The strange thing was, she had known all along. It was just something she understood. Something buried there beneath the surface. She had known it the minute it happened, the minute the change occurred, just as she knew that it was supposed to be real. That everyone around her would believe the lie. Would believe what she knew to be false. Would believe that the girl living in her mother’s house was really a girl, and that she was Buffy’s sister.

Spike believed the lie. So did Giles and Xander. Anya and her mother. The lie came with a place in an eighth grade classroom. With a birth certificate and altered family photos. With years of fabricated memories that were hidden in the guise of reality. The lie didn’t know she was a lie. The lie believed she was a girl just as everyone else did. The lie had no memory of being anything else.

Buffy knew about the lie. The minute it happened, she knew something was different. Felt something was different. Remembered very clearly a period where she was the only child coinciding now with a false history of sisterly quibbles and screaming matches. Two sets of memories. An ingrained knowledge that something was not the way it was supposed to be. That their world was about to flip and spin on its alternate axis. That something terrible was about to happen.

Her knowledge was simple. The girl living with her mother was not her sister, only she was. She was not evil. She was not a threat. She was merely a lie that Buffy needed to keep secret. Something that would reveal itself with time.

It began simply enough. She awoke one morning with the memories of a sister. She knew her sister’s name, her face, her birthday, her favorite sandwich, and a list of her pet peeves. And though she knew it was a lie, there was no immediate sense of urgency. She was confused, yes, but she trusted that Dawn was not the terrible thing. It was innate. Dawn was not her sister, but she was. She remembered instances of irritation and love. That cashmere sweater she had given Buffy for her seventeenth birthday, and the unfortunate stains of chocolate milk that saturated the fabric within just a few short hours. There were holidays, family get-togethers, sisterly fights, tearful reunions, and so much more. Dawn was her sister. And she was Buffy’s responsibility. That much was startlingly clear.

There was so much more that she needed to know. Why Dawn was suddenly here. Why she was a part of the Summers family. And, most importantly, she needed to know if it had anything to do with her mother’s recent illness.

She needed to confide in someone—needed to tell Spike. But first, she needed more to go on. Something that would clue her in as to why there was suddenly a blood relative that was both a sister and a stranger living in her mother’s house.

And for that, she had nothing to follow but her instincts. A factor of her new powers; sensing where there was trouble took barely more than waking up in the morning. Something big was coming. Something unlike anything they had ever faced before.

Something that, for all its variations, seemed breathtakingly familiar.

She remembered the look on Quirinias’s face on the Longwood lawn, contorted with Faith’s eyes and sputtering ancient languages as he tried to bring upon a thousand years of chaos and torment. One of the world’s oldest gods, cursed by a coven of witches, looking for a loophole. And he had passed on his powers to her. When she was his vessel, she’d inherited everything he had. All the strength he possessed. And the prospect of mastering those new abilities terrified her.

“You sure you don’ want me to come with you?” Spike asked. “I could always tell Rupert to sod off an’ leave this bloody rite of passage for when I give a damn.”

“Yes, but then you would never go,” Buffy replied, squeezing his hand as he locked up their apartment. She was hesitant to have him with her tonight; didn’t know what would be revealed. She knew the truth about Dawn; the half-truth, anyway. For whatever she found beyond that, she didn’t want Spike exposed to the reality of their nonreality. Didn’t want her world to crumble inward until it was absolutely necessary.

“I’m not seein’ the downside,” he retorted, nuzzling her hair with a contented purr. “Jus’ call the Watcher up; tell him I’m busy makin’ the town safe from all the li’l nasties an’ plan on rushin’ home as soon as possible to shag his Slayer into the ground.”

She grinned as he slipped their house key into his pocket. It was still strange watching the vampire become so domesticated. There were times she could feel his restraint teetering at the very edge of reason, but he held back. He reached to her through the claim and found solace.

“As tempting as that is,” she said cheekily, flushing at the lust clouding his eyes. “You should get this rite thingy over with.”

He pouted. “He jus’ wants to poke at me an’ find out if I’ve sprouted anythin’ unusual as a result to bein’ mated to a Slayer.”

“Poking at you is my job.”

A smirk at that. “Well, if the bloke tries anythin’ funny, you’ll be the firs’ to know.”

“Ewww.”

His eyes sparkled teasingly before falling serious once more. “You sure you’re gonna be fine?”

Buffy smiled. He was adorable when he was worried. “Sweetie, you remember that period of time before you didn’t love me and I used to patrol by myself? I was even of the regular human persuasion then. No god powers. No supernatural vampiric claim. Just plain ole Slayer me doing what every Slayer does.”

“Yeh,” he retorted sheepishly. He hated being reminded of before, even if it did broaden an understanding of what they had now. It seemed lifetimes in the past. “I jus’…’f you’re out there an’ I’m not, I…”

“You’re sweet.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Which I’m sure we’ll convey many times tonight.”

He grinned wickedly. “Bloody right, we will.

“Which means we better get going so we can get back here to get conveying, right?” She grinned and moved to kiss him goodbye. “See you later.”

The minute her lips brushed his, a tingle shivered across her skin. That sort of brilliant sensation that exploded between them with every union. It was dangerous how rapidly she could lose herself in him. How the slightest touch could unwind her to her core. And even for the warm familiarity of his kisses, there was something else. Something clinging to the winds of change, and how they both felt a large presence was about to make itself known. That their quiet haven was about to be shattered; the world plunged once more into darkness that she had to battle with her inherent light.

The next thing she knew, Spike had her pressed against the wall outside their apartment door, his mouth ravaging hers, murmuring whimpers into her throat as he ground his hardening cock against her dampened center. He felt it, too. They fed off each other’s arousal now. It was difficult to have an impure thought without her mate sensing her naughty detour and ravaging her senseless…not that that was a bad thing. Rather, Buffy had made an interesting study of seeing how long it took him to find her after projecting a lewd image into the void for him to snatch.

Their connection was startlingly close. More so than even he had thought, given the perimeters of normal vampiric claims. Granted, there was nothing normal about their union. She was a Slayer turned god; he was a master vampire now hampered by a government chip that would not outlast the eternity they had together. His capacity to love blew her away at every turn. The wealth of feeling he poured through his touches, his kisses—god, his eyes—was enough to shake her world apart.

He felt something was wrong simply by being with her. Felt the desperation to cling to their sanctuary—this little paradise they had constructed in the simple weeks of being back. Away from Natchez and politicians. Just themselves, living in their apartment and setting to the world as they knew how. Where gunshots didn’t ring. Where everything made sense.

They had not been back long. And so much was different. But she was happy, and so terrified that something was on the rise to rip that away from her.

Spike’s mouth danced up her throat, his skilled fingers splayed over her right breast, exciting her nipple through the fabric. “Sure you don’ want me to come with you?” he growled, thrusting his pelvis forward erotically. He moved in ways that should be illegal in forty-eight states. “Make quick work of the graveyards. Two of us patrollin’…”

“Uhhh…”

She felt him grin against her skin, her head thrown back against the wall. She recognized that she was in the hall of their apartment building, that anyone could walk up the stairs or step outside their front door at the noise. That they were in full view. In the open. That people had been arrested for less. But she didn’t care. Not now. Not with her night shielded in uncertainty. She caught Spike’s mouth in another passion-fused kiss, cupping the bulge of his pants and stroking him through the denim.

“Jesus Christ, pet,” he gasped, throwing his head back. “You drive me outta my bloody mind with jus’ a touch.” He placed his own hand over hers and thrust against her palm. “Jus’ this. Gah, you make me wild.” His other hand toying with the zipper of her jeans, the metallic ring of its descent sounding through the vacant hall, somehow above their mingled pants.

A strangled cry tore from her throat. His thumb was pressing against her clit, lolling it in leisurely circles. Stroking her until she felt herself abandon the earthly helix, reach that pinnacle and fall again. His fingers parting her moist folds, sliding into her wet cavern with smooth expertise. Her own hand abandoned him, fingers digging into his forearms as her legs entwined around his waist. Spike stole another kiss from her lips, pumping her slowly and watching her take her pleasure through hooded eyes. His hand was drenched in her ambrosia; watching her find release was one of the greatest gifts the world had to offer. Knowing that it was for his touch that she trembled.

“Come for me, baby,” he pleaded, dropping a kiss onto her forehead. “Right here. Right now in this bleedin’ hallway. Come for me. Fuck, you’re so hot. So bloody perfect.” He slid another finger into her, his thumb massaging her clit in rough, impassioned circles. “My fiery goddess.”

It was the feel of his fangs in her throat that sent her over. The white-hot marks searing her skin exploded into a symphony of stars, and she lurched forward to embed her teeth into his shoulder to keep from crying out. The claim mark on his own throat beckoned her mouth for reassertion, but she knew if she bit him there, they would never leave the apartment building.

She would barricade them away from the world and hope whatever was coming passed them by. Whatever was coming that threatened this happiness she had.

Spike was still drinking absently when she uncurled her legs from his waist, his fingers slipping out of her wet sheath. Her small murmur of complaint was dwarfed only by the mounting need to face this thing that was coming. Face it, kill it, and live in sin until the next apocalypse.

He dimly realized his fangs were still in her throat the next minute and pulled away shamefacedly, enticing another murmur of complaint that nearly went ignored. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he rumbled, lapping the small wound closed, his lips finding her cheek with reverence. “Got carried away.”

Buffy grinned like a loon and kissed him again. “Don’t apologize,” she said. “That was wonderful.”

His eyes sparkled at that. “Wonderful, huh?”

“It’s always wonderful.”

His grin lasted a minute longer before his worried eyes settled on the fresh wound at her throat. “I din’t take too much?” he asked softly, readjusting her clothing in a gentlemanly fashion that he only revealed around her.

“Not possible.”

“Baby, I—”

Buffy placed a finger over his lips, smiling softly. “Not possible,” she said again. “And as much as I’d love to go back inside and ride you to a gallop—” A familiar smoldering look stormed his gaze, and she had to force some space between them before the last strands of her discipline flew out the window. “—I really do need to go patrol, and you really need to go on this vision quest or whatever that Giles wants you to do.”

“’S not a vision quest. He wants to study me like a soddin’ lab rat.”

“Well, let him.” Her eyes sparkled. “He might find something useful.”

Spike glanced at her worriedly. “I don’ want him findin’ anythin’.”

She smirked. “You know what I mean.”

“Hardly ever,” he retorted, raising his glistening hand to his mouth to lick off her juices, murmuring his approval as her taste hit his tongue. “Bloody delicious, you are.”

A pretty flush rose to her cheeks. “Perv.”

“You love it.” He neared again dangerously. “Gonna gimme a goodbye kiss?”

“Our goodbye kisses tend to go overboard,” Buffy replied, though she kissed him anyway. Forcing herself away from him immediately thereafter before his taste could entice her fully away from her objective. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.” She turned before his eyes could tempt her back into his arms. Back to where she knew lay safety instead of the unknown at the end of tonight’s mystery. Unraveling the lie that had haunted her for the past few days.

She didn’t know what she would find. Hell, she didn’t even know where she was going.

Only that something in the air called to her blood. Something wanted her to come.

“Be careful,” Spike told her, nearing again to kiss her temple. That tension that had been there just seconds ago reborn with a vengeance. He knew something was wrong, and it frustrated the hell out of him that he couldn’t pick out what. “If you need me…well, I’ll likely know before you do.”

She grinned. “Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. And I’ll be fine.”

He nodded, though he refused to let go of her hand. Walking down the hallway and outside their building to the point where they had to go in opposite directions. Words clogged in her throat, desperately seeking to reassure him; sensing his frustration at even understanding why he had a bad feeling about leaving her to patrol by herself. He kissed her again before releasing her completely, wrapping her tongue around his. Feeling her for everything she had to give.

She felt cold when she was alone. The road ahead shadowed with ambiguity.

She wanted Spike with her more than ever.

She just didn’t want him to see what awaited her tonight. Not when she couldn’t see the outcome.

Not when the lie was wrapped in the presentation of truth.

And she was the only one who knew.

*~*~*

Spike lit a cigarette and leaned back into Giles’s favorite chair, smirking as the Watcher’s eyes fixed on the ash that threatened to smear the fabric. “So,” he drawled, blowing out a cool stream of smoke. “What’s this you need me to do? Light candles? Chant? Do the hokey bloody pokey with my hands tied behind my back?”

Giles looked at him strangely. “What?”

The vampire arched his brows. “I was under the impression that you wanted to poke around my noggin. Play with blood samples or what all. Find out what makes me so…what’s the word…”

“Annoying?”

“Unique.”

“Well, depending on one’s definition,” the Watcher said dryly. “No, Spike, I asked you here for…a few things, really. For reasons beyond my understanding, you have become important to…well, I suppose the most important person in Buffy’s life. She’s your…”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “My mate,” he retorted, stern. “At your bloody orders, if you remember.”

“I remember.”

“An’ not only that. I love her with everythin’ I am. If I ever thought she’d accept me by…an’ she did, which still boggles my bloody mind.” A thoughtful pause. “I’d’ve asked her eventually. Asked her to be mine through eternity. Jus’ happened that way ‘cause…” His body stiffened, his eyes going distant at the incursion of memories those hellish few days had given him. “It happened that way. I never thought she’d reciprocate. Not that bloody soon.”

“Neither did I,” Giles confessed dryly. “Regardless, several things have come about as a result of your union, and I believe now is a good time to discuss them.” He stopped and leveled the vampire with a look—neither neutral nor offensive. Simply there. “Even if Buffy was not your…mate…she is a god now. She has surpassed everything that I am qualified to teach her. I have no jurisdiction when it comes to gods. To continue as her Watcher would be both insulting to her and a fruitless activity. One does not train a god by treating her like a Slayer.”

“Buffy is the Slayer, mate. You can’t take that from her.”

“I know. But she knows everything there is about being the Slayer. I can teach her no more. Anything she learns from this point onward has to be careful in taking her newly acquired status into consideration.” His eyes settled on Spike’s seriously. “I know you love her,” he said, surprising them both. “I would be foolish to say otherwise after what happened in Natchez. What I saw you do for her. What you sacrificed. Similarly, I know she loves you. I will never pretend to understand why. It’s beyond me, frankly. The fact remains that now you two share a blood link. You’re tied to one another. Whatever she learns now has to be from someone who…understands her. Who can feel what she feels.”

Spike stared at him blankly. “You want me to become Buffy’s Watcher?”

“No. Buffy is in a dangerous transitional phase. She is between Slayer and god—not fully one or the other. Her mind acts as a Slayer’s, ignoring that her body is now equipped for so much more. She has the strength, the ability, to take on everything that Quirinias had. More so, I believe, since she had that strength to begin with.” Giles sighed. “She needs someone who understands her. Until she grows into her powers, she is a liability to herself. Her Slayer mind will not allow her to grasp the knowledge of what she has become. I know she fears her powers overwhelming her, but she is contentious of it…and she has you to serve as her anchor.” Another small pause. “Spike, you’re now the closest person in the world to her. You will be until the end of the world. Like I said, you feel what she feels…but you do not carry the burden she carries. The answer will be clearer to you. She will make it through, I have no doubt…but what happens in the delicate time between knowing who she is will be detrimental in deciding who she becomes. That’s why I can’t teach her. Can’t influence her. Can’t sit her down and tell her to be a Slayer when it’s now her nature to be a god. But until she learns to utilize her abilities—until she accepts what she is—she will be vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable?” Spike choked the word, even if he knew it was the truth. “She’s a bleedin’ god.”

The Watcher shook his head. “Yes. But if she chooses to ignore that, she will be susceptible to a number of things. She can use her strength but…you can’t be something without both the physical and the mental. It simply does not work. You have to help her. I cannot. No one can. If you love her, you will help her.”

“I love her more than you can conceive.”

“I know. So you will help her.”

“Of course I’ll help her. I’m her…” The vampire released a trembling sigh. “I won’t lose her, Rupert. I bloody swear it.”

Giles smiled softly. “I know. And that’s why I’m leaving.” He held his hand up at the astonished look to cross the blonde’s face. “In order for her to take the first step in her transformation, she must stop looking to me as her instructor. She has to stop depending on me. Therefore, I am leaving next week for England…where I will hope to assist Faith in her rehabilitation.”

Spike arched a cool brow. “You’re not worried about Faith the Slayer-turned-god bein’ confused over watcherly supervision?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not my intention that Faith ever learn to use her abilities. Buffy has potential. Faith could with assistance, but not now. In order for her to assume her new status, she must first become comfortable with the one she abandoned two years ago.” Giles glanced down. “Buffy…she won’t understand. Not at first. But she has you, so I am not worried.”

Such acceptance was nothing the vampire had ever thought to receive from the Watcher. Implicit trust where his Slayer was concerned. Something precious. A bond between two men who understood each other even if they weren’t friends. Two men who loved a girl in very different ways, and would do anything to protect her.

Giles was being honest with him. Trusting him. It was only fair to do the same in turn.

“I—ummm.” Spike glanced down sheepishly. “I have somethin’ else.”

“Oh?”

“’S got me kinda…ever since Buffy an’ I...well, ever since she became a god an’ we claimed each other, I’ve been…different.”

The Watcher’s brows arched. “I would imagine so,” he agreed. “Vampiric claims are amazingly potent. I don’t believe any vampire truly has an idea of how strong they are until they have been mated for a few decades. The rite is sacred, rooted from the time when the hierarchy of demons sought out mates that equaled their power. Made a whole of two halves. Over time, the art became associated with sexual desire and sentimental feelings, eventually passed on to humans for the ceremony known today as marriage. It’s a common misconception that marriage is derived from the world’s ancient religions, when in fact the world’s ancient religions are derived from demonhood. Again, over time, when the physical compatibility and the emotional ties were equal to each other, claims have an even deeper impact. Mates who feel the love and emotional ties that I believe you and Buffy share will feed on one another’s feelings, fears, even primal instincts. Buffy might become more aggressive since it’s your demon’s nature to react to most scenarios with violence. Similarly, since it’s Buffy’s nature to show compassion, your demon could become even more demure than it was in the days that led up to the ritual itself. You’re now the Yin and the Yang, Spike. You the darker half with the spot of white, Buffy the white half with the drop of black. That black taints her enough to make her more aggressive appropriately—fogging the line of right and wrong so that her bias toward humanity is not so compelling.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning if Buffy were to come in contact with someone who she needed to kill, someone human who deserved such a death, that her ethics would be clouded with your demon’s sense of logic.”

A flash of anger crossed the vampire’s eyes. “You’re sayin’ I’ve made her a killer.”

“Not at all,” Giles said, holding up a neutral hand. “I’m saying that you’ve…helped her, in some respects. A Slayer’s life is essentially a challenge of ethics. Some follow the line of right and wrong so faithfully that they put the world at risk for the refusal to take human life. Now that Buffy has surpassed morality, the line is even more ambiguous. I imagine as you two go through eternity together, she will be presented with the burden of taking human life or saving the world…be it in the near or distant future. I also imagine it will happen more than once. The drop of black that you’ve provided her white will be able to make the long-term effects more…bearable for her. You, likewise, will be challenged by her ethics when your chip goes out. It creates a balance, feeding you with her strengths and her with yours to complete the weaknesses in the whole.”

Spike shook his head. “I’m a demon. You know it. I’ve never said I was anythin’ else. I tried to become a man because of her. Our claim had nothin’ to do with that.”

“I don’t think it did. But as you said, you are a demon. And sooner or later, the demon within the man will try to escape. It’s your claim with Buffy that will help ground you. That will, essentially, part the clouds and show you the…right path.” He offered a half smile. “It’s what will make you two such a powerful force. After time when her powers hone and you become accustomed to being one half instead of one being.” Giles sighed and shook his head. “It’s a fascinating ritual. The claim between you two is one of the most powerful forces entrenched in the world. It can’t be used for anything malignant…at least not by either one of you. If someone were to capture and torture you, Buffy would feel it. And…vice versa. It also serves as a powerful honing device. If Buffy was in trouble, you would feel it, and you could follow the claim to find her. As far as I know, it’s the only non-technological force on the planet that can be felt continents apart.”

The vampire let out a deep breath. It unnerved him that he had solidified a claim with Buffy without knowing everything. Not that it would have affected his decision—rather, everything that Giles was telling him only emphasized what he felt. His happiness that he had something so precious with her. So rare, from how it sounded. However, he had never given Buffy the chance to learn the specifics. Hell, even he didn’t know the specifics. In the Order, Angelus had never spoken of vampiric claims, nor had Drusilla. What he knew of them came from stolen moment in one of London’s endless libraries, researching everything he could on his newly acquired status before his family members discovered where he was.

Shades of William in his past. Spike sighed and cringed inwardly. The sniveling wanker was long dead and stuffed somewhere deep inside his psyche, but there were parts of him that would remain alive forever. And admittedly, sometimes he felt a pang of longing for the familiar smell of books, pages crisp with age. Felt the need for knowledge offered by the geniuses mankind could inspire.

All he had learned about claims was that it was essentially marriage for demons, and that the bond was eternal; unbreakable. Highly powerful and more than sacred. That was it. No specifics. Just the Cliff’s Notes version of what it meant. He knew enough to be awed that Buffy would ever reciprocate feelings as profound as his were for her. The entire history of the claim, the powers it induced other than the obvious…it made everything more significant. More so than he could have imagined.

Amazingly, just the knowledge made him love her more. Something he had thought was impossible.

Her whispered promise that they would expand on their tryst in the hallway came back to him, and he was suddenly very eager to get home. He wanted to hold her with this knowledge warming him. Hold her as his holy grail. Hold her as everything he could ever hope to touch. The bit of Heaven that had fallen from the skies and sought refuge in his arms.

“There’s somethin’ else,” Spike said slowly, choosing his words with caution. “I’m…I’m gettin’ stronger.”

“Yes, I would imagine—”

“No. You don’ understand. I’m gettin’ stronger. Not jus’ because of the claim. ‘S somethin’ else. Somethin’…I feel it. Not jus’ in how easy I put down the baddies. I feel it in my blood.” He glanced down. “I don’ know why. Well, I know it has somethin’ to do with me an’ Buffy, an’ likely ties into the claim. But I’ve never heard anythin’ about adaptin’ this sort of strength. I feel I could take on the armies of Rome an’ walk away without a bloody scratch.” He nodded at the dumbstruck look on Giles’s face. “Yeh. Any ideas, Professor?”

The look in the Watcher’s eyes was not encouraging. “Does…have you spoken about this with Buffy?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’ wanna worry her.”

“Then you admit that it’s cause for worry.”

Spike snickered. “I admit nothin’. I don’ know what it means, I don’ know if it’s cause for worry an’ since I don’ want Buffy frettin’ over me, I figure I’ll keep my mouth shut until I know what the hell it is I’d tell her.”

“How about what you just told me?”

“How about you take some of my blood, run some tests, an’ get back to me in six to eight weeks?”

“Spike, if you’re going to make this work, you can’t keep secrets from Buffy.”

The vampire’s eyes flared with indignation. “I don’t wanna worry her! When did that become a soddin’ federal crime? Likely, ‘s nothin’. A side effect of bein’ mated to a Slayer turned god. An’ until I know what, there’s no reason to have her focusin’ on me when there’s, oh say, the world to tend to.”

Giles shook his head, releasing a long sigh. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” The words were not spoken so much as barked.

“As mates, as two halves of that whole, you are each other’s world. With or without the love you share, the claim itself asserts that your world is her world. Hers is yours. You can’t keep something like this from her.”

“An’ I don’t intend to,” Spike snarled. “I jus’ wanna know what I’m tellin’ her before I tell her. An’ frankly, old man, as someone who’s jus’ told me that you’re steppin’ down as the guidance counselor, I don’ see where you have the authority to tell me what brand of cigs to buy, much less how to treat my relationship. I’m not tellin’ her now because I love her too much to jeopardize what’s important to her by bringin’ somethin’ up this bloody trivial.”

“We don’t know that it’s trivial.”

“An’ until we know what it is, that’s what we’ll call it.” He held out his wrist, shaking his features into the familiar game face. “Go get a vial. We’ll do this my way or I’ll find another Watcher to pass on my ancient and mated blood to. What was it Wes said? Somethin’ about bein’ just a phone call away?”

Giles stared at him for a long minute, then rose to his feet and strode to his cupboard. “You play dirty pool.”

“You expect anythin’ less? Vampire, remember?”

A snicker. “How could I forget?”

Spike smirked and sank his fangs into his own flesh, licking his lips as he pulled back. He had half the proffered vial filled by the time a foreign yet familiar knot twisted his stomach, his eyes going wide and a terrible sense of foreboding settling over his perception.

Something was wrong.

“Spike?”

A sharp gasp seized his throat. “’S Buffy. I gotta get to her.”

“What?”

“She’s in trouble.”

*~*~*

The woman was blonde, young, and quite possibly insane. Of the clinical nature. Her hair was accentuated by a cheap bleach job, her perm either purposefully bad so that it was good or just bad. She was wearing a dress and heels that made the old patrol outfits Buffy wore in the days of Angel kissage look sensible. Oh, and she had the strength to stop a locomotive with a flick of the wrist.

Granted, it had not been all that long since some vamp wannabe had smashed her face against a nice hard slab of cement, but the space between had granted her powers that generally helped her avoid this sort of confrontation. Buffy whirled around before the insane woman could advance any further, her hand shooting out to stop the fist flying at full speed for her jaw. The strength behind the arm was phenomenally powerful; she could tell the woman was surprised that her quarry had the ability to put up any resistance at all.

“Okay,” the woman said. “Who the hell are you, and what are you on?”

Buffy shrugged conversationally. “What? Don’t you know?” She landed a powerful punch that sent the woman searing across the room, nearly stumbling over herself in surprise rather than impact. “I mean, you’re in my town with the super strength, and not that it doesn’t look good on you but—” The woman leapt forward and lashed for her face again, angry this time. And just as easily, the Slayer captured her fist without a blink. “—two superchicks with superpowers in the same town? Been there, done that. Doesn’t end well. And since this is my town, the polite thing to do would be—”

“I don’t remember ordering a welcome wagon,” the blonde snarled, slapping her palm over Buffy’s mouth. Her fingers dug into her cheeks, the rage behind her eyes nearly manifesting into a force in itself. “What are you? Some hacked up Slayer wannabe?”

Buffy’s legs shot forward and connected with the woman’s chest, freeing them both and sending them spiraling to opposite ends of the room. The very vacant warehouse room that looked to have last been inhabited by some doomed corporation that didn’t realize they signed on for demon contracts and the like when they rented the lease.

“Wrong. I am the Slayer.”

The woman looked skeptical, wiping her mouth disdainfully. “Please. You think you’re talking to some fifteen hundred year old newbie here? The Slayer is human. Human and wondrously breakable.”

“Not anymore.”

“Well, you don’t smell like a vampire.”

“Not. Try looking up god. Should make for some interesting reading.”

The woman stared at her incredulously, then snorted. “Oh please! That’s so my line!” Even so, a flicker of doubt crossed her face, and Buffy sensed something in the midst of her seemingly groundbreaking revolution had gone horribly wrong.

She didn’t know how she knew; she just did.

“A brand new baby god?” the woman mused thoughtfully. “You know, I’ve always wanted to know just how much it would take to make one of the younger models cry.” She kicked off her highheels without blinking. “Hey! You wanna find out?”

“You can’t—”

“Really?” Suddenly, the blonde psychopath was right in front of her, eyes sparkling dangerously. Her fingers were poised at either side of Buffy’s head, and from nowhere, a searing pain sprouted in the pit of her stomach. Drawing out as something split her cranium in two, and a horrible siren of agony pierced through her throat. “I’m thinking I can.”

The Slayer gasped, her world dissolving like chalk on a rain drenched sidewalk. She saw a face in front of her, but nothing else. Felt the barricade she had placed between herself and Spike faltering, more on instinct than will. The claim kicking in to alert her mate that she was in danger. Slipping through the cracks.

Shouldn’t be this way. Shouldn’t…

“Hey!” the woman cried. “I thought you said you were a god. I’m crushing you.”

God. Am a god. Not a Slayer.

Thinking like that, reversibly, didn’t help.

Her insides were crushing, she was sure of it. And it was perchance by pure luck that one of her flailing legs caught the blonde in the gut. Buffy collapsed onto the wooden floor, her shields going up again. She hadn’t even realized her feet had left the ground.

The woman was already climbing to her feet. Evidently, the kick had projected enough power to send her across the room. “Okay,” she said irritably. “That was rude.”

Buffy’s eyes darted to the monk in the corner. She had to get to him.

She had to get out. And now.

The woman was advancing, though. And she looked ready to kill.

Buffy was running out of options. Her muscles were too sore. Her head was spinning as her temples throbbed. There was a pain in her gut that she had never before experienced, and every inch of her skin felt it was slowly burning off her body.

Enhanced strength—enhanced pain.

She had to get to the monk. Before he died with his secret, she had to get to him.

And make sure she got to someone else before she died carrying it.

*~*~*

Someone screamed her name and caught her in loving arms just as she tumbled to the ground outside the collapsed factory. Just feet away from the monk whose secrets she now kept. Consciousness waning, she saw blue eyes swimming in an ocean of tears, felt lips caressing her skin in hurried, desperate kisses. Heard a familiar voice crying her name. And every cell in her body warmed.

“I’m fine,” she gasped.

And she was. She was a god. She would live.

She knew the answer to the lie. Knew everything that had gone into place.

“Sweetheart…” Spike’s amorous mouth brushed her bruised lip, and she tasted his tears. “Jesus, baby, who did this to you?”

The woman had no name. No name that she knew.

“I—”

Her mate scooped her up into his arms and turned. “’m takin’ you home.”

“No!” The word meant to be forceful, but she had no voice at the moment. “Giles.”

“Buffy—”

“Need…Giles…”

There was hesitation in his response, but he did not deny her. He could not deny her anything.

Giles would know. Giles always knew.

That was the last thought to cross her mind. She was okay now. Spike had her. And it was finally safe to allow herself to drift into a healing state of unconscious. Allow her muscles to mend. Muscles blessed with a god’s power that should not be bruised.

Answers. She needed answers.

And hopefully, Giles would have them.

TBC