Two decades later…

Spike brushed away the dead leaves that had gathered at the base of the headstone and settled the bouquet of dusty-pink roses and the pint of ‘Double Decadent Walnut Fudge’ ice cream down in their stead. As he did every week, he pressed his palm over Buffy’s name and closed his eyes, remembering. Visions of their life flashed behind his lids … good times and bad, laughter and tears, love-making and heart-rending arguments, births and deaths.

Sometimes he’d remember something that had been completely forgotten only a moment before, and he wondered where the memory had come from.  Convinced that she’d sent the memory to him, he’d reach out with all his senses, trying to draw her to him, trying to touch her, trying to feel her golden warmth light his dark heart … but, it never worked.

Spike sighed as he opened his eyes and slowly drew his hand across the cold stone that was all he had left of his wife.

“Did as ya asked, pet,” he whispered to the marble. “Summer’s all grown now … not a Slayer. Married, she is. Decent enough bloke, I reckon, for a Yank.

“Can’t wait another day, Buffy. Been twenty years ... feels like two hundred. Comin’ for ya now .. comin’ to find ya, pet … like I promised.”

Spike pulled a bottle of whiskey from the pocket of his duster and sat down on the cold, hard ground, his back leaning against the tombstone, his legs sprawled open in front of him. The winter had been cold, as they all seemed to be, but there was no snow yet this year. Still, the ground was frozen, and the dead grass and leaves crunched beneath him as he settled into a well-worn spot on the backside of the headstone.

He opened the whiskey and took a long swallow from the bottle. With Buffy gone, it was the only thing that could bring any warmth to his bones, if not to his heart. With each passing year, it seemed to take more and more to make a dent in the frigid darkness inside him, but that was about to change. He was done. His obligation fulfilled. Summer was fine … more than fine, happily married, starting a new life. Anne had also remarried, and seemed happy.

Spike had made arrangements to transfer the house to Summer and her husband; the rest of his assets he'd put into trusts, dividing it all between Summer and Anne. He’d long ago stopped working for the Council, but the money they’d paid him through the years, with the help of Anya’s investing advice back in the day, had netted them a tidy sum. Summer and Anne would both have a comfortable nest-egg if they didn’t go crazy with it.

It was all set … there was nothing left to do now but drink himself into a stupor and wait for the sunrise.

**~**

The Slayer stood on the sidewalk in front of the oldest house on the quiet, tree-lined street in Austin. Nearly all the other houses on the street had been either updated into more modern styles or simply knocked down and rebuilt with all the modern conveniences. But not this one. This one looked like something from the mid-nineteen hundreds, if she had to guess. It was like stepping back in time.  She liked it. It had style.

She took a deep breath and practiced her introduction again. “Hi, my name’s … duh! As if they wouldn’t already know what your name is!  Ummm … Hi, we’ve never met, but I’m looking for someone who used to live here … ugh … that sounds lame.”

She sighed and started again, “Okay, let’s see … Hi, I know it’s kinda late, but I was hoping you might have some information for me about the people that used to live here … like a hundred years ago…”

The Slayer rolled her eyes and shook her head. “As if,” she moaned, frowning. “Well, standing here like a dead glockenspiel ain’t gonna get you any answers.” She didn’t actually know what a glockenspiel was, but she liked the word. It was one of the few words her Watcher said that she’d actually liked and remembered over the last few years.

She took a deep breath and headed up the walkway to the well-kept cottage … or was it a bungalow or … a Craftsman? She could never remember just what to call these old houses that actually had personality, unlike the sterile boxes that most people lived in these days. On the front porch she searched for the automated camera, retina scan, and intercom system to use to announce and identify herself, but couldn’t find anything that looked remotely like one.

Her frown deepened, unsure just what to do. “What did people do back in the 1950s?” she pondered aloud. History had never been her strongest subject … but then neither had math, English, French … chemistry had been a complete disaster with the whole school having to be evacuated … but only that one time. Gym … gym had been her best subject.

She sighed again as she racked her brain for a solution, then finally remembered her grandmother telling her about doorbells. “Doorbell … doorbell, if you were a doorbell, where would you be?” she pondered, looking at the door. It looked like a door – a really old door – no bells, no whistles. Then she noticed the button to the left of the door.

“Ha! Found ya!” she celebrated, enthusiastically pressing her finger down on the round button hard … perhaps a little too hard.

She heard a chiming sound come from inside the house, then something ‘popped’ and sizzled, like a wire shorting out. She quickly pulled her hand away from the button and clasped them behind her back innocently. Great way to start out – slay their antique, probably irreplaceable, doorbell.

When the door opened, she was greeted by an attractive young woman she guessed to be a few years older than she, with a thick mane of chestnut curls and vibrant blue eyes.

“Hi,” the Slayer began, faltering a moment as she tried to remember which of her introductions she’d decided to use. Finally, she mingled parts of all of them into one and went with, “I’m sorry to bother you. I know it’s mega-late. I was hoping to find someone who might know something about the family that used to live here. The Pratts?”

Summer’s brows furrowed deeply as she looked the woman over, confusion blanketing her features, her throat closing, voice suddenly gone.

When the woman who opened the door didn’t speak, the Slayer continued, “I know it’s been a long time since they were here, but, the thing is, my family kind of has a connection to them … to Jade … Jade Pratt?

“Actually, you could say she’s the reason I’m here ... of course, she is the reason I’m here here, like here on your porch – which is super-cute, by the way –  but I mean, she’s the reason I’m here … at all. See, she was a firefighter near the turn of the century and, well, she died saving my great-something grandmother and now I’m sort of on a quest.

“My Watcherrrrr … ummmm … see, I’ve had some … well … stuff going on and my friend suggested that maybe it would help to sort of … do some questing … kinda like … research, but, I don’t do research, so he didn’t say ‘research’. I think he thought that ‘quest’ sounded more like ‘Yay! Quest!’ instead of ‘Boo! Research!’ ya know? And now I’m rambling and you think I’m a crazy person and, really, I’m not crazy … much …”

The Slayer stopped talking, shaking her head slightly to clear her rambling thoughts. The first impression she was making wasn’t the one she’d hoped for. The woman in the door looked like she was about to bolt, or faint, or at the very least, slam the door in her face.

“Hi,” the Slayer began anew, smiling her most friendly, non-crazy smile and extending her right hand out toward the woman who looked like she’d seen a ghost. “My name is…”

“Buffy,” Summer interjected before the Slayer could finish. “Nana Buffy…”

**~**

Spike swallowed the last of the whiskey down, relishing the burn from his throat to his belly. He should’ve brought more … sunrise was still too far off to spend the next hours cold and still nearly sober. He pushed himself to his feet stiffly and patted a hand down atop Buffy’s headstone.

“Back in a mo, pet,” he assured it as he dug in his pocket to make sure he had enough money for another fifth, at least. There was an all-night liquor store not far away; he’d made this trek many times. A cold gust of wind kicked up leaves around him, chilling him to the bone and making him pull his duster tighter around his body. He quickly decided that he’d need at least two fifths to make it through this night as he headed for the cemetery gates.

**~**

“Ummm … no, just Buffy … not ‘Nana’,” the Slayer replied to the stunned woman in the door, her extended right hand being utterly ignored. “How did you know…?”

“You … you’re … Buffy … my Nana … Buffy Pratt.”

“Nooooo … I’m no one’s Nana,” the Slayer insisted, dropping her hand. “Unless you count the kittens that my friend Isis’ cat had in my closet. I still say that makes me no more than a great-aunt, but Isis said I was their Nana since they were born on top of my favorite sweater. What do you think? Don’t you think great-aunt for that, ruined sweater aside?”

Summer’s brows drew together tighter as the woman in front of her talked. Her Nana had been old, much, much older than this woman, but there were plenty of pictures around of a young Nana Buffy. Poppi had never put any of them away … it was like he was waiting for her to come back and pick up where they’d left off. And now … she had.

The Slayer’s eyes went wide as what Summer said sunk in. “Wait! You’re saying you’re actually related to the Pratts!? You … know something about Jade? And … this Nana Buffy … I was named after Jade’s mother … Oh my God … you … you knew her?!?”

Summer’s hand lifted up and touched the locket around her neck, the one Nana had given her the very day she’d died two decades before. The one that contained the magic … the courage, the strength of Jade and Will. She’d never seen any actual magic, no miracles … not until this very moment. 

“Ummmm … maybe you should come in,” Summer invited, stepping back and opening the door wider.

The Slayer could barely contain her excitement. This was so much more than she’d ever hoped for!  It was a thousand times more than she’d expected to find. She’d imagined blank looks and shrugs from the current owners of house that had been Jade’s home nearly three-quarters of a century ago.

As she stepped over the threshold of the historic home, she was bombarded with images, sounds, and emotions. Caught off-guard by the sudden assault of emotions, scents, sounds, and images, she gasped in surprise. Her eyes clamped shut as she fell into the vision, unable to stop it from invading her entire being. She saw a blond man lifting her up and carrying her across this very threshold and mustard yellow, threadbare, matted-down shag carpet.  The musty smell of a house long left empty assailed her nostrils along with the rich aroma of leather from the man’s coat.

Then she heard the man talking, his deep voice jubilant and loving, “Mrs. Pratt, allow me the honor of welcoming you to your new home.” Then she was kissing him and warmth bloomed in the Slayer’s heart … she knew what it was even though she’d never felt it outside her visions: love. Unconditional, undying love.  “Welcome home, Buffy.”

Her head spinning with the strength of the vision, Buffy reached for the nearest thing to steady herself, which happened to be Summer. The brunette wrapped an arm around the younger woman, “Are you alright? Sit down … here…” she suggested, concerned, leading Buffy to the nearest chair.

“I’m okay … just … got … little … light-headed,” Buffy excused as she dropped into the chair heavily. She pressed her hand against her eyes to try and assemble her thoughts and get her head to stop spinning. She’d had dreams and visions since being Called, but they’d gotten worse since the death of her mother a few months ago. Since then they always seemed to revolve around that same blond man with an English accent – a man she was sure she’d never met. She would’ve remembered him – most definitely.

“I’ll get you some water,” Summer suggested, heading for the kitchen before Buffy could object.

In the kitchen, Summer touched her ear and whispered ‘call Poppi’. In an instant, Spike’s voice came through the small communications device in her ear, “Not in the mood for bollocks just now. If it’s important, leave a message. If it’s not, why the bloody hell are ya in my soddin’ ear?”

“Poppi!!!” Summer gushed in a hushed whisper. “Where are you? Come home! There’s someone here you need to see. Hurry! Seriously! Hurry!”

Summer tapped her ear again to end the call and filled a glass of water from the filtered-water dispenser. She then hurried back to the living room with it to make sure the woman out there did not scamper off before Spike got home.

When Summer got back in the living room, her guest was holding one of the framed photographs from the end-table and staring at it in disbelief.

“Here you go,” the brunette offered, extending the glass out to the Slayer.

Buffy looked up at the other woman, her face ashen, her heart in her throat. “W-w-who … is this?” she asked, ignoring the water as she turned the picture around so Summer could see it.

The brunette cleared her throat nervously and sat the water down on the coffee table. “Ummm … that’s my Nana and Poppi … Buffy and Spike Pratt … when they were younger … errr … young.”

Buffy turned the photo back around, staring at it numbly. “She looks like … me.”

“Ummm … yeah, a little … there’s some resemblance … maybe … around the eyes … and … mouth … and … nose, chin … hair … but ... ummm … just a little,” Summer stammered.

“How … is that possible?” Buffy questioned, more to herself than Summer.

“Well, they say everyone has a doppelganger right?”

Buffy lifted her eyes up to stare at the other woman. “Who is ‘they’?”

Summer twisted her mouth up and scrunched her nose. “The they that … says stuff?” she suggested meekly, shrugging.

“And you say this man is…?” Buffy asked pointing to Spike.

“My Poppi, Buffy’s husband, Jade’s dad: Spike. He … should be home any time. You can meet him. I’m sure he’d really like to meet you.”

“I think I’d really like to meet him too,” Buffy murmured to herself before her brain started functioning again. “But, how’s that possible? He must be like … uber-old …”

“Oh, yeah, really old … very much with the oldness,” Summer supplied nodding knowingly. “Our family has really good genes … it’s a thing.”

Buffy shook her head. Math had never been her strong suit, but that seemed a bit of a stretch even with good genes. She decided to let it drop, though, not wanting to insult her hostess. She really wanted to meet this man … this man who had been haunting her dreams and visions.

Buffy had had no idea who he was until that moment. She thought that he was somehow related to Jade, to the Pratts, because many of the visions with him included fire of some sort. The legend of Jade Pratt, of how she’d given her life to save her ancestor, Nathalie Decker, from the fire at the apartment building here in Austin had been told at every family gathering for as long as Buffy could remember.  

The dreams and visions had been coming more and more frequently over the last few weeks, but they had started not long after her mother had died a few months ago. They’d become stronger, more and more distracting, and even debilitating as the weeks went on. Finally, when they had become a real threat to her well-being, her Watcher had suggested this ‘quest’ for answers.

So far, all she had were more questions.

**~**

Spike sauntered back from the liquor store, taking the long way around the park-like cemetery. There was still a good while before dawn and the walk was a familiar one; one he and Buffy had taken many times over the years. He had one fifth of whiskey in his duster pocket, and another was beginning to warm his gullet and belly a bit more with each swig from the bottle.

He suddenly felt a bit dizzy and light-headed, and had to lean on the cemetery fence to catch his balance. Pins and needles prickled his skin, shooting down his spine like lightning bolts. He hadn’t felt a Slayer in decades, but he recognized the feeling immediately. Spike brought up his demon to counter the power of the warning; he hadn’t felt anything this strong since…

“Buffy.”

Spike’s head shot up. His amber eyes were suddenly wide and alert as he scanned the area, both inside and outside the cemetery boundary, but he saw nothing, no one. He turned in a full circle, but still didn’t see or hear or even smell anyone nearby.

“Lost your bloody mind, you ‘ave,” he chastised himself as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to get the sensation to abate. “Off your gourd…” he grumbled to himself, shaking his demon off, even so he began walking a bit more briskly toward the cemetery gates.

**~**

Buffy knelt in front of the headstone, her heart in her throat, her name on the cold, hard granite in front of her.  Her head spun as she stared at the name: ‘Buffy Summers Pratt’.  How was that possible? Buffy Summers was her name.

When Spike hadn't called back or shown up, Summer had suggested coming here to look for him, but the graveyard had been empty. The Slayer looked up at the great-whatever granddaughter of her namesake with wide eyes. “What … what was her … given name … full … name? Do you know?”

Summer bit her bottom lip and tried to remember, but all she’d ever known her by was ‘Nana’ or at most ‘Nana Buffy’. She knew that she’d been named in honor of  ‘Summers’, but beyond that, she wasn’t really sure. “Poppi would know,” she told the Slayer, shaking her head. “I’ll call him again,” she suggested, taking a step back and tapping on her ear to make the connection.

Buffy nodded as Summer took a few steps away to make the call, then she turned her gaze back to the granite, looking at the dates. ‘1981 – 2108’. Even with her less-than-stellar math skills she knew that just wasn’t normal … in fact, it was pretty impossible.

Her fingers were drawn to the words beneath the dates: ‘Spirit Indestructible’. As she traced the letters, she was suddenly inundated with emotions – too many to even separate into anything that made sense. Joy, sadness, rage, elation, agony, heartbreak, awe, shame, anger, fear, pride, remorse, rejection, hope, amazement, love, hate … there seemed no end to the rollercoaster of emotions bombarding her.

Buffy’s eyes clamped shut. She gasped in a sharp breath of cold air and leaned heavily on the headstone as visions began flooding into her mind to go with the emotions. They flashed like lightning, short, quick glimpses of the blond man – Spike, she now knew – and her. Or was it her? She’d always thought it was her with him, but now … maybe it wasn’t her at all, maybe it was his wife, her long-dead doppelganger.

But it felt like her. She could feel the emotions that went with each vision. She felt the joy when their children were born, the heartbreak when they died. She felt the utter lonely despair, the knife twist in her gut, when he shouted at her to ‘Get the fuck out’ of his life. She felt the pure joyous love when he slid the wedding band on her finger. She felt her whole body flush with lust the likes of which she’d never experienced in her life when he slid his hardness into her, his blue eyes locked on hers, his lips whispering words of love.

Buffy collapsed onto her back next to the headstone, completely overwhelmed with the ‘surround-senses’ quality of the visions. Though the visions had gotten overwhelming recently, they’d never before been this bad. She writhed on the ground, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to get it all to stop, but her efforts were in vain.

She could feel, smell, hear, see, and touch it all as if she were fully experiencing each one right then. The visions continued bombarding her with too many emotions, quick flashes of faces, and glimpses of scenes that seemed at once familiar and foreign to her. One tableau after another burst like brilliant lightning behind her closed lids, filling her mind, her entire body, with sensations she was unprepared to cope with or control.

Suddenly, a warning burned like wildfire down her spine. Buffy had never felt such a strong vampire before in all her years as a Slayer. She forced her eyes open and tried to push up to her feet, fumbling in her coat pocket for her stake. She tried to yell at the girl to run … to get out of here, but she couldn’t get any sound to come from her throat.

The Slayer’s hand finally closed around her stake as she pushed up to her feet; her legs wobbly, her vision spinning. She’d no sooner pulled the sharp bit of wood from her coat pocket than she stumbled and fell backwards hard, cracking the back of her head on the granite of her namesake’s grave marker. The world, already swirling around her, began to spin out of control. Her conscious mind, utterly inundated with the visions, and now concussed as well, shut down, unable to cope with the unending flood of sensory overload. Still clutching her stake tightly, she slid down the headstone, her body going limp on the cold, hard ground as the world went black.

**~**

Spike hurried his steps even faster when he saw Summer in the Pratt family plot. The tingling down his spine had not abated at all, if anything it had gotten stronger. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that … Bloody hell!! Had Summer been Called? So late? She was twenty-five for fuck’s sake! He tossed the empty bottle of whiskey down, breaking into a jog as a thousand thoughts and worries bombarded him.

“Poppi! I’ve been trying to call you! Why don’t you put your com in!?” Summer chastised as Spike approached at a dead run.

So focused was he on Summer, his mind racing, thinking that she had been Called, that he didn’t notice the other woman, now on her back on the ground next to his wife’s headstone.

“What the bloody hell happened?” he demanded, rushing up to her and grabbing her by the upper arms, his eyes wide with worry and confusion.

“If you’d put your com in…”

“Sod that! What’s going—” Spike suddenly stopped as it became clear that the Slayer-warning was not coming the woman standing in front of him, but from behind him.

He spun around, releasing Summer’s arms and took two long strides around his wife’s headstone.

“I’ve been trying to tell you! It’s…”

“Buffy!”

Spike dropped to his knees next to the Slayer, his mind spinning, his undead heart jumping and lurching in his chest.

“Buffy! Buffy!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with surprise, excitement, and confusion. “How …? When..? How…?” he stammered, lifting her limp form gently onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her.

Spike dropped his face to her neck, holding her to him and a million emotions raced through him as her scent engulfed him. Her pulse raced in her veins, her heart pounded strongly in her chest. Her body was warm and vibrant, her hair shone like spun gold, her skin was once again soft and smooth, her body lithe and supple.  It was Buffy! From her scent to the beating of her heart to the feel of her skin and the silkiness of her hair, it was Buffy.

“Buffy, Buffy, God, Buffy …” he murmured against her neck, tears bursting forth from his eyes as he began to rock her gently on the cold ground. “How … Buffy, how did ya find me? How did ya get back? Buffy … Buffy … wake up, pet. Please … don’t leave me again,” he begged through his tears, unsure just what was wrong with her. “Please, Buffy … come back t’ me. Please, pet…”

“She was fine a minute ago. If you’d check your com once in a while…” Summer chastised again as she stepped up near Spike. “Poppi … she’s not … not Nana Buffy,” the girl informed him gently, squatting down and laying a hand on Spike’s shoulder.

“Poppi? Did you hear me? She’s not Nana. She doesn’t know us … she’s … she came looking for information about Jade and … I guess one of the people Jade saved is her … ancestor of some sort. Poppi? Are you listening?” Summer asked.

“It’s Buffy,” Spike disagreed, lifting his face up to look at Summer, his cheeks stained with tears. “It’s Buffy …”

Summer shook her head. “No…”

“IT’S BUFFY!” Spike insisted angrily, his face morphing briefly into his vampire visage. “Now use that bloody bug in yer ear to get some help ‘ere!”

Summer jumped back, unaccustomed to seeing his demon or being yelled at so vehemently. “Okay … fine … you’ll see,” she grumbled, stepping away from the angry vampire.

“I’ll call for help … I’ll go wait by the gates for them,” she told him as she began striding away angrily. “If you’d wear your damn com once in a while…” she continued muttering as she tapped her ear to make the call for emergency service.

But Spike wasn’t listening anymore. He’d buried his face back against the Slayer’s neck, holding her in his arms gently. “Buffy, please, pet. Please be alright …”

Suddenly, the Slayer in his arms gasped and her body jerked as her mind rebooted. The warning burning down her spine thrust her beleaguered consciousness back into action as her survival instinct kicked in.

Spike pulled back, his eyes wide and glistening. “Buffy! Slayer! Please … talk to me, luv! Buffy … please,” he begged hopefully.

Buffy’s eyes blinked open and Spike thought his heart would explode with joy. His whole body trembled; every cell in him seemed to have suddenly come to life. Buffy was here! She was back!

“Buffy, luv—” he began but stopped short, drawing in a deep gasp of unneeded air as the Slayer’s stake pressed against his chest.

Buffy’s fingers turned white as they gripped the wooden stake. There was a war waging inside her between her instincts and her heart, with her tangled, swirling mind caught between the two.

The Slayer instinct had only one agenda: kill the vampire. And there was no doubt this thing holding her captive was a vampire, a very old, very powerful vampire. But, another part of her, the part that was looking into his glistening blue eyes, felt differently about it. To her heart he was the man that had been haunting her dreams for months. The man that made her feel things she’d never before felt. Made her laugh, made her ache with desire, made her cry with joy, made her heart sing. He made her want things she’d never dared to dream of since being Called: love and family.

She could’ve staked him already and would’ve, if the Slayer had had its way, but her heart was holding her back. Her mind raced, trying to figure out what was going on, what the right course of action was. She’d never faced such a dilemma before – her heart and instincts had always been in sync. Kill the vampires. Kill the demons. Save the world. It was what she did and she did it very well … until now.

“W-who … are you?” she stammered out, her mind pointing out to her Slayer instinct that this vampire could’ve killed her by now if he’d wanted to.

“Buffy … luv,” Spike spoke calmly, careful not to lean in to the stake that was pressed firmly against his chest, directly over his heart. “It’s me … Spike.”

“Spike,” Buffy repeated. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Spike swallowed hard, never taking his eyes off hers, still holding her gently in his arms on the ground. “Reckon so, ya married me … had m’ babies … we might’ve saved the world a time or three.”

Buffy shook her head. “Not me…”

“Bollocks! Was you. Never forget ya, luv … never forget one bloody thing about ya,” Spike insisted.

Buffy narrowed her eyes up at him. “What’s my name?”

“Buffy—“

“My full, given name?” she clarified.

“Elizabeth Anne Summers Pratt,” Spike answered immediately, careful not to breathe too deeply and press the stake into his flesh.

Something flashed behind Buffy’s eyes. Surprise? Astonishment? Spike couldn’t quite tell.

“Not Pratt … I’m … just …” she stammered.

“Yer m’ wife. Forever. We promised forever, pet. We promised to find each other again and you ‘ave. You’re ‘ere … don’t know how, but ya came back t’ me,” Spike interrupted her, his voice thick with emotion. “God, Buffy … how?”

Buffy couldn’t stop the tears that welled in her eyes, but she couldn’t figure out why they were there. Something about the sound of his voice – so heartfelt and earnest – or maybe it was the thought of someone promising her ‘forever’ that brought them up. No one had ever promised her forever … she doubted anyone ever would. To a Slayer 'forever' could be over in the blink of an eye, a flash of fangs – how could she let anyone promise her 'forever' knowing that? She couldn't ... she never had, she'd never let anyone get close enough to want to.

“Not … me,” she croaked out, shaking her head and trying to blink away her tears.

“You…” Spike insisted as he slowly leaned forward. The stake pressed harder into his flesh, tearing this shirt and breaking the skin. He paused only momentarily. “If yer gonna stake me, then do it now, pet. I’ll still find ya again. Made a promise to a lady, didn’t I?”

Buffy felt the battle inside her raging: her heart pulling the stake back as he leaned forward while the Slayer fought to press it deep into the vampire’s heart. Her mind spun, unsure what side to take. Her grip on the stake slipped, then retightened … then loosened again as the war churned inside her.

“I love you, Buffy,” Spike murmured huskily as he continued to lean in. The stake pushed a bit deeper, cracking his rib, drawing a gasp of pain, but he didn’t stop. “I’ll love you forever.”

Suddenly, the pressure waned, the stake slipped slightly in her grip as her heart rejoiced at his words. She knew they weren’t for her – they were for some other Buffy – but she couldn’t stop her heart from gathering them up like warm, fuzzy kittens. Then her grip tightened again, the stake once again pressing dangerously over Spike’s heart, as the Slayer inside her screamed that he was going to rip her throat out if he got any closer.

“We’ve danced this dance before, pet,” Spike whispered, leaning in further, his lips now only a breath away from hers.

“You could never stake me … not then, not now,” he reminded her. “Dance with me, Buffy,” he invited silkily as his lips touched down onto hers softly.

The stake slipped from her grip, falling uselessly to the ground as his lips covered hers. The taste of him, the feel of him, the scent … it spun her already swirling head. As his tongue pressed between her lips she felt something inside her mind snap, like a dam bursting, and the visions she’d been having the last few months suddenly felt like a trickle compared to tsunami that flooded into her.

**~**

Twenty years ago ...

Watching from heaven on the day of her funeral, Buffy’s heart broke as she watched Spike read her letter asking him to stay for Summer’s sake. She’d been afraid to ask him in person, knowing that she’d see his heart break just as she was now. She couldn't bear to see the pain in his eyes ... not in person and not like this.

She sniffed back her tears and dried her eyes as she turned away from the viewing screen and faced her ‘handler’.

“Send me back. Now!” she demanded of Whistler, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

“Sorry, that’s not in my power…”

Buffy advanced on him and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, lifting him off the floor and slamming him against the sterile white wall of the antechamber where she’d been waiting for ‘processing in’. “Then get me someone who has some power, you little weasel! NOW!” she ground out through clenched teeth, releasing him and tossing him toward the door of the room.

Whistler choked and stumbled, catching his balance against the door. “They aren’t gonna like it…” he warned her.

“You must be confusing me with someone who cares!” Buffy spit back. “Just do it!”

“Okay, it’s your skin ... or soul,” Whistler muttered as he opened the door. “You have visitors, by the way,” he added as he stepped outside the small waiting room, leaving the door open.

Buffy was suddenly engulfed in a giant group hug which included her mother, her children and grandchildren, as well as Giles, Joan and India, Willow and Tara, and Xander and Anya.

When she was released, Buffy turned around within the circle of her friends and family, hugging each one in turn. “Oh my God, Mom! Giles! Jade! Will! … Joan!! How!?” Buffy asked, stopping at her doppelganger.

Joan smiled widely as she explained, “I was granted a modicum of your soul each time I saved your life, which was a moderately frequent occurrence if you recall. I am not certain how you have managed to remain alive for so many years since my heroic demise. Spike has apparently become more adept at keeping you from harm.

“In addition, I succeeded in expelling many threats to the safety of innocents from our dimension, qualifying me as a Champion and a Slayer honoris causa.” Joan’s Colgate-smile widened even further. “They had no choice but allow me entry into this higher dimension given my undeniably impressive credentials.”

Buffy laughed and hugged her twin again, squeezing her tightly. “I’m so glad you’re here with India. I was hoping you were.”

After Buffy had made her way around the group, hugging everyone in turn, she stopped in front of her mom. “I-I’m sorry, but I can’t stay … I have to go back. I have to get back to Spike,” she announced determinedly.

Joyce nodded and laid her hand against Buffy’s cheek, a soft, sad smile curving her lips. “I know, sweetie. We’ll help you … whatever you need.” Joyce looked around the filled-to-nearly-overflowing room. “They can’t fight us all.”

**~**

Lilah sighed and leaned back in her comfortable, leather chair as she looked around at the people filling her lavishly-appointed office.  

“You really want to go back?” she asked the Slayer at the front of the group.

“Yes! Immediately! And I want to be me … not some other person. I want to be Buffy Summers … Elizabeth Anne Summers. I want to look like me … young me, think like me, talk like me. I want my old memories, I want to be a Slayer, and I want to be immortal, just like Spike. Send me back and we’ll fight evil ‘til the end of time.” Buffy paused and looked at the woman suspiciously. “Which maybe isn’t top priority with you … how is it that you’re even here?”

Lilah rolled her eyes and began pulling papers out of a desk drawer. “Even the PTB need qualified legal advice,” she explained, laying the papers out in front of Buffy.

“Sign these …” the lawyer instructed. “In blood,” she added when Buffy reached for a pen.

“What do they say?” Buffy wondered, trying to peruse them quickly.

Lilah handed Buffy a dagger as she explained, “They say you’ll go back as you, that your old memories will be inside you, that you’ll be a Slayer, and immortal. It’s a standard reincarnation agreement, adjusted to fit your parameters.”

Buffy took the dagger from the attorney. “How long after I sign do I go?”

“It’s immediate,” Lilah explained.

Buffy sighed in relief and nodded. She could get right back to Spike … he’d only have been alone for maybe a week or so.

“Okay,” the Slayer agreed, turning to face her supporters. “I love all you guys so much … but … I have to be with Spike.”

“We know, honey,” her mother spoke for the group that had helped her fight through the PTB’s red tape to get here. “We love you, but we understand.”

Buffy hugged her mom again, squeezing her tight. “Thank you for everything, Mom. For Dawn's soul and giving us Jade and Will  … showing me the good in Spike ... showing me his heart and … just everything.”

Joyce hugged her daughter back, stroking her long, blonde hair and nodded. “Be happy, baby. That’s all I want for you … be happy.”

Buffy wiped the tears from her eyes as she pulled back from the hug. “I will be … with Spike I will be.”

The Slayer turned back toward Lilah’s desk, quickly swiped the blade across the palm of her hand, and slapped her hand down on top of the stack of papers, soaking them through with her blood.

**~**

Back in the cemetery, in Spike’s arms, his lips pressing against hers, tears welled in Buffy’s eyes. They had tricked her. They didn’t just send her back as she’d been, right at that moment to be with Spike. She’d been reincarnated … starting out life all over again. He’d been alone for twenty years! Pining for his soul-mate, his equal, his partner, his lover, his best friend, his spouse.

And so had she. The only difference was she hadn't known what was missing, why she felt so alone, not until now.

Bastards!

All her memories from her previous incarnation as Buffy Summers had been inside her, as Lilah had promised, but they had been locked away, hidden from her conscious mind. She could only assume that the death of her mother in this life in such a similar manner as she’d lost Joyce, had opened a crack in the wall that held those memories locked away from her.  Kissing Spike had opened the flood-gates, completely demolishing the wall between her two incarnations as ‘Buffy Summers’.

She blinked back her tears and swallowed her anger. She was here now. Spike was here … they were finally together. She wouldn’t waste another moment … not a single millisecond thinking about anything else.

In the next moment, her arms wrapped around Spike’s neck and she deepened the kiss, devouring his lips and tongue like a starving woman would devour a sweet, succulent fruit. Spike drew her to him tighter, holding her with all his strength, savoring the feel of her body in his arms, her taste on his lips, her passion flowing into him like life itself.

“Spike … Spike, baby … God, Spike …” she gasped, breaking the kiss a moment to breathe before pushing him over onto his back and pinning him down with her body.

“Buffy …” Spike began, but was cut off when her lips crashed against his again, her hips straddling his, her hands roaming over his body, beneath his shirt to feel his hard muscles and silky skin.

When her hand hit the wound from the stake, she gasped and pulled back, her eyes wide as something dawned on her. “Oh my God! I could’ve staked you, you stupid vampire!”

“Buffy?!” Spike questioned, looking up at her with wide-eyed wonder.

“Well, duh! You better not be out here snogging someone else on my grave!” she threatened.

“Buffy! You’re back! You know me? You remember?” Spike jabbered, pushing up to a sitting position beneath her.

Buffy’s features softened and she smiled at him, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek. “Yeah … Spike … I remember.”

“How…?” Spike asked, leaning into her touch. God, he’d missed her touch. Missed her eyes, her voice, her warmth, her laugh, the way she saw the world, the way she made him feel alive, as if he hadn’t died all those years ago.

“Let’s just say the PTB are no match for a bunch of Summers and Pratts … plus Joan and India, the Scoobies, and a grumpy old Watcher,” Buffy revealed. “I’m back, Spike … and I’m back to stay. Immortal … like you. I won’t leave you again … ever. Never leave you again, Spike. Never.”

Buffy leaned forward, touching her lips to his with a gentle sigh. It had been so long … too long. But that was over now, her loneliness was over now … so was Spike’s; she was home in his arms where she belonged.

She looked over at her headstone, then back into the joyful eyes of her husband.

“You’re stuck with me forever, Spike. You made my spirit indestructible.”

**~**

**~**   The End  **~**