Thank you all again! I'm absolutely floored by the support and feedback that this fic has gotten thus far, and I'll keep trying to live up to your expectations. :) This chapter kind of got away from me, and though it's been beta-ed already, I'm not promising that I won't go back and make more edits on it. :/





This lovely banner was made by Tumblr's nurfherder, who has also begun drawing Embers in comic form here. There's another one up now, and it's absolute perfection! :)

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An entire day goes by without any news. Willow’s boss has managed to use his extensive resources to capture one of the lamiabane in LA, and they’re trying to extract its venom for research. Faith remains stable- well, alive, anyway- but just barely. And Buffy and Spike patrol because there’s little more for them to do. 

“It’s what you do best, innit?” Spike informs her when she complains later that night. He twists her hair between his fingers thoughtfully where it’s pillowed on his lap. “Slay the baddies, be they vampires or hellgods or irritating little mosquito demons. You’ve been doing more than your part until now. S’time to leave it to the other pros.”

“I hate being useless,” she mumbles, disentangling herself from him to face him properly. “Isn’t there something I can beat up?” She perks up. “I should probably try to get rid of the lamiabane wandering San Francisco, right? The slayers here don’t know that it’s a threat.”

A low growl builds in his throat. “You’re not going anywhere near that damn beast.”

She purses her lips at him, mischievous, though she’s already conceded mentally. “You’re not the boss of me.”

His eyes narrow. “I still have a set of chains in my ship,” he threatens.

And the words come out without forethought or worry. “That a promise?”

His eyes widen almost impossibly large, his hand in her hair suddenly tense and stiff. She’s inches away from him, close enough to do everything that she’ll be regretting in the morning-

-or maybe not, she argues, her mind conjuring up a picture of what a morning after could be like for them, all sleepy smiles and sloppy kisses and maybe a slow shower together. Spike would insist on making her breakfast and she’d try fruitlessly to save yet another frying pan from his good intentions, and then he’d attempt to persuade her to skip work for some more naked time but she’d go anyway and do her entire shift with a stupid grin on her face-

-and then his face gentles and he flicks her playfully on the forehead. “No lamiabane-hunting,” he says firmly, pulling her back against his shoulder. 

She closes her eyes, barring intrusive dreams from her thoughts. That way lies madness she can’t deal with anymore. “Okay.”

He stays so late that she knows that he’s just keeping an eye on her, and as infuriating as that is, she’s too tired to do more than mumble half-hearted insults into his shoulder as he laughs at her feeble attempts to wound him. “Go to bed, Summers.” He nudges her. “You can’t serve coffee on five hours of sleep.”

“Watch me.” But he promises to be back as soon as he can, making only a quick stop to look in on Faith. They don’t know how quickly Willow might be able to develop an antidote, and a few hours can make all the difference in delivering Faith a cure. 

She’s already muddling her way to bed before he’s left the apartment, and the rich laugh that follows her stumbling attempts into her bedroom is still ringing in her ears as she snuggles into her blankets and surrenders to slumber. And when she awakens several hours later by the shrill ringing of a telephone, she’s almost surprised that he isn’t there anymore. 

The phone rings again and she lifts it sleepily. “Huh?”

“Leah’s dead.” The voice is crisp, the words cold and wooden and belying anguished turmoil just below the surface. Buffy’s known Kennedy long enough to recognize it. “I thought you’d want to know.”

She sits up, suddenly wide awake. “Oh god. Leah’s…”

“Dead. Do I need to repeat it again?” Kennedy snaps. “Gone. Finito. No heartbeat, and not in a stake-happy way.”

Something closes up her throat entirely, not allowing any air in. “I’m sorry,” she chokes through it. “How…um. How long ago did it happen?”

There’s a weary sigh on the other line, a concession of equal sorrow from the other slayer. “About an hour ago. Near the end…I don’t think it hurt her as much. She couldn’t feel anything by then. Death…it was probably more peaceful for her.”

Leah had been one of her favorites, once upon a time, one of the best and brightest of the young slayers and a faithful lieutenant. They’d only spoken once after Twilight, and she’d been uncharacteristically demure while another slayer stood between them and censured Buffy for her misdeeds. Afterwards, she’d gone over to Buffy and told her, eyes grave, “I think… it musta been the last thing he did, but Giles saved my life during the battle. Pulled me out of the way of a dragon’s flames.” 

She hadn’t said anything more and it had been small comfort, but the single kindness of a single slayer had touched Buffy, helped to drive away resentment at the lot of them for their hatred. It had been Giles’s last rescue, his last great deed…

Dead now.

“Thank you for calling,” she says shakily. “We’re trying to find a cure. Something…for the other girls, I guess. You’ve heard what’s causing this?”

“Willow told me.” Kennedy’s silent for a moment. “How’s Faith?” she says finally, and there’s a familiar kind of regret in her voice, a sorrow that only another who’s regretting old abandonments might recognize.

“Not far behind Leah,” Buffy admits. “But she’s hanging on. Angel’s taking care of her.”

The icy hostility returns. “Angel should be dead.” And there’s vehemence in Kennedy’s voice, raw hatred and anger.

“He’s taking care of Faith,” Buffy repeats. In the end, they’re all measured by their evil, aren’t they? By a thousand sins, a thousand missed opportunities and shattered good intentions. But to dwell on that is to reject the good that can still be done. “Hospital equipment and all. You should get in touch with him. He might be able to help your slayers, too.”

There’s a distinctly outraged snort from the other end of the phone. “That’s not happening,” Kennedy barks out, and Buffy can imagine her forehead wrinkling, expressive eyes darkening into rage and disbelief.

“I know. I know.” Buffy inhales slowly. “I know he’s probably the only person in the universe you hate right now more than me. But if he can do anything…if there’s some way to slow down this disease before more people are lost…”

“I’ll think about it.” Kennedy’s voice is curt, but it lacks her earlier rancor. “Good luck.” She hangs up the phone abruptly, leaving Buffy in thoughtful silence.

Leah’s gone, and that pains her more than she can afford to think about right now. But Kennedy is finally coming back.

She naps for a couple of hours before it’s time for work, and when she rises again, her thoughts are still on Kennedy and the slayers in England. Kennedy’s proud- perhaps dangerously so- but she has to believe that the other girl would do what might be needed to save her sister slayers. Even if it involves Slayerville’s Least Wanted. 

She’s smiling as she pushes open the door to the coffeehouse, pondering the prospects of a Kennedy who doesn’t hate her completely, who might even pool their resources and learn to trust Buffy past her early failures. After a year of wallowing in the awareness that she’s despised by the girls she’d empowered, it’s a cautiously good feeling. 

I deserved it. I screwed up to epic proportions. But my punishment may yet be coming to an end. 

Her internal voice sounds mysteriously like Spike’s echoing it, and her smile widens even more at that thought. She can’t wait to tell him about this, to watch him understand and rejoice with her.

“Someone got laid!” Leanne sings out, pulling herself up to sit on the counter. “Was it Spike? It was Spike, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t get- No, it wasn’t Spike! Nothing Spike!” Buffy says hastily, hurrying over to the machines to fill up on some suddenly much-needed caffeine. “Spike is nothing!” She frowns at her phrasing. “I mean, he’s something, but not my something. Because that’s never happening. Duh. Really.”

“Uh-huh.” Leanne crosses her arms disbelievingly. “And you actually look like the stick’s out of your ass because…”

“I got some good news,” Buffy says, rolling her eyes. “More is incoming.” She should know better than to hope for a cure so soon, but Willow’s been enthusiastic on the phone, more unguarded than she’s been around Buffy since before Twilight. Progress. It’s addictive, and she’s craving it more and more as the days go by. 

“Come on, sweetheart.” But Josh is grinning at her, too. “You’ve got customers.”

“Right. I knew that.” She ducks back around the counter to tend to the filling tables, flushing when Josh tosses her a conspiratorial wink. So this is what it’d be like if she ever brought anyone home.

Sex sex sexy times. That thing she’d given up on since she’d realized that finding a boy would involve missing out on Spike-filled nights. She’d even tried once on a night she’d gone out dancing with Dawn and Xander and caught the eye of the one unattached straight guy in the club. They’d talked, they’d danced, he’d even bought her a drink and told her that she was beautiful…and then she’d wondered if Spike was going to leave if he didn’t know where she was and she’d had to run out immediately. He’d been abrupt and jealous as soon as he caught on to what she’d been doing, and she’d been annoyed…but she’d still admitted to herself, at the end of the night, that she’d preferred a tension-filled night with Spike to a carefree one with some other guy.

So maybe I’ve got it bad. He’s frustrating, infuriating, perverted and childish and- oh, did she mention bloodsucker? And yet…

And yet. She remembers crying on Tara’s lap years before, admitting that Spike had been the only thing that could make her feel alive. She’d hated him for it then, and he’d loved her all the same, even as he’d resorted to undermining her own goodness in hopes of tempting her to the dark. And it’s years later, years without depression or soullessness, and he’s still making her feel more and more alive whenever she’s with him, granting her courage and unwavering support and making her laugh and cry andlive…and for the first time since Riley Finn had accused her of being distant before he’d left Sunnydale to rejoin the military, she’s felt as though she’s had something to offer a guy, too. Not much- nowhere near what he does for her- but every time she can bring that awed expression to his face, every time she can stun him with her faith in him…it means the world to her, more than anything else.

Spike matters more than anyone beyond her tight little circle. She’s long ago accepted that as truth. And even if he never loves her back, she’d rather be alone with him than in a relationship without him. 

She’s such an idiot. But she can’t bring herself to care very much.

It’s after midday when the phone rings behind the counter, and Buffy busies herself with a table packed with guys as Tina’s stand-in for the day takes the call. Time to focus on non-Spike-related things, before Leanne catches wind of what’s distracting her and-

“Buffy, right?” Tina’s stand-in gestures to her when she nears the counter, tugging nervously on his curly brown hair. “Sorry, she said she could just leave a message and you looked busy, so…”

“Who was it?” Buffy asks immediately, flashes of hope shooting through her. If it’s…

“Someone named Willa, I think? She said something about a breakthrough, and that you should meet her in LA as soon as you can.” The boy turns back to mixing drinks, leaving Buffy nearly breathless with exultant joy. 

An antidote! It has to be; it’s the only reason why Willow would need them. And on a day like today, when things are finally starting to shape up, she can believe that deliverance has finally arrived from the reigning threat, the one that seemed nearly impossible just days before.

It’s going to be a busy afternoon. The instant that Spike gets back, they need to be on their way to deliver the cure to Faith and the other slayers. Someone’s going to need to distribute it to hospitals where slayers might not have the same connections to Buffy, someone’s going to need to try and finish off the Lima Bean Guild before they infect more and more slayers, someone’s going to need to find the perpetrator… they have work to do.

She turns to the register without preamble. “Josh, I need-“

“To go. Got it.” He smiles warmly at her. “You’ve only got another hour to your shift, anyway, and Leanne and Taro can cover for you. Don’t worry about it.”

She thanks him quickly, grabbing her jacket and fleeing back to her apartment. Spike’s ship isn’t visible on the roof, but she’s still almost disappointed when he isn’t awaiting her at home, ready for action.

She calls Willow and is unsurprised when her friend doesn’t pick up. She’s probably calling the others, letting them know of her victory and that help is on the way for Faith. Maybe she’s even told Angel already, and Buffy can imagine the relief on his face at the news. 

Is Spike still with Angel? She’s pacing now, impatient and anxious and eager, and it takes about ten seconds for her to decide that the money for another call to England is worth speeding Spike up. Hey, maybe she can even persuade Angel to count these calls as part of Faith’s medical bills, and then she’ll be able to buy that dress that’s been taunting her from the window across from the café for the past two months. 

Excuse firmly in place, she dials a number that’s swiftly becoming familiar and waits for Angel to pick up. “Buffy?”

“How’d you know it was me?”

He laughs shortly. “Caller ID. No one else calls from abroad. Spike left already.”

“Why do you always assume that I’m calling for Spike?” she demands playfully. “You know, maybe I’m calling to chat, or check on Faith, or- How long ago did he leave?”

“Couple of hours. And Faith’s the same.” The worry’s still there, permeating the wires between America and England to travel straight to her, and Buffy can’t help but grant him the same hope Willow’s given her already.

“Willow left me a message. I think she’s found something.” She grins at the sharp inhalation she can hear on the other line. “I just need Spike to get here so we can go to LA and find out what’s going on.”

“Go without him!” Angel says, and she blinks bemusedly, the idea occurring to her for the first time. “This is life and death!”

She shakes her head. “It’s not worth it. It’s a six hour drive to LA from here.”

“And an hour flight!” Angel’s voice is insistent. “Go. I’ll pay for it, I don’t care. But Faith needs help now!”

“I know.” She’s humbled by his urgency, already beating herself over the head for not considering it before. “But I can’t…not without Spike. He’d take less time to get to you from LA than any flight, anyway. And if we’re trying to get to Faith as quickly as possible, we need him.” 

“Okay. Okay.” Angel’s breathing hard, the most human sound she’s ever heard from him. “Maybe we’ll go, meet you there?”

“Calm down. Breathe. Do vampy meditation exercises, I don’t know,” she instructs him, her smile returning at his so remarkablyhuman panic. “You keep Faith alive. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” She pauses. “How long ago did Spike leave?”

It’s going to be at least another two hours, and she’s as restless as Angel had sounded on the phone, channel surfing and speed walking around the block and even picking up dinner on the way home for lack of a better thing to do.

The answering machine is beeping when she returns to her apartment, and she realizes suddenly that she’d forgotten her cell phone at home that morning and neglected to check it since. There are two missed calls from Willow from the early morning, three from Dawn, and another one from Xander.

“Hey, Buffy, I think we’re on to something, so if you can call me back…?”

“Willow again. Buffy, we have it! Well, theoretically, anyway, but Orkanel’s already phoned the lab to ask them to work on developing it. Come to LA, kay?”

“Buffy, it’s Dawn. Willow just called. Is Spike there yet? Because Xander and I are thinking about getting a head start on this antidote thing, driving in to LA now and seeing if we can get it to Faith asap. Where are you?”

The call on the machine is a quick one from Xander, telling her that they’re a few miles from LA and that they’re all waiting for her. She heads up to the roof anxiously, itching to punch or kick or slay something-

And right on cue, Spike’s ship arrives, boldly settling down beside her in plain daylight. The door slides open, and she leaps through, bowling over a blanket-clad Spike. “Buffy?”

His hands are at her shoulders, supporting her above him with a firm grip. She beams down at him. “We need to get to LA. Now!”

A bug scuttles off, and she can almost hear the bored sarcasm in its voice as it commands, “Do as Spike’s queen orders.”

The ship rises with a lurch and she slides out of Spike’s grasp to lie beside him. “Spike’s queen?”

He licks his lips. “And don’t you forget it.”

Her cheeks are warm as she pulls him up, offering him a squashed bag with their Paninis inside. “Willow’s found an antidote. And I’m pretty sure that Angel’s about ten minutes away from making another deal with Twilight so he can fly to retrieve it himself, so time is of the essence.”

Spike laughs, biting into a cheese Panini with relish and addressing his crew over her shoulder. “You heard the lady. Fast as you can go, no worries about being seen.” He turns to Buffy. “We don’t care about UFO rumors, do we?”

“Judging from the way the public dealt with vampires?” Buffy rolls her eyes. “Expect to be hailed as the next messiah.”

He considers it. “Harm would love having an ex in the public eye. S’good for her image,” he says mock-seriously.

She crosses her eyes at him. “You’re not dating her again, Blondie Bear.”

He pouts. “And here I so dearly wanted to reconnect with that brainless bint. But if you insist…”

She gestures grandly. “I suppose I can’t keep your love from each other forever. Go! Leave me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He lifts her into his arms and races to his room, the unexpected gesture making her laugh and bat at him until he drops her unceremoniously on the couch, directly on top of a hardcover book he’d left there.

“Ow!” She tugs out the book from under her and throws it at him.

He catches it, frowning. “You lost my place.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She shifts to the side so he can sit, still rubbing her rear where it had hit the sharp corner of the book. “Gimme food.”

He breaks the second Panini in half and gives her the smaller piece. She waits. With a defeated sigh, he hands her the rest. “Tell me this isn’t all you ate today.”

She shrugs, sobering at the memories of the call that had buoyed her and destroyed her appetite at the same time. “Kennedy called this morning.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Kennedy? That’s a step in the right direction, yeah?”

“Kind of. I mean, yeah. Very much. But…” She shakes her head. “Leah’s dead.”

“Leah?”

“One of the sick slayers, the redhead? She and I…we worked together a lot. We were pretty close. And we’re just one day too late for her.” Buffy stares sightlessly at her Panini. “I’ve been so excited about this cure that I haven’t even thought about her.”

Spike’s hand is soft in hers. “You’re doing all you can. Everyone is. You can’t punish yourself for something beyond your control.”

“I’m just so full of grief these days.” She closes her eyes, willing forth calm that she isn’t quite feeling yet. “And I can’t…I just don’t know where to hold it anymore, because it’s ripping me apart and I can’t exist like this any longer. I can’t balance all these deaths that I’ve caused, all the ones that happen because I’m too slow, all the ones that I find out about after the fact…Spike, I’m afraid that I’m going to stop functioning if I keep dwelling on all these deaths. But I can’t not dwell, because what kind of person would I be if I didn’t-“

“Stop.” Spike squeezes her hand. “Stop. You didn’t do this, pet. It isn’t your fault. You save who you can, and you mourn the rest afterwards. Got it?”

She buries her face in the leather of his coat, unwilling to answer his question. “What would I do without you?”

“Less bugs, more coffee?” he suggests, but he’s grinning when she peeks up at him. “Not nearly as fun.”

“Says you.” She swallows the last of her Panini. “After this is over, we’re going on vacation. Somewhere sunny with a happening nightlife of both the human and vampy variety so you don’t get all pouty and bored. I’m thinking Hawaii.”

His eyes crinkle into a smile. “I think that can be arranged, love.”

“Mm.” She might have just asked him out for a weekend away, but he doesn’t seem to notice, so she leans against him without another word and lets him absentmindedly toy with the waistband of her jeans as he reads his book.

The trip is shorter than usual, only a little under an hour, and though she should probably be worried about air traffic and all the things Spike always insists that he has to avoid, she doesn’t bother when they’re this close to a cure. Willow’s phone goes straight to voicemail, so Spike orders the ship down onto the roof of the same building they’d gone to last time and they make the mad dash for the elevator together.

“Which floor?” Buffy wonders, eyeing the long list of buttons inside.

“Lobby, I’d wager. Get us where we need to be.” Spike frowns. “Try your sis, will you? See where she is.”

There’s no answer on Dawn and Xander’s phones, either, and for the first time since Buffy had first gotten Willow’s message, she feels a wave of trepidation wash over her. “I hope everything’s okay.”

“Yeah.” Spike shifts uncomfortably. “You think we should wait on the ship for now?”

But that’s not an option, not when so many slayers are at risk and time is of the essence. “We can’t,” she says firmly, pressing the “L” on the wall before she can change her mind. The elevator rocks slightly, sliding downwards, and then she remembers. “Hey, didn’t this elevator need a code last time?”

Spike dives for the red stop button at the same moment as she does, their eyes meeting and realization dawning. “It’s a trap!” Something’s gone horribly wrong, someone’s been manipulating them to this point, and they’ve walked directly into an ambush been set up exclusively for them.

And the elevator isn’t stopping, the pings as it moves from floor to floor continuing as they hit buttons frantically. “Get the doors open!” Spike orders, and they each take one side of the sliding doors, superhuman strength pulling them open together just as they realize that the elevator’s moving too quickly for them to get the doors to an individual floor open without losing their hands.

“Crap. What now?” The elevator reaches the lobby and keeps descending, past the four basement levels, farther down than any building without some nefarious purpose should exist, and Buffy tenses against Spike. “We’re going to be buried alive.”

“We’re not going to be buried alive,” Spike says grimly, tightening his grip on her wrist. “No one builds an elevator shaft this deep when they could jus’ dump their enemies into an open grave and hope it’ll keep ‘em.”

“Been there, done that, didn’t work at all.” The elevator’s slowing to a halt now, and Buffy fumbles for a stake as Spike retrieves some kind of miniature dagger. “Listen. Um…if we die…”

“We’re not going to die,” Spike says shortly, and the elevator doors slide open into what appears to be roughly the size of a sports arena, well lit and clean and mostly empty, save for the five lamiabane charging directly toward them.

Her heart stops. And then there’s Spike, running at them full-tilt and shouting a warning at her to stay back, and she can’t help but follow his charge.