Summary: A slayer barters with a demon to rescue her lover, and finds herself unwittingly projected nearly three hundred years into the future with no memory of the life she left behind.
“I jus’ don’ understand why it hasn’t faded yet.” Spike frowned and pulled her to a stop beside him for the third time since they left her home, his eyes immediately fixing on the last of her turning-bruises. While most of her other marks were practically indistinguishable now, the one on her cheek was still visible, and therefore at the height of Spike’s concerns. “Your other bruises—”
“This one’s healing fine, silly.”
“I can still see it!”
“You’re the only one,” Buffy countered, poking out her tongue playfully. “You had my mother wigging over my nonexistent—”
“It’s not sodding nonexistent. I can still see it. That makes it existent.”
“You can only see it because you’re a freak-of-nature with freak-of-nature eyes.”
There was a telling snicker at that. “Never tell anyone you don’ know how to romance a fella.”
Buffy grinned and snuggled into his side happily, her arm wrapping naturally around his waist as her head found his shoulder. She’d never understood how people could actually walk like this, but between two super-beings, almost anything was possible.
“All things considered,” she mused thoughtfully, “I think that went pretty well.”
“She din’t try to axe my head off this time. I’m satisfied.”
“It’ll take some time for her, but I think…I think we’ll be okay.” Buffy sighed, out of exhaustion more than anything else. The past few days had been fun of the not so kind. Giles confirming the legitimacy of her new super-slayer status while fending off nonstop calls from the Council, demanding to know how the Slayer had died and why, and then asking him repeatedly if he wanted to come home to England. Now that the Slayer was dead, after all, there was no need to stay in Sunnydale.
Giles was in the free-and-clear for the time being. He convinced the Council that, dead as Buffy might be, the Hellmouth still needed protection. And while he might be much down the Preferred Warriors list, he still knew the ins and the outs of the demon community, therefore he was the perfect choice. He also had a souled vampire fighting on his side, which, again, wasn’t the sort of news many of the Watchers Council were prone to celebrate, but it was a slab of cold comfort where there otherwise was none.
The fact that the Watcher’s Council had confirmed the Calling of the next slayer, therein verifying Buffy’s death once and for all, was the last test in a long line of post-turning tests she needed to pass before they knew whether or not the turning had worked. It took the death of the human—or the dominant human trait—to summon the next potential to the Calling. Effectively in one night, Buffy had vanished from the Council’s radar and managed to slip through the fingers of what was sure-to-be one irate Hell God.
It was so strange; it had taken three hundred years, but she could finally breathe freely.
Little more than a week had passed since Halloween. Since the night she rediscovered herself; since the past returned to her. And for everything she’d been through in the interim, it was hard to fathom that this night—the night which was supposed to be her last—would be one wherein she wouldn’t be looking over her shoulder. The jaws of death no longer snapped at her heels. The cloud of devastation which had followed her for so long had finally parted, leaving her to nothing but sunlight.
Tonight, she wasn’t going to die. Instead she was going to Bronze.
She was going to Bronze until her feet fell off.
“Don’ wager your mum’s gonna want you to pack up an’ leave the house any time soon,” Spike said, brushing a kiss across her allegedly-bruised brow.
He knew as well as she did that for as far as they had come, it would still be a little while before they could well and truly spend every morning in each other’s arms. At least when she sneaked back home this time, she wouldn’t be fearful of discovering a vindictive weapon-wielding watcher in her bedroom, demanding to know where she’d been all night lest he turn her over to the townspeople for a communal burning.
And while Buffy appreciated her mother’s understanding and her unexpected calm face in the sea of everything they had disclosed, there was a part of her which resented the idea that she still had to wait. It would be another year, at least, before she and Spike could actually live together. No matter how immortal Buffy was in the eyes of the world, and no matter the fact that she was technically a legal adult if she took in the total number of years she’d lived, regardless of the century, she was still her mother’s sixteen year old baby. It was too soon to be abandoning the nest.
“Once I go off to college, I’ll be free-as-a-bird Buffy,” she replied finally, though she couldn’t keep from pouting. “Still…that’s a year-and-a-half away.”
“Bloody Americans,” Spike scoffed. “Y’know, ‘f we were on the other side of the pond, people wouldn’t bat an eye.”
“Which, while I see the benefits, don’t get me wrong, is kinda wigsome.” She made a face, but couldn’t conceal her giggle at the way his brows perked in turn. “It’s…it’s better than we could’ve hoped for, though…with my mom. And the surprising lack-of-screaming that went along with the revelation that, why yes, I am a vampire slayer and this is my second take at the gig.” Buffy frowned thoughtfully. “I wonder if Giles said something to her before we got there.”
“Considerin’ the state of my head an’ how it’s still attached to m’neck, I’d have to say yes.”
“You’re never gonna stop with the decapitation jokes, are you?”
“Let’s see you recover well after bein’ knocked on the head by a menopausal—”
She jabbed his side with her elbow. Hard. “Watch it. You’re talking about my mother.”
“Jus’ saying…the lady’s frightening.”
“Spike, you’re a vampire.”
“I really hope you’re not jus’ making this discovery now, sweetheart. It’s too late in our relationship to be havin’ this conversation.” He grinned when she tossed him a pout, and hugged her closer to him in a way which managed to be both possessive and loving at the same time. Which, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that they were approaching the bouncer at the Bronze and a sea of horny male adolescents. “It’ll fly by,” Spike murmured as he slipped the bouncer a few bills and steered her inside. “These next couple years.”
“You think we’ll actually be able to live together without killing each other?” Buffy asked, mostly teasing, but she couldn’t keep the worried strain from her voice. “We do well when we’re outrunning death and discovery, but now our lives will be all slow and boring and—”
She didn’t get to finish the sentence due to Spike’s uproarious laughter.
“What?” she demanded, pout firmly in place.
He tried to answer but couldn’t find his voice in his mirth.
“I gotta tell you, Fang Face, no girl likes to be laughed at. No matter how much said girl loves you.”
Spike had doubled over, resting his palms on his knees as he tried to get a hold of himself. He held up a hand in wordless request for patience, but every time his chuckles seemed to dwindle, he would remember what made him laugh in the first place and dissolve all over again.
It was his good fortune that Willow had spotted them. In her desperation to get away from Xander and the weirdness that was Xander and Cordelia in serious dateage, she rushed over to Buffy only to pause in bewilderment at the sight of the giggling vampire.
“Hey, what’s…so funny?”
“Mr. Chuckles won’t share,” Buffy grunted, crossing her arms.
“’S nothin’,” Spike said through high-pitched titters. “’S…jus’…the Slayer…Buffy…”
“That’s me,” the Slayer, Buffy, retorted, unimpressed.
“She thinks…she actually thinks our lives’ll be boring here on the Hellmouth.”
Buffy made a face and thwapped his shoulder. “That’s what turned you into Cackles the Clown?” she demanded. “My serious wiggins that after all the excitement of our…excitement is over that you’ll get all bored—”
She made the mistake of using the b-word and lost him again.
“Well,” Buffy said self-righteously, turning to throw her arm over Willow’s shoulder. “Seeing as I don’t like you very much right now, I think I’m going to leave you to death-by-laughter and go sit with my friends.”
Spike didn’t even bother looking apologetic. “Sweetheart,” he said, reaching for her with one hand and not-so-nonchalantly wiping his eyes with the other. “You are so self-righteous I wanna throttle your neck sometimes…plus that stake up your arse that—”
“This is getting uncomfortable,” Willow murmured. “I’ll return to the show that is Xander attempting to eat Cordelia’s face.”
“—’s buried so far it’s likely turned into a diamond…”
“She has a coal stake up her butt?” Willow intervened, her eyes widening. “Okay…yeah…table.”
Spike ignored the redhead, taking a step forward, his eyes never leaving Buffy’s. “You are bossy, bitchy, beautiful, funny, intelligent, caring, independent…you think of everyone but yourself when the chips are down, an’ you’re so full of life it’s practically glowing from you. Not to mention, you’re a demon in the sack.”
Buffy didn’t know if it was more appropriate to slap him, kiss him, or melt on the spot. She decided to withhold her judgment until he arrived at the point.
“You’re a thousand things. A thousand, thousand things. But the one thing you could never be is boring.” He smiled gently and leaned inward, stealing a kiss from her lips before she decided whether or not he’d earned it. “I love you. I always have. An’ if you don’ know that by now, you seriously oughta get that noggin’ of yours under some shiny machine so we can figure out which circuit is shorted, ‘cause I tell you, pet, I—”
Apparently, her body had decided that he’d earned her lips, for the next thing she knew, she had flung herself into his arms and was warring his mouth over possession of his tongue. She stole whatever condescending-albeit-wrapped-in-love insult he was about to toss her way, gaining some of her own back when her womanly wiles got him moaning into her kiss.
“Awww,” Willow cooed. “That’s…well, that’s…why do people keep making out in front of me?”
Buffy pulled back reluctantly, licking her lips. “Mmmm. Sorry,” she said, turning to her friend. “I just…in the moment.”
Spike grinned and nipped at her mouth. “A boring moment?” he murmured, his eyes brightening with amusement.
“With you? Never.”
“’Cause without impromptu town burnings an’ deranged old men with poisoned arrows or demons with a yen for slayer mojo, I don’ know how you’ll ever put up with me.”
Willow rolled her eyes, apparently bored with their display, and returned to the table without another word.
“I don’t either,” Buffy retorted cheekily, sucking his lower lip into her mouth as her fingers explored his exceptionally fine ass before giving it a much-deserved pinch. “But I’m willing to find out.”
*~*~*
There was a certain morbid fascination in how Xander and Cordelia moved together. They were practically different species, and yet for Xander’s bumbling clumsiness and Cordelia’s oddly-graceful-but-bitch-heavy aura, they seemed to complement each other rather well.
“How did this happen again?” Buffy asked Willow as they stared at the brown couple gyrate on the dance floor. “’Cause this? Match made in…what’s the place that’s not Heaven?”
“Wouldn’t throw stones, pet,” Spike remarked, sipping at his beer.
“Oh come on!” she retorted, turning back to him with barely-concealed amusement. “At least we make sense. This is just…it weirds me out on levels I didn’t know could be weirded out.”
“Apparently, they got trapped in the cage overnight,” Willow said, sighing heavily.
Spike arched a brow. “Cage?”
“In the library,” the redhead replied, either ignoring or not hearing the amused edge in Spike’s voice. “Where Giles keeps all the weapons. I don’t know how they got there or why or…whatever, but they got locked in and…well…one thing led to another and now we have this…”
“I’m surprised Cordy’s out of the…cage, so to speak.” Buffy winced at her own bad pun. “I figure she’d be sticking to the shadows as much as possible.”
“And so say all of us,” Willow muttered, not at all bitterly. “And here I didn’t think it was possible for Xander to sink lower than Preying Mantis lady.”
Spike frowned, his beer-hand halting midway in its trek to his mouth. “Do I wanna know?” he asked.
“Not at all,” Buffy replied, her eyes falling to his glass. “Hey…thirsty.”
He perked a surprised brow and offered her a sip, which she declined with a disgusted shake of her head, her nose wrinkling. “I was thinking more of the carbonated fizzy sort,” she clarified before flashing him a sweet smile. “Buy me a drink?”
There was no delay; Spike nodded and slipped off his stool without protest. “Sure thing, kitten,” he replied. “Diet?”
“You know me so well.”
“I keep tellin’ you this, but you don’ seem to get it through that gorgeous thick skull of yours.” Spike smiled softly and pressed his lips to her brow. “Back in a flash.”
Thankfully, Willow waited until he was a safe distance away before releasing her whistle, her brows hitting her hairline. “Wow,” she said appraisingly. “Not even a week and you have him all trained and stuff.”
“A week in this lifetime,” Buffy agreed, trying and failing to hide her giddy grin. “He’s wonderful.”
“You’re so lucky. I mean…yeah, obvious roadblock…vampire. Only not so now. But he’s all with the sweet. And he’s…” Willow’s gaze wandered over her friend’s shoulder. “…picking that guy’s pocket.”
The Slayer’s eyes went wide. “He’s what?”
“He just lifted that guy’s wallet.”
Buffy deflated inwardly and somehow managed to swallow her groan. There were certain things she knew she would have to reconcile with having a very soulless vampire as a mate—his penchant for thievery and other evil misdeeds notwithstanding. And yet, even though she anticipated a mountain of morality debates in the future, she was surprised to find herself only mildly annoyed.
“So he’s not perfect.”
“Not perfect?” Willow replied, not even bothering to mask her surprise. “That’s…well, a nice way to put it?”
Buffy shrugged and flashed Spike a grin as he reclaimed his seat beside her. “You’re a bad man,” she said, taking the proffered soft drink from his hands.
“Never claimed not to be,” he replied easily. “What’d I do now?”
“Petty larceny.”
His brows shot upward, a mild blink of guilt flickering deep within his eyes. The sort of flicker which only confirmed one’s culpability without alluding to one’s sense of regret. She knew, in Spike’s case, he would only be sorry he was caught—not for the crime itself.
And strangely, she was unbothered. She loved him. This was who he was, and she could work around the rough edges.
“Oh,” he said. “You saw that?”
“Willow did.”
Spike turned to the redhead, his eyes narrowing into a glare. “Snitch.”
“Don’t blame her for catching you doing a bad thing,” Buffy scolded, her hand dipping brazenly into her mate’s left back-pocket and fishing out the purloined wallet. “Badness.”
“What? You said you wanted a drink. You never said I should pay for it.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and turned the merchandise over to Willow, who immediately slipped off her seat to return it to its rightful owner. “Are we gonna have to go over the dos and don’ts about socializing?” she asked. “Stealing from patrons is badness.”
Spike shrugged and tossed back a mouthful of beer. “Wouldn’t be me if I played by the rules, love,” he replied easily.
“And we can’t have that.”
It would likely help her argument if she could pull off some genuine form of irritation, but she couldn’t. Overall, he was right. There was some sort of mentality emboldened in her history which couldn’t condemn him from being what he was. She’d accepted it once, and she found it was even easier to do this time. Not that she would allow him to get away with everything—or anything, for that matter—but the struggle was one of the reasons she loved him.
They fit. They worked.
And somehow, they always had.
*~*~*
The date of Buffy’s payment came and went. While no one said anything, there was a certain aura of apprehension in the air about how the Hell King would react. The cosmos had been rearranged, Buffy and Spike pitted into a century in which they did not belong, and she had cheated the demon—to whom she owed everything—out of her debt.
There was nothing on the night she was supposed to have died. Nothing at all.
It was unnerving. She wanted him to come out of the shadows. She wanted the confrontation over with. She wanted Paimon behind her completely, else she knew he would hang over her head forever.
Two nights following the new moon, her wish was granted.
As he had before, Paimon materialized out of nowhere while she patrolled. Only this time she wasn’t alone; her vampire was at her side.
“I suppose,” the demon purred, stepping out of the shadows, “you feel you have won.”
Spike tensed and seized her hand. “Yeah,” he barked, “now that you mention it. Why don’ you bugger off?”
Paimon smiled and spread his hands. “I am merely here to collect what is mine.”
“The girl’s not human anymore, you pillock.”
The Hell King delivered an icy glare, dragging his inhuman eyes away from the vampire and instead fixating on Buffy. “We had a deal, remember?”
“Kinda hard to forget when you go through what I went through,” she retorted. “Sorry. Shop’s closed.”
Paimon’s face hardened, if such thing was possible, and the air around her grew very cold. “It is unwise,” he said softly, “to spit in the face of Hell.”
Buffy blinked innocently, refusing to betray fear. She thought, perhaps, that seeing the demon again would be easier with her strength fortified. With her future certain. However, no matter what had passed, no matter what she had defeated, there was an air about him which couldn’t be overcome. The raw power he oozed in a simple look. She didn’t want to fear him—she didn’t want to fear anyone.
She couldn’t help herself.
“And here I don’t remember spitting,” Buffy replied, reassuringly squeezing her growling mate’s hand. “I just decided I didn’t want to die.”
“Why don’ you sod off?” Spike snarled. “Find someone else to haunt. The girl beat you. Bloody deal with it.”
“Hell does not accept defeat.”
“Hell will have to get used to disappointment.” Buffy stepped forward, swallowing hard. “And you know, with all this brand-spanking-new strength, you’re striking me as less of a king and more like a common demon. So why don’t you get back to Hell before I send you there myself?”
Paimon stared at her. “You dare threaten me?”
“I dare. Didn’t you hear me? I could do it again.” She shrugged. “I should’ve figured a demon of your age…what, three, no, four million years old…might be hard of hearing.” Buffy quirked her head and held up her stake. She was surprised to see a flicker of fear ripple through Paimon’s being. There were many things she’d expected from him: fire, brimstone, another taste of the inferno he’d shown her just a week before. She hadn’t expected fear. Not from one who inspired so much of it. And she’d be lying if she said the rush wasn’t a potent one.
Creating fear in the eyes of a Hell King was heady. She could get used to this.
“It’s funny,” she continued conversationally, taking a step forward and grinning when he quickly recovered it in the other direction. “Now that I’m all Slayer, it doesn’t take nearly as much force to dust the local baddies. I barely tapped the last three.”
Spike, apparently having caught on, tossed in, “Not to mention she has these muscles which—”
“Sweetie. Now’s not the time.”
“’Course, love. Jus’ trying to help.”
“I’ve killed a few non-vamp demons with stakes,” Buffy continued, the fear which, just seconds before, had gripped her insides, quickly evaporating into nothing. “Wonder if this would do the trick on you?”
Paimon’s chin shot up. “Are you so arrogant—”
“I think you’re backing up for a reason, Hellboy.” She twirled the stake in her hand once, twice, and grinned. “Let’s find out.”
Whether or not the pointed end ever met its target, she didn’t know. All she knew was one second the Hell King had stood just feet from her, hatred and fear rolling off him so thick she was surprised she didn’t choke on it, and the next there was nothing but wisps of black air. The stake soared through the smoke and embedded itself through the bark of an oak tree, leaving them alone once again.
“Huh,” Spike said, gently caressing the small of her back. “That was…a li’l anticlimactic.”
“I dunno,” Buffy replied. “I kinda got off on it.”
“Oi! The only one allowed to get you off is me.” He paused. “An’ you, ‘cause that…well…”
She smirked and thwapped his shoulder. “Not that way, perv-boy.”
“I think that’s the only way those words can be taken, pet.”
“I’m just saying…guy who has haunted me for three hundred years being afraid of little ol’ me?” Buffy wrapped her arm around his waist, snuggling comfortably into his side. “I could get used to it.”
Spike smiled and brushed his lips across her brow. “You think that’s it, then?”
“I think he’ll be too embarrassed to come back. And if he’s not…” Her eyes focused on the stake protruding from the tree. “…well, if he thinks Buffy-with-stake is scary, imagine how he’d feel about Buffy-with-crossbow. Or Buffy with…any kind of cool weapon, really.” She grinned proudly. “I kinda kick ass right now, don’t I?”
Her vampire’s eyes were glowing with pride, and the look he gave her made her a puddle of instant goo.
“My love,” he replied, “you always have.”
*~*~*
The cottage Spike acquired was not completely unlike the one they had shared lifetimes ago. It was marginally larger, built out of brick rather than wood, and instead of a basement, they had a spare room designated for sparring. It wasn’t as large as they would have liked; Buffy mentioned once or twice about knocking down a wall and merging the area with the empty guestroom. Spike countered it would make more sense to merge it with their bedroom, as most of their sparring sessions rendered them sweaty for reasons entirely unrelated to the art of sparring itself.
The move was a slow one; Buffy was still technically a resident of 1630 Revello Drive, though as weeks passed, she spent less and less time in her mother’s house. She often found herself sneaking into her bedroom just seconds before Joyce’s head popped in to make sure she spent the night under her roof.
More than once, Joyce asked why Buffy’s closet was so empty. More than once, Buffy didn’t answer. She didn’t have the heart to tell the woman she’d moved most of her items, save the few things she absolutely needed, to Spike’s home.
To their home.
The home where she planned to reside as long as time would allow. The Hellmouth was unguarded, as far as the Council was concerned. And Buffy wanted to keep the Council out of her Hellmouth.
The Council might not have ordered her execution in the eighteenth century, but they had created the mindset which led Kenneth to that very conclusion. She didn’t want them to know she was alive—and while such desire might be a pipe dream, she was determined to fly under the radar as long as possible.
She would slay. She would do her job. Angel would take the credit. And Buffy was completely cool with that.
Her life wasn’t about slaying. Not anymore.
Then again, it never had been. Spike reminded her of that every day.
And this time when she painted the sunrise on their bedroom wall, she didn’t do it alone.
This time, they did it together.
To be concluded
A/N: I know some people might be disappointed that there wasn’t a larger showdown with Paimon. The mentality I took toward Paimon was very much like The First—always present in some incarnation, and since his plans were foiled, there really was nothing he could do to make himself concrete in this reality. True, he manifested enough power at one point to kiss Buffy’s cheek, but as Giles deduced, Paimon’s powers in the earth realm are rather limited unless he’s been summoned by blood.
Furthermore, I just liked the idea of Paimon being afraid of Buffy. It seemed rather justified.
There’s just an epilogue left. Thank you all so much who have stuck through this story with me, including my sometimes long-winded notes and explanations. Your encouragement and feedback has kept me moving. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.