A/N: Hello, all. In case you aren't familiar with the comics, here's some information you need to know for this story. (SPOILERS AHEAD!) In Season 8 of BtVS, Buffy initially has headquarters set up in a Scotland fortress, training Slayers there, which is where this story is set. Andrew and Giles are doing the same in England. After the Angel finale, according to After the Fall and Aftermath, The Senior Partners gave AI one more chance after "Not Fade Away" when LA was sent into hell, sent 'em back to the final battle and they averted losing, and are now busy keeping LA safe again.

Besides this info, my story isn't technically "canon" with those of the comics. Once in a while I'll reference the plots of either comic but will explain them as best I can.

Disclaimer: Don't own BtVS. Mutant Enemy does. This is just for fun.

No!

Buffy Summers sat up in a cold sweat, panting, eyes darting back and forth frantically. Yes, a dream. It had all been a dream. But the point still stood: He had been in her dream. This was the first time in months that she'd dreamt of him.

There had also been many others; people she recognized and people she didn't: Willow, Xander. Andrew. Some Slayers as well, who looked terrified. There were screams. Lots of fire. Deaths.

And Spike. The bleach-blonde hair, the infamous black leather coat. It was him, right down to the piercing blue eyes.

The final battle in Sunnydale happened so long ago. And yet, Buffy could still see him clearly in her mind, holding her hand as he burned. A lot had changed since then. Hell, Buffy had tried dating. Experimenting, even. She liked to think she was happy where she was, right now, fighting the good fight without dragging a significant other along for the ride.

There had been a considerable low in the amount of Big Scaries lately. Mostly, she'd been spending a majority of her time training and keeping the Slayer image out of the media as much as possible, and doing all those Boss-type duties. But now, Buffy had a feeling that this hadn't been just a dream.

And as she tried to fight the image of Spike falling to the ground with a thud out of her head, she knew. Something was going to happen. Soon.

"Oh, bloody hell!"

Spike collapsed onto the hardwood floor, his jaw clenched. Last time he'd checked, he had been lying in bed, oblivious to the world.

Apparently too oblivious, as he'd rolled right off the mattress and landed flat on his back. "Ow."

He sat for a moment, blinking stupidly at the sunlight trying desperately to shine through the closed blinds, and that was when he remembered.

He'd been dreaming. And it hadn't exactly been an experience full of rainbows and cupcakes, either.

He remembered being in close proximity to flames, so close that he could feel his coat burning against his skin. He remembered hearing Illyria's voice, and Angel's, oddly enough.

And he remembered Buffy. She looked like she was at her wit's end. She looked afraid.

His thought process as he dodged all the flames had been the same throughout the dream: Buffy's in trouble. I need to help Buffy.

And yet he'd felt so tired. So useless. Stumbling around like an idiot, blind even though he could see...And then he fell. Of course, that part actually had happened.

Spike leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. This had been no ordinary dream; he was sure of that.

He'd tried so very hard to push Buffy out of his mind the last couple of years. He and the big poofter Angel had decided a while back that if she was hooking up with the damn Immortal, the point of trying to see her again was completely moot.

The last time he'd seen her, Spike felt they could've had something. Something they both wanted, if fate had allowed it. But fate never seemed to be on Spike's side.

His mind went through a brief replay of the last few years. He'd fought side-by-side with Angel until LA was sucked into hell, and even then, he'd kept on fighting. Only when he, Angel and most of their team had died fighting the good fight did the Senior Partners of Wolfram and Hart, the evil law firm that caused most of LA's problems of mystical nature, decide to step in and give them a second chance. They'd been sent back to that fateful apocalypse to make things right, and they did. Now, they continued to fight to keep LA right where it was.

Sure, he'd had a lot on his plate. But he never stopped thinking of her.

It was clear she'd moved on. And he really wanted to. But the Slayer had always been floating around in the back of his mind.

Now she was front and center, and all he could think was, What if she is in trouble?

He looked at the clock on his bedside table. It was 3PM.

He needed to make a phone call.

"Spike, you're an idiot, do you know that?"

Spike rolled his eyes, taking a sip of blood from a black mug, shifting his cell phone from his right ear to his left, letting it rest on his shoulder. "While we're on the subject of idiots, has Connor even attempted to teach you how to work a bloody cell phone? I've been trying to call you, O Great Poof."

"Not the point," was Angel's clearly annoyed voice on the other line, "Plus, it's the middle of the day. You of all people should know I was sleeping."

"Oh, poor Angel needs his nap?" Spike retorted, smirking into the phone. He very well did know that Angel would be asleep around this time, being a vampire like him, and all. But he just loved pissing Angel off. Some things never change.

"Shut up. What do you want, Spike? You're supposed to be working on stopping those purple slime demons from ransacking those Hollywood trailers."

Spike shrugged. "Eh. I mean, who hasn't wanted to trash a celebrity's trailer?"

"Spike."

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, you big wanker," Spike spat, "You can't very well tell me what to do. Technically, I don't work for you anymore."

"Yes, but we're all responsible for making sure LA doesn't go to hell, like, you know, the last time?" Angel muttered.

"Yeah, uh, well . . . " Spike sighed (though the breath wasn't needed), "I'm-not-going-to-be-around-I'm-going-to-Buffy's." He said the last bit in one quick breath.

"You what?"

"You heard me, poofter. Buffy's in trouble. I know she is. So I'm going to need you lot to hold the fort until I get back."

He could almost hear Angel's anger on the other line. "Are you out of your mind? You're just deciding to go track Buffy dow-"

"Not track her down. She's in Scotland. Relocated, I wager," Spike said thoughtfully, "Point is, I had this dream thing..."

"Oh, great. You've got to be kidding me. What, do you think you have prophetic dreams, now, or something?"

Spike once again rolled his eyes. He'd spent quite a bit of time thinking about this situation, and had an answer for every excuse Angel had to throw out: "That's the bloody thing. If you'd just stop for a sec' instead of interrupting me with your whiny babbling, you woulda known that already."

A sigh. "Fine. Talk."

Spike quickly rattled off the dream he had, explaining how he'd never had any like this one before. "Look, Poof. This isn't a regular thing for me, having dreams like that. I'm not big on the wishy-washy crap. But something's wrong," he finished.

"Even still," Angel replied, "Whether there's something wrong or not, Buffy's made it clear she wants to handle things herself."

There was a moment of silence on the line until Angel spoke again: "You know, it's not so unusual. I've dreamed about her, too. I still do."

Wanting to save himself from the feelings Angel was clearly trying to distract him with, Spike quickly retorted, "Psh. Please. This is different, and you damn well know it. You just don't want to see me save her when you want all the glory."

"You're an idiot, Spike," Angel repeated, his voice rising, "And don't expect me to sympathize when you come home within a day after she convinces you she doesn't need saving. Buffy's never needed saving. You're making a mist-"

Spike jabbed a thumb into the "END" button on his cell phone, not wanting to hear the rest.

He had to book some flights, and fast.