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The Butterfly Effect	By : cousinjean Category: > Buffy/Spike(William) > Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 27632 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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The Butterfly Effect

by cousinjean

*

Chapter Ten

***

"So, you gonna tell me what all that was about?"

He'd held her until she had cried herself to sleep, and then kept holding her long after. Tired as he was, he made himself stay awake for this. Because this was� Now, the sex had been-well, good was definitely an understatement. Amazing. Brilliant. He could probably go down the entire bloody alphabet. He hoped it was only the beginning. He planned to spend the entire afternoon making a mental map of her terrain, and finding out just how well she knew his. But this� holding her, watching her sleep, getting attuned like never before to all of her little rhythms� her warmth radiating through him, her heart beating against his chest until it felt like his own�

There were no words.

Now she was awake, and they lay spooned up together in the middle of the bed. "All what?" she asked, toying absently with his fingers.

"The Meryl Streep impression? Normally, somebody cries like that while I'm� well, I guess when they've cried that was usually the p-"

Buffy turned over to clamp a hand over his mouth. "No good is going to come of you finishing that sentence."

He grasped her hand and kissed her palm, then held it to his chest and waited.

She took a moment, evidently to clear an unpleasant mental picture. He was at once sorry he'd put it there and annoyed with himself for being sorry.

"But yeah," she said finally, "sorry about the breakdown. My timing's kind of�" She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "If I had good timing these days we wouldn't be in this situation."

"Seems like perfect timing to me, Love."

She gave him a weak smile and a shrug of one shoulder. "Guess it's all in how you look at it. It just� hit me. That when I go home, you won't be there."

That much, he'd figured. He'd even shed a tear or two of his own while she slept, at the thought of giving this up. He knew it had to be worse for her. Saying goodbye would tear them both up, but then he'd have the luxury of forgetting, and then falling in love with her all over again. Still�

"You sure that's all it was?"

Her eyes widened. "'All'?"

"I don't mean�" Spike sighed. "I'm picking up a vibe here, Pet. Something's telling me you're not being entirely straight with me. That there's more to it."

She pushed away from him.

"Buffy," he pleaded, grabbing for her, but she was already out of bed. She crossed to the window, taking the sheet and wrapping it around her as she went. When she pulled back the blinds, just enough to peek out, sunlight limned her face and made her seem to glow from within. The longer she stared, the more Spike got the feeling she wasn't looking at anything that actually lay outside that window.

He sat up. "Said you'd be straight with me. That you'd fill me in once I'd earned it. Think I've done that."

She said nothing. Just kept on staring. With a sigh, Spike scratched his brow and tried to remember where he'd last seen his cigarettes.

"There was a battle."

His head snapped up at the sound of her voice, low and distant. Wherever she was speaking from, it wasn't here with him. Spike wasn't even sure she'd actually spoken, until she went on.

"The Hellmouth was opening. There was this army� we went down to meet them head on."

"You and me?"

Buffy came back to herself a bit and turned her gaze toward the room. Not toward him, though. "Among others." Letting go the blind, she pulled the sheet up over her shoulders and hugged herself. "You wore this amulet I got from Angel. He said it was supposed to be worn by a champion. He meant to wear it himself, but I took it from him. He� I wonder, sometimes, which one of you was really meant to wear it." Her eyes picked out a spot on the wall and clung to it. When she spoke next, her voice was a whisper. "Sometimes I wish-" But she cut herself off, the sudden guilt on her face telling him that the thought was too awful to contemplate, let alone speak aloud. "Anyway, I gave it to you."

About a dozen comments sprang to the tip of Spike's tongue-some sarcastic, some sincere; but he bit down on all of them, and waited.

"I still don't know whether you used it, or it used you. But you pretty much single-handedly took out the enemy with the thing, and closed the Hellmouth. Permanently."

"You're saying I saved the world?"

She nodded and, finally, looked at him. "And me."

Her eyes held gratitude and a fierce pride; but they mingled with a sorrow that suggested�

"But not me."

Her lip quavered. That was all the confirmation he needed.

"Fuck," he muttered.

Buffy bit her lip and bowed her head. When she raised it again-without looking at him-the tears were back. "I stayed with you as long as I could. I tried to get you to come with me-" Her voice broke. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her mouth, but then she shook her head and wiped her nose. "I should've tried harder. I should've made you-"

"My decision, Love." His voice was dull, numb, just like him. But he still felt compelled to comfort her.

"You said it was something you had to do. You were ecstatic, and you said you could feel your soul-"

"Oh, well, there you go then," he said, retreating behind sarcasm. "Clearly those things are hazardous to your health."

"I felt it too," Buffy whispered, effectively shutting him up. She looked at him again, and gave him a tearful smile. "I touched your soul, William. And it was the most beautiful thing I've ever�" She sniffed and wiped her eyes.

Spike drew his knees up and propped his elbows on them. He stared at her a while, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with all of this. He always knew deep down that his existence was something of a joke. And she'd just delivered the punch line. Good one, too. Downright laughable, it was.

So that's what he did. He folded his arms across his knees and put his head down and had a good, silent chuckle. Soon it grew into a series of loud guffaws. He fell back against the pillows, drew one over his face, and laughed into it uncontrollably. Once he thought he'd laughed himself out he pulled it away and looked at Buffy. She stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded, face all drawn in bewilderment. That set him off again.

"Oh, bloody hell," he finally managed when he could draw breath enough to speak.

"You think I'm joking?" asked Buffy.

He looked at her solemnly and shook his head, then snickered, starting up again. He laughed so hard his face hurt and his eyes teared up. "Know you're not," he gasped. "'S what makes it so funny!"

"Sure," she said. "Me making sure I go back to a world that doesn't have you in it. Feel-good comedy of the century."

Her voice hitched, and it was like she threw cold water on him. Sobering up, he folded his hands behind his head and looked at her long and hard. "I really am just a ghost to you."

Buffy shook her head. "No."

"And tomorrow I'll be nothing more to you than a memorable shag." He knew he wasn't being fair, but he didn't care. He wanted to be angry with her. It felt good. He wanted to go back to hating her-that would make everything so much easier. "Well, come on, then." He ran a hand down his naked chest, past his abdomen, and rubbed his groin. "Let's get it back up and have at it. Don't have much time left with your Substitute Spike, after all."

Buffy closed her eyes. "Do you have to be so disgusting?"

"Apparently it's part of the whole 'not having a soul' package."

She pursed her lips and shrugged. "The soul didn't change you from being an idiot jerk."

"Now is that any way to talk about your big hero?" With a smirk, Spike raised up on his elbows. "Come on, Pet. We both know you're only here with me because you can't be with him."

Her eyes rolled heavenward as she shook her head. "Like I said. Idiot." She moved around the bed to sit on the edge and lean over him, propping herself up with a fist on each side like he'd done earlier when their positions had been reversed. "I am with him."

His smirk faded, and he swallowed. "Bollocks," he said, shoving her aside and getting up.

She grabbed his hand and kept him from walking away. "No it's not." Grasping his other hand as well, she made him face her. "I told you last night, it's not about the soul."

"You also told me I'm not him."

"I was wrong."

"No, you weren't." He shook her off and went to pick his coat up off the floor. As he went on he rummaged through its pockets, looking for his cigarettes. "You think I'd stand there, play the bloody hero, let some trinket do me in to save the world, then you're crazier than Dru."

"Maybe," she said, standing up. "But you like this world. It's got� soccer, and TV and� and dog racing and� oh, cigarettes!" She pointed at the pack he pulled out of his pocket. "At least, that's what you'll tell me in about six months when you offer to help me save it for the first time." She crossed over to him. "And it's got me," she said. "You'd do it for me."

"So sure about that, are you?" His hands shook as he tried to pull out a fag. She clasped them in hers.

"You risked yourself to save me again and again. You put yourself out there to protect my family� you took care of my sister-"

His eyes narrowed. "Sister?"

"She� doesn't live here yet. But you promised me once that you would protect her and then you almost got killed trying to keep that promise. You stood up to a god and let her torture you because you didn't want to see me in pain. You didn't have a soul when you did those things. That was you."

"I haven't done any of those things."

"Not yet. But you will."

Her unwavering certainty was pissing him off. He shook his hands loose from hers and took out a cigarette. "Think you know me so well, do you?"

She folded her arms. "Better than you do right now."

He laughed as he lit up. Then he took a long drag and, looking her up and down with disdain, blew smoke at her. "You know the only reason I'm still here? Because the sun won't let me leave."

Her mouth puckered into a frown as she dropped her gaze to the floor.

"Gotta hand it to you, Pet. Every fantasy I ever had about a Slayer� you brought it, and then some. Coulda done without the tears, though." He kept his eyes on the fag, kept his voice steady. Light. "Curiosity's satisfied, though, so, thanks for that, but let's get back to business as usual."

Buffy shook her head. When she raised it to look at him, in place of the stricken look he expected she wore a sad, knowing smile that just infuriated him more. "You have no idea how played this act of yours is, Spike."

He forced himself to look at her. "What act would that be?"

"This." She spread her hands toward him like some kind of game show model. "Trying to goad me into hating you because you think that'll be easier on me."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't it? Sure as hell be easier on me." With a snort, he scratched his scar and shook his head. "I could probably piss on the bed sheets and you'd find some noble motive to ascribe to that, too."

"It's too late," she said, raising a hand to his cheek. "You already let me see you."

He automatically leaned into her touch, then realized what he was doing and jerked away. Turning his back on her, he paced over to the nightstand and put out his cigarette, all calm-like. Then he rounded on her, his demon exposed, and charged. Growling, he grabbed her shoulders, shoved her back against the wall and pinned her there.

"You see me? See this, Slayer. This is the face of your fucking champion, you stupid bint."

He didn't really know what he was doing. He only knew he needed to strike out at something. Needed to be angry. Didn't care at who. Her, for putting him in this position, making him fall for her and then making him choose between her or his whole bloody existence. Himself, for loving her. The future ponce he was apparently bound to become for setting the bar so fucking high, for ever getting it in his head to be a white hat to begin with. Mudge, for making her have to come here. And back to her again, for being so goddamn willing to leave him behind.

Or maybe just for looking at him the way she was. No revulsion in her gaze. No fear. Not even the grave acceptance he might've expected from a Slayer who would deign to love a demon. There was no difference at all in the way she looked at him, except maybe for her growing impatience. Good. If he could piss her off enough, she'd hit him, and then they could have a row. Put him back on familiar ground.

Lowering his face to hers until his ridges brushed her forehead, he grinned, showing her a mouth full of fangs. Then he laughed, low and deep in his throat. It was his best evil laugh, designed to rile. "God, I should really just kill you and be done with it."

"Then why don't you?" Her voice was calm, almost casual.

"What makes you think I won't?"

Buffy's chin tilted up, her lips tightening in defiance. Then she reached up and brushed her hair back from her shoulders. "Go ahead," she said, tilting her head and offering up her neck. "Prove me wrong."

Oh, he wanted to. What terrified him beyond measure, he was coming to realize, was how right she'd been, how well she really did know him. But she was wrong about this-him being some sort of noble monster that it was safe for her to love.

Time to show her just how wrong she was.

His fangs slid in surprisingly easy, like a warm knife through butter. It had been so long since he'd bitten a Slayer that he'd forgotten how their skin was just as thin and delicate and easy to penetrate as anybody else's. She didn't cry out. She simply gasped, and gripped his shoulders, nails digging into skin as hot blood filled his mouth. Other than that, she didn't struggle. She just� waited. For what? For him to get whatever he needed out of this, even if it killed her?

What the hell was the matter with her? Why didn't she fight?

Then it hit him.

Even now� even as he was sucking the life right out of her� she trusted him.

God damn her.

His fangs dissolved as he sobbed against her neck. Her lips against his ear, whispering comfort, and her cool fingers sliding up to caress the back of his neck were too much to take. Spike shoved away from her and spun around. With a roar, he picked up the room's only chair and smashed it against the wall. After that he just stood there, panting and shaking all over, eyes squeezed shut as he gritted his teeth and tried to get himself under control.

After a long moment he made himself face Buffy. She had picked the sheet up from where she'd dropped it and held it in front of her, clutching it to her chest with one hand, the other hand clamped down over the fresh wound on her neck. Suddenly he despised himself for putting it there. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He could still taste her blood.

She wouldn't look at him. He was somewhat glad of that. The relief he'd been after-trying to make her hate him, create an excuse for him to hate her-was nowhere to be found. Just fear that he'd succeeded on the first count, and that he'd see that in her eyes when she finally turned her gaze on him.

Then she spoke.

"In the Hellmouth," she said softly, but stopped to clear her throat. "Before I left you there, I told you that I love you. But you didn't believe me." She sniffed, and dabbed at her nose. Then she looked at the blood on her palm. "It was the first time I ever said it. To you, I mean. I guess it was too little too late, or you thought I was just saying what you wanted to hear, or�" She shook her head and absently wiped her hand on the sheet. "And I wonder, sometimes� wonder a lot, actually� if maybe, if you did believe� if you thought you had more to live for, or if you had any idea how much losing you would�"

Her voice wavered, and she stopped. Spike stood frozen, watching her, waiting, letting her have her say. He owed her at least that much, after what he'd just done.

"But maybe you were right," she continued. "Maybe I wasn't really there yet. I don't even know anymore. But I was getting there. And I do know that when I got to the edge of Sunnydale and I looked back at that crater and knew you wouldn't be coming out of it� I was there. And I still am."

She looked at him then, and there was still-still!-no trace of hatred or disgust on her face. Quite the contrary. The love and acceptance and need in her eyes was so complete that it totally disarmed him. He was defeated. Decimated. Utterly helpless before her.

"Buffy," he whispered.

"I love you," she said, voice hoarse but full of conviction. "Not the memory of your soul, not the idea of what you're going to be. You. And I know exactly what you are, and who, and the things you're capable of, either way. And for the first time in my life I don't care about any of that. I'm completely in love with you, and I don't care anymore what kind of person that makes me. And I-" Her voice went up half an octave before it broke. "I need you to believe me," she sobbed. "Please, Spike. Say you believe me!"

He went to her in an instant and gathered her against him. "Shh," he said, holding her tight. "I believe you. I do. I�" He cradled her head in his hands, gazing at her in awe as he wiped her tears and traced the lines of her face. She kissed his thumb as it passed over her lips. Touching the mark where he'd bit her, he shook his head. "Can't say I understand it. But I do believe it."

She made a little noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and smiled as she touched his face. His throat tightened and the back of his eyes stung. He had to look away. But she pulled him back. As she brushed a soft kiss across his lips, a cry burst out of him. He rested his forehead against hers.

"Don't know how I'm gonna let you go."She sniffed, her hand stroking his cheek. "Neither do I." She looked over at the clock on the nightstand. "How much time do we have?"

"Not enough."

"Then we should stop wasting it." She looked back up at him, and he nodded, and then kissed her. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to the bed. They had a lifetime's worth of love between them, and less than a day to share it.

"Never enough," Spike whispered as he rocked slowly between her thighs. "Not nearly."

***

They'd exhausted themselves; but they didn't sleep. Time was running out, and they both refused to sacrifice any of it to unconsciousness. So they talked, all the while touching, caressing, cherishing each other as much as they could. For once, Buffy did most of the talking. There was so much she needed him to hear, things she'd never thought to tell him before, when she thought she'd have forever. She felt she owed him an explanation, for one thing. She told him about how hard it had become� how hard she had become, after Angel� after her mom� after Heaven. All of it. She wanted him to understand why it had taken her so long to love him. She knew he would forget-had to forget-but still, she hoped that maybe, somehow, in whatever afterlife awaited him, that he would remember this night, and he would know.

He did some talking, too. His voice filled her silences, and she welcomed it, letting the smooth lilt of his rich baritone wash through her. It didn't matter what he talked about, as long as she heard his voice, felt the accompanying whisper of breath carry its faint copper-smoke scent across her skin.

"Answer me this," he said when she'd finally run out of things to say on her own. "Do I ever get to see you happy?"

"Sure," she replied, after taking a while to think about it. "Plenty of times. You'd get me to let my guard down, get me all distracted. We had some fun."

"Don't mean the times you forgot to be sad. Are you ever happy? With me?"

Another pause. Then, "I was never really happy without you." That was true enough.

"Not the same."

"I know." She lifted her head from his chest to look at him. "Yes," she said. "The last night you� our last night together. I was so sure we'd win� that, one way or another, it would be over. All of the fighting. Not us, I mean� but all of it. For the first time I was seeing a future. For me� us. And, yeah. I was happy."

"Well," he said after a moment, brushing her hair out of her face. "That's a hell of a thing, innit?" He swallowed. "So if I hadn't done my Roman candle impression, you think we'd have been happy together?"

Buffy brought a hand up to smooth his hair back from his forehead, and nodded. "Yeah. I mean, not, like, blissfully. I kinda know better. But� yes. We would've been."

She laid her head back on his shoulder and he cradled her there. This was one of those times that neither of them talked.

"'I dreamed that I died,'" Spike said after a while, his voice barely more than a whisper. Buffy rose back up so she could see him. "'That I felt the cold close to me; and all that was left of my life was contained in your presence.'" He traced a finger across her bottom lip. "'Your mouth was the daylight and dark of my world, your skin, the republic I shaped for myself with my kisses.'"

She realized he was reciting something, and wanted to ask what it was, but was afraid to break the spell. His eyes roved her face, drinking her in, but also searching, as he looked to be trying to remember the rest. Buffy waited.

"'Straightway, the books of the world were all ended, all friendships, all treasures restlessly cramming the vaults, the diaphanous house that we built for a lifetime together-all ceased to exist, till nothing remained but your eyes.'" His eyes locked on hers, and she shivered. He smiled, a little sadly, and went on: "'So long as we live, or as long as a lifetime's vexation, love is a breaker thrown high on the breaker's successions; but when death in its time chooses to pummel the doors-'" He stroked his finger down her cheek, then cupped her face. "'Ay, there is only your face to fill up the vacancy, only your clarity pressing back on the whole of non-being, only your love, where the dark of the world closes in.'"

He tilted his head against the pillow and watched her, waiting for a reaction. Buffy realized she was holding her breath and slowly let it out. "That's-" She stopped, finding it difficult to speak around the lump in her throat. She coughed, then tried again. "That one of yours?"

Spike snorted. "No, but thanks for suggesting it could be. It's, um, Pablo Neruda."

"It's beautiful."

"'S prettier in Spanish." He shrugged. "Seemed apropos." Breathing a sigh, she turned her head. Spike caught her chin and guided her back to him. "Don't look at the clock."

"But it's getting close."

"Got a few minutes yet. I mean to have 'em all."

Buffy pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze to where her finger traced circles over his heart. "Not like they'll matter to you tomorrow."

"They matter now." He pulled her down to plant his lips on her forehead. "Every second," he murmured.

Buffy sighed. "I used to wish that we could have just five more minutes together. I would have given anything� but it doesn't really make any difference, does it? Five, or fifty� when time's up, you'll be just as gone."

"Don't think about it like that, Love. Stop thinking ahead. Just be here with me now."

"I wish I knew how-"

"What did you plan on doing with those five minutes?"

She nestled her head in the hollow between his neck and shoulder as they each tightened their hold on the other. "This," she said. Then she raised up and caught his mouth with hers, sucking on his bottom lip, opening up for his tongue, losing herself in his kiss until she no longer knew where she ended and he began. "And that," she said between gasps as they broke apart.

"Well, now's your chance." Spike hugged her to him and buried his face in her hair.

And she tried. God, she tried so hard to stop thinking about what was to come, to just feel him beneath her, forget everything but how he felt holding her. But the pit in her stomach was growing deeper and deeper, making her feel hollowed out and a little nauseated from dread.

"I can't." She disentangled herself and sat up.

"Buffy, please." He reached for her, but she scooted to the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry, but this�" Her face started to crumple, but she covered her mouth and sucked it up. "We're out of time. We're just� this is like pulling a Band-Aid off too slow. It'll be easier if we-"

"Easier?" Spike scoffed. "Don't think there is such a thing in our situation. Please, baby. Just one-"

Buffy jumped up from the bed. "Don't!" He looked stricken, his hand still reaching for her. She rubbed her forehead. "If you touch me again right now I�" She half-laughed, half-sobbed, and shook her head. "I won't be able to go through with it."

Spike closed his eyes, his mouth and jaw tightening in resignation as his arm fell limply to the bed. He gave her a curt nod and scooted back to lean against the headboard. Buffy turned away and started to gather her clothes.

"So, what's the plan for Mudge? We go in swinging?"

Good. Get their minds back on the mission. That was something she could deal with. She shook her head as she pulled on her underwear. "I should probably stay out of sight. We don't want to spook him, have him poof into another time zone or whatever. You distract him; I'll sneak up and get a drop on him."

"He'll be expecting money. Lots of it."

"Don't you have a duffle bag or something? You just have to fool him from a distance. He won't get close enough to know it's empty."

"Right." Spike sniffed. "That's it for the cross. What about the book? You serious about what you said earlier? That Rayne's probably staying in this dump?"

"Yeah. I mean, it was just a guess, but that's his�" She paused midway through pulling on her tee-shirt, and looked at Spike. "I have an idea."

He raised an eyebrow. She finished putting on her shirt, tossed him his jeans, and headed for the door.

"Uh� Pet? Aren't you forgetting something?"

She opened the door and stepped outside. After a moment he appeared behind her, trying to buckle his belt and pull on his own shirt at the same time.

"Your jeans are-""Which way's the office?"

"'Round that corner, but-"

She started in that direction.

"Buffy, you're not dressed!" he called.

"I'll be right back," she told him, pulling her tee-shirt down to cover her ass. As she rounded the corner and saw that the office faced the highway, she was grateful for the lack of traffic this time of night.

In the office the lights were on but nobody home. A TV on the back counter was playing Leno, reassuring her that somebody was there. Buffy crept up to the front counter and rang the bell. "Be right there!" a male voice called. Behind her the front door opened and Spike entered, looking bewildered. She shooed him away as an overweight, curly-headed, future victim of Kakistos emerged from the back.

"Hi," she said. "Can you help me? I locked myself out of my room."

With a distracted nod, the clerk turned to a computer screen. "Room number?"

"Well, that's the thing. I don't remember." The clerk looked up at her. She leaned on the counter and smiled, doing her best Cute Blonde Girl. "See, I'm here with this guy� maybe you know him? Older, English-"

"Him?" The clerk nodded toward Spike. Buffy looked back to see him checking out her ass. He realized they were both looking at him, and turned back to a rack of postcards.

"No," said Buffy. "Older. He� told me his name was Ethan? See, he went to take a shower, and I wanted a Diet Coke, so I went down to the vending machine, but," she laughed sheepishly, "I kinda forgot my pants." The clerk leaned forward to peek over the counter. "And I didn't mean to shut the door all the way, 'cause I didn't have a key, but the wind must have blown it shut or something because when I went back all the doors were closed, and I couldn't remember the number and I didn't want to knock and have it be the wrong door and, like, wake up some old grandma-"

"Room 18."

Buffy grinned. "Thanks!" She turned and breezed past Spike, who was watching her, a bit mystified.

"Can I help you?" the clerk asked behind her.

"Oh," said Spike. "Um� where can I get smokes this time o' night?"

"Twenty-four hour convenience store around back."

"Right. Cheers!" Spike followed her out the door. "That was bloody brilliant," he said, falling into step beside her once they were out of sight. "You do Dumb Blonde well."

"Thanks!" Buffy frowned. "I think."

"But what did he mean pointing me out as 'older'?"

"He's not wrong."

"Yeh, but that wanker doesn't know that," he grumped as they reached their room. Buffy hurried to finish getting dressed while Spike leaned in the open door. "Room 18� 's just a few doors down. You want me to go rough him up, get the book while you finish up here?"

"I'm finished," she said, zipping up her jeans. She grabbed her things off the bathroom counter and stuffed them in her pockets. "Just need my shoes. We're already gonna be late, we'd better get going. We'll have to come back for the book. Anyway, we don't want him warning Mudge." She gathered up her boots and socks, deciding to put them on in the car. Then she joined Spike in the doorway, where she paused to look back. They'd left a hell of a mess. Broken chair, blood on the sheets� the maid was gonna love them.

Spike also gazed wistfully at the bed, and sighed. "Got everything?"

She nodded. "You got the potion?"

He patted his coat pocket. "Guess that's it, then." He turned his gaze to her, reaching up to push a wisp of hair out of her face. He leaned in, and she met him halfway for a soft kiss. Then, with one last glance behind, she headed for the car.

"And away we go," said Spike, shutting the door behind them.

*

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The Butterfly Effect

The Butterfly Effect