Meanwhile, back in Austin …

Spike lunged for the already once broken and duct-tape repaired vase as it tumbled off the table. Jade had decided that particular table would make a good substitute for a jungle gym and was attempting to climb it.  He missed, and the expensive vase crashed to the floor and shattered into a hundred pieces.

“Bugger!” he growled as he lifted Jade up and away from the shards of antique porcelain. In the next instant he heard a loud thud come from the kitchen and Will began to wail in what was apparently mortal agony.

With Jade in one arm, Spike, in bare feet, jumped over the remains of the vase and hurried for the kitchen. He found Will sitting on the floor, tears streaming down his face and a knot the size of a quarter quickly rising on his forehead.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, setting Jade down and picking his son up to examine the bump.

He turned his back on his daughter for two seconds to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer and, when he turned back around, she was gone.

“Princess! NO!” he screamed after her as she toddled on unsteady legs back into the living room, right toward the dangerous shards of broken vase.

The girl didn’t look back, didn’t even slow down at her father’s panicked admonishment.

“Bloody fuck!” Spike exclaimed, racing for her as Will continued to wail in his left ear.

Spike caught her by the back of her shirt just in time to keep her small, bare feet from trouncing on the sharp chips of porcelain that covered the floor.

Jade began to scream and cry, struggling against her father, and Will had not let up one iota either. Spike pulled his daughter back to him and lifted her up, as well, creating a stereo effect with one child screaming bloody murder in each ear.

Then the doorbell rang.

“Fuck off! We don’t want whatever you’re sellin’!” Spike screamed over the top of the babies as he turned and started back into the kitchen with them.

“You may want what I’m selling,” came a slightly amused voice from the other side of the door.

Spike stopped and let out a sigh of relief. He turned back, both babies still in his arms, jumped over the shards of vase again, and opened the door.

India smiled at him. “Having a bad day?”

Spike snorted. “That’d be the understatement o’ the century,” he agreed, taking a step back from the doorway.

“I guess that means Buffy and Joan aren’t back yet,” the young artist posited as she stepped inside.

“What gave ya that idea?”

India laughed that melodic, joyous laugh she had and waved a hand to encompass pretty much the whole scene. “Have you been … painting?” she wondered, touching a finger to Spike’s face.

Spike furrowed his brow and scratched at his cheek where she’d touched him. Flakes of red paint came off under his nails. He rolled his eyes. “Yesterday … finger painting,” he revealed over the babies’ continued crying.

India laughed and nodded. “I see … well, you look very good in red and pink … green, blue … and puce.”

“Bloody hell,” Spike groaned, jiggling the babies in his arms to try and get them to stop crying. “Didn’t ‘ave the energy t’ get a shower last night. Guess I … forgot t’ look in the mirror too.”

India laughed again. “Do you need some help? … With the babies I mean – not the shower.”

Spike moaned with relief as he handed her both crying babies. India simply laughed at his relieved expression and took them from his arms.

“Stay ‘ere … let me clean this up,” he instructed her as he headed back to the kitchen for a broom and dustpan, once again leaping over the broken vase.

“♫ Hush little baby, don’t say a word…” India began crooning gently to the babies as she turned and headed out onto the front porch with them. As Spike cleaned up the mess in the house, she sat on the glider swing and rocked them, getting them both to calm down.

After a few minutes, Spike showed up with the ice pack for Will that he’d dropped and forgotten when he’d rushed after Jade.

Finally calmed down a bit himself, Spike sat down next to the artist. His face had been freshly scrubbed and was now free of yesterday’s paint experiments. He reached out and took Will from her so he could apply the cold pack to the boy’s forehead.

“So, when do you think they’ll be back?” India wondered as she began entertaining Jade with her car keys.

Spike pressed the cold pack against the knot on Will’s head, his chest constricting with fear. He tried to make his voice sound as casual as possible when he finally spoke. “Should only be … dunno … a few days.”

“Joan wasn’t really very clear in the note she left me. They’re visiting … family back in California?”

Spike nodded. “Yeah … got a spot o’ trouble with one … uncle. They went t’ sort it out.”

“It’s funny, Joan never talks about her family … I mean, other than you and Buffy and … these guys,” India continued, jostling Jade a bit in her lap.

“Well, reckon there’s a reason we live ‘ere and not back in Sunnydale, yeah? Some things are best left … in the past.”

India nodded thoughtfully and they both fell silent for a few minutes. Finally, the artist broke the silence. “Is Joan … what I mean is … ummm …” she stammered a moment, then sighed heavily.

“Just say it, pet,” Spike advised.

India nodded and began again, “Is Joan … with you … I mean, I know she lives with you, but is she with you or … I mean … I get vibes off her sometimes, but she’s never …” India sighed again. “Is Joan into women at all?”

Spike smirked, but kept his face tilted down looking at Will and the bump on the boy’s forehead.

“She’s … fairly open minded,” Spike replied noncommittally. “What about you?”

India scrunched up her delicate features, twisting her lips to one side. “I never have been before, but … Joan’s different, ya know? I can’t really explain it. She’s just sooo … alive. So smart and amazing and just the way she sees the world is so unique. I just love her …” India cleared her throat. “… her ... outlook on life.”

Spike finally looked up at her and gave her a small smile. “Yeah, she’s a … pretty rare breed, to be sure. Right now I think she’s … committed to our family, but …” Spike shrugged. “Ya never know what might happen tomorrow, yeah?”

India smiled and nodded. “The only thing certain is nothing is certain.”

Spike again felt his apprehension and worry for Buffy and Joan rise like a flood of icy fear in his chest, pushing his heart up into his throat. It had been three days without a word from either of them, and he was on the verge of losing what was left of his mind. He’d more than once packed the babies’ diaper bags and put them in car, intending to head to California – only his promise to Buffy stopped him. He said he would wait. He had been right: it was the hardest promise he’d ever had to keep in his entire life.

 “Ain’t that the bloody truth?” he croaked out in a low whisper, blinking back his emotions.

**~**

Later that night, Spike pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked to make sure it was on and working for perhaps the hundredth time since he’d put the babies to bed an hour and a half ago. He stared at the stupid thing, willing it to ring or buzz or whatever-the-bloody-fuck it did, but it just sat there dumbly in his hand.  He’d already filled up Buffy’s voicemail; there was no sense even trying to call again.

What he really wanted to do was crush it in his hand and smash it against the wall, then grind it into dust under his heel. That would teach the bloody thing not to ring!

“You better keep your promise, Slayer, I kept mine,” he said to the phone. He meant it to be an angry demand; it came out as a pathetic plea. He glared it for several more minutes, then sighed, his shoulder’s slumping.

Deciding that skipping showers was probably not the best idea in the world, Spike headed for the upstairs bath. He set the phone down on the counter next to the sink and got undressed, then stepped in under the warm spray.

When the babies were awake, there was little time for contemplation, but now, with the water raining down on him and his children fast asleep, the weight of the world seemed to descend on him. He bowed his head and let the water wash away his tears. What was he gonna do if Buffy didn’t make it back? How could he ever survive the heartbreak?  The guilt? How could he not? There were two innocent babies in the next room that were depending on him. His tears came harder as he wondered how could he ever explain it to them; explain how he'd let their mother go off while he stayed home like a poof. Explain how he'd let her down again; how he hadn't kept her safe. How he hadn't kept is promise ... again.

“Please, Buffy … please just come ‘ome,” he plead to the empty room as a deep sob rolled through his body.

Suddenly, his phone ‘binged’.

Spike jumped at the sound, not sure what it even was, it had been so long since he’d heard it. A millisecond later, realization struck him. He thrashed at the shower curtain to get it open, tearing it and the rod down and sending it all to the floor with a clatter. He lunged for the phone, his hands, his whole body really, was wet and slippery, dripping with soap and water. The slick bit of electronics slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor with the shower curtain. Spike dove after it, wildly tearing at the plastic and fabric curtain to retrieve the phone. He slipped on the bottom of the tub and tumbled down, but never lost his concentration as his hands closed around the elusive bit of plastic.

He held it up and stared at it with wide, hopeful eyes. ‘One new text,’ it announced. He pushed the icon and opened the message, ‘Me <3 U 2.’

“Buffy!” he screamed, holding the phone up with both dripping hands so it couldn't escape again. He began to press the speed dial to call her again when Pat Benatar began daring him to ‘Hit Me with Your Best Shot’: Buffy’s ringtone.

“Bloody fuck!” he exclaimed, trying to right himself on the floor and find the right button to push to accept the call at the same time.

“Slayer! Slayer!” he yelled frantically into the phone, his eyes wide with a combination of worry and hope.

“Spike! We’re ok. Everything’s ok. We’re coming home.”

A couple of days later…

Buffy pulled the borrowed police car into the detached garage, narrowly missing the shelves of paint, stripper, and varnish that lined one wall. Joan had to slide over and get out on Buffy’s side because she couldn’t open her door more than three inches.

“Spike typically parks directly in the middle,” she observed as she crawled over the police radio and other paraphernalia that took up the middle of the seat.

“Whatever,” Buffy scoffed. “I don’t know why he wanted me to put it in here in the first place,” she complained, holding the door open for Joan.

“Because it is a stolen…”

“Borrowed!” Buffy corrected.

“Because it does not belong to us and may raise questions from local authorities if parked in the driveway or on the street,” Joan amended.

“Did you see how far away he moved the DeSoto? It’s like halfway down the block! What did he think, I’d crash into it if it was in front of the house?” Buffy continued to complain as she helped Joan stay upright with her port-side list … or was it starboard?

“I am very certain that was a consideration in his decision-making process,” Joan agreed as the two blondes began walking out of the garage.

“Hey! What about me!?” Andrew whined from the backseat, unable to open the doors from the inside.

Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes. “I was hoping he wouldn’t notice we’d left,” she whispered to Joan. Buffy leaned Joan against the wall and went back and opened the door for Andrew.

“Geez! About time!” he complained as he clambered out of the back and stood up, rubbing his backside. “That seat wasn’t made for interstellar travel. It might be fine for droids and Slayers, but…”

“You’re welcome,” Buffy cut him off tersely, turning back to help Joan away from the wall.

“I’m just sayin’…” Andrew sighed as he looked around. “So … is this the lair of the Slayer and her Vampyr lover? Hiding in plain sight. Keeping a low profile. Holly Homemaker by day, Caped Crusader by night … keeping the suburbs safe…”

“Andrew, this is the garage. If you don’t want this to be your lair, I suggest you shut up and come on,” Buffy retorted as she and the Bot hobbled toward the open garage door.

Before they could step outside into the sunlight, however, they were met with a smoldering vampire who crashed into them, pushing both girls back against the trunk of the borrowed police car.

In a moment they were enveloped in Spike’s arms as he dropped frantic, if slightly smoky, kisses over their faces. The constrictive band that had been cinched tightly around his chest the whole time they’d been gone, had finally loosened. They were home! They were safe, if slightly worse for wear, apparently.

They’d talked on the phone as soon as Buffy had gotten a signal after leaving Sunnydale, and several times since then, but seeing them – beleaguered but alive – with his own eyes, finally made it real. They were home. Buffy was home. Thank bloody God.

“Missed you so bloody much,” Spike murmured to them. “Love you so much. Thought I’d go mad ‘ere waiting. Don’t ever do that again, Slayer! You hear me? Never a-bloody-gain! Don’t you leave us again,” Spike admonished Buffy, hugging both of them to him with bone-crushing strength.

“I’m sorry, Spike,” Buffy croaked through her tears. “I promise, I won’t. I won’t leave our family again. I love you, baby … love you so much.”

Spike continued to hold them both as tears stung his eyes. He’d been so afraid he wouldn’t see either of them again. It was a bloody miracle to have them home and in his arms again.

He’d been going mad for days. The only thing keeping him from imploding or running after them were the two little tykes that Buffy had left in his protection. He’d let Buffy down before. He hadn’t kept his promise to protect Dawn and he’d let the Council take Buffy – he would not mess up this time, and he hadn’t. The little bits were fine; they missed their mum and Aunt Joan, but they were fine. There had been no attacks of preachers, blind demons, or anything else while Buffy and Joan had been gone.

After several long minutes just holding each other there in the garage, Spike pulled back a bit and said, “Somethin’ you need t’ see, luv.”

Buffy wiped the tears of relief at being home from her eyes when he pulled back. “What is it?”

“Sunnyhell … on the telly,” Spike related.

Buffy’s brows went up, but she nodded and reluctantly released her hold of him. “Where are the babies?” she asked, still wiping away her tears.

“They’re fine … nappin’,” Spike assured her.

Buffy put her hand on the side of Spike’s face and pulled his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. “I missed you … missed the babies … missed home,” she admitted when the kiss broke.

Spike nodded. “Good,” he scolded, his voice hard, but the love pouring over her from his cobalt blue eyes told her he was just posturing.

Buffy gave him a small, knowing smile and a nod of her head as she and Joan pulled away.

“Right,” Spike began, heading toward the open garage door. “Reckon I’ll meet ya on the porch then,” he announced as he pulled his duster up over his head and made the dash from the detached garage to the back porch.

“It would seem more sensible to build a cover for the walkway rather than risk fatality in that manner,” Joan pointed out.

Buffy nodded as she and Joan stepped out from the shade of the garage and into the sunlight. “I guess we need to put that on the list,” she agreed.

Buffy tapped the garage door control on her way by and the door began to close as they stepped through.

Andrew had been stunned into immobility and silence at Spike’s appearance. The Slayer’s Vampyr lover was the coolest, handsomest guy Andrew had ever seen in person.  If not for the restraining order from Timothy Dalton, Spike would be the second coolest guy … but that’s a whole different story.

Andrew stood near the side of the car, still entranced, as he watched Spike leave again. Tchaikovsky’s Love Theme from Romeo & Juliet played in his ears as little blue birdies flitted around his head and stars danced in his eyes. His heart thudded against his ribs as he continued to stare, wide-eyed, at the spot where Spike had been standing, as if he could still see him there.

He was suddenly jerked from his reverie by the sound of the garage door sliding down. “Hey! Wait for me!” Andrew shrieked, practically diving for the slowly diminishing opening beneath the door.

He hurtled himself through the air, crashed hard onto the cement, and rolled out from under the door in dramatic fashion. Outside, Andrew sprung back up to his feet and tried to look nonchalant. “Whoa! An Indy Hat Roll!”

Buffy quirked a questioning brow at the geek. 

“You remember!” Andrew insisted excitedly. “In ‘Temple of Doom’, when Indy had to dive under the door to escape the descending spikes, just barely getting out at the last nanosecond? Then, in a much copied, but never equaled iconic move, he reached back and grabbed his treasured hat just in the nick of time? I’m totally there! Only … ya know, I don’t have the hat.” 

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you could give Indy a real run for his money.”  She looked over at the slow-moving garage door. It was still less than half-way down; he could’ve just ducked under and walked out. “You are such a geek.”

**~**

Spike was holding the backdoor open for the girls when they made it to the porch. Still using each other for support, they went inside, but before Spike could follow them Andrew was there, stopped right in front of him, blocking his path.

“Hey, ummm … Hi,” Andrew stammered. He waved lamely, then began fidgeting with a button on his shirt, unable to meet Spike’s eyes.

Spike crossed his arms over his chest and just stared at him.

Andrew shrugged, trying to look casual in front of the Adonis before him. “Don’t I get a welcome home hug?” he suggested shyly, finally looking up at Spike’s face and giving the vamp his best lost-puppy look.

Spike cocked a brow at him. “Not bloody likely. Plus, not your home,” he grumbled, still not pleased that Buffy had brought the little geek home with her like a lost kitten. She’d explained on the phone that he could fix Joan, but that didn’t mean Spike liked having a strange man in their house. Although … now that he saw the poofter, that worry faded considerably.

Andrew pouted, stomping his foot down petulantly and crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you have any idea what I’ve sacrificed to come here? My mint-in-box, collectable Star Wars action figures are probably crushed into little bits in the trunk, my butt feels like it spent a year riding an Akk Dog, and my bladder may be ruptured ‘cos Buffy wouldn’t stop at reasonable intervals.”

“You needed to stop every twenty miles!” Buffy protested from inside the house. “I told you not to buy that Big Gulp!”

“I have a very small bladder, it runs in my family – it’s not my fault!” Andrew defended. “No one appreciates the harrowing experiences I’ve been through on this expedition! I had to ride all the way across the galaxy in the back of a police car driven by a psychotic Slayer … who can’t drive!”

“Ungrateful little twerp! Remind me to never save you from grumpy vampires again,” Buffy called back over her shoulder as she and Joan headed through the kitchen toward the living room.

After a moment, Spike turned his attention back to the poofter. “So, ya rode all the way from California t’ Texas in the back of a car that Buffy was drivin’, eh?” Spike pursed his lips together to conceal a grin at the image that sentence evoked.

Andrew sniffed and lifted his chin defiantly. “She drives worse than a Wookie after a gallon of Thikkiian brandy. Riding with her is more dangerous than jumping into hyperdrive using a malfunctioning nav comp.”

Spike coughed to cover his laugh. “Tougher than ya look, I reckon,” he admitted, after checking in the house to see where Buffy and Joan were.

The squeals of delight and silly baby-talk that suddenly filled the air told him they’d just gotten the babies up from their naps. His heart lifted again, buoyed by the sheer joy of the laughter coming from inside the house. Buffy was home. Will and Jade had their mother back. Thank bloody God.

The next thing he heard was the volume of the TV being turned up and the newscaster talking about the giant sinkhole that swallowed Sunnydale, California.

Spike turned his attention back to the little poofter and considered him a moment. “Anyone that can survive that definitely deserves a bloody hug.” Spike spread his arms.

Andrew’s eyes went wide, his heart lurched and jumped in his chest, and the romantic music began to rise to a crescendo. He quickly stepped forward into Spike’s embrace before the Slayer’s Vampyr lover changed his mind. 

“Tell anyone ‘bout this and I’ll rip your lungs out,” Spike warned, giving Andrew a swift pat on the back and pulling away from him.

“Mr. Giles said that you had a chip implanted by the army and couldn’t hurt humans anymore. He said you’d been castrated,” Andrew revealed as Spike backed away, much too soon in Andrew’s estimation. The girls had gotten a fifteen minute hug, he got like three seconds.

Spike narrowed his eyes and a low growl rumbled from deep inside him. “Don’t believe everythin’ ya hear,” he warned the little ponce.

Andrew swallowed nervously and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “No offense. I only meant …” he shrugged. “After I get the Bot … I mean Joan fixed up, maybe together we could … help you out with that.”

“How ya figure?” Spike asked, suddenly interested.

Andrew shrugged again. “Well, between the two of us – me and Joan –  I bet we could hack into those old army files and find the chip’s schematics, information about how it works and where it was implanted. Maybe find a way to deactivate it or … even remove it.

“Of course, assuming you … wanted it … removed.”

“Had a bloody doc try to remove it once, said it was too delicate … couldn’t do it,” Spike pointed out. “Not gonna let you muck about in my brain.”

“Oh! I wouldn’t … no! I can’t stand the sight of blood. It’s all red and … sickening.” Andrew shuddered. “But Joan – if we could download the procedures they used to implant it onto her hard drive …” Andrew shrugged a shoulder, “… she could do it easy-peasy.”

Spike furrowed his brow, then looked through the open door to where Joan and Buffy had disappeared into the living room with the bits. They weren’t watching or listening to Spike and Andrew at all. “That right?” he asked the geek off-handedly.

“Totally. She can do almost anything with the right programming. She’s sooo amazing,” Andrew gushed. “Warren really went all-out on her. Of course, there are some things that could be upgraded now, since – duh! technology changes at quasi-lightspeed – but … she could totally do it.”

Spike grinned like the cat that ate the canary. “Welcome home … errr … what was your name again?”

“Andrew Wells. Tucker’s brother … he did the hellhounds at the prom – not me. I did the demon monkeys at the school play, which was waay cooler.”

“Welcome ‘ome, demon-monkey-Andrew,” Spike offered, wrapping an arm around the smaller man’s neck – making Andrew gasp in pain and surprise –  and pulling the ponce into the house with him.

**~**

In the house, Buffy and Joan were sitting on the couch watching the TV. Buffy held the two squirming babies in her arms, refusing to let them down, despite their demands to the contrary. She murmured words of love and dropped soft kisses in their curls and on their little faces, going from one to the other as TV announcer droned on about the unprecedented sinkhole that had swallowed a whole town in California.

They were just starting to talk about the estimated monetary damages again when a new voice cut in excitedly, “We now have our live, on-the-ground feed up from the site! Jerry, Jerry, can you hear me?”

A new face came onto the screen – apparently Jerry. “I can barely hear you, Jillian, but I believe we’re up. I’m standing here at the edge of an immense crater that used to be the town of Sunnydale, California. The entire town of nearly 35,000 was consumed by a sinkhole only hours ago. The death-toll is unclear, but we have survivors. Sir, sir, your name is?” Jerry shoved the microphone into the face of a weary-looking middle-aged man.

“Giles,” Buffy murmured, turning her full attention to the screen but still keeping the babies in her embrace.

Giles removed his glasses and turned glazed eyes to the camera. “Rupert Giles,” he responded stiffly.

“And can you tell us what happened here?” Jerry pressed.

“Errr … it appears to be as you said, the town was … devoured from … beneath. Apparently there was a … sinkhole.”

“How did you and your companions escape?” the newscaster asked excitedly as the camera panned to a group of women standing near a school bus behind Giles.

“Very quickly,” Giles replied dryly.

“Look – there’s Faith,” Buffy pointed at the screen. “She’s still got my damn axe, too,” she added dourly.

“She appears to be injured. There is blood apparent on her clothes and abrasions, as well as bruises, on her skin,” Joan remarked.

“Good,” Buffy growled. “Serves her right, telling me I had a 'saggy ass'.”

“I do not see the Magnificent Poof,” Joan continued.

“It’s sunny,” Buffy offered. “He might be hiding on the bus.”

“Perhaps he was dusted,” Joan suggested.

“Be still m’ heart,” Spike crooned sarcastically, holding a hand over his very still heart. “That’d make this the best day in bloody history,” Spike remarked from where he now stood behind them. Andrew had excused himself to use the facilities.

Buffy shot Spike a conspiratorial smile over her shoulder, then turned back to the screen.

“Do you believe they were successful in averting the apocalypse?” Joan asked trying to straighten her head and body from its sideways tilt, but failing.

“Well, we’re still here – I guess that’s a clue,” Buffy observed, hugging the babies to her even more tightly and burying her face in their soft curls.

**~**

“What the bloody hell do ya think you’re doing?” Spike demanded of Andrew later that night.

Andrew jumped and spun around, nearly dropping the no-longer-mint-in-box Boba Fett action figure that he’d been about to set on the dresser. “Errr…”

“This ain’t your room,” Spike continued.

“Joan said … since we’d be working together closely and I’d be … fixing her and … all,” Andrew stammered, wide-eyed and frightened.

Spike pressed his tongue against his teeth and cocked a brow at the geek. Maybe he’d misjudged the little ponce. “You thinkin’ ‘bout getting lucky with one o’ my girls?”

Andrew shook his head adamantly. “No! No, no! I … It’s just …” he stumbled over the words, then sighed heavily. “I don’t like to sleep alone. I get night terrors.”

“I am a night terror,” Spike rumbled threateningly.

Andrew blanched, turning white as a sheet and seemingly shrinking four inches in height.

Spike rolled his eyes. That was too easy. “You sleep down the hall.” He pointed to a door at the other end of the house. “Reckon your little friend there ...” Spike narrowed his eyes to read the name on the box, “…Boba can keep you company enough.”

Andrew sagged and hugged the box to his chest. “This is so unfair,” he muttered to himself. “I miss Jonathan.”

**~**

Later, after checking to make sure everyone was in their proper beds, Spike, dressed in his jeans and nothing else, came into the master bedroom. He was met with the vision of Buffy standing nude in front of the full-length mirror turning this way and that, studying her own reflection. He closed the door gently and leaned back against it, never taking his eyes off her. He watched her for a long while, his heart overflowing with relief that she was home in more-or-less one piece. 

Her face was a mask of concern and concentration as she studied her body from one angle, then another. After a few moments, she caught him watching her. Still looking rather dour, she asked with great solemnity, “Is my ass saggy?”

“What?” Spike barked out the word with a laugh as he pushed off the closed door and moved toward her.

Buffy pouted and went back to looking in the mirror. “Angel and Faith said my ass was saggy.”

“Did they, now?” Spike questioned as he reached her, pulling a serious mask in place over his features. “Well, let’s see ‘ere.”

Spike turned her around to face him, clamped his hands over the cheeks of her ass, and pulled her body against his. Keeping his face a study in concentration, he kneaded the globes of her ass gently, pulling her hips forward and pressing her sex against his raging, jean-clad hard-on.

“Well?” Buffy asked, her breath catching in her throat as she felt his hardness against her.

“Not sure, pet. This is gonna take more research,” Spike replied solemnly.

“What … kind of research?” Buffy wondered as she trailed her fingertips gingerly down his chest.

“The best kind,” Spike replied, dipping his head down to capture her lips.

Buffy responded, wrapping her arms around his neck and melting into him like a candle left too long in the sun. Spike lifted her up by the ass in question and Buffy’s legs automatically cinched around his hips as they got lost in the passion of the kiss. Spike turned and walked with her over to their large bed which had felt so empty the last several days without her.

He laid her down onto her back gently, breaking the kiss only to allow her to breathe. His lips trailed over her heated skin, down her neck to her old scars, which drew his mouth like a magnet.

“Missed you so much, Buffy,” he murmured against her as his lips, teeth, and tongue made love to the soft skin on her neck. “Was so bloody worried. Thought I’d lose my mind … Never want to lose you, pet. It’d kill me … it’d bloody well kill me. Love you so much. You’re my heart … you and the bits, you’re my whole world.”

“I missed you too. I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry we argued … sorry I broke my promise. I swear I won’t go away again. I guess I really am the ex-Slayer. Faith and her skanky ass can have it. Me and my saggy ass don’t need that crap.”

Spike smirked and pulled back to look at her. “Alleged ‘saggy ass’,” he corrected. “Research is still underway on that, pet.”

Buffy gave him a smile. “Any preliminary observations you’d like to share, Professor?”

Spike gave her a serious look and shook his head. “Much too early t’ tell. There’s tons … tons and tons o’ research t’ be done first.”

Buffy wagged her brows at him lecherously, her mouth twisted into a grin. “Ooo, I like the sound of that.”

“God, I missed that smile,” Spike purred silkily as he dropped his lips to hers again.

Buffy moaned her own miss-age against his mouth as her hands began exploring his bare torso again. Soon, she was thwarted by his jeans, however. She pulled back, panting for air and informed him, “You have too many clothes on to research properly, Mr. Pratt.”

“Bugger,” Spike agreed, jumping up and quickly shedding his jeans, leaving them in a heap on the floor. “Now then … we can get down to the proper research, luv. Gotta warn ya, could be an all-nighter.”

“Ooo … I like the sound of that, too!” Buffy giggled as she eagerly welcomed him back into her arms.

**~**

Spike spooned against Buffy’s back, nibbling lightly at her neck as they both sighed contentedly.

“So, what’s the verdict, Professor?” Buffy wondered, her words coming out as a slow, spent murmur.

“Peaches and the Slayer chit are nutters,” Spike replied, just as torpidly.

Buffy huffed out a breath of air. “Yeah, but, what about my ass?”

Spike smiled against her heated skin. “Needs more study,” he retorted sleepily, pressing his hips a little harder against her backside.

“Mmmm,” Buffy moaned, stifling a yawn. “Nap first?”

“Brilliant,” Spike agreed lazily, allowing his eyes to fall closed, his face buried beneath her gilded locks, his lips still against her neck.

“By the way,” he continued after a moment, his eyes never opening. “Geek-boy thinks he can get this bloody chip outta my head. Brilliant that, eh?”

Buffy’s eyes flashed open, big as saucers, suddenly wide awake. “Really? Get the chip … out? As in … out out?”

“Mmmm,” Spike agreed, nuzzling closer to her, not noticing her suddenly racing heart or the near-panic in her voice as he fell into a contented sleep for the first time in days.

**~**