree with a heart carved deep into its trunk, and the dilapidated house near the school with the gorgeous garden.

“This is just so weird,” she mumbled to herself.

William parked in what Buffy knew was Giles’s usual spot, and the two made their way through the crowded halls of Sunnydale High.

She recognized some, but not all, of the students. Larry was there, obnoxiously hitting on some girl despite her best efforts to escape, but Jonathan, always present in the student lounge before first period with a book in hand, was nowhere to be seen. The feeling of doom shrouding her heart intensified as the handsome boy she recognized from the pictures in her room came up to her.

“Buffy, can we talk?” He begged, reaching out to grab her arm. She instinctively pulled back and glanced at William for help that didn’t come. “You’re still mad? Look, Buffy, I’m really sorry, and I want to make it up to you.”

“Well…” she started, trying to figure out how best to handle this. “Well, you should be sorry! Very sorry. And, why don’t you continue that…being sorry for awhile longer. Okay, bye!” and she darted off, William following at her heels.

They entered the library and Buffy said, “Okay, who was that?”

“That w-w-was, um,” William stuttered, “Your boyfriend, I believe. Or ex-boyfriend. Mark.”

“Seriously?” she said. “Wow, I have good taste in this dimension. Why’d we break up?”

“Well, I’m not really, sure,” he said awkwardly. “Drusilla would know better than I.”

“Huh. So she and I are, like, really close, then?” Buffy asked. “That’s kind of creepy.”

“I suppose it would be, for you, if what you say is true.”

Buffy started to speak when the girl in question and Angel entered the library, and William ducked into his office to answer his ringing phone.

“Hi Buffy,” Dru said tentatively, her strange accent starting to sound more friendly to the Slayer’s ears, rather than eerie.

“Hi, guys,” she sighed.

“Are we back to normal yet?” Angel asked. At Buffy’s glare, he said, “Guess not.”

“I’m cutting class today, not like that’s an unusual occurrence,” Buffy ignored him. “Going into deep research mode.”

“I found a basic spell to see spells last night,” Drusilla offered. “I can do it after school and we can see if there’s anything mystical around you, holding you to this dimension.”

“Or making her think she’s someone else,” Angel muttered.

“Can we stop with this whole believing Buffy’s a nut job thing? Things would move a lot quicker if you’d accept I just have no idea what’s going on in this fake world. I don’t know who any of you are to me, okay? So just…stop thinking I’m going to remember!” Buffy exploded.

Angel yelled back, “This is not a fake world! God, Buffy, how self-absorbed are you? You’re the one with the problem, not us, and you’re acting like we’re all worthless, just because you don’t remember who we are, and it is seriously starting to piss me off.” He stormed out of the library, leaving Buffy with tears threatening to explode out of her for the millionth time in her recent life.

“He’s just really, you know, still dealing with all the magic stuff, Buffy,” Drusilla said kindly. “Um, you don’t remember this, I guess, but there was this whole thing last year with you, and him, and a love spell…and I think he had a hard time believing it wasn’t really you saying those things to him. So now you’re treating him differently for another reason and I think he wants to believe it’s just a spell, and not something maybe more complicated. And he hates that I do magic.”

Buffy sighed, once again her brain struggled to comprehend the different perspectives of these people she thought she’d just met. “He was right, though, and I’m sorry. I guess…it’s just really hard for me to think of you all as who you are…not who I know you to be? I really make the kind of sense that doesn’t, don’t I?”

“No, I get it,” Drusilla said. “I mean, regardless of the reason, you have honest to God memories of an entirely different reality. That’s…wow, kind of scary, I would think. And fascinating too.” At Buffy’s curious look, the girl blushed. “I mean, not that I’m fascinated by your pain or anything, but just on a purely intellectual level. As a witch, I mean, I don’t--”

“I know what you mean,” Buffy smiled. “You know, you do remind me a lot of Willow…in my other life.” She was careful not to say her real life.

“I’m guessing that’s a good thing?” the dark haired girl said hopefully.

“Yeah, for sure! How long have you been doing magic?”

“Oh, since I was very young. My mother was a very powerful witch, and I guess I inherited a lot of her abilities...I can, well, I have a sort of second sight, which makes magic come very easily.”

“That’s so cool!”

Drusilla blushed and said, “Well, I really should get to class. But I’ll be back at lunch to help you?”

“Thanks,” Buffy said gratefully, then timidly added, “And maybe…we could just hang out, later, if we don’t figure this out right away?”

“Yeah!” Drusilla’s face transformed into a happy smile. “We haven’t hung out in way too long. I mean, well…”

“I know, I know,” Buffy shrugged. “It’s weird. But, we’ll figure it out. We always do!...I mean, we do, right? We usually save the day?”

“Yup! ‘Cause we’re the Scoobies.” With that, Drusilla flounced off, leaving Buffy to mull things over.

“I heard yelling,” William sighed as he emerged from his office. “You and Angel again?”

“Do we do that a lot? Fight?” Buffy asked. “It’s just…wow, he’s so different here. Kind of an asshole, actually.”

“He’s a teenage boy, Buffy,” her Watcher laughed. “They’re almost all like that. I know I was.”

“You mean when you were named Spike?” Her eyes twinkled with curiosity. “You’re really going to have to tell me about that. “

“I rather think not.”

“Oh, I rather think so.”

“Some secrets need to be kept.”

“Come on, Spike!” Buffy giggled. “You must have been pretty crazy to earn that nickname.” Her brow creased for a moment, and she asked tentatively, “There’s no chance you went around wearing a long black leather coat and had bleached white blonde hair, is there?” At his surprised and guilty expression, she jumped up excitedly. “See? How would I know that? If this was some weird delusion, where would that knowledge come from?”

“I…I don’t really know,” William frowned. “Well. That’s…very strange. I just spoke to the Council, explained our situation, and they’re looking into it. So let’s get to research, shall we?”

“Seriously. Let’s.”

“Damn it!” Buffy yelled in frustration, slamming shut yet another book. “None of this is helping.”

“No?” William asked, looking up from his own dusty tome. Lunchtime had come and gone, Drusilla had offered her help for an hour, but it was nearing the end of the school day, they’d made their way through countless books, and had yet to have their “eureka!” moment.

“Blah blah alternate realities exist blah blah the tiniest decision can alter the fabric of time and create a new dimension blah blah there’s a world for everything, like a world without shrimp probably exists somewhere. Fascinating. Except, you know, boring..”

“I’m having a bit more luck than you, but not much,” William confessed, turning the page in his book. “I found a few personal accounts of inter-dimensional travel, but nothing about how they accomplished it. I do wish you could remember the name of the book this supposed spell was from.”

“Supposed spell,” Buffy mimicked brattily. “Well, it was a black book. And leather. I honestly wasn’t listening.”

“At least I’m not the only Watcher you ignore,” William smirked.

“Cute,” she sighed.

“I know you keep resisting this idea, but I really think we should do a bit of research on possible demons that cause hallucinations, or spells that impart memories, just to cover our bases.”

Buffy opened her mouth to protest, then snapped it shut again quickly. “Fine. Okay. You can do that.”

“I’m so glad you’re giving me permission to do my bloody job,” he mumbled as he walked to the book cage, grabbed a new volume, and returned to his seat next to her.

Buffy stared down at the book in front of her, the words swimming in front of her eyes. A tiny pinprick of pain started in the center of her brain, and she shut her eyes tightly in the hopes that it would dissipate. With her eyes closed, she began to see flashes of images. Xander and Giles and Spike and Willow and Drusilla and Angel all swirling about in the black abyss behind her eyelids. She suddenly found it hard to breathe, and clutched the edge of the table so tightly she could feel the wood start to give way under her super powered grasp.

“Aren’t you a little young to be my Watcher?” she asked abruptly, snapping her eyes open.

“Well, not really,” he said in surprise, glancing at her over the top of his glasses. “I’m twenty seven.”

“How long have you been my Watcher? Did I just get called? Did I have a Watcher before you?” Questions suddenly began rolling lightning quick off Buffy’s tongue. “Did I ever fight the Master? Was I born here? Where’s my dad?”

“Buffy, Buffy, slow down,” William waved his hands in front of him as if to protect himself from the onslaught of her inquiries. “One thing at a time, yeah?”

“Okay,” she sighed, trying to slow her racing heart. “It’s just…I don’t know anything, I just had this sinking feeling right now, and, well…”

William took in her panicked state and instantly moved to action, reaching out and stroking her back softly. “I’ll answer any questions you have, pet, okay? Just try and calm down.”

She nodded and took a deep breath, centering her thoughts, trying to meditate, like Giles had attempted to teach her a few weeks ago. It didn’t help, but the soft, repetitive circles William was stroking on her back did. “Okay. Buffy better.” She finally said, surprised at what a calming affect his touch was having on her.

“Alright then,” he said quietly, reluctantly removing his hand. “You used to live in Los Angeles, your parents are divorced, I don’t believe you speak to your father anymore. You were called when you were fifteen, and originally had a different Watcher—“

“And then I burned down the school gym and got sent here?” William nodded. “Okay, at least all that’s the same. And then you became my Watcher?” He nodded again. “You really are super young, though.”

“Thanks, I suppose?” He laughed. “And yes, you did slay the Master.”

“Did I die?” From his shocked expression, she accurately determined, “Guess not.”

“Anything else you want to know?”

“How’d you get the nickname Spike?”

“And we’re back to researching.”

The two shared a quiet laugh and turned back to their books.


“Okay, it’s really very simple,” Drusilla said, drawing a circle of sand around her. “It’s a spell called tirer la couture.”

“Rotate many foodstuffs?” Buffy frowned, frantically trying to remember the last time she’d actually gone to French class.

Dru giggled. “No, it means pull the curtain back. I’m putting myself in a trance, kind of, to see spells.”

“That’s not dangerous, is it?”

“No, no,” the dark haired girl smiled. “I can do it.”

“Drusilla is bloody brilliant, actually,” William said, causing her to blush. “It’s true, you’d put any of those Council witches to shame.”

“Thanks,” she said happily. “Really, it’s not hard, just takes a lot of concentration. And, I altered the spell a bit, weakened the effects, so it should only last about five minutes. Why don’t you two go into the office so I can do it out here, then I’ll come to see you, Buffy, and see what’s going on.”

Buffy nodded nervously and followed William into his small, cluttered office. He shut the door behind her and settled himself onto the couch, while Buffy paced back in forth in the tiny room. The school had emptied out for the evening, the sun was setting, and once again a spell was being cast in the library. She was antsy.

The smell of incense came wafting under the door just a few minutes later.

“Nervous?” William asked as he watched her.

“Did the pacing give it away? I thought I was hiding it so well.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “This’ll tell us something at least, narrow it down, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, then sat stiffly next to him, her leg bouncing.

William reached out and stilled her jitters with his hand. “Calm. Down.”

“Calm, so calm,” she lied. “Calm like…something calm. I don’t know.”

Just a second later, a tentative knock sounded on the door. Buffy froze in place, staring at the door with wide eyes, and William leapt up to open it.

Drusilla entered, swaying lightly, her knee-length white dress swirling around her delicately. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, her jaw slack. She surveyed the room slowly, starting left and moving right, until she found Buffy.

It felt like an eternity as she stared, and Buffy could hardly stand the intensity in the girl’s dark gaze.

“There’s nothing,” Drusilla whispered, her voice lilting, as if she was singing. “There’s no spells. No ties that bind.”

“But...but there has to be—“ Buffy started to protest, when Drusilla raised one hand and silenced her.

“Wait…your eyes…” she moved closer, until they were nearly nose to nose. Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath. “I can see into you, into your eyes. There’s a gate. The stars, they sparkle back at me…there’s nothing there. They go down so deep. There’s nothing there. Except what you want there to be.”

She blinked, her eyes warmed back up, her face shifted imperceptibly, and she was normal Drusilla again, or at least for this reality. The shock of seeing her like that, exactly like the vampire from her nightmares, caused Buffy to stagger back against the wall, flatten herself there, and just stare in horror.

“Buffy, are you okay?” Drusilla asked, her voice higher, friendly again, concerned. “Did I scare you? I’m sorry!”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she shook her head, shaking slightly. “That was just…anyway. I’m sorry, what did you see?” She tried her best to seem calm, normal, collected.

Drusilla stared at her, puzzled, but just said, “Well, there’s no actual spell around you, nothing to indicate created memories, or…or something like that. But I saw something in your eyes, it was strange, they were…bottomless?”

“What do you think that means?” William asked, still watching Buffy, still checking to make sure she was as okay as she claimed.

“I don’t know, really,” Drusilla wrinkled her forehead in thought. “I guess it would support the…the reality of Buffy’s other reality? If her eyes were so deep I couldn’t see the bottom, then maybe that means…she comes out on the other side?”

“That makes sense!” Buffy exclaimed. “I mean, doesn’t it?”

William nodded, and said slowly, “That’s good work, Dru. I would say you’re probably right.”

The girl let out a sigh of relief, “I’m glad the spell taught us something, I’m really sorry if it scared you, Buffy…”

“No, no, it didn’t,” she insisted. “And see, I told you I’m not crazy.”

“No, you’re not crazy,” William said quietly, looking at the small blonde girl in front of him. “You’re just…not quite you, I guess.”

Buffy could feel their eyes appraise her, inspect her, look for some difference they hadn’t noticed before.

They found none.

“Okay, well,” William coughed, tearing his eyes away from the Slayer in front of him. “I guess we could get back to researching, see if—“

“No,” Buffy said. “I...I have a headache, I think I’m just going to take a walk. I’ll see you at home. Thanks, Drusilla, for the spell.”

She hurried out of the office and grabbed her bag before running out of the library, the school, and into the muted light of dusk. She ran until she reached the edge of campus, then slowed down and leaned against a parked car.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to block out the fear that seemed to cloud around her, clawing at her skin, trying to dig its way into her heart.

“Buffy?” An all too familiar voice said from in front of her.

“Hi, Angel,” she said without opening her eyes. When she finally did, he was standing awkwardly in front of her, a concerned expression on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“That seems to be up for debate,” she muttered, then managed to look directly at his face and say, “Drusilla did her spell, so I’m all different Buffy, not your Buffy. So, you were wrong. You were all wrong.”

“Oh,” he frowned. “So you really…you really don’t know any of us?”

She shook her head forcefully. “I’m sorry if I’ve been rude, though…I didn’t mean to be. You just…who you are to me is really, complicated I guess, and you being here, but not…I’m talking in circles all the time, and I know I’m not making sense, but—“ She took a deep, shuddering breath.

Angel put his hand on her arm awkwardly, in what she assumed was supposed to be comforting. It shocked her that his touch felt nothing like her other Angel’s, that his heavy palm on her skin just felt...like Xander’s would have. “It’s okay, Buff…Buffy,” he corrected himself from using the friendly nickname. “I’m sorry I was kind of a jerk. I’ll help out, okay?’

“Okay,” she smiled tensely and pulled away. “I’m just…I need to be alone, right now? But Dru’s still in the library, I think, I’ll see you all later.”

She walked off quickly, a destination in mind, relishing the setting of the sun.

She needed to kill something.

Two staked vamps later and Buffy was walking up the front path to her house. As she reached out for the door handle it flew open in front of her to reveal an angry looking William.

“Where the hell have you been?” He asked, ushering her inside.

“Slaying,” said Buffy. “Why, do I have to check in all the time? Who are you, my mother?”

William recoiled at the bitterness in the girl’s voice. “I was worried about you, pet. Angel said he ran into you and you were freaked, is the word he used. And no, I’m not your mother, I’m your Watcher, and your…friend.”

“I don’t know you,” she spat, the fear and frustration of the last few days melding into fury as it burst forth from her body. “You’re not my friend. I don’t know anything about you, because I’m not your Buffy!”

“You are,” he said firmly. When she started to protest, he cut her off, “I know what I said earlier, and I’m sorry if that…upset you. I was shocked, to be honest, that it wasn’t just a spell, or a hallucination---”

“Because you wouldn’t listen to me,” Buffy interrupted. “And you STILL don’t believe me.”

He continued on as if he hadn’t heard her. “But regardless of what you remember, or where you think you belong, you’re still my…our Buffy, I think.”

“I’m not!”

“You are I promise you. Only you could drive me completely bonkers.”

Her hardened expression broke and she let loose a giggle. “That means crazy, right?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, his heart warming that he’d made her laugh. “I do believe you…I just, have a feeling, I can’t explain it. Anyway, I told you, we’ll figure this out, and we will. But until then, I’ll do whatever I can to make you comfortable here. Okay?”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “Even by telling me how you got the nickname Spike?”

He groaned and went to sit on the couch. Buffy followed and curled herself into a ball, waiting for him to speak. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?” William sighed.

“Nope,” she said gleefully. “Also, it’s research. I know Spike the vampire guy got the name by driving railroad spikes into the heads of his victims. So I’m hoping that’s not YOUR story.”

“No, definitely not,” he laughed awkwardly. “It’s a much more boring story.”

“Then why won’t you tell me?”

William sighed. “You’re incredibly persistent.”

“Only when I really want something,” she smirked, reaching out and playfully poking his arm.

He glanced at her quickly then said, “Well, as you’ve probably already figured out, I was a bit of a punk when I was younger.”

“Leather, bleached hair, eyeliner?”

“Something like that.”

“Please tell me there are pictures.”

“None that you’ll ever see.”

“Jerk.”

“Bloody hell, woman, do you want to hear the story or not?”

“You may proceed.”

“Well I was in this band—“

“Oh God!”

“---and I was the singer, and we had this gig at this dive bar outside of London, and I fell off the stage and on my face. Cut my self on, well, a spike of some kind. That’s the fascinating story of the nickname.”

She reached out and gingerly brushed her fingers over the scar on his eyebrow. He half closed his eyes at the sensation of her skin on his. “Yeah, that was kind of a boring story,” she said as she pulled away. “And not at all cool.”

“Thanks, pet,” he said sarcastically, regaining control of himself. “Might want to tone down the praise, my ego’s big enough as it is.”

Buffy dissolved into giggles, then said, “I’m sorry, I really am just going to have to call you Spike from now on.”

“Do I get a veto?”

“Nope.”

“Then I suppose I’ll take it like a man.”

They shared a smile, then Buffy asked, “So why the transition from big bad Spike to William the Watcher?”

He shrugged. “My father was on the Council, pushed me to find a purpose in life, as opposed to running around getting smashed and singing punk rock. Like I told you, I started out training as a field operative, I thought I was a real tough guy, but life has a way of flipping things around on you, doesn’t it?”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” The good humor seemed to drain out of her body, and she leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes.

William watched her for a moment, then asked quietly, “If there’s anything you need to talk about, Buffy…like, well, what happened with the other Angel, or anything, you know I’m here, yeah?”

She opened her eyes and appraised him thoughtfully. “I mean, it’s just like with Drusilla and Xander right? Big love, bad decision, bye bye soul?”

“Well, that’s the gist of it,” he shrugged. “But the details of it, I’m sure couldn’t be exactly the same.”

“Honestly, it was awkward enough forcing it out the first time, with Angel sitting right there.” She had hardly been able to explain the circumstances around Angel losing his soul, and knew the three had probably only understood because of Drusilla’s equivalent situation. She couldn’t even say the word “sex”. Way too awkward.

“But he’s not here now, is he?” said William, then added quickly, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to push.” He knew his curiosity about the situation was coming from a selfish place, and started to change the topic. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

The smiled at each other, and just for a moment, Buffy forgot where she was, who she was, and who she wasn’t. There was something there, between them, something more than what he was sharing with her, but as she started to speak, she was interrupted by a knock at the front door. William stood up and answered it, then led Drusilla and Angel into the room.

“Hi, guys,” Buffy said in surprise. “What’s up?”

“We’re kidnapping you,” Angel said. “To go to the Bronze.”

“We figured if we just showed up you wouldn’t turn us down,” Drusilla said tentatively.

Buffy brightened. “That sounds like fun, definitely. Let me just change into something less…frumpy?”

She dashed up the stairs, feeling a lightness in her heart. This would be good. The Bronze. Normal, teen fun for normal, teen Buffy, or as close as she would ever get. Forget her problems, dance it up. That’s what she should do.

She applied makeup quickly, a skill she’d honed after a year of having to get ready to go out mere minutes after some fight to the death. The good feeling in her body increased as she opened her closet, dug around for a bit, and actually recognized some of the clothes there. She pulled on a tight black pair of jeans and tied on a red halter top. Just a scrap of fabric on the front and a few strings on the back, it was a shirt she would have covered up with a jacket as she snuck out of the house, to avoid eye rolls from her mother. But she had the distinct impression William didn’t impose a lot of rules on her, and if he did, a dress code wasn’t one of them.

Buffy quickly shook out her hair, glad to see that after being slept in and piled on her head all day, it had settled into a sort of sexy, bed head look. One last glance in the mirror and she shoved some money and her ID in her back pocket---yep, her ID said Buffy Anne Summers—and she ran down the stairs and found her two friends---really, friends?---and William chatting in the kitchen.

“Buffy ready and raring to go!” she announced.

“You look so cute!” squealed Drusilla.

“Thanks,” Buffy smiled.

“Pratt, you coming?” Angel asked.

“Yeah, I’m thinking no on that, mate,” William scoffed, averting his eyes from the smooth, tanned expanse of skin peeking out from above the waistband of Buffy’s pants.

“Come on, Spike,” Buffy teased. “You could stage dive.”

He glared at her. “Have fun. Be home before…bloody hell, I don’t know, but you all have school tomorrow.”

They said their goodbyes and headed towards the Bronze. They fell easily into witty repartee and casual conversation, and Buffy was once again stunned at her increasing comfort with these alternate versions of her former love and his protégé.

It took awhile for Buffy to get into the swing of things. The Bronze certainly looked the same, but when she glanced around and hardly recognized a soul, that creeping dread threatened to take over again, until Drusilla pulled her out onto the dance floor and she worked out some of her aggressions to a peppy pop beat.

Her heart stopped in her chest, however, when she spun around and saw Angel handing a drink to a familiar blonde.

“Oh my God,” she breathed.

“What?” Drusilla asked, following her gaze. “Oh, that’s Darla. Angel’s sometimes girlfriend.” She added quietly, “I kind of don’t like her.”

“I need to…I…” She had almost gotten past the point where things could shock her in this world, and she supposed if she’d thought hard enough about it she should have expected this latest development, but hadn’t, and her heart hurt. Buffy watched Angel plant a kiss on the cheek of the little blonde who’d tried to shoot her once, then breathed deeply and calmed herself. “Never mind, don’t care. Let’s dance some more.”

The evening proceeded fairly uneventfully thereafter. The conversation was light and friendly, and Buffy almost felt like this was where she belonged. That these were her friends, and this was her world. Unsettling, but yet, comfortable at the same time.

They left to head home, but just a block from the Bronze, Buffy felt a slight pinprick on the back of her neck that tickled down her spine.

“Guys, hold on,” she interrupted Angel’s ever so fascinating speech about football.

“What?” Dru asked.

“Vampire.”

She glanced around the alley, her eyes settling on a female figure attempting to make herself invisible by the dumpster.

“You know, I could come drag you out, but if you just make yourself more available for the slayage, you could save me a lot of time.”

From the shadows emerged Amy Madison.

“Amy?” Buffy said in surprise, her heart sinking that yet another person she knew was vamped. So much for the getting used to it all. “How’ve you been?”

“Dead. You?”

“Different dimension.”

“Ah.”

They stared at each other for a minute, before Amy sprang into action, lunging at Buffy with a right hook. Buffy dodged it easily, and as she kicked and punched, she called out, “A stake would be helpful, guys!”

Amy was quick, but the Slayer was stronger, and once Drusilla tossed her a stake from her purse, Buffy lunged in for the kill, feeling a twinge of sadness she staked the vampire with the familiar face.

“Well, that was bracing,” Buffy muttered, dusting off her shirt and turning back to Angel and Drusilla. “Why the shocked faces? You’ve seen me slay before, right?”

They were looking over her shoulder, and Buffy suddenly realized that her Slayer sense was still tingling.

She spun around slowly to see Willow.

But it wasn’t Willow, it couldn’t be.

This Willow was impossibly pale, and her long hair was dyed as red as blood, matching her lipstick. She was dressed—no, poured—into a tight, black lace shirt with a ruffled collar, and a black leather miniskirt. She was some weird hybrid of prim and proper and dominatrix, and the fact that it was Willow just made it all the stranger.

“Okay, this is wigging me out,” Buffy muttered.

“What was that, Slayer?” the vampire asked, striding towards her smoothly, confidently, her hips swaying in a way that Willow’s never did. She stopped about ten feet away, and at this close distance Buffy could appraise every inch of her. It was Willow. Down to…everything. Except the part about being alive.

“Oh, nothing,” Buffy finally said confidently, realizing it was probably best not to let on to this…vampire version of Willow that she was having some serious mental issues. “I just said your outfit wigged me out. Seriously, did you fall into a stripper wear store or something?”

“That’s the best you can do?” Willow sighed, absentmindedly picking at her long black nails. “You’re slipping, Slayer. Next you’re going to insult my hair, and I’ll have to slap you, then it’ll be some whole chick fight thing. Beneath me.”

“Not trying to insult you,” the Slayer shrugged, trying to suppress the rising pain and panic as she stared at this thing who wore her best friend’s face. “Just trying to help a fashion victim in need.”

Willow rolled her eyes and glanced past her to focus on Drusilla. “Aw, look, it’s my fellow witch. How’s it going, Dru?”

“Leave her alone,” growled Angel.

“Calm down, Prince Charming.” Her smile was wicked, and she darted out her tongue to quickly lick her lips, as if what she was about to do was just so delicious she was salivating. “Drusilla, sweetheart. Talked to Xander lately?”

“Shut up,” the girl whispered.

“No, I didn’t think you had,” Willow sighed. “Considering he’s been in my bed every night. Does that hurt, little amateur? Are you getting some lovely visuals?”

“SHUT UP!”

“I never did thank you for sending him back to me. One sad little night inside of you and he was just begging to be evil again.”

Drusilla couldn’t prevent a river of tears from streaming down her cheeks, but she did her best to hold her voice steady when she said, “I can’t wait until Buffy kills you.”

A high pitched, purely evil cackle came from the vampire, and she ignored the girl’s feeble threat by proxy. “That was really all I wanted to do tonight, it’s just so wonderful to make someone cry.” Buffy moved forward to attack, but Willow stopped her with a raised palm, and a stream of silver sparks pushed Buffy back a few feet, and caused a look of horror to bloom on her face. “Now, now, Slayer. I didn’t come here to fight. It would be rude to attack unprovoked.”

“I would say I’ve been provoked,” Buffy menaced, shaking off the frozen feeling Willow’s spell had caused.

“Hardly.” Willow’s lighthearted demeanor darkened in an instant and she took one short, threatening step in Buffy’s direction. “If I wanted to provoke you, bitch, you’d know.”

“Get out of here, Willow.”

“I’m going, I’m going! So rude, you are. We’ll see each other again soon though, darling Buffy, and next time, I won’t be alone.”

With that, Willow strode off, turning her back on the three so casually one would think she had no fear of the Slayer at all.

Drusilla was shaking, and crying, with Angel’s arms around her.

“I’m sorry,” Buffy said feebly.

“We should get her home,” Angel suggested, looking uncomfortable at having to deal with a crying teenage girl.

Drusilla whimpered, “Sometimes it hurts so much I can’t breathe.”

“I know the feeling,” Buffy murmured, staring off in the darkness where Willow had disappeared.

Buffy knew she was dreaming, which made it easier.

Sometimes, she wasn’t sure if it was dreams or reality, and she’d get so happy, so hopeful, thinking that maybe everything was right in the world. But when she ultimately did wake up, and of course she always did, the crushing sadness that resulted would threaten to render her useless for the entire day.

But this time, she knew she was dreaming. In fact, she wasn’t even really herself in the dream, she was watching herself. Watching herself kissing Angel, and letting him undress her, and making that stupid decision that would destroy the thing she held most dear. Or, used to hold most dear. Is that really in the past now? She didn’t know.

She wanted to scream out, “Stop, don’t, please!”, but couldn’t, being as she wasn’t even really there, or at least there in the sense that she mattered at all or had any say in what was happening. She was a floating black cloud a few feet away, amorphous and worthless, unable to stop the train wreck in front of her.

Well, no. Not exactly. She must be corporeal, because suddenly there was a hand gently resting on her shoulder, a gentle, but firm hand, a hand that sent shocks throughout her body.

She turned to see William smiling down at her. No, not William, Spike, with the bleached blonde hair and the cocky grin and the leather. But William. In a way. In the eyes.

“I’ll make it all okay,” he said to her sweetly, and began to lean in, ever so slowly. Angel’s apartment faded, she was in her room, then outside in a cemetery, then in the library. Day shifted to night shifted to day.

As his lips touched hers, she awoke to the early morning sun streaming in through her window, and the beeping of her alarm clock.

“What the what?” She mumbled. “That was weird.”

Not the dream itself, necessarily. Everyone had weird dreams, and this one didn’t even make her top ten (the number one spot was held by a dream she’d had three years earlier involving a pink giraffe, a robot Buffy, and an impromptu mambo.)

No, it was weird for a different reason. It had felt like a Slayer dream.

She shook the strangeness off and set about getting ready for another day in this crazy, mixed up world.

Buffy did wonder why, after her shower, she automatically set about blow-drying her hair, applying makeup, and dressing in a cute but comfortable outfit. It was a far cry from her apathetic attitude of the previous day.

It was resignation, she finally decided. She was going to live in this world the way she would if she was home, until she could get back there. And she knew she would find a way home. As soon as possible.

Buffy Summers was not going to sit just around and brood.

“So here’s the plan, Watcher,” she said when she bounced into the kitchen, grabbing a piece of toast off his plate. “We now know that me Buffy is not crazy, and while you still stay there’s no other Buffy, I want to be me Buffy in me land not me Buffy here so let’s research, okay?”

He stared at her in confusion. “Huh?”

Buffy sighed, swallowed a bite of bread, and spoke in more simplistic terms. “More research. Get me home.”

William managed to hide his almost overwhelming disappointment. He had let himself think, for maybe just a moment, that she might want to stay here. Obviously, he had been wrong.

“Well, Buffy,” he said, straightening up and adopting his adult authority voice. “I really don’t think another day of skipped classes is going to sit well with the principal. I can research while you’re in class, and then you can join me after.”

She pouted. And that alone almost got him to relent, but he held strong, not speaking, just meeting her icy gaze.

“Fine. I’ll go to class.”

“Good girl,” he smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

Her response was not so light. Buffy snarked, “Do I get a cookie?” She then stalked out of the kitchen, slammed the front door, and impatiently waited for him next to his car.

William came out silently a minute later, opening her door for her. She didn’t look at him, just climbed into the car and pouted some more.

“Are you not talking to me?” He asked as they began to drive.

She sighed. “I’m just being a brat. I’m cranky. And sorry.”

“Well, that was not the response I expected. I figured more sodding pouting.” She playfully slapped him, and just like that, any tension dissipated, and they were the two of them. Buffy and William. Or, Buffy and Spike.

Or Buffy, and this person she felt like she knew, but couldn’t even remember.

Or, William, and this girl that he desperately wanted to believe, and did feel in his heart, was his Buffy.

Whoever they were, whatever it was, it was comfortable.

They arrived at the school, and William gave her a few words of encouragement before disappearing in the direction of the library. Buffy sighed, and steeled herself for a very bad day.

But it was surprising to her, really, how seamlessly she fit into the student body. She guessed by the lack of initiated conversation by her classmates, that she was just as much a freak and outsider here as she was at home, so maybe it wasn’t so strange that no one noticed anything was…different. She had no idea what was going on in most of her courses, but again, that wasn’t really a huge difference from the way things usually were.

She was pleased to find Angel and Dru in more than one of her classes, but not pleased to see Dru’s exhausted demeanor and swollen eyes. The eyes of someone who had spent all night crying. Buffy knew those eyes, she saw those eyes more often than not recently when she looked at herself in the mirror. And she felt awful for her new friend.

The day dragged on. She succeeded in avoiding that guy she had apparently dated when he started to approach her in the hall, and also managed to not make a fool of herself when teachers or students spoke to her. She was forced by Principal Snyder to spend the lunch hour in a form of detention for some transgression she didn’t remember committing. Of all the possibilities in this alternaverse, the fact that he was still the principal and still hated her struck Buffy as almost funny.

When the last bell of the day rang, she felt all the tension leave her body, and knew that her newfound relaxation was because she was minutes away from being with William. Or, Spike. She hadn’t yet figured out how to refer to him in her mind, but she knew his presence made her rapidly beating heart slow to a normal pace, and soothed her frazzled nerves. Why, she had no idea. But she did know that she trusted him, and that he meant to help her.

Help her get home, where, while things didn’t make any more sense, at least she knew what was what.

Buffy burst into the library, startling William, who’d been completely immersed in a text that might prove helpful. He glanced up quickly, finding the Slayer bathed in sunlight, hair and skin glowing, a soft smile gracing her features.

God, she was beautiful.

That thought wasn’t just a casual, passing one. It was tinged with guilt for even thinking it, with lust, with desperation, with fear. But regardless of the varying emotions within him whenever he looked at the girl, he knew that one thing. She was beautiful.

“Any luck?” Buffy asked as she threw herself into the chair next to him.

“Actually, yes,” he nodded. “Nothing concrete yet, but I found a very detailed analysis of alternate universes and how that affects individual identity. Unfortunately it’s in Greek, which I’m not fluent in, so it’s taking some time to translate.”

“It’s all Greek to me.” She winced at her own bad joke.

“Bloody riot, you are,” William smirked at her. He started to turn back to his book, when she interrupted him.

“We ran into Willow last night,” she said quietly. “She’s kind of scary.”

“She is,” he nodded.

“She used magic on me. It was like…I was frozen, I couldn’t do anything to stop her.”

“Yes. Dru is working on some sort of shield for you, to resist her magic.” William waited, sensing there was more she wanted to get out.

“It’s one thing to you see you and Dru and Angel in your…different ways, here,” she tripped over her own words. “But seeing Willow, who was my best friend, who was…such a good person, seeing her like that…”

It was coming again, the all encompassing dread and sorrow. She didn’t want it. She couldn’t handle it, not here, not with him looking at her with such pity in his eyes. And her head was pounding. Buffy leapt from her chair and ran up the stairs, lost herself in the stacks, using all of her inner strength trying to suppress the tears within her.

So wrapped up in staying calm, she didn’t sense that William had followed her. And when he placed his hand on her shoulder, she felt herself falling, her shaking legs giving out under her. Aware she would probably hit the floor with a painful crash, Buffy still could do nothing to soften her fall. But instead of the hurt she expected as she collapsed, she found her self quickly caught in William’s strong arms, and he gently lowered her to the floor, pulling her small body against his chest.

“Buffy…I’m here…” He murmured into her hair, rocking her back and forth.

“I can’t…I can’t…I don’t remember…” She managed to force out in between sobs that wracked her entire body, sobs that she could feel in her feet, in her chest, in her already hurting brain.

“You don’t have to,” he said simply, clutching her against him tighter. He just held her. He didn’t feed her platitudes of “It’ll be alright, it’ll be okay”, he didn’t tell her not to cry, he didn’t pull away. He just embraced her as she broke down.

It could have been ten minutes; it could have been an hour. Buffy was cradled against his body, her head tucked up under his chin, and he used one hand to stroke comforting circles on her back. The pain searing through her head started to fade, replaced by a dull ache, and she ran out of moisture to produce as tears.

She pulled away slowly, staring down at her hands. William was reluctant to let her go, but he allowed her space, letting his arms drop to his sides. His knees were aching, his back sore from sitting on the hard floor, but he was unaware of these things. The only thing he cared about was Buffy.

“I hate being such a crybaby,” she said to her hands, not looking him in the face. “I’m sorry you have to deal with me being all…stupid and childish and wigged beyond the telling of it.”

He said nothing, just reached out one hand and wiped a tear from her cheek. Buffy slowly lifted her head to look at him, and his heart broke. Her eyes were shining impossibly green after the shedding of torrents of tears, and were filled with such a raw misery William didn’t understand how she could even bear it.

It was only a small movement forward, and then he was pressing his lips to her forehead, his grip on her tightening. Buffy melted into his embrace. From the place where his lips met her skin, warmth and electricity radiated, and she sighed.

They pulled away simultaneously, quiet, still, staring. She opened her mouth to break the silence when Angel’s voice came from beyond the stacks. “Pratt? Buffy?”

William jumped up, the spell broken. “Up here, Angel. Be right down.”

He reached down and offered a hand to Buffy, and she used it to haul herself off the ground.

“You alright?” He murmured softly.

“Yeah, I just need a minute to...Thank you.”

William smiled at her awkwardly. “Any time.”

He spun and rushed out of the stacks, and Buffy leaned up against the nearby bookcase to regain control of herself. Her legs were shaking again, but this time, for an entirely different reason.

Yet again, another afternoon of intense researching had proved fruitless, although William insisted the current text he was working with would eventually yield insight. And yet again, Buffy knew there was one way to ease the frustration within her.

A good slay was definitely in order.

“I really do think I should come with you,” William insisted. Angel and Drusilla were packing up their belongings, while Buffy picked out a fun weapon to play with for the evening.

“Really, I’m good,” she insisted, avoiding his gaze, still not quite sure what had happened back in the stacks. “Keep working with your musty smelly books. I can handle myself.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he frowned. “I just think—“

“Spike,” she sighed. “Please. I’ll be home in two hours, okay? Order pizza.”

“Fine,” he relented. “Just for God’s sakes, be careful.”

“Always!” She smiled peppily, and finally chose a small, shining silver axe as her evening’s toy.

She walked out of the school with Drusilla and Angel, making tentative weekend plans before they parted. Buffy continued on her own, humming absentmindedly as she waited for the sun to set. When it did, her posture suddenly shifted, and she moved quicker, senses alert, poised to strike.

Her first encounter was with a weak fledgling who didn’t even get in a single good punch before she staked him.

“Well that was no fun,” she sighed, glancing around the graveyard for any other signs of un-life. Seeing none, she moved on.

After an hour of fruitless patrolling, Buffy found herself in the park, and plopped down on the swing set.

“Stupid Hellmouth,” she mumbled to herself as she kicked her legs forward and set herself swaying. “Never works for me the way I want it to.”

As she swung lazily, deep in thought, she almost missed that telltale tingle of a nearby vampire. But as it grew stronger, she perked up. More than one vamp, definitely. And they were strong.

She spun around, axe in hand, and almost fainted at the sight before her.

Willow, wrapped up in white silk and black leather, smiling wickedly.

Xander, eyes murderous, in black leather pants and a tight t-shirt advertising the metal band Slayer. Buffy would have laughed at the pun if it weren’t for the terror that bubbled on her tongue when she looked at the third figure.

Giles. Or, Ripper, as William had called him. Younger than her Giles, with a full head of jet black hair, he exuded power, and cockiness, and…sex, which was a very disturbing thought Buffy chose not to deal with. He wasn’t using his attire to demonstrate how big and bad he was—in just jeans and a leather jacket, he still radiated more strength than either of the two vampires with him.

But all three of them were clearly very, very strong.

“Hello there, Buffy,” Ripper smiled, his voice low enough that she almost had to strain to hear it. “How’s your evening going?”

His polite tone was more disturbing to her than a threat would have been. Because he sounded exactly like her Watcher. “I’m fine, thanks, and you?” She responded casually, her grip tightening on her weapon.

“Shaping up to be a good night,” he replied, hitching his thumbs in his belt loops and raking his eyes up and down her body. His gaze made her skin crawl.

“Had dinner, now we’re looking to take in a show,” Xander finally spoke, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he too appraised the Slayer in front of him.

“A show, really?” Buffy tried to sound confident. “I could go for some entertainment.”

Willow laughed, that same cruel sound from the night before. “Glad you’re a willing participant. It’s always such fun when you’re fiery.”

Sometimes a little slow on the uptake, Buffy then realized that she was the show, and their entertainment was meant to be her destruction. Or death.

The Chosen One often faced situations where the classic fight or flight instinct kicked in. Usually, she chose fight. She was the Slayer, after all. She could beat most anything that came her way. And she rarely got scared.

But right now, everything inside her was screaming at her to run.

She started to back up slowly, totally aware of her surroundings. She was blocked in on both sides by the walls of the park, but if she could get out into the open street twenty feet behind her, she could run. Lose herself in the backyards of the houses, head home, only three blocks away.

But in the blink of an eye, Willow and Xander moved so they were blocking her escape route.

“Not planning on ditching the party, are you?” Xander smirked.

“Nope,” Buffy said, refusing to admit she’d been attempting to do just that. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” She could tell by the intensity of Ripper’s gaze that he could smell her fear. And that he liked it.

“Something’s off about you, Slayer,” Willow mused, beginning to circle her slowly. “Not sure what it is…reveal.” She gestured at Buffy, who felt a sharp tug from her heart. Willow started to laugh again.

“What is it?” Ripper asked, moving closer to his prey.

“She doesn’t remember us. Doesn’t remember anything. Don’t know why, but our little Slayer is all lost and alone and afraid. It’s intoxicating.”

“Poor little Buffy,” Xander taunted, circling the other way around her and adding to Buffy’s feeling like a caged animal. “So you don’t recognize us at all? You don’t remember all those wonderful nights we hung out when I had that pesky soul?”

Buffy was silent, her eyes following all three of the threats around her.

“I think she remembers,” Willow smiled. “I just don’t think we’re who she wants us to be. She doesn’t belong here.”

The vampire’s magic was clearly strong, if she could sense all that through one simple spell.

“What’s going on?” Ripper asked, still in that same relaxed, conversational tone. “I’d love to know.”

Buffy figured stalling, at this point, was her best choice. If she refused to talk, they’d attack her that much quicker. And as confident as she was in her Slayer skills, she didn’t know if she could take on three clearly very powerful vampires.

It would have been like fighting Spike, Dru, and Angelus all at once.

“Well, it’s a funny story, actually. I’m kind of not from this reality.”

“Makes sense,” Willow mused, reaching out and sending a spark towards Buffy. It hit her in the back, and she swayed and almost collapsed. “Curiouser and curiouser.” The witch closed her eyes.

“So she’s just an entirely different person?” Xander asked as Willow began to sway.

“Not exactly,” Willow responded, eyes still closed. “Oh, very funny.” She giggled and looked at Buffy. “Quite a different place. One itty bitty mistake and my counterpart changed everything.”

“Yeah,” the blonde responded, feeling the affects of the spell fading. “So, you guys hate other Buffy. Not me. So you could maybe let me go?” Her voice was hopeful.

Willow leapt forward quickly and wrapped one arm around Buffy’s throat. “You are the same Buffy,” she hissed in her ear. “Just with a different perception. So welcome to our cruel world, girl. And soon? Menithea will make it even more wicked.”

Buffy grabbed the vampire’s arm and flipped her over her shoulder. Willow landed on her feet and spun around easily, but came close to being struck by the Slayer’s swinging axe. They battled one on one for a few minutes, Xander and Ripper providing casual commentary.

Curious as to why Willow wasn’t using magic, but knowing better than to ask why, Buffy was still fighting a formidable opponent. But she could beat her, she knew. She could triumph, and she would. Well, if the vampire never used magic, and if they weren’t currently being watched by two other master vampires who’d jump in to save her.

Buffy was winning, at the moment, but the vampire managed to knock her axe away with a swift kick. As she reached for the stake in her back pocket, she suffered a kick to her mouth that split her lip. Now pissed, Buffy fought back with even more intensity. When the Slayer sunk a dead on punch into the middle of Willow’s face, breaking her nose and eliciting a high pitched yowl, Xander snapped into action. He delivered two brutal punches to Buffy’s kidneys before she could even react, and Willow recovered from her injury and swept the girl’s legs out from under her.

She managed to scramble to her feet, but was off balance, and couldn’t protect herself from the dual onslaught of punches from the two vampires. Every inch of her was brutally beaten.

“Stop,” Ripper commanded, and both instantly froze, Xander’s fist just an inch from Buffy’s stomach. They backed off, and Buffy moved into her fighting stance as the older vampire approached her, trying to shake off the pain in every part of her body.

“You really are impressive,” he smiled. “Quite a fighter.”

“Thanks, I work out,” Buffy breathed heavily.

He attacked. Ripper was a blur of fists and fury, and while Buffy landed the occasional punch she knew she was out-matched. Her face, her ribs, her legs, all parts of her were assaulted with vicious, powerful kicks and punches.

“Kind of reminds me of the Slayer I killed in ’62,” Ripper commented as he allowed her a moment to recuperate. “Tiny little Russian thing. Looked like she’d break if you breathed on her too hard, but she was tough.”

He leapt at her again, wrenching her stake from her wrist. She heard a snap and let loose a cry of pain.

He drawled, “Well that was fun.”

Ripper pushed her to the ground, and suddenly all three vampires were looming over Buffy. And she could feel their hunger.

William paced the front entryway for twenty minutes before grabbing his crossbow and heading out into the night. Buffy should have come home a half hour ago, and he felt deep in his gut, in his soul, that something wasn’t quite right.

He headed towards the nearest cemetery, keeping eyes and ears peeled for a sign of his Slayer. As he passed by the park, he heard a distant pained cry. He spun around and caught sight of Buffy being pushed to the ground, the three most feared vampires in the city surrounding her. William could feel his heart leap into his throat.

Breaking into a dead run, he aimed and fired his crossbow at Xander. The bolt hit him in the shoulder and he roared in pain and vamped out. All three vampires spun around to face the newcomer, who pulled a cross out to guard himself with. He fired the second loaded bolt of the crossbow into Willow’s thigh before she could move to avoid it, and she growled at him, oblivious to the Slayer leaping up from the ground to kick her brutally in the stomach and face.

Ripper leapt for William, but was stopped immediately by the cross pressed into his face. All three vampires began to back up as Buffy and her Watcher stood to face them in fighting stances.

“Let’s go,” Ripper sighed, gingerly touching the burns on his cheek.

“What? No!” Xander protested, yanking the arrow out of his shoulder and grimacing. “We can take them.”

For the first time, the older vampire’s voice lost it’s relaxed, conversational tone. He menaced, “I gave you an order, and you better bloody well obey it.” Ripper spun and walked off, Willow close behind, favoring her injured leg. Xander shot the Slayer and her Watcher one last murderous gaze, and reluctantly followed them.

Once they disappeared completely from sight, William turned to fully assess Buffy’s injuries. He didn’t have time, however, as she collapsed unconscious into his arms.

William lifted her easily, biting back a furious scream as he took in the bruises beginning to darken her soft flesh and the blood trickling from her mouth and nose. He got her to the house safely, sending up a quick prayer of thanks that no demons or beasts had smelled the Slayer’s tantalizing blood and come to find them.

Buffy stirred as he carried her upstairs, her body began to shake, and she let out a soft moan as he laid her down on her bed.

“How are you feeling, love?” He asked as her eyes fluttered open, his horror subsiding now that she was at least awake.

“Ow,” was all she could say, wincing as she attempted to lift her head.

“Don’t move, I’ll be right back.” He ran to the bathroom and grabbed their well stocked first aid kit, and some painkillers, returning to Buffy’s side before she could even take two shaky breaths.

She watched him with half closed eyes as he began to clean up her blood, wrap her wrist, and bandage her wounds. A muscle in his jaw was twitching, his eyes were narrowed, and he was radiating anger and violence and danger. He was clearly barely containing his fury.

He reminded her of Spike in that moment. But it warmed her heart to know that his rage was on her behalf, not directed at her.

“Hey, don’t look so glum,” she said weakly. “I’m fine. A little shaken, pretty embarrassed, but fine.”

“Embarrassed?”

“Yeah. What Slayer needs to be saved by her Watcher? I mean, really.”

He didn’t laugh at her attempt at a joke, just tightened his jaw more and tentatively lifted the hem of her shirt. “I think some of your ribs are broken, and you have a cut on your stomach,” he said slowly. “I need to…” He tugged gently on the fabric.

“Oh, okay,” she said weakly, closing her eyes and blushing a bit. He gently lifted the shirt so it was only covering her breasts, baring her stomach to his eyes.

Sex was the last thing on his mind, however, as he took in her battered torso. He carefully cleaned and bandaged a cut on her lower belly. His touch was gentle, soothing, as he felt around her sides. She cried out as he hit a tender spot.

“Sorry,” he murmured, choking back a dry sob.

“William? It’s alright,” Buffy soothed, her hand reaching to settle on top of his. She laced their fingers together. “It’s really not that bad, I have super healing, remember?”

“Bloody hell, they could have killed you, Buffy,” he said softly, his grip on her hand tightening. “If I hadn’t shown up, they would have.”

“Maybe,” she smiled. “You did save me, and thank you. But maybe I was all ready to jump up and take them all down. You don’t know!”

She was trying to lighten the mood, trying to rip that horrified look off his handsome features, but in her heart she knew how close she had come to dying that night.

Once again, he didn’t respond to her humor, but continued to hold her hand as he began to clean the blood off of her face, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Is this…is this the most hurt you’ve ever seen me?” she asked. He nodded, avoiding her gaze.

“This dimension must have a better version of me,” she said sadly. “A tougher version.”

“No, Buffy,” William said firmly. “The last time you faced those three you just ran, which honestly, you should have done tonight.”

“Probably.”

“Definitely.”

They were quiet as he finished cleaning her forehead. He reluctantly pulled his hand from hers and used it to tape a piece of gauze over the gash above her eyebrow.

“There,” he said, surveying his handiwork. “All bandaged up.” He handed her the pills and went to fetch a glass of water. When he returned she swallowed her medicine, and William began busying himself with packing the first aid kit back up.

Buffy blurted out, “They said something that’s probably important. Menithea?”

“Menithea?” He frowned. “Demon I remember reading about years ago. I’ll research it.”

“After you finish translating that Greek book, right?” Buffy asked hopefully, then shrank back as he glared at her.

“Don’t be daft.. I rather think a demon mentioned by three master vampires who just almost murdered you is a little more important.”

“But—“

“But nothing, Buffy,” William snapped. He was aware his fear over her injuries, his confusion over her memory loss, and his frustration with his own actions towards her were melding together and emerging as anger, but he could do nothing to suppress the emotion. “We will ultimately figure out how to get you back wherever the hell you came from, but you are still the sodding Slayer, and you have to deal with the problems in this world even if you don’t want to be here.”

“Okay,” Buffy agreed softly, struggling to sit up so she could turn away from him and hide her upset face. She let out a whimper when a shooting pain started in her side.

“Buffy, Buffy I’m sorry,” he said quickly, anger evaporating as he saw her weakened state. He sat down next to her and reached an arm under her shoulders, lowering her back to the bed so her back was pressed to his front as he continued to murmur his apology. “I’m just…crazed. Seeing you like that…”

Buffy relaxed into his hold, resting her head on his strong chest. “I know,” she sighed.

“We’ll do both. We’ll research both, okay?” He felt her nod. “Good. You need to rest now. Heal, yeah?”

He shifted a bit, as if to get up but Buffy said softly, “Please don’t go?”

William didn’t. He settled back against the pillows and wrapped his arms around her. Her body next to his felt so natural, so heavenly, that he had to close his eyes so savor the moment, not sure if it would ever happen again. If he’d ever let it happen again.

They were quiet, and Buffy became aware of the fact that they were breathing in unison. She smiled faintly and let the feeling of his body next to hers soothe her, and tried to block out the pain in her head, in her ribs, in her entire body. It was so strange. So strange how comfortable she felt lying with this strange man she didn’t know, not really, so strange that she felt safe, so strange that she had hardly thought about Angel, her Angel, the other, evil version of Angel, all evening. So strange that this man, William, Spike, was holding her as if she was something fragile, but precious. Strange, all around.

“What is this, with us?” she asked quietly after a few minutes.

William didn’t say anything, and she was afraid he’d fallen asleep. But he finally answered. “I don’t know.”

“But…it’s something?” She gathered her courage. “Do you…you like me?”

He slid her over so she was resting on the pillows, and shifted his body so he was looking down at her. “I’m not really sure we should be talking about this, pet. Not when…not when you don’t remember.”

“You mean because I’m not your Buffy. You liked the other Buffy.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I do. You are.” She looked confused, and so was he. “Kitten, some of what I’ve translated so far is about identity, and multiple copies of the same person. I’m not done, but what I think it means as that each…version, I guess, of a person is exactly the same. I think what happened to you is just that your memories were…replaced, with the ones you have now, there was just some sort of…switch. You’re here, and not at home, or what you think is your home…I know that doesn’t make sense but… I don’t think you’re a different person at all. You just have different memories.”

“But...but my life, those memories, all that stuff, isn’t that who I am? Doesn’t that MAKE me who I am?”

“In a way.” He took a deep breath and spoke quickly.” But…your smile. Your eyes, the way you laugh, your sense of humor. It’s all the same. There’s nothing about you that isn’t the way I remember it, the way I like it.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“You…you are Buffy. In every way. Maybe you don’t remember, but, yes, alright? I have feelings for you. And…I was starting to think you did too. Before you forgot about me.”

“Spike—“

He stood up suddenly. “Let’s forget we talked about this, yeah? It’s a bad road to go down.”

“No, Spike—“

“That’s not my name. Not anymore. And…you shouldn’t even know that.”

Knowing she couldn’t follow in her broken condition, he moved towards the door.

“Yell if you need me, yeah? I’ll be downstairs.”

He spun on his heel and left quickly, and Buffy stared at the empty space where he had been, stunned.

William checked on her every half an hour throughout the night. He didn’t set an alarm, he didn’t even really plan on it, but every thirty minutes, his concern for her woke him up, and he peeked in her door to make sure she was alright. She was asleep each time, still in her school clothes, a pained look on her pretty face.

He assumed the expression was because of her injuries, because of the stress of her evening, because of his own harsh behavior towards her.

There was no way he could know what was going on in her mind.


It was the same dream, at first. Except this time, she was herself, not a cloud, not pointless. There and present. She was in her body, she was feeling everything. In Angel’s apartment, wet from the rain, cold, sinking back against his chest.

“I love you. I try not to, but I can’t stop.”

Angel’s words were in surround sound, coming at her from all sides, too loud, so loud she wanted to cover her ears, and would have, if she had any control over her own body. But she didn’t. She could only relive it, not change anything.

Her response was quieter, only heard in her own mind. “Me...me too. I can’t either.”

The room spun into a black hole, so dark, then she felt herself lurch, and was looking into the smiling face of Drusilla, on a bright, sunny day, in the high school quad.

“Hi, Principal Snyder asked me to show you around, it’s Buffy, right?”

“Yep,” she felt herself reply happily. “Buffy is me.”

“I’m Drusilla, it’s nice to meet you!”

“I’m nice to meet,” she then said to Tom the evil frat guy. The sun was still warm on her skin.

A searing pain in her head, and then she was in a graveyard, at night, with Spike. No. With William.

“Buffy, that was sloppy,” he scolded, making a notation in his leather bound journal.

“Excuse me?” She scoffed, hand on her hip, head cocked.

“Your punches were all over the place, and you left yourself open to attack at least three times.”

“If you don’t like the way I’m doing my job, why don’t you hire someone else?”

“You are a frustrating little chit, aren’t you?”

“Don’t insult me in British!”

Another black hole, more pain, so much pain.

“Buffy. I want you to go to the dance with me. You and me. On a date.” Xander looked at her hopefully.

He had said it. He had come out and said the one thing she never wanted him to confess. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything!” Angel said from behind her. She spun, a swirl of colors made her nauseous, and she was in an unfamiliar room. A boy’s room, clearly, from the sports posters and swimsuit calendar and flannel sheets. “I don’t really want to hear your explanation. Thanks all the same.”

“Angel, I’m sorry—“

“You have nothing to be sorry for, right? It wasn’t your fault? Some stupid love spell and you’re breaking up me and Darla, because you always get what you want. But you didn’t mean it, right?” His tone was bitter, his eyes glittering. “Whatever, Buffy. I don’t care.”

“I don’t care,” She was saying, staring at Giles, eyes stinging with tears, a sinking feeling in her gut. “Giles, I’m sixteen years old. I don’t want to die.” She threw her cross necklace on the ground, she walked resolutely out of the library.

Into her mother’s funeral.

William was behind her, hands on her shoulders. Drusilla was holding one of her hands tightly. Angel was on her other side. She was broken.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

And then, later, sinking a stake into her mother’s heart, Joyce was truly dust. Buffy fell down sobbing, laid down on her back in the cool grass.

“Welcome back,” Xander said softly, brushing her hair from her face as he gazed down at her. The boy who had brought her back to life.

The ground split open beneath her, and she fell for what felt like hours, but was probably just a second.

“Welcome back!” Snyder frowned. “I hope that suspension taught you a lesson.”

“It did,” her head bobbed up and down enthusiastically, intensifying the pain in her brain.

“And the lesson was?”

“Um…”

She was spinning, she felt as if she was going to throw up, and as her feet hit solid ground she swayed back and forth.

“Hello, cutie,” Spike grinned, sizing her up.

“Who are you?”

“You’ll find out on Saturday.”

He shifted into William. Blond hair darkens, grows. Clothes change. Eyes stay the same.

“What happens on Saturday?” He asked her, putting on his glasses.

“The winter formal! Duh, William. Get a clue. Mark’s taking me.”

“STOP!” Buffy pleaded as she hurtled through another black hole. No one listened to her.

Willow entered the room awkwardly, dressed in a little black skirt and crop top.

“Wow! You’re a dish,” Buffy insisted. “I mean, really.”

The girl shifted uncomfortably. “But this just isn’t me.”

“It’s me,” Buffy smiled into the phone, averting her gaze from William standing next to her. “Sure, I’d love to, Mark. See you there?” She hung up and giggled. “I’m off to the Bronze later, that’s cool, right?” She bounced off and didn’t wait for her Watcher’s reply.

She walked into rain.

Angel was dripping wet, she was dripping wet, they stared at each other across the room.

“You know what the worst part was, huh? Pretending that I loved you. If I'd known how easily you'd give it up, I wouldn't have even bothered.”

The pain deep inside her shifted, lessened, and she was crying on Drusilla’s shoulder.

“GOD. What a slut,” she mumbled. “I mean, out of every person Mark could have cheated with? Harmony? Really?”

“Do you really think you’re ready, Buffy?” Her mother asked her, then her plate slipped from her fingers and shattered on the ground.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” William asked her as she reached out to gently touch his face. Their eyes connected. He looked at her hopefully.

“Yes, good idea, yes, she’ll patrol,” Giles nodded as they stood in the library.

Buffy was suddenly, immediately, in nothing but black space. It felt…endless. And she was floating. Weird.

“Hello?” She called out tentatively. “Is anyone there?”

“Everyone’s here,” an unfamiliar voice said softly. “Everyone and no one.”

“That’s cryptic, and not at all helpful.”

“Well, I’m not exactly here to help you.”

“Then why are you here? And where’s here?”

“Here is nowhere.”

“Again with the cryptic. You should write poetry, most poetry is really cryptic.”

“Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”

“Sure, but if it’s a riddle, I’m going to be pretty annoyed.”

The disembodied voice sighed. “You know what? Never mind. Figure it out for yourself.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please.”

“You’ll be quiet and listen?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. You are who you are, and nothing can change that.” Buffy stifled a protest at what she felt was a useless observation. “When you have to choose, know that neither is the right answer. But what you choose is permanent, and what you don’t? It won’t cease to be. Do you understand?”

“No!”

The voice sighed. “Do I really have to make this explicit?”

“Pretty much. I’m not exactly great at the symbolism.”

“Stop resisting. Either accept where you are, or return to where you came from, but having both will destroy you.”

The world spun around her.

Buffy awoke in her bed with a blinding headache. Tears began to stream down her face as she fought to suppress the almost unbearable pain.

“William? Spike?” she tried to call out, but her throat and mouth were dry, her voice was strangled and weak. She struggled to sit up, and found she could stand, she could walk, because none of the pains from her earlier fight could compare to the throbbing, the pulsing, the burning in her skull.

She fumbled for more painkillers, swallowed more than she probably should, but she had a feeling they wouldn’t help.

Buffy staggered from the room, and made her way down the stairs, seeking something, anything, that would help her. Fresh air, she suddenly craved it, and left the house.

It didn’t work, nothing worked, nothing ever would, the pain was so intense she couldn’t even breathe, she couldn’t think, she could only let her feet carry her into the cool night air, no destination in mind, going over the events of her dream.

Was it a dream? Was she remembering? Was it a hallucination or reality or fact? She didn’t know.

She just walked.


William awoke at 4:40, and instantly leapt from his bed to check on his Slayer. When he found her gone, he felt a rage build within him that he hadn’t felt since he was in his late teens, since he had been a punk who called himself Spike.

He ran to his room and pulled on jeans, then grabbed the nearest coat to him.

Realizing halfway out the front door that it was his old black leather duster, he laughed bitterly to himself at the irony. He followed his instincts, and headed towards the same park where he’d found her earlier.

She wasn’t there, but as he growled his frustration, he caught sight of a small blonde figure disappearing around the corner a block away. He broke into a run and caught up to her quickly.

“Buffy, bloody hell, what are you doing?”

“It hurts,” she murmured as he grabbed her roughly and spun her to face him.

“Well of course it hurts, you’re walking around after being beaten senseless a few hours ago.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I won’t. Stop being such a stubborn little bint, let’s go home.”

“Oh…oh my head, my head is what hurts,” she looked up at him, her face contorted in agony. “I had dreams. I remember things.”

“What do you remember?” he softened his tone and placed his palm to her forehead, checking for fever. But she was cool to the touch.

“My mom…I slayed my mom? And you, I remember you. I remember wanting…” She swayed back and forth, and he grasped her shoulders firmly.

“We need to get you home, pet. I’m going to pick you up, okay? I’m going to take you back.”

And so for the second time that night. William carried his Slayer home, again panicked, and listened carefully to her ramblings.

“I have to choose? Choose what? Remembering both, it hurts my head. It hurts, Spike, why can’t you make it stop? Was it a dream? Was it real because if it’s real why do I remember both, I can’t do it, I can’t, and I don’t want to have to pick and leave you or stay or destroy…”

She kept mumbling as he put her back into bed, kept moaning in pain as he laid down next to her and wrapped himself around her, kept crying pitifully as he placed kisses on her temple and forehead, trying to sooth the tiniest bit of her misery.

It took a few hours, but finally, Buffy fell unconscious. Sleep wasn’t even a possibility for William, though, but he couldn’t contemplate leaving her alone. Even asleep, she was restless, letting loose pitiful whimpers. He pulled her closer to him, feeling tears of his own stinging his eyes, wondering how she was remembering, and what could possibly have caused her suffering.

Buffy didn’t dream again. Or if she did, she didn’t remember any of it. She slept like the dead.

It was after noon when she finally woke up, and at first she thought she was alone. But she raised her head a bit, and caught sight of William in a chair by the window, a book in his lap, bathed in sunlight, deep in thought.

“Spike?” she said softly, her voice hoarse.

He jumped up quickly and was at her side in an instant, kneeling down by the bed. “How are you doing? Can I get you something? Are you hungry?”

“Fine, no, no, thanks,” she smiled, sitting up slowly and clearing her throat. “I actually feel…normal.”

“Let me get you some tea, yeah?” He was gone in a flash, and Buffy gingerly felt around her ribs, finding them mostly healed. Her wrist felt better too, as she flexed it, she only felt a manageable amount of pain. She swung her legs over the side of the bed to stand up, but found that she was still a little too sore.

William returned quickly, with a tray filled with fruit, bread, tea, juice, and water.

“Wow, I feel so spoiled,” Buffy smiled, accepting his offering. His worry was palpable, his guilt more so. Although her desire to continue last night’s conversation was strong, she chose to let it go. For now. “Mmm. Juice.” She took a sip and smiled. “Tasty tasty.”

After she ate in silence for a bit, William asked, “Really, how are you feeling?”

“Still sore and everything, but my head is fine.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

She frowned. “I…I had this crazy dream. I think I’m starting to know things, or remember things, and then when I woke up I just hurt so bad I couldn’t stand it. It felt like my brain was on fire, or something. Not of the good.”

“I think I’ve figured out what’s happening,” William said, cautiously sitting down on the bed next to her.

“What, have you been researching all morning?”

He blushed. “Something like that.”

“Well, you have worried face. Spit it out.”

“There are…walls of sorts, between dimensions, not literal walls, of course. But according to Glorio Black---“

“Black! Yes! That’s the guy who wrote the book the spell came from.”

William sighed. “That would have been helpful to know a few days ago, love.”

“Well, I didn’t remember. Sorry.” She smiled at him guiltily.

“Black discusses walls between people, not just dimensions, that in some cases there is really just one version of each human being throughout all worlds. It’s not a hard and fast rule, obviously, as there are many cases of multiple copies of people, when there’s an actual transfer. But I believe that’s what’s happening here, the wall between your selves, has been demolished. And at first, only the one set of memories was prevalent, but now they’re…bleeding together, in a way.”

Buffy frowned. “So, the me Buffy from here, she didn’t like, switch places with me?”

He shook his head vehemently. “Not to the best of my knowledge. Especially considering you’re starting to remember the events of this reality. That wouldn’t make sense.”

“There’s something I’m forgetting from my dream, I know there is…” Buffy munched on a slice of apple. “Oh! Oh. Something about how I have to choose.”

“Choose?” William paged through the book in his lap.

“Yes. There was this voice, a really annoying voice, and it said I have to choose.”

“Choose what? What else did they say?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t taking notes.” He rolled his eyes at her. “What? I’ll try and remember, okay? I was suffering from a case of fried brain at the time, dream me wasn’t really concentrating.”

“But the headache is gone, for now? Are you still feeling unwell?”

“Yep. Feeling one hundred percent normal Buffy. But…I have had headaches, a lot, since I got here. Or, since I switched memories. Or whatever. So…you don’t think it’ll come back, do you? Because, really Spike, I’m not sure I could handle it. I’d rather break my leg. And my arm. At the same time.”

William tried and failed to hide his anxiety. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, Buffy. But you should rest, today.”

“I feel fine! I don’t want to just lay here like a …sloth?”

“Yes, a sloth. And that’s what you should do. I’ll…I’ll keep researching, the Council sent me a few more texts that may be helpful, including a few of Black’s other books, hopefully one contains the spell that was performed.”

“Can I at least come down and be slothy on the couch? I’ll get lonely up here.” She pouted at him imploringly, a twinkle in her eye.

“Fine, I’ll see you downstairs.” William stood and headed for the door, muttering, “Can’t resist that damn lip.”


‘This isn’t it either?” William held up a brown, tattered tome with gold edged pages.

“Nope,” Buffy shook her head, settling back into the nest of pillows William created for her. Her afternoon had been spent laying on the couch, being waiting on hand and foot, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a relaxing day. “It was black. Like, Glorious Black.”

“Glorio.”

“Whatever.”

“Bloody hell,” he tossed the book angrily on the table.

“Whoa, calm down, it’s okay. We’ll find it.”

“Before or after you get another headache? I’m useless. If only I knew where---“

Buffy rested her hand on William’s shoulder. “You’re doing your best, William. I know that. We’ll figure it out, then I’ll go home, and you’ll have your Buffy and it’ll all be good.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you are my Buffy?” He blurted out, then instantly tore away from her touch as he heard his own words. “I’m sorry, would you like something to eat? I can make soup, or—“

“William, sit back down now,” Buffy ordered authoritatively. Surprised, William complied meekly. “I want to talk about this.”

“Pet, but I really don’t---“

“No buts. You were in my dream, and the things I’m starting to remember…William, Spike, whoever you are, look at me.” He raised his eyes reluctantly. “We…we’re something, right? It’s not just me hallucinating. Well, more so than normal.”

“It’s not just you,” he admitted quietly.

“What happened with us?”

“Nothing. Nothing happened.”

“I don’t…I don’t remember exactly, but I know there was something.”

“It wasn’t…” He dropped his head in his hands. “Bloody hell. We didn’t do anything, I wouldn’t…it’s wrong. It was just the possibility of something.”

Buffy nodded. “The things that are coming back still feel like dreams, like…like I can’t quite touch them. But what I feel about you is…it’s stronger, than anything else. And it started when I first got here. I felt like I knew you, even though I didn’t remember you. But I recognized you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “As Spike. As a vampire.”

“No, no. As you.”

“Look, love, you’re very confused right now, and after what you explained happened in…in your other memories, with...I can understand how you think you want---“

“Don’t patronize me. This isn’t about Angel.”

“It is.”

“It’s NOT!” Buffy shouted. “I feel something for you, and I don’t understand it, and I don’t know where it comes from, but it’s not transference or whatever. It’s…” She gathered all the courage she had inside, pushed down all the fear and shame, grabbed William’s face, and pulled him into a kiss.

Half of him resisted on instinct, his mind screamed at him to stop, his morals rebelled against him. The other part of him gave in fully, body and soul, sinking into her kiss, his hands reaching up to barely graze her soft, warm cheeks. His cock stirred, his heart seized, his back tensed. He’d dreamed of this, wanted this, and hated himself for it. He was sick. Taking charge, he pressed his lips to hers harder, fully pressed his palms on her skin.

Buffy sighed and parted her lips. She didn’t quite know where this impulsive decision came from, this confidence, this sexual forwardness. But she tentatively slid her tongue into William’s mouth, finding his own, loving the shiver of pleasure that crept down her stomach, loving the way he slid his hands into her hair.

If either of them subscribed to clichés, they would have said there was a spark right where their lips met.

He moaned, quietly, the feel of her wet tongue on his lip making his self-control weaken, making him want to seize her, cover her body with his, devour her. But as her small hands moved to rest on his thighs, the alarm in his head went off, and he pulled away, jumped up.

William breathed heavily, staring across the room, his jaw clenched. Buffy reached one hand up to touch her lips.

“You’re sixteen!” he finally growled, fire in his eyes.

“Seventeen.” Her heart fell.

“Your birthday isn’t for a few days, you are still sixteen. And it’s completely illegal, not to mention immoral, you don’t even think you know me, and I…” His voice trailed off as he stared at the shocked expression on Buffy’s face.

“What’s the date?” She asked quietly.

“It’s January 15th, why?”

“Um. In…other world, my birthday already happened. It was a week after when we did the spell.”

William sank down onto the couch next to her. “So…so not only has there been the memory alteration, but there’s been a temporal fold?”

“Sure, if you want to complicate things with big words.”

“This changes things, there’s a few more authors---“

“Spike, please stay here with me.”

“---I need to go into the library, get a few volumes,” He avoided her gaze and gathered up his papers. “I’ll be back later, call Dru if you need anything.”

“William…”

He stopped at the door to the den, bracing himself with one hand against the doorframe. “Buffy…please, I need to leave,” he choked out, and stormed out the door.

Buffy paced impatiently in the dining room, mulling over her dissatisfaction with her current predicament. She glanced periodically at her watch, finding it to be almost midnight, and her fury boiled higher, and higher. In the aftermath of her kiss with William, she’d run the gamut of emotions from embarrassed, hurt, confused, excited, to angry. Right now, she was sticking with angry. Much safer that way.

With memories of this alternate universe returning to her, somewhat, her feelings were so conflicted and jumbled that it was all she could do to focus on one problem at a time. And right now, her situation---or, lack of a situation---with Angel wasn’t concerning her. Angelus, Angel, whoever he truly was, was thousands of miles and light years or whatever away, and right here, right now, all she could think about was William. What was bothering her more than not knowing how to get home or how she even got here was these strong, almost all encompassing feelings she had for this dimension’s Watcher. Feelings she didn’t understand and wanted to talk about. Feelings that had resulted in the best kiss of her life, which was disturbing on some level. She was supposed to love Angel, he was supposed to be the one to give her the kisses she could feel in her bones, in her gut, in every inch of her. But instead, she was fixated on a man who wore the face of a vampire who she hated, who hated her, who she’d fought and tried to kill more than once.

It was just all too confusing.

Finally, she heard a key scraping the front lock. She stomped towards the door, ready to do a kind of battle, and pulled it open quickly, to see a disheveled William on the front stoop, keys dangling from his hand, eyes slightly unfocused.

“I was unlocking it,” he snapped indignantly, and entered the house. The scent of alcohol hit her instantly.

“Oh my God, are you drunk?” Buffy squealed, wrinkling her nose. “Way to be mature, Spike.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine, William, is that better? This is how you solve your problems? Staying out for hours and drinking yourself…well, really drunk.” She watched him walk on unsteady legs to the couch, where he collapsed and grabbed the remote to flip to an infomercial, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“None of your business,” he pouted, refusing to look at her, concentrating on the flickering screen. Buffy grabbed the clicker out of his hands and turned off the TV. He frowned and said gruffly, “Hey! I was watching that!”

“Really? You were watching an ad for hair re-growth formula? Because honestly, your hair is fine. So get over it. Can we talk?”

“Don’t really want to talk to you,” he sighed, running one hand through his hair and squeezing his eyes shut, wishing she’d just go away, wishing the whole day would disappear, or even the entire week.

“Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” Buffy moved to sit on the coffee table, facing him, and sighed when he opened his eyes to just look past her at the blank television screen. Suddenly her anger faded back into her embarrassment, she felt a stab of fear in her heart, and softly she asked, “Are you mad at me?” With her crushed self-esteem and her inexperience, she’d become convinced in the hours she’d been waiting that she had done something permanently, irrevocably horrible. “Look, did I do something wrong?”

He finally looked at her, shocked, tormented. “Wrong?”

She nodded, and now she was the one who wouldn’t meet his curious eyes. “Was I…I mean, was I a bad kisser? Or out of line? Or did I---“

“No, pet,” he almost growled, leaning forward quickly and grasping her hands in his. “It was me, I was the one, I…God, can’t you understand?”

“Understand what? Tell me.” He was frustratingly silent, but wouldn’t let go of her. “God, you’re such a jerk.” Buffy tore her hands from his and stood abruptly, then began to resume her pacing. William blinked at her from behind his glasses, suppressing the nausea he felt at seeing the dizzying speed with which she moved. “I’m not a child, you know.”

“You are.”

“I’m not! I’m seventeen…or sixteen, I guess, whatever, and I’m the Slayer, and I’m old enough to make my own decisions. So don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he said weakly.

“You do! You and Angel, you think I’m just some stupid little girl who can’t think for herself! You have to treat me with kid gloves or whatever and do what’s right for me. I know what’s right for me, not you. Unless…unless it’s just that you don’t really like me, that I’m just---”

“It’s not you, it’s not your fault. I’m the one…it’s my fault. I’m the adult here---“

“I’m not a child! Look, I just want to know---”

“I don’t care, Buffy,” William suddenly snapped, stood and grabbed her roughly, fingers digging into her bare shoulders. “Do you understand what would happen if someone found out? Found out how I feel about you? They’d take you away, I couldn’t…God, Buffy, don’t you get it? Can’t you see?”

“How do you feel about me?” She pushed for answers, pushed for the truth she could only hope for.

“I can’t, pet, I can’t, I can’t tell you,” he stammered, backing away once he realized how close he’d been standing, once he realized he could smell her shampoo, feel the heat of her body, see the desperation in her eyes. “Go to bed.”

“I’m not tired, so no. William---“

“You don’t even think you belong here!” He yelled, kicking at the chair and sending it flying across the room. Buffy shrank back as William’s gentle face hardened, as his eyes flashed, as he clenched his fists and stomped towards the stairs. “You don’t want to be here with me, you don’t want what you think you want and I can’t understand why. You won’t stay with me, I can get you home but you don’t---“

“You can get me home?” she blurted out, following him into the foyer. “I mean…you can? You figured it out? That’s great! Then you can have your Buffy, and---“

“You are my Buffy. You are the only Buffy. If you want to go home, you won’t be here anymore.” He spun around and glared at her, as if she’d made the decision to screw up her worlds, and his.

“What? But I don’t understand---“

“I researched. I was at the library and I figured it out and you have to go and bloody hell, Buffy, what the hell was your mate playing at?”

“William---“

“Don’t. Don’t call me that either, you don’t see me as William, you see me as Spike, some vampire, and you don’t care how I feel about you, you don’t see me as anything!” The pain in his voice broke her heart as his eyes frantically roamed her face, soaking it in, searching from some denial of that fact. He didn’t think he found it, so he groaned, “Just go to bed. Leave me alone.”

“No! No, you can’t just send me away after saying things like that. You…you like me? Right? You want…something with me, and I…want you too.” She held her breath, waiting for his response, sure that she’d crossed a line, or misread the signals, or maybe just changed her new world forever.

“You don’t know what you want,” he said sadly, rubbing his aching head as he began to sober up. “You don’t remember.”

“I do! I do, sort of. It’s like…it’s like I’m thinking of a dream I had, or something, but I have memories. I do. I don’t know anything for sure, but you, I know I have these feelings---”

“You want to go home, don’t you?”

“I don’t know where home is, but I want you---“

“Don’t. I can’t hear it.”

“Maybe you should hear it!” Buffy choked back a sob as the onslaught of emotions became almost too much to handle. “Maybe you should stop being such an asshole.”

“I’m being the adult, I’m the adult, I can’t…you’re sixteen.”

“I may be sixteen, but at least I’m not a coward.”

Swiftly, William grabbed her and pushed her up against the front door, something savage emitting from his darkening blue eyes. He leaned forward, and Buffy’s lips parted, expecting a kiss, but he pressed his cheek to hers and just shook, his body tense, hers pliant in his grasp. His rough, stubble covered face scratched her smooth skin, his hot, liquored breath tickled her ear, and he was pressing into her, his erection pressed between them, and she began to quiver right along with him. She’d never felt like this, never felt this raw, aching need, and only her fear of further rejection kept her from grabbing him and showing him what she truly wanted.

With a shudder, he pulled away. “Go to bed, Buffy,” he said again, voice tired and drained, resigned to a miserable fate. William spun and ran up the stairs, leaving her breathless, confused, wanting, and aching.

William awoke with a groan. Before he even opened his eyes, he knew two things. He had a hangover, and he had done something very wrong. His memory was a bit foggy, but he knew for certain that Buffy had been waiting for him when he’d dragged himself home from the Fish Tank, and he’d behaved like an idiot. What a night. Hours of research, resulting in a disturbing discovery, followed by hours at a bar trying to erase that discovery, then that fight.

The clock next to his bed told him it was only nine in the morning, and he considered burying his head back into his pillow like an ostrich with its head in the sand, if only to avoid the inevitable confrontation waiting for him downstairs.

His Slayer would give him hell, he knew. And she should. He’d treated her…horribly, he’d allowed a part of himself, a dark, long buried part, to be revealed. In his quest to behave, to be the mature one, to suppress his feelings, he’d just gone off the deep end.

William dragged himself out of bed, deciding it was better now than later. They had things to discuss, aside from his drunken rants, and that breathtaking kiss.

He poked his head out into the hall to check for signs of life, then mentally berated himself. Scared of a sixteen year old girl? He made his way down to the kitchen, desperate for coffee before anything else, and came across a hastily scrawled note.

Researching with Dru and Angel. Come to the library if you want to help.
-Buffy

After procrastinating as long as he could, William headed upstairs to take a shower, still able to feel the burn of her lips on his, her words still ringing in his ears.

Reluctantly, he grasped his cock as he stood under the stream of water, eyes squeezed shut, trying to imagine things he had no want of, anything but her, anything but Buffy. But when he came, with a strangled groan, it was her name on his lips.


“Thanks for coming, guys,” Buffy said gratefully as she entered the library with Dru and Angel at her side.

“Of course,” Dru said, poking the boy next to her roughly before he could comment. “Anything we can do to help. You sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Yup, Slayer healing comes in pretty handy!” She said peppily as she headed into the book cage. “So, I have no idea what we’re looking for. Menithea, that’s all I got.”

“Well, we can start with the Lever’s codex, check out the Dramos anthology, oh, and…well, there’s just so many possibilities!” Drusilla frowned, gathering up a stack of books as she continued to mutter possible locations of information.

“Wow, you’re all book girl, very impressive,” Buffy smiled. “I hereby put you in charge. Tell us what to do.”

“Oh, in charge? Really? I mean, maybe we should wait for William, he would know---“

“No!” Buffy said firmly, earning herself inquisitive looks from the other two. “He was asleep when I left, if he wants to help he’ll come.”

“Of course he wants to help, Buff,” Angel laughed, taking a book out of Dru’s hand and throwing his body into a chair. “Research on a Sunday? That’s like Pratt’s wet dream.”

Buffy coughed uncomfortably and took her own tome. “Let’s just handle this ourselves for now, okay?”



William took a deep breath before entering the library, then shoved his shaking hands into his pockets. Only the knowledge that both Drusilla and Angel were behind the doors with his Slayer comforted him. Buffy was certain to at least maintain a façade of normalcy around those two, or at least, he hoped she would.

“Pratt! Nice of you to finally make an appearance,” Angel grinned as he caught sight of the older man entering the room. “You’re missing out on fun. Well, your kind of fun anyway.”

“Hey, you offered to help, buddy,” Buffy teased, not looking towards the newcomer. “I merely extended an invitation for a research party. You didn’t have to come!”

“Right, because the threat of a possible big scary demon biting my head off wasn’t manipulation at all.”

“I did not threaten! Or manipulate, I just said, hey, Angel, possible demon, want to help?”

“Want to help if you value your life, I think is what you said,” He smirked, tossing a balled up napkin at her.

“Wait, what?” William interrupted, the shaking in his hands turning to tension as Buffy flirted with the other man. “What is it that you’re researching?”

The blonde finally turned to look at him and said, “Duh, William. Menithea?”

His eyes widened. “I…I assumed you’d be looking into how to return home…well, I’m just surprised.”

“I’m not a totally selfish bitch,” she huffed. “Demon threat takes precedence, or whatever, isn’t that what you said?” Buffy turned back to her book without another word.

“We’ve found out a little,” Dru said, glancing back and forth between the pair. “Um, if they’re trying to raise Menithea, they won’t be able to for a few days, it has to be on a specific night in the lunar cycle, which…I haven’t exactly figured out yet, so you could do that. I mean, not that I’m telling you what to do or anything, but---“

“That’s wonderful, Drusilla, I’ll get right on that,” William nodded. “I’ll be in my office.” With one final glance at the girl stubbornly ignoring him, he retreated to his sanctuary.

Buffy sighed as he closed the door, berating herself for her inability to just act like a normal person. She knew she’d been rude, and blatantly flirted with Angel, but the second she’d seen him her hurt and anger from the previous evening had returned, and her pledge to be mature and normal had flown right out the window.

The words of her book swam in front of her eyes, and she realized her concentration was totally blown, and probably wouldn’t return until she had a chance to talk to William.

“Oh, I forgot to ask him about…something,” Buffy stood abruptly and moved towards the office. “Be right back.”

William heard the tentative knock and sighed. “Come in,” he called, not moving his eyes from his book to the door. He heard it open and shut, and still didn’t feel the need to look at his visitor. He could smell her sweet perfume, and really, he could almost just sense her.

“Hi. Okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“What?” William turned to her in surprise, and took in her nervous face and her awkward posture.

“Look, I’m not going to push. You obviously don’t…whatever, okay? I’m sorry about last night, I should have left you alone,” Buffy rushed out. “So stop freaking out.”

“I’m not---“

“You are, I can tell. You’re all awkward guy, and you don’t have to be. I was stupid to think we could…” She bit her lip to keep from saying more, and repeated. “Don’t worry about it. It didn’t happen. We’re totally good.”

“Buffy---“

“You found stuff out, right? I mean, about my whole double memory problem? We’ll talk about it later, it’s fine, we have to deal with the immediate threat of big bad demon.”

“Wait—“

“Okay, so we’re good? Good!” She spun and fled the room before William could protest, and he sank back into his chair, the meaning behind her rushed words finally sinking in. He felt an odd, uncomfortable mixture of relief and sadness, but as he heard loud laughter from the next room, he turned back to his book and attempted to focus.


A few hours of reading had wiped the energy from all parties involved. William had eventually joined the group, trying his hardest to seem as relaxed as possible, but finding his gaze traveling to Buffy at every opportunity. She seemed back to her normal self, except for the occasional furtive glances in his direction, that he pretended not to notice.

Drusilla was listing the information they’d gathered about the new threat to Sunnydale and writing it on a white board, when a sudden wince on Buffy’s face caused William to jump up and declare, “It’s time we all head home, yeah? It’s been a long day.”

“Thank God,” Angel sighed, slamming shut his book. At the annoyed look from the other researchers, he amended, “I mean…too bad. I was having a blast.”

“Right, thank you for that, Angel,” Buffy sighed, one finger rubbing gentle circles on her temples. “But yeah, actually, thank you. For helping. See you guys tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Drusilla smiled, waving her goodbyes and exiting the library with Angel.

William observed Buffy quietly for a moment, then asked, “Are you alright, pet?”

“I’m fine,” she lied. At his raised eyebrow, she admitted, “Headache.”

“Normal kind, or mystical?” William moved quickly towards her and stood behind her, replacing her hands on her temples with his own. He didn’t consider the implications of his act, he just felt an innate pull to do all he could to soothe her suffering.

“Mystical,” Buffy sighed, as his strong fingers began to massage the pain out of her. “That feels so good,” she moaned softly.

William shut his eyes, as if that would block out the sounds of her pleasure, and continued to rub gentle circles with one hand, as the other moved down to massage the tense muscles at the back of her neck.

“Mmm…” Buffy continued to sigh, giving into the sensations of William’s hands on her, and choosing to ignore the little voice prickling at the corners of her conscience that this was crossing the line into the territory she promised she wouldn’t enter again.

He reluctantly pulled away, and asked, “Better?”

“Much,” she nodded, straightening up from the relaxed position William had lulled her into. She adopted a business like tone as she inquired, “So, about my memory problem. You found something out, right?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” he admitted, moving to sit in the chair next to her. “Your memories, they’re still…blending?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I don’t know everything, but I’m getting bits and pieces, flashes of things. Like, I just glanced over at the book cage a minute ago, and I remembered Drusilla and I talking about a French test, yet I still remember her as this…evil vampires of doom. And I know some things, but like, I still don’t remember anything about her and vamp Xander. So spill, Spike. What’s going on?”

“It’s…incredibly complicated, whatever errors were made with the spell your friend performed were pretty drastic. Instead of giving the Angel from your other world his soul, you were brought into a world where he already had one. In simplest terms, the metaphorical wall separating your two…consciousnesses, really, was disassembled, and can’t be recreated.”

“Like, at all?” Buffy gasped.

“Right, once the two worlds merged, as they have, they can’t be separated.”

“So I’m screwed?’

“No, no,” William sighed, a headache of his own beginning behind his eyes as he contemplated how to explain the situation. “The wall can’t be recreated, but you can be…returned, to one of the states.”

Buffy frowned. “I don’t get it.”

William took a deep breath and blurted out, “We can perform an alteration of that same spell, either removing entirely your memories of your other life, and you will cease to exist there, or returning you to that world and you will cease to exist here.”

The room was silent but for the sound of the ticking clock, as Buffy absorbed what her Watcher had just told her. “So…like it said in the dream. I have to choose.”

“Yes, Buffy,” he said quietly, the image of her stricken face breaking his heart. “You do.”

“Well, damn,” she forced out a laugh to cover her sob. “You’d think this would be an easy decision.”

“It’s not?” William asked tentatively.

Buffy raised her eyes from her hands to his face. “I thought…no, it’s not easy. But a few days ago it would have been.”

“What changed?”

“You know what changed, Spike,” she said softly. “Aside from my memories returning, I mean…you…”

“Buffy---“

“I know, I know. You can’t, we can’t, whatever,” she said quickly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I wouldn’t want to just…never see you again. Unless, I mean, you want me to go. That would make everything a lot easier, actually.”

He felt her words hit him like a ton of bricks, as the sudden image of his life without her destroyed his carefully constructed wall of self-control. “No, I bloody well don’t want you to go,” William said roughly, before leaning forward and kissing her quickly. Their lips only connected for a moment, then he pulled away and insisted, “Time to get you some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Buffy nodded, lips burning, with a flicker of hope starting in her gut. She watched him gather up their belongings, and that same confidence from the day before prompted her to stand up, still his movements with her hands, and insist, “You promise we’ll talk? I mean, really talk.”

“I promise, kitten,” he sighed, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. “I just need to think for a bit. But I promise. Tomorrow.”

Dinner had been eaten in silence, and Buffy had retreated to her room to do homework, or at least, to pretend to do homework while running over the information gathered that day in her head.

She knew she should be focusing on Menithea, the threat of a demon long since ensconced in a stone tomb, with the power to destroy Sunnydale with a flick of his, well, claw, then even devastate the world. Or, if she really couldn’t focus on the Big Bad of the moment, Buffy knew she should be fixating on her status in limbo, the jumble of memories in her mind that made her not quite sure who she truly was, where she really wanted to be, and how to decide the rest of her life.

But neither of these extraordinary problems were foremost in her mind as she laid on her back, head off the edge of her bed, staring at her open window. No, her mind was fixated on her Watcher, her roommate, her…something. The man she’d kissed.

Buffy could hear William puttering around downstairs, the occasional squeak of a chair, the kitchen faucet turning on and off, the faint sound of some rather abrasive punk rock. She’d wanted to stay down there with him, as he continued to research and work diligently at both of the problems she was steadfastly ignoring in favor of romantic musings. But she’d felt awkward, and he’d hardly spoken, and a retreat to her room seemed the most logical solution. Retreating to muse over love instead of fear, just like any teenage girl would.

A click from her nightstand caused her to sit up quickly and glance at the clock.

Twelve midnight. Technically, tomorrow.

Buffy knew it was immature. She knew she was acting a bit like a spoiled child, desperate to get what she wanted, damn the consequences and the feelings of others involved. Admitting that to herself made it easier.

Technically, it was tomorrow, and she wanted to talk to William.

Halfway to the door, she glanced down at her sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, then hurriedly made the decision to switch the top for a more-revealing tank, but left the pants as they were. A quick application of lip-gloss and a fluff of her hair, and she scurried down the hall, then crept slowly down the stairs, stopping a few steps from the bottom to observe.

The music had been turned off, and William was sitting on the couch, guitar in hand, strumming a slow, unfamiliar song. His hair was mussed, his glasses off, dressed in black pajama pants and a tight, thin white tank top. He didn’t notice her as she came down the last few steps, and hovered in the doorway.

After a few more strummed chords, William closed his eyes and froze for a moment. “You should be in bed, Buffy,” he said softly.

“Yeah, I know,” she admitted, moving forward to stand a few feet in front of him, the table between them. “But I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

“What’re you playing?”

He shrugged, and stood to set the guitar down on its stand. “Just messing around.”

“It was pretty,” Buffy twiddled her thumbs a bit and then her tension spread, and she began to alternate her weight from her right leg, to her left, and back again. “It’s technically tomorrow,” she finally pointed out when William didn’t say anything, after moving to sit back on the couch.

He glanced at her quickly, then laughed. “Oh, Buffy, you’re a stubborn thing, aren’t you?”

“Didn’t you know that already?” She teased, his lighthearted demeanor giving her the go ahead to sit on the couch next to him.

“I did, you’re right.” William watched her tuck her legs beneath her, then push a bit of hair behind her ear, and smile at him tentatively.

She was so innocent, so hopeful. Her immaturity wasn’t from a place of ignorance or true selfishness, to him, it was honest naivety to the ways of the world, it was inexperience, it was optimism. Realizing he was staring at her far too intently, William cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to his hands, inspecting them as if the answers to his problems were etched into his skin.

“Are you mad at me?” Buffy finally asked softly.

“No, pet, I’m not mad at all, why would I be?”

“Because I’m…pushing. I’m being all pushy. I said I wouldn’t but I still am. And last night you told me to leave it alone and I’m not.”

“I’m the one who needs to be sorry, last night…that was so bloody inappropriate, I can’t even begin to---“

“It’s fine!” Buffy interrupted. “I made you mad.”

“I shouldn’t have drank like that, and I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“And I should have just left you alone. So we were both in the wrong? Do the whole mutual guilt no fault thing?”

William grinned a bit at her eagerness, and conceded. “No fault, sounds good.”

Neither knew quite how to begin, but Buffy’s impatience trumped her inability to form a good opening line, and she blurted out, “So, how about that kiss?”

“Buffy…”

“Okay, bad thing to say. I will keep my mouth shut, and you will tell me what you’re thinking. And then I’ll go. Sound fair?”

“If I knew what I was thinking it would be easier,” he sighed. “I could ramble for ten minutes and contradict myself a hundred times and still not be any closer to actually saying anything real.” William shifted his body to mirror hers, and practically did the adult version of eeny-meeny-miney-mo as he looked at her glittering green eyes, and tried to decide.

He could go either way.

He could retain his decency and his morals and maintain the façade of the good, clean-living member of the Council. The person he’d been since he turned twenty-one and decided to become a man, a real man, the kind his father had always hoped he’d be.

Or he could do exactly what he’d dreamed of almost every night for the past year, since the moment Buffy had bounced into his library and turned his life upside down.

William made his decision, and landed on sin, and leaned forward to brush his lips against Buffy’s gently, almost asking her a question with his touch.

She responded in the affirmative as she let out a sweet, contented sigh, and kissed him back eagerly, pressing harder against his lips, her hormones and her worry that it would all end too soon driving her towards haste.

William pulled away just as the kiss began to heat up, as he started to feel her presence on every square inch of his skin.

“Spike---“

“This is wrong,” he said harshly, his voice laced with lust and shame. “It’s wrong, but God help me…”

“It’s not wrong,” she interrupted, shaking her head forcefully, reaching out and lacing her fingers through his. “It’s not wrong.”

“It is, you can’t even begin to understand---“

“What I understand is this, William,” Buffy said gently, shifting so she was kneeling on the couch directly in front of him. “You’re a good man. And don’t say you’re not because you really are. And I still don’t remember everything that’s going on here, and I’m still scared and I’m still…wigging out, really, but when I’m with you I’m not so scared.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she rushed out a few words that stopped his tongue from creating any sound. “I have serious feelings for you. And don’t argue them away okay? I’m just going to be brave and put myself out there because if I don’t I know---“

William silenced her with another kiss, picking up right where the last one let off, finding her tongue with his instinctively and giving in to the feelings he’d been denying himself for months. One coherent thought burst through the desire riddling his mind, and he pulled away briefly to insist, “We’re still talking tomorrow.”

“Right, talking, but not now,” Buffy breathed, and slid one leg over his body so she was straddling him, relishing the groan that came from his lips before he pressed them to hers again.

William cradled her small body in his hands, one around her waist and the other cupping her cheek, as he poured every intense emotion he felt into her through the places where their bodies connected, through their lips, through their skin. Buffy let her hands roam, exploring his strong chest and arms and soft hair. She could feel between her legs, through the thin fabric of both of their pants, the hard evidence of how much William wanted her, wanted this. She began to shift her weight, grind down, the sensation of his erection pressing against her increasingly wet sex driving her to a level of passion she’d never experienced.

With Angel, her lust and want had almost felt painful, with the knowledge that their love was nearly impossible. And he had always been so morose, the weight of his soul dragging him down, and dragging her along with it. Their kisses had sent shivers through her, but those shivers had almost been more about what could be with the two of them, not about what was, her mind had always been spinning, thinking a thousand thoughts in the time it took to kiss goodbye. She always thought about the future.

With William, Buffy could hardly think in the current moment, let alone think of the next. Her mind was certainly spinning, but not with thoughts of tomorrow or yesterday or what people might think. She could only think of his fingers sliding into her hair, his hand sliding down to the bare skin of her lower back, his lips firm on hers, possessive, yet almost gentle.

Her stomach fluttered incessantly, her entire body felt hot, and she softly moaned as they separated for much needed oxygen.

William could hardly breathe, even after a few silent seconds of fresh air. Every move she made, every sigh, every brush of her hands and pressure from her body made him feel as if he was falling or floating. He’d ignored all his misgivings the second she’d straddled his body and trusted him, trusted him to keep her safe and sound.

Despite how hard he was, despite how much he did want to feel her naked skin and possess her, make her his, he almost felt like this was enough, and didn’t even consider pushing for something else. He could spend an eternity just kissing her, and not ever ask for more.

As he observed her flushed face, her bright eyes, the soft smile curling the edges of her swollen lips, he relinquished the last of his reservations, and gave himself over fully to the feelings he had for Buffy Summers.

“We should get some sleep, tomorrow’s a school day,” he said reluctantly, kissing her nose as a way of telling her that he meant only that, and wasn’t trying to reject her.

“I know,” Buffy sighed, grudgingly moving off of him and standing up on unsteady legs. William turned off the lamp and grabbed her hand gently, then led her up the stairs to her bedroom door.

“Goodnight, my love,” he said softly before one last, gentle kiss. In the blink of an eye he disappeared inside his own room, and Buffy leaned back against the frame of her door, sighing as something like joy filled her heart.

Buffy bounced into the kitchen, stole a slice of apple right out of William’s hand, and hummed a pop tune as she dropped a piece of bread into the toaster. It was a normal morning, except for the frisson of energy between the two as their eyes met, and they both smiled.

Separately, they both contemplated closing the three feet of distance between them to start exactly where they’d left off the night before, and they both gave into the impulse simultaneously.

The kiss was a desperate clashing of tongues and limbs, William pushed forward until he was pressing Buffy to the counter with his body, her arms wrapped around his neck, and they poured out the ache that came from a tryst that ended too soon and a frustrated, almost sleepless night into one soulful kiss.

William pulled away before he could fully give himself over to his lust, marveling at this newfound self-control. He smiled at her wickedly, then returned to his breakfast, and Buffy did the same, heart gradually slowing to a more acceptable pace.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she said, “So I have a plan.”

“Do you now?” William smiled.

“A good plan. Priority one is Meni-whatever, since they’re going to try to raise him in a few days, right?”

“Right, day before your birthday. Speaking of which, you haven’t told me what you want.”

Buffy flicked her hand in his direction dismissively and said, “No time for that now. We’re talking about my plan. So, we know what day they’re raiding Claw-Demon, so we need to find where. Once I do my slay thing, we deal with the other problem.”

“Your headaches---“

“Might get worse, I know. But they might not, and we can just buy a ton of aspirin, right? I mean, the really bad one was when memories started coming back, so I would guess they won’t be that bad again.”

“You can’t be sure,” William insisted. “We should try and figure out---“

“Nope. No, we shouldn’t.”

“Pet---“

“William Pratt, follow the plan!” Buffy pouted. “Aren’t you the one who said Menithea is the biggest threat?”

“I did, but that doesn’t mean we should completely ignore…I have to locate the original spell, figure out which incantation to use, and you have to---“

“This is how I see it,” she interrupted. “We have to do the spell, right? Otherwise Buffy’s brain is going to explode, or something?”

“Something like that. You cannot exist in this…limbo.”

“Okay. If I were to go back to other world, and I’m not saying at all that I am so don’t get mad, wouldn’t we want to do the spell at the same time the original spell was cast? Make sense?”

William furrowed his brow in thought. “Yes, I understand.”

“So that gives us over a week. And I don’t want to talk about it again until we deal with the demon!” Buffy said firmly, pleading with her eyes for William to understand this wasn’t just about a task list, but a way to keep herself sane, a way to keep herself from breaking.

He understood perfectly, and hurriedly moved forward to kiss her briefly before backing up again and nodding, “Right then. Ready for school?”

It took a few seconds before Buffy to regain use of her brain enough to nod, and say, “School, sure.” His kiss had been quick, nothing like the passionate embrace of just minutes before, but just the same as every other time their lips had touched, her entire being had almost sung.

William smirked a bit at her, and for a moment she was struck by how much of a Spike-the-vampire expression it was. Yet, she liked it, that playfulness. Loved it, even. “Come on, kitten. Don’t want to be late.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” she grumbled, but with a smile glowing just in her eyes. They made their way out to the car, side by side, their hands brushing every few steps.

William opened the passenger door chivalrously, then rested his hand on Buffy’s lower back before she could get into the car. “You…you won’t tell anyone---“

“Of course not, doofus,” she winked. “It’s our little secret.”


The second they stepped onto school grounds, William began to feel like an absolute pervert, as Buffy seamlessly blended into the crowd of teenagers in the hallway.

Well, no, she didn’t blend, she could never. She radiated with an inner light, a spark, something intangible that intrinsically separated her from the rest of the mundane brats that populated Sunnydale High. Her beauty, her grace, her innate power, all set her apart.

And yet, she was still just a sixteen year old girl, and she looked it, and he suddenly felt a rush of guilt as he watched her walk down the hall.

Until she spun around, caught sight of him watching her, and gifted him with a brilliant smile. A smile that soothed his suddenly frazzled nerves, and communicated her understanding of his feelings, feelings he hadn’t even tried to express.

He moved off towards the library, already counting the seconds until he’d see her again.

Buffy turned back and headed for class, the smile shrinking a bit, but losing none of it’s power. She didn’t notice people glancing at her as she entered class, slid into her seat, and rested her chin on one hand. The smile was bright, and happy, and showed she had a wonderful secret.

As long as she compartmentalized and chose to only focus on William, her smile remained all morning until lunch. The moments when her problems forced their way to the forefront of her mind, however, caused the grin to flicker, and fade, and when a headache suddenly burst behind her eyes, it died.


William hummed along with the small stereo he had in his office, turned down low so the sounds of the Ramones wouldn’t infiltrate the library itself, or God forbid carry out into the hall where Snyder might hear.

His phone rang, and he answered it quickly. “Yes? Oh, Jonathan, good…excellent. Did you get the address?...Of course, yes, I’ll come in tomorrow. Thanks.”

He noted down the address, a probable location for the lair of the trio of vampires who controlled and terrorized the town’s underground, then started as an unfamiliar voice yelled his name.

“What is it?” William jumped up and emerged from his office to see a round, worried looking girl standing right by the desk.

“I was sent to get you, there’s an emergency,” the girl rushed out. “Are you busy?”

He gaped at her. “No, I’m not. What’s wrong?”

“Do you know Buffy Summers?”

A tight, cold hand of dread gripped his heart. “What about Buffy?” He growled, unable to suppress his almost animalistic reaction to the words emergency and Buffy being near each other.

“Um, she collapsed? In the student lounge. Angel, do you know Angel? He asked me to come get you.”

William was out the door before she’d finished her sentence. He pushed his way down the hall, ignoring the indignant cry of a football player he inadvertently shoved into a locker in his attempt to get to Buffy as fast as possible.

He had to push his way through a crowd of onlookers, but when Buffy came into view, he breathed a sigh of relief. Her eyes were open, she was talking to Drusilla, cradled in Angel’s lap who was observing her with a worried expression.

Kneeling down next to her, William disregarded the onlookers, Drusilla, Angel, and his own conscience, and took her hand in his as he whispered, “You alright, love?”

“I’m fine!” She insisted, but her weak, shaking voice gave her away. “Got a really bad headache and fainted, but it’s gone now. Stupid Angel won’t let me get up.”

“I think you’re not supposed to move people who faint, you can sever the spinal cord or something,” the dark haired boy said.

Drusilla rolled her eyes. “That’s not really true. At all.”

“Get to class, everyone,” William called out, adopting his voice of authority, and the crowd started to disperse. “Faster would be good, bell’s about to ring. Drusilla, let Buffy’s teacher know she won’t be coming, and you two get to class.”

“I’ll carry her to---“ Angel started to offer.

“I’ve got it,” the Watcher’s voice was firm, harsh, with no room to argue.

Gingerly, Angel helped Buffy stand up, then grabbed his backpack before following Drusilla down the hall, after both promised to come check in at the library in an hour.

“Can you walk?” William asked softly, one arm around Buffy’s waist to hold her up.

“No problem,” she nodded. “I’m fully ambient.”

“Ambulatory.”

“Whatever. I’ll just…lean on you a bit.”

They made their way down the hall silently, William clenching his jaw tight to the point of pain, Buffy using the last of her strength to convince him she was fine with her stable steps and untroubled face, despite the fear threatening to over take her.

Once in the library, William swept her body up into his arms and carried her into his office, where he laid her gently on the couch. Buffy didn’t protest, just sank into the cushions and closed her eyes.

She felt him settle onto the couch next to her, and she forced open her eyes as she said, “It’s not a big deal.”

“It bloody well is.”

“I think I was just tired, I didn’t really sleep and---“

“Don’t feed me that crap, Buffy,” he hissed, then regretted it instantly. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, I know that, I’m just…”

“Worried?”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

She reached out and softly stroked his face, saying, “It’s gone now, though. The headache. It was just a…burst, and then I collapsed. And I’m shaky now, but it doesn’t hurt anymore. Water and maybe a nap and I’ll be right as rain. Where does that phrase come anyway, rain isn’t…Well anyway, I’m fine now. The plan should still be---”

“Sod the plan. We’ll multitask. I can’t have you…I can’t let you continue like this. We’ll figure out the spell, and how to use it, and then, well, then we’ll see. I’ll look if there’s any way to suppress the headaches mystically until then.”

“But the demon---“

“Dru can work on the demon, she’ll be willing I’m sure. Angel too, probably. And you’ll go home and sleep.”

“I will not!” Buffy struggled to sit up and ignored William’s sputterings of protest. “I can help. I’m not totally useless.”

“I know that, pet, I’m not saying you are, I just can’t let you do anything that might hurt you.”

“You’re not letting me do anything! I’m the Slayer, it’s my job to help!”

“And I’m your Watcher,” he shot back. “It’s my job to keep you safe.”

“I am safe,” Buffy promised. “You do keep me safe! But you don’t have to save me all the time, you know. I’m pretty tough and sort of self sufficient.”

“That you are,” William admitted, reluctantly admiring her tenacity. “Fine, but you’ll remain on this couch while you help, understood?”

“Perfectly,” she nodded exaggeratedly. “Bring me a book, Watcher.”

He rose and moved to his desk, where he grabbed a tome from the weekend that promised cures for mystical ailments. As Buffy reached for it, he held it just out of reach.

“What?” Buffy asked, confused.

“You have to pay the price for the book,” William grinned at her.

“And what’s that?”

He lowered his voice, despite the fact that there was no one around to hear him but Buffy. “A kiss.”

Her eyes twinkled and she beckoned him forward with one finger. William leaned down, and brushed her lips with his softly, briefly, not fulfilling either’s needs, but rather increasing them ten fold.

William lifted her legs, settled on the couch, then placed her feet in his lap. After observing him happily for a minute, Buffy opened her book, and searched its pages for a cure to the pain that still ailed her, despite her words to the man beside her.

Buffy maintained the illusion that she was pain free throughout lunch, when Drusilla and Angel camped out in the library to help research, and throughout the rest of the school day. Or, at least, she thought she had. Once the headache finally faded, she’d breathed a sigh of relief, the stress of pretending she was feeling fine just adding to her torment.

She dozed in the car on the way home, waking only when her door opened and she felt William gingerly unfastening her seatbelt, trying not to wake her.

“I’m up,” she said, straightening up and blinking the blurriness from her eyes. “I’m good.”

“Alright,” William moved back from the door and followed her into the house, poised to leap to her defense at the slightest threat, or more likely, just to catch her if she fell. “Water? Something to eat?”

“Nope, I’m fine, going to get ready for patrol,” Buffy started to head upstairs, when William’s voice stopped her.

“You aren’t patrolling.”

“I’m not?”

“You may think you were successful in lying to me, Buffy, but I could tell you were in pain until about an hour ago. I’m right, yeah?” His face was stone, obviously not only hurt, but mad to the point of fury.

Buffy contemplated lying to him again, but realized it was a futile endeavor. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t want you to worry!” She insisted sincerely.

“I’m going to worry no matter what. Don’t lie to me again.” His blue eyes were hard as steel, unblinking, challenging her to argue with him.

“I won’t,” she sighed. “I promise I won’t.”

“Good.”

“But really, I’m fine now. I should patrol. And if you go with me, even if something happened, which it won’t, you’d be there. With me.” Her logic seemed to sway him a bit, and Buffy went back down to the bottom step so she was standing eye to eye with him. “Plus, it’ll be fun. Come on, don’t keep me locked up here.” She batted her eyes flirtily, and pouted.

Her antics swayed him from anger even more. “Look at that lip,” he sighed, fixating on it. “Gonna get it.”

William stepped forward until his body was pressed up against Buffy’s, his burgeoning confidence around her heightening Buffy’s arousal. He leaned forward and kissed her shortly, sweetly, but as he moved to back away, she deepened the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him to her.

When they parted, she giggled, still pouting, “Knew I could convince you.”

“Three conditions,” he said sternly, shaking off the cloud of lust around him. “One, you take a nap now. Two, you eat a healthy dinner with some greens and protein. Three, you put that lethal weapon away.”

“Weapon?”

“That damn lip,” he teased, eyes twinkling.

“Lip away,” she grinned, then kissed him softly. “Want to nap with me?”

“I have the distinct feeling if I come upstairs with you, you’re going to try to entice me into not napping. Saucy wench. And don’t pout. I’ll get started on dinner.”

“Fine,” Buffy sighed. She turned to start up the stairs, but stopped short as she came face to face with a picture on the wall of herself and her mom. It was an identical picture to one they’d taken in that other reality, and so she’d passed it dozens of times within the last few days without registering it. She sucked in a breath, mind instantly wiped of the happiness from moments earlier, as she stared at the smiling faces of mother and daughter.

“Pet? You alright?” William stepped up the steps to join her, and saw the image she was fixated on.

“Yeah, I just…” She shook her head, laughing sadly. “I miss her.”

William rested his hands on her shoulders and rubbed them gently, sharing in her sadness. “She was a wonderful woman.”

“Is. Is a wonderful woman,” Buffy said firmly. “She’s alive. I mean, it’s so weird. We have that same picture, at home, it’s on my mom’s nightstand. It’s just…she’s there, and I’m here.” She stared for a minute longer, then turned to smile sadly at William. “Anyway. Naptime.”

“Sleep tight,” he watched her ascend the stairs and disappear around the corner, then stood for a few more minutes, thinking, until his stomach grumbled slightly and he was driven towards the kitchen.

Once there, he began to mechanically go through the process of making dinner, while his mind occupied itself with uninvited images of Buffy. In her bed.

“Turn it off, you stupid prat,” William mumbled to himself as he pulled out a head of lettuce. “Keep it in your trousers.” He started tearing at the lettuce almost violently, as for what seemed like the hundredth time, he tried to talk himself out of falling in love with his teenage Slayer.

In his youth, in the years he’d called himself Spike, he’d thrown caution to the wind and ignored most, if not all, of society’s dictates about what was proper and, well, legal, really, choosing instead to follow his heart and his libido. He would have had no qualms about dating a younger woman, and no hesitation about bedding a virgin. And despite his knowledge of the events in Buffy’s other life, in this world, that’s what she was, here and now.

But as William, he followed the rules and went by the book, up until the day when Buffy had bounced down the stairs, smiled at him, and he’d realized he was completely attracted to her. As it became clearer how he felt about her, and as she seemingly started to return his feelings, each day became a struggle, a battle between the person he was and the person he used to be, over what to do about the girl occupying his every thought.

He wanted her, needed her, that much was certain, but he knew they could never have what he wanted them to have. It was no longer about her age, or her status as the Slayer. It was the fact that, deep in his gut, he knew she wouldn’t stay with him, here in this world, no matter how much he wanted her to. Her sadness over her mother was just the final indicator of where her heart truly lay.

As he finished the casserole and shoved it in the oven, the fierceness with which he clung to his morals began to weaken and fade. With that realization that she wouldn’t stay with him, he could hardly convince himself any longer that it was better for her if he stayed away, and the past few days had shown him what he could have with her. What they could have. And they would only have so much time before she ultimately left him, and to deprive himself of what he wanted would be to condemn himself to years of regret.

The Spike side of him finally won out, and as he climbed the stairs to wake up his Slayer, he felt more relaxed than he had in months.


Buffy awoke with a contented smile on her face, and stretched out her muscles while slowly opening her eyes.

“You’re practically purring,” William noted as she moved to sit up and caught sight of him hovering in her doorway.

“Were you watching me sleep? That’s mildly creepy.”

“Only mildly?”

“Yep.”

“I just came to check on you, dinner’s ready,” he moved halfway to her bed, then paused, glancing around her room, a sudden onslaught of nearly crippling apprehension taking over him.

Buffy sensed his awkwardness and beckoned him towards her with a smile and one hand reaching towards him. He felt pulled to her, as if by some unseen force, something stronger than him, or her. But, perhaps, not stronger than what they made together.

William sat down next to her on the bed, one hand gravitating immediately to her face, the other moving to slide behind her back and pull her closer towards him. As every kiss between them was, this one was different, more comfortable, like coming home, like they’d had years of practice.

“Spike....” she sighed happily as they separated just a millimeter, a shiver creeping up her spine. William could feel her warm, sweet breath brushing against his moist lips, and that slight sensation sent a new rush of blood directly to his already swelling cock, which now became uncomfortably hard in his jeans.

“Dinner’s going to burn,” he murmured.

“Let it.”

“Can we…can we talk?” He said awkwardly, needing to share his thoughts before succumbing to his desire to kiss her senseless.

“Um, sure?” She said tentatively, the worst possibilities springing to mind. Like a final rejection of her, or some horrible piece of news about the demon, or something worse.

William stood up and took a deep breath, and with the devil on his shoulder pushing him forward, he said, “We shouldn’t do this. Us. But I don’t think I can stop.”

“You can’t?”

“I don’t want to,” he corrected himself, his hands slightly shaking as he considered the enormity of what he was about to do. “Kitten…whatever this is, I’ve been fighting it day after day for months. And I’m tired of it. I’m done.”

“Done? Like…bye bye Buffy, done?” Her voice wavered.

“No!” Was the forceful reply, almost shouted as he knelt down lightning quick and grasped her hands. “Done with resisting it. Done with resisting you.”

“Oh…” She frowned a bit, as if turning his words over in her brain to look for some hidden meaning.

“That didn’t come out right. I’m…bloody hell. Alright, Buffy, I want you. More than I’m really ready to deal with. But, I will, deal. Oh, bollocks, now I sound like you---”

Buffy cut him off with a finger pressed to his lips, barely able to contain her joy at the meaning he was having so much trouble conveying. “So…what? Need a little clarification, Spike. What do you want?”

He smiled weakly. “I want you, Buffy. I don’t know how this is going to work, or even if it will, but for now, I’ll never let you down, kitten, I’ll---“

Done with hearing his adorable ramblings, Buffy leaned down and cut him off with a kiss.

William, satisfied with his attempts to explain himself, and desperate for more from the girl in his arms, stood quickly and pushed her back on the bed, lying on top of her without breaking the connection of their lips.

Devoid of any more reservations, William’s mind could only focus on the extraordinary way Buffy seemed to sense exactly what he needed, as her hands gently cupped his face and she poured so much affection into one kiss that he felt himself start to shiver.

He moved his tongue around her mouth, exploring every inch of it, claiming it as his own. And she was right there with him, one leg rising up to hook over his, arching into him, marking him with her roaming fingers.

William slid his hands under her back to shift her higher up on the bed, and rolled over so she was straddling him, her shorts riding up to reveal more of her smooth, tanned thighs. He observed her intently, enjoying her shyness a bit as she blushed under his scrutiny.

“Dinner’s going to burn,” she parroted his earlier words back to him.

“Let it,” he grinned, reaching up to cup her face, and pulling her down towards him.

As their lips met, and her hips slid forward to situate directly over the hard bulge in his pants, the doorbell chimed in the distance.

“Are we expecting someone?” Buffy asked in disappointment, sitting up quickly.

“No,” William rose up on his elbows, her distress mirrored in his face. “Better get that, love.”

“Fine,” she sighed, moving to dismount, but finding herself stopped by one firm hand pulling her back to finish that kiss.

The doorbell chimed again.

“Impatient tossers,” William growled. Buffy giggled and darted out of the room, and he flung himself back on the bed, perfectly content with the deterioration of his morals.

“Angel! Dru! Nice to see you!” Buffy yelled much too loudly when she opened the door, voice full of cheer. She ushered them in, glancing back at the stairs in the hopes that William had heard her, and vacated her room.

The two looked at her oddly as they followed her inside. “Nice to see you, Buff,” Angel said slowly. “Hit your head when you fell?”

The blonde let out an exaggerated fake laugh, then relaxed as she saw William coming down the stairs, looking perfectly normal and smiling warmly.

“Drusilla, Angel, what brings you here?” He asked in surprise, heading for the kitchen to rescue the slightly charred casserole from the oven. Buffy smirked at him behind the backs of her two friends, and he grinned back.

“Well, I finished the chart of the lunar cycle,” Drusilla said. “And if I’m right, and I think I’m right---“

“You usually are,” Angel interrupted.

“--then they’re raising Menithea on Buffy’s birthday.”

“Oh, fun,” the Slayer sighed, trying to mask her disappointment but failing miserably. “A special gift just for me.”

William frowned, both at this new piece of information, and at the parts of Buffy’s body Angel was currently surreptitiously staring at. “I’m guessing by this point they’ve already obtained the necessary ingredients for the ritual---“

“The blood of a virgin isn’t too hard to come by,” Buffy joked, trying to shake off her new bad mood.

“---and according to one of my contacts they definitively have the stone sculpture he’s encased in.”

“So, what else don’t we know? Where they’re doing the ritual?” Angel asked, eyes traveling away from Buffy’s bare legs to the dinner on the counter. “Smells good, what are we eating?”

William shrugged apologetically at Buffy, and said, “You’re welcome to eat with us. And yes, we don’t know where the ritual will be performed, but I’m meeting with Jonathan tomorrow, he claims to have some information on where the Trio has been holed up all this time.”

“And, well, I hate to be negative, but…we don’t really know how to stop the ritual once it’s started, do we?” Drusilla asked tentatively.

The group fell silent under the weight of this true fact.

“Well. We’ll just have to stop them before it starts, right?” Buffy shrugged. “I’m going to go throw on some, well, real clothes.”

“Can we come patrol tonight?” Dru asked. “We haven’t helped you out in awhile.”

Buffy glanced at William, but finding no help there to keep the night just for them, she agreed with fake enthusiasm and headed upstairs.

“So much for Buffy’s party,” Angel said sadly once she had disappeared. “Damn, it was going to be a blast.”

“We’ll still do something, right William?” Drusilla said eagerly. “I mean, we can’t just ignore Buffy’s birthday.”

“No, we bloody well can’t,” he said firmly. “We’ll figure something out. You’ve ordered the cake?”

“Yep,” she nodded eagerly. “Chocolate, raspberry filling. And we had the whole thing set up at the Bronze, should I cancel it?”

William reluctantly nodded. “There’s…there’s just not a chance it could work. But don’t worry, I’ll think of something.” He had no ideas yet for any sort of public celebration, but a plan for a very private one began to form in his mind.


After a tedious dinner, at which both Buffy and William could hardly suppress their frustration at the unintentional interruption of their two guests, the group headed out on patrol.

Buffy plunged a stake into their fourth vampire in Restfield Cemetery, a frown marring her pretty features. “Doesn’t this seem like an awful lot of big baddies to you?”

William nodded, breathing heavily, face faintly pink with the exertion of keeping up with his Slayer. “More than usual, yeah?”

“Could be our little trio of mutant friends gathering forces or…something,” she mused, sliding the weapon into the waistband of her jeans as she observed the now empty cemetery. “We really need to figure out this raising of Menthol thing.”

“Menithea.”

“Whatever.” Buffy turned back to him, the stress of patrol fading away as she caught him staring at her admiringly. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just…” William glanced around to check if Angel and Drusilla were in earshot, but the pair were sitting on a tombstone fifty yards away, loaded up with weapons, sent to the sidelines when the fight got a little too hairy. “Beautiful,” he whispered with a wink.

A faint blush stained her cheeks, and she too glanced over to make sure her friends were occupied. “When can we ditch them and go home?” She pleaded.

Hearing her refer to their home like that made it that much harder for William to maintain any sort of professional demeanor. He opened his mouth to speak, multitudes of dirty comments coming to the forefront of his mind, when Angel and Dru hopped up and made their way over.

“Nice staking, Buff,” Angel commented, glancing around the cemetery and finding no more foes in sight. “Are we done?”

“Angel! You volunteered to come,” Dru scolded. “You’ve hardly even helped.”

“I helped! I punched that one really old one,” he shrugged. “And now I have a date.”

“Darla?” Buffy asked as the group turned and headed out of the cemetery.

“Nope, she’s pissed off at me, going out with Theresa.”

“Gee, wonder why she’d be pissed at you,” teased Buffy. As they walked her hand brushed William’s, sending a shiver up her arm and down her spine. From the tightening of her Watcher’s jaw, she could tell he felt it too. “Why don’t you take off too. Dru,” she continued casually. “We’ll make one more sweep then head home.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind,” the other girl said helpfully.

“No, no, get some rest, and thanks for all that research you did!” Buffy insisted. The group said their goodbyes and the second the two teenagers disappeared from view, she found herself wrapped in William’s arms, being kissed absolutely senseless.

“Still want to do that extra sweep?” He grinned as they parted, proud of the dazed look on his girl’s face.

“Right…extra sweep, so not necessary,” she shook her head.

Hand in hand, they headed back towards home to Revello Drive, so wrapped up in each other that neither felt the prickles on the backs of their necks, the kind of prickles caused by a watchful eye.

Ripper set off to follow them, a wicked gleam in his eye, staying far enough back that the Slayer couldn’t sense him.

William and Buffy barely made it inside and to the couch before gravitating towards each other, desperate for a physical connection, their kiss heated and passionate, yet sweet and slow. They didn’t bother to turn on the light, and felt perfectly safe in their home, under the cover of darkness.

Outside the house, Ripper grinned, enjoying the perfect view his heightened senses afforded him of the two. Through a crack in the curtains covering the living room window, he had a perfect view of their embrace. He spun on his heel and sauntered off towards the mansion he called home, turning over this new piece of information in his mind, and wondering how it could be used to his advantage.

William wrapped one arm around Buffy’s waist, unaware of their observer, and dragged her on top of him as he fell onto the couch, letting loose a moan into her mouth as she instantly straddled him, picking up where they’d left off earlier in the evening.

Her hips began a slow, tentative rocking motion, and her heart started to race as she explored his chest with gentle caresses, and his hands moved to her hips to increase the pressure of her movements.

“Wait, wait,” William sighed reluctantly. He stilled Buffy’s hand as it traveled a path down his chest to his belt, and brought it to his lips to kiss gently.

“Why?” She asked nervously, wiggling a bit above his body to get comfortable, making it a little harder for him to focus.

“We should take this slow, yeah?” He pulled her down and nuzzled her throat, wanting to make sure the sensitive girl didn’t take his statement as rejection. He may have let go of his reservations, but he was still a gentleman. “Don’t have to do everything at once.”

Her body rebelled against his chivalrous impulse, as the ache between her legs was almost too much to ignore. But her head, and her heart, appreciated his patience, his kindness. It really hadn’t been that long since her disastrous first time with Angel, and despite how much she desired William, she knew waiting, even just a bit longer, would be for the best.

“You and your stupid logic,” she teased, sensing the relaxation of his muscles when she didn’t fight him on the matter.

A devilish smirk on his face, William suddenly lifted her and flipped her on her back, then moved to lick the shell of her ear. “Not that I don’t want you desperately, kitten,” he whispered, hot breath on her tingling skin, dipping a hand under her shirt to gently stroke her flesh, mindful of the nearly healed wounds from her fight days earlier. “Need you so bloody much…feel that? Feel how much?” He shifted, pressing his erection into her thigh and relishing her surprised, interested intake of breath. He moved to press kisses to her throat, sucking for a moment at her pulse, then moved back to her lips.

Buffy smiled against his mouth, meeting his tongue with hers as she arched into his touch. His hand swept up, fingers dancing at the edge of her bra, then he quickly unsnapped the convenient front clasp to dip beneath the fabric.

“Thought you were going slow?” Buffy breathed out. “Not that I mind…”

“Oh, I’m going slow, love,” he replied teasingly. “Very slow.” He pulled up her shirt, very, very slowly, revealing her bare breasts to his hungry gaze for the first time. After a moment of staring, drinking in the sight of her perky chest, excited face, and sparkling eyes, he dipped his head down to lick one of her pink nipples and unbuttoned her jeans. William focused on pushing down his own raging lust to concentrate only on bringing pleasure to the panting girl beneath him.

“Slow good…” Buffy couldn’t help her mind from specifying each way this was different from her only other sexual encounter. With Angel, they’d gone straight to the main event, without stopping off at…this sort of thing. William was sucking at her chest, fingers playing at the edges of her underwear, and she was already more turned on than she could ever remember being.

“Your skin tastes so sweet,” he murmured around her breast, finally sliding his fingers under her underwear to lightly probe at the entrance to her sex. He found her soaking wet, a discovery that tested his self-control. At her mewl of approval, he slid one finger inside of her and sought out her clit with his thumb. Movement was restricted by the tightness of her jeans, but that also helped keep his hand firmly pressed in its position, a position that was quickly driving Buffy to madness.

“Please…” she moaned, voice low and throaty, hips rotating up to meet the gentle thrusts of his fingers, a rush of fluid rewarding him for the light scrape of his teeth on her nipple. William growled around her flesh, moved quickly up to her face and kissed her hard, then pulled away as he added another finger and increased the pressure of his thumb on her clit. He watched her intently as the pleasure he gave her became evident on her face, as her eyes squeezed shut and her lips parted, as she arched her back and came, hard, her Slayer muscles squeezing his fingers almost to the point of pain.

An unfamiliar, burning, aching sensation had been building inside of her, rushing through her limbs, concentrated in her stomach, making her pant and moan and arch her back. It suddenly intensified, consumed her, and she just fell apart, desperate for more, less, anything he would give her.

“So fucking beautiful,” William whispered, awe in his eyes as he watched Buffy shudder, her soft cries making him even harder in his now too tight jeans.

“I…wow!” She sighed once she regained the power of speech. “That was…new.”

“New?”

“I…I’ve never felt that before,” she admitted shyly. ”I mean…yeah. That was new. But don’t look so cocky.”

William smirked at her, clearly proud beyond belief, as he removed his hand reluctantly from her pants and gently buttoned them up again, before clasping her bra and pulling down her top. “I can be a little cocky.”

“Feels like you already are,” Buffy joked, wiggling her leg against the arousal she could still feel.

He gasped and glared at her. “Devil woman.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever been called that before!”

“First time for everything. Or, many things.” William kissed her softly on the forehead, then glanced over the arm of the couch and groaned. “It’s getting late, pet.”

“Yeah, yeah, and I have school,” Buffy sighed, body still buzzing from the aftermath of her orgasm. “I wish…I wish I could just stay home with you all day.”

“I do too, pet,” he agreed, sitting up reluctantly. “Believe me.”

With one last kiss, that would have ended too soon even if it had lasted hours, Buffy headed upstairs, mind clear of worries over Menithea, or the decision she’d have to make. All she could think of was the man she was leaving downstairs, and the growing intensity of her feelings for him.

William couldn’t revel in that same afterglow, no matter how much he wanted to. His panic over Buffy’s condition, and the lingering questions over the demon threat looming kept him from allowing himself to truly enjoy his happiness. Yet, with the raging hard on in his trousers a constant reminder of his daft, moral driven decision to take it slow, he permitted himself just a few minutes of fantasizing. Finally he pulled a book into his lap with one last smile up the stairs, and began to read.

With the rising sun shining in his eyes and optimistic birds chirping outside, William awoke on the couch with a smile on his lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he awoke so happy, so content. Even the rush of memories of his night of research did little to taint his good mood.

He rose from the couch, glanced at the clock, and gave into his devilish urge to wake Buffy up in a less than proper way. Hurrying up the stairs, he pushed away all thoughts of demons and spells and focused on the girl he was heading for, the girl who’d starred in each and every one of his dreams.

After a quick stop in the bathroom to brush his teeth and run one hand through his unruly curls, feeling like a teenager again, he headed for Buffy’s bed.

But she wasn’t in it.

He tried to suppress his instant rising panic, even though it was clear her bed hadn’t been slept in. She could be in the kitchen, she could be…she could be hurt and needing him, and he wasn’t there.

William spun with the intention of running downstairs, Buffy’s name blooming on his lips, when he noticed his own door slightly ajar, and he was firm in his memory that he’d shut it the last time he left. He pushed it open slowly to see his Slayer sleeping peacefully, her blonde hair spread across his pillow. His ultimate fantasy of the last few months, his perfect image. Buffy, in his bed.

And he’d fallen asleep on the couch like an idiot and missed out on it.

His panic fading, but his heart still wildly beating, he dropped his plans of touching her, tasting her, teaching her. All he needed now was to slide into bed beside her, wrap her in his arms and pull her to his chest, and savor the feel of her body next to him.

So he did.

“Mmmm?” Buffy murmured, nuzzling her head into his shoulder.

“Shh, pet. Didn’t mean to wake you,” William murmured. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’m up, I’m up,” she insisted, forcing her eyes open and staring up at him tiredly. “You didn’t come to bed,” she pouted.

“And I think I regret that more than anything in my life,” he teased, kissing her lips gently. “What ever did you have planned?’

“None of your business,” she yawned, closing her eyes again and sliding even closer to William’s body. “What time is it?”

“Almost time to get up,” he admitted reluctantly. “I found out some good news about Menithea, though. Spells, weapons. I’ll drive you to school, but I think I’m going to cut out of work for the day, gather some supplies and meet with Jonathan.”

“But then I can’t come make out with you at lunch,” Buffy whined.

William groaned at the idea. “That’s almost enough to sway me. But I’ve got things to do. Have to help my girl any way I can, yeah?”

Buffy smiled a bit at being called his girl, breathing deeply to inhale William’s scent, but continuing to tease him. “Fine, fine. Do nice things, save the world. I’ll just be lonely without you.”

“Now, now,” he scolded, rolling quickly to pin her body beneath his. Buffy’s eyes flew open in surprise and excitement, still glazed over with sleep. “Wouldn’t want you to be lonely, kitten,” he mused, his voice smooth as honey. “Maybe I should give you something to think about all day.”

“Maybe you should,” she smiled, pulling his head down to hers, their lips meeting in a sweet kiss that quickly turned passionate as last night’s events came roaring back to them. William had been left unsatisfied, not that he minded, but it meant that his cock was instantly painfully hard. He reluctantly realized it would take little for his self control to snap, and he had no desire to subject Buffy to his desire for her at full force. Not yet, anyway.

Luckily, the alarm on his bedside table suddenly switched on, the obnoxious buzzing noise giving him an excuse to pull away with one last peck on the lips. “I should hop in the shower, pet.”

Confused as William quickly left the bed, coughing uncomfortably, Buffy sat up feeling insecure, something she’d hoped had been done away with the night before. He saw it immediately, regretted his hasty end to their tryst, and moved back quickly to kiss the forehead of his girl softly. “I’ll make it up to you tonight, yeah? Just you and me.”

“Sounds good,” she relaxed instantly.

“Oh, and pet, anything special you want for your birthday?” asked William, stroking her hands lightly, desperate for just a delicate touch from her while in need of something much more.

“Just you,” Buffy shrugged, then realized the implications of her statement, and blushed. From the darkening of William’s eyes she figured he didn’t mind those implications, kissed him briefly, and headed downstairs to eat breakfast.

Sighing his relief at her departure, yet even more impossibly turned on from the potential behind her words, William hastily undressed and headed for the shower. His mind was only on finding some relief for his overflowing desires. Under the spray of water he thought about Buffy and the things he wanted to show her, do to her, what he dreamed of her doing to him.

He closed his eyes, grasped his cock and pumped it eagerly, feeling no shame as he fantasized about his girl, willingly on her knees and wrapping her gorgeous lips around him. About her pressed up against the wall of the shower, legs wrapped around him, moaning his name as he slid into her wet heat. Imagined how she would feel, how it would be to be her first.

As he came, days of pent up tension released, a choked moan was torn out of his throat. He felt a wave of sadness crashing over him, suffocating him, his moan almost turning into a sob as he realized to Buffy he wasn’t really her first. And the love he could finally admit he felt for her, the love that consumed him, was not truly reciprocated. Because to her, to his Buffy, he wasn’t just William. Her other world, her other life, could not be ignored.

His fantasies, his dreams of what they could be would never come to fruition.

As he quickly finished his shower, he promised himself again he would not push her, would not allow his own misery to taint their limited time together. He would worship her as she deserved, relish every moment, and when it came time, let her go.

It didn’t occur to William that what was slowly growing between himself and his Slayer could alter her decision. His assumption was that, no matter his love for her, she would ultimately choose her other life, her safer life, the life that still felt most real to her.

Yet downstairs, as she sipped on juice and stared out the window, Buffy herself began to wonder if what was waiting for her back in her other world was really better than the life she was discovering now.



A forgotten French test ruined Buffy’s morning, and without William distracting her at lunch she felt herself settle into an officially bad mood.

Rejecting Dru’s invitation to eat lunch, and avoiding watching this world’s Angel making up, very publicly, with Darla, she settled onto a bench in the school’s quad and pretended to study her history textbook.

Her mind, however, was consumed with a swirl of subjects ranging from how exactly William managed to do such amazing things with his fingers to what would happen if Menithea was raised and she couldn’t kill it to whether or not it was possible to figure out a spell what would allow her to split her time between this world, and her other.

Her confusion about her feelings was fading as she considered why it wouldn’t really be so bad to recreate her birthday night here, with William. It had to turn out better, right? It’s not like it was slutty, not really, since in this universe she had never loved Angel, in this world he had never broken her heart.

And the way she was feeling about her Watcher was slowly approaching…similar, to how she’d felt about the vampire she’d considered her true love. It frightened her, but not as much as it should, really.

For the most part, it felt so right. Right to lie in his arms, to dream of making love to him, to imagine their future, and all the possibilities.



The piece of paper clenched in William’s hand was the most crucial piece of their investigation so far. A few bills and a few good threats had convinced the short, shy owner of one of Sunnydale’s demon bars to reveal the address where Ripper, Willow, and Xander were living. Though he’d yet to determine the location of the raising of Menithea, he knew he’d eventually figure it out.

William headed for the magic shop, a list of spells in his pocket that would further aid in the coming battle, sure that things were looking up.

On the way, he passed a jewelry store, and the little matter of Buffy’s birthday entered his mind. Giving into his happiness and abandoning duty once more, he changed his course and entered the shop.



Across town, in the mansion William could now locate, Ripper smoked a cigarette as he observed Willow and Xander lounging in bed, limbs intertwined, smears of red on their bare skin.

“So what do you plan to do about it, boss?” Xander asked, lifting Willow’s arm and sucking a drop of blood into his mouth, fangs receding as he finished, a rumbling purr filling the bedroom.

“Never would have guessed the Watcher had it in him,” Willow giggled. “Dirty little sluts.”

“I almost want to watch,” admitted Xander as he climbed out of bed, unashamed of his nudity, stepping over the still slightly breathing body of their most recent victim and lighting up a cigarette of his own. “Could be hot.”

“Pervert. And must you two smoke in here,” the redheaded vampire sighed. “I hate the smell.”

“We could go outside, if you like,” Xander shrugged. “Although the stench of our burning flesh might offend your nose a bit more.”

“Very funny,” she sighed, stretching her body out, and tearing off the thin sheet that was barely covering her body. “Really, though. What are we doing with this little bit of information? Can’t imagine how it helps us.”

“It will,” Ripper finally spoke, tossing his cigarette away.

“You sure? Shouldn’t we just be focusing on keeping the little brat and her friends away from the ritual? I mean, we’ve distracted them with Menithea, which is good since it’ll keep them out of our hair, but if we’re still looking for Acathla--”

“You leave that to me, witch. Now stop talking.” Ripper rose and moved towards the bed, the scent of sex and blood finally drawing him to her. Neither noticed the flash of hesitation in Xander’s, as he turned and left the room.

A wicked smile on her face, Willow welcomed Ripper with open arms.

“That’s quite a pointy sword, Buff,” Angel eyed the weapon near his crotch warily. “Do you think you could maybe…point it somewhere else?”

“Why? Don’t trust my Slayer abilities?” The blonde giggled and wiggled the sword in his direction, before tossing it on the growing pile of weapons on the floor. School had ended, William had returned to the library, and the group was making plans for the next evening’s battle.

“Do you really think you need this many knives?” Drusilla stared down at the deadly array of blades, wide eyed. “I mean, that’s a lot of knives.”

“Never hurts to be prepared,” Buffy shrugged. “And if this Menithea guy is really all that and a bag of whatever, I need the heavy artillery. Did you find any good witchy voodoo?”

“Yes! Distraction spells, binding spells, things like that. Only problem is, I need to be in the room to---“

“Well then, nope. I don’t want you getting hurt, either of you.”

“I can take care of myself, I’ll be fine!” Drusilla insisted. “I mean, I’m not exactly anxious to be around…you know who…but I need to help. I have to.”

“I can kick some demon ass,” Angel nodded in agreement, patting Dru’s hand comfortingly in an almost automatic reaction to her sad tone. “And come on, we’re a team!”

“Kitt—Buffy, remember they’ve helped before, and been extremely valuable assets,” William said as he emerged from his office, and stopped short when he saw his private collection of weapons on the ground. He scurried forward quickly and began to gather them up and move them to the table, glaring at his Slayer.

“What?” She said innocently. “I was planning to pick them up eventually.”

“This is a 17th century Japanese---you know what, never mind,” He lovingly stroked the handle of a elaborate sword. “Just don’t put these on the floor.”

“Fine sir, I’m sorry sir,” Buffy pouted.

“You should be.” The exchange was similar to ones they’d had time and again, yet this time there was a tangible undercurrent of flirtation that Drusilla noticed instantly. She eyed the pair curiously as they bent over the table together, bantering lightly over the weapons.

“That’s a sissy scythe,” Buffy insisted. “I don’t want a girly weapon.”

William stared at her, mouth agape. “How the bleeding hell is this a sissy scythe?”

“It’s too small! And the handle, it’s all…shiny.”

“Are you intentionally trying to annoy me?”

“Is it working?”

“Oh, my,” Drusilla murmured to herself happily as she watched the two shift a bit closer together, elbows barely touching.

“Oh, my what?” Angel asked curiously, looking over from where he’s been practicing some of the boxing William had taught him.

“Nothing, nothing,” she replied, choosing to leave him in the dark as usual. With one more glance at the Watcher and Slayer, she returned to her spellbook.


The lightheartedness of the afternoon faded along with the sun, and once night had officially fallen, the group was tense with the realization that they’d be fighting Menithea and the vampires in just twenty-four hours.

“We should just look at it the same as any other time we’ve had to fight the Big Bad!” Drusilla said with forced cheer. “I mean, what makes this so different?”

“Three really evil vampires and a demon with claws like Wolverine and the ability to kill us a lot deader than usual?” Angel said helpfully.

“Thanks, Angel. That was exactly not what I needed to hear,” Buffy sighed and dropped her head onto the desk, mind swimming with the battle tactics and weapons lessons that had been imparted in her brain over the last few hours.

William reached out to rub her back comfortingly, but pulled away like he’d been burned when he caught Drusilla’s seemingly knowing gaze. “Ah. Well. We should all get some rest, perhaps. Buffy and I won’t be in school tomorrow, so---“

“We won’t?” She popped her head up.

“No, there’s further preparations to be done. You need to be trained to utilize the appropriate weapons and---”

“But it’s her birthday!” Angel pointed out. “If she doesn’t come to school I don’t have an excuse to ditch fourth period and take her to lunch.”

“You can do that Friday,” William said firmly as he stood up. “That’s when we’ll all celebrate. Sound good, Buffy?”

“Sure,” she shrugged, suppressing any disappointment at William’s business-like approach to her birthday as she watched him disappear into his office. “World saveage, more important than fun and cake. There was going to be cake, right?”

“There can still be cake!” Drusilla said happily. “After we kick some demon butts, we’ll eat cake.”

“Okay, delay cake a day, save the world. Not a bad tradeoff.”

“And just think, no one will ever know…you know I could use this to get girls. They like the whole superhero thing,” Angel mused, flexing his biceps.

“Excuse me, since when are you a superhero?” Buffy teased, rolling her eyes at Drusilla.

The other girl chimed in. “Yeah, Angel. I mean, telling Darla you fight demons is all well and good, but what if she had been there that time you almost got eaten by the praying mantis lady---“

“Okay, just for the record? She wouldn’t want to eat me anymore. If you catch my drift.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at them.

“Ew!” The two girls squealed, simultaneously tossing their pencils towards him. Buffy felt only a the faintest twinge of sadness as she thought of this Angel with Darla, and realized any residual feelings for her ex had nearly faded.

They continued to banter lightly as Drusilla and Angel gathered up their belongings to head home, their laughter doing a good job of pushing away their fears.

In his office, William took a deep breath and worked on calming himself down. He knew instantly when his eyes met Dru’s that she had suspicions about him and Buffy. The girl was startlingly perceptive, and considering how foolishly he acted every time he was in the presence of his Slayer, he wasn’t surprised that Drusilla had picked up on it. He didn’t necessarily fear that she’d tell anyone about her suspicions, but the idea of being found out still weighted heavy on his conscience as he straightened up his messy desk and waited for the sounds of conversation outside his door to wind down.

It did quickly, and he heard Buffy saying goodbye to her two friends. Seconds later, there was a knock at the door and she opened it quickly.

“Didn’t say you could come in,” William teased, leaning back on the couch and spreading his arms over the back.

“Excuse me for being rude,” Buffy said sullenly. “Are we ready to go?”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He moved towards her instantly and slid an arm around her waist. “You seem mad.”

“Not mad. Tired.”

“Okay, not mad, upset.”

“I’m not---fine, okay, I am,” she sighed. “Not at you, it just…I mean, birthdays are stupid and I know you get one every year and technically I’ve already had a seventeenth birthday---“

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” William relaxed instantly and chuckled softly.

“Don’t make fun of me!” Buffy snapped. “I’m not trying to be---“

“Not making fun of you, baby,” he insisted firmly, kissing her on the forehead before explaining. “You just don’t need to be upset. I have plans for tomorrow.”

“Yeah, plans. Like training and violence and---“

“No, no. Birthday plans. Special plans.”

Buffy stared at him blankly, then her eyes brightened when she understood. “You’re so bad! You’re taking me out of school for my birthday?”

A slow smirk spread across his face. “Maybe. You’ll just have to wait till tomorrow to see, won’t you?”

“Oh my God, I totally love you!” she squealed happily, kissing his cheek and wrapping him in a hug, completely missing the way her casual declaration affected William. “I’m officially past upset, and moving into the realm of happy. You won’t tell me what we’re doing? Please?....Spike?”

His brain had short-circuited the second those words had fallen from Buffy’s lips, even though rationally he knew they’d just been an excited utterance from a teenage girl used to exaggerating. But still, his heart was pounding and he felt lightheaded with a horrible combination of guilt and lust welling up inside him. “Sorry, but no, pet,” he finally replied. “It’s a surprise.”

Buffy frowned at him, totally unaware of what she’d said. “Are you okay, now? You look pale.”

“I’m great, love,” he smiled at her, suddenly pressing her backwards until she hit the door, his mouth instantly coming down to find her neck. “Just missed you today.”

“Missed…you…too…” His lips and teeth were doing wickedly wonderful things to her throat. She had no idea that area was so sensitive, her knees were already shaking and her breath was starting to come faster. Angel had stayed away from that area for obvious reasons, and William had only paid a little attention to it before. But now he was worshipping the tender skin of her throat with his lips and teeth, murmuring words she couldn’t make out.

He pulled away suddenly, eyes burning brightly, and nodded his head approvingly. “Perfect.”

“What’s perfect?” Buffy moved her hand up and touched her wet, tender skin, then realized. “You gave me a hickey!”

“That I did,” he grinned. “You’re marked, and officially mine.” He grabbed his jacket casually and slid on his glasses.

“I can’t believe you gave me a hickey!” She whined quietly as William grabbed her hand and led her out to grab her schoolbag. “What are you, fourteen?”

“You heal fast, and you know you liked it,” he shrugged casually as she slipped on her jacket. “Now, come with me, or I’ll have to---“

“Mr. Pratt?” A high voice came from the library door.

William snapped his head towards that direction, wondering how long the short girl had been standing there. “Um, yes?” He asked, stepping away from Buffy as casually as possible.

“Are you closed? I really need books for my biology project.”

“No, not closed, it’s fine,” he insisted. “Buffy, why don’t you---“

“Wait in the car, got it. Keys?”

“Here,” he dug them out of his pocket and thrust them at her quickly.

Buffy glanced at the other student, who’s name she thought might be Claire, and smiled at her quickly before scurrying out to the teacher’s parking lot. She unlocked the doors to the Desoto, the only car left in the lot, and sighed unhappily once she was settled on the seat.

She had seen the look of panic in Spike’s eyes when the girl had walked in, but was sure that she hadn’t seen or heard anything, not really. Things were going so amazingly well, the last thing they needed was for William to suddenly feel guilty again, to feel like they could be found out. There had to be a way to ease his fears, to convince him that there was nothing wrong with what they were doing. He’d seemed so comfortable the last few days, but she just knew a little thing like this could send him away from her again.

In need of some background noise for her thoughts, she stuck the keys in the ignition and turned on the radio, wincing at the awful punk music coming out of the speakers and quickly switching it to the local pop station.

Buffy saw William heading towards her, face twisted worriedly and the duffel bag of weapons tightly clutched in his hand. He opened the trunk, tossed it in, then came around to the driver’s side door and pulled it open violently.

He shut off the music, slammed his door, and wouldn’t look at her. Together they watched Claire, or maybe it was Callie, as she staggered under the weight of the books she carried to the bus stop. The silence held for a few more minutes until the bus showed up, and the girl disappeared down the street.

“We should have been more careful,” William said quietly.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Buffy stared down at her folded hands in her lap, the threat of tears pricking her eyes. “You’re not...”

“Not what?” He still wasn’t looking at her.

“Not…I mean, I don’t know if we’re really together so we can’t really break-up, but---“

He turned towards her finally, horrified, started to reach for her then pulled back when he remembered where they were. “Love, no. I…God, I’m such a ponce. I’m not mad at you and it’s not your fault. We just do need to be more careful, yeah?”

“Yeah, I know. She didn’t see anything, though!”

“I know, I know she didn’t. But she easily could have. And…I think Drusilla may have sensed something as well.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. At school…we just have to keep our hands off each other, I think. It’s too risky.”

“I’m not the one who has trouble keeping my hands to myself,” Buffy teased, calmed by William’s soft smile.

“Not nice to lie, kitten,” he frowned as he turned the keys fully to start the car’s engine. “I know you can’t keep your mitts off my hot, tight little body.”

“In your dreams.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming.” He said this nervously, eyes sliding over to hers as he backed out of his parking spot, checking for her reaction. She stared at him for a moment, before an impossibly bright smile lit up her entire face. The image of her at that exact moment was instantly committed to his memory, and he continued casually, “Now, let me get you home where I can fully apologize for making you worry.”

“I have no problem with that,” she shifted a bit closer to him and rested her hand on his thigh as they pulled out of the parking lot, rubbing gentle circles. “Does it involve chocolate?”

“It could.” They drove in comfortable quiet for a few minutes, her hand never stilling, until William said, “Oh, and just so you know. As far as I’m concerned, we’re together.”

Buffy turned to look at his slightly blushing face, and giggled. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Now get on your side of the car, you’re distracting me.”

“Whoops.” She slid back on her side and they sped towards home, hardly going a few blocks before their fingers were linked together in the middle of the seat.

Usually, Drusilla and Angel were smart enough not to wander the streets of Sunnydale after dark without their Slayer. But with his car in the shop, they figured two stakes, a bottle of holy water, and a cross on Dru’s neck would be sufficient armor against any threat that stood between them and their homes, which happened to sit directly across the street from one another.

“So I said, look Darla, I get that you’re PMSing---“

“Angel! You don’t say that to a girl!”

“Even if it’s true?”

Drusilla rolled her eyes at her lifelong friend as he continued his description of the most recent argument that prompted the cheerleader to break up with him.

“And I said, it really shouldn’t have to be this hard, right? I mean, if you love someone it should be a lot easier than this.”

“Not really,” Dru said softly, clutching the stake in her pocket a little tighter. “I don’t think true love is supposed to be easy. That’s what makes it worth it.”

“But you hate Darla.”

“That’s not the point. If you actually love her, Angel, then yeah, you should fight for her. Some people don’t get that chance.”

Angel opened his mouth to reply as they turned the corner onto their street, but from behind a hedge three male vampires moved into their path.

“Oh look, it’s the Slayer’s little lapdogs,” the largest of the vampires said woodenly, as if trying to intimidate them with taunts and failing miserably.

“Maybe we should put them down,” another vamp replied, equally un-intimidating with his metaphorical threat. “So they don’t get in the way tomorrow.”

Dru utilized every trick Buffy had taught her to fight the vampire that leapt at her suddenly. She breathed deeply, suppressing the adrenaline of fear and drawing instead on her inner strength, dodged his grasping hands, casting a small spell to flash a bright light, and tripped him with one foot.

He hadn’t expected her quick move, and fell hard to the ground. While he was prone Dru glanced quickly to the side to see Angel holding his own with another vampire, yelling proudly when he sunk a punch into the demon’s nose.

After briefly wondering where the third vampire had gone, Drusilla returned to her foe and dumped her holy water on his face. He screamed, his hands flying to the burning flesh of his cheeks, leaving his chest open for her plunging stake.

She smiled happily at her performance, sure Buffy would have been impressed. Angel dusted the other right after her, muttered about his torn shirt as he dusted himself off.

“My mom gave me that shirt,” he groaned, kicking at the pile of dust by his feet.

She then realized the third vampire was nowhere to be seen.

A familiar shiver ran from her throat to her stomach.

“Dru? Earth to Dru? Let’s get the hell inside before more show up,” Angel hissed to her as she stared out across the empty street, clearly not realizing that one of their attackers had never been fought.

“Right, right, okay,” she nodded. He grabbed her hand and dragged her down the sidewalk to her front door, and she quickly unlocked it and they headed inside.

“Nice moves, Dru”, Angel said as he peeked out the living room window and relaxed when he found the yard still empty.

“Thanks, I’ve been practicing,” she replied faintly, breathing hard from a combination of fear and excitement as that shiver still coursed through her.

“Dru, is that you?” Her mom called from the kitchen. “Is Liam dearest with you?”

“Yeah, Mom!” She giggled. “Liam dearest is right here.”

“I just took dinner out of the fridge, he’s welcome to stay.”

“Thanks, Edith!” He yelled back, then turned to Dru. “Your mom’s cooking rocks, I’ll go set the table. Maybe you should call Buff and let her know what happened?” He sauntered off to the kitchen, as relaxed and comfortable in this home as he would have been in his own.

Drusilla moved towards the cordless phone on the couch and picked it up slowly, eyes searching the front yard for the source of her tingling nerves.

Almost without thought, she clutched the phone tightly to her chest and ran to fling open the door, stepping just up to the frame next to the invisible barrier that would keep out any danger.

“Xander?” She called out softy, the near whisper carried easily by the slight breeze into the yard. There was no response. “Xander, I know you’re here again.” Still there was no sound in the night but that of the silver truck driving past. “Thanks, I guess. I’m guessing that third vampire was killed by you? We could have handled it, you know. I don’t need you following me and protecting me all the time.” Painful silence. “I can’t…I can’t pretend I don’t see you, feel you. It’s too hard.”

There was still no noise from the shadows, where she knew someone was watching, listening, feeling the same ache she felt. “Goodnight, Xander.”

She moved back into the house, shut the door, and leaned against it on unsteady legs, thin body shaking with the force of her emotions.

“What’d she say?” Angel came back into the room, speaking around a mouthful of garlic bread.

“Oh…I haven’t called her yet,” Dru glanced down at the phone in her hand as if she’d forgotten it was there.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” She wiggled the phone at him. “I’ll call her now, go on back to the kitchen Liam dearest.”

“I hate when she calls me that,” he groaned, and left the room again, while Drusilla quickly dialed.

Outside, Xander emerged from the shadows, watching the front door intently and straining to hear her voice.


The phone was ringing when Buffy and William entered the house, and she dodged his grasping hands and ran for the kitchen, giggling.

“Hello?” She said happily into the phone. Her face fell as she listened. “Oh God…Are you alright?...Are you sure?...Okay, well that’s good…Stay safe, okay?...Bye.”

“What happened?” William asked curiously from the doorway.

“Dru and Angel got attacked by two vamps,” Buffy explained worriedly. “They were supposed to get them out of the way for tomorrow, I guess. Spike, I can’t let either of them get hurt!”

“It’s okay, kitten.” He wrapped his arms around her tightly and nuzzled into her hair, inhaling the faintly fruity scent of her shampoo. “They’re fine, yeah?”

“Yeah, but they could have...” Buffy realized she was near to tears, and buried her face into William’s strong chest as she fought them back.

“What’s got you so upset, love?” He gently lifted her and set her on the counter so he could look straight into her reddening eyes. “Just a couple of vamps, they’ve faced a lot worse.”

“I know, I know,” she worried her lip with her teeth and tried to figure out how to explain why she was acting this way. “It’s just…they’re good people here. They’re my friends, and I like them so much…but I still can’t seem to separate them from who they are back home—my other world. And I just want---“

“You can’t separate them from who they are at home?” William asked softly, taking a step away from her and removed his hands from her thighs.

“No, I can, I just---“

“So you still can’t separate me from…that’s why you still call me Spike,” he dropped his gaze to the floor to prevent her from seeing his rising anger.

“That’s not what I meant!” Buffy jumped off the counter and stood right in front of him, her panic reaching the breaking point. “Please, don’t take it like that, I just don’t want there to be two universes full of my dead friends!” Her voice broke on the last word and she turned away to wipe frustrated tears from her eyes.

He looked back up her worriedly. “What do you mean?”

“Nevermind, I’m just being stupid and why am I crying again?“

“You’re not being stupid. Explain it to me.” He grabbed her shoulder and spun her back around to face him.

She took a deep breath and chose her words carefully, not wanting to upset him more. “I don’t know if I really understand this whole two worlds thing, and how many more there could be…if they’re the same people who just ended up with totally different lives? I want them to be here and happy and safe, because…they aren’t, somewhere else, and I know I’m not making sense---“

“You are, love. I understand.”

“You can’t, because I don’t even understand!” Buffy allowed herself to be folded into William’s arms and burst out with the thoughts that had been plaguing her for days, the worries that she wouldn’t even admit to herself. “I don’t understand how I can remember…It’s like I’m two people, and you’re all two people, and they’re so different and horrible back home…but the same, still. Like you…”

“Me?” He prompted her softly after a moment of silence.

“You’re William. My William, and I know that and I would have never kept calling you Spike if I thought you didn’t like it. But you’re still…your eyes. I mean, the second I saw your eyes I thought you were Spike because I could never in a million years forget those eyes…not just the color, but the way you look at me…”

“How do I look at you?”

“Like…like you’re completely focused on me, like you don’t see anything else. Like a bomb could go off and you wouldn’t notice. And I know it sounds crazy, but Spike…well vampire Spike, he looks at me like that too. Now, granted, he’s so fixated on me because he wants to kill me---”

“Which I don’t want to do, just in case you were wondering,” William joked, the pain in his heart slowly fading away as she spoke.

“Well, good.” Buffy then pushed her emotions down, pulled away and laughed awkwardly. “Wow, don’t know where that came from. So, birthday presents?”

“Kitten, I don’t---“

“Please not tonight…William? Can we…can we just skip that part for now and deal with it tomorrow?” she steadied her gaze and repeated her plea firmly. “Please not tonight?”

He took a deep breath and nodded, slightly relieved to shelve the terrifying conversation temporarily. “If you want, love. Whatever you want.”

A warm body curled into his side, stomach full of heavy pasta, and an old movie musical. William couldn’t imagine a better evening, and he knew he was grinning like an idiot.

Buffy’s head was resting on his shoulder, and he could feel her fingers absentmindedly playing with the drawstring on his gym shorts. One of his arms was wrapped around her narrow shoulders, bare but for the two tiny straps of her tank top, while the other was occupied with a glass of wine, which had started a spat between the two before dinner.

“It’s my birthday, I’m not driving or anything, I think I’m entitled to a glass of wine!” She’d insisted, hands on her hips and glaring at him from across the island in the kitchen.

“Your birthday is technically tomorrow, and regardless, you’re still underage in this country,” William had sputtered, arguing internally with himself about whether it really mattered, his Spike side insisting that no one would ever find out anyway.

“Come on, how old were you when you started drinking? Like, twelve? It’s not fair!”

“None of your business. And I refuse to contribute to the delinquency of a minor!”

“Like you contributed to the delinquency of a minor when you gave me a hickey?” Buffy had winked. He’d growled and run to grab her, she struggled weakly for a minute, then they were making out, up against the counter, his over excited mouth giving her another hickey on her breast as she’d squealed her futile protests.

He was still hard.

And ultimately, he’d given her a few sips of the wine. She hadn’t liked it, so the whole argument had been pointless.

But William couldn’t deny that something in him turned hot and excited when they fought. Her eyes flashed with a tantalizing fire when she was upset with him, she twisted her lips into that infernal pout, and he found himself teasing her just to spark that attitude. The way he knew she could take him down if it ever came to that always fluttered in the back of his mind, even when the disagreement was about something mundane, and he couldn’t deny that it turned him on.

After dinner, he’d noticed a slight wrinkling between her eyebrows, a sure sign she was in pain. After she reluctantly admitted to having a headache, he’d wrapped her in blankets and made her tea, prompting another short argument over her ability to take care of herself.

“Buffy, I’m quite sure you could render me completely useless in ten minutes with one arm tied behind your back. I have no doubt you can take care of yourself,” William had sighed exasperatedly.

She’d wrinkled her nose in thought, and said, “We should spar, because I think I can do it in five.”

And she’d acquiesced, allowed him to pamper her, coddle her, and give her a back massage. Then they’d settled in for the film, and William had felt more content than he had in years.

“Will? The movie’s over.” Her voice was sleepy as she nuzzled closer to him, letting out a soft sigh of contentment when his arm tightened around her. The Will thing had started immediately after their discussion in the kitchen, and neither had mentioned the change in what she called him. While he loved the sweet way she said the new nickname, he found himself missing the reminder of his youth, the slight thrill he got when she called him Spike.

“How’s the pain?”

“Pain-free, my head is clear as a bell.”

“Good. Ready for bed?” He reached out and set down his glass, turning back to find her lips meeting his in a soft kiss.

“I don’t want to go to sleep,” Buffy whispered against his lips, shifting her body forward so she was sitting across his lap.

“You don’t? It’s getting pretty late---” He teased, hardly getting out the words before she was kissing him harder, clearly a little annoyed, and he chuckled into her mouth as he lifted her easily and began to carry her towards the stairs.

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“Bed.”

“Not to sleep?”

He was silent as they made their way up the stairs, and deposited her gracefully on her bed. Kneeling at her side, grasping her hands, William intently studied her face until she was blushing.

“Could make a girl feel nervous, looking at her like that,” Buffy giggled, averting her eyes from the intense stare being directed at her.

“No, look at me,” he soothed, hooking a finger under her chin and dragging it back in his direction. He spoke quickly, so he couldn’t change his mind about his idea for the night. “I think we should get some sleep tonight, in our own beds.”

“But---“

“Because you need all your energy for tomorrow, and I need some time.”

“But—“

“Because…Buffy, I can’t tell you how much I want to throw you onto that bed and spend the night with you. Is that what you want? To be in my arms, to let me make love to you?”

Her brain malfunctioned for a moment, but she managed to make a hoarse noise of agreement.

“Okay, good. But you had your headache earlier, and I…let’s just rest, yeah? And we’ll celebrate your birthday in style tomorrow. How’s that?”

“That’s good,” she agreed reluctantly, heart pounding now that the decision had been made in such a simple way. She was expecting discussions, arguments, thought William would tell her she was too young and they should wait. But he didn’t.

The goodnight kiss he gave her was unexpectedly intense, filled with a kind of promise that made Buffy’s entire body shiver. That kiss remained on her mind as she got ready for bed and as she fell asleep.

The dream started simply. She was patrolling, the comforting feel of a stake in her hand, when a tap on her shoulder made her jump. She turned around, and didn’t have the time to register who had touched her when she was being kissed, a soul-stirring kiss that made her weak in the knees, made her heart flutter. But suddenly a sharp prick on her lip made her pull away with a whimper, and her eyes flew open.

Spike cocked his head at her curiously, one fang dripping with her blood. “Something wrong, pet?”

“You’re…you’re not…” Buffy was fully aware that she was dreaming, but unable to control her actions or words. It was like she was trapped in her own body, limbs and lips without her consent as she moved to wrap her arms tightly around the vampire, sinking into his embrace as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She felt powerless, a feeling that never failed to infuriate her. “You’re not William. I thought you were William.”

“Sure I am,” Dream Spike shrugged, licking a drop off his lips and purring happily. “We’re the same, him and me, you and me.”

“I’m not like you,” said Buffy, her head ignoring her inner protests and nuzzling against his chest, covered in a worn black t-shirt. “I don’t even really know you.”

“Sure you do,” he laughed, hands reaching around to stroke her suddenly naked back. His touch was delicate, almost familiar. “It’s okay, Slayer. You’re safe with me.”

“I doubt that.”

“You don’t trust me?” His voice was gentler, his accent more comforting. “I’ll always do what’s best for you.”

“William!” Buffy cried out in relief when she looked up to see the hair darker, the face human.

“It’s okay, kitten. I won’t leave.”

And he kissed her again, that same kiss, that kiss that would stay with her until she died. Underneath that feeling of promise, underneath the fact that it made her quake with desire for him, was an almost painful ache, the unquestionable feeling of completion threatened as her subconscious reminded her of what she stood to lose if she left.

She started to panic, still kissing him, her heart pounding from fear instead of lust. Then he was torn away from her by a dark, shadowy figure, and she was alone. Her pleas for him to come back went unanswered.

Buffy suddenly awoke to a different kind of kiss, soft and gentle on her forehead.

“Wake up, Buffy.” William’s voice soothed her instantly, and her eyes opened to see him sitting next to her on her bed, face illuminated by the moonlight. “You yelled my name. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she smiled, shaking off her terror and reaching up to cup his cheek. “Just a weird dream. What time is it?”

“Little after three. Do you want some water?” He asked, moving to stand, but he found himself pulled down to the bed by his Slayer’s extraordinary strength, and he gasped as she kissed him deeply. She took total control of the kiss, teasing his tongue with hers and making him strain for more of her taste. Once she let him go, he managed to say through a haze of lust, “Well, that was unexpected.”

Immediately after the words were out she pulled him towards her again, a desperate sigh audible just before she kissed him harder than before, her hands clutching his bare shoulders almost to the point of pain. His body responded instantly to her passion, and he slipped his hands underneath her back to cradle her to his chest.

“Please, Will,” she whispered once she let him go again. “I don’t want to wait.”

William studied her face for a moment, and finding it calm, he nodded his head. “You’re sure?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been,” she replied softly, hand still on his cheek and caressing the slight stubble there, touching him to reaffirm his presence, his solidity.

He nodded again, mind crystal clear underneath the fog of interrupted sleep. When he’d heard her call his name, a fierce panic had gripped him, and he’d given himself a strong head rush with how fast he’d leapt from bed to run to her side. But she seemed…serene once he woke her up, like whatever had caused her to cry out his name like that was inconsequential once he was beside her.

And as he’d lain in bed earlier, taking the time he’d given himself to think about what he was doing, what he was risking, he’d realized there was nothing on Earth or in Hell that could keep him away from her any longer.

It had been years since he’d truly dated, and even then his relationships had been nothing to write home about. A few flings when he was young, a couple of years with Cecily when he’d joined the council, and one disastrous date with a math teacher at the high school were the highlights of his love life, and he’d told himself if he ever found the love, the passion he’d always imagined, he’d give himself over to it fully, whole-heartedly.

And he knew now that’s what Buffy was to him, the dream he’d held dear but tried not to hope for, the kind of woman he’d always thought he’d fall for. A woman, not a girl, because though her innocence was clear, no one could endure the pain she had over her short life and truly still be a child.

“You went away,” she frowned when he’d been staring at her silently for too long.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, confessing his feelings seemed like the most natural thing to do. But he couldn’t, knowing what she was facing the next day, knowing that he would just be making it harder for her to decide if she wanted to leave him.

“Sorry, kitten,” William smiled, dipping his head to gently kiss her forehead. “I’m here now. And I won’t leave.”

It had to be love.

The realization had come to mind instantly upon waking, when she’d seen his face. She hadn’t recognized it earlier, because…it didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt to love William, her Will, it didn’t ache in her gut and her chest and her throat when she looked at him. She wanted to be near him, she shivered when she touched him, his eyes made the very innermost, private part of her warm happily. There wasn’t anything else this could be.

She knew it was probably way too soon. But Slayers had shorter lives, usually, so maybe they just fell in love faster too. It made sense.

Buffy followed William into his bedroom, no negative emotions clouding her euphoria. She was a little nervous, of course, but it was more like anticipation, a humming through her veins that made her heart pound and her palms sweat, but she relished the feeling.

She could hardly remember the dream that had made her cry out for William. It was hazy, fuzzy, shapes and feelings more than people. She dismissed it as just a silly nightmare, and focused entirely on the here and now, mind devoid of memories of a different life.

Buffy’s eyes tracked every move William made, as he lit a few candles and fiddled with his CD player until soft acoustic rock came from the speakers. Seconds later, though, he turned it off.

When he turned around to see the curious look Buffy was giving him, a smile crept across his face as he sat down on the edge of the bed and he said silkily, “Decided the only thing I want to hear is you.”

Her skin flushed and he grinned wider, and then gestured for her to join him on the bed. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he was surprised she couldn’t hear it, but he smoothly covered up his nervousness, sinking inside himself, finally totally at peace with what he was doing, and what he felt.

William didn’t want to let his mind wander to the issue of whether or not this was truly her first time, according to the vague codes of Colet regarding alternate dimensions, and decided it didn’t matter. He’d treat her the same either way. Worship her the way she deserved and make her want to remember this birthday and not her other.

They kissed, sweet and slow, neither in a rush. Both knew what was coming, knew that from here there was no turning back, and were content to simply savor each other. The kiss continued as they fell back on the bed, Buffy’s body crushed between the soft bed and William’s hard chest.

When they parted, they wore identical contented smiles.

“Happy birthday, sweetling,” William said as he stroked her cheek with his fingers.

“It is my birthday, isn’t it…” Buffy replied a bit breathlessly. “So…do I get my present?”

Chuckling softly, he lowered his lips to hers again, his answer in the way he slipped his hands beneath her sleep shirt to caress the smooth flesh of her stomach. She arched into the touch, arms tightening around his shoulders, kissing back with fevered intensity.

William traced circles on Buffy’s body, hands drifting higher and higher until he was brushing the underside of her breasts. She shifted restlessly, body begging for more from him, and sighed happily when he began to delicately brush her nipples.

Buffy wanted something, needed, craved. She mewled into William’s mouth, hands clutching tighter, thighs working against each other seeking friction. When he shifted above her to press himself against her core, she tore her lips away for air. But she had trouble finding it when a mouth was quickly fastened onto her throat, and hands slid down to tease at the edges of her panties.

“William…Will, I…” She hadn’t intended to say anything. An abrupt swell of emotion inside of her, a sudden overload of passion, of love, and she was suddenly speaking.

“What is it, baby?” he murmured against her cheek, lips continuously brushing her skin.

She wanted to say it. It became almost impossible not to, her lips seemed completely disconnected from her brain. “I…I…”

His face was in front of her suddenly, his eyes drunk with lust but narrowed at her curiously. Then they shifted, relaxed, warmed to her and he whispered, “I love you, Buffy.”

The way her face lit up with that assessment, the way a smile came from nowhere and her eyes warmed, made William almost dizzy. He dove in to kiss those curved lips, every good feeling he’d ever had, combined, bubbling over. He didn’t need the words, he could see she loved him too.

“Wmph!” Buffy protested against his lips, pushing at his shoulders, body shaking with laughter. “Stop!” She gasped when he reluctantly pulled away.

“What?” he frowned in confusion, the loss of her lips on his prompting him to pout.

“I love you too,” she said quickly, body finally relaxing now that she’d spoken.

His frown melted into awe, and he realized how much better it was to actually hear the words. And for the first time, totally believe them.

This time it was Buffy who couldn’t wait for a reply, and she pulled his head back down to hers with a bit too much force, unaware of her strength. But William gave himself over to it willingly, enjoying her fierce hold on him, returning her passion with equal intensity, if not power. His hands clutched tight to her small waist, holding her tightly as his hips pushed against hers.

Buffy parted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, trembling at the first pressure of his cock into her sex through the thin layers of their underwear. She ran her hands down his back to yank up the hem of his t-shirt, and he shifted and knelt above her to finish pulling it off.

In the candlelight she could see everything---the dark need in his eyes, the hard erection under his boxers, the slightly goofy smile still on his face. William reached down to remove her shirt, eyes never leaving her face, breathing heavily through his mouth.

He caressed her now naked torso with light, delicate fingers, dancing their way down to her panties. He pulled them off slowly, eyes still focused on her face, letting his hands explore her body but finding the sight of her surprised, turned-on expressions far more interesting than her naked flesh.

When Buffy reached out one hand to brush against William’s cock, straining to be released, he let out a rough grunt and looked down at her hand. He leaned into her gentle touch, biting back his impatience, letting her move at her own pace.

Which, luckily, was fast enough for him. After just a few seconds she pulled down his boxers carefully, letting them drop to his knees on the bed. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of him, hard and leaking, and she unconsciously darted out her tongue to lick at her dry lips.

William groaned at the sight and bent forward, kissing a trail from her face to her sex, pausing briefly only to push his underwear off all the way. Then he was teasing the insides of Buffy’s thighs with his tongue, slowly parting them with his hands. When she was spread wide, pussy clearly wet in the dim light, he sighed his approval and licked her with his tongue flat, straight up the middle.

She cried out in surprise and her hands flew to grip his shoulders. He lightly traced her opening with pointed tongue and his thumb danced back and forth across her clit. Buffy arched her back to bring him closer, overwhelmed with the new sensations, breathy gasps escaping her lips.

Her body was already so on edge, it became almost too much to have him teasing her as he was. Each light lick of his tongue and soft stroke of his fingers made her shiver, and she begged, “William, please, I need…”

“Need what, love?” He slid two fingers into her as he spoke, and she cried out. “What do you need?”

“You…I…please…” Buffy blushed furiously unable to ask for exactly what she wanted. They had plenty of time for slow, drawn out love-making, but right now there was an almost unbearable ache inside her, an ache she knew William could cure. He added a third finger inside of her and licked her clit again, and she let out a wordless, desperate moan, and that seemed to communicate what she couldn’t say.

William continued to pump his fingers inside of her as he kissed his way back to her mouth, just as ready and needy as she was. She was dripping wet, soaking his hand, writhing for more and there was no way he would deny her what they both needed.

It was only seconds later that he’d sheathed his erection in a condom and was settling himself between her spread thighs, fingers twisted in her hair and eyes fixed on her face again.

Skin flushed with wanting, eyes bright from lust, lips swollen by kisses. She was perfection, every inch of her, and she was his. For now, for this second.

“Ready?” William asked softly. Buffy nodded, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and smiled, a sweet, innocent curling of the lips that made him that much harder.

The head of his cock brushed at her entrance and she trembled again, tightened her grip on him, and pulled him in for a kiss. Every part of her, body and soul, was electrified, and she wiggled her hips to capture him inside. As he slid into her she let out a small whimper of pain, but William swallowed the sound with another gentle kiss, then moved to whisper in her ear.

“Love you, kitten. Love you so much…oh, Buffy…” He sighed once he was fully seated inside her, finally finding that elusive feeling of contentment he’d sought his whole life. He froze in place, savoring the sensations, giving her time to adjust, mouth still moving though he was hardly aware of his own words. “You’re perfect, you know that? Perfect, my Buffy, my Slayer…my love, love you, loved you for so long…”

The adjustment to his large length inside her was kind of painful, but it didn’t really bother her all that much. William’s words had to have something to do with it, each time he confessed his love Buffy felt a spark of something almost too powerful in her heart, and a matching jolt between her legs. The intensity with which she loved him back was all-consuming, the intensity with which she wanted him overwhelming. There was no shadow of doubt in her mind that this, right here, was what she’d want, forever.

“I love you too,” she whispered.

“Can I—“

“Yeah, I’m good, I…oh…”

William started slowly, long, deep strokes inside of her that were sweetly torturous. Buffy’s hands were tight on his shoulders, no doubt creating bruises. She wrapped her legs around his hips tightly, and as she raised her hips to meet each thrust, he increased his speed, and shifted to hold himself above her on his elbows.

Their eyes met, and neither could look away. They moved faster, and faster, high cries and rough grunts mingling with the sound of flesh on flesh. William wasn’t going to last, months of wanting and days of foreplay making him already so, so close to his release. But the quivering of her tight muscles around his cock alerted him to the fact that Buffy was close as well, and he buried his face in her neck, unable to look at her beautiful face another second without erupting. He shifted to slide one hand between them, and rubbed at her clit, desperate to bring her over with him.

That light touch set her off and Buffy cried out as her world exploded, clinging to William tightly to keep herself from flying apart as well. The waves of sensation radiating from her core rendered her speechless. She tried to tell him how much she loved him but could only gasp and moan, back arching off the bed until her breasts were pressed into his chest.

William wrapped her in his arms and held her tighter to him, slamming his hips into her sweet pussy half a dozen more times before he allowed himself to come. Every bit of tension he’d been holding inside since he’d first fallen for Buffy came out in one long burst of pleasure, the exquisite little aftershocks of her orgasm lengthening his own.

He was completely sated, completely drained of all energy. He had just enough brainpower left to strip off the condom and toss it in the trash, then he collapsed on his back on the bed. Buffy curled into his side, nuzzling into his shoulder like an amorous kitten, and stroked his chest lazily.

“That was…”

“Yeah,” he sighed happily, shifting his head slightly to kiss her forehead. That small movement exhausted him further, and his eyes fluttered shut.

Buffy’s body was still tingling, nerves still on edge, and the only thing she could think of that would soothe the ache still inside her was more of William’s hands, his tongue…all of him. More. That was what she definitely wanted. But she wasn’t quite sure how to go about getting it, so she nipped William on the shoulder to get his attention.

He cracked open one eye reluctantly. “Mmm?”

She slid her hand down to his abdomen and traced little circles. “Are you…tired?”

“It is the middle of the night,” he teased, her ministrations creating a very small flicker of interest in his cock. “Why, is my girl ready for another go?”

She blushed and pressed a kiss to his chest. “Maybe,” she giggled, then kissed him again, lower this time, and followed her lips with a lick of her tongue.

William groaned at the sensation, but his body was still too wrung out to be affected much. “Might have to give me a few minutes, kitten.” His eyes closed again and he breathed deeply. Her lips continued to torture his sensitive skin with gentle kisses, and as her mouth moved lower, his mind and body finally started to respond.

“Maybe…maybe there’s a way I can speed things along?” Buffy suggested with a wicked, yet questioning smile.

“Uh-huh…” was the only response William could come up with. As tired as he was his eyes stayed wide open and his cock began to harden slightly as his sweet Slayer brought her mouth closer and closer to it. He held his breath as if one wrong move would change her mind. At the first touch of her tentative tongue he gasped out, “God, I love you!”

She smiled up from between his thighs. “Let’s see how much.”



The room was cool, the sun not high enough in the sky yet to fight the chill of the morning fog. Buffy and William were curled tightly around one another, his larger body snuggled into her side with his face buried in her throat. They’d hardly gotten any sleep, hesitant to leave the safety of each other’s bodies for even a second. But eventually, as sunlight began to peek through the curtains, they’d fallen into blissful oblivion.

She woke slowly, the transition between sleep and waking gentle and pleasant. She savored the feeling of waking in William’s arms for a few minutes, then slid out from underneath his heavy arm when her stomach grumbled loudly. She crept silently towards the door with a smile affixed to her face, then headed downstairs with the idea of making breakfast for the two of them. Her kitchen skills were limited, so she was thinking toast. Or maybe she could try eggs, they didn’t seem to be that difficult to make.

Her musings came to a sudden halt when she entered the kitchen. Sitting on the counter near the sink was a coffee cup, one she remembered buying for her mother a few Christmases earlier. She suddenly had a perfectly clear vision of her mother, holding that mug and smiling, and with that image came a sudden rush of memory and an onslaught of pain at the base of her skull.

She’d forgotten. For the whole night, she’d forgotten any part of her other life. It had been as if this was her reality, totally and completely.

A sob threatened to bubble up in her throat, her euphoria from moments early dissolving into the worst kind of misery. Why? Why would she have forgotten?

But more than that, why did she have to remember again?