Spike stared in amazement at Buffy. She was propped up on her elbows, staring straight at him, but it was as if she were looking through him. Her eyelids were heavy and her whole body was trembling. Spike had never seen her look so beaten and scared.

He took a step forward only to take two steps back. Gone completely daft, he did. His mind was playing tricks on him. Must be another one of the affects of the drug Buffy had given him.

Still unable to believe the vision before him, he shook his head. “But I...” He chuckled wryly. “You're not her.” He felt otherwise. Her scent was exactly as he remembered it, exactly what he'd memorized. He cocked his head, staring at her with disbelieving eyes. He gazed down at his hand. Her blood was still there. “This isn't real.”

Buffy screwed her eyes shut and opened them again, forcing her eyes to see clearly. He was still but a haze, but she knew that voice, that smell, that mix of alcohol and tobacco all too well. “Spike?” It was all she could manage to say.

Her throat hurt like a bitch, and she winced as she spoke and swallowed. She hadn’t been given much to drink or eat the entire time she had been held captive. And though she was sure it had only been a couple of days, a few weeks max, it felt like months. The things her captor put her through... she'd thought she was in hell. But soon, as the woman revealed her plan to her, it dawned on her that she wasn't in hell or in any other dimension.

Spike looked up from his hand and gave her a wary look. “I killed you,” he said dazedly. Buffy only squinted at him.

Spike lowered his head again. He couldn't bear looking her in the eyes after what he'd done. “You were...”

“Spike, please,” she said, her words a broken plea. She tugged at her restraints wearily.

Spike glanced up at her and looked into her wide eyes. Unshed tears filled them, and he saw something he hadn't seen since she'd been resurrected: life. “Buffy,” he said, finally realizing this was truly her.

Buffy nodded and then lay back onto the bed. She screwed her eyes shut and jerked her head to the side when the light shone on her eyes.

Spike rushed to her side knowing there was no time to figure out what was happening. He needed to take her somewhere safe.

“God, Buffy, what have they done to you?” Up close, he saw her wounds were worse than they had appeared; there was blood everywhere, the scent so thick he could practically taste it. He scrambled to get the brown leather cuffs off Buffy's wrists, panicked because he could feel the blood lust boiling deep down in his gut. His jaw twitched and his hands shook as he forced the demon inside of him that was screaming for blood down. He couldn't – wouldn't – do that to Buffy again.

Gazing up at the man who deemed himself a monster, Buffy took Spike's hand in hers as soon as he'd gotten one of the restraints off her wrist. With her touch, Spike's blood lust immediately abated. He forced himself to look at her.

Tears streamed down Buffy's pale cheeks as she held on to him with a vice-like grip. The look of gratitude in her hazel eyes made Spike's heart wrench in his chest. He cupped her cheek, wiping her tears with his thumb, and leaned in to her. He never took his eyes off hers. “You're all right now, Buffy. I'm here.”

Buffy nodded, smiling as she cried. Spike squeezed her hand gently before freeing her from the rest of the cuffs. He helped her stand up, and when her knees buckled, she grabbed his upper arms for support. Buffy whimpered. She didn't like being helpless and weak. The woman had been injecting her with various drugs every day she was there. Whatever they were, they kept her lethargic and disoriented. It made her reflexes slow and uncertain, and it neutralized her Slayer abilities. It made just moving nearly impossible, she’d stood no chance of trying to fight in this state.

Spike scooped her up and carried her in his arms. He froze when Buffy wound her arms around his neck to pull herself up and nestled her head in the crook of his neck. Until moments ago, he thought he had drained the life from her. And now... He shook his head and reminded himself that he needed to get Buffy out of that place.

He carried her into the tunnel and up the eroding wooden staircase. He took one careful step at a time, fearing that the stairs would cave in. When they were six steps from the top, he sat Buffy down on the stairs.

Buffy hugged herself, rocking slightly back and forth, and stared blankly back down the staircase.

Spike cast a worried glance her way before looking up. He noticed that the lid was closed. “Please let this open,” Spike muttered.

“What?” Buffy's voice grated through the dimly lit-tunnel. “We're trapped, aren't we?” Buffy's breathing hitched. Soon, she was wheezing and whispering over and over, “Get me out of here,” as her rocking became quite violent. “Get me out!”

Spike quickly knelt in front of her. “Buffy, look at me.” She only continued to stare vacantly, mouthing words repeatedly. “I said, look at me,” Spike said, his teeth clenched, as he held her chin and made her look at him. “I'm going to get you out of here, all right? I won't let anything so much as breathe near you,” he said with indignation. His hands shook with the effort of suppressing the rage he felt at the thought of anyone hurting her again.

When Buffy's only response was an empty gaze, Spike inhaled deeply and swept the stray hair from her face, leaving the slightest smear of her blood on her forehead. He immediately averted his eyes from it and stood up.

Reaching up, Spike pushed the lid and moved it open. He glanced down at Buffy. “See? Nothing to worry about, yeah?” He crouched down beside her and said, “Come on.” He lifted her into his arms and brought her out of the sarcophagus.

Spike gazed at her gaunt and pale face as he walked out of the crypt, carrying her in his arms. She was still far from safe.




Neither Dawn nor Willow had fallen asleep, not after the day they had.

Dawn sat vigilant, wondering what in the world happened to the sister she used to have petty fights with. The sister she looked up to. The sister who gave her life for her and for the world. Now, Buffy had become evil, greedy with power. She'd become a monster.

Willow blamed herself for everything that had happened. It was her fault that Buffy was here. It was her fault that Dawn had gotten caught in the middle. If Giles were here... But there was no meaning in pointing fingers now. What was done was done and she couldn’t undo things. Or she could... But no! Dark magic was how they got here in the first place.

Willow sighed.

She took out the papers she'd folded up and placed in her pocket. She opened them up and smoothed them with a hand. Buffy had become greedy. She had wanted to drain the power from every potential, even future ones. Not only would this make Buffy more powerful than ever, it would eliminate the slayer line for good as slayers and potentials alike would cease to be called or chosen. It didn't make sense why Buffy, messed up though she was, would want such a thing. What did it have to do with being torn out of heaven?

A loud thud from the front porch called both of them out of their thoughts. They gave each other knowing glances and both stood up slowly. Dawn grabbed a sword from the weapons chest and when Willow gave her a look, she said, “Just to be safe.”

Dawn raised her sword as she walked forward. “Xander, is that you?” Willow called out. No one answered. “Whoever's out there, you should know we're heavily armed!” Willow added in a fit of panic. Still no response came.

Willow glanced at Dawn who nodded at her. “One, two...” Willow mouthed and on the count of three they ran out of the living room and into the hallway. Willow gasped and Dawn screamed when they saw what it was.

Buffy lay on the floor, eyes wide open, seemingly glaring at the two of them. Her skin was gray and her body was stiff.

Dawn's mouth hung open in horror as she dropped the sword with a clang that echoed in the deathly-silent house. She covered her face with her hands, sobbing. Willow rushed to her and took her into her arms.

Willow stared at Buffy's remains. She couldn't look away. She saw a bite mark on Buffy's neck.

Only one vampire came to mind.