Buffy held tight to Spike’s hand as she stumbled through the dimensional portal and felt the rush of energy laving over her skin.  She was desperate to get away from the fight that had sapped her, and she was worried about leaving Angel behind. 

 

            However, she was more concerned about Spike’s abrupt transformation back to the frailties of humanity in the midst of the battle.  He’d sustained some form of head injury and seemed more than a little out of sorts.  The transition to another dimension was hard enough on one with supernatural strength. . . let alone a human who was hanging onto consciousness by a thread. 

 

            The step into the new world made her dizzy, and she allowed herself to squat to the soft, wet ground to regain steadiness.  Spike’s hand was firmly tucked in the crook of her elbow. 

 

            As the stars that marred her vision faded, she rose with caution, senses on alert. 

 

            Spike’s arm snaked around her waist, and she allowed him to lean his weight against her.  His breath over her cheek was warm and heavy from exertion.  At least, he was still alive.  Her muscles tingled at his nearness, and deep within, she found herself yearning for him to never let her go.

 

            The world around them was dark and wooded.  Sounds of the night echoed around her, and the air was dense with moisture from the humidity.  She guessed they were in the Louisiana of a different dimension, but she just didn’t know *which* dimension. 

 

            And she didn’t know the way out of the forest. 

 

            Dim light from the stars and moon flashed through the spaces in the tree branches above, and she attempted to view Spike’s face.  His eyes were drooping, and he looked dazed as if someone had beaten him.  Shoving aside the guilty feeling that sprang in her, she cupped his cheek to steady his head and shock him into sensibility. 

 

            “Spike!” she said with more harshness than she intended.  “Stay awake for me.  I can’t have you blacking out now.” 

 

            Spike couldn’t focus.

 

            So, she demanded, “Say something.  Who am I?”

 

            He took longer to respond that she would have liked, but he managed, “B-buffy.”

 

            “Good, and who are you?”

 

            “Spike,” he said with greater clarity.

 

“Can you walk?”

 

            Shifting feet resounded over the insects chirruping.  “Uh huh.”

 

            She placed a hand against his rising and falling chest because he was swaying.  “Okay, because we have to get out of here.  I’m not sure where we are, but we can’t exactly stay here.”

 

            Spike mumbled something incoherent.

 

            “What?”  She leaned closer, and as she did, Spike’s knees gave out.

 

            They collapsed to the dirt together, their foreheads momentarily touching.

 

            “Angel?” he queried.

 

            Buffy shook her head even though Spike couldn’t see her.  “Not sure where he’ll end up.”  She bit her lip and then continued without certainty, “We’ll find him though.”

 

            Spike sighed. 

 

            Before Buffy could make sense of his impatience, she heard a twig snap from the nearby brush. 

 

            Disentangling herself from Spike’s limbs, Buffy stared in the direction of the noise, ready for a fight despite her exhaustion.  She would do anything to guard the helpless man at her feet.  “Who’s there?” 

 

            The voice that rang out was tentative, “Buffy?”

 

            “Angel?”

 

            A familiar form emerged before Spike and Buffy.  “It is you,” Angel said as if Buffy and Spike hadn’t just left him. . . as if he hadn’t seen her in years. 

 

            Buffy smiled in relief, and Angel caressed her cheek with tenderness.  Buffy jerked back in surprise.  “Y-you’re human!”

 

* * *

 

            The steady beep of the machine kept time with the motion of Spike’s chest beneath the white sheet.  Though unconscious since she and Angel had brought him to the nearest hospital, Spike was still breathing, and for that, Buffy was grateful. 

 

            She hadn’t left his side for hours despite her brain’s desperate attempt to shut down.  Hospitals were not a place of peace for her, and Spike was her only tie to the other dimension. . . her world.  She refused to let go of his hand.  Answers to her hundreds of questions could come later. 

 

            All she knew for certain was that she was with Spike, and the Angel of this world was keeping watch over their little corner of the hospital.  

 

            Buffy clasped Spike’s warm hand between her small palms as she thought of how surreal the notion of Angel being human was to her.  How could that have happened here and not in her dimension?  And where was the Spike of this world? 

 

            With a quiet moan, Spike shifted in what the doctor had assured her was his sleep.  Buffy felt something tug at her heart.  He looked so vulnerable laying there, and she just wished he would open his eyes and tell her to sod off because he wasn’t vulnerable. . . least of all to her. 

 

She’d seen a spark in his eyes when he’d fought earlier.  It was a glint that she hadn’t seen in his eyes since he obtained a soul, and she wanted it back.

 

            “Buffy?”

 

            Buffy started and turned abruptly to see a tan and very human Angel standing in the doorway, dark eyes dancing with something that she couldn’t quite identify.  “Angel,” she breathed in relief. 

 

            Angel moved his hands behind his back as if he was hiding something.  “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

 

            Buffy glanced at Spike who remained asleep.  “It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking her thumb across his fingers as she faced Angel.  For reasons she didn’t understand, she felt defensive and protective of the man on the bed.

 

“Is Spike going to be okay?”

 

“I think so,” she said.  “The doctor said he has a concussion and probably just needs to sleep for a while.  They bandaged his head.  But otherwise, he should be fine.  They just want to make sure all systems are go when he wakes up.”

 

            A smile played about Angel’s lips.  “Just like Spike. . . he’s always been tough. . . hardheaded.”

 

            Without realizing what she was doing, Buffy squeezed Spike’s hand and grinned.  “He is.”

 

            “And your injuries?”

 

            “All healed up. . . well, mostly.”  Buffy closed her mouth and stared at the floor.

 

            “So,” Angel began, running a hand through his dark hair, “I’m going to catch a nap in the waiting room.”  Buffy must have looked alarmed because he added, “But don’t worry, I’ll be close by.”

 

            Relaxing into the bed’s mattress, Buffy nodded.  “Good.  I’ll be here until. . .”

 

            “Until he wakes up.”  Angel’s eyes betrayed a hint of sadness, and Buffy filed it away to be explored later. 

 

            “Yeah.”  Her eyes drifted toward Spike who had rolled onto his side away from her and subsequently released her hand.  Her attention remained on him.  “And then, we’ll. . .”

 

            “I’ll answer more questions than you might want answers for,” Angel finished for her. 

 

            Buffy didn’t respond, but she wasn’t sure if it was out of weariness or lack of necessary words. 

 

She wasn’t even aware that Angel was gone.

 

Instead, after only a moment of hesitation, she did what she had longed to do the previous night.  She climbed onto the bed behind Spike, kicking off her shoes with a clunk.  Following her instincts, she wrapped her arms around his midsection, buried her face in his familiar scent, and allowed herself to fall into dreams. 

 

* * *

 

            Warm lips slid over her mouth, nudging her lips apart.

 

Following her body’s gentle urgings, Buffy sighed and moved closer to the source of the burst of shivers that shot through her limbs and torso.  She groaned as the kiss intensified, and a tongue requested immediate entrance.  Her mouth granted the visitor its requested audience, and she matched the urgency with her own energy. 

 

The rest of her body soon joined in the waltz of desire, and her hands ran over the bulge of muscles and the curve of bones that were beginning to move in time with her own. 

 

She tugged at cotton, leather, and synthetic tubing, wanting freedom from society’s restraints, and she worked with a surety of experience to grant them emancipation.  At first, she had aid, but then,

 

“Buffy,” came the low rumble, half-filled with love and half with a hint of fear.

 

The single utterance destroyed her bubble of dreams.  The sun was just beginning to bathe their room in the tender light of morning, and she was suddenly drowning in the blue seas of Spike’s eyes. 

 

In a rush of confusion, she ducked her head to his chest to find his heart thundering in her ears.  His heartbeat wasn’t the only sign of his arousal, and she blushed although no one could see her. 

 

He stroked her back and long, tangled hair with initial hesitation, so she slipped her arms around his waist to pull him closer and reassure him that she wasn’t going anywhere.

 

She found her voice first, “Thank god, you’re okay.”

 

“Worried you, eh, pet?”  His voice was hoarse with surprise and uncertainty.  This was new for them. . . at least of late.

 

Her response was clear as a bell, “Yes.”

 

He pushed her back a little.  “Don’t worry.  I’m stubborn.  I’ll survive.”

 

“If we could survive on stubbornness alone. . .”

 

“Then, we’d be immortal,” Spike said with a grin that faded almost as it formed.  His arms released her, and he scooted away. 

 

Buffy was taken aback.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m sorry.”  Tears were in his eyes.  “I didn’t mean to take advantage.”

 

Despite the passage of four years and the renewed forgiveness between them, he was still afraid of hurting her.  With haste, Buffy closed the gap between them, placing two fingers on his lips.  “No.  You didn’t take advantage.  It was me. . .”

 

A small cry interrupted them, filling Buffy’s ears with something that she never thought she’d hear.

 

“Mommy!”

 

Buffy bolted upright to see a tiny, four-year-old girl burst into the room. . . a little girl with light brown waves framing her fair face and piercing dark brown eyes. 

 

The child flung herself at Buffy with vigor, wrapping her arms middle as if she might never let go.  Not quite sure what to do, Buffy held the girl with a bit of awkwardness.  An extremely angry Angel emerged, ignoring the compromising position of Spike and Buffy.  With tenderness, he pulled the girl back.

 

“Celeste.  No, that’s not Mommy.  Come here.”  The girl, Celeste, let go of Buffy in favor of Angel’s neck. 

 

“But it is Mommy,” she insisted, pointing at Buffy with a pout. 

 

Angel avoided everyone’s eyes and glanced over his shoulder.  “Fred!”

 

Fred poked her head around the corner with a sheepish expression.  “Sorry.”

 

Angel let his anger seep through.  “I told you not to let her come near this room!”

 

The Fred of this dimension had short brown hair and was just as tan as Angel.  She also seemed to have gained a healthy amount of weight.  “We went to get a snack, and she took off when I put her down to get some change.”

 

Buffy raised her hand.  “Excuse me.  What’s going on?”

 

Fred and Angel seemed annoyed by the intrusion, and Celeste reached for Buffy again, kicking her legs against Angel’s abdomen.

 

“Mommy!”  Celeste glared at Angel.  “Put me down, Daddy, so I can give Mommy a hug.”

 

Propped up on his elbows, Spike snorted.  “Figures.”

 

Angel rolled his eyes and passed the squirming girl to Fred.  “Take her to get some breakfast.”

 

Fred nodded, eager to correct her mistake.  “Right.”

 

Celeste let out a shriek, realizing that she wasn’t going to get her way.  “No!  I want Mommy!”

 

Fred’s soothed the girl and headed down the hall.

 

Silence dominated the room as Angel, Spike, and Buffy were left alone. 

 

“The truth,” Buffy demanded.  “Now.”