Arizona

Prologue

"Mom."

"Buffy!" Joyce cried. Her mother's voice held its usual amount of relief and fear. Relief that she had called, fear that this could be the last time.

"Mom." The word was said with a hint of warning.

"I'm sorry. Anne. How are you?" Joyce asked quickly. Anne couldn't help but smile.

"I'm fine. Really good, actually. How's the Hellmouth?" She asked with a nervous laugh. She vaguely wondered if their monthly phone calls would ever get better. Somehow, she doubted it.

"And Matt?" The hint of longing rang across the miles, making it seem as if her mother was right there in front of her.

"He's good. Did you get the package I sent?"

"Oh, yes. He's so beautiful. I wish I could see him." Joyce told her. Anne closed her eyes against the wave of guilt that crashed over her.

"I. . .I know mom."

"Baby, why can't you come home?" Tears flowed down Joyce's face, the ache in her heart nearly unbearable.

"You've seen the pictures mom. You know why." Anne wiped her own tears away, and twisted the metal chord of the payphone through her fingers.

"Honey, you know it doesn't matter to me. . ."

"I know it doesn't matter to YOU. Or Giles. That's not what I'm worried about." Anne interrupted, feeling the hold on her temper strain just a little tighter. "Maybe when he's older. Not now." She listened as her mother sighed, the older woman's disappointment thick.

"Whatever you feel is best, honey." she conceded, finally.

"Yeah." What was best, she echoed in her head. For not the first time, she found herself wondering just what that was. "Look, mom. I gotta go. Give Giles my love."

"Of course. Do you want me to say anything to Willow, or Xander?"

"Tell Will I said Hi."

"Anne, you're going to have to forgive him someday."

"Who says?" came the reply, her voice cold. She heard Joyce sigh again, but her mother let it drop.

"Alright. I love you."

"I love you, too." She whispered, quickly hanging up the phone. Resting her forehead against the receiver, she took a moment to collect herself before leaving the booth and getting into her car. With a squeal of rubber, she pulled into the light afternoon traffic, and headed towards home.

~*~*~

"Uhn." Xander grunted as he hit the side of the crypt. He watched as the leather clad blond stalked over to him.

"You know, whelp. This would be a lot easier if you would just tell me where the bint is." Spike snarled, yellow eyes flashing.

"It would also go easier if you would just listen when we tell you that WE DON'T KNOW WHERE SHE IS! We've been telling you that for the last four years." Willow huffed from her spot by a tombstone. Spike glowered over at her, wondering briefly when exactly he had stopped scaring them.

"Do you think," Xander started, pushing himself to his feet. "That since this seems to be an annual thing, that maybe we could. . .I dunno, schedule it or something? It's very inconvenient to have to carry bandages around ALL the time." He finished, glaring at the vampire and wiping blood from his lip. "And, anyway. You were the last one to see her before she left. How the hell do we know that you didn't kill her?"

"Oh, and this is just some big ruse to cover my tracks?" Spike asked sarcastically, then pulled out a cigarette. He knew things were bad when beating on the loud mouth wasn't fun anymore. "I've killed two Slayers, boy. Why would I lie about the third. And WHY would I keep coming back to this pit of Hell?"

"Nostalgia?" Willow offered, crossing her arms over her chest. Spike leveled a look at her that had sent many a mortal skittering away screaming. The witch merely arched a brow. With a sigh, he shifted back into his human face, then took a drag from his cigarette.

"You're trying to tell me, that in the past five years, she hasn't come back? ONCE?" He growled.

"No, she hasn't." The look on the boy's face was so full of guilt and remorse, Spike knew that there was something more behind this than the Slayer fleeing the place that had caused her grief.

"Fine." He spat, flicking his cigarette away. He wasn't going to get anywhere here. Turning away, he stalked into the night, his duster flowing behind him. "Goodbye, kiddies." He called over his shoulder as he disappeared.

"Why didn't we stake him?" Xander asked, rolling his arms to assess the damage. Spike must've been slipping in his old age, since he only felt a slight twinge in his shoulder.

"Because Joyce told us not to." Willow reminded him, falling into step with him when he turned to start home. Xander snorted, wondering once more about the mental stability of the older Summers. "Do you think we did the right thing? Not telling him to go see Joyce, I mean. She did want to see him." Uncertainty clouded her green eyes, as she scanned the darkened grave yard, looking for him. She didn't like to be deceitful, and now she was wondering if Xander had been wrong to talk her out of telling Spike.

Xander's gaze was hard and cold when it met hers, causing her to shiver.

"Trust me, Will. Nothing good can come from a conversation with Spike." With that, he turned away, leaving Willow to scramble to catch up.

Chapter One

One Month Later

"Hi, Anne."

"Hey, Sue. How's the natives?" Anne asked, pulling the scrunchy out of her long, brown hair.

"Restless." Replied the blonde, with a smirk. Anne giggled in response, kicking out of her sneakers.

"Any good tippers?" She rolled her violet eyes, and straightened the white nurse's cap in her hair. Satisfied, she pulled out her lipstick, then with practiced strokes, expertly refreshed the color on her full lips. "That good, huh? Great. Don't they know my kid needs new shoes?" Anne huffed, dropping her sweat pants to the floor, then followed them quickly with her t-shirt. Feeling no embarrassment at standing in a room full of people in just a thong, she reached over and grabbed the lotion off the make up table.

"Don't worry, darlin'. I'm sure your sweet, little ass will pull in enough to buy out Payless. Well, how do I look?" Sue did a tight spin, then struck a pose, awaiting Anne's judgment. The brunette paused in the ritual of slathering her skin with lotion to appraise. Sue's lush body was draped in a short, tight, low cut nurse's uniform, a stethoscope tucked seductively into her surgically enhanced cleavage. White stockings encased the length of her long legs, the tops attached to the garters that peeked out from under the skirt. Her height was enhanced by the four inch platform pumps that adorned her feet. The white of the outfit glowed against her coffee colored skin. The blond wig hung in ringlets around her shoulders.

"Edible." Anne told her. Sue's creamy laugh drifted through the dressing room, drawing glances from the other girls.

"And don't you know it. One bite of Nurse Sugar, and you are guaranteed to get cavities." With a snap and a wink, Sue turned and left. Anne watched the black woman walk out of the room, a smile on her face. With a shake of her head, and a laugh, she returned to her nightly, pre-work ritual.

~*~*~

"Gentleman, please welcome, Silver." Cringing inwardly at her stage name, Anne burst through the shimmering curtain. The lights played over her golden limbs as she turned herself over to the music, her burgundy thong and bra set complementing her skin perfectly. The interior of the bar was smoky with the slight over smell of beer and watered down liquor. Multi-colored lights danced from the spotlights above her, and from the lighted stage. The area around her was filled with men varying in size, color and age, most just getting off work. The dance surface was in the shape of a T, with poles at each of the points. A long bar lined the wall across from her, and several round tables filled the space in between. Off to the left of her were the halls that led to the lap dance room, called the Dream Room, and the restrooms. Also off that hall was the room that Anne had never seen the inside of, and planned never to. That was the Paradise Room, where some of the other girls conducted a different sort of business. It wasn't actually a room, more like a series of cubicles that allowed the dancers and their clients a bit of privacy the Dream Room didn't allow.

Anne dropped to her knees and slowly rolled her hips to the music, holding her top to her breasts in a teasing manner. The one thing that she liked about stripping, besides the money, was that as long as the clothes came off, most men didn't care if you were a prima ballerina or as stiff as a stick. It was all about look, attitude, and how much they liked your tits.

She was about halfway through her first set when she felt it. That familiar, distinct tingly feeling in the pit of her stomach. Ignoring it, she grabbed the bar, gyrating her hips against it, and twisting her fingers over her nipples, a wide smile on her face. Bills littered the floor at her feet, as well as a few scraps of paper with the inevitable phone numbers.

As the final notes of her song faded, Anne leaned down to pick up her money, hazel eyes scanning the darkness around her. She didn't look for trouble, but if trouble found her, she took care of it. Most vampires that frequented the bar didn't come here to feed. But, every once and awhile, the odd one would come looking for the former Slayer, and would meet a quick demise for their trouble.

With another smile, and quick shake of her breasts at the audience, Anne disappeared into the back.

Twenty minutes later, she reentered the bar, pulling at the hem of her midnight, blue tube dress. Anne worked her way through the tables to the bar, smiling at the people she knew. This was the part of her job that she hated. Lap dances. But, they brought in good money, and as long as they kept their hands on the arms of the chair, she would deal with them. She would deal with anything to make sure her kid was taken care of.

Sliding up next to a young business looking type, she put on her best smile and started to flirt shamelessly. The tingling hadn't eased, but as long as he didn't bother her, the clientele, or the other girls, she wouldn't dust him. Moving with the yuppie toward the Dream Room, she hazarded one more glance around the room. As they disappeared into the dark hall, her observer stepped out of his place in the shadows. The strobe lights from the stage glinted brightly off his white hair, the orange glow of his cigarette casting an eery glow across his chiseled features. He stared after them a minute, considering going after them and ripping the bastard's head off for even thinking about touching her. Deciding he didn't care for that train of thought, he dropped the cigarette to the floor and crushed it under his boot. He then turned and left the club, the shock at seeing her, stripping no less, still tripping through him. He'd have to go to his hotel room and think, decide what to do. He'd been looking for her for four years, and he had certainly not expected to find her here, in this dive, taking her clothes off for money. A mental image of her straddling that wanker, her hips gyrating seductively against him flashed into his head. The anger the picture induced surprised him, and he had to force himself to keep walking towards his car. He'd take a day or two to think, then he would come back and find out what exactly was going on.

It had been four and a half years since he had gotten her message at Willie's to meet her in L.A. He'd had no idea why he had gone back to Sunny Hell, not wanting to admit that it had been his want to see her that had fueled it. But, halfway to Los Angeles, he had finally come to terms with it, knowing that once he found her, his unlife would change forever. Again. He hadn't found her there, however, and he realized just how old her message must have been. Who knew where she was now, where she had hidden herself. He had started to look for her then, always migrating back to Sunnydale in hopes that she had come back.

He had left there, just a month before, and started his search all over again. He had stopped at a demon bar in Tuscon, planning on drinking himself into a coma before going back to his hotel. He had just hit the halfway mark on his first bottle of Jack, when he overheard a group of vampires talking about a club, where vampires were allowed to go, as long as they didn't snack on the patrons. It never would have caught his attention if the one talking hadn't mentioned that a girl with the strength of a Slayer worked there. Interrupting them, he demanded to know just where this place was, then, drink forgotten, hopped into his car. His mind couldn't wrap around the possibility that it was her. He'd driven straight there, paid the cover and walked in. Then stopped dead as he took in the Goddess on the stage.

It was her, alright. In all her golden glory. Everything was just as he remembered, save the color and the length of her hair. He knew she had felt him, too. Her eyes had scanned the bar in the seconds after he had walked in, even though her movements never faltered. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, and her face held none of the grief and strain that had been there when they had parted ways. She actually seemed . . . happy.

Sliding into his car, he started the powerful engine and pulled out of the parking lot. He cursed inwardly as memories and grief he had thought long buried assailed him. He tried to remember the time when his every thought in regards to her had been about her death. That time seemed so long ago, so far removed from the vampire he was now. He had to think, then he would come back. They had a lot of catching up to do.

~*~*~

Anne stifled a yawn as she twisted the key in the lock, pushing the door open when it clicked. Pain shot up her legs, causing her to groan. To think, she used to slay vampires in heels with no problems, but dancing for hours in them caused her muscles to seize up. Shaking her head at the irony, she glanced down at the dark head against the blue fabric of her couch. She dropped her purse and gym bag on the floor, then closed the door before leaning down to blow on the sleeping figure's ear. He hadn't moved since she walked in, and the couch was situated right next to the door. Swallowing a chuckle when one long fingered hand came up to swat at his ear, she blew again, this time adding a well sculpted nail into the mix. He came awake with a jerk, his hand slapping soundly against the side of his head.

"Dammit!" he muttered, dark brown eyes glaring at the giggling woman behind him.

"Hi, Mark. Sleep well?" She asked, flopping down next to him on the overstuffed cushions and propping her feet up on the oak coffee table.

"I was, until something rude and annoying woke me up." he growled, running a hand through his long, black tresses.

"Aw, poor baby." she crooned, punching him lightly in the arm. It still amazed him that one of her 'light' punches could cause pain to sing up his limb. He often joked that she should be the bouncer, and he the dancer. "Was he good?"

"As gold." he told her, reaching for his cigarettes. She had given up long ago, trying to make him quit. He had told her that if he was going to die, he was going to die happy, with a cigarette between his lips, a guitar strapped to his body, and a beer in his hand. His job as a bouncer at the club paid the bills, but music held his heart. Blowing a plume of smoke into the air, he turned to look at her.

"How was the meat factory?" One, slender brown eyebrow shot up, but she let the comment pass.

"It was alright. All the big tippers decided to stay home and actually spend time with their wives, apparently. But, I made three hundred bucks. So, not a bad night." She watched the sleek line of his jaw tense, and sighed. *Here it comes* she thought.

"Lap dances?"

"They bring in the most money. And at least I'm not joining some of the rest of the girls in their side business." This had long been a bone of contention between them, since she had traded her apron for a g-string. He didn't like the thought of her rubbing herself against the overly hormonal male populace.

"It's close enough." Mark snapped, flicking his ash into the ashtray.

"Are you calling me a whore, Mark?" she asked, hazel eyes glittering dangerously. She studied his face as he began backpedaling, indignant that she would think such a thing. Mark Lynch was a six foot four, solid mass of lean muscle. His long, straight black hair hung just past his shoulder blades, the color so dark it sometimes shone blue in the light. Dark brown eyes sat under thick black brows, and were fringed with lashes so long it should have been a sin for them to be on a man. High cheek bones and his coloring denoted his Native American heritage, as did the line of his nose. His mouth, which was often set in a wide, rakish grin, sported full lips that had made many a woman swoon. A close trimmed, mustache and goatee completed his rock God look. His usual attire consisted of a pair of well-worn cowboy boots, tight, faded blue jeans, and a variety of different t-shirts, and a leather jacket. Anne had heard one of the other dancers refer to him as walking sex, and she hadn't been able to disagree.

He had been her friend since the day she had stumbled into the Glamour Factory, very pregnant, underage, and in desperate need of a job. He had helped her convince the owner, a forty something bald man by the name of Ralph, to let her work in the kitchen until she turned eighteen. Ralph then let her waitress until the baby was born, dropping subtle hints about the money she could make dancing. Her slayer strength had come in handy, and she been the darling of the customers. None of the men seemed to care that she was pregnant, but they all treated her with respect, and some nights she would find herself going home with more money than the dancers. Of course, that had changed once she had actually given birth. Men.

Even with all the help that Mark had offered her, and mostly because she knew he liked her, she kept him at arm's length. Scared, grief-stricken and alone with a baby on the way, she had almost succumbed to the vampire that had attacked her after work one night. Her surprise was evident when she found herself staring at Mark through the cloud of dust, a pool cue turned stake in his hand.

That night, she had told him everything, not knowing until she was finished how much she had needed a friend. He had held her through her tale of sending her vampire lover to Hell, and how she came to be pregnant. When she was done, he had asked her quietly, if the father knew. She answered, just as quietly, no. But it wasn't that she didn't want him to know, she just hadn't seen him again. That had caused her an even greater sadness that she didn't have the strength, or the will, to analyze.

"You working tomorrow?" she asked, pulling herself out of her memories. He crushed out his Marlboro light and shook his head.

"Yep. You?" She nodded with a grimace. Thing about being the Slayer, it gives you absolutely no job skills to fall back on. Running his hand through his hair again, he looked sleepily around the room for his jacket. Finding it thrown across the dark blue recliner, he stood, stretching his tall frame. Anne watched with appreciation of the rippling muscles, wishing again that she could feel more for him than friendship. She stood and walked with him to the door, hugging him fiercely before saying goodnight. Tonight had been his night off, and he had offered to watch Matt for her, so she wouldn't have to pay a babysitter. She had been happy to accept. Matt adored Mark, and vice versa.

Locking the door behind him, she turned and started straightening up the living room. A swell of pride formed in her as she did this, her mind calculating how many payments she had left before it was finally hers. The day she had seen it, she knew she had to have it. It was a single story, bungalow, with a wide front porch complete with swing. A large yard was surrounded by a wood rial fence. Visions of her and her child spending lazy evenings swinging on the porch swing, or planting flowers in the patches at the front of the house filled her head. She had written down the number and called the realtor immediately to set up an appointment to see the inside.

Mark had gone with her to meet the man, and he had lost some of the sparkle in his eye when he saw the wanna be rock star, and what he assumed was his girlfriend holding a baby. He had led them inside, showing them the large living room with it's bay window, the two decent sized bedrooms, the small but cheerful eat-in kitchen, and the bathroom. All the while he kept making reference as to 'why' this wasn't the house for them. Anne had walked through the rooms, imagining how her life would be there, and shot down everything the man said. Mark held onto his temper, as Anne, with the determination of a woman borne to be the Slayer, talked him into rushing the sale. She had taken the money she had left from what had been given to her before leaving Sunnydale, and had walked away the proud owner of her house. Mark had had to co-sign, since she was barely eighteen, and hadn't been at her job for a year yet. But it was hers, and she had proceeded to build a life, a life she never expected to have. By rights, she should have died, her calling guaranteed it. One afternoon in an abandoned mansion changed that forever.

Turning off the lights in the living room, Anne walked down the short hall to her son's room, and went in. Placing the toys she had gathered from the front, she placed them in the large plastic tub that served as his toy box. She then moved across the bare hardwood floor to gaze down at her miracle. His room was done completely in Scooby Doo, an irony not lost on her. From the border around his walls, to the sheets on his bed. A Scooby Doo nightlight was plugged into the wall, and that as well as the light from the hall, gave her enough illumination to see him by.

She reached out and gently brushed a dark brown curl away from his face. She frowned a little, as she thought about her last conversation with her mother. Anne knew she wasn't being fair, to her or Giles. Or Willow. She knew that she could have gone back, told them that the baby's father was a man that she had met while she was away. She would have been accepted back with open arms by all of them. But, she did have Matt, and he was all that mattered. She knew that one look at the blue eyes that were currently hiding behind his eyelids, and one glimpse of the defined cheek bones under the baby fat, and the others would know just who his father was. She wouldn't allow them, him, and the prejudices that simmered deep to try to make her ashamed, or sully the beautiful memory she held close to her heart. And she would kill the first person who made her son feel like a freak for having the Slayer and a soulless vampire for parents.

Pulling the edge of his Scooby Doo blanket up to his chin, Anne leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. She smiled when she caught the distinct whiff of chocolate and grape Kool-aid. Making a mental note to discuss with Mark the wrongness of brownies and Kool-aid before bed, as well as the benefits of a toothbrush, she turned and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. She walked across the hall to her room, running her hands through her hair.

If her son's room was Scooby Doo heaven, Anne's room was her own private sanctuary. A large, wrought iron bed dominated the room. She had found it at a yard sale, and had enlisted a very unimpressed Mark into helping her get it home. The damn thing was heavy, but it was beautiful, and the price had been perfect, so, she had to have it. A handmade quilt in the colors of the sunset was draped across it, and pillows were piled high at the head. Mr Gordo was propped casually against them. The walls were painted an adobe color, and pictures of sunsets and shores lined the walls. A large oak dresser sat opposite the bed, with a haphazard array of cosmetics and beauty items littering the top. Two framed pictures sat on the nightstand next to her bed. One was of her and her mother, right before she got called. The second was of her, Willow and Giles in the library about a month before that horrible, wonderful day.

Grabbing a brush off her dresser, she began to pull it through her hair, the memory of the vampire she'd sensed returning to her. When she had left the Dream Room, the vamp had been gone. Since none of the girls or the customers had been hurt or disappeared, she had just shrugged it off and went in search of her next customer.

But now, as he pulled her nightgown over her head, she could admit what had been bothering her. The 'feel' of the vampire had been almost familiar, comforting in a way. Telling herself that what she was thinking was impossible, Anne crawled under the warmth of her quilt and sighed as the tension drained from her body. As she drifted into sleep, the face of the man that had haunted her for five years surfaced in her mind. It wasn't the face of an angel.

Chapter Two

Slowly, and with the stealth God granted the greatest of predators, he sought out his prey. Blue eyes peered over the edge of the bed, the sleeping woman peacefully lost in her dream world. She had no idea that she was being stalked, hunted. With a war whoop that would rival any Indians, he pounced. Only to find himself plucked out the air before he landed, and mercilessly being tickled. Shrill giggles filled the air as he admitted defeat, and tried to twist away from his mother.

"Mommy, stop!" Matthew Williams cried as squirmed in her arms.

"Oh, no. The tickle monster will not be denied." Anne said with a witch-like cackle. Laughter filled the room, much like it did every morning. Finally, when he was a limp mass of breathless giggles, Anne let him up.

"How'd ya know it was me?" He asked, smiling the smile of the happily defeated. She looked at him, hazel eyes dancing. His brown, curly hair fell across his forehead, blue eyes sparkled with the sunlight coming through the open windows. He was wearing his favorite pair of faded Scooby pajamas, and freckles dusted the bridge of his nose.

"It's a mom thing." she said, reaching out to tweak his nose. He giggled again, and began to excitedly jump on the bed.

"C'n I have panny cakes?" he asked, hope filling his eyes. She tilted her head back, and contemplated the ceiling.

"I dunno." She said, dragging it out. "I distinctly remember saying NO brownies before bed." She gave him the 'fess up now' look, one brow cocked and her mouth slightly pursed as she fought a grin.

"Mooommmmyyy." Matt cried, a shadow of his mother's pout forming on his face. Her grin broke free at the pleading sound of his voice.

"Alright."

"Yippee!" he squealed, throwing himself into her arms, then scrambled off the bed.

"Wait a minute, mister. Go get dressed first. You still have school today." she reminded him, chuckling at the crestfallen look on his face. He left the room, as slowly as he could, dragging his feet the whole time. She rolled her eyes, and pushed herself out of bed, wincing at the pain shooting up her legs.

A few minutes later, she emerged form her room, dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with the word Tombstone emblazoned across it. She had never seen a ghost town before, so Mark had taken them the year before to "enlighten them to the history of the Old West."

"Come on Matt." she called as she passed his room.

"Coming." he answered, his less than enthusiastic answer making her chuckle yet again. Walking into her kitchen, she set about making pancakes. Matt came in just as she was pouring the first ones into the pan.

"Hey, sit down and drink your juice." She told him, indicating the glass on the table under the window. Not noticing the sullen look on his face, because she was looking away, she expertly flipped the pancakes. Sometimes, she still thought it was amazing that she had ever learned how to cook. There had seemed no point in Sunnydale. Her life consisted of school, slaying, and Angel. She sighed a little as the image of her first love danced in her memory. It didn't hurt to think about him anymore. In fact, it hadn't hurt in a long time. Once she had found out she was pregnant, Angel missage had taken a backseat. She had felt guilty about that for a long time. Like somehow, she was disrespecting his memory by not wallowing in sorrow. Now, all she felt when she allowed herself the indulgence of memories, was a bit of melancholy.

"Mommy." Matt's soft voice broke into her thoughts, and she turned to look at him. The scowl on his face had visions of another vampire swimming through her brain, and she marveled again at how much he looked like his father.

"What's the matter honey?" She asked, turning back to the stove.

"Why don't I have a daddy?" The clatter of the spatula made him jump, and he looked quizzically over at his mother. "Mommy, are you okay?" She was staring at him gaped mouthed, the spatula on the floor at her feet. She shook herself out of her shock, leaned down to pick up the utensil. Throwing it in the sink, she turned off the pan, and took the finished pancakes to the table, silently contemplating her answer. She sat across from him, looking into his eyes, a wave of love so strong flowing over her, she almost felt like she was drowning. Curiosity and pain clouded the blue orbs, letting her know something had spurred on this question, other than natural interest.

"Did something happen at school?" she asked him, placing two pancakes on his plate. He picked up his fork and started to push them around, his scowl deepening.

"No." came the glum response.

"Uh huh. Try again." Anne smiled at him, her eyes coaxing him to answer. He looked up at her quickly, then back down at his plate. Shoving a forkful of food into his mouth, he started to talk.

'Sam said, sat I wuf a legemate." he mumbled. Anne struggled to understand the gibberish, hoping she hadn't gotten it right.

"What did Sam say?" She asked when he had swallowed. She placed a hand on his wrist before he could shove more food in his mouth. "Try it without the word jumbler."

"Sam said that I was ilgityment. He said that means I don't have a daddy." Closing her eyes against the urge to go rip little Sammy's head off, she waited to answer.

"Of course you have a daddy, honey. All children have a daddy." She began. Giles had been wrong, demons weren't the danger. Tiny kids with big mouths were. Maybe Sam was a demon, she could take care of that, she considered, evilly.

"Then why innit he here?"

"Isn't." She corrected automatically, her mind scrambling for an answer. How the hell was she supposed to answer this? Gee honey, me and your father were only together for a day, and then he left before I found out I was pregnant. Oh, and by the way, he's a vampire. She thought she'd have a couple of years at least before she had to answer this. Plenty of time to think up something. But, he'd started preschool this year, and apparently that opened up a can of worms she wasn't prepared to deal with yet. Matt watched her as she struggled for an answer.

"Didn't he love us?" *Oh God* she moaned internally at his tiny question. Tears shimmered in the depths of his eyes, and his lip started to tremble.

"Baby, some things aren't that simple. Me and your father had something special. But, sometimes, circumstances can keep people apart. It isn't right, or fair, but it happens." Anne told him, pulling him from his chair and into her lap. He cried quietly against her chest, and Anne knew that there were some demons, she couldn't slay.

"Do you think he'll come back?" His voice was muffled against her shirt. She smiled into his hair, and placed a kiss on his head.

"Yeah, baby. I do."

~*~*~

Druscilla's eyes turned away from Spike to the statue of Acathla, a dreamy smile on her face.

"Oh, here he comes." she sighed. Spike used the opportunity to wrap his arm around her throat and start choking her. Across the room, Buffy and Angel turn towards each other, swords at the ready.

"You almost made it Buff." Angelus said with a sneer.

"It's not over yet." Buffy returned, steely determination etched on her face. Angel looked over his shoulder at the statue.

"My boy Acathla here is about to wake up. You're going to Hell."

"Save me a seat." At that , Buffy thrust her sword at him. He parried and swung around with a thrust of his own, only to be blocked by her. The sound of clashing blades rang through the room each trying for the advantage. Thrusts and parries, jumps and swings, neither quite able to catch the other off guard.

"I'm sorry baby." Spike said, as Dru started to lose consciousness in his arms. As she slumped to the floor, he hazarded a look out to the courtyard, where Angel had Buffy trapped against the wall, blade pointed at her head. "God, he's going to kill her." He muttered, before shrugging a shoulder and reaching down to gather Dru. As he leaned down, the supposedly unconscious figure of Dru swung up with the andiron. Stars burst behind Spike's eyes and he fell to the floor. He grabbed blindly at her ankle as she tried to scurry away

"Now that's everything, huh? No weapons. No friends. No hope." Angel taunted, smirking as Buffy's eyes drifted closed. "Take that all away, and what's left?" Not expecting an answer, he pulled his arm back, ready to deal the killing blow. To his amazement, the forward movement of the blade is stopped between the palms of her hands.

"Me." She shoved the blade away from her, slamming the hilt into his face causing him to stumble back. She jumped to her feet, one tiny foot slamming into his chest, pushing him back farther. In one fluid motion, she snatched her sword off the floor and the fight was on again, this time Buffy with the advantage.

Spike blinked several times, trying to clear his vision. Dru was swinging the andiron again, cracking it across his back. He managed to keep his hold on her leg, while the pain scorched through his body. A wild swing landed in her stomach, causing her to drop the metal. He yanked hard and she landed on her butt with a shriek. Kicking wildly at him, she rolled and tried to gain purchase on her knees. What she saw when she turned made her pause.

Angel was on his knees in front of Acathla, Buffy standing in front of him. Just as the Slayer was raising her sword to finish off the Master Vampire, he gasped loudly, a groan of pain spilling from his lips. She watched as his eyes glowed red, then quickly fade back to brown. Their eyes meet briefly before he collapsed, crying. She stared down at him, sword still fisted tight in her hand.

"Buffy?" Angel's soft, confused voice asked. "What's going on?" Her eyes narrowed, confusion tearing at her

Spike reared up to latch onto Dru again, his own attention drawn to the couple across the room. Something was up, he could tell by the slow lowering of the sword, the embrace. They were speaking to each other, their voices low as they clung to each other like children. Behind them, the statue rumbled, the face contorting and the eyes glowing red. The mouth of the statue opened, and the swirling vortex to Hell began to open. *Oh shit* Spike though, at the same instant Angel raised his head, confusion marring his face. Spike let go of Dru, ready to take care of Angel himself should Buffy falter. Rising shakily to his feet, he staggered forward a step, his interest in Dru forgotten for the moment. He watched as Buffy kissed Angel, then stepped away. Spike sank to his knees when he saw her raise her sword, a surprising amount of sympathy welling forward as she thrust it into her love. He would have never been able to it, he thought, as Angel's surprised, pain-filled eyes snapped open. She stepped farther away when Angel reached for her.

"Buffy." he gasped. Behind him, the vortex had grown, the energy crackling as the sword and vortex react.

"Noooo!!!!" Came the crazed scream, and in a flurry of motion, Dru threw herself at Angel, latching her arms around his neck as the vortex came into contact with Angel's blood.

"DRUSCILLA!" Spike screamed, surging forward as the vortex closed, without so much as a pop.

~*~*~

Spike shot to a sitting position, gasping huge gulps of unneeded air. Pushing his legs over the side of the bed, he thrust both hands through his hair, swallowing heavily against the grief that tore through him. Snatching his cigarettes off the nightstand, he sparked one, sucking greedily on the thin tube of nicotine. His hands were still shaking when he crushed it out, so, he lit another one.

He hadn't had that particular nightmare in almost four years. He knew that seeing Buffy again had sparked it, the reliving of that day. Usually, he only dreamt of the time afterwards, the day spent with her. But, the fact that she had seemed happy hurt him for some reason, and that trudged up the memories of his Dark Princess. The one that had betrayed him.

Shaking his head, he crushed out his second fag, and walked over to the table. Sunset was fast approaching, he could feel it in his blood. He'd have to decide what to do. He had looked for her for so long, and now, he was within reach. However, if just the brief sight of her brought back all the pain, what would an extended conversation do? He didn't want to go through all that again, and he found himself not wanting to put her through it either.

Grabbing the bag off the table, he pulled out the bottle of whiskey he had bought the night before. As he ripped the seal on the bottle and took a long swallow, the image of her from the night before whipped through is head. Her tiny, muscular body writhing to the pulsating music. Her wide smile as those wankers ogled her. Another surge of anger at the memory of her walking into the back with that git nearly choked him. Sex had permeated the hallway, and he had no problems imaging what happened back there. The thought of her selling herself sickened him.

A growl rumbled from his chest, the sound surprising him. Why should he care? *Because you didn't spend four years looking for her to see her turned into a bloody prostitute.* He sneered at himself. He knew himself well enough to know that he was jealous. All those men getting to taste her sweet little body. What happened that she would be willing to do such a thing? How bad could it be?

Growling again, he drained the bottle in four long swallows, watching as the ray of light around the window softened into evening. He'd go again, tonight, he decided. He had to see her, talk to her. Maybe then he could understand this feeling that was curling around inside of him. Dropping the empty bottle into the trash, he stalked into the bathroom to take a shower. He'd get some answers tonight, he swore to himself. Then he'd drag her out of there by her hair and beat her bloody for allowing those pukes to touch her.

Chapter 3

A/N:  We'll be jumping around a bit in this chapter, timeline wise. Enjoy.

Sunnydale 2003, one month earlier

Joyce stared out into the night, listening as Xander and Willow retold the tale of Spike's visit.

"Then, he just stormed away." Xander finished, exchanging a look with the witch. Giles was sitting in the chair next to the couch, looking at the woman in front of the couch. The last five years had aged her considerably. Deep lines of worry and sadness etched her face, and where she was once spirited, she now seemed withdrawn. He didn't quite know what she had been hoping for, but it seemed that she had been disappointed once again.

"Y-you know, Mrs. Summers. I could do a location spell. . ." Willow started.

"No!" Joyce said sharply, turning to face the two friends. Sighing heavily, she sank down onto the couch, rubbing her eyes. "Buffy left for her own reasons." Not the least of which was her own mother kicking her out. She brushed the tears away that had sprung to her eyes, and looked at the trio, smiling when Giles moved to sit next to her. "I want her to come home because she wants to. Not because we forced the issue. She's not a child anymore." She had hoped to be able to talk to Spike, let him know that he had a child. He had a right to know, and from the way Buffy acted, she wanted him to know. But, he hadn't responded to her message to come see her, and who knew if he would come back.

"Thank you, Xander, Willow. It's getting late." Giles said, hinting it was time to leave.

"Oh, right. I'm just going to hit the head first." Xander said, darting up the stairs.

"I think I'll wait for him outside. Goodnight." Willow gave them a tight smile, then headed towards the door.

"Goodnight, Willow." The adults said together as the redhead let herself out.

She was pacing the length of the porch when Xander walked out, waving one last time as he shut the door.

"What the matter, Will?" He asked, following her down the steps.

"I don't like lying." She told him, glaring at him.

"You didn't" He reminded her, pulling something out of his pocket.

"I don't like you lying. You're getting too free with it. What's that?" She demanded, coming to a stop.

"Can you do the spell with this?" Xander asked, holding out a hairbrush. When Buffy had left, she had only grabbed a few things. Apparently the brush had slipped her notice. Willow's eyes widened comically as she stared at the brush like it might bite her.

"What? Xander, Joyce said no spell. Or weren't you listening?" She cried, voice shrill.

"Willow, of course she would say that. She's Buffy's mother. We're her friends. It's our duty to find her." He justified, still holding it out. Willow looked between it and him, doubt on her face.

"Xan. I don't know."

"Come on, Will. Don't you miss her?" Xander pulled out his last card to persuade her.

"Of course I do." But, Willow had a card of her own. "She's still pissed at you, Xander." She reminded him, quietly. The look that crossed his face brought tears to her eyes.

"I know. But if we wait for her, I'll never be able to tell her how sorry I am. It's been five years already. How long are we supposed to wait?" His eyes begged her to agree. Willow felt herself crumble under the weight of her own need to see her friend, and Xander's need for forgiveness. Sighing, she reached out and grabbed the brush.

"Fine, we'll do it. But, if she doesn't want to see us. We leave. Understand? She has a completely different life now." She told him, stalking away. His smile was grim as he followed her.

San Rios, Arizona- One month later

"I don't know what to do, Mark." Anne sighed. They were standing outside the Glamour Factory, Anne having come in a little early to get some advice from him. She leaned against the side of the building, then crossed her arms over her chest and stared out at busy Interstate 10. Most people were heading home at this time of day. She watched the cars wiz by, like one of them would give her the answers she needed. Mark stood next to her, hands in his pockets, cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Well, when was the last time you tried to find him?"

"Almost a year ago. I called Willy, but he didn't have anything new to say, other than he had passed through, but hadn't gone into the bar." She pushed a frustrated hand through her dark tresses. She had managed to get Matt calmed down enough to go to school, and once there, she had pulled the teacher aside and told her what had happened between Matt and Sam. The teacher had promised to talk to Sam, but Anne hadn't missed the slight look of disdain on the older woman's face. Sometimes, living in a small town was a bitch.

"That's the third time. You think he's going back, looking for you?"

"I guess. Willy said that he had given him the message I left. Granted, that was six months AFTER I left L. A." She pushed away from the wall and started pacing in front of him.

"I don't know what to tell you, sweets. Finding wayward vampires isn't exactly my forte." Mark said, crushing his cigarette out. "You know, I'm always willing to fill the void." He told her quietly. She stopped pacing, and turned to stare at him. He looked away, kicking a rock with the toe of his boot. His dark hair spilled over his shoulder, hiding his face.

"Mark, I. . ." She started, then faltered. It wasn't the first time he had offered to fill the gap in her's and Matt's otherwise happy lives. And it wasn't the first time that she wished that she could accept it. He had been her best friend for four years, never judging her. She didn't want to lose that.

"Hey, never mind. I was just kidding." He said quickly, wanting to kick himself. He knew better than to get his hopes up on a woman who was so clearly enamored with another man. It was just, he had never met a woman like Anne before, and he had a strange feeling that he never would again.

"MARK!" A loud, booming voice came from the entrance of the club.

"YEAH!" Mark yelled back, walking towards his boss. Ralph tapped his imitation Rolex watch, indicating it was time for him to come back to work. "Alright, already. Shit." Mark muttered, walking inside. Anne stared at his disappearing back, not noticing Ralph eyeballing her as well.

"Ah, Ms. Williams?" His sarcastic voice reached her ears, and she looked up at him. Ralph McKenzie was a short, bald man with a beer belly that protruded over the belt of his tan leisure suit. Gold glinted at his wrists and neck, and the pinky ring on his hand. "If it fits into your schedule, do you think that maybe, I dunno, you could come in and, dance, or something?" Anne rolled her eyes and hefted her bag. Taking one last look at I10, she walked inside. She never saw the black DeSoto pull into the parking lot.

~*~*~

Mark stood by the door, arms crossed over his black vested chest. He was Mr. Cover Charge tonight, since the girl who usually did it called out sick. So, he took their money, checked I. D. when necessary, and waved them through, all the while keeping an eye on the rest of the club. There were three other bouncers besides him, but only two worked during the week. One at the door, and one outside the rooms in the back, just in case some customer didn't understand the word 'no'. On Fridays and Saturdays, all four were there. One at the door, one on the floor, and two in the back.

Tonight, however, was your typical Tuesday. Mostly regulars, a couple of business men stopping by on the way home for a beer, and some college kids. Mark wasn't paying much mind to the people coming in the door. He did his job automatically, his mind rehashing the way he had made an ass out of himself in front of Anne. Again. It wasn't as if she hadn't made her feelings for him perfectly clear. On the contrary, she was nothing if not up-front about it. He just couldn't quite seem to let go. Sighing heavily, he turned towards the door when he heard it open.

The man that came in had him double taking, his eyes narrowing into slits. Shorter than himself, this man held an aura of danger around him like a shroud. Short, white hair was slicked back against his head, a scar sliced though his left eyebrow. A long leather duster draped over his lean frame, covering the well worn black jeans and t-shirt. Heavy combat boots adorned his feet. As he came closer to Mark, the bouncer prepared to demand I. D. Until he got a good look at his face. Mark felt his eyes widen, and his heart trip in his chest when he looked into the piercing blue eyes that he knew to belong to a smaller, younger version of this man.

*Oh, fuck!* He thought to himself, wondering if he could get Ralph to cover for a minute, so he could go find Anne.

Spike glared menacingly at the bouncer, not understanding the look on the man's face. It almost seemed like recognition, but the blonde had no memory of him.

"Gonna take my money, mate?" *FUCK. British.* Only one more thing to be sure. When Mark reached out to grab the money from his hand, he purposely brushed his fingers across the other man's. *Cold. Double fuck.* Blue eyes locked with brown when Spike caught on to what Mark had done. He shifted his eyes to look behind him, and saw the sharpened pool cue. When he looked back at Mark, he didn't see any fear, or any indication that he should be ducking soon. Just that same look of shock and familiarity. "Who's the owner of this fine establishment?" Mark's brow shot up at the sarcasm dripping off the word.

"Guy sitting at the bar. Looks like he's doing a bad Wayne Newton impression." Mark told him, jerking his head towards the bar. He was cursing violently in his head, knowing he'd never get away from the door now.

"Thanks." Spike sneered, swaggering away. Mark tried to keep an eye on him and the stage, all the while dealing with the people coming through the door. Anne's set wasn't starting for another half an hour, and if he could, he would shoot back to the dressing room.

Mark watched as Spike sauntered over to Ralph, and began talking to him. He saw Ralph shake his head, then Spike reached into his duster and pulled out a wad of bills, dropping them in front of the bald man. Ralph fingered the money, then looked back up at Spike. After about half a minute, he nodded, waving his hand in the direction of the rooms in the back. Spike mock saluted the man, then turned and moved towards the hall, plucking a beer off the tray of a waitress as he passed her. Ralph then pocketed the money, and got up, starting towards the dressing room.

*FUCK!*

~*~*~

"Anne, can I talk to you?" Ralph called, ignoring the indignant shouts of the other girls. She was sitting in a chair in front of the make up mirror, laughing at something Sue said.

"Yeah, what's up?" Anne asked him. She hadn't changed into her costume yet, and she still had on her Tombstone t-shirt and shorts. Her hair fell around her shoulders in waves, and her face was heavily made up for the stage. Sue sat next to her, her shimmering gold body suit hugging every curve. Her hair was now gold to match, as were the contacts that she wore.

"Sue, could you. . ." Ralph waved a hand, telling her to go away. With a roll of her eyes, Sue smiled at Anne and left. "A man came in here just now," he started, not sure how to put the request. He had come to respect Anne's temper over the years, and he didn't feel like bearing the brunt of it.

"A man? Call the newspaper, it might be an epidemic!" she gasped, smiling wide. Her smile faded when she saw how nervous he was. When Ralph was nervous, something was not of the good. "What's that matter?"

"This man requested to see you. In the Paradise Room."

"Hope you told him to fuck off." She replied icily. She could tell by the look he gave her, that he hadn't. "Dammit, Ralph, you KNOW. . .

"I know, I know. I told him that. He swears that he doesn't want that. He just wants to spend the evening with you. Gave me a thousand dollars for you." Anne's eyes widened at that, as Ralph pulled out the thick stack of bills.

"He drops a thousand dollars, and he doesn't want to. . ." confusion marred her brow. Guys with this much money sure as hell didn't come here. "Are you sure?"

"That's what he said. He's waiting for you now." Ralph held the money out to her, his percentage already pulled off the top. She tested the wait of the money in her hand while her mind warred with itself.

"If he touches me, he's leaving with a broken hand." She warned, standing to start to change. She did it quickly, not giving herself time to change her mind.

"Absolutely. I'll get Cindy to cover your set." She nodded as he moved away, her thoughts a jumbled mess in her head.

~*~*~

Mark began cursing again when he saw Anne walking through the club, dressed in a short black skirt, and a purple spaghetti strap tank. Black high heeled boots hugged her calves to her knees. He waved, trying to get her attention before she disappeared down the hall, with no luck.

*Fuck!*

~*~*~

Anne stepped through the door of the Paradise Room, heart pounding against her chest. The smell of sex and booze permeated the room, making her stomach churn as well. She kept her eyes down as she walked down the short hall, not wanting to catch a glimpse of the varying activities that were being performed. There was barely any light in the room but she didn't want to take any chances. The cubicles stretched from floor to ceiling, with a long curtain covering the doorway. There were about ten of them in all.

As she got closer to the one that held her visitor, she groaned as the familiar feeling washed over her. *Damn.* She cursed inwardly, now they were paying to have her dust them. A little happier now that she knew what to expect, she calculated just where every penny of the easy money was going to go. The light was even dimmer at the end of the hall, and completely nonexistent in the cubby she stepped into. Standing next to the curtain, she blinked her eyes to try to adjust them.

"You know, if you wanted to commit suicide, all you had to do was ask. You didn't have to pay for it." She quipped. The soft chuckle that reached her had the hairs on her arms standing on end. *No, it couldn't be* her mind denied, but her heart screamed for it to be true. A bright flare of a lighter, followed by the smell of smoke filled the tiny space. She sucked in a gasp as the lighter brightened his features, casting the harsh lines of his face in stark relief. She stood, shocked as he flipped the lighter closed and took his first drag.

"Hello, kitten." he crooned, the deep resonance of his voice drifting to her, over her like a caress.

"Spike."

Sunnydale-Crawford Street Mansion 5 years earlier

Buffy backed away from the stricken face of Angel. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she pressed her hands to her mouth, forcing her scream to stay inside. He looked down at the sword imbedded in his stomach, then back at her, a combined look of hurt, shock and love on his face. As the vortex started to pull him in, a loud wail that rivaled an animal filled the room. Buffy was knocked to the floor when Dru flew passed her, Spike one step behind her. Druscilla wrapped her arms around Angel just as the vortex closed, with nothing even as dramatic as a sizzle.

"DRUSCILLA!" Spike screamed, falling to his knees in front of the spot where his dark princess disappeared. He stared in disbelief at the space that was now empty. With a sound caught between a sob and a scream, the blonde vampire launched at the statue, his first punch causing a crack around the neck, and shattering the bones of his hand. Tears coursed unnoticed down his cheeks as he assaulted the stone. His arm screamed with pain, but he didn't care. Finally, he gave up punching and sent a powerful kick straight to the center of it's chest, making it crack in half. It wasn't enough.

When Spike advanced on it again, he felt a pair of tiny hands on his shoulders. He roared when Buffy flung him around, her face twisted with the same pain and grief that was tearing him apart.

"Stop! They're gone." She yelled, her voice raw and hoarse. "They're gone." she whispered again, her hand loosening on his duster, and she crumpled to the floor. A part of her brain realized that she was very likely going to get killed. But, the larger part of her didn't care. *Let him kill me* she thought, as the pain of losing Angel threatened to cripple her. She had chosen the world over love, and nothing mattered any more.

When she felt him over her, she silently screamed thank you, and waited for the sting of his fangs in her throat. When instead she felt herself being picked up, and cradled against his chest, her eyes flew open.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, struggling weakly. His lips trembled as his own tears fell, and he glanced down at her.

"Going to clean you up." He answered, shortly, walking up the stairs.

"Why aren't you going to kill me?" She asked, an angry tone to her words. His lips actually quirked at that.

"You don't want to die. Anyway, who would kill me, then?" He asked, kicking the door to his room open.

"Don't think so. If you won't kill me, I won't kill you."

"Well, I guess we have an understanding then." Truth be told, he didn't have a clue what he was doing. The sight of her, crumpled like a rag doll on the floor, had been enough to knock out a small portion of his own pain. He'd had to get out of that room, but also had a need not to be alone. Unlike her, he didn't have anybody, now that his dark princess was gone. She must've sensed this, because she sat quietly on the bed where he placed her, and watched him move to the bathroom. He shrugged out of his duster when he returned, cursing when the arm caught on his injured hand. Snatching the first aid kit away from him, she grabbed his good hand and pulled him to the bed. He allowed her to focus her attention on his injury, hissing when she dabbed antiseptic on it. He studied the fall of her golden hair, tying to force his mind to go blank. The image of Dru's ultimate decision kept replaying in his mind in slow motion. She only wanted her daddy.

His body started to shake as sobs tore through him again. Buffy looked up after she wrapped his hand, her own grief surging once more at the anguish etched in the vampire's face. Before either of them realized what was happening, they were laying together on the bed, arms banded tight around each other as they cried out their pain.

At some point, they must have fallen asleep. Buffy jerked awake with start, the feel of two strong arms around her confusing her. Suddenly, memory rushed back, and hot tears spilled down her cheeks once more. She found herself looking into the bright blue eyes of her mortal enemy, the agony she felt mirrored back to her. He reached up and brushed her tears away, the feel of his cool hand against her hot face soothing.

"Shh, kitten." He whispered, wiping the moisture from her lashes. She nuzzled her face against his hand. When he traced a finger across her lip, she felt a tremor pulse through her. She arched against him, tightening her arm around his waist. Spike watched the color of her eyes darken to emerald. "Buffy. . ." he rasped, his eyes searching hers. His body was responding to her closeness, the smell of her skin. When her hand came up to still his words, he captured it with his own, then pressed it against his lips. She shivered when she felt the tip of his tongue tease the palm of her hand.

"Just for today." she gasped, pressing herself closer to him. "Make me forget." He closed his eyes briefly, thinking about what she was asking. When he opened them again, the grief was stripped away, replaced by something hot and heady. She felt herself respond, her skin tingling with the look of promise in his face.

"Don't think." He said, before he crushed his mouth to hers. She couldn't if she had tried. As soon as his lips touched hers, she felt like she was being burned by icy heat. She almost felt like she was drowning as his teeth nipped her bottom lip. His tongue swept across it to soothe and tease, then dipped inside to taste. At the first tentative touch of their tongues, everything but each other was forgotten. Her fingers fisted in his hair as he tried to devour her, taking everything she gave and giving back equal in return. She tasted like sunshine and life and Spike found himself desperate for more. His good hand skimmed under her shirt, his rough fingers gliding over the silken skin of her back. She trembled against him, her moan lost in his mouth.

She kissed him back hungrily, her tongue dueling with his. The term 'homemade sin' popped stupidly into her head, and she decided this must be what he tasted like. Nothing like anything she had tasted before. Cigarettes and beer, with a slight coppery taste combined into an intoxicating bouquet that screamed Spike. She gasped a breath as she changed the angle, deepening the kiss. Clothes suddenly became a hindrance as they tried to touch everywhere at once. The evidence of his arousal pressed firmly against her thigh, and she wanted it. Now. Tearing her mouth away from his, she pushed him onto his back, she rose above him like a goddess, her golden hair framing her flushed face. Hastily yanking her shirt over her head, she grabbed his unbandaged hand and placed it over her breast. Surging up, he caught the stiff nub of the other in his mouth, sucking hard. His hand mimicked the movements of his tongue on her flesh. She clutched the back of his head, and ground her denim covered heat into his likewise hindered erection. Mewling noises escaped her throat as he worked his magic on her breasts, his hips thrusting up in time with her movements against him. Soft growls were muffled against her skin, as his hand traveled to the band of her jeans. His mouth switched to lavish attention on the other soft swell of her bosom, and his fingers deftly popped the clasp of her pants.

"Off, now." He hissed, releasing her so she could remove them. He sat up to do the same, and once they were both naked, they reached for each other again. Spike rolled them until she was on her back, legs wrapped firmly around his hips. He fused his mouth against hers again, his shaft sliding slickly over her burning wet sex. He pulled away from her again, trailing kisses down her torso, his destination clear. The first touch of his tongue to her aching clit almost sent Buffy over the edge immediately.

"Oh, God!" she sobbed, spreading her legs further to afford him better access, she clutched desperately at the bed. Spike took his time lapping and savoring the sweet juices pooled in her folds. Each pass of his tongue and lips over her sizzling heat caused her to jerk her hips, begging for release. Her skin felt too tight and hot, her stomach fluttered and her breathing came in gasps. She writhed helplessly beneath the expert motions of his mouth. When he gripped her thighs and drove his tongue straight into the very center of her, she screamed, high and long, back arching off the bed. Spike greedily drank all that spilled from her, then attacked her clit once more. Buffy thought it was impossible to cum again so quickly, but she found herself doing so with just a few stiff strokes of his amazing tongue. She was practically sobbing with pleasure by the time he crawled up her body and slid effortlessly into her still fluttering cunt. Their dual moans of rapture melded into one as his cool shaft stretched and filled her. Her heat scorched him, and Spike's eyes rolled back in his head at the feel of her surrounding him. Buffy's legs came up to lock around his hips, her hands sliding restlessly over his back. He stayed still within her, until he was sure that he wouldn't lose control. Then, with a slow rocking motion, he began to thrust. With each plunge he pulled out just a little more, making his strokes longer, more forceful. She met him, thrust for thrust, until they were moving together in a frenzy. He buried his face in her throat, his lips and tongue laving the skin over her jugular. The thrill that he could kill her and she would be helpless to stop it pushed her over the edge. She arched against him when her climax slammed through her, her fingers pressing his lips more firmly against her flesh.

Her muscles clamped hard around him, milking him, and he roared against her throat as he stiffened against her. His cold seed shot up into her womb, cooling her from the inside out. No sooner had they calmed down, than they were at it again. Over and over they took each other, each time the grief and pain threatened to crash through, until they were both raw, and exhausted. When sleep finally claimed them, they were wrapped tightly around each other, laying on their sides, Spike stilled buried to the hilt inside of her, the twin holes of his bite already starting to heal on her neck.