Summary: Set after the end of Cast Me Not Away and its follow up stories. This sequel is longer and darker than the intervening short stories. It deals with family, children, immortality, life and death, and making amends. We will also be jumping around in time a bit, so look sharp.
Author's Notes: I debated for a long time before writing this one, although the idea was there before I even finished CMNA. Some of you will believe that I have ruined the previous stories, which is fine. All I ask is that if you're unhappy with where this goes that you'll go back, re-read Cast Me Not Away through Silver Bells, and then you can flame me if you'd like. I'll calmly pull out the fire-extinguisher and ignore you, but that's alright. The themes have been there; I just hadn't quite managed to elaborate on them yet. (Oh, and before anyone screams Nika, Wesley, Spike and Buffy will survive. More than that I won't promise.)
Rating: PG-13
Chapter 10: April 2015
Will watched the Slayer train in the backyard, a feeling of envy welling up. His dad had been busy before Hannah arrived, but now it seemed that Wesley was never around. He was always training or translating or going out with Uncle Spike. Or, if he was home, his dad was with Mum and Carwen.
Will rubbed his bruised arm self-consciously. One of the boys at school had bet him that he would cry if hit, and he had taken the dare. He hadn't cried, but the taunts continued just the same.
It wasn't fair. Will couldn't help being smart nor was he quite as good at sports as Davey was.
He had actually thought about trying out for the Little League baseball team this summer. Will was as good at hitting what he aimed at as his father, and he had a good chance of being picked for the team. On the other hand, it would mean spending most of the summer away from his beloved books and with the boys who had spent the last months tormenting him mercilessly. There were other things he would rather do with his time.
Summers were actually his favorite time of the year, same as his twin. Davey liked being off from school for three whole months; Will enjoyed them because he didn't have to worry about getting picked on constantly. Usually his dad and Uncle Spike made it a point to be around too, and Meg was over a lot with Aunt Buffy. Even Angel and his crew dropped by during the summer evenings.
Home was the place where Will felt safest, but now with Hannah there—and Carwen demanding so much of Nika's time—it no longer felt like a refuge.
"Good, Hannah," Wesley praised. "Well done."
She had just disarmed him with her quarterstaff, and Wesley was shaking out the sting in his hand. Will's scowl deepened. Hannah was just as good at the physical stuff as Davey. It really wasn't fair.
"Thanks!" she said brightly. "That was fun. Can we do it again?"
Wesley shook his head ruefully. "I'm afraid we'll have to wait for Spike to arrive. I don't think I can take any more today."
If anything, Hannah's grin widened. "Really? Cool!"
Wesley rolled his eyes and looked over at Will, who was still sitting on the back steps. "How was school today, Will?" he called.
"Fine," the boy replied, rising abruptly and heading into the house. He didn't feel like being polite to Hannah right then. His parents were very firm on always being courteous to others, and Will wasn't in the mood to get reprimanded for his attitude.
Wesley watched his son's back with a soft sigh. "I don't think he likes me much," Hannah commented quietly.
"He's used to a bit more attention," Wesley replied. "We've had two new arrivals in the last six months, and it's a big adjustment." He didn't miss Hannah's wince. "It's not your fault, Hannah," her Watcher said firmly. "I'm sure Will would feel the same if it had just been Carwen."
"Maybe," the girl replied doubtfully. She looked up at Wesley. They had become rather close in the last months, although there were times that she resented his overprotective nature. Her Watcher had filled a hole in her life that she had barely known existed, having never met her own father.
Hannah didn't even know his name.
"You should let me train with Spike or Connor more often," she suggested. "That way Will won't feel so left out."
Wesley was torn. He trusted both Connor and the vampire with Hannah, but he was her Watcher, and he hated to think that he was shirking his duties. At the same time, she might be right. "I suppose that might be possible," he replied quietly. "Angel has offered to help as well. I didn't give him an answer since I wasn't sure how you would feel about it."
"It would be okay." Hannah wasn't quite sure how to feel about the big vampire. He was so serious all of the time, but he was nice. She knew that he tried. "Whatever."
"Not whatever," Wesley said, surprising her. "You're as much in charge of your training as I am, my dear. If you're uncomfortable with someone or something, I want you to let me know."
"Angel's okay," Hannah was quick to assure him. "It's just—he's not as much fun."
Wesley chuckled. "Spike would certainly agree with you there." He put a friendly hand on Hannah's shoulder. "Come on. Let's see what Nika and Enid are sorting out for dinner."
~~~~~
Buffy was binding up her hair into a ponytail. "So you guys are going over to Wes and Nika's, right?"
Meg and Spike exchanged looks. You'd think the vampire hadn't ever looked after his own kid before. "Yeah, that's the plan," Spike replied.
"You'll bring Meg back before her bedtime, though?" Buffy said rather insistently. "It's a school night."
"Mom," Meg protested, rolling her eyes. "I'm not a baby."
Both Spike and Buffy had to bite back smiles. Meg often compared herself to the twins, pointing out the fact that she was two whole years older, and therefore ought to be allowed to do all kinds of things as a result. Spike was more likely to indulge her, while Buffy was more likely to stick to the rules.
Buffy had turned out to be more like Joyce than anyone might have predicted.
"No, you're not," Buffy replied. "But you still have a bedtime, and you will for quite a while yet."
"Hannah doesn't have a bedtime," Meg pointed out.
Buffy's lips tightened, but before she could say anything, Spike stepped in. "Hannah is five years older, moppet. When you're fifteen, then we'll talk."
Five years was a comfortable margin, Buffy decided. When Meg was a teenager, all bets would be off, and she knew it. "Absolutely," she said. "When you're fifteen, we can renegotiate," she agreed, giving Spike a grateful look. He often knew just what to say to get Meg to go along with a minimum of fuss.
"She's a Summers," was all he'd say when she pointed that out. "'course I know how to handle her."
Buffy supposed she should have argued about being "handled," but she quite liked some of Spike's methods, and had no intention of putting a stop to it.
Meg pouted a bit, but it wasn't serious. She'd had this discussion with her parents a number of times already, and so it was routine by now. The pouting was a necessary part of the process. "Fine," she sighed. "I'm going to finish my homework before I leave."
She marched out of the room and up the stairs, stomping her feet slightly to let her parents know she wasn't happy. Meg would hate for them to think they were winning too easily.
Buffy moved towards Spike. "So, did you sleep good today?"
"I slept just fine," Spike replied, a little put out. "I'm just fine, Buffy. You don't have to worry."
"I can worry about you if I want," she retorted. "Besides, I was asking to find out if you'd be awake after I get back from patrol."
A gleam entered Spike's bright eyes. "You got plans, luv?"
"Only if you're up for it."
"I'm always up for it," Spike shot back. He moved in, putting his hands around her waist and pulling her in tightly. "You shouldn't worry so much, Buffy."
Buffy sighed, putting her head on his chest. The playful moment had suddenly turned serious. "Can I help it if I worry about you?"
"Vampire, here, luv. Not much that can hurt me."
"And large pieces of pointy wood through the chest don't hurt you?" she demanded. It had been months, but Buffy still had nightmares about that moment—watching as a jagged piece of wood emerged from his chest.
It had taken him nearly a week to recover, and while it had been months since they'd hunted down Faith's killer, Buffy couldn't help but remember that she had almost lost him. In that split-second, she had seen her life without Spike, and it had been bleak.
They both still had the scars.
"Maybe we should stay home," Spike murmured, neatly changing the subject even as he nuzzled her throat. "Take it easy."
Buffy smiled. The thought was tempting. "You know that's not possible. The gang needs me."
It was a more diplomatic way of saying "Angel needs me," since he was technically in charge of this little mission. Hannah wasn't ready for a horde of Landrist beasts, even if they were fairly easy to kill. Besides, they were getting paid, which meant Buffy got a cut.
Buffy was always tickled when she got paid for doing something that was her "sacred duty."
Spike nipped at her throat with blunt teeth. "Oh, 'm sure Peaches can take care of this one on his own," he whispered.
She stifled a moan. "Later. For sure." Buffy pulled back before Spike could cause her to change her mind. "When I get back, I'll want a long, hot shower."
With an evil grin, she added, "And I don't plan on being alone."
Buffy dashed outside before she could hear Spike's answer, but his growl of frustration went right through the front door. The Slayer grinned. She still had it.
~~~~~
"Uncle Spike!" Davey's greeting was as loud as usual.
Spike grinned, catching the boy around the waist and swinging him upside down. "How's it goin', pint-size?"
Davey squealed in delight. "Uncle Spike!"
Spike put him back on his feet in time to catch Nika shaking her head at him. "You'll get him all wound up," she accused, coming over to give him a hug.
"He's always wound up," Spike retorted, winking at the boy. "How are you, luv?"
Nika gave him a serene smile. "I'm just fine." She smiled at Meg. "And how are you, cariad ?"
Meg shrugged. "Good."
"I think Nain has cookies for you in the kitchen," she said. Raising her voice, she called, "Will! Spike and Meg are here!"
Silence followed, and Spike frowned. "He not have a good day?"
"He's got a bruise on his arm the size of my fist, Spike," Nika replied, her eyes worried. "I know he's not happy, but—"
"Not much you can do about it." They kept their voices low, although Meg and Davey had already scampered off to the kitchen.
Will emerged a moment later. "Hey, Uncle Spike."
His greeting was subdued, and Spike instinctively matched his tone. "How's it goin', Will?"
The boy shrugged. "Okay."
Spike hid a sigh and gave him a hug. He didn't often mention it, but while he and Davey got along quite well, it was Will who was most like him. Or, Will was very much like he had been as a boy. "Chin up, lad," he encouraged. "You tell me who to kill, an' I'll be happy to take care of it."
As he'd hoped, Will smiled at that, probably at the thought of what kind of severe bodily harm Spike could enact. The vampire would have had no problem scaring the little brats out of several years' worth of growth, but his sun allergy prevented that. "Thanks, Uncle Spike."
"Any time," Spike replied.
Nika ruffled her son's hair. "Meg and Davey are in the kitchen, Will," she said. "I think Nain has some cookies for you all."
"Where's the Watcher?" Spike asked, getting down to business.
"In the basement," Nika replied. Her eyes were somber, reflecting her concern over Will. "Spike—"
"He'll be fine, Sweet," Spike assured her. "Will's tougher than he looks."
"I don't want him to have to be tough," she replied.
Spike couldn't disagree.
~~~~~
They worked for over an hour, Spike and Wesley patiently showing Hannah the right way to execute a spin-kick, the appropriate manner to throw a stake, the quickest way to dispatch a vampire. Training with Spike gave Hannah an edge most Slayers had never had, since most Slayers were never given the opportunity to face off against a friendly vampire.
With Spike, Hannah could afford to make the mistakes that would be deadly in the field.
Her red hair was hanging in damp tendrils around her face by the time Wesley called a halt to the training session. "I think that's enough for tonight."
Hannah frowned. "We don't have to quit," she protested. "Just let me catch my breath."
Spike chuckled. "You've worked hard enough for tonight, pet. Besides, I've got to be getting Meg home or Buffy will have my hide."
"Connor's taking you on patrol tomorrow," Wesley said consolingly. "You'll have plenty of opportunities to practice those moves then."
Hannah sighed. "Okay," she agreed, trudging up the stairs.
Spike shook his head, chuckling. "Never seen a girl who loves this kind of thing so much. Not even Buffy."
Wesley shook his head. "Nika and I are a bit concerned," he confessed. "She's doing well enough in school, but she doesn't seem to be making any friends her age."
"She's not their age," Spike replied, demonstrating his sharp insight yet again. "She's had to grow up too fast to really appreciate bein' a kid."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Wesley replied. "Faith—"
"She's not Faith." Spike cut him off. "An' you're not the same git you were back then. She's a good kid with a good head on her shoulders. I don't think you have to worry about her a bit."
Wesley nodded his agreement, even though his worry wasn't going to go away. "Did you see Will?"
Spike frowned. "I did. Nika said he got hurt at school."
"We wouldn't have seen it except that she happened in on him when he was changing his shirt. Apparently the boys dared him to stand still to be hit to see if he would cry." Wesley's eyes burned. "If I get my hands on them—"
Spike shook his head. "I know Will is capable of takin' care of himself. What the bloody hell is goin' on?"
"You can't fight a group of five or six," Wesley said. "He's a child, Spike. He ought to be safe in school."
Spike shook his head, thanking his lucky stars that Meg got along so well with her classmates. She was a popular, well-adjusted little girl. Will was a different story altogether. "Things'll get better," Spike finally said, although he was none too sure of that himself. "The lad's just goin' to have to learn how to stand up for himself."
It seemed an impossible lesson to teach.
~~~~~
Will was surrounded before he could run. This was what made it so bad. It wasn't just one bully or two; he could have handled that. Even though he had no desire to fight, Will would have defended himself.
He didn't understand why it was such a bad thing to be smart, or to like to read. He hated it when they called him "sissy" and "mama's boy." If it had just been a couple of the guys, Will would have shrugged it off.
Instead, Brad and his goons had been making life hell for him for months now, and Will didn't know how to stop them.
The taunts filled his ears, and he found himself bounced around the loose circle. His glasses were knocked off early on, and Will blinked, trying to decide on a way out. If he could run, maybe Davey would help him retrieve his glasses later.
One hard shove had him hitting the ground on his hands and knees, the rough concrete scraping off skin. The stinging sensation had him blinking back tears. If they saw him crying—
He heard a cry that was not his own, and then Hannah's outraged voice. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Will started to stand and felt strong hands grab him under the arms and pull him up. "Hannah—"
"Well?" She wasn't talking to him. Hannah was reaching down to pick up his glasses, fixing Brad with a stare so cold Will could feel the temperature drop. He very nearly started to brush his hands off on his shorts before he realized that his palms were bleeding.
There was silence from the other boys. This was the first time they had been caught in the act, and they were all cowards at heart. "If I catch any of you laying one hand on Will again, or calling him one more name, I will personally break each and every single one of your fingers. Got it?"
Five audible gulps could be heard.
"Got it?" she repeated, taking a step towards Brad, recognizing him immediately as the ring-leader.
Brad took off running as fast as his legs would carry him, and the other boys quickly followed suit, leaving Hannah to take care of Will. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.
Will was staring at her with wide eyes. Up until now he had viewed her as the interloper, as the girl who had monopolized his father's attention. At the moment, however, Will understood what it meant to be the Slayer.
She was incredible.
"Are you okay?" she repeated gently. Letting out a soft curse, Hannah stared at his scraped knees, turning his hands over with a sigh. "Never mind. You're a mess, Will."
"I'm okay," he said bravely, finding his voice.
Hannah put his glasses back on his face, sliding them into place with a playful finger. "Yeah, you're one tough guy, you know that?" She shook her head. "Are you going to be okay to get home?" she asked. "I don't have any band aids or anything with me."
"I'm good," Will replied, pulling himself up straight.
Hannah sighed. "Good. Well, let's get you home and cleaned up," she said. "You're bleeding all over your socks."
Will looked down. "I guess."
"I meant it, you know," Hannah said, waiting for him to meet her eyes. "I'll take care of anybody giving you problems."
"Thanks." Will looked down at the ground, mumbling something she couldn't quite hear.
"What was that?" Hannah asked.
Will shrugged. "I'm glad you came to stay with us," he confessed.
Hannah gave him a hug. "I'm really glad I came to stay with you too, Will."
It was no coincidence that Hannah walked Will home from school every day after that.
Chapter 11: January 2017
Wesley caught Spike as he came stumbling out of the cave. He'd seen the vampire badly injured in the past, but this was worse. He was covered in cuts, bruises, and burns, and his skin was warm to the touch.
Spike immediately lost the contents of his stomach onto the sand. The Watcher didn't let go, even though he did turn his head. Parenthood had prepared him for this much at least; Wesley had taken care of his fair share of sick children, and this really wasn't so different.
Spike was family, after all.
Wesley supported him through the dry heaves that followed, concerned when Spike couldn't seem to stop the empty reflex. "Come on, Spike," he murmured. "Just take a deep breath." It seemed to help. After a moment, Spike calmed enough for Wesley to offer him a drink of water out of the canteen he'd brought along. "Slowly."
Spike sipped obediently, handing the container back to him afterwards, and he met Wesley's eyes for the first time.
There had been no question that Spike had been at least marginally successful. His skin was warm to the touch, and there was a thin sheen of sweat over his face and chest. Wesley had felt Spike's heart beating under his hand, had felt his chest expanding and contracting as he drew in great gulps of air. Not only that, but he looked as though he had aged ten years in the last few hours.
He was human—or near enough. One look into his eyes told Wesley that he also had gotten his soul.
"Spike—" he began, but the words failed him. After a moment, he tried again. "What did you ask for?"
"Told him I wanted to be mortal." His voice was hoarse. Wesley couldn't help but wonder how much screaming he had done. Some of his wounds looked like they were beyond painful.
A thought hit him. If Spike were truly human, he'd be dead with injuries like that.
"We should get you out of here," Wesley said, standing, and then reaching down to haul Spike to his feet.
Spike allowed Wesley to pull him up. "How can I go back?"
Wesley took a firmer grip on the now-ex-vampire. "You can go back because it's what you promised to do."
"I didn't know," Spike said quietly. "I didn't—I didn't understand. How can you—"
He stopped there, but Wesley thought he understood. "Because you've changed, Spike. That's not who you are any longer." Wesley took in a deep breath. "You're hurt, and this is new," he said quietly. "Don't think about it just yet. Give it some time."
Spike's only reply was silence.
~~~~~
Hannah shoved her Latin text into her backpack with a sigh. She had loads of homework to do tonight, and no Wesley to help her out. It wasn't that she was bad at languages—far from it. She was taking both Latin (for Slaying) and French (for the promised trip to Europe after graduation) and getting straight A's. Still, Wesley always went over her work and explained anything that was unclear.
He was a large part of the reason that her teachers thought she was a prodigy.
It had been a week and a half since he'd left, and nearly a week since Wesley and Spike had called. While everyone had understood that they would be incommunicado while in the brush, no one liked it.
They were a family, and having Spike and Wesley gone left holes that could not be filled.
Shutting the locker with a bang, Hannah shrugged into her pack and turned to head out, almost running into Neil. "Watch it!" she warned him.
The boy was panting. He was a year younger, and Hannah had stopped some of the football players from tormenting him on a regular basis.
It wasn't all altruism on her part. Sophomore year, when she'd suddenly shed the ugly duckling look and grown breasts, one of the football players had decided that her not dating was a personal challenge. He'd hounded her for a couple weeks, and Hannah had done her best to ignore him, mindful of the fact that she could seriously injure him in a fight.
When he cornered her one day and "accidentally" put a hand on her breast, she had reacted on pure instinct alone. Reuel had been lucky she hadn't broken his arm. The principal had wanted to expell her, but Wesley and Nika had only to mention "sexual assault" and "lawsuit" in the same sentence to put an end to that.
Just because the football team had been making it to the state championships the last five years running, they all thought they were God's gift to the world. After wrenching the star running back's arm out of its socket, the football players left her alone.
And when Hannah made someone her business, they had a tendency to leave them alone as well.
So when Neil stood in front of her, out of breath and pale, Hannah knew something had gone wrong. "What is it, Neil?" she asked wearily. "Are the asshats after you again?"
He shook his head, gulping air. "No, it's—it's Sam." Neil took another breath, trying to get the news out before someone got killed. "He's fighting Dillon and some of the other guys—"
Hannah didn't let him finish. "Where?"
"Parking lot behind—"
There was only one place it could be, and Hannah took off running before Neil could get the rest of the sentence out. There was only one lot where the seniors parked, and they had to be there. Sam had done a lot of growing in the last couple of years, but there was still a very good possibility that the idiot would wind up badly hurt.
Sam had been her constant shadow over the last week. They weren't dating, but Hannah knew it was just a matter of time before he asked her out. As she'd suspected, he had been impossible to get rid of once he was given a little encouragement.
Of course, she wasn't sure she wanted to get rid of him.
Skidding to a stop in the parking lot, she saw the crowd, gathered in a loose semi-circle around the combatants. Two of Dillon's friends were holding onto Sam's arms, while Dillon stood in front of him.
Actually, while Sam looked much the worse for wear, so did Dillon, which made Hannah think that her friend might have been winning before the fight became unfair.
"Let go of him!" she yelled, running towards them.
None of the boys moved, but the crowd made a path for her. "Let go," she said. Hannah knew she was going to be really happy when high school was over. This shit was getting very old.
There was a long pause, and then Dillon said, "Stay out of this, MacDougall."
"Do you want me to rearrange your face?" she inquired politely, glancing over at the boys holding Sam's arms. "Let him go or I will hurt you."
They suddenly had no doubt in their minds that she would do exactly that. Hannah was radiating confidence and power, and it made them very, very nervous. They'd heard the rumors; they let go. "You okay, Sam?"
"Fine," he wheezed, his arm tight to his side. "Doing great."
She rolled her eyes and turned back to Dillon. "What is it with you assholes?"
Dillon's eyes narrowed. "Careful, little girl. This isn't a tea party."
"No, it isn't," she replied. "You remember what happened to Reuel when he put his hands where they didn't belong? Hands off me, and hands off my friends, Dillon."
He said something rather rude to that, and Hannah simply smiled. "No thanks, but I'm sure your buddies wouldn't mind."
Dillon snarled and lunged, but before Hannah could move, Sam had laid him flat with another punch, leaving the football player to clutch at his bleeding nose. "You don't touch her," he said quietly. "Next time, I'll make sure to catch you when your goons aren't around."
Sam looked at Hannah in surprise when she slipped an arm around his waist. "Come on," she said. "Let's get you cleaned up."
"Okay," he replied, thinking that at that moment he would follow her anywhere.
~~~~~
Buffy's house had never been so clean. Not that it was usually messy, but she hadn't had much to do with Spike gone. She'd gone patrolling a few times with Hannah, and she'd gone out on a job with Angel.
The Slayer had, in fact, gone about her usual routine, all the time with the knowledge that Spike wasn't there. He filled in the holes in her life, and he had become indispensable.
This was the longest period of time they had been away from one another since before Meg's birth. The longest time she had gone without contact with him since that dry spell after he had left Sunnydale, before they'd found one another again in L.A. She missed him so badly she could barely breathe, knowing as she did that they had not parted on great terms.
What if he never came back? What if something happened and the last memory he had of her was her anger and her rejection?
How could she have been so selfish?
So she cleaned house, telling herself that it would be nice for when Spike came home, not allowing herself to think the word "if." She cleaned because there were too many holes in her daily life without him there, and there was nothing else to fill it.
It was a craving that she could not satisfy, and so Buffy eschewed the company of others.
She sat down, putting her head in her hands, fighting back the tears. This was ridiculous. Just because they hadn't heard from Spike or Wesley didn't mean anything had gone wrong. Maybe they just had a hard time finding the place they'd been looking for.
It was the only feasible excuse that didn't involve injury or illness—or worse—for either of them, and so it was the only reason that Buffy would allow to enter her mind.
They were fine. They might be lost, but they were fine. She'd kick Spike's ass for not asking for directions later. After all, it would be just like him to get lost and insist that he wasn't.
The ringing of the doorbell startled Buffy out of her ruminating. She rose slowly, taking a deep breath, not wanting to show any sign of distress. When she opened the door to see Wesley standing there, her eyes widened. "Wesley? Where's Spike?"
Buffy peered around him, trying to catch a glimpse of her husband, but all she saw was Wesley's SUV parked in the driveway. "Wesley?"
"He's in the car, Buffy," he assured her quietly. Wesley appeared tired, the stubble thick on his face, and his clothing was badly wrinkled. "It's—it worked."
There was more to it than that; Buffy could hear it in his voice. "What happened?"
Wesley shook his head. "He's not a vampire any longer, but he's not completely human either. It's—he has his soul."
Somehow Buffy didn't find that at all surprising. "How bad is it?"
"It's not bad, Buffy," Wesley hastened to assure her. "He's still Spike, but—he's going to need you badly. I had a difficult time assuring him that coming back was the right decision. Spike has gotten it into his head that you wouldn't want him anymore."
She flushed deeply, knowing exactly how he'd come to that conclusion. "I'll take care of him."
"I know you will," Wesley said. He had been certain that once Buffy understood she would do whatever was necessary. The Slayer could be thoughtless and selfish at times, but she was also loyal, and she loved Spike deeply.
Spike needed that right now, more than anything Wesley could give him.
"I thought I'd pick Meg up and keep her at our place tonight," Wesley said quietly as they walked towards his car. "You'll want some time with him."
Buffy nodded. "Thank you, Wes. Have you seen Nika yet?"
"Not yet."
Buffy put a hand on his arm, causing him to pause. "Thank you for bringing him back to me."
"It was the least I could do."
~~~~~
"Ow!" Sam protested. "What are you trying to do to me?"
"Wash the blood off, nimrod," Hannah said almost affectionately. "We have to go pick my brothers up, and I don't want them running away screaming."
"I don't look that bad," he replied half-heartedly. Sam had seen himself in the mirror. His mother was probably going to kill him.
Hannah rolled her eyes. "Right. You just look like you walked your face into a fist. What were you guys fighting about anyway?"
"Nothing," Sam replied in a tone that told Hannah they'd been fighting about her.
She shook her head. "You have to let that kind of thing go, Sam. They're jerks, and I don't care what they say about me."
"I do," he retorted. "You're my—friend, Hannah. Besides, it was bad."
"What did he say?"
"I'm not going to tell you."
"Sam—"
"I mean it."
"Sam."
"He called you a frigid bitch and said someone ought to—" Sam stopped there, realizing he might need to cut out the graphic content. "He threatened you."
Hannah frowned. "They wouldn't do anything to me. The football players are still pissed that I dislocated the arm of their star running back and benched him for a few games."
Sam shook his head. "You don't get it, Hannah. They shouldn't be allowed to talk about you like that. It's one thing when it's just a little hazing. Everyone takes some of that shit, and almost everybody gets a chance to dish it out or at least outgrow it. This was ugly."
"There are a lot of really ugly people in the world," she said softly.
Sam stared at her. "You're not one of them. They shouldn't be able to touch you."
"Sam—"
"I know you're not like other girls, Hannah," he interrupted. "I watched what you did to that guy who was trashing me. That wasn't normal."
She couldn't help the blush that travelled up her face. "No, I'm a freak."
"You're special," he corrected her. "There's a difference."
Hannah wouldn't quite meet his eyes. "You're a sweet-talker."
"You want to go out with me then?"
"I don't know," she replied honestly. "I like you, but this—"
Sam took a deep breath, realizing that he had her on the ropes. She was about to say yes. "No pressure for anything," he assured her. "We can just be friends and hang out if that's all you want. I just want to be with you. And I want to take you to prom."
"Isn't that a little far away?" Hannah asked, amused.
Sam shrugged. "It's never too far away to start planning."
"If we're still dating, I'll go to prom with you." Hannah knew she was being impulsive. She knew that there was no way this would ever work. Slayers didn't date, and they didn't go to proms.
Except that things were different now. The number-one-Slayer, as Hannah called Buffy, had promised her a prom, and Hannah thought that if she was going to go to something stupid like that, it might as well be with Sam.
Actually, Sam was the only guy she'd want to go with.
"We'll still be dating," Sam replied with a grin. "After all, who else would come to my rescue?"
~~~~~
He wouldn't meet her eyes. That was the first thing that Buffy noticed.
The second was that the slice across his cheekbone was going to leave a scar.
Her hand went to his cheek by instinct, and Buffy felt warm skin under her hand. Spike moved his head slightly, maintaining the contact. "I missed you," she said.
Those three words seemed to release some kind of tension in him. Had he really been that worried about the welcome he would receive? "Missed you too, luv."
His voice was hoarse, and Buffy reached in to help him out of the vehicle. "Come on, Spike. Let's get you inside."
When Spike was out and standing, she looked over at Wesley, who had been looking on with a helpless expression on his face. "I've got him." Her eyes begged for him to understand.
Nodding, Wesley said, "Call when you want me to bring Meg home."
Spike didn't actually need Buffy's support to walk. He was weak, but not that weak. His limp had worsened, however, and Slayer's blood would no longer be the panacea it had been. She put her arm around him anyway, and Spike could feel her strength in a new way.
They didn't speak until they were both inside the house. "Do you—do you want something to eat?"
"Not really hungry."
"You'll probably want to get cleaned up then."
Conversation had not been this stilted between them for years. "Buffy—"
"Or sleep. You could rest too, if that's what you need."
"I'm sorry."
The words lay stark between them. Buffy led him into the living room, realizing for the first time that it was the middle of the day, and they had walked outside. She'd been so intent on Spike, she hadn't even noticed that he was out in the sun.
"For what?" she asked quietly, wondering what he would say, what changes the soul had wrought. It wasn't fair really, that she should love Spike without a soul only to have him go out looking for one. It was backwards.
No, that wasn't fair. Spike had only been looking to grow old with her. There was nothing wrong with that.
"For leavin' you," he whispered. "I never should have—it was selfish."
Buffy sighed. "Yes, but I understand. You were right to do this Spike."
"'m not the same man," he warned her. "Buffy—"
"I love you."
Those words released a dam of sorts. Spike's sobs shook his lean frame, and the Slayer gathered her husband into her arms, rocking him slowly, repeating over and over again, "I love you."
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