Sunt aliquid Manes: letum non omnis finit luridaque evictos effugit umbra rogos.

The Shades really exist: death does not end all things, and the pale ghost, victorious, escapes the pyre.

       Sextus Propertius

        For the first time in a good, long while, the small group of ragtag survivors found themselves in civilization…or something very nearly like it.

        “Oh…God…” Xander sighed happily as dropped onto the couch after starting a fire in the fireplace of the rather posh looking `cabin.' If it could be called a cabin…Xander wasn't convinced that most log cabins were two floors high and had huge floor to ceiling windows that overlooked a ravine filled with trees. “And to think…I used to hate rich people with big houses. At least they know how to live.”

        “This is heaven,” Willow agreed from the other end of the couch, where she was resting her feet on the coffee table, a blissfully happy look on her face. After Spike had done a brief sweep of the house, making sure that there was nothing `unpleasant' hiding inside, he left Xander and Willow to recuperate. Or more than likely, he wanted Xander to keep an eye on Willow as he and Buffy headed to town to find some supplies. She was still pretty shaky after the whole tunnel experience.

        “How you feeling, Wills?” Xander asked in concern, glancing at his friend's pale face. He wasn't sure how far along she was in her pregnancy, but he would've thought that she'd start showing soon, but as far as he could tell, there wasn't even a bump in her belly. He had a hunch Spike was concerned about the same thing. When they had gotten out of the tunnel, Spike had set her gently on the ground before placing his ear against her stomach, a frown on his face as he listened to the baby's heartbeat.

        If anything happened to Oz Junior, Xander had no idea what they would do. It wasn't like there any handy-dandy doctors lying around for consultation. Hell…they would probably end up helping Willow giving birth by themselves. He was already feeling sick about that.

        “FUCK!”

        The pair jumped when they heard the snarl coming from outside, but immediately relaxed when Buffy walked in, carrying a large box filled with supplies, and giggling as Spike followed, carrying a smaller box and rubbing his forehead with a grimace. “Who the fuck builds a porch with beams hanging that low?! Only midgets can get under them without whacking themselves!”

        Xander and Willow exchanged an amused look as a growly Spike stalked into the living room where they were sitting.

        “So, what goodies did you bring us?” Xander asked eagerly, and watched as Spike tipped over his box, and about a hundred bottles of pills, from painkillers to Flintstone vitamins, spilled out all over the place. It looked like a Raver's stash.

        “I told him he was going overboard at the pharmacy,” Buffy said wearily as she put down her own box, which had actual practical items, like preserved food and drinks.

        “And I bloody told you that this prenatal vitamin shit is important,” Spike replied in annoyance under the unfair criticisms. “I couldn't read the pamphlet in the middle of the soddin' dark, so I just grabbed the lot. You can figure out what she needs.”

        “Couldn't read in the dark, my ass,” Buffy snorted, “You had a flashlight,” Buffy glanced at her friends, “What Spike doesn't want you to know is that someone needs to stop by an optician's office before we get moving again. He can't read without glasses.”

        Spike growled at her, his eyes narrowing, but she brushed it off as she popped on the couch between Willow and Xander and picked up one of the million pamphlets on pre-natal care that Spike had picked up.

        Willow swatted Buffy, “Don't tease him, it's not nice,” She chided and looked up at Spike, saying sincerely, “Thank you, Spike…and you're right…the prenatal vitamins are very important…” She glanced down at her hands, feeling stricken, “I didn't even think about that…I'm going to be a horrible mother!”

        “Stop that,” Spike snapped, looking a little pissed at her outburst, “You're not a bad mother, for fucks sake…believe me…I had one! We've been on the road for over a soddin' month…'course you weren't thinking about friggin' vitamins. And they're just bloody vitamins! Women have been giving birth for a millennia without them! Doubt the little tyke is out much `cause you forgot them for a little while. Fuck!”

        Spike stomped off after that, spitting, snarling and cursing the whole way, and Willow looked at Buffy with wide eyes. “Is he all right?”

        “He's fine…he's still getting used to the whole `caring about the happy meals' thing,” Buffy smiled with some fondness, “Plus, he's a little pissy because I was teasing him about the glasses thing...”

        Apparently, Spike had been continuing his rant outside of the room, and forgetting that the mortals didn't have his hearing, came stomping back in, shouting, “…And furthmore…I'm NOT a friggin' NERD! I just need reading glasses!”

        “Oh…and I called him a nerd `cause he needs glasses,” Buffy finished.

        “Well…duh,” Xander replied, watching as Spike liberated a bottle of Scotch from the food box, “And thank GOD one of you remembered the liquor.”

        “Don't think so, whelp,” Spike looked him up and down, “Need you sober on that bike, and you don't look like you could hold a drink of water, let alone a shot of the good stuff.”

        “Spike…I'm thinking we should hang here a few days,” Buffy suggested, flicking a look towards Willow. Spike frowned, and followed her gaze. Willow was looking a little pale and wan.

        He apparently decided that maybe Buffy was right and that Willow could use a few days to rest up, “Grab some glasses then, make a night of it.” While Xander went off to the large kitchen in the back of the house, Spike stoked the flames till they rose high and without kicking the girls off, moved the couch and table so that it was closer to the fireplace, and would keep them warm.

        “Our hero,” Willow gushed playfully as Spike hopped over the back of the couch, and he flashed her a quick grin as he pulled out a bottle of concentrated cranberry juice and pretended to scrutinize the label.

        “While the rest of us are gettin' thrashed, I have a vintage cranberry juice that will expire sometime in the next century for the pretty redhead. Loaded full of vitamin D, so that's one less vitamin you have to take tonight.”

        “Gee…thanks…watching you guys get drunk? Fun!” Willow did a little fist pump in the air.

        “Don't worry, Red…only got the one bottle, and it'd take a lot more than that to get me drunk,” He winked at her and leaned in to whisper, “It'll get the rest of them drunk, and I plan on taking advantage of a sloshed Slayer.”

        Willow giggled as Buffy slugged Spike in the arm. “I can hear you, you dork…”

        “Well, that was sort of the point, wasn't it?” Spike rolled his eyes at Willow, “She's a bit slow sometimes, isn't she?”

        “Move it or lose it, Dead Boy,” Xander announced as he came back, carrying the glasses Spike had sent him to get. Willow scooted over so that she was a little squashed between Spike and Xander. Spike poured Willow's juice first, and then put a splash of scotch in each Buffy and Xander's glasses.

        Spike simply drank straight from the bottle, earning himself some dirty looks. “Oh, come on, people…it's booze…self cleaning, you know. Kills all the nasty germs.”

        “But you backwashed,” Buffy whined, “That is sooo gross.”

        Spike rolled his eyes as Xander thrust a glass at him. He filled it nearly to the top, ignoring the protests from the mortals.

        “Spike…you got a problem with fractions?” Buffy held up her glass, “Compare this half an inch to your…” She squinted at his glass, “Like…six inches…of liquid. I think someone's being unfair.”

        “Slayer, when you don't wake up tomorrow wishing someone would cleave your head off, you'll thank me,” He grinned at her, curling his tongue behind his teeth, “And I can think of a few ways for you to thank me.”

        “You are such a pig,” Buffy complained, but as the comment wasn't accompanied by a punch to the face, it was obvious that she didn't really take any offence to his teasing.

        “Sure…call me names…I'll keep that in mind when next time you order me to cut wood,” Spike replied, “Those who can freeze to death should be nice to those who can't.”

        “Hey…why do I have to freeze to death because she's calling you names?” Willow whined, “That's not fair.”

        “Hmmm…” Spike pretended to consider that, “Fine…I'll chop wood for Red, but the rest of you are on your own.”

        “What about me?” Xander asked, “I wasn't calling you names.”

        “I'm pretty sure the Slayer's going to recruit you to chop wood for her lazy arse, so you're already a moot point.”

        “I totally renounce Buffy. Chop wood for me.”

        “Hey!” Buffy protested, “Way to stick up for me, you big jerk,” She crossed her arms over her chest, and jutted her lower lip out in a pout. She felt a thread of jealously works it way through her, and with some confusion, she quashed it as fast as humanly possible. The way Spike was hovering over Willow these days, it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. “You guys suck.”

        “Nope, that's just me,” Spike announced cheerfully, and he narrowed his eyes when there were loud groans accompanying his statement, “What? Come on…it wasn't that bad.”

        “Please…” Willow snorted, “You're sure you're not drunk?”

        “Red, you've seen me drunk…if I was, I'd be all sloppy and crying all over your sweater.”

        “I thought you were like that because of Dru?”

        “Naw…I'm just an incredible poofy drunk. Bit sad, really…”

        “Yeah, that's for sure,” Xander grinned, “You almost made me feel sorry for you…but then you shoved a bottle in Will's face and then hit on her. If I didn't pass out again, I would have kicked your ass.”

        “Yeah,” Spike scoffed, “So bloody sure you could have kicked my ass, whelp…even if I was drunk off my arse.”

        “Wait…wait…” Buffy glared at Spike, “You hit on Willow? How come no one told me this?!”

        “Oh, that's because…” Realization suddenly dawned on Xander's face and he sheepishly glanced at the angry redhead beside him. “That was because she made me promise to take it to the grave…sorry, Wills…”

        “Hmph…next time I make you promise to take a secret to the grave, I'm going to kill you immediately after so that you actually keep it.”

        Spike finally became aware that Buffy was glaring at him, and he cocked his head in confusion, meeting her gaze curiously, “Luv? You all right?”

        “Just peachy,” She thrust out her glass to him, and he filled it hurriedly, not wanting to get the stake in her chest that her brain was apparently imagining. She slumped back in her seat and stared fixedly at the fire, her good mood apparently gone.

        Umm…right…Spike gave his head a shake as he glanced at Willow, who was rifling through the box of food. She grinned when she found the Twinkies that Xander had made Spike promise to find. Even though it wasn't exactly healthy eating, Spike was glad to see the zeal with which she devoured the sugary treat. Xander wasn't the only one worried about the amount of weight Willow hadn't gained as of yet. He made a mental note to start making sure their supplies were constantly stocked up, especially when going over the desert. He didn't want her to have to go without food whenever she got hunger, ever. It would be detrimental to both the baby and her health.

        Buffy had already finished her second glass, and when she held it out again to Spike, he glanced at the rapidly depleted bottle of Scotch and firmly capped it. “Think that's enough for tonight, Slayer…anymore is liable to leave you hung over in the morning.”

        “Oh, what do you care?” Spike's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. He forgot how easy it was for some humans to become drunk…but really…barely two tumblers of Scotch, and the Slayer was a little wasted? What happened to all that Slayer rehabilitative abilities he kept hearing about?

        “No. More.” He said firmly, and she let out a huff of frustration and slumped back in her seat, giving up the argument. However, she did continue to glare at him, making sure he didn't forget she was pissed.

        Right…Spike decided that whatever reason, he was in the hot seat, and he hopped up to tend to the already waning fire. She continued to glare daggers at his back, and he had a sinking feeling that if she had a stake, he'd be in a lot of trouble. As soon as the fire was roaring again, he sneaked out onto the patio that ran along the entire length of the house and fished a pack of smokes out of his pocket.

         He leaned against the railing and peered down into the dark ravine below them. He closed his eyes, extending his senses, while at the same time, tuning out whatever sounds were coming from the house. It was a predator thing.

        Far below him, he could hear the sounds of a heavy animal moving through the underbrush. Probably a bear; its gait was slow and lumbering. He inhaled deeply before extending his senses even farther, testing the very far edges of his focus. Ah…there's the fuckin' bastards…Spike thought when he finally picked up the presence of their shadow wolves. He was hoping that he and the others had left them behind when they had abruptly disappeared, but no such luck. Smart little bastards, Spike sighed, finally lighting his fag.

        He swung himself up onto the railing so that his legs were dangling over the edge. He tipped his head back and stared up at the moon. It was nearly full and the stars were brilliantly lit behind it, casting a natural luminance on his face. He couldn't pinpoint the last time he got to relax and just enjoy the night. Probably not since Drusilla had died. He had been on the road for a few weeks after that before arriving in Sunnyhell…and after that, he had been on mental and physical high alert. It was nice to just…stop for awhile.

        He could be almost content here…but there was the niggling human/demon compulsion for companionship. It was a fallacy that vampires were solitary creatures. They were pack animals, they needed their clans to survive, needed their mates to be truly happy. Spike's demon, while under different circumstances would be giving him hell, was pretty much already attached to his new `clan.' Even if it was entirely composed of humans. It was still having misgivings about the whole Slayer-thing though. It still got a little freaked out whenever Buffy got pissed at him, worried that she was going to stake their shared ass. Spike was somewhat amused to note that it didn't deter his demon from wanting to take her for its mate. That psychologist he ate that one time was right…he was a relationship masochist. He constantly wanted women who lived to rip his heart out or could kick his ass into the next century if the mood struck them.

        Why can't I fall for a nice girl like Red? He thought with a derisive snort. Oh, sure…he'd shag her in a minute …but he would never fall in love with the chit. She was sweet, relatively innocent, sensitive and not at all cruel in anyway. But he was friggin' insane and he wanted the one woman in all the world specifically chosen to shove a piece of ash in his chest.

        “Telling you, mate…we should have turned Claudia Schiffer while we had the chance…”

        “Umm…do you always talk to yourself in the fourth person?” Buffy frowned as Spike glanced over his shoulder, “Or is that third person?”

        “Wasn't really talking to myself, pet…” Spike patted the rail beside him, and Buffy hopped up beside him, “I sometimes address my demon as a separate entity…makes him a little more cooperative. Usually.”

        “Oh…okay,” Buffy looked confused, and Spike smiled around the butt of his smoke.

        Spike started to explain himself. “When I was turned, the demon fused with my human consciousness. My memories, my emotions, my bodily functions…things like that. My memories stayed the same, but it amplified and tuned down some of my emotions. Hunger got amplified, as did my hearing, sense of smell…and my eyesight, in most degrees. Everything gets stronger though when I allow my demon out to play. It makes me experience everything within my realm of senses…bloody invigorating most of the time.”

        He cocked his head thoughtfully. “Sometimes though, it's a bit like having schizophrenia though. I can hear him `talking,' just like sometimes I can hear my human consciousness talking. Sometimes, I just feel like I'm trapped between the two, forced to play mediator,” He turned his gaze away from Buffy and back towards the landscape. “Though…right now, we all seem to be in agreement. We all want to get as far away from Flagg as we can…makes all of us nervous, even the demon. And we all want to make sure that you and the rest get to Nebraska, alive and safe.” He smiled as he tilted his head back towards Buffy. “The demon's adopted you all as his family, and he'll make damn sure nothing happens to any of you. Even if he's not really happy about the whole you all being human thing.”

        “That's why you're being all uber-protective of Willow?” Buffy asked, and he missed the bit of self-consciousness evident in her voice as he tilted his head back to catch the light of the moon again.

        “Her and the little bit,” Spike replied, unaware that Buffy was staring at his face fixedly, her eyes running over the silvered features, probing the darkness of the hollows. “The demon's still acknowledging her as mated, even though her mate's dead. She hasn't given up the claim yet.”

        “What?” Buffy was confused once again, and she was a little disappointed when Spike lowered his face again, clothing it back in shadow. It was beautiful bathed in moonlight.

        “Mating…it's kind of like a marriage, and vampires can see the claims another demon has placed on someone. Her mate was a werewolf, so I can see it…if he was just human, even if they were married, the demon wouldn't acknowledge it. We don't view things in legal terms, just in invisible claims that we can see. It's very rare to see two humans actually `mated' to each other, married or not. S'probably where the term `soul-mate' comes from. There's an actual, mystical connection between the two humans that are visible to us,” He glanced at Buffy, “Is this making sense?”

        “Yeah…bunches,” Buffy said sincerely, “But Oz is dead…how would Willow give up the claim?”

        “By forging a new one with someone else,” Spike replied, “Or if she slept with someone else without her mate's permission, that would break the mating claim,” He lit another cigarette, deeply inhaling the smoke blissfully, even if the tobacco was already getting stale. “Dru broke our claim when she went back to Angelus when he lost his soul. Once it's broken, that's it…you can't be mated again. Like a divorce.” He exhaled a stream of smoke, and glanced at Buffy, “You never knew you and Angel were mated.”

        Buffy shook her head slowly, looking a bit lost again. “No…I mean…he mentioned it once…but he didn't really get into specifics…and then he left.”

        “Yeah…well…” Spike fidgeted nervously, “We broke the claim between you two when we slept together…if I had known that you didn't understand what mating was, I wouldn't have shagged you. Probably lucky that the Poofter didn't skin me alive when he found out.”

        “Did you tell him?!”

        “No…but he knew anyway,” Spike replied, “He knew the claim was broken, but he probably didn't know by who until he figured out that I was in…” He placed his cigarette back in his mouth and clammed up.

        “Figured out you were in what?” Buffy asked.

        Spike glanced at her and then over his shoulder. On the couch in the living room Willow and Xander had dozed off, her head on his shoulder, and Xander's mouth was tipped open, a thin line of drool glistening in the light of the fire. He swung back over onto the balcony and dropped onto the wooden floorboards soundlessly, despite his heavy boots. “We ought to get her in a real bed,” He said, “Not sure the sleeping on the ground thing is really all that healthy for her, even if she's still only in her first trimester.”

        Buffy sighed in frustration as Spike ground his cigarette out on the porch before slipping inside. She watched as he shook Xander awake and then gently picked Willow up and carried her up the stairs in the back of the house. Xander followed a couple of minutes later, carrying as much wood in his arms as he could, presumably to start a fire in the bedroom Willow and she would be sharing. Xander would take the other, and Spike had already opted to sleep on the couch, preferring that someone remain downstairs, just in case anything happened.

        Spike finally came down again after about twenty minutes, armed with pillows and blankets for his couch. He started to check to make sure all the windows and doors were firmly looked when he found her still outside on the porch. He opened the sliding glass door and raised an eyebrow, “You plan on sleeping out there tonight?”

        “Figured out you were in what?”

        Annoyance flickered over his face. “When you decide to come back in, don't forget to lock the door,” He told her shortly and closed the door. Buffy rolled her eyes as he angrily shook out the blankets and laid them over the couch. He stripped down to his skivvies, apparently uncaring he had an audience and after building up the fire one more time, crawled onto the couch.

        After about fifteen minutes, when Buffy realized stubbornly refusing to come out of the cold was actually pretty stupid, especially since Spike was apparently already asleep and dead to the world, she finally came inside. She wasn't even sure why she was being like this either…she only knew that she was annoyed that Spike seemed so damned concerned about Willow's `mating' status. Okay…she got the whole him caring about all of them, but she didn't really see how that extended to whether or not Willow was getting laid.

        Stupid, stupid vampire…she thought as she stomped over to the couch, and glared down at a sleeping Spike.

        “Got a problem, Slayer?” He asked, making her jump. At least, she had thought he was sleeping. It was difficult to tell with vampires.

        Buffy opened her mouth to let him have it, but then snapped it shut again. Why, exactly, was she getting all pissy? Okay…so he cared a little too much about Willow…but what the fuck was wrong with her? He didn't owe her anything…hell...she owed him everything, not the other way around. Without him, they'd probably still be sitting on their asses in Sunnydale, or worse. Wolf chow. He made the difficult decisions and then accepted the responsibility of them. What did she do? Beat the shit out of him when he killed Angel when she could not and got pissed at him for just maybe being in love with Willow. Yeah…she was kind of a bitch. Or maybe Spike was right…she did drink a little too much.

        “Nothing,” Buffy finally said when Spike raised an eyebrow, still waiting for her answer. “Just don't feel much like sleeping.”

        “Know the feeling…” He sat up on the couch, stretching his arms over his head, lithe muscles rippling beneath pale skin. When Buffy continued to stand, he rolled his eyes and patted the vacated space beside him. She plopped down on it so heavily that he bounced on his cushion, and he raised an eyebrow at her. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was nervous for some reason.

        “So, what do you'll think will happen once we find this white witch of yours?” Spike asked curiously, “Besides the obvious, I mean.”

        “The obvious?”

        “Battle `tween good and evil, picking sides and all that rot…blah blah blah, same shit, different day,” Spike grinned at Buffy sardonically, “Least for you, it is. Never really had to question before which side I was on.”

        “That's not really true,” Buffy argued, “You had to choose sides between Ang-between good and evil when Acaltha was almost opened.”

        If Spike noticed her slipping when mentioning Angel, he didn't indicate it. “That different,” Spike replied with a shake of his head. “Still was on the side of evil…I'm just not evil enough that I wanted the world to end. Purely selfish reasons, pet, Dru among them. It's a whole difference between you and me. You do things because they're right…I do them because I'm expectin' some kind of pay-off.”

        “What about now?” Buffy tilted her head, contemplating Spike in the firelight. His roots were becoming much more pronounced and they glowed a warm, honey color in the firelight. She almost couldn't wait until his hair grew out long enough that she could lob off the white and leave it that sweet, rich color. “I mean, I'm pretty sure that the only pay off you'd get would be if you joined up with Fl-the Dark Man…” Buffy gave a small shudder. It was maybe irrational, but it felt wrong invoking his name. Like it would give him power over her.

        “Like I said…the bloke makes me nervous,” Spike glanced at Buffy and saw she was eyeing him doubtfully, and he sighed heavily. “Truthfully, I'm not much interested in…havoc-causing and bloodshed as I used to be. Haven't been in awhile.”

        Buffy gave him a look, “That wasn't havoc-causing and bloodshed in Sunnydale?”

        “Slayer, if you met me when I was more interested in the game, that town would have been painted in swaths of red,” Spike insisted, “In case you hadn't noticed, I was a little more interested in curing Drusilla than anything else at the time. Sure, I took a little time out of my busy schedule to play with you, but that was all it was. You were just a bit of fun when I was bored out of my skull.” Spike's ears rang with the force behind Buffy's slap, and he stared at her in bewildered shock.

        When she went to slap him again, he caught her hand and then the other when it came flying at his head. “Bloody hell, woman!” He hissed at her through bared teeth, “What the fuck is your problem?!”

        “Let go of me so I can kick your ass, you bastard!” Buffy snapped back at him. She tried to bring her feet into play by kicking him, but with vampire speed and the practice he got from dealing with Drusilla in many of her seizure fits, managed to snag one between his thighs, a scant few inches from his crotch, and the other was caught beneath one his arms. She was lying half in his lap at an awkward angle, but that didn't stop her from glaring at him balefully, her hazel eyes glittering with rage.

        He held her firmly as she struggled against him, and he waited for her to tire herself out. She didn't stop until he was very nearly tired out himself, and he was pretty sure he was going to have bruises from where the heels of her boots had dug into his sides. “You wanna tell me what that was about?” He asked her, trying to speak rationally and civilly, even though the urge to give her a slap back was nearly overwhelming. However, he was used to dealing with crazy women; he was just caught off-guard because he forgot that every woman had a strain of lunacy inside of them, waiting to lash out at the first available male.

        “Let me go, you stupid…dork…” Buffy looked less like a deadly Slayer than a sulky child…not that she didn't make the pout look adorable.

        “Not until you bloody well tell me what your problem is,” Spike insisted angrily, “You don't get to friggin' slap me like that and not tell me why.”

        Buffy glowered at him, but he glared right back at her. He had the energy and will to outlast her all night, if need be. “So that's all I am to you? A little bit of fun when you're bored!?”

        Spike stared at her in bewilderment, “Buffy….have you lost your damned mind?! Or do you just not get the subtleties of past and present tense?!” She simply gave him a dirty look in response. He slowly shook his head, still somewhat bewildered. He wasn't sure, exactly, what she wanted from him, and he hated playing guessing games, since he almost always got burned when attempting to read a woman's mind. They were dangerous fields covered in landmines and pits filled vipers ready to tear his ass apart.

        “Slayer…maybe you should get up on up to bed,” Spike said quietly, “You're tired and I think you've had too much to drink tonight.”

        Buffy lowered her eyes, her cheeks flushing a deep red. “Yeah…I guess…” She whispered dejectedly.

        “Fuckin' A, Slayer!” Spike cupped her chin in one hand and tilted her head up, giving her a stern look. All the while, he was hoping she wouldn't use her now free hand to whack him again. “No more games. Tell. Me. What. Is. Wrong.”

        “Nothing's wrong…” At Spike's irritated growl, she sighed. “I'm being stupid, all right?! I'm just…all wonky acting `cause you have a thing for Willow…just…forget it, all right?!” She peevishly tried to tug her still trapped legs loose. “You can let go now, I'm not going to hit you.”

        “In a second,” Spike cocked his head, “Think I'm having a bit of trouble with the ears, pet…did you just say you think I have a thing for Willow? Now…I don't always understand your mangled English…but a thing means attraction, right?” When Buffy nodded, he narrowed his eyes.

        “I mean…it's really none of m-hmph!” Buffy's eyes widened when Spike took advantage of her open mouth to smash his lips against hers, his tongue plunging past her teeth as they were jarred almost painfully against his. He finally released her arms and legs, using his freed arms to wrap around her waist and yank her towards him so that she was fully straddling his lap.

        She also used her freed limbs to full advantage, digging her fingers into his hair, fisting her hands in the soft locks. She had to break contact with his oh-so-kissable lips woefully too soon, but the need to breathe was a stupid side effect of being human. She opened her eyes, not even realizing she had closed them and looked into Spike's face. The pupils of his eyes were huge, the black overwhelming the blue until only a thin ring of color remained. He was panting lightly, his lips swollen and red-looking. Yum…she moved in to kiss him again, but was stopped when he turned his head to the side, her lips brushing against his cheek instead.

        “Think we should stop now,” He said, his voice a husky tenor, nervousness tainting his voice. “Don't think it's the right time…Peaches…” He swallowed heavily, unable to finish. Fuck…fuck…don't start crying, you friggin' poof!

        Buffy grasped his face between her small hands and turned it back towards her. She could see the tears shimmering in his eyes and smiled softly before touching her lips to his eyes, kissing the lids when he closed them.

        “All right,” She whispered, sliding off of his lap. His eyes remained closed as he tried to reign in his erratic emotions. They shot open when he felt Buffy's hands on his chest, and she gently pushed him down onto the couch, hushing him when he started to protest. She slipped to his side, resting her head besides his on the pillow. With a little bit of wriggling and maneuvering, she managed to pull the blankets up and over their bodies and she snuggled against his side, one arm lying across his stomach. Spike gradually relaxed, the stiffness in his body melting away when he realized that Buffy wasn't trying to initiate anything further between them. He rolled so that he was facing her, and hesitantly wrapped his arms loosely around her.

        Buffy smiled at him before cuddling her head beneath his chin, her breath sighing softly across his cool skin. “Guess that means you don't have a thing for Willow?”

        Spike chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath Buffy's cheek. “No, pet…I most definitely don't have a thing for Willow.”

        “So…you have a thing for me?”

        “No, I have a bloody thing for Xander…” Spike rolled his eyes, “And for the love of God…how can you Americans mangle such a bloody simple language beyond anything remotely recognizable?”

        “It's a gift,” Buffy smiled, “And you and Xander? You'd make a cute couple,” She giggled when Spike gagged. “Or not.”

        “I should bloody well say so,” Spike sounded somewhat offended, “Plus, I will never be part of a `cute' couple, thank you very much.”

        “Willow says we'd make a cute couple,” Buffy replied quietly, and Spike lapsed into silence for several moments.

        “Does this mean we're a thing?” He asked.

        “Well…we are sleeping together.”

        “Thought that was a cold comfort kind of deal…”

        “Nope…it's a Buffy-Spike kind of deal…”

        “Oh,” Spike was quiet for a few moments, “Sure about that?”

        “Umm…I think…why? Aren't you?” Buffy lifted her head, frowning, “Is this a brush off?”

        “No…just wondering why I'm not shaggin' you in front of the fireplace then,” Spike replied, “Figured you were…all in love with Angel and just needed some company…”

        “Angel's…” Buffy sighed heavily, “I love him…but he's gone…and he was gone from my life long before that,” She looked up at Spike, pain written across her face. “Am I a horrible person for wanting to be with you? Especially since Angel only died a little while ago? I mean…I did want to be with you before that…but…everything's always been about Angel and Buffy…when we found him…I kind of fell back into our old pattern.” She shook her head almost bitterly, “I mean…it's the same story as before. We kiss, declare our love for each other, screw and he leaves.”

        “Somewhat better than me and Dru's pattern,” Spike said consolingly, “There's usually chains and a viciously barbed whip between the screwing and leaving. And don't even get me started on her preference for the Monkees playing in the background for mood music.” He tried to hide his grin when Buffy laughed softly.

        “That music is sooo old. My mom has their lunchbox.”

        “So did Dru,” Buffy glanced at him sharply when she heard the sadness in his voice, and lowered her eyes when she saw the way he was gazing into the fire, his eyes faraway, relieving some secret memory.

        Buffy slid her arm down his body until it brushed against his hand and their fingers entwined. “It doesn't ever get easier, I don't think,” Spike said softly, still gazing into the fire. “For me, the time passes so bloody slowly but it goes too quickly at the same time. It's been a long time since I had to mourn and I'm not always sure I remember how to do it.”

        “I think you're doing it right,” Buffy told him, resting her cheek against his chest as he turned again, lying on his back and turning his attention to the ceiling.

        Spike smiled faintly, “She used to name all the stars, secret little names, never would tell me what they were. Even if she couldn't see them, because it was day, she'd know they were up there…and that gave her a modicum of comfort, I think. Simple, maybe…but I guess it's not really that hard to get, if you think about it. No matter what she saw in her visions, the stars were always there.”

        Buffy smiled faintly and closed her eyes as in one smooth movement, she found herself underneath Spike, who hovered over her body. She opened her eyes to meet his, and a soundless communication passed between them.

        Buffy skimmed her hands down Spike's back, her fingers playing along the ridges of his spine as she searched for the hem of his t-shirt. It was stripped off and tossed onto the floor. She sat up so that Spike could help her remove her own sweater.

        His eyes never left her as his hands danced along the edges of her body, fingers tracing the contours of her ribcage, pressing against the soft flesh of her breasts through her bra. She lifted her hips so that her jeans could slide down her legs, the denim scraping against the inside of her thighs, causing her to shiver.

        She pulled his head down then to taste his lips, scotch, blood and stale cigarettes dancing along her tongue as she kissed him. Her fingers threaded through his hair, combed through it and then tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck. Watches the play of the firelight across the shadows and carved ivory of his body, his skin given an earthy, orange glow. In this light, his roots are red and brown, alternately, like a snifter full of brandy, never quite brown, never quite red.

        She arched her body into his as his hips slipped between her thighs, and she cradled him to her body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his throat as his lips touched upon her collar-bone, whispering secrets into her skin, his fingers searing hopes and fears into her flesh. His eyes, black and limpid, tore into her very soul as she gasped and writhed beneath him, her body dissolving into liquid heat around him. She held onto him desperately as she rode the perilous waves of the aftershocks, afraid that if either he or she let go, she'd drift away and never find her way back here again.

        His tongue slowly traces the sweat trails that curve over her breasts, causing her to gasp anew as new flames build up from the embers of the those before them. His hips are still pumping against hers, slowly, maddeningly, their mingled fluids flowing from her body like a cleansing river. This time, when she falls, it's slow and winding, but it still steals her breath away, as does his sinful mouth.

        His hair is wet beneath her chin as he lays cradled to her side, his face rubbing slightly against her throat. When she turns her head to kiss the top of his head, the salt of his sweat lingers on her lips for long afterwards.

        Spike finally drifted to sleep, feeling unafraid of Morpheus' pull for the first time in what seemed an eternity.

        Xander was afraid.

        He walked and walked through the corn, listening for the strains of the guitar, hoping that the sounds of his salvation would lead him to the once place he felt safe while asleep.

        But there was no guitar, no kindly voice of Mother Abigail. Just corn, corn, corn…and fuck if he didn't absolutely hate corn. He read, not often, but he read. He read Children of the Corn…thought the movie was great…Linda Hamilton kicking creepy-ass children ass…but the story he read while in sixth grade…that fucked him up. Refused to go on the Halloween hayride with the class because there was a corn maze.

        Things were hidden in the corn, you could walk right by it and never know it, because the rustling of the stalks would cover its breathing, while at the same time, seeming to make the whole field breath like an asthmatic.

        The leaves of the corn cut through his shirt as he batted them away, slicing across his skin like Mother Nature's razor blades. There were no rows here, just corn, corn, corn, no orderly neatness, no safe places to walk where there was dirt to trod upon.

        The more he walked, the more the corn seemed to press upon him…and he would swear that he could hear something moving behind him, but there was nothing he could see, just the goddamn fucking corn!

        He knew it was a dream. He was a lucid dreamer. Used to have all kinds of clues in his head to remind himself what was real and what was fake. Evil vampire come to drain him and make him his eternal bitch? Well, Xander would whip out a stake and pull out some moves that Buffy…hell…Blade…would be jealous of. He had control in this realm…but not now. Never in these dreams.

        He can hear a baby crying.

        The sound is so startling because the rustling of the corn has stopped and he's suddenly in a dark room, candles lit along the wall. They cast a paltry light that is no good to him and he stumbles forward, hands held out in front of him like some kind of Xanderstein monster. Nearly trips, foot steps in something squishy and he looks down. It's curious…it's butt-dark in here, but he can still see the dull green of Willow's lifeless eyes, can see the dark slither of intestines, ropey and slimy, lying over her chest. Can see the dark rust of her blood on stone floor.

        Willow's dead.

        The lack of emotion this causes might have been disturbing to him, but he's not controlling the dreaming. He can only go with the flow and hope he wakes soon.

        The baby's still crying and Xander, with the certainty of a dreamer's knowledge, knows that it's her baby crying and whimpering in the darkness. The intestines laying upon the floor and the dark, empty cavern of her uterus are all the results of a particularly vicious Caesarian procedure.

        The doctor who did his mother's botched hers and made it so that Mrs. Harris would never be able to have another child. Which was fortunate for the scores of unborn Harris' but not for the horribly disappointed parents who saw the failure their one child had become. He wondered if the same doctor did Willow's. It was pretty damn botched.

        But I'm not a disappointment, mom, dad. I helped save the world. I killed the only other person besides Willow who understood me, because he was evil. I betrayed my best friend so that she sent her lover to hell, complete with a soul. I was key guy. I blew up the school and watched the mayor burn in screaming agony.

        He had to find the baby.

        He left Willow's body behind, after all, what was another tally to the scores of dead anyway? He lost too many to count, one more wouldn't matter. He continued to stumble in the dark, stepping on Buffy's chest, cracking her sternum, forcing foul, sepulchral breath from her unmoving lungs. Kicked Giles' neck, but it didn't matter, it was well-padded, swollen and black beneath a face devoid of color. Ignored Angel's accusing eyes as they followed him, his head on a pike and his body on the floor, still connected by a large artery, making him live still. Passed Faith, who died peacefully in a bed when the power went out. Immune…but they didn't know that…had left her connected to the machines that would fail and do what Captain Trips did not. Passed Oz and Oz-Wolf, the wolf eating the flesh of his dead human host. Cast a sympathetic look at Spike, who was clawing along the floor, his feet gone to keep him from running away and his eyes gouged out to keep him from seeing. Can't stop now, buddy…got babies to find.

        One after the other, he passed his dead, never once pausing. He was single-minded in his purpose, would not be distracted, would not be delayed. They were all dead, but the baby crying in the darkness, afraid, alone, it still lived and it waited for him.

        The light was bright enough to blind him.

        He froze, averting his eyes from the spotlight pointed directly at his face, sighed in relief when it was turned away and blinked the thousand suns dancing in his vision away. When his eyes cleared, he stared at the alter the baby was lying on, its face twisted in impotent frustration. Or maybe it was fear.

        Xander was sure that if this wasn't a dream, he would feel the wet spray of urine down the front of his pants, but bodily functions had no part in this world.

        “Alexander LaVelle Harris…” Flagg, the Dark Man…don't use his name…it gives him power… “Lovely of you to join me.”

        His smile reminded Xander of the dead raccoon he and Jesse had found behind his house one summer. The body ripe and full to bursting, as if it had fed heavily before dying, its lips drawn back from sharp teeth in a soundless snarl, yellow custard matter dripping from a dead dog's eye. Jesse had double-dog dared him to poke it, and it had exploded upon contact, a stink that haunted Xander even to this day roiling forth in an explosion of half-consumed organs and white, pale writhing maggots that wriggled and giggled upon the ground, delighting in putrefying soft flesh.

        Xander wanted to run, wanted to flee back into the darkness, back where the people he loved lay dead or tortured, the dead scared him far less than this man…this…this thing…

        But the baby was still crying. He had come for the baby. For Willow's baby. The baby was still crying.

        Where was Mother Abigail? She would save him.

        “Your white witch has no power here now, boy,” The Dark Man informed him in a sickly sweet voice, his eyes dripping with hatred and anger and lust. “You're almost into my realm now,” He stepped towards the baby and Xander could make no move to stop him.

        He laid a hand upon the child's head, “Such small, delicate things, aren't they? Babies, I mean,” Flagg sounded speculative as the baby's wails intensified, as if its flesh was being burned from its bones by the Walking Dude's touch along. “But such responsibility…especially one placed into your hands.”

        Flagg looked sympathetic as he dropped his eyes to the child, “Feedings, diapers, hugs and kisses every day, screaming day and night, never shouting up for even one more instant, always, `mommy get me this, daddy get me that, no, I don't wanna, go to hell, dad, you're not even my father…'” Flagg lifted his eyes to Xander's again, “Such a burden for a parent,” He purred. “Can you imagine it, Xander? Can you imagine caring for such a fussy…demanding little brat that doesn't even belong to you?”

        Xander shook his head slowly.

        “No, you wouldn't,” Flagg said sympathetically, looking down at the baby again. “I'm going to be expecting one of my own soon, you know,” He told Xander conspiratorially, and then added cheerfully, “I haven't conceived him yet, but I will. Fatherhood's a great thing…don't you agree?”

        Xander nodded.

        “Course,” Flagg stroked the baby's head, smiling down at it as if the cries were as soothing to his ears as a giggle, “He'll be mine, and that will be all that matter. A cub of my very own,” He snickered then, “Funny choice of words there, huh? Cub…child of a werewolf?” He looked displeased when Xander didn't share in on the joke. The baby screamed when the grip on his head tightened a fraction.

        “You're going to be raising a child soon, Xander…don't you find that at all daunting? I would…if I had parents like your father and mother. Screaming and shouting…bruises covering little Xandy's back and front, black eyes at school, chipped teeth that go unnoticed for years. But that's just fine, isn't it? You're nothing like your parents. You'd never hit little Ozzy Jr., would you? Would never hit your beloved Willow…even if she'll never love you…at least, the way that you love her. How could she? With this little constant reminder of her mate just sitting around all day to steal her affection. To remind her of the man that was supposed to be the father, the one that isn't a terminal screw-up. How could she ever forget Oz when the cub will look so much like him?” He looked down at the baby, “Got the same eyes and nose and everything. Hmm…nope,  don't think she'll be forgetting about him anytime soon.”

        Xander felt anger thread through him, while at the same time his mind rebelled. It's a baby…he's just trying to goad you…but he could already see it. See the sullen, angry teenager screaming at him, shouting, telling him that he isn't his father, Willow, angry and bitter, wishing that Oz was there…because Oz was the father-type, quiet but strong Oz who didn't strike his kids because he got a little blasted at the bar. He stared at the baby, wondering why he came all this way for it. It wasn't his kid, was it? What right did Oz have to thrust this on him? He didn't want kids…he never wanted kids. Why was he here again?

        “Crying, crying, crying,” Flagg sighed, “Just say the word, Xander…and I'll make him stop. Do you want him to stop? Just nod…there's a good boy…”

        Xander slowly nodded his head, feeling dazed.

        Flagg's wrist twisted with a sharp snap and the crying stopped.

        “Problem solved,” Flagg stared into Xander's wide eyes, a slow grin spreading across his face, “Just that easy, son. Just that easy.”

        Flagg faded into the shadows as Xander stared at the lifeless body of the baby, its head twisted at an impossible angle, its small eyes boring into his accusingly.

        He had just killed Willow's baby.

        Xander sat up abruptly, a scream starting and dying in his throat as he took in the unfamiliar room around him, the shadows covering him. He almost screamed again when he thought he saw them moving, but it was only the trees outside, moving in the breeze and disrupting the light of the moon shining in.

        He tried not to think about his dream, tried to shove it from his horrified mind as he slid out of bed on shaky legs. He failed to stay upright and collapsed onto the ground, beginning to retch violently, emptying his stomach of everything he had consumed and then yellow burning bile when he ran out of that.

        It was a good thirty minutes before he stopped vomiting and crying, hunched over his knees and arms wrapped around his shuddering body. He didn't try to stand again before he was sure he had finished puking and tried to stand again. This time, he stayed upright, but unsteadily so as he stumbled towards the door and flung it open with a choked off sob.

        He made his way across the house to Willow's bedroom, barely registering the entwined forms of Buffy and Spike down below in the living room as he passed the stairs; he only had one mission in mind. Find Willow…make sure he hadn't given Flagg power to kill her baby through him.

        Willow was sleeping peacefully as he peeled the blankets away from her body, wondering how he was going to tell if the baby was all right. Maybe they'd be blood…or maybe he could call Spike up. Spike could hear the heartbeat, right? He'd know if he had murdered Willow's child…if he had killed off the last traces of Oz just so that he could have Willow, free and clear. He'd know…he'd know…

        “Xander?” Willow stared down at his dark head, where it was pressed against her slightly swollen belly. She was sleepy and confused, unable to really form any coherent thoughts or even interpret the babble that spewed forth from Xander's mouth.

        “What do you mean you killed my baby?!” She looked down, expecting to see great puddles of blood staining the sheets, expecting…expecting…oh Goddess…

        He babbled out his dream, pleading with her to forgive him, begged for her to believe that he didn't mean to do it, but he had been confused and angry and he loved her, oh God…he loved her,  even if she hated him for murdering Oz…

        Willow was almost drawn into his panic but forced herself to remain calm and she closed her eyes. “Everything's fine, Xander,” She whispered after a few seconds of feeling around carefully. She was connected to the small being growing inside her, and she could feel it…just barely, she didn't know the right spell words to strengthen the feelings, but she could feel it. “My baby's fine, Xander…oh, honey…shhh…shhh…stop crying…everything's all right…it was just a dream…”

        Her soothing words and the feel of her fingers combing through his thick, dark hair gradually calmed him, and he wrapped his large body around her small one, hugging her tightly to him, whispering that he was sorry, he would love the baby with everything he was,  the Dark Man was wrong, he would never hurt this child…”

        “I know,” Willow cradled him, trying to give him comfort while she stared at the ceiling bleakly, a little frightened by the sudden interest in her child by Flagg. You won't get him, you son of a bitch, She thought fiercely as she held onto Xander for dear life, You will not hurt my baby, you bastard…I will kill you before I ever let you near him…you hear me?! I will KILL you!

TBC

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