Summary: Sequel to Ahead of Her Time. Meeting Eden has changed the way Buffy sees Spike. But with Buffy rushing the relationship, Spike itching for his soul, Glory after Dawn, and Riley out for vengeance, how will they even make it to next week-much less to the future they've been promised?

Disclaimer: The story is mine, but the characters aren't. BTVS belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

Author's Note: For purposes of this story, we're going to say that Riley first visited the vampire-bitey warehouse BEFORE he let Sandy have a taste at Willy's. Just roll with it, okay? :)

Awaiting Eden

Chapter 3

"Spike," Buffy whispered, nudging the sleeping vampire with her elbow. God, he really did sleep like the dead. He was silent next to her, one cool arm thrown casually across her breasts. It was a little creepy, the no-breathing thing. She was so used to him breathing that only now did she consider how human it made him seem. Angel had never breathed.

It was dark and chilly in the lower level of his crypt—crypt! She was sleeping in a crypt! But she was warm and cozy, wrapped in his sheets, with his body so close to her own. Still, she couldn't sleep. She'd woken because of the itchy-stingy pain in her side that she knew signaled slayer healing, but that wasn't The Thing that was keeping her awake.

"Spike," she said again, louder this time. "Spike, wake up." She poked him in the ribs, in the stomach, was running her fingertips lightly up his side with intent to tickle when, lightning-fast, he grabbed her wrist and his eyes snapped open.

"Slayer," he grumbled. "Don't you know not to tickle a vampire?" She couldn't help but smile, but he could see the weight in her eyes, and it quickly cleared the sleepy haze from his brain. "What is it, pet? What's wrong? Does it hurt?"

"You killed them," she whispered. "Two slayers. One in China during the Boxer Rebellion, one in New York in the 70's."

He raised his eyebrows at her, a wary expression on his face. "I did." She could feel him tense, every muscle in his body prepped to move quickly, if she had somehow decided to exact revenge on behalf of her sister slayers.

She surprised him, though. "I want to know how," she said. "How you did it. Why you won."

"Oh, Buffy," he sighed, body relaxing against her once more. She had one elbow propped on the pillow and was looking down at him. He reached up one hand to push a stray hair behind her ear. "You're not going anywhere, pet. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

"It's just…I've been training harder than ever. I'm in the best shape of my life…" she looked away. "There might be something to look forward to, one day." The look of hope on Spike's face was hard to miss, even in the darkness. "I don't want to die, Spike. Not now. Not soon, even."

"You won't," he insisted. "You're the best slayer I've seen. And I've seen a handful in my time. You're bloody marvelous. And you've got your little gang of white hats, and your mum, and Dawn, and well, me. We're going to make sure you're around for a good long time."

Buffy chewed her bottom lip. "I want to know," she said. "I want to know about those fights. The details. How they lost. Why you won. Tell me?"

"No," he said, firmly, lightly pushing away her hand, which she'd settled on his fabric-covered chest.

"Yes."

"No."

"Spiiiike," she whined. It would be so easy to threaten him, to fall back into those old patterns. I'll break your nose (again) if you don't tell me. I'll make it so you can fit in an ashtray. It was more of an effort not to do it, to treat him like a person. Like a man. But she knew it was important to change those habits, to give him the one thing, now, that he'd never, ever gotten from her: respect. "Please," she said.

"Buffy, no."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to talk about it, that's why."

"I thought you'd want to tell the tales, brag about your victories."

"Well, shows how much you know," he said, growing more agitated the longer the conversation wore on.

"But, why don't you?"

"Bloody hell, Slayer!" he erupted. "I don't want to because every time I think of those dead slayers, all I see is your face. And hers. I see my family, damnit!" He thought of the Chinese slayer—he'd never even known her name. But when he thought about it now, he saw himself tearing into the girl's neck with his fangs, and when she looked at him, her face became Buffy's. Buffy's pretty bow of a mouth gasping his name, her blood spilling from the corners of his lips. When he thought of Nikki, the New York slayer who he'd always looked back on fondly (brilliant fighter, she'd been, had given him what he used to think of as some of the most thrilling fights of his existence), he remembered the triumphant snap of her neck on that subway. But in his mind, now, her body shifted before his eyes, and she became smaller, younger, and before he knew it, he was looking into Eden's eyes—the shock and betrayal on her face making him stagger back until he tripped over his boots. Those were his nightmares, and they visited him often, since Eden had come into their lives.

Buffy was stunned by the look of horror on Spike's face. "Hey," she said, softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I didn't know it was like that, for you." She was blown away. Did Spike feel regret for the things he'd done? Wasn't that an emotion reserved for the soul-having?

He shook his head, trying to shake away those visions. "No, pet," he said, quietly. "If it helps keep you alive…if you're sure you want to know, then I'll tell you all about it. Just…promise you won't hate me, when you hear?"

"Okay," she agreed easily, despite the weight of the promise.

"Okay. How about I go put some tea on, then? It's not exactly a short story."

She laughed, in spite of the circumstances. "You've got tea in your crypt?"

"Course. Wouldn't be a proper Englishman if I didn't." He smirked, and disappeared to the upper level, while Buffy propped up the pillows and settled in to hear Spike's story.

Riley couldn't believe he was drinking at the demon bar again, surrounded by hostiles. Why was he here, anyway? Plenty of non-demon bars in this town, though he probably shouldn't be drinking at all. He was smart enough to know that this wasn't healthy. But if he was going to drink away his sorrows, then maybe, as a former member of the Initiative, Willy's wasn't the safest place for him to do it.

That was the thing, though: he just didn't care anymore. Maybe dangerous was exactly what he needed right now. Maybe it was what he wanted.

"Come here often?" a throaty feminine voice purred in his ear.

"Too much, lately," he said, turning. "But you know that, already. Hello, Sandy." He'd seen her here before, talked with her, even though he knew what she was.

"You told me no vamps," she pouted, looking hurt and a little hesitant as one finger traced the mark on his forearm that he hadn't bothered to hide. "But someone's been getting samples." She pushed a strand of her shining dark hair behind her ear. "And it isn't me." She took a long, slow drink from her vodka tonic, and Riley's eyes traveled to the pale silky skin of her throat as she swallowed. "We could change that, though," she said, when she put the glass down. "If you want."

He was silent.

"Did you like it, at least?" Sandy asked. She looked down, then up at him, her eyes shy but curious. "When she bit you?"

"No." He looked away.

"Someone's telling lies," she teased, a sultry smile chasing away the shyness. "I could make you feel even better, though." She leaned in close. "Me…inside of you…while you're inside of me…" She looked away and took another drink.

Against his better judgment, he thought about it, thought of the perverse intimacy of having that skinny warehouse vamp's fangs buried in his arm, that feeling of being necessary. He'd felt strong and reckless all at once. Take that feeling, already erotic, and add the genuine sexual element…maybe something worth considering. It wasn't like Buffy was going to take him back. He touched his still-healing nose gently. And Sandy was certainly nice to look at.

"But Sandy," he said, in his practical military voice. "I hardly know you." Not that it mattered. Not that she mattered. She wasn't even a person.

"We can change that," she said. "Wanna get out of here?"

"That would be wrong," he said.

"If you turn me down again, it might just be the last time I make the offer."

He shouldn't, he knew. He was a wreck after the break-up with Buffy, and he knew that playing with a vamp was dangerous. He thought, bitterly, of Buffy, of her disgusting relationship with Spike. Two can play at that, he thought.

Riley got up from his bar stool, and, turning back, held out a hand to the brunette vamp. "You know what? Show me."

Just outside the bar, she pushed him against the building and kissed him hungrily. His stake was in his waistband. He could turn her to ash so easily. It would be the right thing to do.

But when he moved his hand to reach for it, he found his hand winding itself into her dark hair, instead, found himself tilting his head to one side to give her better access to his neck.