It came to the point where she couldn’t hold the truth to herself anymore, such to the extent that she resented herself having kept quiet for so long. Now a week and a half had passed, and she didn’t know how to tell him. She didn’t even know how it would sound. In her mind, the words were ridiculous. Tell her mate that the girl he knew to be her sister wasn’t real? Spike had a plethora of memories detailing encounters, hissy fits, and Bible-length complaints about Dawn Summers. Informing him that someone he knew to exist wasn’t a real person was more than she felt she could convey.

Especially since she had spent the past week trying to forget what the monk had told her. She had known something was wrong—she simply hadn’t imagined anything of this magnitude. Who could? Her false sister was the Key to the universe. And the god that had nearly pummeled Buffy into her next life had made it perfectly clear that she would stop at nothing to get what she wanted.

And aside the Initiative, the Slayer and her mate were the only ones that stood in her way.

Now she had to tell him. With as outlandish as it sounded, she had to tell him.

Spike’s reaction, though, was hardly what she expected.

“I have something to tell you,” Buffy said that night after they sat down for supper. It was strange still, the odd sense of domesticity that settled around them. As though they were a normal couple that cooked and did the crossword puzzle and worried about things like laundry and the grocery list as opposed to the next apocalypse.

Tonight, they were enjoying takeout. Cooking was good. Takeout was better.

Especially since it was Spike’s culinary prowess that they depended on, and he was tired of using it.

He nodded. “’S the Nibblet, right?”

Buffy blinked. “What?”

A small smile crossed Spike’s face. “’ve felt you worryin’ over this for days, sweetling. ‘S about bloody time you said somethin’.”

She pouted. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was hopin’ I din’t need to. Lucky for me, I was right.” He took a long swig of his beer and appraised her with a long look. “What is it, baby?”

“You were actually patient enough to—”

He shrugged. “I knew you’d cave.”

“And?”

“And that it was important for you to reach the decision to tell me yourself.” Spike quirked his head. “You din’t have to go through it alone, sweetling. You never do again.” He took her hand and offered a gentle smile. That characteristic guaranteed in the balance of their united entities. Perhaps this was just one of the many advantages. That acceptance of inner turmoil as long as it wasn’t damaging to the essence of the claim itself.

But he was right. She was one half of a whole. Her problems were his now, and vice versa.

“You knew it was Dawn?”

“Not what’s wrong, luv, jus’ that it involves her. Your ambiguous statement last week left li’l to the imagination.” Spike moved over a seat so that they were no longer looking across the table at each other; rather, he was in a position to pull her into the sanctuary of his arms. “Tell me what’s wrong, Buffy.”

“She’s not real.”

It was amazing how effortlessly those words rolled off her tongue.

He frowned and pulled back. “Bit’s not real? Since when?”

“Since forever. She’s…she…” Buffy drew in a breath and shook her head. “I felt it the minute it happened. Didn’t know what it meant, but I felt it. Dawn…she…she was just, put into our lives. One day she wasn’t here, and the next she was. Just…poof! Instant fourteen year old with all the memories and stuff that comes with, well, being alive. She was incorporated into our timeline. Inserted into your memories and mine…but I remember the before time, too.” The look on Spike’s face was unreadable. She sighed and looked away. “She doesn’t know it, either. Dawn thinks she’s exactly who everyone else thinks she is. But she’s not. She’s…”

“Sweetheart—”

“The god that beat me last week…Dawn’s what she’s after. There was a monk there. He told me that…he and these other monks essentially took a vat of energy and pressed it into a sister for me. So that I’d guard Dawnie with my life.” They exchanged a meaningful glance. “I don’t know what she is, other than my sister. They called her the Key. All I know is that she’s…this god is after her. There’s a god after my sister.”

A heavy pause settled between them. Spike broke first, his eyes shining with concern as he reached for her. “Buffy,” he said intently, “’f this is…they want you to protect Dawn with your life?”

She shook her head. “They want me to…they just didn’t count on me knowing it was a fake. I’m a god now, too, you know. You don’t work that sort’ve mojo on a god when you’re aiming for a human and expect it to work. I love Dawn. I know that. That’s familiar to me, but it’s not real. She’s my sister and I’d…I’d do anything for her. But she’s…I don’t have a sister.”

Spike entertained a wry smile. “Seems we can’t get our fair share of gods, eh, luv?”

“This one isn’t like Quirinias.”

“Well, that’s a bloody load off. Quirinias aimed to kill you.”

“I have a feeling this god won’t settle for a good flesh wound, honey.” Buffy shook her head. “Plus, she’s already corporeal. And strong as all hell.”

“So are you,” he deadpanned.

“We don’t know how strong I am yet. Or if it’s the sort’ve strength I can tap into without becoming just as bad as the one that made me this way.”

His eyes narrowed. “We’ve been over this, sweetling. I’d never let you fall like that. Never. You’ve felt how closely connected we are through the claim. You really see me lettin’ go of that? Bollocks. I’d jus’ as soon walk into daylight.”

This had been the basis of a recent discussion. Their sudden ability to communicate telepathically, the strong ties that made her hurt physically when she was apart from him. He felt it too, of course. It was what had awoken him the other night during her meeting with Riley. That gut-wrenching pain as their broken halves cried out for the single being that would make them whole. Buffy would have thought she’d hate to be so thoroughly dependent on someone, but the effect was just the opposite. It made her feel secure. Grounded. Wherever she was, Spike was with her, whether in body or spirit. Calming her. Reassuring her. Holding her hand.

Their telepathy wasn’t a permanent feature. It served as an immediate warning when they were physically apart after sharing blood. When they were side-by-side, the ability was gone. Severed; its services no longer needed.

Spike theorized, though, that if either of them were in danger, even if they were in the same room, it would kick in. As it was, telepathy was merely reactionary right now. The claim knew when there was trouble, and the claim would react. Give them everything they needed to get away together. Unscathed.

But the claim had no way of estimating how to react to a god. A god had never been claimed before. And if her powers did corrupt, it would be Spike that suffered for it. The god that had passed along his namesake had tried to kill her and her friends on a night that was still fresh in her memory.

The power rushing through her veins was tainted. Using it could only mean self-corruption.

“I…” Buffy heard the tremor in her voice and hated herself for being so weak. There were simply certain challenges that she was not up to facing just yet. “I can’t, sweetie. I can’t just…become everything you and Giles seem to think I—”

Spike shook his head and brushed a fervent kiss across her forehead. “I don’ want you rushin’ into anythin’ you don’ think you’re ready for,” he said. “Told Rupert the same. Brassed him off somethin’ righteous, but I could honestly give a fuck. Truth is, pet, we’re here forever. We have forever to figure this out.” He paused. “But there is somethin’…Rupert said this, too, an’ he was right. ‘F this other bird’s a god, you’re gonna have to stop fightin’ her like a slayer.”

Her eyes went wide with protest. “I just—”

“That doesn’ mean fightin’ her like a god. It means that you have somethin’ here more powerful than all bloody else, right?” He smiled kindly and tapped his own chest. “The claim. We’ve already established what it’s there for. Balancin’ the bloody scales an’ lettin’ us commune minus mouths when needed. There’s power in there, too, baby. Power that won’ corrupt, ‘cause it stems from the two of us.”

“Fight a god with an ancient vampiric claim?”

Spike smiled weakly. “She’d never know what hit her.”

“Well, let’s call that Plan B.” Buffy released another steady breath, fighting off a grin. “Until then…we have to figure out what to do about Dawn.”

“Save it for another day,” he said, rising to his feet. “We’ll figure somethin’ out, kitten. We always do. An’ until then—until we know more—there’s not much to go on. No sense worryin’ yourself to death about it tonight.”

“I still don’t understand how you’re not wigging to the ninth degree about Dawn being all non-human.”

The smile that was threatening to waver came back to life brilliantly at that. He held up a hand. “One, I’ve seen some bloody strange things; not much shocks anymore. Two, this is the Hellmouth: when is life ever simple? Three, this is us. Four, I’m not human. Neither are you. We’re both a bit of all right, ‘f I don’ say so myself.”

Buffy chuckled and nodded, wrapping her arms around his throat and leaning in for a kiss. “We’re definitely that.”

His eyes twinkled, a naughty, wandering hand skimming over her backside until he was palming her ass, his tongue doing that number over his teeth that drove her wild. “Whaddya say we get naked an’ be all right…up close an’ personal like?” he asked suggestively, waggling his eyebrows.

A slow smirk crossed her face. “I say…” Her hands found his chest, teasing him through his shirt. “…that you should…” She pressed her pelvis forward, eliciting a joint groan as the outline of his hardened cock met her stomach. Buffy released a long sigh, simply enjoying the feel of him. The claim enhanced everything. Everything. Every touch, every look, every breath. Feeling him against her like this, his hands holding her to him, the hard length of him pressing into her…it sent shivers down her spine and ignited a fire within. The dualism of cold and hot. They constantly tugged at each other, mounting so that every caress sent sharp shards of pleasure directly to her center.

Having him inside her was unlike anything she had ever experienced. That blissful day in the townhouse before she had become ill with god-fever didn’t even do a justice. More and more, she was amazed at how love manifested in the language of their bodies. It was something lost in society. Something that only they had. Something beautiful and sacred, and she felt its tingling prelude and the waves of its aftermath every time his hand met hers.

She nipped at his mouth seductively. “…should race me back to the room!”

She shoved him back and sprinted down the hall toward the sanctuary of their bed. Spike’s playful growl was at her heels, and he had her tackled to the mattress in easy seconds.

The world might be in jeopardy again, but tonight, it didn’t seem to matter.

Tonight was theirs.

*~*~*

She didn’t know how long she had been dreaming when she woke from her slumber and back to the reality of their bedroom. Spike was curled beside her, his arm draped protectively over her stomach, as it was every night. Nothing was perceptively different or out of place, but she knew something had jolted her from sleep with intention. It had been quick—a sharp sensation in her gut, twisting with that inherent knowledge that something wasn’t right.

Someone was near. Here. Their building. Their apartment. Someone was at the front door.

Buffy drew in a deep breath and slowly disentangled herself from her mate’s embrace. Whatever it was, she sensed the threat wasn’t as potent as it was trying to allude, and furthermore, that it wasn’t aimed at her at all. Rather, the hostility from the intruding presence was directed entirely at the sleeping vampire. And the essence felt disturbingly familiar. Human. Someone she had brought into their life recently. Someone for whom she was responsible.

Riley. Why on earth was Riley at their apartment?

How she knew who it was—how his aura felt—she didn’t know. Only that the feeling was too strong to be discredited. Perhaps it was another aspect of the claim, but she knew better.

This was the god reaching out.

She dressed hurriedly in an oversized, thoroughly unrevealing sweatshirt and a pair of pajama bottoms that were packed uselessly in their dresser. This was the first time she found herself needing sleepwear in the middle of the night, and she silently commended herself on her foresight to have something prepared just in case something should happen.

She and Spike were not fond of clothing barriers when they were in bed. Period.

Riley stood outside the front door, just as she had suspected. He had yet to knock, and his face colored with relief when he saw such was unnecessary. The lost look in his eyes did little to soften her rising anger. Every good thought she had harbored for the giant ass was thoroughly demolished. She knew that before he had the chance to even open his mouth.

Whatever it was, his visit tonight was not amicable.

“Riley,” Buffy greeted stoically, crossing her arms and perking her brows. “It’s three in the morning. Care to explain what you’re doing outside my apartment? And…for that matter…how the hell did you know where to—”

“I had you followed,” he explained hurriedly. “That’s not the point.”

It was about to become one. “Your having me followed isn’t the point? Where the hell do you presume the right to—”

He held up a hand. “Could you…could we talk outside, perhaps?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s three in the morning, you’re at my apartment, and you just announced that you’ve been tailing me.” Stealthily enough that Spike and I haven’t noticed. That was mildly troublesome. Buffy had the uneasy feeling that she had grossly underestimated the faculties of the Initiative. After all, her spider-sense had been triggered just minutes earlier by a human presence. Why now and not then?

“Look, it’s about your husband.”

She froze, her eyes wide.

Oh God. He knows.

“Spike?”

“Yeah. It took me a while, but I finally pieced two and two together. About a year ago, a vampire escaped from our base after we’d conducted an operation to immobilize his ability to hurt humans. We’ve been searching for him ever since.” Riley’s eyes narrowed accusingly. “I must’ve gone over that security feed a thousand times…at least there for the first few months. When he didn’t show, we figured he’d either moved on or found the unpleasant end of the stake. But it was neither, wasn’t it? You’ve been protecting him.”

“Spike hardly needs my protection,” she spat. “And I don’t appreciate your being here in the middle of the night to—”

“He’s a vampire, but more than that, he’s our commodity.”

An unfamiliar surge of pure hatred tore through her gut. She would have buckled under its weight were she not so infused with rage. There was something there that had not been there before. Something wild and primitive rising within her at the mere suggestion of a threat befalling her mate. The claim she felt. The claim was familiar and needed. And now, it wasn’t alone. Now, it was accompanied by something she knew, despite its foreign feel.

This was power.

“He is not a commodity,” she hissed, her eyes flaring. “He’s my husband.”

“Yeah.” Riley’s gaze dropped. “Funny. I’ve never once seen you wearing a wedding ring.”

“Funny, I don’t recall asking you to follow me home and harness the man I love with a neurological chip.”

“He’s not a man. I thought you said you were familiar with—”

“I’m the Slayer. I slay vampires. Spike is mine.” I’m his. We belong to each other. “And if you presume to do anything to—”

“Do anything?! You’re in…do you have absolutely no idea what he’s capable of? You’re in over your head, Buffy! You can’t domesticate wild animals like that. He’ll turn on you the minute you turn your back.”

Buffy was only vaguely aware of the air pulsing around her. There was nothing within her but her rage. Fury sparked from the deep recesses of her psyche. An overwhelming need to protect her mate teamed with something as old as creation itself. The space around her was white. Her body transcended, touching new plateaus, bringing the full wrath of the heavens and hell back to earth with her.

Somewhere, distantly, warning bells were sounding.

Riley saw it. His eyes went wide with fear and realization, and he stepped back.

“Buffy…”

The next thing she was aware of, Riley’s body had flown violently down the long corridor outside her apartment, smashing against the wall just above the staircase. The air crackled with white energy. All she could see before her were wisps of snowflakes dancing around the farm boy’s form. He was suspended there against the wall, a good ten feet from the ground, held by unseen hands.

He was a mixture of stunned and terrified.

A pitiful cry tore through Buffy’s throat.

Oh God.

“Buffy!” And then Spike was there, completely naked as she had left him but similarly immodest. His arms encompassed her, anchoring her back to him. Back to the sanctuary he offered.

Yes. This was safe. This was home. Her will was breaking, Riley slowly sliding down the wall to safety below. Her mate rocking her in his soothing embrace. She didn’t even realize she was crying until his soft lips began kissing her tears away. “It’s all right, sweetheart,” he murmured. “’S’all right.”

Riley was forgotten. Mostly unharmed, more stunned than anything. As for the ruckus caused in the hallway, Buffy saw none of the blank faces of their neighbors or the accusatory whispers for disturbing the peace. Her hands were full with penance, and Spike was kissing her tears away in the safety of their apartment. Inside again, seated at the living room sofa, nuzzling her back to this reality.

That was it, then. The face of what was buried inside of her. Coupled with a mate’s fury, the god knew no line of reason. She lashed where the threat was, and tonight the threat had been in the shape of Riley Finn.

“What…I…” Buffy glanced up, her eyes colliding with her lover’s ocean. “Spike…I…he…”

“’S’all right, sweetling.”

“No, it’s not. I don’t even know what happened out there. I—”

“I saw most’ve it,” he said, coaxing her back to his shoulder. She was only vaguely aware of their environment. The familiarity of the apartment, the comfort of Spike’s naked flesh beneath her pajamed body, his magic hands knowing every muscle that ached. Every joint that hurt. Every part of her that burned with the aftermath of whatever devil’s rage she had just put her godly, inexperienced body through. “You turned white an’ Captain Cardboard went flyin’.”

“I could’ve killed him.”

“You din’t. He’ll be banged up, but nothin’ more.” Spike tossed a contemptuous glance to the front door. “’m sure some Good Samaritan’ll give him the nurture he needs to fix a bump on the head.”

“I could have killed him. He started talking…he…he knows you’re a vampire. That you were one of…” Buffy sat up only to be coaxed down again. “Spike, he—”

“Don’ worry with him. He’s got nothin’ on me, chip or no chip.” The vampire pursed his lips and cocked his head, considering her with heavy eyes entrenched with concern. “It happened, din’t it? Your inner time bomb went off with a bloody vengeance. It’s okay, baby. It was only a matter of time.”

“Before what?” she sniffled. “Before I killed someone?”

“You didn’t kill him,” he reminded her softly. “Fuck, this is my fault. With the claim an’ your…we’ve been ignoring—”

“It’s not your fault.”

Spike quieted and considered. “It’s not yours, either,” he said a few minutes later. “This was gonna happen, one sodding way or another. You’re a god now, pet. Gods tend to go off from time to time an’ wreak loads of bloody havoc.” He shrugged best he could and offered a small smile. “Jus’ takes some gettin’ used to, is all.”

That thought terrified her almost more than anything. She was a human, born and raised. She had never thought to have even as much power as a Slayer, least of all a Slayer harnessed with the literal power to move the universe. Buffy drew in a sharp breath. Somehow, in a matter of minutes, the happy oblivion she and Spike had dedicated the last couple months to constructing had shattered, and reality was back. The reality of her state. The reality of the world. The reality of everything.

“And if I never get used to it?” Buffy asked hoarsely, her eyes downcast. “I’m so…this is in me all the time now. How can I get used to something that has the sort’ve power that…I don’t even know what I did out there! How can I—”

Her plea was silenced by the haven of Spike’s mouth, and suddenly, reason ceased to exist. Buffy fell slack into the peace he offered, her tongue dueling with his as his hands fisted in the material of her sweatshirt. Her fingers tugged lovingly at his peroxide locks as his lips warred with hers. The tranquility he offered in a kiss was immeasurable. A warm light washing over her, bathed in glory and reassurance.

“’m not gonna live without you, you hear me?” he rasped, eyes blazing. “You’re not runnin’ out on me. We’ll figure this out. We’ll work through it.” He kissed the corner of her mouth before whipping her top over her head, palming her breasts reverently as his fingers teased her nipples. “Like we always do.”

He was right, of course. There was always an answer. Always a way. Always something lurking in the shadows, awaiting discovery.

She was simply terrified.

And Spike was there, soothing her as he always did. Bringing their bodies together for the reassurance of being. Making love in a way that wheedled out the worry. She held him inside her, never wanting to feel the emptiness of detachment. She wanted him inside her always.

Her fears only knew silence when they were one.

The rest was left to love and reassurance. That holiness of union.

The problem left for tomorrow’s wake. Penance could wait.

Now was a time for fire.

TBC