African Girl

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters with which I play. They belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and I'm sure UPN doesn't want me fiddling with them either. I promise not to get them too dirty and return them when I'm done in nearly mint condition. Maybe just a little tired and sweaty is all.

Ditribution: Maybe. Just drop me an email and reviewing is always nice too.

Reviews: YES, GOD, PLEASE! Ooh, did I shout? Dreadfully sorry. It's just a click. Won't hurt a fly.

Rating: Nothing too racy yet but it will be NC-17 I'm sure. They all end up that way.

Summary: Post 'Two to Go' so Spoilers till the end of season six. S P O I L E R. Spike has his soul and he and Buffy begin having dreams. It's also kind of a songfic as i was inspired to write it tonight as I was watching the Jewel "Break Me" video. (lyrics below).

A/N: Hey! ^_^ Thanks to all those that reviewed the last chapter! You guys rock! And Chance, you are a little sweetheart. Anyway, this chapter expanded and got away from me a little bit. That happens sometimes. Hope you guys like it. Hope the timing seems right as I tried to pay special care to that. Oh, and more dreamage and the afforementioned NC-17 to come.



As Buffy tossed the pillow to the floor and strode from her room, Spike awoke with a gasp an ocean away. He lay in a little hut with course blankets strung around his corner. The sky had begun to darken outside his well protected refuge and he peeked out. Not quite dark enough. He leaned back and pulled out a cigarette, lighting the tip with nonchalant ease. His eyes narrowed as he looked out the window. He wasn't ready to see her again. Everything was just too new. And he'd admit it. He was afraid. Now that it was done, now that the anger and fire that had fueled him was gone, he was deeply afraid of what would happen when he saw her again. There had been so much badness between them when he left and his only thought had been to change it. Change the world, himself, make her face it. Now he felt new and raw and sore and it hurt to much to think of what she might say.
'You'll never be good enough,' her lip curled in disgust.

He shut his eyes tight at the mental picture. His soul inside him was like an amplifier, every emotion torture, and it had been torture enough before.

A dark-skinned woman came in holding a bucket of water in one hand and a flailing chicken in the other. There was a tinge of fear in her black eyes, but a proud erectness to her tall, slimly muscular body. Spike pushed the blanket aside and stepped into the shadows of the hut.

"Bokas sent word to feed you," the woman said in a strong, melodious accent. Spike's jaw tightened. He could picture the glowing eye-d bugger laughing at him now. Neat trick he'd played, giving him what he had never meant to ask for. A bloody poncy soul. Like he didn't have enough grief in his life. Unlife.

"Sounds good," Spike said evenly, wondering exactly that would entail, his eyes trailing involuntarily to the supple line of her throat.

The woman walked over to a rough table. A brown cup was already out. She set the bucket in the corner and pulled out a large curved knife from the folds of her skirt. With a quick swish she sliced the squawking chicken's head off. It rolled into the corner as it's wings still beat ferociously and warm blood poured over her hand. She held the chicken upside down over the cup and let the red blood flow into it. When the last trickle had stopped she flung the chicken into the bucket and plunged in her hands to rinse off the fresh blood.

He'd had more appetizing meals. But he was also very hungry. He licked his lips. He sat down and grasped the cup. Still warm, hot even. He gulped back half the cup and made a small face. The woman sat down across from him and gave him a stern look, "Chicken blood is all you'll be getting here, beast," she said, but her voice did strange things to the last word, fear and something else passing through her eyes.

He'd been so wrapped up in Buffy it was almost a shock to see that look. Especially from this strange woman whose hut he had stumbled into after leaving the cave.

He'd passed out after the demon had ensouled him. The next few weeks were a blur. He'd moved in and out of consciousness, sometimes a hand would appear with a bowl of blood, always cold. He'd drink it down greedily before falling back into darkness. He dreamt mainly those first weeks. Victims and events flashed in disjointed memory and sometimes there would be Buffy in the chaos and darkness like a shining, dark light. Moonlight. Velvet. Golden moonlight.

But then he'd woken one mornig and wanted her. Needed her. So he'd dragged himself to his feet and limped stiffly from the cave, his jaw clenched, his eyes shining with anger, pride, and something that looked like it wanted to be tears. The demon had chuckled as he passed. "Goodbye, Spike," he'd said in a gravelly voice. "Be careful..." and there was a smile hidden in the words. Spike had gotten the joke. He didn't find it funny.

"Poncy bugger," he muttered and left the cave forever. He'd planned to go straight to her but he had been weak and battered in body and, for the first time in a long time, soul.

So he had walked out into the night, stiff and tired, a strange ache in the region of his heart, and a vomity feeling in the area of his gut. But he'd made a major error in time zones and sunrises when he'd felt the first tingle of approaching dawn. The little hut was on the outskirts of the village and he'd barged in, hoping there wasn't any big guy with an axe or petite blondes with stakes. There hadn't been. He'd collapsed in the corner and hadn't woken for two days.

"Am I?" Spike muttered, his voice introspective, a tortured laugh in the words.

"You'll always be a beast," the woman said matter-of-factly. She shrugged. "But it could be worse. You could be an ugly beast." And there was that something again. Fascination, desire. It was stimulating, intiguing, and nothing even close to Buffy. But then nothing ever was. Not since the first time he'd laid eyes on her in the alley beside The Bronze. She nodded to the open doorway and the dusk beyond. "It'll be dark soon. Will you be leaving, then?"

Spike gazed out at the deepening dark of the sky. Then he tured his eyes to her, the burning passion of the blue spearing her, "I have other options, I suppose."

The woman smiled slowly. "There are always options. My name's Kira. You did na bother asking when you barged in here the other night." But there was no reproach in her voice. She'd lost a husband a few years back and had been in this hut alone ever since. Kira stood and said, "I'll be taking the bed tonight. Do what you will."

Definite invitation. Spike heard and understood. Apparently this village didn't mind the beasts it harbored so close. He nodded to the girl. She stood and walked to the corner, her hips swaying more than they had when she'd walked in with the chicken. She slipped her light cotton shirt over her head. Spike's eyes followed her, her dark honey skin glowing in the fading light, the smooth curve of her breast peeked out as she leaned down and slid onto the low bed tucked in the opposite corner. He gulped down the last of the hot blood, feeling it tingle and zing through his body, silencing the hungry growl of his stomach.

He stood and stepped out into the night. It was intriguing. It was nice. To be wanted. To have a warm body welcoming him in the night. But he'd been down that road. He grimaced at the thought of Anya. He stopped dead still in the white sand. But that hadn't stopped him before. His hand went to his heart, the dull throb that felt as if it were the new seat of his soul.

He looked back over his shoulder at the little hut before trudging out into the tall waving grass of the savannah. He felt freer, looser in some ways. The chaos of his love had settled behind this new feeling. But there was a bright anger as well. The lingering anger that had carried him to Africa still ached in him. The all-consuming urge to run back and throw it in her face. 'You thought I'd never be good enough. Man enough. But Peaches had his soul and now I got mine. What do you have to say to that? Do you see what I've done for you? What you've done to me?'

But it was secondary now. To just being in his own skin. Feeling the parts that had been William awaken and merge into the parts that had become Spike. And all the while the feeling of his demon, something integral, sliding back. Leaving this hole where there had been certaintity. Cetainty that he was evil. Certaintity of himself as Spike. A certainty that begun to dim a long time ago. As if the place for his soul had been building all the time he'd been loving her. He groaned and buried his face in his hands. It was just too much. He just wanted to fall asleep and dream again. Even if it was the nightmares.

He crested a hill. A knarled tree curled it's branches in a flattened scape against the sky. He sat beneath this tree that seemed as old as the world itself and looked at the twinkling stars between its branches. He needed to see her eventually. She was his Goldilocks.





Buffy emerged from the shower refreshed and ready to face the day. It was one of those tricks she'd learned over the years. No matter what was going on, you woke up, took a hot shower, and got on with your day. Life. Whatever.

As she passed the firmly shut door to the master bedroom she felt the familiar pinch of sadness. The door had been shut since the day they'd taken Tara's body away. Willow slept on the downstairs couch now. Buffy wanted to open it. Walk in. Face the pain. It seemed all tied up with her mom and her own death somehow. This house had seen so much pain. But it wasn't her place to do it. Willow had been a wreck when she and Tara had split. She'd been hell on wheels when she died. Pain like that wasn't easy to face. How do you come back from that? Willow amazed her every day with the fact that she had.

Willow came up the stairs just then. She looked so thin, still. Buffy frowned. "Hey, Buffy, where were you this morning?" Willow asked softly.

"Huh? Oh, crap! I forgot to get Dawn to school! I was so tired, I just slept..." Buffy said as she hurried down the hall to Dawn's room.

"No. No, she went," Willow said, following a little more slowly. "I just wondered why you slept so long, is all," Willow finished.

"Oh," Buffy said, then more softly, "Oh." She turned and walked back into her bedroom and plopped down on the bed. "I've just been having weird dreams lately," she said, her eyes shifting to the closed door of her closet then back to Willow.

"Slayer dreams?" Willow asked, sitting beside Buffy.

"No. Just dreams," she answered. "But how have you been?"

Willow slowly put her head down on Buffy's shoulder. Buffy silently wrapped an arm around her and hugged her close. Xander's voice echoed from the front hall. "Hello? Anyone home? Thought I'd come over and have my lunch with my favorite ladies..." his voice got louder until he was filling Buffy's door. "Ahh, glad I didn't miss the huggage," he said, moving across the room to wrap both girls in his arms. Willow couldn't help but smile a little. Neither could Buffy.



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