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Of Light And Shadow by FetchingMadScientist
 
Rumor Mill
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: I read somewhere that, in an early draft of "Grave" Xander was killed off. I took that Idea and ran with it. Thanks to Nemo for the banner! Please review.
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JUNE 5, 2002- LONDON, ENGLAND

The savagery of what Willow had done made the trip to England after the funerals of Xander Harris and Tara McClay taxing enough. Willow hadn’t said a word for hours, perhaps because of the well-founded fear that he, or the Council, would have to kill her for what she had done, and what she tried to do, back in Sunnydale.

She was remorseful and horrified at what she had done. And, he was glad to see it. It meant that he hadn’t completely failed.

Even taking into account the gruesome nature of what she had done, both to Tara’s murderer and her friend, Giles wasn’t entirely sure he could, in good conscience, turn Willow over to them. What she had done, however destructive, was not due to malice. It was a grief-stricken response. A response he felt he would have been able to anticipate, and stop, had he only been there.

He’d abandoned his charge, his children, and his duty to them. Willow murdered Warren Mears, but Alexander Harris’s blood was on his hands. He was responsible.

He had to do something to help her, to save her.

That was why he’d placed Willow in the care of the coven in Devon. Because he knew that the Council would not see reason in this, and someone had to, for Willow’s sake. The coven, and Althenea could teach her to use the powers that now coursed through her veins.

That was something he knew the Council had no interest in.

Someone had to look after her soul, her humanity. And knowing the Council as he did, Giles was positive that the Council did not hold humanity in as high an esteem as he did.

She had no idea what awaited her, and, truth be told, neither did he. He had no idea what the Council was planning. Though, given its past actions regarding things of this nature, rogue Slayers and the like, he had a clear picture of their intentions.

Because of that, he had no intentions of handing her over to them.
*****************************

It really amazed Giles how fast rumors in the demon world could spread. No sooner had he gotten off the plane with Willow, than the Council was demanding that he report to headquarters for a debriefing regarding the situation in Sunnydale, and the effect it would have on the Slayers, and the Council as an institution.

Giles walked into Council headquarters and politely informed Quentin Travers that he was no longer employed by the Council and did not have to adhere to their directives.

Quentin sighed as he pushed his leather wingchair away from his desk, “Yes, I am acutely aware of that,” he walked over to a filing cabinet and removed a file. Placing it on his desk, he resumed his seat, “It is precisely because of this that I have contacted you. If this proves to be true, it could shake the Council to its core. We need someone who can be objective. Someone who has no allegiances that would favor one side or the other.”

“There is Wyndam-Price,” Giles suggested pointedly. He did not relish the notion of being the Council’s lackey once again, “I’m certain he would be happy to…”

Quentin nodded, anticipating the argument, “…I’m certain he would, as well. However, Price has some…prejudices which may color any unbiased reporting in this matter.”

That reply intrigued Giles and tugged at his inquisitive nature. Almost unconsciously, he found himself taking the seat opposite Travers, and asking, “What exactly is in that file?”

Quentin sighed again and opened the file. He shuffled through the file, looking for any specifics and finding none. He looked up at Giles and said, “It started with just a trickle,” he handed the file across the desk, to Giles, “One or two reports coming out of Africa. Nothing more than rumors, really, and what they claimed was so outrageous that the Council gave no credence to them, initially.”

Giles narrowed his eyes in skepticism, “What changed?”

“One report can be dismissed. Half a dozen cannot be ignored. The Council’s integrity is in jeopardy if this is true.”

“I’ve never known the Council to indulge in rumors before now. I’m not going on a fool’s errand. Tell me why the Council would want to enlist my help in this. Tell me why I should care one wit about the reputation of this institution, an institution that, I’m sure I’ve no need to remind you, discharged me because I dared to care about the young Slayer that it placed under my care. Quentin, please tell me why I should be concerned in the slightest.”

“Perhaps,” Quentin said, “because those reports,” he gestured toward the file that still sat inertly on the desk, unopened by Giles, “concern a creature you know of, rather intimately, if I’m not mistaken. A vampire called ‘William the Bloody?’ Its last known whereabouts were, in fact, Sunnydale, California. Is this not correct?”

Giles’s mind flashed on what Dawn had told him had happened to Buffy at Spike’s hands and his breath quickened with the anger he felt, “Yes,” he said bitterly, “But, he is no longer there and I do not care to know where he is.”

“If those reports are to be believed,” Quentin stated, “And, I am inclined to believe them because they come from very credible Watchers, which you would see if you would take the time to look at the file…”

“There would be a point to all this rambling, wouldn’t there, Quentin?” Giles asked, clearly weary of the other man’s protracted explanations.

“The point, to be succinct, is that ‘William the Bloody,’ at last report, is in Africa.”

“Again, why should I care?”

“You should care,” Travers replied, “because what that vampire has reportedly done is something no other demon has ever done. If this is true, if the reports can be substantiated, the Council’s very existence may be called into question. As you have a knowledge of this creature’s habits, I’m asking you to investigate.”

“Just what is it Spike is supposed to have done?” Giles asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“This vampire,” Quentin sighed, “it’s rumored, has gone on a quest.”

“That’s nothing new. Vampires go on quests all the time,” Giles shrugged, “That one in particular has made quite a pastime of it, I should think.”

“Yes, but it is what the vampire is questing for, that is rather, shall we say, unorthodox.”

“From what I know of Spike, that is par for the course. Just what is it that’s got you in such a snit, Quentin?” Giles couldn’t help but smirk at the purple rage he could see bubbling just under Travers’s skin at his remark.

“Have you ever known a vampire, or other demon, to voluntarily seek restoration?”

Giles caught his breath, “Do you mean…?”

Travers nodded, “I do. That vampire has sought out his soul. I’m asking you to verify this. The existence of this institution is in your hands now, Rupert.”
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Monsters And Iconoclasts
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: The language is Swahili. I had to use an on-line translator so forgive me if something seems off. Also, there is no word for "vampire" in Swahili. I came as close to the meaning as I could.
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BATH, ENGLAND
*******************

Giles hadn’t slept in days. The file glowered at him from his bedside table. As he paced the floor, he was amazed how frightened he was by its contents.

The details were cursory, but even glancing at them he knew that, if he were to do as Travers asked, and followed the information where it led, he would be sounding the Council’s death knell. No governing body can exist when it is built upon a false paradigm. If he took this on, his own life’s work would be called into question. But then, he realized, he’d questioned the Council’s methods, and their motives, before.

Giles walked out into the lounge of his flat, and went straight for the bookcase, and his brandy. He poured himself a drink and pondered the Council and its archaic beliefs. Beliefs that, Spike had forced him to reconsider, almost from the moment he stepped foot in Sunnydale.

He dimly remembered his time as Angelus’s captive. There were times he thought he heard a voice in his ear, bolstering him up between Angelus’s sessions of torture. If it hadn’t been for that voice, he was sure he would have broken, “Don’t give him anything, Watcher. If you do, you’re dead, and that would not be good, for either of us. The Slayer’s coming.” And then later, ”You have your way with him, you’ll never get to destroy the world. And, I don’t fancy spending the next month trying to get librarian out of the carpet. There are other ways.”

It wasn’t until years later, when the Council had begun to show its true colors, that he put a face with the words.

“William the Bloody,” the scourge of Europe, was the voice of reason. Spike’s voice was the voice that saved his life. The Council held that demons, and vampires in particular, were incapable of anything resembling empathy, or regard for another. Yet, the fact that he still drew breath meant that, perhaps that was not always true. He himself had been witness to the depth of feeling that Spike had for Buffy, and Dawn as well. He had seen just how extensive Spike’s injuries had been when he’d been captured by Glory. And he’d seen, with his own eyes, the affect Buffy’s “death” had had on him.

He knew, in his heart, what Travers meant to do with Spike, if the rumors were true. A vampire that could exercise free will, a demon that could make a conscious choice to be better was an affront to his beliefs and all he’d been taught. There were many things that Travers might have planned. None of them were pleasant.

Giles knew he had to find him. There was no telling what state Spike would be in, if he’d managed to survive. And, if Spike had somehow gotten word of what happened to Buffy, before he could tell him himself, Spike might …no, he would let the Council do its worst. Giles shuddered, even at the thought.

The Initiative had been plebian in these matters. The Council was more refined. It had hundreds of years of tradition behind it.

The Council kept its secrets well.

Giles sighed, and downed the rest of his brandy. Once it was done, there was no turning back.

He picked up the telephone and informed Buffy where he could be reached if he were needed during her recovery from Willow’s attack. After he was certain that Anya would not seek retribution for Xander’s death, he rang the coven in Devon, and asked Althenea to keep him apprised of Willow’s progress. Only then did he book his seat on a flight to Africa.

It was the right thing to do.
************************

SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA

It might have been the concussion. It could have been the painkillers, Buffy wasn’t sure. What she did know was that she was shocked.

Giles had just called and told her, at least she thought he did, that he was flying to Africa, to find Spike. There seemed to be rumors floating around the Council. Rumors about a vampire who had gone through a test- to have his soul returned to him.

Buffy hadn’t seen Spike since that night. She remembered going by his crypt and finding Clem there instead. Spike had left.

Could he have gone to Africa? Could it really be true?

KENYA, AFRICA
*******************

He lay motionless on the gritty sand floor of the cave. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, but it must have been quite some time. As he floated in and out of consciousness, he heard snippets of a language he had once known. He had trouble putting the words together, to make them make sense. He strung the words he did remember together. Marehemu, nduli, marehemu. Yes, he was all those things. He was a vampire. He was a killer. And, he was among the dead.

Now he was nothing. The white-hot explosion annihilated him. Leaving nothing but the burning, and the voices.

They all told him to go…to Hell. It burned. Oh, how it burned, seeing their faces as they begged and screamed, “Please, don’t. Please…don’t.” The faces were different, faces he should have known, but didn’t. They all blurred into one face, hers. Her eyes, her trembling voice, begging him to stop. Her tears burned him, even now. Especially now, “Spike please…stop. Don’t do this! No, Spike…stop!”

All the voices that pleaded for mercy he would not give, became hers. All the voices that told him to go to Hell melded into one, clear voice. Her voice.

How many hundreds were there? How many begged him to stop, and he didn’t? He didn’t.

Oh, God, he didn’t stop. And now they were forever seared into him. He knew each one intimately. They had all left their stinging lash marks deep in him. He felt every last bitter, well deserved, stripe. Deep under the skin, he could feel the hot tendrils spreading out and taking over.

He convulsed in pain, as the fire grew. Something was wrong. Something was poisoning him. The poison was deep inside him, so deep he didn’t think he would ever be free of it.

Acrid copper rose in his throat. He tried to swallow it, but the heat and sand caught in his throat.

He couldn’t see anything through the haze of red, the smear of blood. And then there was… oh, God the smell. The taste, so sweet as it rolled over his tongue. He wanted it. Disgusting thing that he was, he remembered it. He wanted it.

And the more he wanted it, the more it made him sick. The thought of it made his stomach rebel.

He rolled onto his side and spilled bile in the sand. The bitterness and grit in his mouth was nothing to the parasite that had burrowed deep under his flesh. It invaded everything he was. It gutted him, and showed him the monster he had become.

The pain was too much. And, he knew there was only one way to stop it. The poison inside of him, the monster had to be torn out.

He didn’t know how deep the monster went, but it did not matter. He had to be free of it. He had to be pure again, and he would never be, not with the monster poisoning his soul.

So, almost without thought, his hands became claws that tore at his breast, trying to root the monster out so that he could be free, and pure, once again.

But even as he blindly tore his flesh in twain and felt the slick ichorous fluid oozing beneath his fingers he felt the thing burrow further inside of him.

Claws invaded cavernous flesh and came out again, grasping at nothing and shining black in the dim light of the cave. The scent of blood once again made him wretch, making him unable to continue his assault.

Somehow, the beast had eluded him. Perhaps there was no escape now. He didn’t know if his soul could survive the pain and torment of knowing what he had become.

He knew now that there was no way to make it right. No way to atone for what he’d done to them, and to her.

He howled, and his body quaked in anguish as the realization came to him. The snippets of words he’d heard had not been spoken about him. They were about her. The vampire slayer was dead. She was dead, and there was no way to make things right.

The one person he needed absolution from could no longer grant him that mercy.

He knew his body was weakened, but he did not need strength to finish this. If he survived the pain until sunrise, Spike knew it would be his last.
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Living
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Quotes taken from, "Lovers' Walk, Once More, With Feeling," and, "Seeing Red." Also, please note, there are many words for "lion" in Swahili, but "Simba" also means "brave person." I thought I'd use it here. Please review.
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Spike watched as the desert sky lightened. The dawn was coming. His freedom was finally at hand; all he had to do was take it. The morning heralded an end to his misery. It promised the nothingness that should have been his long ago.

Maybe now that he understood, he could rest. Perhaps this one last act of penance would quiet the cacophonous din that thrummed in his brain. The nameless faces, all of one accord, demanded this one, final act: Go to Hell…go to hell.

Others had yet to awaken. They could not sense the veil of darkness as it was lifted, but he could. He could sense the earth coming alive, just as it did before he was and as it would do after he was gone.

Spike could feel the day coming. And he knew. He knew he did not belong with the ones in the light. As the light grew brighter and the darkness of night slowly became the pale grey of day, he heaved himself onto his hands and knees. He knew what he had to do. The salt that his lifeless body did not need spilled out onto the sand for her, and for the litany of others that demanded recompense. His body was wracked with pain and his spirit with the guilt of centuries of bloodshed, but he knew, as he plodded forward torturously, he was strong enough to give the tormented souls that cried out for his destruction some kind of peace.

The light would provide that. It would be his salvation. Perhaps he could rest. Perhaps he would find peace in the light.

He struggled to keep his eyes open as he crawled toward the dawn. He may be a monster, but in this last act he would not be a coward. He would face what awaited him with his eyes open. He would face his end like a man, even if he were not one.

As he struggled forward, out of the murkiness that surround him, the brightness overtook his vision. One voice raised itself above the demanding babel that ricocheted inside his skull. It started off like all the others. It was so painful. More than the rest, he wanted that voice to stop. He would do anything, including this, to make that voice stop.

His body shook with the effort and the pain of this. His mind was overwhelmed with the sound of their screams and with the horror of what he had done, and what he was about to do. But, even as he feared it, he knew his final rest was within reach. Even as caustic tears flowed, unable to purge the pain of the ethereal punishment he’d sought, he forced his body forward.

He knew that he would go to Hell, but at least it would be an end. There had to be an end to it.

This was what she wanted. He’d seen it in her eyes that night. She’d wanted an end to the pain and an end to him.

He could deny her nothing. He would not cower, would not flinch. This was the way to make it right. And, it was his to give. It was the only thing he could give.

If his end is what she needed, then he must oblige.

“Spike…please stop. Don’t do this, Spike. Please, stop.”

It became a deafening roar. He saw her eyes. He could still feel her and the way she wriggled under his grasp. He could still see the tears. In her eyes there was anger and fear, but there was a hope as well. A hope that he would realize what he was doing, and stop before it was too late. A hope that he had been too despondent to see, until now, “Please Spike…don’t do this! Don’t!”

But how could he be worth even an iota of pity. He was nothing.

Please Buffy, let me do this. Let me be a man. No one will miss me. Everything I was is gone. I’m a monster. I can’t be allowed to exist.

It was so close now. On his knees in the sand, his body was riddled with so much pain that the only way out was the light. He raised his head and saw the light that would end him creeping closer. He could feel the heat, and he began to wonder, as his fingers edged along the shadow that was rapidly dissipating with the day, what would his last thought be?

Would…could the angels, and his Mother…could they forgive him for all that he had done?

On the heels of that blasphemous notion, her voice sounded above the others, “You’re not famous for keeping your promises, Spike.”

I know that! Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I’m trying? I promised not to hurt you. But I’ll make it right. Just let me do this. Please?


It was then that he remembered. Like a flash and a rush, he remembered.

The weight of his failure forced him back into the shadows. He wasn’t a coward.

If this was what she needed, this was what he would give. He didn’t want mercy. That, he did not deserve.

Her words still rang in his head, ”The hardest thing in this world, is to live in it.” Then his own words to her, resounding from deep within him, “The pain that you feel-you only can heal-by living. You have to go on living.”

Even as his soul cried out and told him what a filthy thing he was, he would not flinch or look away. He would go on, for her.

As the full light of day shone down, he retreated into the shadows and wept. He wept for what he had become and he wept for her.

He wept for the lost souls that he hoped would find some peace.
***********************************

SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA-RESTFIELD CEMETERY

Buffy sighed deeply as she slowly got up from her knees and brushed the newly turned earth from her clothes. Her eyes still couldn’t focus on his name. She still couldn’t believe what Willow had done.

She kept her eyes down. The familiar, friendly tone of her voice was forced. It hurt when she tried to speak. She supposed it always would, “Well Xand, got to go. No rest for the wicked, you know. I still have to check on a few things. I’ll be by again tomorrow night, okay?”

Having made her rounds, she walked the short distance to Spike’s crypt.
**********************************

Buffy wasn’t sure why seeing Clem answer her knock, rather than Spike, still surprised her and gave her a funny feeling down in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t fear. She wasn’t afraid of Clem. In fact, she kind of liked him. Clem reminded her of a Sharpei. Granted, this Sharpei was a demon, but he was kind of cute.

So, why did it bother her to see him at this particular crypt? Perhaps, because he wasn’t…Spike.

“Hi Clem,” she said breezily, trying to mask the queasiness she felt, “had any news?”

He shook his head, “No. And, I’m starting to worry.”

Buffy hissed a breath in and winced, “Yeah,” she confessed, “me too.”
***************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND

Quentin Travers smiled at the news, “Thank you, Cheryl. That is most helpful, and most…informative.”

He looked up at the expectant eyes that gazed at him from across the desk, “Well, Lydia, it’s been confirmed. Rupert Giles has indeed boarded a flight bound for Kenya. The Council would expect you to follow. Your interest in this subject may prove useful. It must be taken,” he nodded slightly, to be certain she understood his meaning, “intact. Do you take my meaning?”

Lydia Chalmers nodded, “Yes. I believe I do, Sir. I will see to it right away. My papers are in order, I trust?” she asked as she turned to leave the office.

“Yes. And, Lydia,” Travers called after her.

She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him, “Yes, Sir?”

“The Council is depending on you.”
******************************

KENYA, AFRICA-

Giles wiped the sweat from his face. The heat was oppressive, and the day had just begun. He silently prayed that Spike hadn’t developed a timid streak, as Angelus had when he was first ensouled, and so he would be easy to track.

He smiled in spite of himself. He sincerely hoped that, if Spike had survived, the soul would not alter him greatly. Because surprisingly, the idea of “William the Bloody” being, in any way faint-hearted was quite disconcerting to his mind.

He was also grateful that the Council’s file had included a photo of Spike, and that most of the people spoke English. His Swahili was atrocious, too long out of the field, he supposed.

Giles knew better than to go through Council contacts. They were not going to tell him what he needed to know. If anything, they would be more of a hindrance than a help.

No, he knew that the locals would be the pipeline that would lead him to Spike.

With this in mind, he began showing the photo to merchants in the shops and bazaars that were off the beaten path. Tourists’ spots would be of no use to him.

Almost immediately, the photo was recognized.

The young man smiled and his eyes flashed when he saw the photo of Spike, “I’m looking for him,” Giles said, encouraged by the boy’s reaction, “Have you seen him?”

Panya nodded. He had heard stories of the weeping man with the lion’s face. He had even explored the caves in the area where his cries could be heard at night. And, although Panya understood English perfectly, he decided to have a little fun with this stranger, “Simba Kilio,” he said.

“Pardon?” Giles knew his years in the States had eroded his language skills, and he cursed himself for the laxity of his training.

The boy just grinned, pointing at the photo, he stated again, “Simba Kilio.” To illustrate his point, the boy uttered a guttural sound.

Giles searched his mind for the words the boy had said, “Ah yes, ‘The Weeping Lion’?” Giles questioned the boy, pointing again to the photo of Spike, “Is this he?”

Panya nodded once again.

“Can you take me to him?” Giles asked slowly, again cursing his lack of skill.

Panya smiled, nodded and said, in perfect English, “Yes.”
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Agrapha
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: "Lorry" is the British term for a truck. Please review.
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During the great upheaval, the dead will rise and the still will be transfigured. The shadow warrior will turn from the shadow. Placing the fire within, the still heart will stand atop the jaws of perdition and transcend the grasp of the beast. The old will be cast aside and a new tranquility will descend thus making the world afresh. The masters of the guard will wither and die. Trodden down by the dawn of a new day. -Prophesies of the Unhesines
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


LONDON, ENGLAND

Sanskrit was not his strong suit, but that didn’t matter. He had the commentaries and the translations to aid him. Watchers more learned than he had spent their entire lives pouring over the nuances of these scrolls. Many had given their lives to protect this information.

The writings of the Unhesines were thousands of years old. And, only a few on the Watchers’ Council even knew of their existence.

Quentin Travers was one such person. Those that did know of the writings had been sworn to secrecy, so the Council at large was entirely ignorant of the events contained within the texts, or their significance. And Quentin Travers had spent his last thirty years, as head of the Watchers’ Council, making certain that the vast majority of the people in his employ remained so.

As the time seemed to be drawing nearer, Quentin found himself working later and later, often sleeping in his office upstairs rather than going home and taking the risk that the texts fall into the wrong hands.

The last candidates had surfaced over a century ago. They were carefully watched, but over time it was deemed that those creatures were not the threat to be concerned with. They were obviously not the ones about which the scrolls foretold. As a consequence, the texts of the Unhesines were discarded as myth and the Council went back to the day-to-day operations of keeping watch over the Slayer.

However, the scrolls, and the prophecies they contained, always remained in the back of his mind.

The developments over the past few years, first in Sunnydale and now in Africa changed all that. These ancient writings he held reverently in his hands were foremost in his mind. Now, more and more, Quentin found himself prowling the catacombs beneath Council headquarters long after the others had left.

He feared that the time was upon them. And, “William the Bloody” might be the one to set it all in motion. That could not be allowed to happen.

Lydia Chalmers was loyal. He knew she would not shirk her duty. Not to the Council and not to him.

Quentin sighed as he carefully returned the parchments to their glass enclosure and set the alarm. Slowly, he made his way up from the darkness of the catacombs and came up into the light of early morning London. The city still slept as he headed home. It still remained ignorant of just what kinds of horrors lurked just beneath the surface as the people bustled about above. And, that was how it would remain, if he had any say in the matter.
*************************************

KENYA, AFRICA

Panya had heard the rumors. But then, one heard many things when one’s tastes for adventure ran to the darker side of things. He’d heard them, but he didn’t really believe. At least, not until he saw with his own eyes.

Panya grumbled as he approached the cave. His little brother Sudi was forever frightened of one thing or another. If this was another one of his tricks, if he had been made to come all this way just to be made a fool of, he was going to make sure that Sudi walked the two kilometers to fetch the family’s water.

Panya almost laughed picturing him carrying the heavy pails on his shoulders. He’d never make it, not with those skinny legs of his. It would serve him right though, and it would put him off foolish games for quite some time.

Sudi had been positive that something dwelt in that cave. He’d been so frightened that he had begged him to come to the cave and kill whatever it was.

Panya shook his head. Sudi was most likely frightened of a fruit bat…again. Panya knew there was nothing here to be frightened of, except perhaps the fruit bats.

He was just about to turn and start the long trek home, when he heard it. Coming from deep within the cave that loomed in front of him, there was a cry. It sounded very much like a wounded animal. Or, a wounded man. Panya knew that sometimes tourists got lost here.

Panya hesitated. If it was a wounded animal, he knew better than to go anywhere near it. If he did, he could be injured himself. But, if it was a man and he did nothing to help, he would be wracked with worry and guilt.

The next sound he heard made his decision. It was a voice. A man was in there, “Auni miye, asini?” he said.

Panya was unsure of what to do, and fright hovered over him like a storm cloud. Had he actually heard a man?

Then he heard the plea again, this time in English, “Help me…please?”

Slowly he made his way into the cave, his breath quickening the further he went from the light that filtered in through the opening. He began to question the wisdom of this, even as he moved further into darkness. This was madness, and he knew that. But, the anguish in the voice could not be ignored. He simply had to help.

The voice he’d heard had a foreign sound to it, perhaps the man understood English better than he did Swahili, and since Panya could speak both languages with relative ease, he thought it would be best to use English, “Hello?” he spoke timidly as his eyes explored the darkness, and he inched slowly deeper into the dark recesses of the grotto, “Are you hurt? Do you need help?”

There was no answer. For a long time all Panya heard was the tiny flutter of the wings of the fruit bats that lived here. Then suddenly, a strangled voice came out of the dark, “Mimi ni potevu; kakata.”

Panya grinned at the dark, relieved. He sighed, “Well my friend, if you are lost, perhaps we can find your friends? And, if you are in pain, will you let me help you? Because, if you continue like this, the animals will find you and they will eat you.”

Panya heard a soft steady sobbing, and for a moment it sounded like laughter. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed a flash of white that came out of the shadow of the cavern floor.

“I have no friends,” the voice croaked, “I am the animal,” Panya saw a flash of gold, and the voice said forcefully, “Tutu!”

Panya shook his head. He could see the man now, crouched on the cave floor. He did look as if he were injured. Panya was beginning to discern large gashes on his chest and he could smell the blood, and the vomit. Panya lowered himself so that he could see the man’s face and, as he looked closer, he could see that his face was somewhat disfigured. He also saw large gashes there as well, and that the man had odd eyes. But what he noticed even more was that the man’s whole body was shaking with fear.

Panya knew that, although his family considered him a man, he was not large enough to frighten anyone. That was why his father had given him the name of, “Mouse.” The idea that he could frighten this man was completely alien to him.

Panya decided that he could not leave anyone alone and frightened, as this man seemed to be. He carefully placed his hand on the man’s arm and offered what he could, “Can I help?”

*********************************************

That was over a month ago. The man travailing to keep pace with him as the walked through the gloaming of the desert was not the only person to show interest in “Simba” of late. He was however, the only one who seemed truly concerned for his welfare.

Panya looked over his shoulder at the red-faced Englishman, “Do you wish to stop?” he asked sympathetically, “You’ve brought water with you, yes?”

Giles nodded as he held out his still unopened bottle of spring water.

Foolish old man. Panya shook his head, “Perhaps it is best to rest now?”

Giles did not stand on ceremony. He grunted as he sat, bonelessly, in the sand where he had stopped. He opened his bottle and drank the water greedily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before asking, “How much farther, do you think?”

Panya squinted at the horizon, “It isn’t much farther,” he looked at the old man with amusement, “You are glad now that we did not start the journey in the heat of the day, as you requested? I am sure you would be dead by now.”

Giles nodded as he took a drink from his water bottle and was rebuked by the boy’s affable expression, “Perhaps I am already that,” he mumbled.

Panya sat down in the sand next to Giles. He needed to take time to rest before they continued, “Well,” he said, “at least you are more fit for the journey than the woman who was asking after your friend.”

Giles could feel his heart beat harder against his ribcage, “Someone else was looking for him?”

“Yes. But not many people know where he is,” Panya grinned proudly, “I believe I am the only one who knows the way.”

“But others know as well?”

Nodding, Panya said, “Perhaps. You may find that some, when given enough money, will begin to know things that they do not.”

Giles sighed ruefully, “Yes, I am, unfortunately, keenly aware of that,” as Giles got slowly to his feet, he felt the weight of the pistol that was holstered at his ankle. He did not want to use it, but he would do what was necessary, “I must find him before she does.”
****************************************************

Lydia Chalmers was growing increasingly frustrated. She’d been on the vampire’s trail for days. She’d already depleted her funds by two hundred and fifty pounds hiring a guide to lead her to her quarry, as well as untold hours being tossed to and fro in the back of an incredibly unsanitary lorry. Her nerves were jangled, and as far as she could tell she was nowhere near her stated objective.
**************************************

As Spike pressed his back against the grotto wall, he wished again for the quiet, comforting rhythmic sounds of his youth. He longed for the muted tones of the horse and carriage. As he felt the jagged stone beneath his hands, he began to wonder how he’d survived in the era of the modern combustion engine.

The noise roared louder in his ears, and he groaned in pain, as the vehicle drew nearer, stirring up clouds of dust and sand as it passed.

He released an unconscious sigh of relief when the roaring abruptly stopped and the soothing sound of human footfalls in the sand replaced it.

He slowly withdrew from the cavern wall and whispered out into the dusk of evening, “Mouse, is that you?”

The voice that answered was familiar and terrifying, “No,” she said as she ducked under the rock formation, “But I have made your acquaintance,” Lydia said.

Spike quaked in fear as her face loomed before him, filling his heart and mind with panic.

Then, just as suddenly as the panic came, it was quelled by another who should have brought fear, but did not, “And I have made yours, Miss Chalmers.”

Lydia snapped her head to the sound of the voice and gasped in shock to find Rupert Giles’s eyes staring her down from behind the barrel of a gun.
***************************************



 
Deconstruction
 

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SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA

Buffy was desperate. She was desperate enough to be seen in a place that really was unsavory. It was dirty and dingy, and a person could never be certain what had been on those stools before they had walked in the door. Buffy grimaced just thinking about it. In fact, she was sure she’d need a shower after being here. But, desperate times called for desperate measures. It had been weeks since he’d left. Weeks since she’d heard anything about him at all.

So she was here. At the only place she knew of in Sunnydale that might give her some idea of what happened to him.

She had to focus on what happened to him. Focusing on Spike was so much easier than thinking about what Willow did.

Being back here, in Willie’s Place, was far better than thinking about Xander…and Willow.

Xander lived in Sunnydale his entire life. He’d lived, survived and even, some might say, thrived in a town known for its soulless, bloodthirsty inhabitants and what was it that killed him? A girl. His best friend since they were both in kindergarten.

It really burned her up. It made her angry. So angry she didn’t know what to do. And, she’d only heard about it after the fact, from Giles, because it’s hard to see anything when you’re six feet under the ground fighting dirt monsters. The last thing she remembered, the last time she could remember seeing Xander alive was when she was yelling at him.

He was dead, and the last thing she’d done is yell at him. That hurt her more than she could admit.

She hadn’t even seen what happened, how Xander died, and it hurt. She couldn’t imagine how she would feel about it, and Willow, if she had seen it.

She knew some of it, but only because she had eavesdropped on the conversation that Giles and Willow had during Xander’s wake. She hadn’t really meant to, but Willow had been so distraught that it was nearly impossible not to hear what she had done.

“Don’t touch me, Giles!” as she looked on, trying to make herself invisible, Buffy could see the weight that Willow carried, could hear it in her voice, even as Giles tried to comfort her, “Don’t try to make this better! I killed him, Giles!” Willow sobbed hopelessly, “I killed my best friend, and Warren. Oh God…Tara. I’m so sorry,” Buffy watched as Willow’s fingers skirted tremulously over Xander’s cold skin as he lie in the casket, and for a brief moment all Buffy could think about was the urge to rush Willow, shove her in the coffin on top of Xander and slam down the lid. Buffy had to fight the overwhelming need to be physically ill as she heard Willow wailing, “I’m so sorry, Xander! I love you, too. I hope you know that, now.”

Giles nodded somberly, as he led her away from the casket, “I’m certain that is the one thing he has no doubt of, at least now, if he ever doubted it. Let’s come away now.”

Willow’s eyes were glistening when she looked at him, “How, Giles? How do I? Is it possible?”

As they both walked slowly past her, Buffy heard him murmur, “I don’t know, Willow. But, we’ll begin the journey together.”


Buffy wondered how Giles had been able to comfort her so easily when she herself was having a great deal of difficulty doing just that. How could he possibly forgive her for what she had done?

She asked Giles why he was being so benevolent with Willow. He’d only smiled sadly at her and said, “Buffy, you have no idea of the gravity of Willow’s situation or of her tenuous hold on her sanity. She’s crossed a line, done unspeakable things to those she loves, and who loved her. The kind if punishment you would call for would be of no help, no consequence. It does no good to punish her, if she cannot understand what is she has done, and why. Once that is accomplished, only then can she learn from it. Only then will punishment be effective. ”

Giles said that a gentle hand was what was needed if she wanted her friend to be returned to her.

Buffy could understand that. But the crux of the matter was, she didn’t know if she wanted Willow back.

Willow committed murder, and she should be punished for what she did. It wasn’t as though it was an accident. Xander hadn’t died in a fight. Willow hadn’t pushed him too hard, causing him to fall and hit his head. That’s not what killed him. That, she could forgive, given enough time.

That she could forgive. But this, what Willow had done? No.

No. She let something crawl inside of her and take her over because she couldn’t deal with the loss she felt. She didn’t want to hear that she was loved. Did not want to be loved. So, she killed him, just because she could.

As Buffy sat at the bar, she shook her head in disgust. Willow wasn’t a demon. She could have made a choice to stop. She wasn’t Spike. She could have stopped. But she didn’t.

She hadn’t stopped until it was too late. Spike, on the other hand…her mind flashed on that night. The last time she’d seen him. And she knew. The horror of what he’d done screamed in his gaze. In that moment he’d understood. Oh God. He would have stopped, even if I hadn’t pushed him away. He would have stopped. I saw it. He would have stopped.

Buffy tried to get the bartender’s attention. She would do anything not to hear the hammering of her heart.

Willow hadn’t stopped, yet she is back in England, on the road to forgiveness. Spike had stopped. And he would have stopped. I know he would have. But where is he? I know something inside him died that night. I heard the death rattle. I saw it, and I did nothing.

Where is he? Did he really do what the rumors said? Did he?

And, if he did, what does that say about him, and Willow?

What does that say about me?


Buffy drew in a steadying breath, letting the stale air and the pungent sting of blood and cigarettes mixed with sawdust comfort her.

She coughed slightly and the bartender turned. His eyes widened in surprise, “Slayer, I have to say, unlike most of the clientele of this establishment, I’m very pleased to see you. Word was you’d been gunned down,” he leered at her, “My information was obviously erroneous. Leather is a good look for you. Is it new?”

Buffy blinked. She had almost forgotten about it. She’d taken to wearing the duster he’d left behind when she heard he’d left town. She wore it to have him near, and in the hope that he would be back.

“Willie, your information was right. I was shot,” she shrugged, “But as you can see, I’m much better now.”

Willie nodded, “I can see that,” he shook his head, “There must be a glitch in the network because, Slayer, your being alive? Sadly, that’s not what I heard.”

Buffy’s breath caught in her throat, “Really?” she leaned closer to him and asked in a hushed voice, “What have you heard?”

Willie leaned over the bar and his voice lowered to match hers, “About?”

“Spike,” Buffy said.

Willie shook his head and sighed, “That, Slayer, is a sad tale indeed.”
*************************************************

KENYA, AFRICA

The rapid hush of unneeded breath, breath drawn in terror rather than necessity, reverberated through the grotto. It seemed to be the only sound Lydia could hear. All she could see was the smooth and delicate details of the pistol barrel as she stared into it. She was quite surprised at how small the deadly instrument was, “I have no interest in…harming William,” she said, her voice sounding more frightened than she had intended.

Giles’s eye narrowed suspiciously, his arm never lowering the weapon, “Somehow, your assertions don’t ring true. I wonder what you would say if I didn’t have this weapon trained on you?”

Lydia’s eyes darted quickly to the vampire, that was crouched in a near fetal position in the far corner of her vision, “What are you going to do?” her question was addressed to Giles, but her eyes never left the sad spectacle made by the once proud creature. A creature she had silently admired since her early days with the Council.

Giles’s tone was slow and measured, “I don’t see how what I do is any of the Council’s concern.”

“But the Council…” Lydia stammered.

“Is not in control here,” to punctuate his point, Giles pulled the hammer of his pistol to firing position and smirked in satisfaction when he saw her flinch, “I am. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Lydia nodded mutely.

“Good. Now, as far as the Council is concerned, William is lost. Understand? Should anyone wish to question me, I will tell them no more than that.”

Lydia glanced to the native boy who was Rupert Giles’s companion, “ What about this boy? He could discredit your claims. I could…”

Giles nodded, gripping the weapon tighter as he aimed it at her skull, “You could. But, I don’t believe that would be wise,” he looked over at his companion, who nodded and smiled, “As for the boy, well you see…”

Panya smiled broadly, and said, in very broken English, “My English…not good.”

Giles shook his head in sympathy, “That does pose quite a problem, doesn’t it Miss Chalmers?”

“Yes,” Lydia said, and although she did not move her voice was oddly cold and confident in light of her circumstances. Giles detected a quality in her words that could only be classified as disdain, “I understand. But do you?” her eyes returned to the vampire, “Do you not remember what that is? Or, has your time in the colony made you forgetful?”

Spike knew that they were speaking of what had happened in Sunnydale. And, he did not want to hear. He covered his head with his hands in an effort to block the words. He knew what he had done. And he knew why the Watcher had found him and why he was holding the Council’s woman at bay. He wasn’t a fool.

Spike knew why he was being spared the Council’s wrath. It was so that the Watcher could exact his own brand of vengeance on him.

He’d harmed the Slayer. And now that the Slayer was gone, he had to pay for what he’d done. He understood that, now and he would accept his punishment.

“…I have found that there are monsters that exist in this world that are far more dangerous, and lethal, than he,” Giles was saying, his pistol still aimed at the woman.

Even as he tried to drown the voices out, tried to focus, he found that he could not. They all kept telling him what he’d done.

He tried to drown them out. He didn’t want to know. Monster. Yes, I know that. I’ll be whipped. I know that. It’s what I deserve for hurting them. For hurting her.

The voices outside were fading, “…You will go back to the Council and you will tell them that William is lost. You will tell them that he was indeed in Africa, but he is no longer. His whereabouts, his very existence is to remain unaccounted for. Understand?” Giles motioned Lydia into the bed of the lorry with his pistol, and Lydia stepped inside. Panya spoke to the driver, whose face poked out of the driver’s side window, “Rudisha yake. Pofuka,” the man nodded in agreement and the lorry sped off, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

As Giles and Panya walked back to the cave entrance, Giles asked, “What did you tell that man?”

“I told him to take the woman back and to forget what he’d just seen,” Panya nodded toward the path the vehicle had taken, “He has not seen us, and he will tell others so.”

“How do you know that he will do as you ask?”

Panya smiled at the old man, “He must. He is my sister’s husband.”

Panya could not help himself. He laughed heartily at the old man’s dumbfounded expression.
*****************************************************

Inside the cave that sheltered him from the light, Spike waited for his punishment. He could hear the Watcher approaching. He tried but failed to raise his eyes from the sand that covered the cave floor. His vision would not come clear. The constant veil of tears the fire deep within him caused his vision to blur. But he could still see clearly. He knew what he had done to her.

The Watcher’s dusty boots filled his view. Strong boots. Sturdy. Good for kicking. Give a kick, then.

The voice was soft. It didn’t fit, “Spike, look at me. It’s me, Rupert. Look at me.”

The kindness in that voce broke him. Spike knew he didn’t deserve that mercy, “I know why you’re here,” he choked as the sadness cascaded over him, he looked up into the man’s eyes, “Rupert. I know what happened, what I did, to the Slayer. It burns, Rupert,” he whispered, “Oh God how it burns. What I did. Help me. Rupert please, help me stop the burning.”

In all his days as a Watcher, Rupert Giles had never seen this before. The eyes that stared back at him weren’t those of a vampire. There was a light in them that had never been seen in a vampire before, not even in Angelus.

He gasped at what he saw. It was true. “William the Bloody” wad dead. What stared at him now, Rupert knew, was an entirely new creature.

The shock of this discovery had caused him to lose hold of what Spike was saying, “…Slayer’s dead. I felt it. I felt the pain. Oh God, it burned. I know. That’s why you’re here now. Help me end it.”

Giles’s eyes narrowed as he tried to pick up the thread of thought. As he did, his heart ached for the confusion that had so greatly consumed the vampire.

Rupert decided to do what he could to ease it. “Spike, listen to me carefully,” the authority in his voice made Spike want to look at him. The voice was solid and sure. And he needed that. He clung to it, desperate for something, anything familiar, “Buffy isn’t dead.”

There was the hope, the hope he needed, “No?”

“No,” Giles said slowly as he looked into the vampire’s pained eyes.
*************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND

Quentin Travers looked at the communiqué from Lydia Chalmers again. Apparently he had misjudged her abilities. She hadn’t even been in the field three weeks.

Quentin sighed involuntarily. A great load had just been let off of his shoulders. With this report from Kenya, he knew the institution he ran and his world, would still survive.

He held the telegram in his hand and read it again:

To: Quentin R. Travers, Council Headquarters, London, England

From: Lydia S. Chalmers, Tsavo, Kenya, Africa.

As of today’s date, 16 July 2002, existence of “William the Bloody” cannot be confirmed. Assumed demise. Returning to England. Full details to follow.

*****************************************

SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA

The walk back to her house on Revello Drive had never seemed so long, or so cold. She wrapped the leather duster tighter around her, trying to use its warmth. She could still smell him. His scent clung to the fibers. It smelled so comforting, so much like him. It should, it was his second skin for over thirty years.

Now it was all she had left of him.

Spike was gone.

Buffy couldn’t see the door lock because of the tears that were suddenly filling her eyes. She struggled with her keys as they jingled on the chain. She knew the house would be empty; Dawn had a sleepover or something. It was just as well. She wanted to be alone.

She didn’t know if she should believe what Willie had said. She didn’t want to.

Buffy leaned heavily on the door as she swung it open. The house was dark, except for the light on her phone machine. It blinked red in the dark. Buffy sighed as she flipped the toggle switch for the overhead light. The red glow reminded Buffy of the many nights she would look out of her bedroom window and see the light of Spike’s cigarette glowing from the dark under the tree in the front yard.

Buffy absently pushed the button and Giles’s voice came out to fill the emptiness of the house, “Buffy, please be certain your passport is updated and see your physician about malaria precautions. There is a ticket waiting for you at Sunnydale International Airport. Buffy, join me in Africa as soon as possible.”

Buffy’s heart leaped as she bounded up the stairs. Passport? Do I even have I passport? It doesn’t matter. I’ll get one. Gotta go to the hospital and get my shots. Giles sounded so upbeat. Maybe he knows what happened to Spike.

 
Peanut Butter Needs Jelly
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Events of World War II mentioned here. The chapter title will be explained. ;-)
**************************

KENYA, AFRICA-

“William?” he questioned, as Spike continued to blink at him. He was clearly stunned, and not just by the news of Buffy.

Rupert Giles had never had a child, but he supposed that this is what a child’s eyes would look like. The eyes that stared back at him were questioning. They were fearful and awestruck at how big the world was, and how small he seemed to be in it. His eyes seemed impossibly old and shining new all at once.

Giles tried again, “William, did you not hear me?”

There was no response, just a blank expression. It was as if he couldn’t take it all in. Then he shut his eyes and Spike began to sway his body back and forth as he sat on the cavern floor where he’d taken refuge after the Council’s intrusion. Giles could hear him muttering under his breath, some nonsensical syllables, perhaps from childhood, meant as a comfort. They made no sense to him, but they seemed to keep Spike calm, so Giles ignored them, preferring to address Panya, “You say you found him here a month ago,” Giles gritted his teeth before continuing. In spite of how he appeared outwardly, Spike’s befuddled state was worrisome to him, “Has he been like this since you found him?”

Panya shook his head, clearly concerned for his new friend, “At first, all he did was weep. But he was doing well. He was shy and afraid. He would not tell me what happened. I asked but he would not tell me. When I first found him, he was very badly injured. But he had started to recover. That woman,” Panya spat in distaste, “ She must have caused this. I have not seen him like this. Have you?”

Giles shook his head. Listening to the soft mumblings Spike was making as he shut his eyes and hugged his knees, Giles found himself searching for a glint of the vampire he knew. He knelt in front of him, and as Spike continued obliviously rocking his body in a sad parody of time spent in the womb, he tried to dislodge the stone from his throat before he spoke, “No. No I have not,” he lied.

The sound of a familiar voice seemed to ground Spike. The movement stopped and he looked at Giles as if he’d only just realized he’d been there and asked through narrowed, incredulous eyes, “Rupert, what…?”

Despite knowing that he should be clinical and wary of the vampire before him, Giles found that tenderness was somehow easier. Looking at Spike’s eyes, Giles was reminded of the bond, a kinship of sorts, that the two had built that summer; was it just a year ago? They had forged a bond in their grief that was enduring despite itself and despite his knowledge of Spike’s true nature, “Hello, old man,” he said tenderly.

Giles nearly sighed with relief when he saw the strangely comforting mannerism of a raised eyebrow, “Have you seen a mirror lately, mate?”

“Not of late. You?”

The mirth of a private joke was quickly swamped by the sadness that had taken hold in his eyes and the slight chuckle that had started in Spike’s throat became a deep sob. Spike could no longer hold his head up, under the sorrow’s considerable weight, and looked at the sand of the cave floor, “No,” he whispered, “ but I can see I see.”

“See what, William?” Giles asked softly.

“The things I…the things it did. The blood,” Spike’s voice changed gradually as he spoke. It became frantic and more and more unhinged as he rambled on, “No.. oh God! I can’t,” Giles saw terror in his eyes and felt it when Spike grasped his forearms in his despair. It shot through his body like an electric current and the contact completed the circuit, causing him to shudder, “You have to leave, Rupert. Take Mouse and go. It mustn’t be…it can’t be let out! Please go, Rupert. Now.”

Giles only shook his head, knowing that a steady presence would calm him eventually, “I doubt you would harm the boy, or me.”

Spike continued, misreading the expression on the man’s face; mistaking sympathy for wrath, “ This isn’t like before. That, I could take. But this…the pain. It’s total devastation, Rupert. There’s nothing. Nothing, but me. Me, and the beast. This is war. I remember war. The Blitz. All the churches gone. Everything gone. Nothing but rubble. It’s all rubble.”

Giles tried to ignore the crushing pain in his forearms, as he stated calmly, and with an air of growing admiration for this vampire’s strength, “And yet, England endures. As do you.”

Giles could see that he did not comprehend. The train mustn’t jump the track. He understood. It didn’t matter, the seed was planted.

“ … I promise. I can keep it at bay long enough for you to get away,” Spike released his clenching hold, and put his hands to either side of his head and pressed his fingers deep into his temples as though he were trying to contain some hideous thing inside of him, and all the thing wanted to do was bore its way through his temples to the outside of his skull and be free, “It’s so deep inside now. If I stay here, no one gets hurt. It can’t… it can’t hurt. The blood, Rupert it…” a fisted hand slid down and stopped in front of his silent heart, and he touched his chest. Giles could almost hear the echo even as he listened to the vampire speak, “…killed. I know…the boy is gone. He wanted to live! Oh God, Rupert,” tears of loss were running slowly down his face as he tapped his chest once again with a shaking hand, “He’s gone. And, I killed him. I killed him. Oh God. I killed him,” Spike’s eyes went wide as his words failed him. They begged him, implored him to understand. Please, you know. You understand. Don’t make me say it. Please…Don’t make me look. I know what I’ve done. Don’t make me look.

Giles did understand. He was himself almost undone by the power of Spike’s torment. Grasping for purchase against the sorrow, Giles spoke to Panya again, “Is there some kind of medical aid station or hospital nearby? I noticed a game reserve about two kilometers back. That would mean there would have to be some kind of medical facility, for the tourists, would it not?”

“Yes,” Panya said.

Giles wanted to send the boy away, if only to protect him from Spike, “Go there and get supplies, bandages and the like. Meet me here, just after dawn.”

“Surely you do not mean to stay?”

Spike nodded in tacit agreement with the boy as he wiped viciously at his tears, “But Giles…Rupert you can’t mean to… You’re not? ”

Giles nodded, “I am. Go get those supplies, Panya,” his eyes softened as Spike shook his head emphatically, “I’ll be safe as houses. Go now, Panya. See you in the morning.”

Panya nodded, “Then you will also be in need of blood, yes?”

Giles’s eyes widened at the boy’s question, “You know…you know of his,” he nodded toward Spike, “condition?”

Panya nodded, “Yes. He is Marehemu. I will also see what can be done about contacting loved ones,” he said, and scurried off into the dusk.

When Panya’s footsteps faded into the coming night, Giles looked back at Spike, “Bright boy.”

Spike nodded, “Has to be, to survive here,” his gaze hardened, “You are daft, do you know that? I could kill you.”

Giles nodded, “You could. But, you won’t.”

Spike shook his head, dismayed, “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Giles’s voice held no hesitation.

“How?” Spike asked. The tremor in his voice told Giles just how strong the bond they’d made still was. It told of how much he cared, even if Spike could not voice his concern on a conscious level.

Giles sighed and said kindly, “You said it yourself. This is war,” he looked into Spike’s eyes and saw understanding begin to dawn in them.

That summer. Oh yes, Rupert. I remember. I remember too well.

Giles smiled a sad smile, “I’ve been there too.”

Giles felt his heart squeeze a little, in empathy, when he saw a slow tear begin in Spike’s right eye and roll down his cheek.

As the water escaped and exposed his pain and his sorrow, Spike closed his eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”
*********************

SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA-

The last week had been a whirlwind of emotions. The highs and lows were worse than a ride on a roller coaster. First, she hears from Willie that Spike’s gone. And, not just not-in-Sunnydale- gone, but gone as in off the planet. Buffy had no idea how much that would hurt until she heard the words coming out of Willie’s mouth. And they did. They hurt so much she thought the bottom had dropped out of her world. Suddenly nothing made sense.

Buffy could remember thinking: Isn’t this what I wanted? Didn’t I tell him, over and over again, that I wanted him gone? Off of the planet?

As she walked back home, she could remember feeling weightless, on autopilot. It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t true. He was a constant, always there.

Spike. He was annoying, that was true. But he was always there. Always. Like she was.

Buffy.

Spike.

Buffy.

Spike.

Buffy and Spike. Spike and Buffy.

They went together. They did. Like peanut butter and jelly, or crackers and cheese. Just what is it with cheese and me anyway? That’s not the point. Was there a point? The point is, they fit. They did.


She could remember thinking it. But he was gone. It was done.

Then the message came from Giles. There was still hope. And she was flying again.

Until Dawn.

Buffy had gone to pick up Dawn from the Penshaw house in a giddy mood. Spike could still come back. She had been so sure that Dawn would find that to be good news that she had offered to take her to Africa with her. After all, she had promised to show Dawn the world. Why not start with Africa?

Buffy’s elation and euphoria came crashing down quickly. All it took was a short walk across the street she lived on.

A short walk, and one sentence.

“I don’t want to go.”

She was stunned, “You can’t mean that. Dawn, he could be hurt. He could be…”

“Good,” she said grimly, “Let him stay away. Let him be…gone. I don’t care.”

Buffy’s throat suddenly felt tight and her eyes blurred with tears at the bite in her little sister’s voice, “But Dawn, he’d want to see you.”

“I don’t want to see him.”

Buffy felt a desperation creep into her heart, “Dawn, how can you say that? He took care of you when I…wasn’t here. He loved you, Dawn. I know he did,” her voice became a whispered benediction, “I know he does.”

“He said he loved you too, Buffy,” Dawn’s voice was hard and empty, “What he did to you, Buffy, it was awful.”

Buffy shook her head. When did things get so messed up? When had the world turned upside down? “You don’t know the whole story, Dawn. You don’t know…what I did.”

As they came in the front door, Dawn became a blur of angst as she stormed up the stairs and into her room, “I don’t care Buffy. He left me. Now I’m leaving him! I’m not going.”

Buffy froze watching her sister run away. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Time to call Aunt Darlene, in Florida. She would take care of her.

Dawn was running. But she wouldn’t. Not now. Not anymore.

Buffy knew she had to stop running. She needed him.

Buffy needed Spike; like peanut butter needed jelly.


That was a week ago. And with the help of her father’s credit card, if he can’t or won’t be here, at least his money can be, Dawn was now in Florida, and she had a passport. The doctor told her that she would need a wardrobe of long pants and long-sleeved shirts and some good hiking boots. So, she raided the sporting goods store.

Daddy’s last little gift to her was her plane ticket to Africa.

She was now winging her way across the Indian Ocean, hoping she wasn’t too late.

Because peanut butter really was better with jelly.
**********************************************
 
Tightrope
 

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Author's Note: The words are from Dylan Thomas's poem, "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night."
*****************

KENYA, AFRICA-

The last splash of gold disappeared from the sky, overcome by the deep umber of evening. It really was beautiful to behold. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’d trade a thousand, a million sunsets like this one for one sunrise. Just one.


Of course, he knew he was the only one who could see its beauty, at least to this extent. Human eyesight was dull and dim.

As his hand rested against the rock formation, genuinely surprised at how grateful he was that it was there to keep him stable, I have never felt this tired, he stared at the fading light, squinting to fend off nature’s last jab at his eyes before it was taken from him completely.

The pain eased as the light dimmed. Going…going…gone. Grieve it on its way.

Rage. Rage against the dying of the light. Ah, poetry. Well, that’s something.


And then there was nothing.

Suddenly he was bereft. The pain had been good to him. It reminded him of his place in the world, reminded him of what was, and what he could not have. I know my place. Just need reminding. Thank you. Now it was gone, and he sighed at the ping of its loss.

Giles had been so amazed by the resources Panya had access to that he did not notice the vampire’s distress, “This is amazing,” Giles mused as he looked through the box the lad had brought them this morning, “There are six liters of spring water here. And water purification tablets for when that runs out. Bandages, disinfectant,” he fleetingly glanced at Spike as he stood, seemingly admiring the sunset, “Plasma for you, rations for me. Fresh clothing. Good Lord, there’s enough here to survive a siege. There’s even a box of Earl Grey…”

“How appropriate,” Spike sighed, “All the comforts of home. I believe, if you look hard enough, you’ll find milk and honey as well. For the tea, of course.”

The tin, hollow sound of Spike’s voice earned Giles his full attention. He turned and asked, not unsympathetically, “You all right?”

Spike could feel the concern rolling off the Watcher, who, thank the gods, had at least enough sense not to crowd him.

A trapped animal was a dangerous thing.

He smiled a wry smile as Giles came to stand beside him at the mouth of the cave, “Yeah Rupert…I’ll live,” he pointed to where the light had been just a moment ago. Just learned too late. “Too many of those, is all. Not enough of the other.”

Giles could not help but be moved by the being standing so open and vulnerable before him. His training at the Council’s academy had told him this was impossible. Yet here it was, standing right beside him. The thing that could not be, but was.

He tried to study him with a critical eye, but he found that he could not. In fact, the more he tried to puzzle this out, the more it became an enigma.

And not just an enigma. The instant “William the Bloody” sought his soul, the instant the concept formed, he became an anathema as well.

The Council could not permit him to exist. He would be hunted.

Spike’s shoulders hunched slightly, as if a weight had been placed on them. A weight Giles could see that he was having difficulty carrying as his face clouded over and the lines of his face hardened, becoming older, “It’s just so heavy. I knew it would be. It’s mine and I’ll carry it…I’d forgotten how heavy it was, and I’m so tired. I want to put it down. I need to rest. Can’t…no one to help. This is mine. It’s all mine.”

Giles eyed him cautiously in a sidelong glance. He could see the tumult as it coursed through his body, the muscles responding to a sense memory that was clearly painful.

Rage subdued by longing, overcome by loses too numerous to count.

It was a volatile mixture. Giles saw the flash, and knew that he was witnessing an explosion. The vampire’s eyes shut and he heard the rumble rising, giving him warning. But despite himself, despite the fact that the adrenaline was rushing through his bloodstream, his every nerve poised to preserve life, Giles could not make his legs move. He was set in stone.

The air around him cracked with agony. The grotto’s walls shimmered and shook with the devastating wave of sound.

The agony of living death turned on him, looked him in the eye and he knew he was going to die. The moment that stretched into eternity shattered everything he knew. It truly was a wondrous thing to behold. The sight took the breath from his body, and still he couldn’t move.

He accepted it. I’m ready. And it truly is all right that it’s you. Rather fitting. It is a shame that the world will never know what I know now. They haven’t seen you. But I do. I do. Now.
************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

Lydia Chalmers waited. Her nerves were raw. She hadn’t slept since her return from Africa, and she was dreading her debriefing. She was still having difficulty getting the sight of the inside of a gun barrel out of her mind.

It was something that would stay with her. And, the memory of his eyes would be with her until the end of her days. He was lethal. He would carry through on his words; there was no doubting it.

She shuddered even thinking about it.

The trouble was that, as deadly as she knew Rupert Giles could be, the Council was even deadlier. They had no compunction where their operatives were concerned. The Council knew how to extract information when necessary, by whatever means necessary.

She was expendable, and she knew it. Quentin Travers knew it. And so did Rupert Giles. She had seen what he was trying to convey to her when he’d let her return to Tsavo rather than kill her, as he had threatened. She could almost hear him speaking the words:

You’re a scientist. This is the missing link. Don’t let them destroy him. At least give him a chance to survive. If you give them what they want, you’re dead. You know that. You’ve seen something, and the Council cannot allow dissention. It cannot abide debate.

I’m giving you a chance to fight another day. Take it!


She had seen the pained, frightened look in the vampire’s eyes and it had nearly stolen her breath.

Out of respect for both Rupert Giles and the vampire, she would give them that time.

She just hoped it was enough. Because soon, the hunter would become the hunted.

She knew this as soon as she stepped into Travers’s office for her debriefing.
*********************************************************

KENYA, AFRICA-

The swell of misery found a voice even as its vessel crashed once again to the sand, brought low by the fury inside. The depth of emptiness was infinite, and his voice broke as deep, soul-wracking sobs bubbled up from inside him, “Do you want to know how many sunrises I’ve missed? Because, I know. I’ve kept a tally, even before this…I counted. Today marks forty-seven thousand four hundred and fifty. I had twenty-six years of sunrises. Twenty-six years!” his voice was trembling and fading, crushing itself on the rocks in a sea of loss, in an attempt to stop the pain. His voice had been pushed to the limit, making his words barely a whisper. But the agony was unmistakable and it made the words clang with urgency. Giles heard them and slowly began to realize that he was still alive, “Twenty-six! Years, Rupert! And I can’t remember a blessed one of them.”

Giles stared at the broken vampire as he wept in the sand. This indeed was the rarest, most hauntingly beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

The moisture of his tears had caused the sand, displaced by his collapse, to adhere to his face. It made him appear savage.

No, not savage. New. Something new, and unspoiled.


As he drew a shaking breath, he knew the Council would not touch him. It did not matter what he had to do or who he had to cross. They would not touch him.

Giles knelt to try and offer what comfort he could. Making sure Spike’s eyes were clear, and focused on him, he forced his parched throat to work. His mouth turned up at one corner as a soul looked up from the very pit of darkness. The smile was not one of glee, but one of camaraderie and shared experience, “A sunrise in England? Who among us can remember seeing that?”
************************************

DEVON, ENGLAND-

She could feel the power coursing through her. There was so much hurt. But soon that would all be ended and she would be nothing. It was all nothing. The power would destroy the hurt. Destroy her. That’s what she wanted, an end to the hurt.

Xander. No! Let me finish this. I know you hurt too. Let me stop it. Please let me stop the hurt.

He was talking now, but she couldn’t hear him. The wind and the electric spark crackling in her body made her deaf. She didn’t want this powerful feeling to stop. It took away the pain and that’s all that mattered.

Nothing else mattered.

No! You can’t say that! You can’t love me. Love hurts, and I don’t want to hurt ever again.

Stop! Stop. I’ll make you stop. It hurts. Love hurts and I want you to stop. Stop! Stop! I’ll make you stop.

She felt the power surging through her body. It was stronger than the hurt. She felt the swell rise up in her and the blast was strong. So strong she couldn’t control it.

And it was good. The hurt was gone.

She looked up. Xander was on the ground asleep.

He wasn’t moving. Xander? Xander…get up.

No.

No!

NO!!


“No!” Willow screamed. The pillow on her bed was soaked with sweat and tears. She sat up, desperately trying to catch her breath.

Xander was dead. And she killed him.

What kind of monster am I?

*****************************

KENYA, AFRICA-

This was very painful to watch. Giles watched Spike’s eyes as the wave of loss ebbed, leaving the ache of sorrow. He began to focus again, and Giles sighed with exhaustion. Giles was suddenly grateful that Panya was there to relieve him. He needed time to rest. Just being present and witnessing Spike’s agony was arduous, and he was only a bystander.

He felt certain that Spike was experiencing the worst pain he’d ever felt. And now, there was no physical wound to bandage. No balm he could offer other than the tenuous kinship they had.

There was a questioning in Spike’s eyes that he had no answer to, “Why did I do it? Why, Rupert? Do you know what I did, what kind of things I did?”

“I know. Why don’t you rest?” Giles asked as he tried to settle Spike’s mind and encourage him to rest his body in the small nest he’d built near the grotto’s right far corner.

Distraught blue eye turned to him and Giles was touched by the depth of emotion he saw in them, “You’re not leaving?”

“I have to. People need to know…”

Spike shook his head fiercely and gasped, “No! No, you can’t…” he was pacing. It was an attempt at normalcy in the face of chaos, and the Watcher could see that he was losing ground, “You can’t leave me. No…no, don’t. Please? I could…I…I can’t.”

Giles remained calm, “I’m not leaving you alone. Panya is here,” he nodded as Panya smiled warmly, “ You won’t be alone. But I need a rest. And Buffy needs to know.”

The pacing stopped, and the look on Spike’s face was a look of complete and utter awe, “Buffy?” he whispered, “That was true? She’s not…? She’s still…”

Giles nodded. And, as he did, he could see the weight lifting off of Spike’s shoulders, “…Alive?”

An imperceptible nod begged him to go on, to say it again. He complied. It was his honor, his pleasure to do so, “Yes, she’s alive. She would want to know what happened to you.”

A raised brow, and then, “Really? Do you know? Can you tell her? Because I bloody well can’t.”

Giles sighed as he walked out to the lorry driven by Panya’s brother-in-law, and shrugged, “I’ll try. This is new territory. It may be difficult to put into words.”

Spike chuckled in spite of himself, “Oh Watcher, you have no idea.”
********************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

As Lydia Chalmers left his office, Quentin Travers knew that she had lied to him. And, once she was dealt with, “William the Bloody” would be tracked, like the animal he was, and he would be killed.
 
Why, Oh You
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: The feature film "The Ghost and the Darkness" mentioned here. The film is based on actual events that happened in Tsavo, Africa at the turn of the 20th century. Thought I'd have a little fun with it. Also, a scene from the "Buffy" episode "Dead Things" is mentioned. I think you'll know which one.
*********************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

Quentin Travers sighed in frustration. The Scrolls of the Unhesines were crucial to staving off oblivion, and a team of linguists had been working around the clock for eight years to translate them and had only managed to decipher a tenth of the text.

At this pace, all of existence could be in the midst of an avoidable fate, made unavoidable because the people given the duties to protect the world from the unknown had been less than vigilant.

Quentin set his eyeglasses atop the scrolls and sighed. He tried to knead the knotted muscles in his neck, trying to force the tension out with his fingers. He knew the reason he was tense. He was tense because he was closing in on his target.

He knew Lydia was lying to him when she told him she did not know the whereabouts of “William the Bloody.” He was expecting her to. It was of no consequence.

There were other avenues that led to the information, and the outcome, desired.

Quentin was shaken from his musings when the telephone rang.

He carefully set aside the scrolls, putting them, temporarily, in a drawer of his office desk and then locking the drawer with the only key, and answered the telephone, “Quentin Travers,” he identified himself.

As he listened to the voice on the other end of the wire, a slow smile of satisfaction crossed his lips, “I see. No, the boy’s curiosity can be worked to our advantage,” he shook his head, obviously displeased by what he was hearing, “No. Patience is what’s needed here,” he said, “If you move in haste, all could be lost. You’ll know when the time is right. Keep me apprised of the situation,” he listened and nodded, “Yes, and tell me if anything changes. Thank you. Your report has been very informative.”
********************************************************************

KENYA, AFRICA-

“Buffy, please…I didn’t…know…no. Please…no…Buffy…please…no…Buffy…don’t…God…I didn’t…don’t.”

Panya was concerned by what he was hearing. Whatever it was Simba was reliving in the night, it must have been a horrible experience.

He looked at his friend, as he slept on the cool sand floor, and noticed the gauntness of him. He was very concerned that Simba wouldn’t be strong enough for what may come if he did not eat. Carefully going over the rations he’d left them, he should have been surprised by what he saw, but he was not. Simba was strong willed, this he knew.

He’d prepared the box himself, and although he was not surprised when the supply of plasma had not been depleted at all in the two days since he had left it, he was troubled by it.

Panya picked up one of the still untouched pouches of blood, and walked over to where Simba lie, sat on his haunches, patted his shoulder through the thin cotton blanket he had drawn around him, and said softly, “Simba, la tafadhali.”

His only response was to grumble in displeasure and turn away from the annoyance, “Don’t think so, Mouse. Leave me be.”

Panya shook his head, undaunted, “Chopa tafadhali?” he asked, this time tugging at the blanket Spike was using as a shield against the world.

The insistent, pleading tone in the boy’s voice tugged at his soul even more incessantly then the boy could ever hope to pull at the blanket that shrouded him. It made him cringe as he tried to ignore the boy’s pleas. Oh Mouse, do you know what you’re doing to me? How do you do it? The soul’s pulling me in a thousand different directions. I’m its slave. It’s tearing me apart. How do you do it, day after day? It’s so heavy.

Spike rolled over and sighed. The concerned look on the boy’s face melted what little resolve he had. And even though the very sight of the vital fluid made his stomach turn inside out, he reluctantly took the nourishment offered him. That’s how he had to think of it now, as nourishment. If he thought of it as blood, he would begin to wonder what had given its life so that he could continue. And, that was something he didn’t want to think about.

His own sins were heavy enough; he did not need the extra burden of the sins of others.

Avoiding Panya’s concerned gaze, he sighed. It took so much of his energy to respond. So much, and he was too exhausted. Even forming words was an incredible feat, “Ebee,” he murmured.

“No!” the vehemence of Panya’s reply forced Spike to look up into the young man’s eyes. What he saw was a strange mix of sadness and indignation, “You, my friend,” his voice calmed a little, “…Simba, you are not a slave. Do not answer as one.”

Spike blinked. That confident tone in his voice, the strength of it, buoyed him and made him smile. Small mercies. At least I’m sure of you. You are the only thing that makes any sense these days. “You’re right. Thank you, Mouse,” he said as he pulled himself to a sitting position, leaning wearily against the ancient stone wall.

Panya smiled warmly, “You are very welcome.”

Trying to distract Panya as he tore at the baggie’s corner, Spike asked him, “How old are you, Mouse?”

Spike almost laughed when he saw Panya’s chest puff out a little, and his eyes light up. He seems so light and unencumbered. Not brought down yet. Not old, and that’s good. Was this what Buffy looked like before Hellmouths and vampires? Before…me?

“I am fifteen, Simba,” he said proudly.

Spike raised an eyebrow, “Fifteen. That makes you a man then, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Panya said firmly, “it does.”

Spike’s eyes were downcast as he whispered, “You’ve seen things? Things that…could frighten a child?”

Panya inclined his head, studying his friend carefully, then his face softened as he realized what he was being asked. Smiling, he said gently, and with an affection that only someone young could muster, “Simba,” he said, as he looked into eyes that were as clear as the morning sky, “You will not frighten me. I know what you are.”

Spike smiled a little at that, “Do you, now?”

Panya nodded, confident, “Yes. I know you are marehemu.”

Spike could feel an unreasonable dread begin to come into his heart. He tried to shake it off, “Still…that doesn’t mean you…”

“You were overcome by it when I first discovered you here. Do you not remember?”

His heart seized. It would explain things. The almost docile acceptance of…God, “Mouse…turn your head for me, would you?”

He did so, without complaint. And, that only worried Spike more. He first turned his head to one side, then slowly to the other. Spike looked closely, but there were no marks.

Spike closed his eyes and sighed with relief. He hadn’t hurt him, “Then why?”

Panya smiled. There was the glint of secret discovery in his eyes as he said, “You are marehemu, that is true. But you are also, ‘Giza.’”

Spike’s eyes widened in appreciation. “The Darkness.” It’s been over a century since I’ve heard that title, “So, I’ve stumbled across a history scholar, have I?” Spike’s voice took on a whimsical air, “ ‘Njozi,’ she was a bit upset; especially after the film came out. Lions took all the glory, she said,” his voice lost all its joyful, nostalgic tone and he shook his head in sadness, “Poor beasts. Dru and I did more damage here than those lions, and they got the blame. Why? Because, they were an easy explanation for what was happening. Even though the people knew that lions, even diseased ones, don’t behave in that way, they still hunted them down and killed them because they took advantage of a ready food source. They were just making use of the carrion we left behind, of our castoffs!” he didn’t know how it was possible, but something in him felt pain. A pain he’d never had before, and never considered having, “They killed the lions because they were different. Because they behaved outside the norm…”

His voice stopped. He stopped thinking. He knew he had to stop this train of thought before it ran him over. Before it demolished him. If he thought any more on this, it would lead to a place he did not want to go, so he stopped thinking.

Panya saw the stricken look in his friend’s eye, and placed a hand on the vampire’s knee, in a show of support, “You are not that creature now, Simba. I am not frightened.”

Spike’s brows knitted together as he whispered to himself, “Well, I am,” his eyes narrowed at Panya, “Maybe you should be too,” he said, his voice giving a hint of warning to the boy.

Panya nodded, “I am not afraid,” he said again, “But I have a respect for you. As I am certain that you have a respect for me.”

Spike nodded gratefully, “Smart lad,” he looked at Panya skeptically, “You’re sure?”

The young man nodded slowly, his eyes widening in rapt fascination as he watched a man become a demon.
***************************************************

The eight and a half hour flight from England had given Buffy time to think. There really wasn’t anything else to do.

She thought about so many things. Things she had never thought about before. Giles would be proud of her. She thought about what it would take to make a demon, who was quite happy to be a demon, want to change everything he was.

Could it be because of love? No. No, that wasn’t possible. Or was it? Hadn’t Drusilla said that demons could love? Didn’t Spike prove that, first with Dru, and then with…me?

If that was true, then why had Angel been so cruel to me? Why did he leave?

And why did Spike stay even after…he didn’t have to? Why was he the only place I felt any warmth at all after I came back? Why did he love me? How could he love me, when I was so cruel?


And, she could be so cruel, sadistic in fact.

This last year, she’d wanted everything, and everyone in her world to suffer the kind of pain she felt after Willow brought her back, after she’d been taken from the only peace she knew she’d ever know.

Spike is a demon. He revels in misery. He enjoys it. He can’t be happy if I’m in pain. I have to make him hurt. I have to make him cry. We’re not the same. I have to make him cry.


That’s how she thought at the time. Now, as she thought of the one, and only, time she had seen him cry because of what she’d done, she could remember feeling a sense of power. And the power made her hurt a little less.

Remembering it now though, that is what made her cry:

She could feel him trembling beneath her, and that was good. She wanted him to tremble.

“Buffy, please Love, you don’t need to…I love you.”

She heard him make the declaration, but she didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear him talk, “I said shut up,” she hissed, pressing her body and her stake, closer to his chest.

Spike let out an involuntary yelp, and turned his head to the side, away from her gaze, “Buffy, no!” and then surrender, “Buffy please…no.”

From above him, she could see him quaking, struggling to remain quiet and passive under her heat. She could see his throat desperately trying to keep the tears in. He was desperate to do as she asked, desperate to stay quiet and still, desperate to keep the stake from his heart.

It wasn’t working. She could hear the gasps as they strangled in his throat.

He was crying, and it wasn’t from passion. His tears were falling because he feared her.

That was good. He knew his place again, and it made her feel powerful.


Then, she felt powerful. Weakening him to the point where the only thing he could do was cry had helped her claim back some of her power when she’d been powerless against the world of pain she was in. Now though, as she looked back on what she’d done to him, she just felt weak. How could she have been so cruel? Was that even me? She hated herself.

Could it be because of hate? No, that wasn’t hate I saw in his eyes the last time I saw him. That was…oh God…I broke him.

What if he’s too crushed to fix? What if he’s…oh God! I did it. I finally did it.

I killed the “Slayer of Slayers.” I killed Spike.


She searched frantically through the sea of faces in the airport. She had to find Giles. Maybe he would know what happened to Spike.

The more she thought about what could have happened, and if it did, it happened because of me, the tighter her throat became. The more she thought about how much she needed him and how blind she had been, how cruel and unfeeling, the more her eyes stung.

They stung and blurred so much that she barely recognized Giles until he was hugging her.

“Buffy, it’s good to see you,” Giles breathed as he held her in a strong embrace.

Buffy returned the embrace, and felt the fatigue in Giles’s grasp. She pulled back to look at him and was shocked by how old and tired he seemed to be, “Giles,” her eyes searched his face and found only sadness, “what is it? Did you find him?” the alarm she felt in her heart was climbing steadily into her voice the longer he stayed silent before her. And, the look in his eyes told her that something awful, something life altering, had happened to him, and to her.

Giles sighed, his bones finally feeling all that had happened in the past week. With downcast eyes, he murmured, “Yes Buffy, I’ve found him.”

The tone in his voice chilled her through, “Giles…what?”

Giles raised his eyes to hers and hated to see the worry in them. But he was just as worried as she, “Buffy, he’s four hours from here. Someone will take us to him. Transportation has been arranged. I only have one question. Do you want to see him?”

Her heart clenched in her chest, “How can you ask me that? Of course I want to see him. Is he…is he all right?”

“I need to prepare you for what you’re going to see, Buffy.”

Buffy’s tone told Giles to dispense with the preamble, as he felt a firm hand on his elbow, “Okay, enough of this. You said there was a ride?”

He nodded, not the least bit fazed as his Slayer turn him, bodily, toward the airport exit, “Good,” she said, “We’ll talk on the way.”

In the crush of people milling about the airport, neither Giles nor Buffy took notice of the man who cautiously and quietly, followed then out.
***********************************************************************************

Panya couldn’t help himself. His curiosity got the better of him, “But Simba, why did you do such a thing as this?”

Spike was a bit taken aback by the bluntness of his question, “Kwa bibie,” he said, resigned to the fact that he would always be her slave.

Panya’s eyes glinted triumphantly, “I knew it was for a woman,” his voice held a slight smugness.

The pain he saw in Simba’s eyes as he looked up at him humbled him, “Not just any woman, Mouse. Her. “Miye mtina. Miye hawa ini.”

The truth he saw in Simba’s eyes took his breath away, “Oh, Simba…does she love you as you do her? Are you her heart?”

Spike tried to fight the sadness he felt rising in his chest. The emptiness was almost overwhelming, “No, she can’t,” he whispered, “And, I don’t expect her to. Ever.”

Just then, a small voice came from the mouth of the cave. The words were so softly spoken that Spike almost missed them, as they hid under his sorrowful heart.

The words were small, and filled with so much emotion that he had to see her, “Oh, Spike.”

He looked. Blinked. He knew he was hallucinating. He had to be, because there she stood, the edges of the grotto’s opening framing her. She was a vision.

A vision in leather. His leather coat.

“Slayer,” he breathed.
****************************



 
Speaking Louder
 


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She was beautiful, standing there. The light was flowing from her like water. He was transfixed, in awe of her and her power. She was the Alpha and the Omega.

The pleasure, the honor he felt upon hearing her speak his name, was near equal to the divine terror that shot through him when he heard her pain.

She called to him, wordlessly.

She was unaware of it, he knew, but he could hear her so clearly. As though she had spoken to him. It was like a siren song, her agony. It hit him so fast that he was powerless against it, and her. She pulled at him. She always had, and always would.

It was useless to fight it. His gaze locked with hers. And he saw the horror staring back at him.

He stood slowly, teetering at first, reaching to the stone for support. His body was weak, but he was willing.

Buffy watched as he slowly made his way to a small crate near the mouth of the cave. It was approximately fifteen feet from where she stood. His movement was halting. He was staggering, as if every step he took caused him pain. God, this is like watching a car crash. She heard the crack of splintering wood. Then he turned, and her eyes dropped to the jagged sliver of wood in his hand. His intention became clear, “No, Spike,” she whispered in horror. She wanted to save him, but she couldn’t move. Why can’t I move?

He could though. He moved so slowly and deliberately that it scared her.

He heard the murmur of voices surrounding him, pulling him taught. He tried to listen. He could see them at the edges of his vision. Mouse, and even Rupert were closing in, trying to protect him from her, and from himself. And he tried to step back, to save himself. But, there was someone else in the distance. Someone he had to find. Why are you so far away, Love? The shrillness of her silent cry overcame him, and drew him to her.

Small, insignificant steps, as he inched ever closer to where she stood, unmovable as granite, in the center of the aperture; her body never moved. But her eyes screamed out to him.

Once he reached his destination, Spike let out a heavy sigh, and he waited. Her silence was all the direction he needed. Fingers trembling, he opened her small hand and placed the deadly instrument inside. He looked up then, and he saw something dazzling. He was perplexed. Why are there tears?

His muscles burned, and gave out. His legs wouldn’t hold him any longer. I’m so tired, Love. I’m worn out and old. He fell to the ground at her feet.

She was so beautiful. A pillar of light clothed in darkness. His darkness. He had to rescue her from the darkness and the pain.

He wanted to rescue her. But, he wasn’t in control here. It was she. Always. She may not want rescue. It may be vengeance she’s after. He tore at his already tattered clothing, exposing his bare skin to her. Exposing the one spot that was his Achilles’ heel to her scrutiny, and her stake.

He looked up at the angel of his death, and offered himself to her. His existence was hers to command. Yay, or nay. Live, or not, it didn’t matter to him. It was all in her hands. It was the least he could give.

Words were spoken. He knew that because he felt the vibration, but he couldn’t hear the sound. It went out into the air and was swallowed by the pain in her. There was so much of it. He wondered at her strength. How can you stand, Love? It must be so heavy.

Just as he thought it, he watched her begin to topple. She crashed in front of him. The tears were flowing freely now. A beautiful wreckage, she was.

I’m so sorry, Love. So sorry.
Her eyes were a glistening green. It was amazing. He knew he would be lost in those eyes forever. He would drown in them again and again, and they would always surprise him. They would always hold something new, something he didn’t know.

Like they did now. It was small, but he didn’t need much. He hadn’t expected anything at all, but it was there.

The spark.

Oh, I see it. There it is, Love. You haven’t lost it.


He looked closer and found the something new. He was stunned by it. He saw it, but did not know its name. Did laughter have a name when it was heard for the first time? No, this was something special, meant only for him. And, when she touched him, she was so soft and yielding. He could feel her trembling, and it was then that he knew what this shining thing was that put the glow in her. It had a name, and he knew it.

The bliss of recognition made him weep as he fell into her embrace. He was comforted and jarred by the warmth he found.

He knew of this. Fairytales were told, passed down through the ages, but he never thought to see it himself. But he did. He found it, in Buffy’s warm touch as he purged the pain and the salt from his body.

In her arms, he found forgiveness.

He shuddered, and broke, “Weye hai? Onea huruma miye uhayawani. Miye ni kitu. Najisi! Kinyama! Oh please, Slayer? Tell me I haven’t lost you. You were never mine,” he sobbed into her neck, unable to meet her eyes, “not really. Oh, Shujaa. Bembeleza…miye kisura. I’m so sorry!”

As Panya listened to his friend’s broken heart spill out, he too began to weep. He would remember this day, and so would all his family. Because this was the day a beast had truly become a man.
*************************************************

The moment she saw him, the world around her, and him, fell away. Nothing else mattered. A sand storm could have carried them all away and she wouldn’t have cared. She only saw him, and the unbearable pain he was in.

She saw him walking toward her as if he had no mind, or will, of his own. And the stake…No Spike, I can’t do it. Please don’t ask me to. Then, when he fell to his knees, she fell right along with him.

Oh God, what did I do?


It was like a mantra running through her brain as she held him. He was sobbing, speaking words that hardly sounded like English. But in the rush of sounds that issued from him, one thing came clear. It should. His actions told her what his words could not.

He’d torn himself open; exposed himself utterly to her. He was here, a physical waste. He was thin and bruised. Broken and traumatized. And yet he’d made himself completely vulnerable to her. Once again he put himself at the point of her stake because it was what he thought she wanted.

He had submitted, passively, to her will and her whims. Once again, he was her willing slave. She tried to think of what she could do to help ease the pain. But she could do nothing except hold him as he sobbed with relief and fear.

She tried to soothe him, “Spike, it’s all right. It’s going to be all right,” she whispered in his ear, as she ran trembling hands over his head and neck.

His grasp was almost painful now as his pain poured out of him, as if he thought she might slip away into the sky if he let her go. It was a pain she endured gladly, suddenly breathless with the knowledge and the joy that he was here at all.

He continued to mummer in a language she only half understood, “…kwa ajili weye. Oh, Slayer. I felt it. It burned. I thought, oh God! Hai. Weye…hia. Miye… umiza mtina… Oh…Buffy…” he finally fell silent, closing his eyes as he gave in to exhaustion.

Buffy felt him collapse against her and looked up at the two other people in the cave with them. They both had tears streaming down their faces. She was sure she did too, “Spike? Spike, can you hear me?” she whispered, trying to be understood over the tears. When he did not respond, she said, “I think he’s passed out,” she looked up at Giles, who nodded and moved to carry Spike to a place where he could rest.

Giles suddenly saw the face of a lost little girl gazing up at him. It was then that he knew just how important Spike had become to her, “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him, Buffy,” he said as he carefully disentangled Spike from her grasp.

Giles was surprised at how slight the powerful vampire’s frame was as he deftly lifted and carried him.

As she watched her Watcher gently place Spike on a small heap of blankets in the corner of the cave, a chill ran down her spine. What did he do? She turned to the boy, “What was he talking about? I didn’t understand it. What language was that?”

“It was Swahili,” Panya’s forehead creased as he concentrated, “It was difficult for me to discern Simba’s meaning because of the powerful emotions,” he sighed, “But, I believe he expressed a great relief that you were alive. And, sorrow and regret, much regret, for his behavior. There was sorrow, especially for an unclean, a filthy act. A…violation?” Panya’s eyes widened as he began to understand. The words came clearer, “He said, ‘ Najisi.’ Were you raped, Shujaa?”

Buffy gasped in shock. She shook her head in disbelief, “Rape? No, I… Is that what he thinks?”

Panya shrugged and shot a pointed look in the direction of his fallen friend, “Most assuredly. It brought him here. That much I do know.”

“Oh my God,” Buffy whispered, “How long has he been here?”

“I found him over a month ago. I have no idea how long he was here before I discovered him.”

“I do,” Buffy breathed as she walked over to meet Giles. She looked over his shoulder to where Spike was sleeping, “What happened to him?”

“I don’t know the specifics, Buffy. He’s been in no condition to tell me. But I do know that he has changed. So much so that he will most likely be hunted, for the rest of his existence, like the animal we all thought he was.”

“Was?”

Giles sighed wearily, “Buffy, I’ve been with him for a week and I know. Did that display teach you nothing?” his tone was biting, “You are the Slayer. Would a normal vampire, would Angelus willingly place himself beneath the point of a Slayer’s stake? He will not survive the transition without protection?”

“Transition?”

Giles rolled his eyes. His Slayer was quite obviously in shock, and his nerves were frazzled. He had to proceed slowly, or he was sure to do something he would later regret. He looked into her eyes, searching for understanding, “Buffy, I don’t know how, or why, but he sought restoration. And, he apparently acheived it. Buffy, he has a soul.”
 
Blueshift
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:
In astronomy, the closer light gets to an observer, the more it shifts into the blue spectrum.
**************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

She bit her lip, this was a simple telegram, and it wasn’t physics. What was taking him so long? Lydia looked at her watch again, Twenty minutes. Have to get in before sunset, just to be safe.

She’d searched all over town, the bits of Travers’s conversation running through her head. She hadn’t even meant to hear it. And, if she had not been working late and gone back for her neglected notes, she wouldn’t know about it now. She was trying to be random in her movements, to be certain she wasn’t followed and she’d finally found what she thought was a secure location to send the wire to Giles. He had to know what Quentin was planning. “William the Bloody” was indeed endangered. He had to be protected. Her loyalty to science overrode her allegiance to the Council. She finally found a “Western Union” transmit station, in the back of a tiny ironmonger.

Only now, as she watched the day slowly fade to evening, did she wish she’d found this place sooner.

The young man looked up from the transcript of what was to be sent and slid it carefully across the counter, “Is everything in order, Miss?”

“Of course,” Lydia said, too distracted by the lateness of the hour to really care. She nodded absently, “Yes, make sure that that gets to Rupert Giles, in Tsavo, Africa, right away. It’s very important.”

“Of course, Miss,” the clerk said as he took the slip of paper back, “Do you wish to stay while I send this?”

Lydia looked at her watch again, “What time do you close up shop?”

“Not for another hour, Miss.”

Lydia looked nervously out the door, and noticed the light fading slowly from orange into indigo, and took a deep breath, “No,” she said tremulously, trying to control the rhythm of her heartbeat and breath as her fingers fumbled to hand over the two pound note, “just send it. I must be going now.”

“Have a nice evening,” floated on the air after her as she hurried out the door.

The sprint to her car felt like a marathon. What Travers had planned made her breath come in heaving gasps. And, the thought that he might somehow know that she had discovered his secret, had the adrenaline rushing through her system, making her hands shake and her blood boil with anger. If she were found out… I’d rather face William before the Colonist’s butchers put their hands on him. The emotions flowing in and through her made starting the ignition nearly impossible.

When the key finally found its way, by some miracle, into the ignition and the engine sparked to life, Lydia forced the pedal to the floor and sped off for home, and safety, before night had a chance to fall.
***********************************************************

KENYA, AFRICA-

Panya finally let himself relax as he spoke with the old man, “It is good that Simba is sleeping now,” Giles noticed that the boy’s face seemed much older than the rest of him, “It is good that his Shujaa is with him now. Perhaps he can rest now?”

Giles sighed as he took in the scene in one corner of the cave. To his eye, Spike looked weak and frail. Buffy had not left his side since he’d bluntly told her that Spike now had a soul. She looked as though she still didn’t believe what he’d told her. She still had the wide-eyed look that told him that she was still expecting to be awakened at any moment. He could still hear her murmuring low, trying to be brave.

That was his Slayer. The brave warrior, to the last. A thought struck him and he turned to the boy and asked quietly, “What does ‘ Shujaa’ mean. I heard Spike use the term, and now you have as well. What does it mean?”

Panya smiled, “The closest English word is, ‘hero,’” he nodded in Buffy’s direction, “Or, in her case, ‘heroine.’ I heard Simba call her, ‘Slayer,’ so I guess it means that for him.”

Giles smiled. The more things change…

Suddenly, the crack of rifle fire rang out from somewhere in the night. The more they stay the same. Reflexively, Giles covered his vital organs, crouching low as he hissed, “What the buggering Hell was that?!”

Panya put his finger to his lips, his eyes held a dark seriousness as he begged the man’s silence. He quickly darted over to Spike’s corner of the grotto. Once he was certain that the vampire was still safe, despite his ever-present state of unrest, he answered the old man’s question, “Poachers,” he said, in a low voice, fearing that any rise in pitch would arouse the vampire, “We must keep Simba calm,” he said, clearly worried for his friend’s state of mind. At the confused look on the elder’s face Panya realized that, in his concern, he had failed to answer the man’s question, “Ivory trade,” he whispered low, “ They hunt the elephants for their tusks.”

Buffy tried to soothe Spike, who was quite obviously in the throes of a nightmare. But at least he was asleep, “But, the game reserve…there are rules!” she breathed, “They can’t just…”

The scathing look she received from both her Watcher and the boy stopped her words in her throat. They both looked like they could kill her with their bare hands. And, being the Slayer, that was saying something.

The boy mouthed the words, “Keep Simba quiet! ” as he crept toward the opening to investigate.

The heat in the boy’s dark eyes helped Buffy to realize that he was very serious. And judging from how uneasy Spike seemed, even with her close, maybe she was looking into the eyes of experience.

Buffy looked down at Spike’s face. She could see his eyes moving quickly under his eyelids. She could feel him straining weakly under her light hold on him. She hoped her presence would calm him, but somehow she knew that his mind was reliving something horrifying.

She felt the muscles in his body tense, ready to pounce, and she hoped she would have the strength to hold him back if he awoke.

She loved watching him sleep, but not like this.

There were times, last year that she had stayed, sometimes, until after the day sleep came over him, just to watch it change him. His face became soft, almost innocent, like a marble carving by a master artist who had worked for years to lovingly and patently coax out the beautiful thing that he had seen trapped within the stone. In those moments she could forget what he was. He was beautiful then.

He was beautiful now. Buffy wondered what kind of new thing he would be. She could feel it trying to escape. She wondered what was trapped under his skin, and what kind of pain he’d been through. And, how much more he would have to endure.

Here he was again. Watching it all unfold as if it were a bloody “Passions” rerun. At least he knew it was a dream. There was comfort in lucid dreaming. The happenings were mystical this time, not physical.

Oh, bugger that! Mystical or not, this hurt like bloody Hell. He could remember telling that sod of an Ms’awlo’icckl demon to do his worst. But this was beyond the pale, even for him. Still he endured it all, so that he could get what he needed to take care of the Slayer, and her family.

The gladiator was no problem, only a few minor burns there, a few broken ribs. I’m dead. What are a few broken ribs if I’ll have what I want, in the end?

The I’oaebtohf’eref was a bit more of a challenge. Beady eyes that one, got a good enough look at them. He did have five heads, four eyes each. Cunning too. The thing just wouldn’t go down. Got to respect that. He almost felt sorry about separating that last head from its body. Almost sorry enough to give up, but not quite.

A bloke’s got to do what he can.

Then came the carrion beetles. Crawling all over his skin, he’d been an irresistible smorgasbord. Finally at the bottom of the food chain, he was food for the critters that crawled in the earth. He had to keep reminding himself that any change was painful. Birth was painful. It must be, otherwise people would remember their arrival. Death was painful, he knew that too well. But this…this he almost wished he could forget. The numbing migraines the chip in his head dished out were nothing to the feeling of those things eating, drinking and being merry on the feast of his innards.

The Chinese water torture with the Holy Father’s private vintage, oh yes, that hurt more than he had words for. But it would be worth it, to take care of her, to protect them like he’d promised.

He thought he’d come through the trials, but now he knew the worst was yet to come…

Not again. No! No, stop. Stop…please…stop. No, don’t. Don’t!

He still felt the heat clawing at his chest, and then there was the light and the burning. The pinpoint of light radiated out from his chest and blinded him. One last gasp, and he was gone. The chip flared brightly on its way to supernova. Sending one last searing headache to remember it by. He remembered it fondly now, because then he didn’t know how much worse “worst” could be.

He knew now, though.

Blind and groping, he reached for what he knew, but they weren’t there. They were lost. Empty. He was empty.

Then he saw it. Warren, he raised the gun. No. No! Stop. Don’t do it! He had tried to scream. He remembered his chest burning with the need to scream. Did I scream?

I’ll kill you! Do you understand that? You do this, and soul or not, I will kill you. You won’t hide from me. I. Will. Kill! You!

It was no use. He watched Warren raise the gun. He heard the snap and saw the flash. And, Buffy…oh, God!

*******************************************************************

DEVON, ENGLAND-

Meditation was the hardest. It meant that she had to examine what she’d done. Meditating meant she had to see it all again, in slow motion. She didn’t like doing it. But, if she wanted to get out of here, and back to her friends, she had to.

Friends. Did she have any anymore? Or, had she driven them all away?

She’d killed. She’d killed, and she wasn’t under the influence of a foreign substance when she did it. She couldn’t blame some drug, although she had tried to convince herself that that was what magic was for her, the truth was, it wasn’t. It wasn’t some poison that would work itself out of her system. She had done it. Willow. She had done it all by herself.

The magic was an easy scapegoat. It was an easy crutch. But the truth was, she could have resisted. She didn’t have to let it control her.

No. There was a choice. She had a choice, and now she had to live with that choice.

No one but she had killed Xander. She was the one who killed Rack. It made no difference to the karmic cycle that he was an evil man. He was still dead. And she killed him. She’d tried to kill Giles. Someone who, she knew now, had tried to pull her soul up from the dark place she was in when Tara was killed. If it hadn’t been for Buffy, she might have killed Giles too.

The worst though, was Warren. She’d killed him and it did make her feel better, for about one zillionth of a second. It still didn’t bring Tara back. It hadn’t filled the hole Tara left in her heart.

She was a killer. She knew that now. She was no better than Warren. She was no better than a vampire. She was no better than Spike.

Suddenly, Willow’s mind flashed on Spike, and how he’d taken care of Dawn last summer. He’d been tender, and patient, almost kind with her, with all of them, really.

Willow gasped at the revelation. She was no better than Spike. Spike was better than she was.
************************************************************

HOLLYWOOD, FLORIDA-

Dawn was frustrated, “But, Aunt Darlene, you don’t get it. Spike’s a bad guy!”

Darlene Christopher was clearly unimpressed with the argument. She shook her head in disbelief, “You can’t mean the nice boy who took care of you after your Mom died? I saw how he stayed close to you. Whenever I flew over to visit the gravesite, and I admit, I was only there a few times, he was there until well after dark. He even sent me a very thoughtful letter of condolence. I still have it. You can’t tell me someone like that is all bad.”

“But he is! You don’t know what he did.”

“Dawn, honey. We all make mistakes. No one is perfect. It’s time you grew up, and started learning that lesson. Think about it. And when Buffy gets back, you can show her how much you’ve grown.”
*********************************************************************

 
Cradle of Civilization
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Lyrics from "Behind Blue Eyes" by "The Who" are within this chapter.
**********************

KENYA, AFRICA-

Panya winced as the metallic whine of the chainsaw sang through the air, screeching louder as it encountered resistance. Unconsciously, Giles flinched at the unwelcome sound and the decidedly unpleasant memories it evoked. Panya tried to take the man’s pain away, “It won’t be long now,” he whispered, “Soon Simba will be safe, at least from himself. As soon as the monsters have what they are after, they will leave. But in their wake Simba, once he wakes, will be inconsolable.”

Giles tilted his head in contemplation. Then the sadness of understanding came, “They only take the tusks,” he said.

Panya nodded grimly, saying nothing.

“Oh good Lord!” Giles breathed as he looked over at the vampire that slept, fitfully, in the Slayer’s arms, “Why did I not think of that? I do not even want to imagine how…It must be…Oh dear Lord!”

Buffy heard the change in Giles’s voice, and decided she was being left out of the loop. She carefully and tenderly put Spike’s head down on the blankets and she quietly picked herself up, as well as her nearly forgotten flashlight, and walked over to him, “If something’s wrong,” she looked anxiously back at Spike who was still lost in the web of dreams, and sighed. The look in her Watcher’s eyes was not one of comfort. When is it ever? “Giles, whatever’s up ahead for Spike, I want to know,” her throat tightened a little, making the next words difficult, almost painful for her. They came out as a whisper. She had never, before this moment, realized how deeply the idea of Spike’s hurt, physical or not, could affect her, “If you think you know,” she said, forcing her voice out beyond the stone of pain in the center of her chest, “then I need to know too.”

“Buffy, this is only speculation on my part, but I believe Spike may have chosen this reserve as his sanctuary precisely because people, for the most part, play by the rules. Here, the only legal shooting that goes on is the shooting of photographs,” Giles sighed as he saw the confusion in Buffy’s eyes, “No one and nothing is supposed to be harmed.”

“But that was real gunfire, Giles,” her voice lowered to just above a whisper, “Believe me, I know what gunfire sounds like.”

“Yes, I know,” Giles said, his eyes downcast. He did not want to be the one to add to her confusion and pain. He sighed and hoped she would understand, “Buffy, Panya tells me that Spike has fed very little in his presence. It took the boy days to convince him to do so, and even then he only took in a fraction of what he needed. And, he did not do so out of hunger. The boy had to remind Spike that feeding would help him keep his sanity,” Giles tried, unsuccessfully, to keep his concern from coloring his tone, “Buffy, Spike has not fed while I’ve been present. And, I was with him for ninety-six hours before the boy took the watch.”

Shujaa, he would not even harm the fruit bats that are plentiful here,” Panya injected, shaking his head in concern, “and they carry sickness and fever with them.”

Buffy gasped, “Do you think that he could end up like Drusilla?” she asked no one, in particular.

“Buffy, he’s held on so far. But I don’t know how he’ll take to the smell of,” Giles hesitated, not wanting to voice his fear, “what the poachers leave behind.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in fear, “Oh,” she shook her head, overwhelmed by what Giles was saying, and what that might mean for Spike once he was conscious and aware of his surroundings again, “What did I do?”
**********************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

Travers wasn’t worried by this new development. In point of fact, Miss Chalmers’s discloser only freed the Council to act.

The containment of a threat, in specific, a vampire, by the Council was not unheard of. The fact that Lydia Chalmers had sent the telegram only set the endgame in motion that much sooner.

He sighed as he came up from the catacombs beneath the building. There was a veritable city of subterranean passages here. The Council of Watchers left nothing to chance. With that in mind, he had to be certain everything was in readiness for the arrival of the Council’s guest.

Quentin Travers was quite certain that the vampire’s existence, and any threat he might pose, would be dealt with soon enough. Once word had reached the Council that “William the Bloody” had indeed arrived in Africa and made contact with the Ms’awlo’icckl shaman, the Nairobi enclave had swung into action, it really had required little to no effort on his part.

“William the Bloody” had been under close, tight, surveillance for quite some time. And now, thanks to the dubious relationship between the Slayer and his former employee, he could keep a close eye on Rupert Giles and his maddeningly unorthodox charge.

His office telephone began to ring just as he walked in the door. The operative in Kenya knew to use the landlines when the information he needed to relay was sensitive. Cellular transmissions were too easily intercepted. He closed the door quickly and answered the phone, “Yes,” he said expectantly, “I see. Well the thing to do now is wait,” his eyes narrowed in concentration, “No, that should not pose a problem. No,” he shook his head, “our records indicate that what you have should do the job quite effectively. In point of fact, you may not even need that much. The situation is fluid. There is room for interpretation. One thing is not open for debate, however,” he nodded at the man’s agreeable nature, “Yes, that’s correct,” he smiled, “Tell me when it is done.”

Quentin hung up the telephone, and busied himself again with the translation of the scrolls that had so consumed his life for the last thirty years.
******************************************

HOLLYWOOD, FLORIDA-

Dawn flopped on the bed in the spare room her aunt had let her use. She hated it. The walls were painted in a sickening shade of blue. It seemed as if her aunt had expected nephews instead of nieces. And to top it off, the bed was small, twin sized mattress, and that was covered with “Holly Hobbie” sheets and the matching bedspread.

Dawn felt the lace fringe on the edge of the bedspread, and moaned, “Ugh, what am I, six years old?”

She slid off the bed and went to the closet, where her suitcase was kept, and fished her portable radio and earphones out. Maybe if she had a distraction the room wouldn’t wig her out so much.

As she walked back to the bed, she put the tiny buds in her ears and looked up at the ceiling. Well at least it’s white, and not blue. She hated blue.

Hated it.

Hated it…no, she didn’t.

Why did he leave? It’s not fair! Now he’s gone. Even if he comes back, he loves Buffy, not me. It won’t be the same. Not like it was before.


She was mad, and she needed to take her mind off of him. So, she hoped that turning the radio to ear-splitting volume would help, at least for the moment. At least until she could make her hiccups stop. She hated crying.

She hated it.

And, why did the room have to be painted that color? The color of his eyes.

Those eyes used to love her. She saw it. When she’d gone into the hospital last summer, to have her appendix removed, she’d been his world. She saw it. She could remember it like it was yesterday.

She felt like her insides were on the outside. It hurt. Someone was holding her hand. She opened her eyes and all she saw was fuzzy bright blue on an even fuzzier white background, almost like the felt boards her kindergarten teacher tried to teach the alphabet with. Why was everything so blurry? Why did it look like Muppets had invaded the world?

And, why did she feel like she’d been ripped open?

She tried to talk. Ugh. Even her tongue was furry, “Spike?” the shapes came clear slowly, and he was there. Like always, “What happened, Spike?”

“Hey Nibblet,” his voice was soft and she felt his hand smooth her hair. It was cool…and nice. She felt so hot. “…You gave us quite a scare, Bit. Keep me on my guard, you do,” his voice sounded gruff, like he’d been chain-smoking or…crying?

She was confused, “Spike, what happened? I remember…I had a stomachache. Something I ate. I went to bed and then…?”

“Belly nearly burst,” he said softly as he stroked her forehead, “Doctors took out that nasty appendix, no worries now,” he smiled weakly, eyes glistening, “You rest,” he sighed.

She was very tired. Her eyelids felt like they weighed a ton, “Spike,” she murmured, “stay with me, please?”

She heard him whisper, as she fell down into sleep again, “Always, Bit. Like I promised.”


He’d promised to stay, but he didn’t.

He lied. He lied. And even if he did come back now, everything would be different. She didn’t want that. She wanted things to be like they were, and now, because of him, they would never be.

And, she hated him for it.

She tried not to think of him and what he did, but even the radio wouldn’t let her forget. The words blaring into her head made her cry even harder.

“No one knows what it’s like…” No I won’t forgive him. “…To be the bad man. To be the sad man…” No! No, I won’t! “…Behind blue eyes…”

She’d heard enough. She tore the ear buds from her ears and sent the tiny radio sailing through the air. Shattering it to pieces as it hit the bedroom wall.

“I hate you!” she rasped, turning her wet face to the pillow, muffling her tears.
**************************************************

KENYA, AFRICA-

Buffy could hear him stirring. The poachers had left hours ago. The air had been silent. So much so that Giles felt it was safe to leave and assist Panya in replenishing the supplies. Giles felt it was safe, and she knew he would be back. She knew it was ridiculous, but she worried about what was out there, waiting for him.

She knew there was blood. Although she couldn’t smell it, it was too far away; she knew he would smell it, once he awoke. The poachers had been careful not to be discovered by their human pursuers. But Buffy knew that they hadn’t hid, couldn’t hide, the carcass well enough to keep the scent of spilled blood from a vampire’s keen sense of smell.

He was waking up now. She could hear him mumbling. It was clear that he was upset, “…Buffy no…so much…blood…no.”

She sighed, slowly making her way to him. She no longer needed the flashlight; her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. I didn’t know it could get this dark. It was never this dark in Sunnydale, or L.A. either. She wouldn’t have used it anyway. She didn’t want to startle him.

“Spike,” she said softly as she knelt next to him, “it’s all right. I’m here.”

There was a sharp, pained intake of air, and a brief flash of gold. But not brief enough. He knew. She could tell he knew. His eyes darted aimlessly around, trying to hold on something familiar.

They settled on her, and she smiled.

“Buffy?” he questioned as he slowly sat up.

“Yeah,” she confirmed. The awe in his face as he looked at her, nearly stopped her heart.

His eye zeroed in on the space just above her left breast. Where the bullet entered. Oh, God, did that hurt. She could feel the tears pressing her eyes, but she would not let them fall. He needed to lean on her, and she was going to let him need her, for once.

“Where you hurt?” the question was almost intelligible. The words disfigured by his anguish.

“Was,” the pain in his eyes hurt her more than the bullet did. If he asked anything that required more than a few words to answer, she didn’t know if she would be able to. It hurt that much, “I’m better now, though,” her breath shuddered, “And, I’m here,” she smiled and shrugged her shoulders, “Surprised?”

He nodded, still disbelieving, confused, “I…but there’s blood. I smell it,” his eyes slowly scanned her, searching; seeking to reconcile what his senses were telling him, “There is blood. I smell it. There’s too much…” he shook his head, as if to clear himself of the fog that had him trapped. He looked back at her with questioning, hurt eyes, “Buffy, how? There shouldn’t be any…” his eyes widened as he realized that they were alone, “Oh God…Buffy. Where’s Mouse?”

Buffy wasn’t sure what he was asking, so she stayed silent.

The silence sent him into a panic. He knew he was panicking, but something in him couldn’t stop the freefall. He couldn’t stop, “Buffy, where are Rupert and Mouse?” Tell me, Buffy,” he began to stand up, hastily. The panic was growing, “Buffy, please,” he begged, “tell me where they are. Tell me I didn’t….”

She was still silent. The panic wasn’t panic now. It was knowledge. It was a crushing pain, and it was in control now. He was following instinct. Following the blood, like the beast he knew he would always be.

It all happened so fast that Buffy couldn’t fit the pieces together. She’d never seen him move that fast. He disappeared into the arid night before she could blink.

It only took a second. But, a second was long enough. He was gone.

The moment stretched on forever. But, when it ended, she grabbed her flashlight, and followed him into the night, “Spike!” she yelled after him as she ran.
**************************************

Unnoticed by his targets, undoubtedly because of the adrenaline surging through them, the man in the desert camouflage and night-vision goggles saw the flash of light and heard the panicked voice. His own heart sped up with anticipation, but the rise in heart rate was the only betrayal of his mood.

Outwardly, his training kept him careful and precise as he radioed his fellows. He quickly put the small radio headset microphone near his mouth, and relayed what he had just witnessed, “Targets acquired. Maintaining contact. Will relay position once targets are confirmed. Containment to follow. Will radio this frequency. Radio silence until further notice. Out.”

He cut his transmission, and moved under cover of night.
 
Innocence Lost
 

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Panya’s words of caution tumbled in her brain as she raced after him. “Don’t leave Simba alone. But, if you must leave the cave, don’t go past the burma, or the fires, especially at night.”

She knew that there was a reason for his cautions. And, she had absolutely no idea what a burma was, nor did she care. Panya didn’t know Spike, didn’t know what kinds of things he was capable of doing. If he was trapped and frightened, there was no telling what he could do. Even as the fire pits blurred past her, and she scaled the six-foot briar fence, all she cared about was finding Spike.

Her flashlight was a casualty of the running leap she’d taken to scale the wall of thorns, and now her hands were bleeding, but she didn’t care. Spike was out there somewhere, half dazed from hunger and exhaustion. Anything could happen to him out there.

She was scared, more for him than for herself. She’d seen the look in his eyes before he left. He was terrorized.

As her feet pounded a soft rhythm into the desert sand and her chest ached as it pulled in the cold night air, she berated herself. I froze. He needed me, and I froze! God Buffy, why don’t you just twist the knife a little more? It’s what you do, isn’t it? You are the Slayer. Killing is what you do. Driving sharp, pointy things into hearts is what you’re good at!

She didn’t care how far she had to go. She knew she would find him.

She could feel the sand as it slowly filled her boots, making them heavier on her legs as she moved swiftly through the sand. But she kept moving foreword, her primal instinct taking control.

Her body was telling her where he was. Her skin hummed with the need to hunt. Now she was beginning to understand why she had been drawn to him, and why he could affect her so deeply. She was the Slayer, and he, and his kind, vampires, where the chosen prey of the Slayer. It was like that from the beginning. She had always had a dark love for vampires; a begrudging respect. But, her love for Spike ran deeper and truer than anything she had ever experienced before, even with Angel. She could no longer deny it, and didn’t want to try. He was here. She would find him.

Predator would always find prey.

Love was always drawn to love. It didn’t always make sense. It didn’t have to. But, it was always true.
**********************************************************

He stopped. The safety of sanctuary was far behind. He found himself deep in the thick brush, on his knees listening to the wind as it blew gently over the brutal scene before him. It wept, silently screaming with him as he wept bitterly at what he saw.

Magnificent creature; one of God’s own. What have they done to you?


His eyes blurred as he took in the sight of the mutilated elephant carcass as it lie on the ground, its crimson soaking the ground beneath it and transforming the earth and grass around it, that he knew to be tawny by the light of day, to a slick, glowing black. The kind of black he knew too well; the kind that his hands and soul were stained with. A nauseating red, something he would never be free of. It would haunt him forever, and now the ground and the air was saturated with it. Why? Something as mighty as you can be bested, taken by something as inconsequential as a wee bit of lead. How does it happen? Again he thought of his dreams, of what the Ms’awlo’icckl had shown him, and he gasped. Oh God, Buffy, where are you? How did it happen, Love? Tell me, please. How does a thing like this happen? The scent of blood surrounded him. It sickened him. He examined the animal more closely, and found something even more disturbing. He had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep the scream of rage contained. And, felling wasn’t enough for those monsters, was it? No, you weren’t attacking when the bullet struck, they had to take their trophy. They had to have their victory. They had to gloat over brandy in their sitting rooms.

But then, I’ve taken my own sort of trophy, haven’t I? From two slayers, now.
He shook with the shame, and disgust, of what he’d done.

The scent, the sheer mass of the decaying animal and its blood, to say nothing of his growing rage and anguish for its death, prevented him from processing other scents that lingered in the night.

Things he should have noticed, and would have noticed if his soul had let him stop to think.

He would have noticed the blood that was slowly trickling out of the Slayer as she came up behind him. He would have picked up the heartbeats of the men, who were lying in wait to flush out their prey; rifles at the ready. And, he would have noticed the lioness- that had caught the scent of blood- that was waiting for the right moment to pounce on her next meal. He would have noticed all these things.

But, he did not.

As she came up behind him, he seemed lost. He was bent low, his face hidden from her in his hands. She could hear him weeping softly, and her heart went out to him. The rancid smell was turning her stomach, and her senses weren’t as sharp as his. She couldn’t even imagine what it was doing to him. She placed her hand on his shoulder; having forgotten completely about the broken skin and the blood that was leaking from it, “Spike?” the whisper shattered the night.

Amber eyes gazed up at her, startled, “Slayer…?”

It was then that he realized the danger he’d put her in. She was out beyond the fires. Beyond the protection of the burma, or even the cave. She was out in the wild-and she was bleeding.

It was then that his senses overwhelmed him. He could hear the men behind him, raising their rifles. He slowly rose to his feet, his eyes begging the Slayer, so close to him now he could feel her hot breath on his skin, to be silent.

She hadn’t seen the glint from the brush behind her, but he’d seen it. Kindred. Hunter. And, he knew what she was now. She was prey. “Giza,” he barely breathed the word.

The deadly tone in his voice made her gasp and take a step back, stunned. She shook her head.

“Slayer,” he breathed, the terror for what she had unwittingly become, placing a cold tremor in his voice, “Get. Down.”

Too late, she heard the growl of a predator and felt its power as she was forced to the ground. She felt the impact and heard the gunfire.

The last thing she saw, before the fog took her, was the flashing and glowing eyes of a killer.
******************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

Quentin Travers looked at his watch. 2:30pm. Accounting for travel time, and customs, his guest should be arriving soon.

He slowly walked to the enclosure and replaced the scrolls. He took his jacket off of the chair, and re-buttoned the cuffs of his shirt. He carefully did up his tie. He put on his jacket again and locked the vault behind him, pressing in the seven- digit code. He stayed to hear the pneumatic safeguards fall into place.

He emerged from the catacombs under the complex just as the armored vehicle pulled into the loading dock. He smiled as he watched the opaque container being unloaded and wheeled into the Council’s headquarters.

The agents that accompanied his guest handed him their written report. It revealed, to his surprise, that “William the Bloody” had been subdued with relative ease. He honestly had not expected that. And the report that detailed his “capture” only served to heighten his displeasure.

“William the Bloody” was every bit as dangerous now, as he had been years ago.
******************************************************

TSAVO, KENYA, AFRICA-

There was a commotion outside of his room at the lodge. Giles had intended to freshen up and then get back to the sanctuary, and Spike. He had lain down, intending to close his eyes for only a moment.

The noise of excited voices woke him, and he stared through the mosquito netting at the clock on the wall. He could not believe what the roman numerals were telling him.

Three hours…have I been asleep that long?


There was an anxious, rapid knock at the door. He quickly crossed the small room to answer it. The door opened to reveal a wide-eyed Panya. His hands were shaking as he held a small piece of paper. Giles ushered the boy into his room, and asked, “What’s happened, Panya?”

The boy’s hands shook as he handed over the paper to Giles, “This is for you,” his voice trailed off, “…And now,” the tears that shone in the boy’s eyes made Giles open the telegram quickly.

RUPERT- STOP

THE COUNCIL IS NOT AS IT SEEMS- STOP- RARE SPECIES ENDANGERED- STOP- MUST NOT BE PERMITTED TO FALL INTO “UNKIND” HANDS- STOP-

LYDIA CHALMERS


Giles looked at Panya’s face, and the dread settled in his stomach, making his whole body cold as he began to put together the noises he had heard, “There’s more, isn’t there? The park rangers…?”

Panya nodded, “The reserve has been closed down. The tourists have been evacuated. No one can go in…until they find the lion.”

“What?” Giles could feel his mouth becoming dry.

“There’s been an attack,” Panya continued his voice rising in fear, “The body has been airlifted…”

“Body?”

Panya nodded.

“Oh, my God. Where is she?”

“Tenwek Hospital,” Panya said, “Nuru and I will take you there.”
***************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

Quentin Travers had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. As he shone the torch into the windowless room, its occupant moved sluggishly away from the light.

Watching from a distance wasn’t enough. He had to get a closer look. Quentin threw the light switch, bathing the small room in the harsh light that glowed from the room’s single, bare, bulb that hung from the ceiling. As Travers stepped into the room, the chinck of metal could be heard.

Quentin knew that the vampire was still under the influence of the drug, but it didn’t matter. This was the moment he had waited for, for thirty years.

Travers made certain that the vampire’s eyes settled on him and waited for the fog of the drug to lift just enough for him to know who it was that had captured him. Once he saw the recognition flash dimly under the flood of chemicals that subdued the vampire, he smiled a smile of triumph, “Hello, William,” he said.
 
Xenophobia
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please take note: This story's classification has changed! Proceed at your own risk! ;-)
*********************************

25 JULY, 2002-KENYA, AFRICA-9:00 P.M.-

There was no time to think. He could see the lioness behind her, and he heard the men behind him preparing to shoot. There was no time to think. She couldn’t see the danger. Time stopped, and she just stood there. There was no time to think.

He had to act.

The air reverberated with the growl of death. The growl of a predator about to strike. It was half war cry, half apology. There was nothing else to do. Spike ran, bodily forcing Buffy to the ground as he leaped into the air. In that instant he felt the darts hit him, the sting of the chemicals burning their way into him, but he could not afford to slow down.

He locked eyes with the lioness in mid air, and growled as he attached his fangs to her massive throat. Tiny chemical fires burst into his skin, but he barley noticed them.

His momentum, and the bridle of his fangs in the lioness’s throat forced the cat’s head back, allowing Spike’s fangs deeper access. With his fangs firmly embedded, he was able to reverse the animal’s foreword progress.

The lioness trashed and swatted, trying to force him off. Her claws did connect with the back of his neck, shooting a blinding pain through his body, but the terror he felt for Buffy did not let him loosen his jaws as they held the cat’s throat.

Spike shook his head from side to side, trying to keep the darkness from engulfing him, the chemicals and blood loss warring for control of his body. He could feel flesh tearing in his jaws, and he could taste the blood as it ran over his teeth and lips.

Spike could feel the animal’s pulse slowing as he forced it to the ground. When it finally stopped, Spike found it almost impossible to extract his fangs from the beast’s torn throat because the chemicals the darts delivered were impinging upon him, making it difficult to focus.

He fought to lift his head. To look at Buffy, who was still lying on the ground, thirty feet from him. Seeing her immobile flushed the influence of the chemicals from his system.

He had seen her this still once before. His eyes widened in shock as he ran to her. He tried to focus. The blood loss from the big cat’s death throes left his ears ringing, made it hard to hear her. It couldn’t be the other. It just couldn’t be.

His bloodstained fingers drifted over the pulse point at her neck, and felt…nothing. He leaned his ear to her nose and mouth. And, the tiny hairs on his face and ears felt…nothing. No breath. No sound. Nothing.

The air once again vibrated with a cry. He forced air into his lungs, and placing his mouth over hers, he pinched her nose closed and gave the air to her. His voice reached out to her, trying to pull her back, “Breathe for me, Slayer. Please.”

He moved quickly, interlocking his trembling fingers and pressing down on her sternum, “Come on, Slayer,” he whispered, “Don’t.” press down, “ Die,” let up, “On,” press down, “Me!” press down. Force air in and give it to her. Stop and hope to feel her breath against his skin, “Please! Slayer, please!”

Air brushed against his skin, and his heart swelled within him, “That’s it, Slayer,” his voice trembled with relief. His knees nearly buckled as he tried to stand. Spike squared his shoulders. And, turning to the seemingly harmless brush that surrounded him, he spoke, resignation clear in his tone, “If you will get the lady some help, now. I’ll offer no resistance. You have my word.”

**************************************

26 JULY 2002-LONDON, ENGLAND- 6:00 P.M.-

As Quentin took in the sight of the bloodied, drugged vampire on the floor before him, he was amazed to see the glint of defiance that flashed under the haze before the narcotic once again assumed control, forcing his muscles to liquefy, pulling his gaze down and away. The vampire was scarcely cognizant, and yet he was still dangerous. He jerked the vampire’s head up by a fistful of hair, and stared into his anesthetized eyes as they struggled to focus, “ No, look at me,” Quentin demanded, “The amount of drugs in your body now would have killed twenty men. Do you know that?” despite his better judgment, Quentin was awed by the creature, “I am very surprised that you are still able to move.”

The fog was too thick. Am I moving? What do you want? I…don’t…what do you want?

The Watcher’s cold tone cut through the fog, “…Answer me!” the words were closely followed by a brutal backhanded blow, the force of it caused Spike’s teeth to rattle.

What? Was there something? Can’t…think.
He felt the impact again. No..please…don’t. I remember. I’m…trying. What…was…yes… “Buffy,” Spike slurred.

“Yes,” Quentin hissed, “Let’s talk about the girl, shall we? Why did you do it?”
***********************************************

KENYA, AFRICA- TENWEK HOSPITAL- 4:00 A.M.

Panya, Rupert Giles and Nuru rushed into the missionary hospital. It was dirty and ill equipped, but none of that mattered now. Giles anxiously approached the doctor that greeted them, “Doctor, there was a lion attack on the game reserve just outside of Tsavo. The victim was brought here. Where is she?”

The doctor patiently informed him, in a thick Kenyan dialect, “Ah, yes. The girl was brought here in cardiac arrest. We were able to revive her.”

“Cardiac arrest?” Giles gasped, “Is she…?”

“She is resting comfortably now,” the doctor’s eyes lowered in respect for the elder man’s feelings, “The young man…”he stuttered as he stared into the man’s wide eyes, “I’m sorry, but there was too much trauma. We were unable to help him…”

Giles’s eyes narrowed, questioning, “Young man?”

The doctor nodded slowly. The man’s confusion was understandable, “Yes, the young man,” the doctor continued, “I am sorry. The young man…He died.”
********************************************

HOLLYWOOD, FLORIDA-

Darlene Christopher sipped her cocoa as she and her niece sat and talked on the steps of her back porch, “Oh, Dawnie May, I know what a first crush feels like. I was your age once, you know.”

Dawn raised a brow of doubt, “Really?”

Darlene chuckled, “Yes. And, It was the best and the most awful feeling in the world, watching that love change,” she mused.

“Gee thanks,” Dawn pouted, “That helps a whole bunch.”

Darlene nodded, “It should, Honey. You see, the love changes. It grows. But, it never goes away,” she looked knowingly at her niece, “unless you are the one that forces it out of your heart,” she put her hand on Dawn’s knee, “It never really leaves. In fact, it’s the first crush that teaches us to recognize the real thing, when it comes along.”

“Do you think I’ll have it?” Dawn asked, as she looked at the sunset and thought of him, “The real thing?”

“Maybe some day, Sweetheart,” Darlene sighed, “Maybe some day.”
************************************************************

 
A Chance of Reign
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: The song "Jenny" is by "Tommy Tutone"
**********************************


At the end of days, the time will come when the light will need the dark to survive the cataclysm. The earth will be forever changed when the dark embraces the ancient warrior of light.
- Prophecies of the Unhesines
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

LONDON, ENGLAND-

The drugs were wearing off. Spike wasn’t sure where he was, he had clues but he couldn’t be sure. He was sure of this though. He was. He knew that because… God, it hurts…Who knew the Watcher had it in him? Hides his fangs well, that one. Buffy, I’m so sorry…Where are you? I’m so sorry. I tried… He could still taste the blood in his mouth. And, there was a pungent smell in the air. He could account for one. He was sure he’d bitten through his tongue trying to keep his screams contained, because at some point during their “conversation” the Watcher had informed him, politely, that he could scream all he liked and still would not be heard. Thank you, no. Won’t be giving you the satisfaction. And, he held out. The drugs did help with that. As long as he had the haze to wrap himself in, it didn’t seem real. It was as if he were watching from a distance, detached from it. But now, it hurt. Why am I smelling another…Oh, God, it’s her… And, it hurt in a way that rivaled his time under Angelus’s fine tutelage. And, that time was burned forever in his mind.

Doesn’t matter though. I can hold on…I can, as long as she…


He tried to open his eyes but found that he could not. He felt the constant cold, hard presence of metal encasing his wrists. He moved them a little but found that he had little leeway; the grip was tight, almost painful as his skin chaffed against the cuffs. He remembered hearing the scrape and chink of steel against stone.

The pain in his face and jaw could explain the blindness. Swelling. He could remember seeing the beautiful bloom of color that followed the blow that must have done this. It was yellow and pink. He wasn’t even sure what yellow looked like anymore, but it was still beautiful.

That was something he learned quite well over the years, but never more so than in the past year. Pain is sometimes very beautiful. Just like she was.

Was. Buffy are you still…? Why do I smell, her? It’s her blood. That’s what it is. Why do I smell her blood? She’s still alive, isn’t she?
He shook his head, desperate to remember, but the chemicals, though ebbing, still held him in a powerful sway. I remember. The cat. It pounced…knocked her down. She… No, she’s alive. She is! She is! She has to be…has to.

He knew he couldn’t afford to panic. Panic would make him sloppy. It was his panic that had put Buffy in danger in the first place. And Mouse. Poor Mouse. He was so trusting. He still had no idea where he was, or if he was hurt.

And then there was Rupert. If Buffy didn’t… Spike’s teeth chattered just thinking about the impossible possibility. If Buffy didn’t make it, he knew the Watcher wouldn’t make it, either. He’d been there to watch his decline that summer that seemed lifetimes ago now. He knew that the Watcher wouldn’t make it. He wasn’t sure if he would survive. He only knew that he had to. He must…somehow.

He’d made a promise. And, he was going to keep it. Even if the Nibblet hated him for the rest of her life, he would be there, for the rest of her life. He had promised to protect her, and he would.

He would protect all of them, until the end of the world. They were his family.

Spike was shaken from his reverie by the tapping of descending footsteps, getting louder as they came nearer to him. He’d caught the scent of old earth and bricks and mortar while the Watcher had been foolish enough to leave the entryway ajar during their last encounter, so he knew he was most likely underground. And, from the amount of water vapor that hung in the air, probably somewhere in England.

Spike shook his head. That wanker wasn’t fool enough to bring me home, was he? No…no, not my home. Not anymore. They’re my home, now. And, I have to get back. May be that the old man will slip up again and give me my chance. Just have to stay quiet until… Just then he heard the soft sound of a key fluttering into a lock, and turning the tumblers that would allow access to whatever lie beyond the door that bore the lock that that key happened to fit.

Listening to this, Spike could almost feel his heart in his throat as he wondered what tortures were ahead for him. Then came more footsteps, and the melodious sound of seven notes. A numeric keypad, much like the one on a pushbutton telephone dial. Spike’s mind flashed on a memory of a telephone keypad. He remembered that the buttons sounded a tone when they were pressed. Each one was a separate note. Spike struggled not to laugh aloud as he thought, Anne- mum, thank you for forcing a little boy to study the piano!

The matching numbers ran through his brain on a continuing loop. They would remain in that loop, playing over and over. 3634263…It’s not exactly Jenny’s number, but it’s catchy. It could be important. Have to keep it in mind, until I find my way out of here, and back home.

There were still more footsteps, and then a door opened. His torturer was back for another round of “Kick the Spike.”

Quentin was incensed. The vampire was his prisoner. What on earth did he have to smile about? He kicked the vampire hard in the stomach, and was rewarded with a muffled gasp. But, the smile had not gone from his lips.

“Why are you smiling?!” Quentin demanded.

Spike smiled on, and said nothing. The pain in his gut only made the victory sweeter. Very clever, Watcher. But, not clever enough. Kick to your heart’s content. It won’t help. Kicking and screaming won’t change a thing. It’s still coming. And, you know it, don’t you? That’s why the rifles were there. I scare you don’t I?

With every blow he struck, Quentin was confirming what Spike already knew.

Yes, I do. And, if I can scare you, that means I can win.

*************************************************************************


 
Nearsighted
 

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TENWEK HOSPITAL- KENYA, AFRICA-

There had been word of a body that had been lifted out of the Tsavo reserve and brought to hospital with her. But he couldn’t be bothered to think of that now. Not when his Slayer was lying in a hospital bed in front of him.

Rupert Giles knew he should care about what happened to the “body” and where it was now, but, as he stood with Panya, at the foot of her bed at the end of a seemingly endless row of beds in the small hospital, all he could think about was her. There was no privacy here. Privacy was a luxury for other places, places he knew she should be now.

Here it was hot and stifling. The heat made it difficult for him to focus. There was little light here. He knew that the use of natural light was sensible because it helped keep the heat down. It helped to keep the patients here as comfortable as possible while their systems were compromised, while they recovered their health.

It made sense. And, somewhere in his rational mind, he knew that the care Buffy was receiving at this facility was perfectly proper and the best that could be had. Still as he worried over her, as he watched her as she slept under the insect netting, as he saw the sheen of sweat break out on her face, he wished that the hospital was better equipped. He wished that she were back in her bed in Sunnydale. At least there, he was more certain of the cleanliness of Buffy’s surroundings. Looking around at the questionable sanitation here, he was saddened. He knew that this was the best that Buffy could hope to have, given her current condition. He also knew that the doctors were doing the best they could under very trying circumstances and stressed-to-the-limit resources. Even so, he wished he had never caused her to be here in the first place.

He wished he had taken better care of her. He realized now, that he’d put her in danger. He knew she could have died. He’d put her in harm’s way. He’d left her alone with a killer.

The fact that she was even able to sleep, restlessly or not, now, wasn’t due to any diligence on his part. That was due to the park rangers and their marksmanship.

He knew that Buffy wouldn’t be foolish enough to go out beyond the protections of the fires or the burma. She had lived for years on the Hellmouth. She knew better than to put herself in danger. She’d lived longer than any other Slayer in history, even before Willow had used her ill-conceived magic. She knew how to take care of herself.

He knew the story of a lion attack was a cover-up. Lion attack indeed. He knew the truth. And, so did Buffy. As Giles looked at her as she slept, he would have been hard pressed to give a bloody damn where the mysterious “body” was. At this point, all he did give a damn about was Buffy, and her health.

She could hear the whistle of the wind as it blew through the grass. She wasn’t sure if it was the wind, or the sight of him, that made her cold.

Buffy wondered, as she looked at him, why on earth he’d chosen to look like he did. He was a vampire. His job was to be a creature of the night, stay to the shadows. It had always worked this way. But, not with this one. With Spike it was different. Spike had been full of life, from the very beginning. Buffy could remember the way he seemed to be drawn to the light. With Spike the shadows were a necessary evil. They weren’t wanted. In fact, he sought out the light. It seemed as if the search for light became his reason for being. When others shied away from danger, he went straight for it. It was amazing. What else would explain the beacon of a hairstyle? Did he want the Slayer to find him?

Yes. Yes, he did. He had even said as much. And now, standing here in the dark African night, with blackness all around them, both natural and man-made, she was grateful for his gregarious nature.

It made him easy to find.

And, she was horrified by it.

It made him easy to find.

She could see his shoulders shaking, and heard the soft cries escaping as he held his head in his hands. She wanted to comfort him. She put her hand on his shoulder and he went still. His body went suddenly as still as stone. And, it frightened her, “Spike?”

The glowing amber eyes of a hunter- a killer faced her, “Slayer,” he growled. There was no mistaking the lethal intent. He was poised on the brink of attack. And whatever he attacked, he was going to kill.

And, he was looking at her…
“Spike!”

The name that came from her lips, shaded with shock and pain, only served to galvanize his thoughts. Rupert Giles knew now that he had failed his Slayer. And, he also knew that he was not going to let that happen again.

He would not put her in danger, thoughtlessly, again. No matter what form in which that danger came.

He walked around to the side of the bed and, moving the netting aside, he tried to soothe her as the peace of sleep left her. He held her gently, trying to keep her from hurting herself further, “It’s all right,” he said in a low voice, the magnitude of what had happened was beginning to sink in for both of them, “It’s all right. It’s over now. You’re safe. He’s gone.”

Buffy couldn’t understand why her chest hurt. It hurt to breathe and her chest felt tight- constricted by the gauze that was wrapped around her middle.

The tight feeling in her chest was familiar. This had happened before, many times. Broken ribs. But, how did my ribs get broken? Oh…it must have been when …Why were her ribs broken?

Buffy took in another breath and was rewarded with the familiar stab from her fractured ribs. She looked around at her very unfamiliar surroundings, and found the face of her Watcher, close in her vision, “Giles,” she sighed, “I’m glad you’re back. It was really scary for a while. Spike, he…”

The sad and broken tone in her voice made it even harder for Giles to tell her what he knew he had to, “I’ve placed a call, to Devon, and I’m taking you back. As soon as the doctors say you’re well enough to make the trip, I’m going to make certain that you’re flown back to England to recuperate. In any case, I have to check in on Willow’s progress,” he smiled sadly at Buffy’s confused look, “Wouldn’t it be nice to see Willow again?”

She shook her head. Willow, no. She’s a murderer. But Spike- he’s… “No,” Buffy pleaded, “we can’t leave! Not now. Not when Spike…”

His tone hardened. How could a Slayer be this naive? “The vampire is not my concern now, you are my only concern here. You are all that matters now.”

Buffy’s chest hurt again, and this time it wasn’t from the broken ribs. Her heart hurt because Giles’s voice was hard. His voice sounded like it did after Jenny was killed. After Angel…There was only one reason that he would use the word, “vampire” as if it were a curse. She let in a short, painful breath and looked at her Watcher with new eyes. What she saw hurt her more than she could say, “You think he could do this?” her voice was soft. The shock of knowing what he was thinking made it hard to speak even more than the pain in her chest did, “Giles, you told me…he has a soul, remember? He wouldn’t do this.”

He wanted to believe too, more than she knew, “Do you remember what happened? They said that you were in cardiac arrest when you arrived…”

“Cardiac arrest?” Buffy’s eyes widened, “There wasn’t any blood loss, was there?”

Giles thought for a moment. The report the doctor had given him made no mention of any loss of blood. “No Buffy,” he said, “ there was no mention of blood loss.”

Her forehead creased as she tried to call memories from the recesses of her mind.

Giles did not want to see her in pain any longer, “Buffy, you should rest. It’s not important now…”

“No Giles, it is! It is important,” the sound of a gunshot echoed in her mind, “Oh my God, Giles. There was a gunshot,” she looked up at Giles and asked, “Giles, was I shot?”

He looked over at Panya in shock. His Swahili was indeed lacking. Perhaps, he had missed something. Panya shook his head quickly, indicating that he had not been informed of that injury.

Giles sighed in relief, “No you weren’t shot, thank God.”

Buffy glanced quickly around the darkened hospital ward, “Where is Spike?”

Panya’s face was grim, “Simba was not here when we arrived.”

“Not here?” Buffy’s heart leaped into her throat, “Then…where is he?”
****************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

Travers panted from exertion, and wiped his moist brow. He looked down at the broken vampire at his feet. He put his handkerchief back into his suit pocket and knelt close to the vampire’s face so that there would be no mistaking, by the vampire, his meaning. He shook his head in pity, “I don’t know what you think you’re gaining by keeping silent. If you tell me, I can assure you that this abuse will stop. Do you want it to stop?”

Yeah, I know the drill. Done it myself, back in the day. I tell you what you want to know. And, the pain does stop, because I’m dust. No deal, Watcher. Keep kicking. It doesn’t even sting yet.

That’s a bloody lie. This hurts like Hell. But, there’s no way, in Hell, I’m telling you that.


Quentin still saw the glint of defiance in his prisoner’s eyes. He would have to take care of that, “This is all for nothing, you know. You are nothing. You’re a thing,” he said as he kicked the vampire once more.

When the ripples of pain were finished coursing through his body, Spike gave a weak chuckle as he stared up into the Watcher’s eyes. His voice was weak as he began, but gained strength as he realized that he’d just been given the upper hand. The Watcher’s disguise was threadbare. He could see the frightened lad poking through, “You know, Watcher? I’ve been told that many times before,” a cough rattled through him, “Many times. By better people than you.”
***************************************************************************************

 
Exception To The Rule
 

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LONDON, ENGLAND-

Lydia had used her training in the accounting department to keep Mister Travers under her watchful eye.

Using her computing skills, she was able to track the Council’s expenditures. There had been a rise in the travel allowances of the paramilitary unit in recent days. To say nothing of the procurement of very large amounts of a very powerful narcotic, as well as the commission, by the paramilitary unit, of a “Sensory Depravation Chamber.”

To Lydia these all meant one thing. “William the Bloody” was being brought here.

Lydia Chalmers had watched Quentin Travers for days. She almost knew his pattern now. The Director was an odd mix. He was both a creature of habit, and a paranoid personality. The side of him that fell into habitual behaviors made him an easy person to watch, while the paranoid portion made him a difficult person to keep under surveillance.

Lydia knew that she was green when it came to fieldwork. She also knew that her superiors, and Quentin Travers in particular, thought of her as little more than a bit of fluff that decorated the office.

She knew what Travers had planned for William. What’s more, she knew why he was so critical, not many did. She knew about the prophecies of the Unhesines. She had understood how important William’s actions could be to the Council long before Travers took interest.

She had researched the prophecies and sought the greatest minds in the field of linguistics since discovering William’s tentative alliance with the Slayer. She was by no means stupid. She knew “William the Bloody” would be someone of consequence. But until the rumors began to circulate and confirmation came in from Africa, she had no idea that one being could have that much power.

Until the horror of Travers’s plans became a reality, she had no idea where she would fall, or if she would rise to the occasion the vampire offered her, and the world.

She knew now where her heart belonged and where it was headed if she helped him. It belonged in the future, with the light, not in the decaying shadows of what had passed.

And as soon as Travers left the office, she would make her move. She didn’t know how long she would wait, but she would wait.
*********************************************************



Sitting in his cell Spike had time to think. The only problem was, if he thought too much he would panic. The physical beatings he could take, it was the affects of the psychological warfare that had him worried. The earthen and damp smell of his keep reminded Spike, very much, of a grave.

Quentin Travers may be the king of all wankers but he’s studied his subject, like a good Watcher. The Council may have gotten some things about me wrong, but this…
His fingers felt the cold concrete beneath him and he looked around at his cramped surroundings. The ceiling above him scarcely allowed him to stand upright; his fears may have played havoc with his calculations, but to him it seemed that there were perhaps six inches of headroom once his body was fully extended.

He could feel the old feelings pulling at him. The walls were beginning to close in around him. If he had needed to breathe, at this moment he would be hyperventilating. Closed spaces had always bothered him. Even his crypt in Sunnydale had a window for light that also allowed him to see the world beyond. It felt open. But this made him feel trapped. There was no light here at all, and it made him feel trapped, more now than he ever had before.

…This they got right. I can’t let it rule me. Cannot let it take over. I have to stay alert. Can’t let him know…


Spike stood slowly, trying to keep his demon at bay as he felt the vibration, and weight of the chains that pulled at his wrists as the links passed through the anchoring ring that was bolted to the concrete floor of his dungeon. He wanted to break free and run. The small dimension of the room, by his estimation, no more than ten feet by twelve, was aggravating his unease. A fact that, he had no doubt, the Watcher was planning on using to his advantage. Knowing that, and also not knowing where Buffy and Giles were, or if the Watcher intended to use them as leverage against him, when the time was right, helped him to keep it in check.

To keep from panicking, he had to move. Unfortunately, the chains that bound him only allowed him to move three feet in any direction. And, truth be told, even if he knew he could escape, he might not. Not with the unspoken, but very tangible threats the Watcher had made to those he cared about. No, he couldn’t escape, not until he had more information.

To get the information he needed, he had to be an observer. To be an observer, he had to be calm and clear-headed. With the help of the drugs the Watcher kept pumping into him he could be calm. Without them he could be clear-headed, so much so that his claustrophobia would get the better of him.

William, pull together. Get it done.


He hated the sound of the metal as it followed him as he paced. Hated the way the shackles exerted their insistent pressure on his wrists. Hated the way they felt against his skin as they rubbed it raw with the slightest movement.

Don’t think. Don’t think. Just…
he closed his eyes and shoved the fear down in favor of concern for Buffy and Giles, and of course Mouse. don’t be a Nancy. Just do it. It’s the only way you can get home. Just do it!

True, he was scared nearly witless. But there’s no reason that twit needs to know that, is there? Pull together. Drag out the armor. He smiled to himself, …You’ve done it before. You can do it again.

He once again heard the key in the lock, and then the tones that he was beginning to know were the key to his freedom, and then the Watcher’s heavy footsteps on the steps as they descended the old stone staircase.

He couldn’t help it, the thought flashed in his mind before he could stop it. Careful Watcher could break your neck. It would be so easy. Over before you know it. I promise, it won’t hurt a bit. The smile quickly turned to a frown as his thoughts drifted back to her. Oh Buffy, where are you? Are you hurt? Are you…?

No, I can’t think like that. If I go down that road, I’ll never get home.


When he heard the soft hiss of air, Spike knew the Watcher was near. The heavy door rumbled as it was slid aside. There, bathed in a light so cruel it hurt his eyes, bringing his demon to the fore, stood the Watcher.

Spike’s eyes drifted to the bag the Watcher held in his grip. He shuddered inwardly and hoped that the man was too preoccupied to notice his discomfort. Discomfort was not something Spike could afford to show right now. Even though that bag carried horrors in it the likes of which the Ripper of Whitechapel would envy, …hey Watcher, ever wonder why that one got away? I could tell you. he wasn’t going to give the Watcher the pleasure of seeing his fear.

As Quentin’s footsteps echoed louder in the tight space, Spike took a deep breath and consciously shifted to his human guise. His tone was heavy and tired as he said, trying desperately to hide the quiver of fear, “Watcher, what sense does it make to pump me full of fairy dust?” he jangled his chains weakly, illustrating his point, “I’m in chains. I’m hurt,” he lowered his head, his shoulders moved as an audible sigh shivered through him.

Quentin Travers had to admit; the last round of interrogation had left the vampire visibly, and very badly injured. Perhaps the creature was in enough pain that they could finally have a conversation. Perhaps now the vampire would stop evading his questions, “Perhaps you are right. I have no way of knowing if your previous answers were influenced by the drugs in your system.”

Another sigh escaped Spike’s lips as he nodded in defeat, his eyes still hidden in the darkness of the cell, “If I remember correctly, the Council wants to know why a vampire,” he sighed again, turning his head toward the Watcher, “would do what I did.”

Quentin Travers gasped and fumbled with the clasp on his black bag. It was foolish to think… His fingers searched franticly for the hypodermic needle. He was so frightened by the monstrous yellow-eyed visage that smiled back at his show of fear that he barely took heed of the laughing, good-natured warning that issued from the vampire’s lips, “…Oh, didn’t I tell you, I’m very peckish. If you come near me with that needle again,” Quentin saw the vampire’s head tilt to one side in an odd contemplative gesture and a cold, menacing sneer pulled the demon’s mask into a frightening grin of death, “I will bite you,” Spike couldn’t help but smile as the man took a faltering, involuntary step back, “Good, now that we’re communicating, have you not heard that there’s an exception to every rule. You Watchers like your rules and regulations, don’t you?” Spike shook his head as he watched the man tremble and listened to his heart rate double, “You know me, don’t you? ‘William the Bloody?’ Not really one to follow the rules. So,” he said evenly, “why not be a good lad and tell me what you’ve done with the Slayer and her friends. And then I might feel like telling you what you want to know.”
*****************************************************************************

 
Heart And Soul
 

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TENWEK HOSPITAL-30 JULY, 2002-

Buffy was confused; she shook her head, trying to understand what Giles had just told her, “What do you mean, ‘Closed off?’ Giles, this is crazy,” Buffy turned her head to her Watcher, exposing her neck and her jugular vein to his knowing eyes and hissed, “Do you see anything?” she slapped the skin of her neck, bringing the blood to the surface and reddening her skin, “You see, the skin’s nice and red. It even stings. That means there’s still something in the veins. I’m still breathing! I’m talking! Giles, you know he didn’t hurt me!” she huffed in frustration and anger, lowering her eyes from his stony gaze, “Giles,” she whispered as her mind once again showed her the terror that was in his eyes before he ran off into the night.

Oh God, he must be so scared!


“Giles, you didn’t see him,” she shook her head, her heart was full of dread, “He couldn’t hurt me. He just couldn’t do it!”

Panya watched the exchange with great interest, from his place at the foot of the girl’s bed. He could see what the Englishman could not. He nodded his head in vigorous agreement, “I agree. He would not hurt her,” his lilting voice hardened with certainty, “Not Shujaa . He could not. He thinks of her as his…” Panya’s eyes fell as he was overcome by concern, his voice and confidence faltering.

Gile’s gaze darkened, “We cannot be certain what happened,” he reminded the boy as he turned his attention back to Buffy. The hurt and concern he saw in her eyes made him look away, “He may not have done it consciously. But, there is no way to know what was going through his mind. We don’t know if…”

“No!” Buffy hissed, trying to keep the weight of tears from her voice. Her eyes widened in desperate sadness, “Giles, you said the authorities are saying it was an animal attack?”

Giles nodded.

Buffy shook her head in disbelief. She heard the words Giles was telling her. She understood his concern, she really did. She shook her head again, trying to take it all in. He wasn’t there. He didn’t see… She tried to breathe and was rewarded with an answering pain that made her cough weakly. As the pain shot through her, she smiled. See there it is. There’s the proof. I’m not dead. If it was him- if he was out of his mind- I’d be dead.

Giles was more than a bit disquieted by the silent glow of rapture that seemed to settle over her suddenly. She looked dazed. The tiny smile that pulled at one side of her mouth changed her face in such a way that she did not look like herself. She was too calm, too serene. She didn’t seem herself. It was almost as if…

He tried to bring her focus back to him, tried to speak to her. He gripped her shoulders lightly and shook her gently until her eyes focused on him again, “…Buffy, can you hear me?” there was no response. He looked at Panya, who had made his way, quietly, to the left side of the hospital bed. The boy seemed concerned, but not panicked as he drew near to her side, “Buffy, can you hear me?”

She nodded slowly. As she turned her head and looked at him, Giles saw the smile grow wider, and her eyes glistened with tears, “Giles,” she whispered in awe, “I’m not dead.”

The glee of that fact made his own voice weak in response, “I know that,” he whispered, “And I’m very glad that you are not. You have no idea how grateful I am…”

“No!” her tone was a mixture of exasperation and relief. Her smile was still in place as she shook her head, still trying to make him understand, “Giles, how long have I been here?”

“Nearly four days…”

Buffy looked at Panya, “And the rangers- they’ve found the lion that attacked?”

Panya nodded, his eyes sparkling as he began to share her glee, “Yes, Shujaa. The lion is dead. They said it was shot in the throat. The rangers’ bullets tore her open,” he shook his head slightly, “ Shujaa, I saw the carcass. Bullets cannot do what was done to that lioness’s throat,” he nodded and sighed in relief, “I am sorry,” Panya apologized, “I should have seen it before this moment.”

“It’s all right,” she chuckled at her own stupidity, “I didn’t see it either, and I’m supposed to know better,” her eyes welled with tears as something Panya had said moments ago began to sink into her conscious mind. She looked at the teenager that stood at her left and asked in a soft voice, hoping that her voice wasn’t as weak as she suddenly felt. It was like someone had taken all the air out of the room. Her fingers and toes had even begun to tingle because of it, “He thinks of me as his what?”

Panya smiled, “He told me you were his ‘Mtina’, Shujaa. He would not harm you. I know that. I am sorry I did not see it. I should have.”

Buffy listened to the word. The way he said it, with reverence, the word must have meant something very important, “ Mtina,” she tried the word softly on her tongue. She liked the way it felt in her mouth; the way it sounded like a precious thing when she said it. Looking at him as he grinned, she asked, “What does it mean? It means something important, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” he whispered his agreement, still smiling, “very important.”

“What does it mean?” Buffy asked, breathlessly. She almost hated to know. I don’t know if I can live up to it. It must mean something. I don’t know if I can… “What does it mean?”

“In English?” Panya asked.

Buffy nodded, biting her lip pensively as she waited for him to translate the word so that she would understand it.

She didn’t have to wait long, “ Shujaa. In English, mtina means…it means,” his eyes avoided her. He could not help but feel as though he were betraying a confidence in telling her this. Perhaps Simba does not wish her to know.

But as he looked at the pain in her eyes, he knew that his friend would forgive him his weakness if it took his lady’s pain from her, “It means, ‘heart.’ Shujaa.”

“Oh,” Buffy whispered. She could feel hot tears pouring down her face, but she didn’t care, “my God. Giles…”

Giles felt as if he were witnessing an epiphany he knew he should be a party to, but somehow couldn’t seem to grasp, “I don’t understand,” he said.

Buffy smiled at the man that had somehow been a better father to her than her own, “No, you don’t. Giles, I’m not dead. And, I should be,” she saw the confusion on his face and asked, “Do you think that I would have survived if the lion had attacked me? Giles, I am the Slayer. But really, if it came down to a smackdown, the lion would have won. Only someone stronger than me would have made sure that all I came away with are a few broken ribs and a bruise. Giles, you said my heart stopped. It was just Spike, the lion, and I. I’m here. The lion’s dead. Giles, don’t you understand? He saved me.”

Panya could feel a tightness settle in his own chest as he continued, “ Shujaa , often words in Swahili have many meanings. Mtina is one such word,” Panya had never felt more like a boy than he did as he felt his throat tightening. He didn’t want to seem like a boy in front of her. He wanted to be worthy of Simba’s friendship. He wanted to be a man. The man he knew he was. He swallowed the pit in his throat and said, “It also means, ‘soul.’”

Her eyes scanned the dim hospital ward again, “Where is he, Giles?”

Giles kept his eyes downcast, “He isn’t here, Buffy…”

Her tone became more insistent, as if she needed the information like she needed air to breathe, “Giles,” she said slowly, “where is he?”

Giles shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, glancing furtively, at the earthen floor of the tiny hospital. In a voice that was much too small and uncertain for a man his size, Giles answered, “I received a telegram, the night you were attacked. It was from a Watcher that, to my knowledge, still does the Council’s bidding. It seemed to indicate that,” he glanced at the doctors around him, and said, in a low voice, “William might be in danger…”

“What?” Buffy gasped, holding her hand to her mouth to prevent herself from screaming.
************************************************

LONDON ENGLAND-

Quentin stood over his prisoner and marveled at the drug’s speed and its affect. William had been subdued rather quickly. The vampire was, for the time being, no longer a threat.

He left the vampire slumped against the cell wall, and turned to deal with the younger man, who was busied with holstering the weapon he had just fired, “Thank you Stanley,” he smiled his satisfaction to the red head, who stood next to him. Looking back at the dazed look in the vampire’s eyes, he nodded, “That seems to be enough. You may go now.”

The younger man gave his superior a dubious look and then looked at the vampire that was crumpled, barely conscious and in heavy shackles and chains, on the floor, “Are you certain, Sir? It’s still dangerous.”

Quentin patted the lad’s shoulder reassuringly, “I’ll be fine. You may go. I’ll call if I should need any assistance. I will lock up behind you, don’t worry.”

“Yes, Sir,” the young man said as he turned to leave.

Spike could hear someone talking, far off. He tried to focus, tried to remember where he was. But his brain felt soft, like he was floating in a sea of cotton that went on forever. He couldn’t fight it. Every time he got to the surface, he became too tired to cry out and it pulled him back under.

He was leaving. No, you can’t leave me here! Don’t leave, please…don’t go. So tired. Have to get up. Find…find…whom?


A dark shadow came into his vision. The shadow spoke. It was so far away and he was so tired, “Now, William. I will not let you corrupt the Slayer. Not now- not ever,” Quentin’s face danced at the edge of his consciousness, like a blurry watercolor. The colors were all running together, giving it a soft appearance. There was no definition to it. But the shadow’s whispered words had their desired affect. They struck terror to the very core of him, “The Slayer is lost to you, William.”

The terror was the last thing he felt before the sea pulled him under. He was lost in its black waves. His own voice was nearly lost to it as it struggled to hang on to something. As it struggled for a reason, he found it in her, “B…ugh,” he whispered as the waves took him under, and into their soft hold. He was floating again.

His mind tried to hold on to her. He knew this couldn’t last forever. He would find her again. But, as he fell under, all Spike knew was how tired he was. And, unwillingly, he slept.
 
Back To Basics
 

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LONDON, ENGLAND-

All right, that’s enough! I’m a vampire damn it, and this little Nazi bugger’s gotten on my last nerve!
Spike stood; the drugs made him woozy, and slightly unsteady, but anything was better than that cold concrete floor. He put his hand to his head in an attempt to shake himself out of the chemical haze he’d been swimming in since this whole nightmare had begun.

If that berk really wanted what he says he does, if he wanted to know why I did what I did, he’d let me off of the magic bus. I’m no more of a threat than I was before. It really doesn’t take a Cambridge education to know that. How am I going to get out of here when all I see is the bloodshed I’ve caused?
Spike could feel the cool tightness of his shackles as they pulled at him. The darkness of this little cell was all encompassing. He felt the stinging burn of chafing skin and he realized that, even as the drugs had been able to keep his conscious mind confused, the primal part of him, the part he’d gone to Africa to suppress; the part she couldn’t love, had still fought against its chains.

What the Watcher had done only served as a physical reminder of what he had done to himself. The sound of the metal as it shifted with him as he tread the small space his tether allowed made him wonder if he was as shortsighted as the men from the Initiative, who had captured and maimed him years ago. Was what he had done to himself really any different?

The hopelessness of the situation swelled within him and he sighed. The utter sadness of that simple act reverberated throughout his cell and seeped into his bones.

The sadness and helplessness he felt were his only companions now.

How am I going to protect myself, or anyone, when there’s a constant war inside me now? I don’t know what to do. How am I going to survive like this?


He drug his chain with him as he walked backward until he could feel the damp musty wall of his cage at his back, and then slid, listlessly, the short distance to the concrete floor. He sighed again as the past few months ran through his mind.

How in the bloody Hell did I get here? How did I let this happen to me? I was perfectly happy. No cares, no worries. Dru…we were…it was wonderful. I loved my life, such as it was. So how did I allow myself to become a slave-again?
He pulled again at his chains. His mind fixated on her, for perhaps the thousandth time that second. On her serene, slack, face as she lay amid the desert grass, so white and pale. But, he could see that she was happy. There was no more hurt. No more pain. Until I touched her. I was selfish. I needed her with me. I brought her back. But, what if…what if she didn’t want to stay? He felt an ache rise up in him. I have to know. I just have to. He let the demon inside take control. If he didn’t, the sorrow and ache that his soul was feeling would be a hindrance as he tired to free himself.

I hate what I am, but I can’t change it. Don’t know why I even tried. But now- I need it. It’s my only way out. Have to be strong, and that’s the one thing it is- strong.


He felt an unexpected queasiness as the demon took over. Well this is new, but not surprising. He wasn’t sure if the disgust he felt was due to the drugs in his system or if it was a feeling that would be permanently with him now, because of what he’d done. Doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done. He looked slowly around his cell and was surprised, and more than a little impressed, to find that even with the benefit of the demon’s keener, sharper vision, Spike could only dimly see the heavy oversized ring that was embedded in the cement flooring, and through which the industrial strength chain that held him was looped.

I have to admire him. He knows how to hurt me. Keep me isolated and disoriented and eventually I’ll crack and tell him what he wants to know.
He groaned inwardly and crouched close to the place where his chain met its anchor and pulled until his muscles strained and burned. Yet, the chain would not relinquish its hold on him. I’m here until he decides he’s up for another round of “I’ve got a secret.” Could be a long time. How long have I been here? Days, weeks, or…? No, this is more than just “question and answer.” He wants something more. He wants to break me.

Does knowing that make it worse? Is he betting that my hands-on experience in matters like this will make this worse for me, because I know what it is he’s really trying to do? Is this how the Council gets its jollies now, by playing with vamps instead of killing them?
He closed his eyes against the horrors and torture he knew awaited him. Before now, it might not have been possible. But now- he could really do it. He felt the bitterness come over him as he collapsed again. Just put a stake through my heart and be done with me.
******************************************************************

TENWEK HOSPITAL-

Buffy’s breath was coming in short, strangled gasps. Giles looked on, horror- stricken, “Buffy,” he was trying to calm her, “there’s no conclusive proof that anything has happened to him at all.” As he looked at the distress he had caused her, he chided himself, There is, however, conclusive proof that I am the biggest wanker ever to grace the planet! He smiled sadly, trying to put her at ease, “He’ll turn up- like a bad penny. He always does.”

The look she shot him was an explosive mix of annoyance and hurt. She parted her lips as if to say something then closed her mouth. Turning her head to Panya, she asked, “Where is the doctor that was on duty when I was brought in?”

“I do not know, Shujaa. From what I could gather, you were brought in with another,” Panya looked around the small room, eyeing the other patients and doctors carefully. He had to choose his next words precisely, “The other was...mauled,” he gazed intently at her, hoping she would take his meaning, “The injuries to his face and neck alone… Shujaa, he expired. The rangers flew his body back to his next of kin.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. She looked anxiously at Giles, “Next of kin?”

“In the hours before we got here,” Giles sighed, his eyes downcast, “the body was flown to England.”

Buffy hardened her gaze, “You said I’ve been here for almost four days. How long have you been here?”

“Almost four days,” Giles admitted.

“Four days,” Buffy hissed, her tone low in an attempt to shield onlookers from the true meaning of the conversation, “and you’re just telling me this now ?”

Giles shook his head, “Buffy, you were in no condition to…”

“Well, I know now,” Buffy began pushing her blankets aside and swung her legs weakly over the side of the bed, “And what am I still doing here?” she fought against the insect netting that was surrounding her, “Giles find the doctor. I’m signing whatever I have to sign,” she stood, nearly toppling over from dizziness as she did. She used a shaky hand on the small bed frame behind her as a brace. When she was steady again, she looked at Giles, who had stepped forward; ready to catch her had she fallen, and said, “I’m getting out of here. I’ve been here for four days. There’s no telling what…” her broken ribs stabbed at her again. She didn’t know if the familiar pressure, that announced the coming of tears, she felt building in her was because of her injury or her own imagining of what Spike may be going through. What are they doing to him? What if he…? She waited for the pressure to subside a little, before speaking, “There’s no telling…Giles, I’ve been here long enough.”

As he nodded his understanding, her Watcher could see the strength within the Slayer he’d taken under his wing, years ago. She was a grown woman, now. She was strong. And he was very proud of her.
*************************************************************************

HOLLYWOOD, FLORIDA-

Dawn watched as the color drained from her Aunt Darlene’s face. The cradle for the wall-mount telephone caught the receiver, by sheer luck, as it dropped from her grip.

Dawn rushed to put a dining room chair behind her before she could fall to the yellowing linoleum floor, “Who was that?” Dawn did not like the look on her Aunt’s face.

It reminded her too much of her Mother’s that morning she had asked for an omelet instead of cereal for breakfast.

“That was Willow Rosenberg. Mr. Giles called,” she whispered, “Something happened in Africa…”

“Oh God. Is it Buffy? I-is it bad? What did Spike do? Did he hurt her?” Dawn clenched her teeth and blinked back the tears that threatened to come.

Darlene Christopher shook her head- half in shock, half in relief, “No. He saved her- from a lion attack, apparently. She’s just been released from a hospital in Africa. They’re taking her to Devon, England. Your friend Willow said that Mr. Giles wanted to know- if you wanted to be there. If you wanted to come to England and be with your sister.” Darlene looked at her niece with saddened eyes, “Do you want to go?”

“I-I don’t know,” she stuttered.

Darlene gave a small smile, “You could see William. Tell him how you feel. He loves you too, Dawn. I know he does.”

“Okay,” Dawn said, as she gave her Aunt a hug, “I’ll go, Aunt Darlene.”

Darlene held tight to her niece; closing her eyes, she whispered in her ear, “I knew you would, Dawnie May.”
***********************************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

In his darkened cell, all he could do was wait. Wait and wonder. And slowly go insane. How long do I have to wait? I know this part. Torture your prey to the brink of…and then just stop. Let the mind turn. A marvelous thing, the mind; it does the work for you. Don’t even have to left a finger. By the time they’re done imagining what could happen to them, anything you do, do is a welcome relief.

Oh, the good old days. Used to love hearing them whimper and beg. And now, I’m so close to doing it myself. He hasn’t been here in hours.
The rattle of his chain sounded through his cell. He paced and tried not to think. Thinking made things worse. It made the waiting worse than the drugs or the beatings.

But, as he sank slowly down to the concrete floor once again, he sank into the waves of despair. Where is he?

Spike didn’t have to wait long to find an answer to his unspoken question. Suddenly there were steps on the earthen staircase to his dungeon. These steps were different, lighter. Spike smiled wryly to himself. Gotta love a gleeful Watcher. Takes pleasure in his work; even if it is knocking vamps around.

The key turned in the lock. A door opened. Light, quick steps, and then the endgame sounded. A hiss of air and Spike closed his eyes against the blistering artificial light. He was ready. He almost welcomed the presence of the Watcher.

But, something about the presence was different. Spike couldn’t quite place it, but something was different. He was just too tired and too beaten to care.

The sight that he presented was shocking. His face was barely recognizable. Quentin had beaten him that severely.

A gasp of shock escaped Lydia’s lips at the sight of him, “William?” she whispered.

The soft voice made him look up in shock, “You?” his voice was barely a breath, “You’re helping me?”

Lydia nodded quickly, fishing the key to his shackles from her skirt pocket, “Yes,” she said breathlessly as she stepped forward, kneeling down to put the key to the shackles. She looked up into his eyes and hoped he didn’t notice her trembling hands. She looked behind her. Travers would be coming soon. She had to move quickly, “But we have to move now. Quentin will know. I may have been followed…”

The shock Spike felt was tempered by the slight tremor he felt emanating from her. He cocked his head in thought, and his eyes met hers.

The glint of glee she saw in his eyes took her breath away, “Being watched are we, Pet?” he asked, “What say we give him something to watch?”
**************************************************
 
A Different Drummer
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: It may look a little gruesome for Spike. Don't worry though, I know what I'm doing. :-)
******************************

Spike’s mind was reeling. There were so many things he wanted to do to Quentin Travers. So many things that he deserved, both for how he’d treated him, and for his barbaric treatment of Buffy while she was still so young and impressionable. I mean really, Zachary Kraylic? You idiot! Do you think I don’t know what you did to her? There is so much rage, but I can bloody well use it. I’ll show you what it is you’ve done, boy. Don’t you worry.

Yeah, I’ll give him a show all right! I’ll show him just what a vampire can do. That little wanker will be sorry he ever put me in chains! I’ll make him hurt in ways he’s never dreamed possible. I’m going to make him beg me to kill him! Doesn’t he know what I am? How dare he presume to know me- to put * me * in chains! I’ll tear him apart. Angelus’s exploits pale in comparison. I’ll rip…
Suddenly he stopped. And, he looked at his would-be savior, really looked at her. Spike could hear Lydia’s heartbeat increase, and the fire within him was doused. Revenge will have to wait. But, when I get my hands on him…it’s been too long. Huh. Thought the soul would have squelched that, seems not. Good to know. Now for the matter at hand…

The trembling in her hands made the key sound like bells against the metal of his shackles. She looked so small in front of him now. He could smell the salt of her perspiration suffuse the stale air around them. She was scared. And, although he knew that this little jailbreak had probably taken days, as well as all of her courage to plan and he didn’t know when, or if, he’d get another chance, he couldn’t risk her being caught aiding him if they were being watched. If he is watching, and he found her helping me, he could kill her. Or, he could move me. Change the locks, and I might never get out. I don’t know where I am. He could hurt Nibblet, or Rupert, or…Oh my God…What if…? He needed a friend on the outside, someone who might be able to tell him about Buffy, more than he needed his freedom.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Nagging little spark of light!
He could see the apprehension in her eyes, just inches from his. The metal of the tiny key as it flitted against his shackles filled his ears. That, along with the labored breath, coming short and fast because she was trying to hide it, told him what she herself would not. She didn’t have to. He didn’t need his eyes to see this, it was as obvious as anything could be- and he couldn’t let her do this. He sighed and bowed his head. I can’t believe I’m going to do this. I have got to be insane. This may never come again.

He looked up into her eyes again. He could see her anxious eyes in the dark and he knew, as he watched her eyes searching the space, that she could not see him clearly, despite the artificial light that filtered in behind her. There was no way for her to see how much he truly wanted to get out of here, and get back to Buffy wherever she was. If she was.

The spark he’d forced inside of him made him see humans as more than the “Happy meals with legs,” he’d told Buffy of years ago.

But, as he thought about it, Spike realized it started happening long before he’d gone to Africa to see that shaman. He suppressed a sigh of defeat as he discovered when this thing had actually begun.

How many give pet names- to their food?

Angel really should have warned me. He taught me everything else…
It was this, and the fact that he knew she wouldn’t last should he make his escape, that made his next words easy to say, “Watcher, put the key away,” he breathed.

The tiny clanging stopped, “What?” Lydia gasped. She could hear the deep resonance of his voice. She knew that the bones of his face had shifted to accommodate the demon within him. She knew he wished to escape, “But William, there may not be another chance,” she hissed, “Quentin could be here any moment.”

Spike could feel the heat of her breath on his skin; he could almost taste her fear, “All the more reason for you not to be here when he does make an appearance,” his chains clattered as he moved to still the hands that could still open his shackles, all he need do is give the word and it would be done. I really am a wanker, throwing away my chance. But… “There is something you can do for me,” Spike hoped that she could tell how urgent this was to him and that, if she did this one thing, she really would be helping him more than she realized now, he was sure, “Find out about the Slayer,” he looked at the concrete floor and felt uncertainty begin to overwhelm him, “I don’t know if she…” he stopped, not wanting to give voice to the unthinkable. If he gave it that privilege, then it would be real- and devastating, “Find out,” his voice trembled against his will, as he swallowed the cold fear in his throat, “Find out. Then come back.”

He felt the warmth of her hand slip from beneath his grasp and heard the fabric of her skirt sing as she placed the small key safely back into her pocket. There was determination in her tone, “Are you sure?” Lydia asked.

“No,” he said quietly. The word was spoken on the edge of a breath because Spike did not want to attract attention, or give the negative word too much credence now, “but it’s the only way I can…” his voice failed him. There were no words for this. Not now. And, perhaps there never would be. He felt the ions in the air change, shifting somehow. He knew something was about to happen, and he had to get her out and away, so that he would have a reason, “Listen,” he said quickly, trying to make her understand, “You have to go,” he watched her stand and knew his freedom was slipping away, “But, promise me you will come back. When it’s safe. When you know,” he saw the sadness in her eyes as she began to back up to the security door, “You’ll be back?” he hated the that his own strength seemed to be in a state of effluxion as he saw her begin to disappear into the light and he bit back the small whimper that fought for control of his throat as well as his heart.

He saw her nod and then he couldn’t watch. His eyes pulled back to his wrists. The wrists that where still in chains, and he felt a tear slide down his face as he heard the pneumatic lock fall into place, plunging him into darkness once more.

Spike knew, as he felt the creature inside him boiling with rage, that he would never see the outside of this cell. It would, for good and all, become his final resting place.
*********************************************************

HOLLYWOOD, FLORIDA-

As Dawn May Summers packed her bags for Devon, England, she wondered what had happened in Africa. The last she’d heard of Spike, he’d attacked her sister. Now, he was supposed to have saved her life.

That was new. Vampires historically aren’t known for heroics.

News of what happened in Africa should have been surprising. And as Dawn went through her dressers, pulling out random articles of clothing and stuffing them into her carry-on bag, she knew that, with any other vampire that wasn’t Spike, it would have been.

But this was Spike. She was beginning to realize that, the night he’d hurt Buffy- that had been the surprise.

Spike had been a brother to her. He protected her, when no one else would. She remembered the times when they were alone that summer.

Most of that summer he’d been drunk. Not just once, but all the time. But there was one day she would always remember. The one day that, thank God, he wasn’t drunk.

She walked out of the woods, barely able to stand. It still hurt. She’d been gone a month. A month had never gone by so slowly before. A month. God, was it only a month ago?

She couldn’t see where she was going because of the tears in her eyes, but that didn’t matter. She knew where she was going. She could have walked this path blindfolded. She was headed to Spike’s crypt.

He was the only one that understood how much it hurt. He was the only one who cared.

She wasn’t even aware of the vampire until he was right behind her. She felt his icy breath, and fingers, on her neck. His breath was putrid as he spoke, “Well, dinner doesn’t often walk right into this neighborhood, especially lately,” Dawn felt his fangs at her neck, and she froze in fright. “Mmmm… it’s warm too. Can’t beat that. Who am I to turn away a free meal, even if it is just a snack.”

She closed her eyes, ready to be with Buffy and her mom. She heard the growl as it sang through the air, and then she heard his voice.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, mate,” Dawn opened her eyes and saw Spike standing in front of her, his eyes steely and clear, “Trust me, you touch that one,” he shook his head in warning, “It won’t agree with you.”

Spike! Oh my God, thank you! I didn’t mean to, I swear. I was just… When did you…? Oh. I’m gonna die, aren’t I? Wow…

“…Why?” the vamp was saying, “Everything in this town belong to you? If you wanted her so bad, shouldn’t have let her get away. I found her. This one’s mine.”

Spike walked up slowly, his left hand hidden behind his back. Blue eyes turned to amber. His eyes filled Dawn’s vision, “No mate. Not everything. Just…I’ve taken a liking to this one. That’s my Nibblet…”

Yes! Spike, please, help me.

His eyes twinkled a little, he understood.

Spike’s voice carried a power she hadn’t heard before, “I’ll show you. Nibblet,” the fingers of his right hand folded inward, gesturing toward his body, beckoning her to come to him, “Come this way.”

And, she did. She walked to him, as if she were being pulled- attached to him by an invisible string. She ducked under the vamp’s hold and came to him. She felt his comforting hand against her neck, “Good girl,” the tremor in his voice was unnoticeable, to anyone but her. He gave her a light kiss on her cheek, “Go back to my crypt,” he said as he put himself between her and the other vampire, “Stay there, all right?”

“See mate? Mine,” Spike gave a dismissive wave of his hand, turning to her in profile, “Now be a good bloodsucker, and run along.”

The vamp’s eyes widened a bit, as if in awe, and he turned to leave the cemetery. Suddenly, Spike’s bow hand came out from behind his back. The twang of the trigger sounded, and an arrow was sent through the air.

Dawn knew the arrow had hit its mark when she heard the swish of wind and dust.

Dawn turned. The sight of yellow, saddened and angry eyes had never been so beautiful to her, “I’m sorry Spike,” she sobbed into the softness of his leather coat, “ I didn’t mean to…”

Spike sighed heavily and held her tightly, “Don’t ever do that again, Dawn!” Spike growled as he held her, his hands trembling with repressed emotion, “I can’t lose you too!”


He’d saved her life. How could I have been so blind?

Dawn blinked to see through the tears that covered her eyes, as she zipped up her carry-on bag, and went out to Aunt Darlene, who was in the car, waiting to take her to the airport.
************************************

KENYA, AFRICA- TENWEK HOSPITAL

Buffy shook her head again. Why was this so hard for him to understand? “No Giles, I’m not leaving Africa until I know where Spike is. Could the Council have taken him somewhere?”

“I don’t know, Buffy.”

“What do you mean, ‘You don’t know’? Aren’t you supposed to know everything? You sure acted like you did! Made me feel like a moron. Well, who’s the moron now, Giles? Find out!” she hissed.

Panya spoke up, unable to stand seeing Shujaa in such distress, “There was that woman. Perhaps she may know where Simba is.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed at Giles in suspicion, “What woman would that be, Giles?”

Giles cast his eyes down in shame, “Lydia Chalmers. She found William mere seconds before the boy and I did. She said that the Council was very interested in…”

Buffy waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, she prompted hotly, “In what, Giles?”

Giles cleared his throat, uncomfortable with what he was about to tell her, “…Studying him,” his own voice was shaking with the horror of what the Council was capable of, “Buffy, once they break him, the Council would want to… dissect him…”

“Why?” Buffy gasped.

“Spike is…unique. The Council cannot tolerate that.”

Buffy’s voice was hollow as she said, “Dissect. You mean- cut up? Not just dust?”

Giles nodded, gravely, “Yes, Buffy. I’m afraid so.”
******************************************************

 
Whitewash
 

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LONDON, ENGLAND-1867

William squinted, trying to shield his eyes from the sun that sat high in the sky, making him uncomfortable in his dark mourning suit. Then he wiped furiously at his eyes as he stared at his father’s casket. He nervously slid his fingers under his collar, trying to find the air he needed to breathe. His clothes suddenly felt tight and he was having difficulty seeing.

There was no time for this. Mother needed him. He had to be the one now. There was no one else.

He hoped that his mother would not notice that he was crying at all.

They were alone now, Mother and he. He needed to be strong. He was the man of the household now. It was his duty to look after her now. She had no one else.

He looked up at his mother. She looked so strong, as if nothing could touch her. But he knew the widow’s weeds were heavy upon her. They made her beautiful blonde hair grey before it should have. The black had been weighing on her since dear little Emma had been taken from them. And now, there was this.

Father had carried her through the loss of Emma. With his help, she survived it. But, she was changed. And, as he watched the lines of grief change her, making her older still, changing her right before his eyes, he did not think she would survive the loss of her husband.

He had to be strong. He did not know if he could do this, but he had to try. It is what Father would want him to do and to be. He was all she had now. He was her world now.

Her hand was gripping his painfully. He was unsure if his tears were from the pain in his hand or the one he felt in his heart, but it did not matter. He had no time for pain now. She was depending on him. He had no time for tears.

He was a man now. He would stay beside her, help her through this loss.

He had to be strong. He couldn’t leave her. If he did, he knew- she would not survive.

He had to be strong-for her.

***************************************************

Spike tried to shield his eyes from the light that cascaded around him as he stood in his cell’s opening. For a brief moment, he had thought that the lady Watcher had come back. But the hope of that thought quickly faded as he saw Quentin Travers’s scowl looking back at him.

Spike slowly turned his eyes away, saying nothing. He preferred the memories of his family. Of his sister Emma as she searched for secret friends in the back garden; the remembrance of her hair was the closest thing he had to sunlight now. Even the torment of his worst memories, Father’s death and the weight he carried ever since, were far better than his present.

“Lydia cannot help you. You do realize that?” Quentin waited for a response, but the only response was the brief glint of light in the darkness. He continued, his tone deceptively light for the weight and threat his words brought with them, “By the time Buffy arrives, you’ll be nowhere to be found.”

He tried not to let Travers see how much he wanted news of Buffy. Spike couldn’t let him see how much the implication that she was still alive- and looking for him- made whatever the Watcher still had in store for him, so much easier to bear. What does he know? How much did he see? Oh God…poor girl… “Where are you taking me?”

“Nowhere,” Quentin said easily, “But, by the time she finds you, and make no mistake, Miss Summers will find you, you will no longer be a threat. In fact, you’ll be an asset.”

Spike could feel his blood boiling. The laughter that escaped was derisive, “That little thing that was terrorizing the Slayer and her kith and kin a few years back,” he shrugged, hating the sound of the chains as they rattled with his every movement, reminding him of how vulnerable he truly was at this moment, “bint by the name of Glory?” Spike’s eyes narrowed at the man as he endeavored to keep his tone casual, to keep the Watcher from discovering how tired and frightened he really was, “She was a God. She wanted information too. Nearly tortured me to dust to get it, and I still wouldn’t give her a bloody thing. She was a God,” he could feel the demon taking over, and he let it. It was a necessity now, he didn’t think he could survive what he knew was coming, without it, “I don’t think you come close. The only place you might be anything but a sniveling little snack,” Spike raked his eyes appraisingly over his tormenter. I can still give him a good scare. Maybe throw him off balance a bit. He grinned widely, making sure that the man got a good look at his exposed fangs, “…in your cheap, Seville Row knockoff, is in your own mind. I took all she had to give and could have gone another ten rounds. What do you have?”

Quentin Travers calmly walked the breadth of the cell, being certain to stay well clear of his prisoner, who was eyeing him menacingly, and threw the switch that stood on the opposing wall, bathing the cell, once again in a harsh white light.

The Watcher took great pleasure in watching the vampire squint in discomfort, walked over to where the creature was chained and crouched just outside its chain’s reach.

Travers’s tone was measured and confident, “William,” he asked, his eyes holding a biting coldness that reminded Spike very much of a reptile, “just how much of your time as my guest do you actually recall?”

Spike tried to think. The last thing he really remembered was the lioness in Africa. He remembered that very clearly. The rest…That was fuzzy. It was lost. As if someone had wiped it from him. There were dreams but…nothing else.

Spike shook with the horror of the implication and his chains shuddered with him, “What did you make me do?”
*******************************************************************

Lydia stepped out of the ironmonger’s shop. She may not have been able to free William from Quentin Travers last night. Perhaps she could not save him from the torments he had in store for him, but by the light of day, she would free him.

The Council would change. The poets were right. The pen is, indeed, mightier than the sword.

She was surprised how much power one telegram carried with it. Once Rupert received it, Quentin, and the Council, would fall under its weight.

She looked up at the sun that stood high in the sky, and stepped into the street.

The driver of the lorry that was traveling the opposite direction failed to see the woman that had stepped off of the curb, because of the sun’s glare.

Inside the ironmonger, the clerk heard the squeal of breaks and looked out the shop window to see a woman lying under the bumper of a lorry. The driver was kneeling next to her on the pavement.

The clerk called for help and rushed out to see if there was anything he could do to until help arrived.
 
Goodbye, Professor Marvel
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Professor Marvel was the name of the wizard in the "Wizard of Oz." Some dates have changed. The flow of the story makes more sense now. Sorry for the confusion.
**********************
TENWEK HOSPITAL- KENYA, AFRICA

“Buffy, the best we can do at this point is help you get some rest,” Giles sighed at her scathing look and raked his hand over his face, not wanting to think about what his own exhaustion and fear had exposed the vampire to. Giles could only assume that his expression told her something of his pain, because when he looked at her again, her eyes had softened a bit toward him. Or, so he hoped, “Buffy, surely you know by now, or I hope you do, that I would not put William in danger wittingly. He’s become like,” Gile’s eyes dropped down, “family to me now,” he choked, just now realizing how true that statement was. It had been true ever since the two of them, separated by circumstance and centuries, had come together in terrible grief, “But I know that I cannot help either of you unless, and until, I know that at least one of you is safe. I can’t think. And, I certainly can’t help William until you are well,” he smiled a sad smile, “I’m quite sure William can take care of himself. And, I know that he would want his ‘ Shujaa’ at the top of her game before she went into the lion’s den, so to speak.”

Buffy had to smile a little at that because Giles was right. For all the vampire bravado Spike displayed, underneath the surface Buffy would get glimpses of the English gentleman he tried so desperately to hide; the part that had doted on her, and loved her beyond reason, when she couldn’t love herself. She could almost hear him now. She knew that, if Spike were here, he would probably appeal to the sense of competition that seemed to run through their relationship, if that is what you could call what it is they had. He would probably look at her with that special glint in his eye and purr at her, with a challenge in his voice, “ Really Slayer, are you going to let a little love tap of mine keep you down? I thought you were stronger than that. Don’t throw in the towel just yet. It’s just starting to be fun.

He had a way of saying the sweetest things. Things that, at the time he said them, sounded like a threat because of the way he said them, but when you really thought about what he said, those things were really sweet.

And, most of the time, what he said was so right it was eerie. As if he could see her in a way no one else could. It was as if he could see into her soul and pull out the pain for her. And she wanted him to.

She wanted him to do it, because no one else would. No one else cared enough to notice the pain she was in. But, he did, and she took advantage of him and his feelings because of it. And, what was worse was the fact that he knew this. He had to. Yet he still let her use him and abuse him.

And she did. Oh God, she did.

Like the time she’d all but fell at his feet, begging to be his third- begging to be sent back to Heaven. It was soon after she discovered she was different. Different enough that Spike could hit her without any pain, at least the physical kind.

At the time, she could only feel her own pain. Now, she could see his.

Buffy couldn’t understand. This is what he came to Sunnydale for, wasn’t it? And, he could do it now, without the blinding pain he always said he was in when he hit humans.

So why did he look so disgusted…and sad? Didn’t he understand that she didn’t belong here now? This wasn’t her world anymore, and the fact that he could hit her without screaming in pain afterward proved it, “But Spike,” she reasoned, “We both know it won’t even cause you a twinge now,” her voice cracked a little, “This is what I want, and you could do it. I want it to be you. Please?” she choked back the sob in her throat.

Spike felt his stomach churn and he had to turn away from her, and do it quickly before she saw what this insane request of hers had really done to him.

He couldn’t let her see his tears. Not now. Not when she needed him to be strong. He held on to the bier in front of him so that his knees wouldn’t buckle. He held on so tight that his fingers cramped and the muscles in his arms strained under the force of unreleased anger and grief.

The words felt raw in his throat as he said them, “That really what you want, Slayer- to die?”

The ache in her voice matched the one in his heart as he heard her say, with a sickening certainty, “Yes, Spike. It’s what I want.”

“Oh Buffy,” he whispered, too low for her to hear, “You have no idea how much it will hurt,” he fought the sob that clawed at his chest and throat, wanting release. He looked up at the slate roof of his crypt, fighting the tears and the anguish that was suddenly so much stronger than he was. He swallowed the tears back and his jaw set as he turned on her, and the sob became a bitter laugh as he said, “Slayer, I wouldn’t give you that satisfaction now,” the words had an edge to them as he tried to hide the hurt, “if you paid me. There’s nothing to you now. It’s not worth it.”

Buffy’s tone was hurt, “What?” she asked bitterly, “You’ve wanted to kill me ever since you first came to Sunnydale! You can do everything else with me. You can use me to…to * get off *! And now, suddenly I’m damaged goods? Now I’m not * worth* the effort? Gee…thanks.”

His voice nearly disappeared in the shock of what she had just dared to say to him, “Using you? Using * you? *” he whispered, “I’m not…” he fought the need to beg her not to make him do this thing. The thing he * did not* want, so desperately. The thing that he, sadly, * would * do if he knew that it was truly what she wanted. She had but to ask.

She had no idea what they’d been through while she was gone. She did have pain. That was true. This impossible request was further proof of how much her soul was buried under it.

But he had pain too. Pain she could not, or would not see. And right now, he couldn’t let her see, “Slayer,” he started again, his tone purposefully harsh. If she needed the “Big Bad” to get through to her, to make her live- then so be it, “just what would that do to my reputation? If the ‘Slayer of Slayers’ had one roll over and * beg * to have my fangs in her throat, without a fight? Not much for the image, yeah?” he was shaking with rage now. Rage and sorrow, “I don’t do charity work. You want to die?”

The lethal gaze that held her now was almost too painful for her to bear. So painful that it made her speechless as tears of agony rolled down her face. She nodded. Yes, she wanted to die. To go back to the place where she was loved and warm.

The roar of death reverberated in her bones and quick as lightning, he was holding her in a powerful grip, spinning her body so that he was behind her, in control of her movement now.

He had the power now.

His arm came down across the front of her body and his hand held her shoulder firmly. She felt the weight of his head as it sliced through the air. She held her breath, her body tensed in anticipation. The fangs tickled her skin. Then, they suddenly disappeared and his voice was in her ear, “You want to die?” he asked, “Want to go back to Heaven? Well, Slayer, if I sent you to your death,” his voice became gruff in her ear, rough and hard with anger. Something about it stirred something inside of her. The knife-edge of pain she heard warmed the cold numbness in the pit of her stomach.

Could he really care if she lived or died?

She was surprised at the rush of feeling that thought brought with it. She was truly surprised at how happy that made her. That he cared. That anyone cared.

She focused on his breath in her ear as he continued to speak to a place inside of her. A place she thought was dead, “…If I tasted you…now, I don’t think you’d make it back there. You see, Heaven’s not a right. It’s what everyone…” his voice hitched on this word, and Buffy almost whimpered, for him and for the pain that she was becoming aware that he too felt. Although she could not understand why, “everyone hopes to have, one day. But it’s not a given. It’s a privilege. You have to earn it. You were there, Buffy. You know it’s there for you. And, you can have it back, but not this way. This way…it’s a cheat. You have to earn it.”

Buffy felt herself shudder as his hold ceased to be punishing, and became comforting, “How?” she choked.

Buffy felt the light kiss against her neck, “Live, Buffy. That’s how. You live,” he whispered, pulling away, “Live, Slayer.”


“You know something, Giles?” she smiled at her Watcher as she finished putting her signature to the hospital’s discharge papers, “You’re right. Wouldn’t be as much fun if I just rolled over, would it. Okay,” she nodded, handing the clipboard to Giles, “You win. We head to Devon and regroup. Maybe get a better idea of where Spike might be, if the Council is holding him. Then, I go in and get him out.”

Giles sighed with relief and a grin spread across his face, “I’m so very glad we agree,” he said, leaving to file the papers with her treating physician.

Watching him leave, Buffy looked through the paper sack that contained all the belongings she was brought to the hospital with. There wasn’t much. Her clothes, her identification, and of course her coat. Or, to be more precise, his coat.

She took it out of the sack gently and was looking for a private place that would allow her to change from her hospital gown, when Panya spoke and disrupted her intentions, “That is Simba’s, yes?”

Buffy looked up absently. She was not focused on anything, really. She just wanted to get out of the hospital fast. The faster she did that, the faster she could find Spike, “What?” she saw the boy’s eyes trained intently on the coat on her lap and she passed her hand lovingly over the leather, pleased that she had this reminder to connect her to him, “Yes, this is his.”

The strong man Panya wanted to be melted a little when he heard her words. Buffy could see it, as tears welled in his dark eyes, “Find him…please?” Panya swallowed hard, “He is a man now. And no man should be caged.”

Buffy nodded, feeling pride in Spike surge within her heart, “You’re right. I will find him, don’t worry.”
*********************************************

DEVON, ENGLAND-

Willow was nervous about seeing Buffy again. Giles had called a few days ago to make arrangements with the coven to let Buffy stay with them while she recuperated from an accident in Africa.

She hadn’t left Sunnydale on good terms with Buffy. Willow knew “sorry” would never be enough to put right what she had done. But, “sorry” was all she had.

When Giles had called early this morning to confirm that Buffy, and maybe Dawn, was coming, Willow had volunteered to prepare two of the upstairs rooms in the coven house for them. She had worried that everything wasn’t perfect, or that Buffy would find something wrong with the rooms and by inference, find something wrong with her.

Willow was so consumed with making sure that every detail of the rooms was perfect that she started at the sound of the doorbell. Could she be here already? Willow glanced at the tiny bedside clock. It was one o’clock in the afternoon. Buffy wasn’t due for another four hours.

The door chimed again, “Don’t bother Lois, I’ll get it!” she yelled down when she reached the staircase landing.

Willow skittered down the stairs and opened the door. Her stomach flip-flopped at the sight of her. Willow swallowed hard, hating that her mouth was suddenly dry. What can I say to her? She’s probably still mad, and she should be. What I did… “Hey, Dawnie,” Willow said, smiling nervously, “How have you been?”
****************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND- AUGUST 2, 2002- 1:00 P.M.

The ironmonger’s clerk tried to keep the woman on the pavement conscious until help arrived. The driver of the lorry had left to find a call box, so the ambulance and the Bobbies would be arriving soon, he knew. If he could just keep the woman alert until then, he was sure things would be fine.

He knelt next to her, talking to her in a tone he hoped was calming, touching her face lightly trying to make her eyes focus on him, “It’s all right. Just, stay with me, all right? Help’s coming,” Cedric was trying not to panic. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He didn’t know what to do.

He looked her over quickly. It looked bad. Her legs were bent at an unnatural angle, and there was a dark red stain on the pavement near her head.

Oh, this looked bad.

He was just a shop clerk. What did he know about first aid?

He took of his worker’s apron and placed it under the woman’s head. As he did, he could hear her mumbling something. It made no sense to him, but at least she was talking. If he could just get her to keep doing it, “What was that, Miss?” he asked.

“Didn’t see…” Lydia gasped through dry lips, “Would have… I didn’t see. But they will,” her eyes blinked in the afternoon light, “They will…” her voice was getting weaker, “soon.”

The woman’s consciousness was fading, and it frightened Cedric, “Hello,” he said urgently, trying to listen for the sirens, “no time for a kip. Stay with me.”

The woman fell unconscious. But it didn’t matter because Cedric could hear the emergency sirens coming closer.
*********************************************

“How are the headaches, William?”

Spike looked menacingly at the old man, “You didn’t answer my question. What did you make me do?”

Quentin chuckled, “I think you may have things a bit turned around, William. I do not think you are in a position to be asking questions here,” he reached into his black bag, the one Spike knew carried the drugs that he was being injected with, and pulled out a medieval looking devise.

The metal of the thing shone in the dark as he held it in his hands. For an instant, Spike was frightened at what might be in the Watcher’s mind. Just what does he intend to do…? And he subconsciously held his breath in anticipation of the pain that was about to be inflicted on him.

But, as he saw the light of the metal glinting in the dark, coming closer to him, calmness descended upon him and the demon took control once more.

So, the Watcher wants to get his hands dirty does he? That’s the blessing of modern technology. The dirty work gets done from a distance. But for this- for this you need to get up close, see into the eyes. And, believe me. You will see me.

Come closer, boy. I’m waiting. I dare you.


Spike couldn’t help but enjoy the irony, “Maybe,” he conceded, careful not to reveal too much, “Maybe not.”
*****************************************************************************

TWELVE HOURS EARLER- LYDIA CHALMERS’S FLAT

Lydia addressed the video camera, “I wasn’t able to get much. But as you can see- William is safe- for the moment. The code is relatively simple to break. That is, if Travers hasn’t changed it by now. But he is a hopeless creature of habit, so perhaps that will work in your favor. If Miss Rosenberg’s computer skills have not atrophied, it should be simple for her to accomplish,” her chin went down and she sighed. Looking up into the camera’s eye again, she said, “Again, Miss Summers, I am sorry for my part in this deception and I hope this will help to change the Council as an institution. If it is unwilling to see the light of change,” she smiled wryly, “Then it is my hope that you, and William of course, can bring it down.”

That was all that was left to say. Lydia reached over to switch the recording function off. Ejecting the disc, she placed it in the padded envelope with the translation of the Unhesine prophecy and the map to William’s exact location, and sealed it.

Now all that was left to do was to send this, via urgent parcel post, to the Devon coven house and send the telegram to Rupert Giles in Tsavo.
**********************************************

DEVON, ENGLAND-

Willow was upstairs settling Dawn into her room when the door chimed again, “Oh boy it’s busy around here today. That could be Buffy,” Willow started out the door, “I’ll get it, Lois!” she shouted down the hall. Looking back at Dawn, she shrugged apologetically, “Sorry. Be right back. I’ve got a bunch of nervous energy to burn. And, at least it’s better than talking your ear off,” she smiled as she left Dawn in the upstairs room.

Willow bounded down the stairs and opened the door. A United Parcel Service employee, in her brown uniform and clipboard, met her, “Hi!” she said warmly.

“Hello,” the woman said, reaching into the pouch that was slung on her hip. Pulling out a small parcel envelope, she said, “I have a delivery for Rupert Giles.”

“Oh, he’s not here. But I can sign for it?” Willow suggested.

“That’s fine,” the woman said, handing her clipboard to her.

Willow signed for the parcel and exchanged the parcel for the electronic clipboard, “Have a good day,” the postwoman smiled.

“You too!” Willow smiled back as she took the envelope inside and shut the door.

“Hmm,” Willow said absently, turning the envelope in her hands, “I guess Giles has mail,” and placed it on the table in the foyer with the other pieces of mail.

She walked upstairs to talk with Dawn. They had a lot of catching up to do. And she had a lot of explaining to do.

Well,
she sighed as she climbed, I have to start somewhere. Might as well be her.
 
In Camera
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: "In Camera" is a legal term for what goes on in a judge's chamber. *I* had trouble writing this...but for the story to move, it had to be done.
***************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

Spike tried to focus. The last thing he remembered was that sadistic Watcher and his medieval torture implement. He remembered waiting. Waiting for him to come close enough. It was so simple. Just let nature take over.

It was all a blur. The Watcher stepped within reach of his chain and, in seconds he had the man in a chokehold, using his chain as a garrote. He remembered the way the Watcher squirmed. Like a dying fish flopping for air, as he realized he was in danger.

The fear made the first pull from his veins so sweet. He could remember feeling his knees buckling with the ecstasy of it.

Can’t cut your air off completely. Want the blood to live just a little longer.


It was then that the sweet sound of terror hit his ears. Oh, God yes! Scream! Scream your lungs out! Scream for help. I’ll swallow that too. It just makes the blood taste better. It’s been so long since I’ve had something warm and alive. The lioness doesn’t count. It was different. Nothing can do this justice. I need this! He was a junkie, and he knew it. He would chase this dragon down into the depths of Hell. Oh God! This feels…I need this. I didn’t know how much until now. And…oh God, this tastes so good! I don’t know when I’ve tasted anything sweeter than this!

Then came the pain.

And now, everything was hazy. There was a buzzing in his ears. He knew there were words, but nothing made sense. He was so tired.

He was angry.

He tried to move. His wrists felt as if they weighed a ton and the sound of the chains, as they moved slightly, shot right to his nerves. It was so loud.

His hand dropped heavily at his side. It was just too heavy to lift. He could feel the cold concrete beneath him, pressing at his back. Am I on the floor? How did I end up on the floor? I don’t remember… He felt cold, very cold. And… his head- his head felt like it was splitting in half. There were colors dancing before his eyes now that he hadn’t seen in over a century. It was beautiful.

And, it hurt. Like. Hell.

Something deep inside of him knew it had been violated. Maimed. He wanted to roar. He wanted to tear. But right now, he was filled with impotent rage.

The rage made him shake and shiver. The pain was too much to bear. He felt gutted inside, and he could do nothing to his tormentors.

It hurt.

He’d lived with Angelus for twenty years, and still he could do nothing.

Then came pain of another kind. The guilt that came from deep inside of him made no distinction between good and evil. Human life was all that mattered to his inner man. And, he had strangled a man, felt him writhing, gasping for air.

He’d deprived a man of the oxygen he needed to sustain his life. He didn’t know if that man lived or not, but that made no difference. He’d done it. He was capable of it. And that is what rocked his soul. That is what made him shiver and quake.

All he could do was weep inwardly, and hope she hadn’t forgotten him. Hope that she wasn’t dead, and that one day, he would get out of here.

The buzzing started again, closer this time. Spike poured all of his energy and strength into opening his eyes, and was rewarded with a wavy non-distinct blur.

The silence of the small cell was broken by the man’s gasp as he took an unsteady step back. He held his linen handkerchief to the weeping wound on his neck.

It was amazing. Even with the knowledge that, for the time being, this beast was harmless due to the extraction of its fangs, and being heavily drugged, it still looked deadly.

“Sir, I think it’s coming out of it now.”

Quentin was surprised at how simple the boy could be, “Yes, I can see that, Stanley,” he said dryly, “But I do thank you for your sharp shooting skills,” he sighed as his composure returned. He stepped up to examine the vampire that lay dazed on the floor, “I feel certain that that will not be happening for some time, if ever again. Do you have the photographs?” Quentin asked.

Stanley nodded as he dutifully stepped into the anteroom. Never taking his eyes off of the two occupants of the cell, he retrieved the file and returned to the cell, “Everything you need is in here, Mister Travers.”

Quentin nodded curtly as he accepted the file from the young man, “Thank you again, Mister Egart. I think the vampire is sufficiently subdued. You may take your leave now.”

The young man shot his employer a nervous look. He did not wish to seem insubordinate, but, twice, in his experience, this vampire had required heavy sedation in order to keep him at bay, “Are you sure, Sir?”

Quentin nodded, grateful for the boy’s concern. His fingers ghosted gingerly over the puncture wound that had allowed the vampire, that was lying, in seeming convulsions on the floor of the cell, brief access to his jugular vein, “I can assure you that I will not be so careless as to put myself in that danger again. I am fully aware of what William is. And before I am through here,” he nodded dismissively at the creature writhing on the concrete, “William will remember as well. We all have a place in this world, and we must take that place. It is arrogance for an animal to presume to be a man. No,” he shook his head in disgust, as the vampire’s unfocused, pain-muted gaze looked past him, unseeing, “I will be quite safe. You may go.”

“Yes Sir,” Stanley Egart was not one to question authority. He turned his back and walked away, pausing only briefly to listen to the hiss of air that sounded as the pneumatic lock slid swiftly into place.
**************************************************************************

The pain was mind shattering, and the guilt was crushing. The harsh light that flooded the room was intended to cause him pain.

It was performing as intended. He blinked, trying to shield his aching eyes from the light. And, as Spike shivered with the unreasonable cold that rushed throughout his body, the memory of what had been done to him began to come back to him in flashes. Though, he did not need the memories to know what it was that sadistic man had done to him.

He’d lived with the most sadistic creature on the face of the earth for twenty years. And, he’d leaned his lessons well.

Or so he thought.

This man that held him now, this human was even more animal than Angelus. Angelus had never done this.

The pain had brought the demon forth. And, when it came forth, he knew. Oh God! The pain made him retch and cough. The coughing sent raw pain, like a bullet, to his brain. And, he knew.

Oh God! My fangs! They pulled my fangs!


Quentin’s attention was drawn from the photographs on the pin board he was looking over, and back to the vampire at the other end of the cell.

He looked at the vampire and then back at the pin board, speaking casually to the vampire as he paced in front of the photos there, “You know, William, you’re a very odd duck. For a vampire, you are extremely sentimental. That is highly unusual for your kind. You are very intriguing. Did you know that?” he asked, turning to look at the vampire, “I did my research,” he gestured to the board, “This? This is a family album, of sorts. Can you see clearly enough,” he asked, with false concern dripping from him, “Or, shall I switch off the light? I know you’re in pain. I don’t want that,” Quentin stepped closer to Spike, but stayed well out of his reach, “I’m sure you recognize each of those people on the board. Your mother…your stepfather and your dear stepsister, Rachel. She really was a beautiful girl,” he said with an air of admiration, “Then of course there are her children,” he paused as he came to the last pictures on the board, “And I know you recognize her grandchild.”

Spike’s eyes widened as he took in the person in the photo. Aside from his mother, he had tried to keep his family safe, both from Angelus and others who might use the knowledge as leverage against him.

No one knew his true linage. No one. Not even the child knew. If the Council knew…

The pain and fright had Spike paralyzed. He could not understand what this man was saying to him, “…We just want you to do what you do best, William,” he said, looking at Spike coldly, “Of course, it’s your choice. But,” his voice took on a chill of menace as he looked back at the photos smiling from the board, “if you do not? Well, that would be unfortunate indeed.”

He then left the vampire to his pain and his thoughts, and smiled as the pneumatic locks fell into place.
 
Secrets
 

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As Buffy rode in the back of the taxi, watching the scenery of England pass by her window, she felt herself being transported through time. And, she smiled.

Just how much of this land has Spike’s footprints on it?
She didn’t know why, but Buffy found herself comforted by that thought.

Then, as she continued to watch the English countryside pass by the car’s windows, Buffy began to realize that Spike could be anywhere. As she made her way to Devon, he could be anywhere. The Council, if they had him could have taken Spike anywhere they wanted to. And, she didn’t know where to even start looking.

What did I think was going to happen? Did I think that Travers and his buddies were just going to say, “Hi Buffy, here’s the vampire you’ve been looking for. We just wanted to borrow him for a bit. You can have him back now.” Yeah, like that’ll ever happen.


Buffy suddenly realized just how big this little island was. Spike could be anywhere now. They could be doing anything to him.
***************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

As he sipped his morning tea, a calm came over him because for the first time since he, and the Council, had the dubious pleasure of Miss Summers’s acquaintance, Quentin Travers slept peacefully. He knew that, given enough time, William would break. And, when he did, the Slayers would once again be focused on the mission that they had been created for.

“William the Bloody” would finally be seen as the monster he was. Given enough time, and enough pain, the vampire would do what came naturally for it, and its kind. And in so doing, the Council would remain. The prophecy would be thwarted, and his hands would remain clean.

Quentin Travers was certain that, before the end of the day, his guest would be considerably more amenable. Time is all that was required now.
*******************************************************

The bare light that flooded his cell pierced his eyes and threw his surroundings into sharp shadows. The shadows only accentuated his sense of isolation and despair.

He squinted to see the photographs on the pin board that wavered like a mirage in front of him, forever out of his reach. They were familiar to him, and had always been so. But what worried him now was the fact that the Council seemed to know him. A lucky guess about phobias could be just that- a stroke of luck. It wasn’t that fanciful a conclusion. His particular phobia, waking up in a casket, was a common one.

In the times he grew up in, many were declared dead who were not. And not because they were undead, but because they were in comas that the physicians of his era could not properly diagnose.

That was why people were employed to patrol cemeteries, and why coffins were often equipped with bells to alert the people on patrol that a tragic mistake had been made.

Any knob could hit on that if he was the slightest bit interested in history. But he thought he’d been so careful about his family. He’d hidden them so well, even from Dru and Angelus, that even he had started to forget.

He’d almost forgotten. Almost.

But, as his vision blurred, the photographs dimming in and out before his eyes, the pain of his failure added to the pain in his body.

As Spike lain on the floor of his cell, his failure began to overwhelm him. So much so, that a small whimper escaped his throat.

He’d worked for years to keep his secret. But he realized now, as he stared at the features of the person that was his true blood staring back at him, mutely, that all his work was now for nothing.

If the Council knows this, then they’re not safe. My future is staring back at me. If I give that up, then I truly am dead, body and bloody soul. I’ve worked too hard. Seen too bloody much to let that happen.

I won’t let that happen!


He fought the wave of nausea that came upon him. His demon was still outraged at the treatment it had received at the old Watcher’s hands, and though the pain of his missing fangs made letting his baser instincts take control extremely painful, he needed the pain.

The pain made him angry. Beast and soul were both in agreement on this point- there was no way the Watcher would get what he wanted. It didn’t matter what was done to him. I’ll rot in this box before I give you what you want!

He needed the pain. You want a junkyard dog? So be it. Best be careful Watcher, junkyard dogs tend to turn at the slightest provocation.

He let the pain go through him. He used it to harden himself, to prepare himself for what he had to do. In order to keep his family safe, he had to deny his own blood.

The very thought of looking… oh God… at what his reflection could have been if he’d had enough time, and denying all that that meant to him, made him ill. But it had to be done.

To keep his life safe, it had to be done.

Because, there was no way he was killing the Slayer.

As he stared intently past the white light at the edge of his vision at his family, he smiled.

The Council’s been wrong before. They can be wrong again. Don’t worry Rupert. I’m not giving you up.


His thoughts were interrupted by the hiss of the security door and the sound of the Watcher’s voice, “Well William, it has been some time since we’ve spoken,” Quentin said, “I hope the pain has subsided somewhat.”

The defiant glare of the vampire’s amber eyes gave him his answer and he let out a cold chuckle that chilled the room, “I see that it has,” Quentin’s face came up close in his vision, “Perhaps now we can continue our conversation?”

Spike tried to speak in a casual, mocking tone, hoping to mask the extreme pain he was in, “Watcher,” his voice was a trembling whisper, which he only hoped added to the menace he was trying to evoke in the man, “your research is faulty. I’ve got no family. The family I had died. I should know. I killed them myself,” he took a deep breath, still hoping that his deception would be enough, “And that man,” his gaze drifted fleetingly to Rupert Giles’s face before coming back to the Watcher, who was crouching, big as life in front of him, “looks like he’s about as old as Methuselah. He could drop dead any day. Why get your hands dirty? You want him dead?” Spike swallowed the pain the thought brought him, both physical and emotional, “Just wait a week. Mother nature will do the work for you. What do I care? Means nothing to me. Have your fun. I’m not killing the Slayer for you. So, you might as well dust me now, ‘cause it’s not happening.”

A slow smile crept over Quentin’s face, “Don’t be so sure, William,” he said.
 
Forget Me Not
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some dates have changed. The story flow makes more sense now. Sorry for the confusion.
**********************

DEVON, ENGLAND-

As much as she wanted to talk to Willow, and see how she was doing, Dawn wanted to know about her sister, and Spike, more, “That’s great Willow,” Dawn smiled, “I’m glad you’re doing better, really,” she gave Willow a reassuring nod, “But, um, can we talk about Buffy now? And Spike?”

Willow’s eyes widened and she took a breath, “Oh I’m sorry. I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

“Kinda, yeah,” she shrugged, “Which would be totally okay with me, except that,” she looked around sheepishly at her still packed bag and the unfamiliar bedroom, “I’ve had a really long flight. And, I haven’t even unpacked yet. And, I’m worried about Buffy. You understand that, right?”

“Oh yeah! I so get that. Giles called this morning and said that Buffy was on her way here,” Willow smiled as she came further into the room and sat down next to Dawn on the bed, “”Giles is coming too, of course,” she added nervously.

Dawn couldn’t help but notice the glaring omission. She sighed, afraid of the answer to the question she was going to ask. Keeping her eyes downcast, she asked, “Have you… heard about Spike?”

Then came the silence. Dawn waited patiently for Willow to say something, anything really. Well, just don’t sit here, Willow. Tell me he’s in the other room and he’d love to see me, but he’s too nervous to, and that’s why he’s hiding. You can tell him not to worry because I’m nervous too. I want to tell him that I miss him. And that I…

Come on Willow. Tell me.

Tell me.

Please?


The silence seemed to stretch into forever. Dawn couldn’t take it. She gathered the courage she needed to look at Willow’s face and saw her brows knitted in worry and surprise; as if Willow had forgotten that Spike even existed for a while.

She wanted so much to know what that was like- to forget him. She had spent weeks trying to do what seemed so natural for Willow, but found it nearly impossible.

How does she do it?


Willow’s eyes quivered a little, and shone with mist, like the air does in hot weather. And suddenly Dawn couldn’t breathe. She had seen that look before, too many times. When something bad happened, the faces of people she loved looked like that. That was when she knew.

Something happened to Spike. Something bad.


Dawn was really not prepared for how that made her feel. Suddenly, in a room that was bright and full of oxygen, she couldn’t see or breathe. She looked pleadingly into her friend’s eyes, “Willow,” she whimpered, hating how her own voice sounded; making her seem like a child, “what happened to Spike?”

Willow held Dawn’s hand, trying to reassure her, “I don’t know everything, yet. But Giles said that…”

“What?” Dawn asked breathlessly.

“Dawnie…Giles thinks that Spike may have been kidnapped.”
****************************************************

Buffy looked at the vine-covered cottage. It was beautiful. But she couldn’t enjoy it; she was too preoccupied with thoughts of Spike, and what the Council could be doing to him.

She knew that the scenery was breathtaking, but all she saw was the look in Spike’s eyes as he left the cave. He seemed utterly lost in a sea of guilt.

I have to find him.


She remembered the bruises that were all over his body after days at the mercy of an insane Hellgod. The sight of them had made it difficult to maintain the false Buffy-bot persona.

The idea that he would endure that kind of torture for her and her sister was mind-blowing. And that was before the soul.

She knew how sadistic the Council could be, and Giles had given her an inkling of what Spike might be going through. Without the soul, Spike might hold up under the strain. But now, with the soul in place, would he be able to hold on, at least until she could find him?

Buffy wasn’t sure he could. Hell, I’m not sure * I * could. But, she hoped he could.

Buffy hurried to catch up with her Watcher, who had somehow gone ahead of her, and was now in the house.

As she walked up the pavestone path, Buffy wondered why the door was shut. What, Giles can’t even wait for me to come up the sidewalk? I mean, I know I pack like a girl, but can’t you hold a door open? I didn’t pack that much.

When, after struggling with her luggage, she managed to open the door on her own, Buffy saw the reason she was ignored.

There, frozen on Giles’s small television screen, was the image of a badly beaten Spike. There was a female voice coming out of the speaker, accompanying the image. A voice she barely remembered. She could hear that voice talking, but couldn’t understand the words.

Her eyes were locked on the battered face that seemed to fill the screen, and she felt her heart drop to her toes, “Oh God,” she hadn’t even realized she had spoken aloud until all the eyes, including the shocked and pleading eyes of her sister, in the room had turned to look at her, “We have to find him,” she whispered.
*****************************************************************

06 AUGUST, 2002- SAINT THOMAS’S HOSPITAL- LONDON

Both of her legs were broken in three places, and she had a severe concussion, as well as a deep scalp laceration, but she was alive.

It would take some time to recover and to rehabilitate and learn to walk again, but she would do just that. She was a fighter, and despite Quentin Travers’s best efforts, she was alive.

She was alive. She might be down, but not for long. She was going to live another eighty years. She knew it. This was not going to keep her down.

As she lie in her hospital bed, Lydia Chalmers knew that there was one person who did not have much longer to live. And, oddly enough, where she should have felt disgust, instead she felt satisfaction.

It was true that, to the best of her knowledge, William was still caged, but that wouldn’t last forever. The punishment for Quentin Travers’s arrogance however, would be more permanent.
********************************************************

Spike hated to let the Watcher know how much these little visits affected him. Every time the man appeared, if his heart could have, it would beat so fast it might fly from his ribcage from both fear and a sick kind of joy. Fear because, like it or not, the man was starting to break him down. And when that finally did happen, there was no telling what he could be made to do. And joy because even though everything inside him railed against it, he needed the contact from another being- even the likes of a man so evil he rivaled Angelus- to keep from going insane in the lifeless, dark pit he’d been thrown into.

No. I can’t let him know how close I am to… I can’t let him see.


So instead, he smiled a wry smile as he listened to the man’s heart rate increase, “Good show, Watcher,” his head inclined in contemplation as he watched his pupils dilate, “Have you ever taken up poker? Your mates could really clean up,” he smiled and his chains rattled as he took his wrist from its resting place on his knee as he waved the Watcher off. He shook his head, “You nearly had me convinced. Care to give it another try? Because, to be brutally honest, your delivery was a bit…wooden.”

Quentin eyed the vampire as it sat with its back against the cell wall. It seemed genuinely unperturbed by its treatment at his hands. It seemed almost… gleeful, in fact. Even the removal of the fangs, the creature’s very means of survival, had failed to tame its biting tongue, “I’d be very careful if I were you, William,” Quentin said coolly, “Or our next conversation won’t be nearly as pleasant for you.”

The cell rang with brass laughter, “Oh poor old Watcher. Your new toy not as fun as you thought it’d be? The feed and care of your new pet too much responsibility? What’s the matter lad? The pup won’t perform tricks for you?” Spike hoped that an air of contempt would serve as a shield. Because the Watcher could not, would not know how close he was to truly breaking down. The isolation and the pain from little Adolf’s do-it-yourself torture sessions were starting to get to him, and he didn’t know how much more he could take. Oh God…Buffy, I don’t know… “Enough with the kiddie show. When does the main event begin?” And who on earth showed you how to use an acetylene torch properly? “Because I am not at all impressed!”

“Is that what you think I’m trying to do?” Quentin Travers seemed surprised at this notion, “No William,” he said calmly as he walked the short distance to the black bag he had left on the floor of the cell, just out of the vampire’s reach. He reached down into it and brought out the torch once more. He turned slowly, and the vampire drew back, instinctively at the sight of it. Quentin smirked, “that is not what I am trying to do. I don’t need to impress you. I just need to break you, make you remember what you are. Once that’s done, everything will be set right.”

The pop of the gas from the acetylene torch filled the tiny space, and Spike gasped involuntarily at the blue spark that flared briefly. As he tried to ignore the flame that the Watcher was bringing closer to him, he cursed the unnecessary breath that came rapidly in and out of his dead lungs.

The Watcher seemed delighted at his reaction, “Now,” he smiled, “I’ve done research, as I have already said. I could not be head of the Watchers’ Council for thirty years without learning something of the secrets about vampires. I know the fangs will grow back. That can’t be helped. But, if I cauterize the site of the extraction, it will reduce the amount of pain that is being felt now . Of course, if I do that, when the fangs do grow in again, and they will, the pain will be like it was upon awakening,” Quentin frowned, seemingly concerned for Spike’s well-being, “I’m told that that pain is like nothing else. I’m told that it’s something that is remembered, even in the oldest of your kind. I’ve always wondered about that, but…” he shrugged, “I’ve never before had the opportunity to test it- until now.”

Spike watched as the blue flame came closer to him. He felt the hot gas sear his skin, and he screamed.

He knew he’d screamed, but it didn’t help. The pain was so great that it took everything, even his ability to scream.

He felt his sanity slipping away from him, along with his consciousness.

The hiss of gas and the inert chink of metal on concrete were the only sounds in the cell.
**************************************************

It began as a sliver, then flooded his vision. He was surprised to find that it didn’t hurt. He would have laughed if he’d had the strength.

This is it then. Thought it would hurt more. How could they let me into the light, after all the things I’ve done? There must be some mistake.

I’m dust, and it doesn’t hurt? Either that, or I’m insane.


He began to recognize a shape that came out of the light, and his suspicion was confirmed.

Ah, I am insane. There’s no way she’s here. Not here.


Buffy tried to hold back the tears. Tried to be the Slayer he would need, but he was so beaten and confused, so dazed by Quentin’s torture, that she wasn’t even sure if he knew she was there. His eyes were open, but they were a feverish blue and he wasn’t focusing on her at all.

The purple bruising around his jaw gave the hint that something unthinkable had been done to him. Buffy wasn’t even sure Spike could respond, or even understand her, “Spike,” she said tenderly, trying to avoid looking at the chains that still bound him, “can you hear me? It’s me, Buffy. You’re all right now,” she tried to keep the tremor out of her voice and tried to hold his eyes on hers. She couldn’t allow herself to fall apart- not yet, “You’re all right now. It’ll be all right.”

A rage boiled up in her as she looked at the photos on the corkboard. She had been shocked at Giles’s reaction.

He’d run into the cell, positive that he’d located Spike’s exact cell in the maze of cells beneath the Council’s headquarters; looked around, and the next thing she knew, Giles had pulled a gun, she had no idea from where, and shot Quentin Travers, point-blank, in the back of the head, killing him.

It all happened so fast that she had no time to think. Buffy was aware that Giles was capable of that kind of violence. But she hadn’t seen it in such a long time.

Looking at the photos, Buffy understood.

Yeah, I think I’d kill him too if my picture were up there.


“Spike,” she whispered again, cradling his head in her lap, “you’re safe now.”
*************************************************

 
Old Hats
 

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DEVON, ENGLAND 03 AUGUST 2002-
***************************************
Buffy knew it made sense to try and sleep, to go at this thing when she was fresh and alert. But who knew what was being done to him? Travers was a sick, twisted, evil man. There was no telling what…

That’s it,
Buffy thought as her feet hit the floor of the guest room, I can’t just lie here thinking about it. I have to do something.

Buffy carefully wrapped the robe she’d borrowed from Willow around herself, covering her favorite sushi pajamas and left the room, taking care not to wake her little sister, who had finally managed to fall asleep in the bed next to her.

Dawn was worried about Spike. And, so was she. What she’d seen on that screen was just…She had to do something.

Buffy silently made her way down the stairs. The house was darkened, except for the eerie glow that came flowing from under one closed door.

The shock she’d felt at seeing those images of Spike just yesterday, spilled over into apprehension as she approached the door. She knocked lightly on the door and sighed when she heard her Watcher’s tired voice softly reply, “Come.”

She was both saddened and shocked at what she saw behind the door. He had always looked older to her, but it was a comforting kind of old. There was always a light in his eyes that was comforting, even when he was angry with her, but now the light was shadowed by sadness and worry. And, he looked ancient.

Walking up to the large desk he was sitting behind, with the file and papers that came in the envelope with the video of Spike, whose image was frozen on yet another television screen in front of him, strewn all over it.

Buffy did not want to look at the video. She had seen enough last night. Enough to know that the beating she’d meted out to him that night behind the police station was nothing compared to what Travers was doing to him now. Yet despite that, she looked over her shoulder at the vampire’s grainy image and held her breath unconsciously at the sight of the swelling and bruising that conveyed itself through pink and black against normally sallow skin. The pixels on the screen told her the kind of abuse that Spike was enduring, and she could feel her heart breaking for him. She looked back at Giles, who had his eyes closed and was releasing a breath that he’d obviously been holding for quite some time. To her, he looked like he would break down into sobs if she whispered too loudly, “You can’t sleep, either, huh?” she asked, softly.

“No,” Giles’s voice wavered with powerful emotion, “And I do not think I will again for some time,” he fisted some of the papers that were in the file and shook them in Buffy’s direction in a gesture of frustration, “That madman’s thought of everything,” he threw the papers down on the desk as he got up and began to pace, “Industrial strength chains and anchors, sensory deprivation, electronic locks as well as, if all else fails, a binding spell for good measure! Lydia says here,” he pointed to the group of haphazard papers on the desk, indicating that the proof of what he was saying was somewhere in the mound of paper and parchment, “that Quentin Travers had begun to gather profiles on me, you, and Spike almost from the moment the rumors started.”

“What rumors?”

“The rumors he himself sent me to Africa to confirm. The rumors that Spike had gone to Africa to seek restoration,” he looked up at Buffy, hoping she would understand-would remember. He could see by the look in her eye that she did remember, “There’s no telling what he’s planning on doing, if he hasn’t done it already,” Giles stopped pacing and paused to catch his breath and control the rising anger within him, as the institution he had given his life to, looked less and less like the scholarly bastion it claimed to be with each word that passed from his lips.

He sighed heavily, leaning on the desk more than he should have needed to, as he made his way around once again to the chair and sat down. Looking at Buffy with dread in his eyes, he said, “There is reference to an obscure prophecy in the writings of one of the oldest religious sects I’ve yet to come across. It seems as if these writings, and this prophecy could date all the way back to…” his voice trailed off, overcome by the weight of the enormity of the secrets the Council seemed to have kept.

“To what, Giles?” Buffy bit out, “Come on!”

Seeing his Slayer’s eyes shine with anger and worry only made what he had to say harder. He hated seeing her, the young woman he thought of as his daughter, hurt, and he hated being the instrument of that hurt. He sighed again, and said what he did not wish to say, “…The beginning.”

Buffy squinted her eyes in disbelief, “The beginning…of what?”

“The Unhesines seem to have been in existence since… the creation.”

“The creation?” her eyes widened in shock, “You mean… the creation? That one?”

Giles shook his head, “No, but very nearly. I’m talking about the creation of…the Slayer.”

“Wow…really?” Buffy gasped, in awe. She saw the worry in his face. She knew that he was just as worried about Spike as she was, “ Don’t worry Giles, tomorrow I’ll go to Saint Thomas’s, that’s where you said Lydia was taken after her ‘accident,’ right?” she saw Giles’s slight nod, and continued, “She and I will have a little visit. We will find him,” she paused, not sure that this was the time to ask, but she couldn’t help it. She was curious. Yeah, you know what curiosity did to the cat, right? “So…” Buffy felt an excitement and fear spread through her body and she couldn’t stop herself from asking, though she knew she should-stop herself, that is, “ this prophecy…what does it say?”
******************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

His senses were once again brought back to reality. He was once again in the damp, cold, soil-laden void that had been his existence for…

God, how long has it been now? I don’t know. First there were the drugs, I almost prefer the drugs. At least then I still had Emma, and Mother, Rachel and Dawn…Dear Nibblet. And, sometimes Buffy. Even Rupert. I could pretend that I belonged somewhere. That I mattered to them.

While I had the fairy dust, I could pretend. I was warm. I don’t have that now.

All I have now is the dark, and the cold- always the cold. Can’t escape it. And, how I did try. Can never outrun it, or the pain- I tried not to scream. It wouldn’t have helped anyway. No one can hear me. And, it hurts so much. Too much to care, anymore.

And that smell is driving me mad!

Blood. Living blood. So close… No! I have to keep her safe. I can’t hurt her. It’s agreed then, yes? I go inside and never come out. It’s the only way to keep them safe.

I have to keep them safe; keep her safe. I can’t do it. I won’t.

******************************************************

Quentin Travers was quite pleased with the vampire’s progress. Even its silence spoke volumes. It showed that it was breaking down.

And even the risk of being bitten was worth it because his frequent visits, the proximity of a living human, coupled with the vampire’s current state of starvation, made it very vulnerable to suggestion. Eventually, the vampire would break.

It was just a matter of time. There was still one more thing to be done. The vampire would most certainly be posturing once more if it were permitted to gain any sort of confidence. There was still one thing that needed to be done to assure that the vampire would indeed kill the Slayer when she came for it.

In point of fact, he hoped that the vampire had had the time it required to regain some of its arrogance, because then what needed to transpire would have a more lasting effect on the Council, as a whole, and the Slayers to come.

He was not stupid. He knew that he would not survive much longer, not once the Slayer and her cohorts charged in here, as he was sure they would, and not given Rupert Giles’s tendency toward rash decisions and impulsive behavior. But then, that was to be expected, given his linage.

No. Quentin Travers knew he would not be alive much longer, but he did know that the Council would endure. He had made certain of that.
****************************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND- 06 AUGUST 2002-



I’ve had this dream before- so many times, Love. I tried to hold on, I really did. But this…you seem so real. Is this real? How can it be?

Oh Love, help me? I’m gone. I have to be- it seems so real.


Buffy couldn’t stand seeing him like this. She ignored the tears sliding down her face as she watched his eyes stare, unblinking, up at the glow from the one light that illuminated the place that had been his Hell for eleven days now, “Spike?” she waved her trembling hand in front of his open blue eyes, hoping for any response, even an unconscious one, but there was nothing. Buffy looked up at the single bare lightbulb that lit the cell. She knew it was difficult to see in here, even with the bulb in the on position and light filtering in from the outside through the open cell door, but he should have been able to see something. His eyesight was even better than hers, she knew, and his lack of response to the light, or her, told her more about what his existence had been like over the past few days than she wanted to know, “Spike, can you hear me?”

He looks dead. I mean, really dead.


As she cradled his head in her lap, her gaze fell to the chain that still bound him, which was attached to him by way of the manacles that held his wrists, which were now lying lifelessly across his body. The chain was attached to a large metal ring embedded in the floor three feet away.

The rage started to build in her stomach again. The rage had been fueling her for four days, ever since she had seen Spike’s battered, flickering image on that television screen back in Devon. Even the hint of bruises the camera revealed made her hiss in sympathy. And, now he was here. She’d found him, but she had no idea how many beatings, how much pain he had had to suffer in the time between those images and now. From the looks of it, too much-much too much, “Spike,” she murmured, knowing-hoping, that somehow he understood her, “I tried to get you free,” her breath hitched, catching on a sob. He was here. She looked around the cell, her mind racing.

I can’t believe what Giles did. He just shot him. And, Travers didn’t even put up a fight. It was like he was expecting it, like he knew we would come.


The cell was dark and dank, and she knew that smell, it had clung to her skin for months after her resurrection. And there was the smell of blood that lingered in the air. To dangle food in front of his nose, just out of reach, and then deny it to him, now that is cruel; to let him be so close to the thing he needs to survive… It was then that Buffy began to put the pieces together. The bruising around his jaw, his silence now, it all fit.

Oh God! He was here, for days. In the dark, alone and in chains- he must have been so scared. They must have…Oh Spike, please hang on.
“But there must be some kind of anti-Slayer mojo on these damn things, because they wouldn’t budge. Giles,” she raised her voice in urgency, “tell Willow to hurry that unbinding incantation along! I need to get him out of here!”

Willow’s voice sounded strained as it filtered into the cell, “Working on it! Just give me a few seconds. You’ll know when it’s down, believe me.”

A shadow passed over the light that filtered into the cell, and Buffy heard panting breaths. Buffy looked up to see Giles, wheeling something that looked too much like a casket for her comfort, into the cell, “The chamber was exactly where Lydia said it would be. Once Willow disarms the spell,” his voice softened the blow of his words, “He’ll need to be blindfolded,” he blinked at the sight of her flinch. He hurt for her too, “I know. But he has been…” Giles looked at the squalid conditions that William had been forced to subsist within, and spat out, “here for days now. Exposing him to light now, even artificial light, after a prolonged deprivation, could blind him. When the spell dissipates, the area surrounding the subject of the spell, the area surrounding Spike, will be saturated with light,” Giles knelt next to Buffy and looked closely at Spike. He was concerned. Spike seemed to be deep within himself. The torture, undoubtedly, had taken its toll.

Rupert, is that you? Did you know you have eyes just like Rachel’s? You have to get out. Get Buffy out of here…Before he comes back. He wants her dead. He wants me to do it. But I won’t let him do that. Oh…it hurts. But, I won’t let him have her. I won’t let him out. I promise.


Taking the handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers, he carefully placed the cloth over Spike’s unresponsive eyes and secured it snugly with a loose knot at the back of his head.

Wait Rupert, I can’t see you now. Buffy has to get out. Oh bloody Hell, you can’t hear me.


“Willow,” Giles called out, “the protections are in place.”

Suddenly, the tiny room was flooded with a bright, blinding white light. So bright that, Buffy and Giles had to shield their eyes.

When the flash ended, Buffy jerked the chain and the concrete that held it crumbled as if it were paper. She looked anxiously at Giles, as she held Spike on the floor of the cell. He opened the heavy lid of the box.

She knew what he was waiting for, “Do we have to put him in there Giles,” she asked, her voice rising desperately, “with that thing ?”

Giles grimaced in distaste, “I know how distasteful it is, Buffy. But, Miss Chalmers has been gracious enough to provide us with a plausible story as a cover. She has reported the ‘suicide’ of Quentin Travers. We are masquerading as funeral parlor attendants, who have come to retrieve the body,” he shrugged at the irony of the situation, “We are doing just that. Unfortunately,” he smirked a little, “ although the new head of the Council has no reason to disbelieve this, we must keep the bystanders from raising alarm. We entered with one casket, which I have…dispatched in favor of one more…practical for the body we are taking out of here. We entered with one casket and will exit with one. No bodies will be left behind. Quentin will be properly disposed of. And, we will have Spike.”

“I know, but…”

“It’s the middle of the day, Buffy. There is no other choice.”
****************************************************

09 AUGUST 2002- DEVON, ENGLAND-

He could feel someone holding his hand. Instinctively, he squeezed, craving the contact, and slowly opened his eyes. The movement startled Dawn, and she shook herself awake and gasped as she felt his hand weakly gripping hers. She sniffed back the tears she had been crying for three days, “Buffy,” she whispered, “I think he’s awake.”

Oh no, not this again. I can’t do this. This is worse than the darkness. Oh Nibblet…so much like Emma. I’ll miss you, I will. I can’t do this. I can’t. I’ll miss you, but I’ve got to hide. There’s no other way. I’m sorry, Bit.


“I’m here, Spike, with Buffy. We’re here,” Dawn murmured as she watched tears slowly stream down Spike’s silent face, “We’re here. We got you out. It’s over now, Spike,” she choked back a sob, looking into his hazy blue gaze.

Buffy was glad that Spike was out of that torture chamber. But, unlike Dawn, she knew, as she saw the pain that lingered in his eyes, that it was far from over.

“…You’re back now. You’re home.”

She had spoken a word that he didn’t know. He blinked. Love you. I know now. I am insane. Oh Bit, you seem so real. It all does. But I know it’s not. I know that.

Huh. Still here. Hiding, but still here. I have to wait. Keep them safe.


Dawn looked up at her sister, “Buffy, what happened to him?”

“Too much,” Buffy whispered, watching Dawn stare into Spike’s eyes, “I don’t think I want to know just how much.”
************************************************

 
Eggshells
 

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Giles paced the floor of his makeshift office in Devon. There had to be some mistake. Lydia had to be wrong. Not even Quentin Travers, may he burn in Hell for the rest of eternity, would attempt this. And, if it was true… if he had done it, then they were all in danger.

There are legends but…if he has done this…Oh God! I worked beside the man for nearly a quarter of a century. I can’t believe I saw what he was capable of too late. Too late for William, certainly- if this is true. I hope to God I’m wrong!

*************************************************

“Dawn,” Buffy whispered, “maybe you should leave now, just for a little while?” she knew this would be hard for her to see, and this was just one of the first steps in what she knew would be a long journey. She understood why Dawn was hovering so close.

She was afraid that he wasn’t real, and if she let him go, even for a second, he would vanish.

Buffy gently unfolded her sister’s hand from around his, and tried to keep her breathing calm and even so that it would not fall into rhythm with hers, which was coming fast and heavy. She really is scared. If he said “Boo” right now, she’d jump out her skin…and so would I. She held Dawn’s hand for a long moment after unwrapping her fingers from around his hand, gently keeping the little hand from attaching to his in a desperate bid to make him remain present, and tangible to her, “See Dawnie,” she whispered, her own eyes never leaving Spike’s face, trying to convince herself that he was real, “he’s still here. And he’ll still be here,” she looked at her sister’s wide, disbelieving eyes and nodded assurance, trying to erase the doubt she saw there; to erase the doubt she felt in her own heart, “after you leave. I promise.”

“But I can’t leave, Buffy,” Dawn whimpered, her eyes falling on Spike’s bandaged wrist and the palm that lie upturned and empty at his side, waiting for her grasp; and then up, moist and bright, to her sister, “He needs me.”

Buffy tried to speak, but the emotion she was feeling made speaking without tears almost impossible. The past two weeks had changed them all, but none more than Spike. Buffy was worried that her sister might not understand that Spike might never be the one who took care of her those months she was gone, again, “Dawn, his bandages need to be changed. It could be difficult to watch. Look at him Dawn,” she said and Dawn’s eyes swept cautiously over him, taking in the damage that had been inflicted upon him, doing what she couldn’t do. Buffy waited for Dawn to look back at her, and she said, “He’s a wreck, and that’s just on the outside,” she shook her head, trying to keep the tears at bay, and her voice from wavering, “We haven’t even gotten to what kind of damage is on the inside,” she gave Dawn a sad smile, “And besides, I don’t think he would want his, ‘Bit’ seeing him in this condition,” she shrugged, and her voice became soft- almost childlike, as images of Spike ran through her head, “He likes to be the ‘Big Bad.’ I think he needs it.”

“I know,” Dawn nodded, her voice shaking, “And if he asks, he’s still the biggest bad there is. But I need to be here, Buffy. I…” she wiped at the tears that she couldn’t stop from falling, “I don’t care if he doesn’t. That doesn’t matter. But I…I love him, Buffy, and I need to be here.”

“You’re sure you’re ready for this?” Buffy asked.

“No, but I have to grow up sometime,” Dawn paused to take a big breath, leaning in close so that Spike could focus on her eyes. She had no idea if he even understood her, but he was focused on her, so that was something. He blinked, like a sleepy cat does, as if he were telling her, “Well, let’s get on with it then. A bit busy, here, fighting the biggest battle of my life! Get on with it!” The impatient look in his eye made her smile, “Okay, Spike, we’re gonna have to change the bandages on your wrists. Don’t worry, we’ll go slowly and we’ll try not to hurt you. It might hurt some, though. If it hurts too much- will you tell us?”

Bit…no! You have to hide! William and I had an agreement. But the Watcher changed the rules and now it’s here. It’s coming for you, and Buffy. It wants to use me. But as long as I can…I’ll hold it off as long as I can. It’s so angry! I’ve never seen…never felt something so angry. And it’s strong. It’s stronger than I am. I’m trying…but I don’t know if I can… I have to tell you…before it finds me…this thing is old, very old. Older than…Oh why can’t you hear me?


Inside his shell, the creature that had come to love and care for the world and the people in it, the part of him that wanted to keep them safe, broke- and wept.

Buffy heard Dawn gasp and step quickly back, “What is it, Dawn?” she stepped closer to the bed, and closer to her sister, who now seemed to be shaking in fright.

“Did you see that?” Dawn’s voice shot a wave of cold fear to her heart, and the look in her eyes didn’t help calm her, “Tell me you can see that,” Dawn’s voice was caught on the edge between begging and demanding.

“See what?” Buffy whispered, not really wanting to.

Please don’t tell me. Oh, Spike…
she could feel the tears welling up, could feel the ache in her throat getting larger the longer he was gone; the longer he stayed so still and silent, What did that monster do to you?

Dawn shook her head fiercely in denial and disbelief, “I don’t know how I know…I just do. There’s something in there, with Spike,” she swallowed hard, trying to be strong, “and I think it wants to kill him.”
********************************************************************************
 
Means To An End
 

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The new dawn will be the end of the old. The champion will rise, throwing off the shroud of night. The light of peace shall shine through him.
–Prophecies Of The Unhesines
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“What did you see, Dawnie?”

“I don’t know, Buffy,” Dawn squeaked, “I don’t know!” she looked again at Spike’s face, and was startled at how flat and unchanged it was, as if he were carved in stone, “I only saw it for a second. But, it was there. I know it was,” a sob caught in her throat, “Maybe he can do it again. Spike,” Dawn begged, leaning in closely in the dim room; the blinds and shades were drawn to make Spike as comfortable as he could be, “please try. Please?” she grasped his empty hand in hers once again, “I’m here, Spike,” she whispered, “We both are, Buffy and I, and we’re not going anywhere. Squeeze my hand again. Tell me you’re still in there, and that you can hear me. Please?”

I’m here, Little Bit. I’m listening. It’s a whisper. Can’t hear you too well, but I am trying. I’m here. I’m treading water… fighting just to stay…keep my head. I’m here, just out of reach. I can reach you, if I try. But, every time I try, it just gets stronger. It pushes me…makes me…so tired. Feels…no more. Can’t. Want to, so much. I love…Oh God…No. I won’t…I can’t!


Dawn waited patently, but when nothing happened to show her that Spike understood her, Dawn began to think that maybe she had imagined it. Maybe she just wanted him so much that she was seeing things and making things up in her head.

Buffy could hear Dawn crying softly, “Please?” her hand brushed his cheek, “Spike please, don’t leave me?”

Dawn, please…don’t…no! Don’t! I won’t let you! You want me? Find me! I’ll go so deep…so much I want…so much…so…tired…


“Dawn, he wouldn’t leave you,” Buffy whispered, “He loves you too much. He’s just tired,” she smiled a weak smile, “You look tired too,” she put a hand on Dawn’s shoulder, and felt the tears fighting to escape, “Why don’t you try to rest. I promise I’ll take good care of him.”

Dawn shook her head, “Uh uh. I’m not leaving.”

“Didn’t think you would. I had to try though. Can you get the bandages and the iodine? Willow will know where to find the first aid kit. ”

Dawn felt herself start to shake, from both fear and exhaustion, and she let out a shuddering breath, suddenly unsure of her footing, or even if her legs would hold her, “Okay,” she said, unwilling to take her eyes from Spike, even to acknowledge her request, “I’ll go get the stuff,” she said as she reluctantly let go of Spike’s hand and turned for the door.

But, his empty palm did not have to wait to be filled again as Buffy quickly stood in the gap her sister left. She sat down lightly in the Parsons Chair and waited for the soft click of the latch.

Once she was sure Dawn was out of sight Buffy was able to see what had been done to him. The sight of his swollen face brought tears to her eyes and she squeezed his hand in a gesture of empathy, hoping he would respond. When he did not, she looked at his still, expressionless eyes and said wearily, “You know, I understand. Giles said Travers had planned to do horrible things to you. If he did even half of what he’d planned to…” she winced as she slowly removed the gauze from his wrist, exposing the skin underneath. She gasped at the sight of it, “Oh God, Spike! I don’t know how…I wouldn’t blame you if you stayed hidden for good,” she ghosted her fingers over the skin the manacles had chaffed.

It took everything in her not to sob uncontrollably, “I’ll take care of that,” the skin was waxen, and the abrasions wore through the first two layers of skin. Buffy knew that if he were human, the skin would be bleeding and as red as raw meat.

What must you have gone through? Were you scared? Did you think I wouldn’t find you?


She needed to connect with him, let him know he wasn’t alone. Almost without thought, she gently put his palm to her lips and placed a soft kiss there.

She looked up into his passive, glazed eyes and felt her heart break. She didn’t know how long it would take, but she would find him. That was a promise. It didn’t matter what she had to do, or what Travers had done to him. She was going to find him, and bring him back.

I’ll always find you, Spike. Please, know that.

*********************************************

With Quentin Travers dead access to the Council’s archives was relatively simple to get. And, as the new head of the Council, no one would question his presence there.

The only trouble was that the Council’s archives were in London, and he was not. With Spike in such a precarious state, he did not feel that it was safe to leave for any length of time. Certainly not the time that he would need to do proper research. So, for the time being, Rupert Giles had to make due with the scant information that Lydia Chalmers had been able to pilfer.

As he poured through Travers’s files and personal papers, a picture began to emerge. A picture of pure evil, an evil more undiluted than any on the Hellmouth.

The picture he saw was of a man obsessed with purifying the Slayer line to the point that all human vestiges are weeded out, and only the killer remains. Travers’s perfect Slayer would have no moral compass to guide her. There would be no sense of right and wrong. For this Slayer, there would only be the kill.

There would be no room, in this Slayer’s world for the possibilities that come with all beings, be it demon or not- the possibility for change and redemption.

The prophecies of this religious sect, the Unhesines, foretold of a great time of upheaval and change. A time of great peace; a time when the Council and its methods, indeed, perhaps even the Slayer herself may be unnecessary.

And, the linchpin of the prophecy seems to be a demon that, of its own volition, seeks to restore the soul that once was lost to it.

Along with this, extremely unsettling notion, there were of course, the origin myths of the Slayer herself. Some of which Giles knew, others he did not.

Quentin’s research had unearthed a class of demon older than recorded time, even older than Glory had been, and the Hellgod’s existence pre-dated the written word. This demon came before the spoken word.

This demon, according to the writings of the Unhesines, was utilized in the creation of the very first Slayer. And, it seemed to be Quentin’s intention, to use the prophecy that seemed to be inevitable to wipe out the peace that might be had, and in so doing, create an uncorrupted, at least in Travers’s way of thinking, Slayer, and make her the perfect soldier in the fight against the evil that was in the world.

Oh dear Lord, tell me he didn’t actually do it.


Giles was grateful for the small interruption of a knock on his office door. He rubbed his eyes relieved to be rid of the pressure that his spectacles caused the bridge of his nose, even for a short time, “Come,” he whispered.

Buffy stepped quietly into the room, “Giles,” she sighed, “I’ve done what I can,” she shook her head, her eyes downcast, “His fangs are…The outside…it’s the worst I’ve ever seen Giles, and I’ve seen so much. Dawn thinks there may be something…else with Spike. Something trying to kill him. I don’t want to believe it but…Giles, I don’t know how he…” her voice trailed off, “I’m only in my twenties, Giles. And, I’ve seen too much,” she looked up at her Watcher with wide, begging eyes, “He hasn’t moved, or spoken in three days, Giles,” Buffy’s mouth became a grim line, “He’s what, one hundred and thirty now? Spike’s seen more destruction than I ever will, and he’s always been a…a force, Giles. Always. Nothing slows him down, yet, he’s still as stone. How much has to happen before it’s too much? Before you just…stop? How much before he goes completely insane?”

Giles closed his eyes and sighed, “Dawn may be correct.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in shock, “What?”

Giles’s voice quavered as he explained, “In Quentin’s writings, I found reference to a…disembodied spirit, older than the spoken word. Certain shamans used it as a means to control aspects of one’s personality. It is called an Ukesolrill. It is an emotional leech, if you will. The spirit can be summoned and attached to a beings essence. Make no mistake, Buffy, this spirit is pure evil. Once it is attached to a host being, the Ukesolrill begins to live off of the host’s emotions, feeding off of them until it is strong enough to control the host. The more emotions the host feels, the stronger the Ukesolrill becomes, weakening the host in the process. For a creature such as Spike…I imagine it is very painful.”

“Are you saying that this leech thing is in Spike?”

“I’m afraid so, Buffy.”

Buffy set her chin in determination, “Then we get it out,” she stated it like it was a foregone conclusion. And it was, for her, “How do we get it out Giles?”

Giles shook his head, dreading his next words, “Buffy, once the Ukesolrill is introduced, a symbiotic relationship is formed between it an the host. In time… one cannot exist without the other. If we remove it we may kill Spike.”

“Oh God!” Buffy gasped.
******************************
 
The Still Waters
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Tissue warning!
**********************
Dawn tried to sit quietly beside him. She tried not to cry. Spike had been through enough. He didn’t need her to be a spoiled brat. Not now- and not ever again.

“Spike,” Dawn breathed, hoping he could hear her, “I don’t know what that man did to you, but I do know that Buffy and I…we need you here,” she grasped his hand in fingers she wished weren’t trembling, and held on tight, “Buffy and Giles found out what he’d planned to do,” Dawn couldn’t be sure if she was shaking because of the horrible things she was imagining that Quentin Travers had done him, or for the things that she knew had been done to him, “If the Ukesolrill is in there- if it’s inside with you now, we’ll get it out,” she promised, “I don’t know how. But, Buffy and Giles will find it. I know they will.”

She knew that Spike could hear her. Or, at least, she hoped he could. But what she wondered was this- would she be able to hear him, if he needed her?

Was he trying to find his way back?
*************************************

In his dreams, they touched him-spoke to him. Rupert…? Buffy…? Dawn? Oh God…You’re here? You’re…real?

It feels so real. I can’t feel. I can’t let it have them.


He didn’t want to breathe. Didn’t want to hear. And, he heard everything. Felt…everything. He knew that they were worried. He could feel it in the air.

No…No…insane. I need…help. Help…
He could taste the salt, and hear the sobs, but he didn’t want to.

Can’t let it see…Can’t let it have the tears…can’t.


He felt like he was drowning. But that wasn’t possible, was it? He didn’t need to breathe.

Can’t feel. Won’t let it take them. I’ll die without them. I have to protect them. Can’t let them go.


He wanted to tell them how he felt. But, if he felt…if he cried out, it took more and more of his strength.

He knew what it was trying to do. It was slowly robbing him of all the things that were precious to him.

No. He tried to stop, but it wouldn’t let him. He tried to starve it out. Don’t think…don’t think...be still. Don’t move. Don’t listen…just... be still.

Spike could feel the thing suffocating him when he thought about them. But when he didn’t…think, there was a void that gnawed at him. It fed on the void too, and grew stronger.

I’m dying…without them. I won’t let it take them. Do you hear me, you ugly, bloody bastard! I don’t care how long I have to wait, or how deep I have to go, I’ll die before I let you have them! They’re my life. I won’t let you take that from me. Didn’t let Angelus…can’t let you. Tired. So tired. I…need to…sleep. No. Oh God…no…no…no.

Just…hide, until I’m strong enough. If I go down deep enough, I can find the space that it won’t follow. The place within that even it won’t dare to touch.


He wanted to hold them and tell them all that had happened to him. He wanted to ask them, beg them, to help him. He wanted to. But, he was so tired.

The ache of loss was growing, pulling all he knew down with it.

Buffy…if you are here…if…please help me. Please, don’t leave me here! Please hear me. Please…


The sorrow and frustration he felt only added to the void. He could feel it draining him- wanting to take control.

It wants to take all that I have, and all I have is you. It wants to take you, and I won’t let it. I get stronger if I don’t dream. But, the dreams have you…and Nibblet, and I miss you so. I need them.

I need you.

I’m dying. I know I am. Because, I can’t be… without you. I can’t. I can’t- don’t you see? Please…hear me. Don’t leave me here? Please…

*******************************************************

All Buffy needed to keep her motivated was the remembrance of his bruised face. Right now, Spike was upstairs with Dawn, unable to defend himself. Right now, he was counting on the Slayer, one who had been trained to kill him, and creatures like him, without a second thought, to defend him, and she was going to do it, because he was defenseless. And because, he was unlike any she’d ever known.

And because he would do it for me. And, because I owe him my life so many times over that there’s no way I could possibly pay it back.


She ran her hands nervously through her hair, “So, let me get this straight. This Ukesolrill thing was used to create the very first Slayer?”

“Yes,” Giles said, “That’s the myth.”

“But you think it’s true?”

“Quentin did,” Gile’s tone was bitter and hard, “So much so that he became obsessed with the notion. His writings alone,” he said as he held up a small leather-bound volume, “say that he was in contact with nearly every known mystic, reputable or not, from here to Nepal, in his quest to conjure, and hold one…” his eyes were downcast and his voice hitched with unbidden emotion, “…for transfer.”

Buffy stared at him, in shock. Her eyes widened as the implications of what he said began to sink in, “What is this Ukesolrill anyway? You said it’s an emotional leech,” she stopped to take in Giles’s slumped shoulders. She had never seen him like this before. No, that wasn’t true. She had seen him like this…once before, “There’s more to this…isn’t there?”

Giles nodded, unable to speak.

“What?”

Giles’s voice was barely a whisper, “The Ukesolrill is more than just a leech, although that is how it survives- off of the emotions of its host being- literally translated- the Ukesolrill is a… ‘soul killer.’ It seems the Unhesines have a prophecy concerning a demon that…may play a pivotal part in brokering a kind of peace between the human and the demon worlds.”

“You mean- this prophecy says that Spike might be able to bring about some kind of…truce between demons and humans? Or at least a cease fire, for a little while?”

Giles’s silence told Buffy all she needed to know.

Buffy’s voice shook with a barely controlled rage, “And the Council couldn’t have that…because a truce would mean that…they all would be out of a job !”

“Please,” Giles spoke quietly, in a tone that spoke of a deep hurt, “do not count me amongst monsters the likes of Travers. You know me Buffy,” he whispered, afraid to look at her face, “I know that I’ve done some hurtful, foolish things. But I would never do that to this world. I would never willfully take away the world’s, and possibly your, chance at true peace and happiness.”

Buffy sighed, “I know that Giles, and I’m sorry,” her hand flew to her mouth, as a thought struck her. She shot an anxious look up the stairs, “Oh…my God!” Buffy looked back at her Watcher with tears in her eyes, as it all began to make sense to her, “That’s what they needed Spike for. To stop the prophecy. And, I led him right into their hands!”

Giles rose from his seat and moved to comfort her, “Buffy,” he murmured, “there was no way you could have known.”

“But I should have, Giles!” she cried, “I should have. I should have saved him!”

“And you may yet still,” Giles soothed her. Buffy looked up into the face of her Watcher, and saw an expression that at once brought her comfort, and sent a chill directly to her spine. It was a very familiar, very cocky, smirk, “Buffy,” he said, “I have an idea. And we must work quickly if we’re to save him.”

“What do we do, Giles?” she asked.
 
Orange-Colored Sky
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: The chapter title is also the title of a song by Nat King Cole
**************************

For the past five days, the little coven house had been a place of quiet fear and grief. The ladies that made up the small coven that called this house home kept a respectful distance allowing their visitors to do as they wished while they waited for Giles’s return.

Buffy wasn’t sure she liked the idea of Giles putting himself in that much danger, even if it was for Spike’s sake, but if Willow wasn’t strong enough to do this, Giles may be his only hope. And, if the prophecy was correct, her beloved Watcher may be the world’s only hope.

She didn’t like the idea at all. It wasn’t that she thought he couldn’t handle what might come, what he’d done to Travers showed her that he had a darker nature, deep down. What he’d done still shocked her.

He’d rushed into the cell, with her hot on his heels. Buffy had to admit that she was shocked and sickened by the condition of the cell. It really wasn’t much larger than a prison cell. Most of its length, Spike was not able to reach because of the short length of chain that held him. The cell was dark and filthy and it smelled of mold. That was a smell that she knew Spike hated with nearly as much zeal as he did his grandsire.

But she was more shocked by Spike’s condition. He was lying on the cell floor, incredibly still, which in itself was horrifying, with his eyes open, staring up at the one dirty bulb that shone down in the cell. If Buffy hadn’t known better, she would have sworn that he was dead; really dead, and not a member of the demon possessed walking dead that she usually dealt with. And, she noticed that dark bruises marred his face and head. She had no doubt that the bruising was elsewhere as well.

Giles was shocked too. He went to his side, gently calling his name, “William?” he whispered, “Can you hear me?”

When Giles tried to draw Spike’s attention, and got no reaction, Buffy saw his body start to shake as he knelt on the cold floor. The sight frightened her, “Giles?” she whispered.

“…A beautiful cathedral,” he muttered, “reduced to dust. You bleeding monster! You animal!” he started to rise, and then looked at the photos on display on the small corkboard on one wall. His face changed then.

And, something in him snapped. He turned and rushed for the cell opening. Roughly pushing past her, Giles yelled at Travers’s back. The man had turned in disgust after being forced, through the Slayer’s thinly veiled threat of great bodily injury, to give her, and her Watcher access to the subterranean cellblock, “What has my family got to do with this? You’d besmirch the memory of my grandmother…? You would use his soul’s…the guilt of Drusilla’s crimes…crimes he had nothing to do with…?”

The next thing Buffy heard was the sound of a gunshot. The next thing she saw was her Watcher’s face, splattered with blood.


No. She knew that Giles was more than capable of the kind of behavior the Ukesolrill was said to cause once it was in complete control of its host. She was afraid, that if the Ukesolrill was able to take control of him, she might never have him back. She was afraid that both Spike and Giles could be lost to her.

She was afraid that it could win.

If this thing was used to create the first Slayer, than Giles may not be the one that has to go in. It may be me who has to go.
She thought of all the horrible things she’d said, and done, to Spike throughout the past year, things she would never have done to Angel, and she’d done them to a sentient being that so clearly loved her with everything it had inside to give her. Maybe I’m already tainted by this thing. It can’t possibly hurt me more. Maybe it * is* me. I hope not.

Giles had gone to London to retrieve all the information that the Council had on both the Unhesines and the Ukesolrill. After all, as he said, “ We don’t want to do something that would make this entity stronger while attempting our rescue. ” Buffy was in complete agreement there.

I just wish he would hurry back.


As she walked up the stairs, Buffy tried not to let her fears follow her into the room where Spike was lying, possibly fighting for his very existence.

She knew how perceptive Spike could be, and if he was even the tiniest bit aware of his surroundings- she did not want to give the thing that was trying to kill him any more power than it already had, to use against him.

She walked quietly into the room and noticed Dawn, curled in a fetal position, asleep atop a sleeping bag on the floor beside Spike’s bed.

She smiled, deciding not to disturb her, and moved to take her seat at the left side of the bed. The dark shadows of the room gave way to grey shapes as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The darkness surrounding it made the silver glow of Spike’s face strikingly beautiful. So beautiful that Buffy could not catch her breath. She held her hand to her mouth to muffle the sob that came. He’s beautiful. “Sorry,” she whispered, taking his hand gently in hers, “I know it’s kind of a girlish thing. But, I just never noticed before…how beautiful you really are,” Buffy looked longingly at his face. She so wanted him to see her, to catch her eyeing him and rib her about it, “Come on,” she said softly, trying for a trace of the banter they once exchanged so fluidly. The banter that had been exchanged, at her insistence, for abuse and abasement. Abasement that he had allowed because it was the only thing she would allow herself to give him.

She tried for cool and easy tones. No pressure. Just a trace of something familiar. She tried, but the ache in her throat wouldn’t allow it. Instead her voice sounded thin and tight, “This stoic thing you’re going for, it’s not really you. In fact,” she whispered as she traced small circles into his palm with the pad of her thumb, “if you keep this up you’ll give my ex a run for his money in the ‘Strong, silent type’ category. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

You’re bloody right, we wouldn’t! Oh Buffy…time…no time. So tired, Love…But, I need…I don’t care. Let it find me. I need…before…I need to…just…reach…


Buffy held her breath as she looked at him. It wasn’t until her lungs began to crave oxygen that she realized she’d even stopped breathing at all.

If there was just some way to reach you…
Buffy bit her lip, trying to decide what to do. She knew she had to do something. Willow and Giles were in London researching the Ukesolrill; they could be back at any moment.

But, what happened if Spike wasn’t able to hold on until they got here? She knew he needed some kind of contact. She needed some kind of contact with him. Something that wasn’t punishing and harsh. Something that wasn’t cruel.

He needed something pure and healing.

There was only one thing she could think to do.

Swallowing back the lump of fear that was in her throat, Buffy leaned over his silent form, her hand never leaving his, and began peppering his face with light kisses. First, she kissed his forehead. I’m here, Spike! Feel it… Then she kissed the eyelids that were drawn over his eyes. I love you, Spike! I love you! Feel it! Know it…please…

As she began to taste salt on his skin, she knew she was crying, and it was getting hard to breathe, but she didn’t care. She had to reach him. She had to tell him. Spike…I love you…. wherever you are…whatever that thing has done to you…whatever it makes you do-never forget that! I love you!

Spike had been hiding in the dark so long that he’d forgotten what the light looked like. Sometimes the thing lurked outside, waiting for him. Sometimes it looked like light- to try and draw him out, to make him weaker- to make him forget.

So when he saw the flashes as they fell into the dark like tracer fire, he was wary. Had the thing found him again?

He watched the light fall, and he knew it was different. It was orange and yellow- and blue. And, it was strong. Too strong. It pulled at him.

This was like nothing he’d ever felt before. This was something good and pure- like a sunset.

Or, a sunrise.

Buffy…? Is that you, Love? Yes…oh…it’s beautiful! I miss you…I just need to reach…


Buffy felt a twitch against her fingers. Her heart skipped a beat as her eyes fastened to their entwined hands. She watched in wonder as Spike slowly laced his fingers with hers and gave a light squeeze that almost wasn’t movement at all.

A whimper caught in her throat as she looked up at his tired eyes. Eyes that were seeing her, “Spike…” she whispered, “is it…gone?”

There was a nearly imperceptible movement of his head from side to side, “No,” his whisper was ragged and tired, “But…so strong…so bright…pulled me. Pulled me…out,” his breath heaved and his voice shook, “Not gone…but…weaker now. Thank you…”

Buffy couldn’t speak. Her eyes never left his face. She saw the tears that were waiting to fall from his eyes.

Oh God, Spike, no! No more tears. Not for me
And, she slowly, lovingly kissed them away.
 
Catharsis
 

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Buffy hated leaving Spike’s side, even for a moment, but Dawn looked so uncomfortable on the floor. Spike hadn’t moved in hours. He seemed to have slipped under again, and she felt a cold fear come over her.

Buffy did not want to weaken Spike any more than he was. So, she took an exhausted Dawn into Willow’s room, and into a real bed.

Besides, she needed time to gather her thoughts. And, as she watched her little sister burrow deeper into the pillows on Willow’s bed, she hoped that she could slip out without waking her. Buffy didn’t think Dawn would understand why she was being removed from Spike’s side. Dawn didn’t understand the Ukesolrill, and how it worked. Neither did she, really, but if it was like Giles said, and the thing was a part of the Slayer inside of her and it fed on emotions- then it made sense to remove any kind of danger from Spike, even when it came in the guise of someone she knew he loved.

It seemed to her that the Ukesolrill had weakened enough to let Spike communicate with her, even briefly. She wasn’t sure if that was because maybe the Ukesolrill was dying or if it was something else. But, she knew that she couldn’t take any chances. She was the Slayer. She put her life on the line all the time. She was used to it. But, she couldn’t put Spike, or her sister, in danger.

Once she was sure Dawn was safely tucked in bed she turned to leave. She had her hand on the doorknob when she heard her sister’s sleepy voice calling out from her dreams, “…love you, Spike,” she muttered, her voice choked with sleep and tears.

The pain that she heard in Dawn’s voice, even in sleep, lanced through her and made it hard to breathe. She had heard that kind of desperation before, and it chilled her spine. The sound of it brought tears to her eyes as her hand stayed frozen in its place on the doorknob. Yes she had heard that sound before. She would never forget it. And, she hoped she would never hear it again.

Listening to Dawn, Buffy was reminded of just how Spike’s voice had sounded, full of emptiness and longing, all the nights they had been together. How could I have missed the pain? I can feel it…now. How could I have missed it?

Do you really want to know, Buffy?
she chided herself, Are you ready to see what you did to him? Do you even know how cruel and thoughtless you were?

He’d sent the ping of his heart out to her, like sonar, to know that he wasn’t alone. He’d sent it out in faith that there was something, but got nothing in return.

As Buffy quietly closed the door to Willow’s room, she made a vow, to herself, to Dawn, and to Spike. She vowed to keep sending her heart out to him, even if he couldn’t hear it, and she would keep sending out the ping until he was back with them, back with her.

She had to get back to Spike. She didn’t know how she would do it, but she would keep sending out her love until he believed in it, and in her.
***********************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

Willow could remember thinking that the library at the University of California at Sunnydale was the largest she had seen in her life. She was wrong. The library of the Watchers’ Council headquarters was so large she could quite literally get lost, and she wouldn’t care. She was in Heaven.

She carried the heavy book back to the table to Giles, “There is a brief mention of the Unhesines in this one,” Willow said, as the sound of the tome thudding onto the table reverberated throughout the cavernous room, “Have you found anything on this Ukesolrill thing?”

Giles sighed and looked at his legal pad, flipping through the leafs of paper, “There isn’t much, and what there is doesn’t look promising at all. There is mention of how the First Slayer was made. It is very loquacious, but the long and the short of it is this- the Ukesolrill can only take control of a weakened host. I presume that is why Travers had Spike in a near constant state of drug intoxication. Once the Ukesolrill is attached it cannot be excised easily.”

“But it can be done?” Willow asked.

Giles looked over his notes again, “A Watcher in thirteenth century France writes of a Slayer who spurned her calling,” he sighed, “The Ukesolrill…The very essence of the Slayer, was removed from the young lady- with disastrous results.”

“What happened?”

“The young lady eventually went mad, and was burned at the stake.”

“Oh,” Willow whispered, “That is bad.”

“Yes, quite,” Giles said as he carefully removed his eyeglasses to clean them with his handkerchief.

Willow bit her lip, coming around the large table to look over Giles’s shoulder at his notes, “But, it can be done?” she asked, her eyes gleaming with the thought of a challenge.

“In theory, yes. But the damage that can be caused by…”

“Maybe there’s a loophole,” she interrupted, “We just have to find it.”

Giles sighed, looking glumly at the mammoth mound of ancient books that spread across an equally immense table, and said, “Where do you suggest we begin, Willow?”

Her eyes were bright in thought, “Well…” Willow mused, “There’s only supposed to be one Slayer at a time…right? That’s how the Council keeps control of the Slayer, isn’t it?”

Giles tried to keep the hurt out of his voice as he said, “In times past, that would be correct.”

“And, the Ukesolrill…” Willow continued, lost in the puzzle of a new ‘Big Bad,’ “…What happens to it when a Slayer dies?”

Giles’s eyes narrowed as he thought about the question, then widened as it became clearer to him that Willow had brought to light something he had never thought of before, “I do not know,” he breathed, as he combed though his notes with renewed fervor, “Perhaps that is the key.”

Willow nodded and smiled, “Perhaps.”
*******************************************************

Now it was so much stronger than he was, and more cruel. If this was just another trick, if it wasn’t real…

It had brought him to the brink of rescue, over and over again, just to let him fall. And, each time he fell, it grew stronger.

He’d touched her. He knew that. He’d even heard her voice and he spoke to her too. He knew that. That wasn’t…couldn’t be his insanity…could it?

But where was she now? Where had she gone? It would be easier to think that the thing had found him again and was lying to him. It was good at that. The thing had lied to him before. That was easier than the thought that she had left him; given him a glimpse of the light that he longed for, only to abandon him. That would be more painful than anything.

It had to be a lie.

Because now, she was gone. And, from somewhere deep within him, the spark flickered at the loss. The demon that had stood sentry over this precious thing for as long as it had existed- ached for her, perhaps more now than it ever had before, because it knew that the part that she could allow herself to love was slowly fading away.

The demon protected the part of itself that it’d sought to make whole again when it went to Africa. Protected the part that could no longer protect itself, the part that that ugly parasite wanted to drain, and hid it within itself. It hid that part deep, deep under. So far under that it had almost been forgotten. It had to be protected. It couldn’t be found, because if it were, all that she could love, and the hope that, maybe one day, she would love, would wither and die.

And, if that happened, the demon knew that it would not continue. It would stop. It would die.

The demon did not want that to happen. It would do what it had to, to stay. It always had. The light had to survive. It couldn’t end.

And so, it was hidden. But soon there would be no place for the precious spark to hide. The thing-it was looking- always looking…There was no rest…

Suddenly Spike caught her scent on the air again. He tried to block it out, to drive it away because he knew that he needed to rest. He knew that he wasn’t strong enough to resist it, not now. Now, it was just too strong. Oh this is too bloody cruel! Too weak…No, I…can’t. No…it’s a lie…No…no…Oh, Love…Oh God…Why?

Even as he felt her warm skin on his- even as he felt her touch, he wasn’t sure he should believe. The thing had lied to him before.

Buffy could feel his body shaking under her touch, yet he said nothing. Buffy wasn’t sure he had the strength to respond more than he had already. If he couldn’t speak, if he didn’t have the strength, then she would just have to show him what he meant to her. If he was weak, then she had to be strong.

“Spike,” she whispered as her fingers moved lightly over the dark bruise on his jaw, “I know it was terrible. And, I know you’re scared. Please Spike,” Buffy didn’t like the hitch in her voice, but she couldn’t stop now. He had to know that she was going to help him, if he would let her, “I can be strong, Spike,” she paid no heed to the tears that were flowing down her cheeks. He was more important to her now than her vanity or her pride.

Good, Buffy, you figure that out now and say it when he can’t hear you! None of this would have happened if you’d just… Opened! Your! Stupid! Self-righteous…Mouth!


Deep inside, the spark flared brightly, as if in response to something. Spike stained to hear. It was so difficult to see through the smoky haze that surrounded him.

That sounds so much like…


“…I can do this, Spike. You don’t have to be alone. Not anymore,” she took hold of his hand, that had remained still at his side, and kissed the tips of his fingers, “These hands,” Buffy felt the lump rise in her throat as she traced his fingers with her own, “they are so strong,” she saw how delicate they were in the half-light of the room, “They don’t look it,” she smiled to herself. He never did tell her what he was like before he was turned, and if he had, she was too lost in her own pain to notice, “You know, these hands…” she said softly, turning his hands over gently in hers. They were smooth, cool, and perfect, “…they look like an artist’s hands,” she looked at his placid face, and said in a teasing tone, “Were you an artist, Spike? Are you holding out on me?” she hoped that the light tone would hide the ache she felt, “They don’t look strong, but they are. I know. I know because they held me up and made me strong again. Please…? Please, hear me.”

Oh, Buffy, I can hear you. Just can’t reach. I want to. Oh, God I want to!


“…I know you’re tired,” her voice cracked under the pressure of the emotions welling up inside of her. Something inside of her screamed for her to quash them- push them down, but she knew that she could not. Not now, “And I know…” Buffy closed her eyes. She couldn’t look at him and lie. She just couldn’t do it. She shook her head, shamed, “No. No, I don’t know…and I know I will never really know. Please…just let me help,” she sobbed.

The pull was too strong, and he was so tired. Tired of fighting. He couldn’t fight it anymore.

He fell…

Buffy’s whole body tensed. Had she really felt…?

Her question was answered by the anguished sob that wrestled its way out of Spike’s throat, “Buffy,” he rasped, “Is that you?”

“Yes Spike,” she gasped excitedly, hardly believing that this was happening. She moved in closer to his face so that she was sure that he could see her, and know that it was real, “Yes Spike…it’s me…”

His hand went up, disbelievingly, to her face, and she held his palm gently to her cheek. His eyes glistened with awe and deep pain. She felt him shiver as he weakly grasped at her as though she was the only thing that could save him. He sobbed, and she let herself be pulled to his shoulder.

She heard him break against her skin, “Buffy…it was awful…terrible, terrible things…the Watcher he tried…” Buffy could hear the loss and torment as it poured out of him, and it chilled her heart, “But I couldn’t. I…just…couldn’t let him…Oh God! I’m sorry,” his voice was raw and painful, choking and weak, “I’m so sorry. I tried but…it was too strong. I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”

“It’s over now, Spike,” she murmured, “I’m with you now.”

“…It’s dying,” he sobbed, “Dying and I can’t stop it. Not strong…sorry. Buffy…I’m so sorry…”

Buffy pulled back to look into his eyes. She saw pain and anguish that ran so deep, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Spike. You’re here, that’s all that matters.”

The tears cascaded down his face as he whispered, “But…I’m not. He tried to…” Spike’s face twisted in pain, “Help me? It’s dying…”

What is, Spike?” she breathed.

“The light. My light. Help me…?”

Buffy felt his terror, his sorrow pouring into her, through her skin. And she understood his desperation.

She’d been that desperate herself- once, “I will Spike. I will help.”
 
Endgame
 

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Buffy wasn’t sure how long she’d held him, but it didn’t matter. As far as she was concerned, time stopped the instant he said her name; but the wrenching sobs seemed to have cascaded down to shuddering gasps, which to her, didn’t sound all that much different. But, that could have been because she was trying to keep some kind of hold on her emotions, for his sake.

When he seemed to quiet enough to actually listen to her, she asked, in a whisper, “Spike, do you think you could sit up, if I helped you?”

He moaned in protest and his trembling hands tightened, ever so slightly, at the nape of her neck. Buffy swallowed hard and closed her eyes as she turned her nose into the flesh between his neck and shoulder, she spoke breathlessly, tasting the bitterness of his fear as it bled from him, “Spike, you don’t have to let go, just hold on tight,” she said as she gently took his hands from around her neck and held them in her own. Her hands never left his as she slowly pulled him along with her until his legs were swung over the side of the bed and he was sitting upright as she knelt on the floor next to the bed, with the Parsons chair at her back, “Now,” she began softly, “can you sit on your own, or do you need some support?” she averted her eyes, suddenly overcome with an awkward shyness at the way he was looking at her, “Maybe some pillows…?” she chanced a look at him, and her heart leaped into her throat.

Spike said nothing, only looked at her with the kind of wonder she has only seen once before, the night she came back from the dead for the second time. For an instant, she couldn’t breathe. The pain in his eyes was unbearable. And, she looked away again. Oh God! It hurts to even look at him! If I can’t take it, what must it be like for him? And, as she looked away, she felt a rush of shame run through her. He needs you, and you can’t even * look * at him? Way to go Buffy! If he never speaks to you again…

Spike let out a shuddering sigh, one that was laden with tears.

She can’t even look at me. Why should she? I don’t deserve it. Know I don’t. This is just a dying wish. Something we both want. A dream. It needs…But I need, too. It’s dying; and so am I, without it. I know it. Can’t let her see…


He stared at the place where their hands were joined. She’s so soft. And… And, he noticed something different. Something that made him believe that, maybe- just maybe… “No chains,” he whispered, staring down at the white gauze that covered his wrists, his voice choking with pain, “No chains,” he sobbed, disbelievingly.

“That’s right, Spike,” she said softly, her voice wavering from both anger and sorrow, as she forced herself to look at him, “no chains,” she looked at his downcast eyes and slumped shoulders, and her heart broke for him, “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner,” she swallowed the tears that were tightening her throat, “I know that…” her voice trailed off as she caressed his palms with her thumbs. I’m so bad with words, Spike. You’re so much better at this. Tell me what you need…please?

Suddenly Spike looked up at her, his eyes wide with fear and moist with unshed tears, “The key,” he asked desperately, his voice hoarse, “did you find it?” he closed his eyes as if trying to pull information from deep within him; his forehead creased with effort and worry, “I remember something but…” he shook his head and sighed, defeated and chagrinned that he had failed her yet again. Everything was in a fog of pain now, and in a place he couldn’t reach, “Sorry Slayer, it’s gone now. Did you find it?” he asked again in a timid voice, a voice she knew did not fit the vampire she knew, looking at the wrists that were once encased in metal, but were now covered in soft, yielding, clean cotton.

Buffy smiled sadly, unable to keep the tears from falling now, “If there was a key, I didn’t find it.”

His eyes widened a little as he tried to process what he had heard, “Then if…you have to lock me up,” his face became hard and unreadable. The distant haze that clouded his normally expressive eyes sent a chill down Buffy’s spine, “Slayer, lock me up,” his breath was heaving, almost to the point of hyperventilation, “before the Watcher gets what he’s after…”

Buffy wasn’t sure what to do, but she knew that she had to stop the panic that was rising in her, watching him struggling with the ghosts of what Travers had done to him, “Spike, I don’t know what he did,” her resolve steeled, seeing the despair that was so deep within him, and she said, squeezing his hands a little, hoping to give him confidence, “but there is no way that man will ever hurt you again.”

Spike shook his head, completely distraught, seeming not to hear her, “…No, you don’t understand. It wants to kill you,” his voice trailed off as he tried to push the influence he felt from it down- and away from her. He did not want to put her in danger, but it was so strong, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold it at bay.

Speaking again, his voice was hushed and cracking under the strain of the effort it took to maintain control. He looked at her eyes, searching. Hoping she would understand, “It’s so much stronger than me now, and angry. And now with…” Buffy could feel his hands shaking as she held them, “I’m not right, Buffy. If it got control of- if I couldn’t stop it,” he heaved a deep body- wracking sigh, and she could see the tears running freely down his face, “It’d be me that does it, Love. Me. I can’t do that, Buffy. Don’t you understand? It would kill me.”
*******************************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

Giles’s hands were shaking as he read the texts that had been liberated from the vault beneath Council headquarters. The vault that Travers had the audacity to lock with the keycode, “Endgame.”

Endgame indeed. If he was brazen enough to…
“Dear Lord!” Giles gasped, looking up at Willow, unable to hold the ancient parchment in his shaking hands any longer, he let it flutter silently to the table.

Willow looked up to see a look in Giles’s eye that she alone had put there once before. Fear.

“My God, Giles…What did you find?” she asked, knowing that, somehow, she would dread the answer.

“I found the writings of an Unhesine monk…”

“Monks,” Willow muttered, “not necessarily a good thing, in some cases.”

“Nor in this case, it seems. The Ukesolrill is not, in fact, a disembodied spirit, as I first thought. It is, rather, a predator, made specifically to hunt vampires.”

“Yeah,” Willow nodded, “Kind of figured that. I mean, it is what the Slayer does.”

Giles shook his head, “No Willow, you misunderstand. The vampire, in its natural state, has no natural enemies. And, when the last of the demons were being driven back in the fight for control of the earth, in a desperate bid to stay in control of its environment, a vampire mixed with a human, thus creating the vampire as we know it. A hybrid.”

“Yeah, so…?” Willow’s eyes widened in confusion.

“The vampire had no natural predator. And now, because it had mingled its essence with a human in order to hide in the human world, it looked like a human. The Unhesines, who it seems, later would become the Watchers, decided to manufacture a predator for the vampire- the Slayer- by placing this conjured entity inside a human form. A female was chosen because they were, traditionally, seen as the more docile gender and would offer less resistance to the entity. The ‘Soul Killer’ was meant to numb the girl’s nurturing nature, to make it easier for a girl to kill something that, at least outwardly, looked like she did.”

“And, when a Slayer dies…?”

“The Ukesolrill is returned to where it came from, until the next Slayer is called. According to this,” he looked down at the parchment, “the energy, as it were, is renewed, for each Slayer. Each Slayer, in a sense, makes it stronger.”

“Where does it come from, Giles?”

“That, I do not know. There are legends about mystics, but…”

“And Travers knew about these legends, these mystics?”

Giles nodded, “He did.”

“And if he put the Ukesolrill… if he attached it to Spike…” Willow put her hand to her mouth, in shock, “Giles, we have to get back to Devon.”
*************************************************

I’m so tired. Don’t you understand? I have to keep you safe?
“Buffy please…”

She shook her head, “No, Spike. I won’t put you in chains. That makes me no better than he was, Spike. I won’t do it,” she slowly got up from the floor of the bedroom, “You look tired,” she said as he collapsed against the pillows as she gently pushed him back onto the bed, “Why don’t you get some rest?”

Fear sliced through Spike and he felt the thing growing stronger inside him; felt the light growing ever dimmer, “No- stay, please?” he whispered, his words slurred with exhaustion, “It’s weaker…when you’re here. Don’t really know…why.”

“That’s all right, Spike,” she gave a little smile as she sat on the Parsons chair, crossing her arms, “You don’t have to know why. And, you don’t have to worry, because I’m not going anywhere.”
 
Running Deep
 

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12 AUGUST, 2002-

Dawn tried not to hear what Buffy and Giles were talking about. She’d learned a long time ago that sometimes it was better not to know everything.

Nothing taught her that better than listening to what Xander had told her. Because she’d listened to him, and pushed Spike out of her heart, now she might never be able to get him back.

He might never be hers, or her sister’s again.

Dawn looked at the still face of the vampire that had become her protector- and her first love. He was sleeping again. Buffy had told her that he had been awake, and talking for a little while. At first, she was upset that Buffy had not thought to wake her. She wanted to say so much to Spike. But, after Buffy told her how the Ukesolrill survived, how it grew stronger in response to the emotions of its host, and Buffy had said that she wanted to keep Spike safe; after Buffy had told her that she was sure that Spike loved her, maybe more than he loved anyone in the world, Dawn understood why she’d been left to sleep.

So, if he wanted to sleep now, to keep himself safe, that was just fine with her. She could be quiet, and keep watch over him, “That’s okay, Spike,” Dawn said quietly, “And, I’m sorry I believed Xander, even for a second. I know he’s dead, but…” she bit her lip to keep it from quivering, “I’m sorry, Spike.”

Although he was very tired and weak, Spike was aware of everything, both without and within. He wanted to comfort Bit, but right now, he had to keep his spark alive and away from the monster that wanted to snuff it out and leave him empty.

Spike had been spending so much energy trying to hide the spark-to not feel- that, ironically, the thing had become strong enough to make the spark flicker and dim. Yet, something Buffy had done had made it flare brightly again. The light was so bright that the fog had lessened. The crippling grip was loosed a bit, and had allowed him to surface. To hold her again; and, though his body seemed motionless, his mind was anything but.

Inside, the “Big Bad,” the scrapper and survivor that was “William the Bloody”- felt like roaring his victory from the rooftops of London.

You stupid wanker! Thought I wouldn’t figure it, did you?
He felt like laughing until his ribs ached. And he knew that, very soon, he would. You were wrong! I’m a vampire, you idiot! I know that, even the most bloodthirsty vampire- can eat too much, and make himself sick. The demon held the spark down deep within, and sneered at its tormenter.

And you, you bloody bastard, are about to get *violently * ill! Do you hear me, you ugly puff a smoke! I’m running deep!

***************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND 12 AUGUST, 1865-

William’s heart went out to her. That poppet was her most treasured possession. She was never without it, and now it was gone.

He had to find it. He just couldn’t bear to see her cry any longer. He kissed her forehead gently as she snuggled close in his lap, “Come now, Emma, Lady Alice would not have run off,” he smiled as his little sister stared up at him with large, open eyes. William knew, as he looked into her London blue eyes, even though he was not yet a man, that he loved her, and knew what love was. As he held her close, he whispered, “She loves you too dearly to leave you,” then his voice gained strength and rang with all the wisdom a boy of eleven summers could muster, “Are you sure you mightn’t have just left her behind when you returned from your last grand adventure?” William watched her tiny face pinch with worry as he settled her in her bed once more, “If you promise me that you will stay in bed, I will go find her. Now, where did you see her, do you recall?”

Emma’s face brightened and her tears dried quickly, “The back garden, I think. We were chasing pixies.”

“Ah,” William smiled, “that explains it. Pixies can be very crafty, and they covet poppets that belong to little girls named ‘Emma’,” he said seriously.

“They do?” her eyes were wide and incredulous.

He nodded, “Elder brothers know best,” he said, “Have I ever lied to you?”

“No,” she sighed sweetly, and the sound of it made William’s heart flutter with joy.

“It’s settled then,” he nodded, “You close your eyes, and I shall put on my coat and search the back garden for our Lady Alice.”

Emma looked nervously at the soft light that was filtering through the slats on the window shutter, “Please be careful, William. It is late.”

“Yes, I now that, Emma. And you know it is long past time you should be to bed,” he smiled as she yawned as she looked at him, “I know you cannot sleep without Lady Alice at your side, so I will fetch her for you. And,” he said as he opened the door of her room, preparing to go outdoors, “I will be most careful,” he told her as he left her room.
**************************************

The woman stood outside the charming little house, and looked into the delightful windows as the light poured out of them.

She loved the way the grass tickled her feet as she stood waiting for him. He would come, she knew. She could hear him calling to her. He would come; she just had to be patient.

Good things came to those who were patient. And she was patient. And, at one time, she had been a good girl.

He came up the path obviously cross with her, “There you are,” he growled in her ear, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” he looked at the bundle of rags she held in her hands and sighed, “Where did you find this one then?” he asked in a condescending tone that barely hid his distaste for her whims.

“She called to me. The pixies brought her to me, but he will come for her soon.”

“Who?”

She pointed to the door of the little gingerbread house as the door opened and the boy prince came rushing out. She smiled as the boy caught her eye, “Him,” she whispered.

William saw the beautiful woman as she stood at the edge of the grass that made up the back garden of the estate, and sighed with relief. The woman had found Lady Alice. Now he would not have to endure little Emma’s tears; they were more painful to him than she knew.

William walked bravely up to the woman who held his sister’s peace of mind in her arms and smiled politely in greeting, “Excuse me, Miss…you seem to have found Lady Alice,” he blushed at the warm smile the lady was giving him.

“Have I?” she asked, as she knelt to his eye level.

“Yes,” he said shyly, eyes downcast, “The poppet,” he gestured to the rag doll she held, still not looking at her, “belongs to my sister, Emma. She cannot sleep without it,” his voice grew stronger as his eyes traveled up and saw the man that stood beside this beautiful woman, “I must have it back,” William didn’t know why, but the man made him nervous, and his voice stuttered, “Please…?”

The man’s dark eyes flashed as he smiled, “You heard the boy, Drusilla. Give him back his poppet.”

“Of course,” she sang as she handed the toy over, “Here you are young prince,” she smiled, and William felt the heat rise in his face again, “Sleep tight now.”

William nodded nervously and whispered, “Thank you,” he nodded again as the woman stood up, still smiling at him.

Then, William quickly turned and ran back into the house.

************************************************************

Looking closely at Spike, Dawn began to notice something, and her heart jumped in her throat. She could see tears trickling out from under Spike’s closed eyelids. And she thought she heard him say a name.

“Emma,” he croaked.

Dawn bolted to the staircase landing, and shouted down, “Buffy, Willow… Giles! Get up here!”
***************************************************************
 
An Act Of Contrition
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Tissue warning.
****************************

Buffy took the stairs three at a time with her heart in her throat. Willow and Giles were close on her heels.

Buffy had palmed a stake when she heard Dawn scream, but she prayed that she wouldn’t have to use it.

I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to use it. Oh God, Spike…please don’t make me use it.


She didn’t want to use it, but she was prepared to, if she had to.

And, as she stopped at the threshold of the guest room that he lie in, her heart ached at what she witnessed.

His eyes were open, but Buffy could tell that he didn’t really recognize her. But he hasn’t shown his game face, so something, somewhere inside of him, maybe knows… and doesn’t see her as a threat.

Buffy smiled as she watched him reach for her and caress her cheek, “Always looking out for ‘your girls’, aren’t you, Spike?” she murmured. She could hear the hope in her sister’s voice. The depth of her sorrow was palpable in her one, simple question, “Spike, do you know who I am?”

Oh Bit, I know you’re there, and I wish there was another way. I don’t want to do this. Please know that. And, if I hurt you while…I’ll * never * forgive myself, but it needs to be protected. And, until big sis can figure a better way, this is all I can do. I love you, Bit. This is the only way. It hurts, more than I will * ever * be able to tell you. But, I’m so tired of fighting it. I need the spark. I can’t let the spark go out. Being without it…I don’t think…I have to go Bit. But I’m not going away, I promise. I’ll never leave you. I can’t! This is the only way, now.

Maybe William can save me…like I saved him. I just hope she’s strong enough… that she * can * find me, when the time comes. When I’ve made this bugger so sated and slow that it couldn’t possibly do harm to you or your sis, I hope she can find me. But, if she can’t, then I’ll take it with me. I won’t let Travers win. I promise, you *will * be safe. I swear to that.


The demon gave in.

***************************************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND- 22 OCTOBER 1866

William wanted to hide. This wasn’t happening, not to her. Doctor Thurgood had been in her room for hours. He just had to save her. He had to.

Because if she…passed over William knew it would be his fault.

He was supposed to protect her, and he hadn’t.

William sat on the floor across from Emma’s room, with his knees pulled up against his chest. He strained to hear the muffled voices of his mother and father through the old pine door.

Father would not allow him in the room with Emma, and the doctor even though he desperately needed to be. If she was…

He bowed his head and wiped the tears with the back of his hand when he heard the door open. He looked up to see his father’s somber face.

As his father came toward him, he could hear his mother sobbing quietly. The sound was deafening to him.

No, it couldn’t be true. It wasn’t true…

Arthur Ellis stepped out of his daughter’s room with a heart heavy with grief. His eyes met the red-rimmed, swollen eyes of his only son, and his heart slipped further into sorrow, “William,” he choked, wishing he could hold his son.

He knew the boy would blame himself. His boy had always had a tender nature. He was a kind heart. And, he loved their Emma so much.

Arthur knew that this would destroy his boy’s golden heart.

“Father?” William breathed, “Is Emma…?” he hiccupped, “Is she…?”

The spark of hope that smoldered in his boy’s eye nearly broke the man. Arthur Ellis had seen his share of sorrows in his thirty years of life, but he could not bear to see it in his boy.

The pain was so overpowering that speech was a near impossibility, “Emma…has gone, William.”

Arthur watched as his boy crumbled before his eyes. The boy’s face clouded over, and his voice seemed hollow, “Father?” Arthur could see that William was on the verge of tears; could see his chin quavering with the press of emotion, and for an instant he envied the American colonists for their brashness.

Arthur Ellis was a fine banker, but he did not know how to comfort his own son.

“Father,” William’s voice was just a whisper, “I know you must hate me.”

The sincerity with which he spoke would have made any father’s heart go cold, as his did at that moment. He was so taken aback by it, and so overwhelmed with grief, that he said nothing.

In the silence that William took as tacit approval of his statement, he continued, “…and I know that I am to blame. I- I- didn’t see. I looked away, if only for a moment,” his eyes never left his father’s face, though his voice was faltering, stammering due to the grief he felt rushing through him, “S-she fell into the pond. I w-wasn’t fast enough. I’m so sorry, Father. Forgive me? "

******************************************

Dawn’s knees nearly gave out as she stood next to his bed. Spike was looking at her. His eyes are so blue. Oh my God, he looks so sad. He was looking at her with the eyes of loss. She remembered that look. This was how he looked at her last summer, with a deep ache that shone through his eyes and made her cry for him even when he could not.

The loss of Buffy was a deep loss. But, the way Spike looked at her now, Dawn knew this pain was deeper even than the loss of Buffy had been. Spike reminded her of an old man; like the ones in the Sunnydale rest home. He was like an old man who was desperately trying to hold onto something he once held firmly in his mind but who now, through the rivers of time, had lost. It must have been something dear to him- or someone.

“Don’t cry,” her voice was soft with unshed tears, “Please?” she sighed as she put a shaking hand up to her own mouth, trying to hold in her tears.

“Emma?” Spike questioned, reaching out to touch Dawn’s face, his own twisted in grief, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I was supposed to…protect you. But, I wasn’t fast enough,” his eyes closed as he relived a private horror. When he opened his eyes again, they were wide and pleading. Dawn watched as he struggled to rise from the bed, sobbing, “Wasn’t strong enough then… n-not now.”

For Dawn this was torture; watching Spike’s face become more and more panic-stricken. The more he tried to move, and found that he could not, the more desperate his eyes became.

What was only seconds stretched on for hours as she watched him struggle, then gradually, as if death had finally overtaken a body it had long ago forgotten, he went still again, his torso collapsing lifelessly against the mattress.

Dawn stood motionless for a moment, then looked anxiously over her shoulder, at the three that stood silently in the doorway, “I- is he going to be all right?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Dawnie. But, I don’t know how much longer we’ll be dealing with Spike,” without taking her eyes off of Spike, Buffy spoke to Willow, “Willow, can someone from the coven do a binding spell, something like what Travers did, but just for this room?”

“Sure,” she nodded, “Althenea or Lois, or…me.”

“Good. Don’t worry, Dawnie,” Buffy said, “We’ll get him back. Giles, can you help me find it? Maybe go into his head, or wherever this thing is that Travers put in him, and get it out?”

“I’ve told you, Buffy…” he reminded gently

“Well, can I at least know what it looks like?”

Giles smiled sadly, “That, I may be able to give you.”

Buffy nodded, “That’s good. Once I know it, I can kill it.”
***********************************************
 
True Colors
 

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The four of them gathered in the room that served as Giles’s office in the coven house. Dawn had protested, but knew that, right now, she couldn’t be near Spike. There was no telling what he would do, so maybe it was right to stay away from him.

It didn’t mean she had to like it.

Buffy was up and pacing again. Dawn knew she only did that when she was nervous and needed something to do.

“Okay, Giles,” she sighed, “You said that you can tell me what this thing that has Spike looks like?”

Giles cleared his throat nervously, “Metaphorically speaking, yes.”

Buffy stared at him, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that the Ukesolrill has no physical form to speak of. It exists psychically, feeding off of its host- growing ever stronger until it overpowers the host, and uses the host to manifest itself into being.”

“So,” Buffy spoke slowly, the implications turning in her head, “this thing is the Slayer, in its purest form. No teenage angst to complicate things. No broody vampire, ‘I’m- not-evil-except-when-I-am-evil’ boyfriend to cloud things up. It only knows the kill… Giles, this thing is even more brutal than the first Slayer, right? The one who tried to kill us all in our dreams after we conjured her up to help fight Adam?”

Giles nodded, “Yes. It has no conscience, Buffy.”

Her voice was barely a whisper as she tried to fight her way through a fog of clashing emotions, “All it knows is the kill. It’s brutal,” Buffy’s mind rocketed back to the alley behind the Sunnydale police station. Saw his face, his human face, staring up at her through eyes that were rapidly swelling to blind him, because of her abuse.

In the midst of her abuse, his demon had retreated. At some point, she was no longer in danger, yet she still beat him, to the point of near unconsciousness.

And, left him to the sun’s deadly rays.

Buffy looked up at her Watcher with glistening eyes, “Giles, I’m the Slayer. That means that this thing is a part of me, too?”

“Yes,” Giles said gravely, his eyes downcast, “Buffy, the Ukesolrill is a very strong, very…bloodthirsty entity. Without the host-the Slayer- the Council would have had no control over their…creation.”

Buffy shook her head vigorously, her eyes widening, “Frankenstein’s monster finally found a way to be free of its creator,” her eyes darkened with anger as she turned her eyes to her Watcher, “Giles…I don’t even know… How? How could they do this? Giles, do you know what I did? The things I…I couldn’t stop myself.”

Giles sighed, himself beginning to feel a sense of dread, “Buffy, if the Ukesolrill has managed to gain control…”

“It hasn’t,” Buffy said sharply.

“The Ukesolrill is designed to be a killer,” Giles closed his eyes, trying to gather the fortitude he needed to say the words he no longer wanted to say. He did not want to see it happen to this particular vampire any longer. He wasn’t sure what that meant to him; he only knew that he couldn’t see it happen, not now. If that made him, and the Council, obsolete then so be it. Giles took a deep breath and looked unflinchingly into his Slayer’s eyes, “…of vampires. Spike may be beyond help, even if we manage to remove the parasite.”

“No! Spike is still in there. I’ve seen him Giles. And, so have you. You know- he won’t go down without a fight,” she smiled a sad, knowing smile, “And if he has to go down, you know he’ll take it with him. Or, he’ll make it hurt, and hurt bad, before he…” she stopped, her voice thinning out as the horror of what Travers had done began to set in, “Giles, Spike is a vampire, whatever that means, now,” her hands fisted reflexively as she paced; going over it in her mind. Her eyes found her little sister’s, “soul or not, to the Ukesolrill, Spike is a vampire. It’s black or white. There is no grey,” her eyes settled on Giles again, “Oh God, Giles, it’ll kill him,” her voice was barely a whisper,” You have to show me what this thing looks like. Once I’ve seen it, I can fight it.”

As the reality of what was happening began to take hold in her mind, Dawn started to realize how stupid and childlike she had been. And how stupid she was for believing Xander.

She knew it wasn’t black and white. She’d known it for a while now. Dawn was starting to realize how much she liked grey.

Rupert Giles was never prouder of his Slayer as he saw the steel determination in her eyes, “Quite right,” he nodded, turning his attention back to the books and parchments that were strewn about his desk, “Willow and I may be able to help you to ‘see’ it, using ancient meditation techniques…”

Buffy’s eyes grew large, “To meditate you need to be calm, right?”

“That does help,” Giles said softly.

“Well, I’m not!” she hissed, “All I want to do is kill Travers over, and over, and over again for what he’s done!”

“I know that feeling,” Willow muttered. It wasn’t until seconds had passed in stunned silence that Willow noticed that three pairs of eyes were staring at her, their mouths agape; “What?” she shrugged, “It’s the truth,” she looked sheepishly at the floor, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be, Willow,” Giles said, “you may have just given us the key to defeating this thing,” he looked at some of the scrolls that had come inside the parcel that Lydia had sent, his fingers rapidly skirting over the soft, warn linen, “Ah yes,” he whispered excitedly, “here it is. Willow?”

Willow stood next to Giles and looked over his shoulder at the parchments. Her gaze followed his and she nodded quickly, “Okay, it should be easy,” at the Watcher’s sidelong, cutting glance, she shrugged, “Well, not easy, but you know…not evil. It looks like all I’ll need is something common to both the Ukesolrill and its current host. Something they touched or…or handled?”

“But there isn’t anything…” Buffy started.

“Yes, there is, Buffy, Giles said, as he reached into a desk drawer and pulled out the remnants of the manacles that had held Spike, and clanked them on the desk in front of him.

Buffy couldn’t help but feel her stomach turn at the sight of them, “You kept them?” she was completely disgusted by the thought, and tried to shake off her revulsion.

Giles looked askance in shame, “Lydia’s notations indicated that a catalyst might be needed…in the event we wished to…locate and possibly remove the Ukesolrill from its current host. So, I kept them.”

Buffy swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat, “Do I have to be in the room with him for this to work?”

“No,” Willow said, “It works better if you’re not. And besides, the binding spell that I put on the room wouldn’t let you in, or him out, anyway. We’re not trying to take it out, if we can, right now. Just want to see what the Ukesolrill looks like. Once we do that, then we can send it packing,” Willow smiled a nervous smile, “Don’t worry, Buffy.”

“Do I look worried?”

“Well…” Willow shrugged, “You ready?”

Buffy nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Good,” Willow said gently, “Let’s get started.”
****************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND- 17 DAYS PRIOR-

Travers had to be certain he’d spoken the incantation correctly; if something were missed the bond would be incomplete. He had painstakingly pieced together the translation from the original Sanskrit. He was reasonably certain he had it correct.

Even so, his voice faltered as he spoke the final words of the incantation, “Let the warrior, harnessed for the forces of light, purify this impure vessel. Let the warrior dwell amongst the living once more, and gain strength.”

As the words were spoken a great red light flashed and encompassed the chamber that held the subdued vampire within it. The air cracked with electricity and burned with the smell of sulfur, then quieted to an unnatural stillness.

Now all that was left was to wait.
*****************************

The Ukesolrill was aware again. It remembered the pain of the birth, and every death thereafter. Each birth was painful, but it was again. And it could grow here, and grow strong. So much feeling in this one…but danger too.

It sensed the overwhelming presence of its prey trying to dominate. This one was strong, and…something had weakened it.

The births had done that. For millennia it was so.

It would wait, and grow stronger. This one was a pure source. A source of power like no other it had felt, in all of its existence.

*****************************************************************

DEVON, ENGLAND- 12 AUGUST 2002-

Buffy could hear her slow, regular breathing as she traveled deeper. At first she could feel the overwhelming confusion. It was so oppressive that she nearly turned back. But she knew that she had to find this thing, so she pressed on, despite the fear.

Everything around her was black and cold. And, it was so hard to see. It was like traveling through a dense fog on a night when it was so black that there was no way to see three feet ahead.

Still something pulled at her, slowly, like she was floating in water, further and further inward.


She heard Willow’s soothing voice urging her on, “That’s it, Buffy. Don’t stop now. Keep going.”

Buffy was crowded by feelings of anger and grief, and sadness she had no words to describe. But she continued, straining to see through the dark.

Just when she thought the darkness would never end, Buffy saw a flash of white. It was so intense, that it was painful to look at, like staring straight into the sun. She wanted to look away.


“No, Buffy, don’t look away,” Willow’s calming voice again, “Do you know what that is? Oh, it’s so warm, Buffy. Don’t you feel it?”

And she did. The warmth shot through her like a jolt of electricity, making her tingle from head to toe. She felt the warmth of love. But, she also felt…fear. And it was growing.


“Buffy, the color of purity in auras is white,” there was a smile in Willow’s voice, “Buffy, I think that’s William. That’s his soul.”

But where was Spike?

Down further she went.

And encountered something beautiful, and heartbreaking.

White swirled around a pale, sapphire blue. And the blue was becoming more and more pale, almost nonexistent now.


“Oh my God, Buffy…I never expected…Buffy, blue represents balance and peace with oneself. Buffy,” Willow sounded awed and saddened, “this is…Buffy, I think that’s Spike!”

Spike?

The blue flickered strong for a moment, in time with the white flare, but it was quickly overpowered by the black anger that Buffy had come to see as the Ukesolrill.

The blue was pale, but it refused to be overtaken by the blackness.

Yep, that’s Spike.

Love? The blue flickered briefly. Help me, please?

I said I would, and I will.


Buffy shook herself back to consciousness. She opened her eyes to see Willow, who had served as her anchor, then looked down at her hands, that were resting in her lap, with the manacles that once held Spike, loosely within their grasp.

Buffy didn’t even notice the tears she was crying as she spoke, “I can’t let him go through that alone. Willow, I’m going to see if this thing will recognize me, and see reason. Lower the spell, once I’m ready. I’m going in, and I’m not coming out until it’s given up its hostage; given up Spike.”
******************************************************************

 
Tragedy Masks
 

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Only when darkness and fear reign will that which was once a slave and a servant to the ancient blood rise up to overthrow those that were the masters
- Prophecies of the Unhesines
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Awareness came slowly. There were moments when the host was stronger, but they weren’t frequent now.

This host was the strongest one in millennia. Perhaps strong enough to…yes, this one is strong. And so defiant; so gloriously pure! The strength was growing with each passing moment. But the enemy was near too.

Has this vessel been altered? It would explain the pain and the death. That would explain the anger.

No. No! To be born of…this? This is desecration! It cannot be allowed to continue! It cannot survive!


The warrior within shook with rage, and roared.

Beneath the anger and fear that swarmed all around, the demon used the strength of its captor to send the message out. Oh Love, I’m weak, and I think…I think I’m drowning… help me?
*****************************************************

Giles knew it was a useless argument, but he still pressed his point, “Buffy, what you’re going to be dealing with may not be Spike, or even William. The carapace may indeed resemble your former enemy. It may even speak using his voice, but it is not the creature you,” he lowered his eyes in deference to her feeling as well as his, “or I have come to know. Buffy,” his voice ebbed with the emotion he felt, “you may be forced to…”

Her eyes flashed angrily at him, “No!” she hissed, “This isn’t Angelus. Those monks seemed to think that what’s happening to Spike is pretty important, and it sounded as if they were sure about it. So, I’m not killing Spike. He saved my life, many times. Giles, he’s been through so much…”she sighed and lowered her eyes, “Giles, you saw what he was like after…you were with him. Do you think he could do anything to hurt me? And, that’s not accounting for what Travers did to him,” she shook her head in disbelief, “You know the man was sick. He took my powers from me and trapped me in a house with an insane vampire,” her eyes locked with his, “You were there for that, too. You know what he was capable of. I could have been…Giles,” her eyes roamed to the ceiling, beyond which Spike lie, hopefully oblivious to what was going on; because if he was aware then that would just make it that much harder to reach him, “ How much is too much?” she whispered desperately.

As he looked into Buffy’s eyes, Giles realized he’d seen that empty, lost look before. Twice in recent memory, in fact, on a face that was not, as a rule, accustomed to desperation.

Too much, indeed
.

He remembered. He wished he didn’t.

Dawn’s eyes were imploring, “Giles, what’s wrong with him?”

Giles sighed and looked around at the crypt. The surroundings, normally well kept and tidy, considering the being that made this crypt home, were in disarray. The candles that were used to illuminate the place were strewn about the floor and the slate coverings of the two biers were lying, upturned, against the opposite wall as if someone had tossed them like children’s toys.

And, amidst all the chaos around them, Spike sat on the floor, his eyes staring blindly ahead. He was murmuring softly, and rocking in a mindless rhythm.

Giles knelt in front of him and saw the empty look in his eyes. Saw the tears that were falling, in a steady stream, from his eyes, and knew there was nothing to do but wait.

He stood up slowly, and said gently, “Dawn, there is nothing I can do. You say he was like this since you found him?”

Dawn nodded, “I was afraid he might be…” her voice hitched and her eyes glistened, “…after the funeral. I haven’t seen him in days. I was afraid he might…I found him like this. What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s grieving, Dawn. As we all are.”


Looking back at her Watcher, her eyes were swimming with tears, “…Giles, a vampire needs his fangs to survive. His were taken, ripped from him, by that man! Who knows what sick things Travers could have done to him after he couldn’t defend himself!” she shook her head, “No Giles- Spike won’t hurt me. I don’t even know if he could .”

“And you would be correct, Buffy,” Giles said, “If you are, in fact, still dealing with the entity that is ‘Spike.’ I fear that…whatever Travers may have done…” he swallowed and sighed, “...will only serve to make the Ukesolrill stronger. Any pain, physical or not, may force…anything familiar beyond your reach. I’m almost certain Travers was relying on that when he began subjecting Spike to…” Giles hung his head in shame for what the man he had once considered a friend and colleague had done in the name of the institution he so loved.

“Torture?” Buffy finished.

“Yes,” Giles’s tone was hushed, his eyes still unable to look upon his Slayer.

“Well, it’s obvious that Travers never counted on me. Because, if he had, he wouldn’t have kidnapped Spike in the first place and messed with his head, or whatever. If he had been smart he would have left Spike alone. Now, it’s personal,” her voice strengthened, giving just a hint of the fortitude and resolve that welled up from within, “And now, if there’s even the smallest chance, the tiniest bit of Spike left under all that pain and hurt,” her mind drifted back to him and how he’d patiently, if not always gently, coaxed her back to the world of the living, and paid a high price for it; a price that, she wasn’t sure he was through paying, “I’ll find him. No matter how long it takes.”

Just then, a loud roar came from the room above, the likes of which Buffy had never heard before. The sound made her bound for the staircase, barking orders to Willow as she ran, “Willow, open that door now! Drop the spell! I’ve got to get in there!”

“Buffy,” Willow stammered, “maybe you shouldn’t…”

“Don’t argue with me, Willow! Do it!”
**************************************************

Buffy burst through the door blindly. She had no idea what was behind the door, or what danger she was putting herself in, but she didn’t care. Spike was drowning, and she had to help, “Spike?” she gasped, hoping she wasn’t too late.

What she saw made her blood run cold. Spike was conscious and sitting on the bed, his bare feet swung over the side and planted firmly on the floor. He looked as if he was about to stand, as the Victorian gentleman that hid beneath the façade of “ Spike” was wont to do when she entered a room, but what was before her now, wasn’t Spike.

Oh, it had his face and his eyes, but it didn’t feel like him.

It wasn’t him. But it was familiar to her-very familiar.

What she felt was pure power and fury.

This was the Slayer staring back at her- in game face, with fangs.

“Is that what you call it?” Spike’s voice challenged, as a surprised bark of laughter split the air, “Does it know?”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed and she spat out, “Know what?” she asked as she advanced into the room, closing the door behind her, effectively locking the others out and leaving any help out of her reach.

“That you have affection for it?”
**********************************

 
The Stonecutter's Hand
 

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Buffy’s body tensed, and her heartbeat quickened. Spike had never looked this menacing to her. But then, what was looking back at her, it wasn’t him.

Was it?


The visage was familiar and was made more horrifying by the bruising that still marred the jaw that was once again home to a very deadly pair of fangs.

Buffy knew that the reemergence of the fangs would have been very painful, and it was this, and the rush of emotions that must have followed the pain, chief among them fear and anger, she decided, that must have caused the Ukesolrill to dominate. That was what was looking at her now; the Ukesolrill.

Buffy took a deep breath, and looked into deadly amber eyes, eyes that were his-but weren’t, “That is none of your business,” she said coldly.

Familiar eyes narrowed, “I know you, don’t I?” the eyes roamed slowly over her body, and she felt a chill of terror rush through her. The deep throaty laughter that issued from his body was a pale imitation of what she had heard, on the nights she’d allowed herself to hear what she’d really meant to him when they were together. Even as he spoke, Buffy knew, it wasn’t him. She hoped he was in there somewhere, “…yes, I do know you. In fact, I’ve been inside you,” the tongue darted out to touch the tips of the fangs, “Haven’t I…” his lips pulled into a sneer, and his amber eyes shone with the kind of power she had never seen in Spike’s eyes.

This was the glint of true evil she was seeing.

Was this what he saw? Did they put * that * in me? Was that…me?


Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but what she saw stopped the words in her throat. His steps faltered, he stepped back, as if he was trying to maintain his balance. It was as if something had caught him unawares.

Buffy’s heart leaped into her throat. Was Spike still there? Was he still fighting, or was he gone? Oh, Spike…don’t go there, please. Don’t make this thing stronger!

He stared at her with glazed eyes; eyes that seemed drunken and hazy with power, “…Yes,” the voice was slow and deliberate, seemingly thickened by the power within that was fighting to be free, “I have. And it…it remembers,” as suddenly as it appeared, the demon mask melted, leaving in its wake dark, unfocused eyes, “This thing…that was…it’s tasted you,” the eyes were dark and sharp with hate and horror, “It’s been let in. Allowed to defile! The stench!” it shook with rage, “You let it crawl inside and weaken your purpose. The purpose- divine and holy- that I gave you ! It is I that pulled you from the muck that you dwelt in. It is I that gave you meaning!” his voice was rising, and Buffy was sure she heard her friends rapping uselessly on the door, asking if she was all right. She couldn’t be bothered to answer. It was all she could do to keep her face passive and unchanged as Spike’s voice rose in her ears; his words were scalding. And they were true. That she could no longer deny, even if it was the Slayer, the evil that the Council had kept chained for longer than she could imagine, that was the one speaking the words; they were still true, “…Without me, you would never have been the warrior you were. You would have been just another of this,” the voice stopped, and became a whisper. Buffy couldn’t be sure if it was from shame or disgust, or perhaps both, “… monster’s victims!”

Buffy stood, speechless as the words stung her. And, she let the tears of fear burn her eyes. She could not let them fall. She would not give it that power; didn’t want to believe what she knew. What she felt as strongly as anything, as if she’d held the wood in her hand and felt the flesh beneath it give, just as she had a thousand times before.

Spike was gone.
***********************************************

Outside the room, Willow tried to block the pain of the words and focus on the friend she hoped was somewhere beneath all the hate that was trying to overpower her.

She saw a sliver of blue, and dove deeper. She had to get to it before the darkness shrouded it. She sent out her yellow, healing light, gently enveloping the vampire she had begun to see as one of her truest friends. She felt his pain and her head rang with a sound that could only be his tears.

Oh Willow! It knows! It…knows what I did. And, I can’t…not feel it. I can’t ignore it!
The sense of his sobbing was stronger now, it was so strong that Willow felt herself beginning to shake from the force of his emotions, I hate what I did. I hate it! Maybe I should…go. It hurts too much. Tired of fighting…tired of it all. I am a monster. I should…go. Tell Dawn…tell her I love her…always…

Willow saw the blue start to recede. She could not let that happen.

Oh, no Spike!
She watched with her inner eye, as her healing yellow energy stretched to pluck the blue ember out of the black, You’re not doing that! You’re not making me explain to Buffy why you’re gone! You think you’re a monster? Wanna compare? I tried to destroy the world- a few months ago. When’s the last time you did that?

The blue flared strongly within the yellow, sending sparks of green shooting out from the center of the black.

Willow! I told you, magic can be dangerous! You could have killed Buffy and the Nibblet, or yourself!

I know… I killed Xander. Buffy’s kicked my ass. Giles too.


Willow could feel the strength of Spike’s sadness, and his anger. She felt warmed by it. She hadn’t felt this loved since Tara.

Good old Ripper. It’s no less than you deserve, Red. You can’t just…oh Willow…

I know, get in line. Don’t hide. Don’t let this thing beat you. Please Spike, we need you.

********************************************************************

Buffy’s voice shook, “You’re right,” she admitted, “And you’re wrong. Without him I would never have been as strong as I am. Without him ,” she pointed a shaking finger at the thing that had taken his body, “ you wouldn’t be as strong as you are,” she slowly advanced, closing the gap between them, until they were nearly nose to nose. She stared into the dark eyes, “You and I,” she said slowly, her tone falsely sweet, “we are the same. You know that. So do I. I will not allow you to use him again. Do we understand each other? It’s over! I will not” she spat, “allow you to torture him anymore. You won’t do it. Leave. This one. Alone! I will find a way to make you leave. Until I do, I don’t want to see you,” she blinked; was that fear she saw in those dark eyes? “again!”

Dark eyes hid behind pale eyelids, and the neck bowed. The tense stance relaxed, and a guttural sound escaped. It was almost a sob; shoulders began to shake, bringing the entire towering frame down under its power and weight.

Buffy could feel the tears stinging her, and this time she let them fall.

As Spike’s body fell under the weight of the struggle, she looked on in awe. She knew what she was seeing. And, she could barely believe her eyes.

The beautiful sculpture had finally broken free of the stone that held it captive.

Fathomless, wonderful blue came out from behind the pale shutters. His voice broke over her in soft waves, and she let herself drown, as he sighed, “ Shujaa. Oh, Buffy!”
 
Everything Nice
 

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Willow had never seen anything like it. True, Tara was better at reading auras. And, she could remember Tara telling her that Spike had always looked different, spectrally speaking, than other vampires, but she never expected this.

It was wonderful to behold.

I wish Buffy could see this!


Willow had to smile. Who would have thought that this could happen? If someone had told her five years ago that “William the Bloody” would do this, she would have told them they were crazy. A vampire that slaughtered half of Europe, and tried to plunge the world into darkness and mayhem on a regular basis, would go to the other side of the earth and have the soul that had been lost over a century before- returned? Yeah, tell me another one.

Okay. How’s this? Then, that vampire’s will to survive would be so strong that, when faced with a threat to its existence, it would weave the two essences together so intricately that one could not be without the other?

It really does look pretty.

Spike’s blue and William’s white interwoven and touching like an old patchwork quilt. Or maybe not a quilt; maybe more of a crocheted blanket made of the multi-colored thread. The kind where half of the stitch is blue and half is white?
The black that had almost overwhelmed Spike’s aura had now become a kind of backlight of charcoal grey. It was diminished. Willow wasn’t sure why, but thought that it might be due to the fact that she had heard Buffy threaten to do this “baddie” some serious hurt if it dared to show its ugly face again.

The surprising softness of the Ukesolrill’s grey made the vision of ethereal synergy that she was witnessing all the more striking.

Willow even felt her breath catch in her chest.

Gosh, it really is pretty.

Oh, I am * such* a girl.

Yeah, I would have told them they were crazy. But, that was before the “friendly” vampire turned out to be not-so-friendly. And before I lost control of the magic and killed my best friend.

Now I know that anything is possible.


She opened her eyes and saw the concerned look on Giles’s face. It was a look she expected to see on Dawn’s face as well. Instead she saw a smile, not unlike the one she knew she was wearing herself, judging by the small ache that pulled at the muscles of her face, “Don’t worry, Giles,” she said, winking at Dawn, “I’m not rescinding the protection spell, but I think she’ll be okay, for a while. At least long enough for you and I to read more about this prophecy. I think I may want to call Miss Chalmers, see what she can tell us. Do you know if she’s been released from the hospital yet?”

“You’re sure that’s wise?” Giles asked, his brow furrowed by concern, “We don’t know if he will slip under the Ukesolrill’s influence again.”

Willow sighed, “Giles, you’re right to be concerned. But, if you had seen what I just did, you’d be more concerned about Spike’s possible embarrassment than you would any lingering homicidal tendencies he might have. Believe me.”

Giles shook his head, clearly perplexed by what Willow had said, “Embarrassment?”

“…Well, not Spike,” Willow shrugged, glancing over at Dawn, whose eyes glinted with mirth as she began to understand what she was getting at, she then looked down at the floor and her cheeks turned a pale shade of scarlet, “…because, you know, vampire. But, poor William…He’d be mortified.”

“Check,” Dawn said, turning to Giles, her cheeks flushed with color, as a rush of empathy for the Victorian she knew Spike had been, came over her, “Giles, can I raid your wardrobe?”

“What…? Why?”

Dawn couldn’t help herself. She launched herself at the man she and her sister thought of as a father, and pulled him into a gleeful hug. As she did, she whispered into his ear, “Giles, do I need to draw you a map?”

The look of shock that crossed his face told her that he had finally grasped the tenor of the conversation, “Good,” she smiled, “I was worried there, for a minute.”
*************************************************

Buffy was lost. Kneeling on the floor of this tiny little room, she was lost in the shimmering eyes that had been her only solace when she’d been ripped out of Heaven.

He was staring at her like she was some sort of mythical thing, something he didn’t deserve. But how could he do that, when she was the one that was unworthy?

The stayed in silence for what stretched on to forever; or what seemed like forever, until Buffy found the courage to speak, “Spike? Are you all right?”

The sound of her voice shot through him like a jolt of electricity that sent fire down to the tips of his fingers and toes, “If…” his breath shuddered, causing his whole body to shake, almost uncontrollably, “If…” he closed his eyes and placed his nose at the pulse point at her neck, breathing in her scent, “Oh, I understand Dru now,” he murmured, “I know why she preferred this to the real world. I never want to go back there. It hurts too much,” his voice was ragged with pain and tears, “I can have you here. Here, away from the pain. I-I know it’s not real. But, I need to stay here. Away from the pain; away from him. Buffy, will you let me stay here- with you?”

Buffy couldn’t believe her ears. Is he actually asking my * permission *? Oh, God, what did he do to you? This is real, Spike. How do I make you realize that? “Spike,” she whispered as she tangled her fingers in the soft curls at the nape of his neck, “that man can never hurt you again. He’s dead,” she turned her lips into his ear, and brushed the words lightly over his skin; saying them until he believed, she, and they, was real, “He’s dead, and you’re here, with me. You’re not in that place anymore, Spike. Dawnie’s here too, Spike. And Willow, and Giles.”

Just as suddenly as it began, the shuddering subsided, and Spike became still. He pulled back from her slightly, his face full of confusion, studying her; searching for something, “Nibblet’s here too?”

Buffy nodded, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes, “Uh huh.”

Spike’s eyes widened, as if he were questioning what he was seeing, “Buffy?”

She smiled a wet smile and nodded, sighing, “Uh huh.”

The joy Buffy saw flash in his eyes was quickly overtaken by fear, “The Watcher,” he said tightly, “He’s dead?”

Buffy nodded again.

Spike’s eyes became hooded, and his voice shook with the torrent of emotions that were tearing through his body. Fear and happiness, sadness and rage, all warred in him at once. I’ve lost my family. Oh, God! I’m sorry, Rachel! I’m so…so sorry!

He was so overcome with sorrow, that the name scarcely became sound, “Rupert…?”

The look in Spike’s eyes made Buffy realize her mistake, and, in a rush of words, she sought to comfort him, “Oh, no!” she shook her head, wiping the tears that had moistened his face with the pads of her thumbs, “not Giles! Travers!” she smiled.

Spike gave a shuddering sigh and touched her forehead with his, “You might’ve said that before, Love. You could stop a bloke’s heart.”

The tiny smirk she saw on his face made Buffy want to squeal with delight, “I’m not done yet,” she said slyly.

Spike’s eyebrow rose, as he waited for her to continue, “Then, by all means,” he chuckled, nuzzling his nose against hers in an Eskimo kiss, “do go on.”

“There’s this prophecy, that I guess you’re a big part of, that Travers wanted to stop. That’s why he kidnapped you…”

Spike was becoming so lost in her scent that he found it difficult to focus on what she was saying, “MmmHmm,” he murmured, trying desperately to clear his head, even as he was drowning in her.

“…And when he found out what Travers did…when he found you, in that cell, he went all, ‘Grr, argh’ and shot Travers. It was weird.”

Spike started and pulled back, looking at Buffy incredulously, “Giles… shot someone? Because of…what they’d done…to me?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well,” Spike smirked, “Who’d have thought? Mighty wide violent streak, there,” he mused, “must run in the family,” he chuckled. Looking down at the floor between them, Spike noticed something he hadn’t before, and it stirred something very old, and very proper, within him. He looked up at Buffy, and said quietly, touching lightly up and down her arms, “So Love… there’s a prophecy is there? Tell me about it. Then,” he looked at her with pleading eyes, “what say you do what you can about finding me a pair of knickers?”
*****************************************************************

 
Plain Truths
 

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Buffy’s blood rushed in her ears and made her deaf. Not only that, but as she stood with her eyes riveted to the door, she was embarrassed for him. And angry with herself, because until he noticed his own lack of clothing, she hadn’t given it a thought.

There was a time when that would have been the first- maybe the * only * thing I’d notice about him. Hey, that’s progress, at least.


No, she hadn’t noticed it. But now, she couldn’t keep her mind off of the thought. Her mind was racing, as was her heart and her blood. It made her dizzy, and her skin flushed with heat so quickly that she thought she would faint.

She took a deep breath and held it, trying to slow her heart. I’ve actually turned my back on him. What if he…? No. No, he wouldn’t. He has a soul now. He can be good. He * is * good. Even before the soul, he was better than Angel ever was. He loved me then.

The way he touched me, like I was sunshine? That was so…Oh, God!

He loved me. And, that * thing * is killing him.

Does he love me now? Can he love me now, or will that thing kill that too? What if I really messed up? What if it’s already too late?


She shifted her weight and tried to keep her attention riveted on the door in front of her. She wanted to look behind her, because he seemed to be taking an awfully long time. Maybe he’s scared of me. Gee, she chided herself, I wonder why that could be? Just because you are the Slayer, and he happens to be a vampire, and right now he’s trapped in a small room with you? Or maybe it could be the fact that you used him as your own personal sex toy for a year? Maybe that has something to do with it? She cleared her throat, “Spike?” she hated the little quiver in her voice. It made her sound like a child that couldn’t wait to open gifts on Christmas morning. She was amazed Spike hadn’t noticed. Or if he had, at least he had the good sense not to call her on it.

“Give a bloke a minute. Please?” he tried to keep the apprehension and anger out of his tone, but that was difficult when all he could hear thrumming in his brain was the rapid beat of her heart as it rushed the blood through her.

She sounds like a frightened colt. She wants to run, and I don’t blame her. I’m a danger to her; now more than ever. Just having her close is enough to…oh, God.

I’ll never be able to fight this. It’s too strong.


He sighed as he pulled the grey fleece sweater down over his chest. The sweater matched the trousers Rupert had fetched for him to wear. Grey. How appropriate for the occasion. He tried to smile. The clothes were too loose for his liking, but they were better than having nothing at all.

Suddenly, a rage at the old Watcher began to build. Not only did that monster drug me, chain me, imprison me, and starve me, but he maimed me, beat me, *and * took away my soul’s last thread of dignity…? He took my clothes as well?

Spike bit back on the growl that wanted so badly to escape, and instead let out a shuddering breath as he smoothed out the soft fabric of the sweater. He felt a sadness come over him as he watched the muscles of her back. They were drawn tight and quivering with power, ready to fight. His legs felt weak as he made his way back to the bed and sat down. He hung his head and whispered, “I think it’s safe for you to turn around now.”

He listened carefully to the soft footfalls of her boots as they tapped on the wooden floor. He knew she was looking at him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the surprisingly intricate pattern woven into the cotton gauze around his wrists. The thought that someone had taken the time to minister to him in such a soft and delicate manner surprised him.

Who would have done this for him? Who would have taken the time? After all, when all was said and done, there was no reason to do it. A monster didn’t deserve any sort of kindness.

That’s what he was now; what he’d always been. He’d tried to be a sort of man, sought out the thing that she could trust, and it was all for nothing.

He’d tried to be a man, but he knew he’d never be one.

He knew he was a monster.

“Slayer,” he sighed, “I’ll ask you again. Why?”

Buffy’s chest suddenly hurt. He’d been through so much that he couldn’t look at her. She watched as he absentmindedly picked at the bandages around his wrists. He sounded so tired, “Why what, Spike?”

Spike raised his eyes to hers, and at that moment Buffy would have sworn that he was a thousand years old. She could actually see the light, the life he’d been so full of; the light she drew strength from when she couldn’t find a reason to still be in this world, draining out of him. It was painful to see.

His voice was ragged, and as jagged as glass, “Why not just stake me?” his words quivered as he spoke, “If the Watcher was so set against me being the Gandhi of the demon realms, why not just stake me; put me out of his misery- and mine?”

Buffy was stunned by his words. Then suddenly a memory flashed across her mind. She remembered her time in a Hell dimension, and her words to Lilly:

“…Well, you know, he was pissed off.”

And, knowing you, Spike, you will be too. I’m almost betting on it.


“…Why torture me with this?” his voice caught on the words, and Buffy was brought rocketing back to the present, “It’s killing me, Buffy.”

Buffy gasped; her eyes bored into his glistening azure gaze, “Don’t say that!” her throat was tightening and her she felt her chin begin to quiver with emotion. There was a time that, if Spike had brought any emotion out of her, she would have kicked him in the head and run, but not now. He needs to know. He needs to see that he matters; that he can’t give up, “Please don’t say that,” she whispered.

The longing in her voice was something he never thought he’d hear, not when it came to him. Never, in his most fevered dreams, would he have dared to hope to see the glint, which was so near to starlight, in her eyes. He swallowed hard, and drew a trembling breath.

It’s a trick of the light. She’s not…? She can’t be.


The soul that was still so new, yet so old, to him, knew, and ached for her. It made his battered limbs bear him up and carried him slowly to her.

God, she’s beautiful. I want this!
He could feel the parasite gaining strength, trying to overwhelm him, but he would not let it. And I * will* have it! This is the one thing you won’t take, because, I won’t let you!

As Buffy watched him coming toward her, she could see that he was struggling with the thing inside of him. She could almost feel it. And its presence was as strong, if not stronger, than it was when she first entered the room.

She looked on in wonder, as an apocalyptic battle raged on. One she was powerless to stop.

Then, just as suddenly as it swelled, the Ukesolrill’s influence waned once again. She was again looking at what she knew to be “Spike.” When his head tilted quizzically, she nearly sobbed with relief. A sound, very close to laughter, escaped her.

It happened so quickly, that Spike barely managed to catch her, as she fell against him. One minute she was standing there, the next she was nearly prostrate with what he could only describe as grief, sobbing in his arms.

It was very unsettling to him. He never could stand to see her in pain, with or without the soul, and he did the only thing that he knew to do, to stop the tears. He kissed her, and as their lips met, he purged his soul of every filthy, vile thing he’d ever done, and he sobbed as well, as the weight of centuries began to ease.

The heat of her breath as she whispered to him fell upon his skin and warmed him, forcing him under, in a blissful mix of pain and hope. The words she spoke drifted to his ears, and took root in his heart, “…I swear, Spike” she murmured, “I swear… I’ll fight for you, when you can’t anymore. When it gets to be too much. If it gets too strong; if there’s no other way, and no one else to fight…I’ll fight for you, Spike. I swear to you,” she lifted her head, and pulled back a little, holding his face in her hands, she looked deep into his bright eyes and said, in a hushed voice, “I love you, Spike,” as his eyes widened in disbelief, she nodded slightly, and said again, “It’s true. I love you, Spike. Maybe I always have.”
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Blessings and Cursings
 

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Willow knew that she had to work fast. If she didn’t figure out how to remove or neutralize the Ukesolrill then Spike would die. What Spike had managed to do, in weaving the demon’s essence with the soul, was ingenious, but it was just a stopgap measure. Eventually, the Ukesolrill would find the demon that was using the soul as a kind of camouflage, and attempt to extinguish it.

After all, that was what a Slayer was designed to do, and the Ukesolrill, for better or worse, was the Slayer. It would see the essence that was “Spike” as a kind of virus that was invading its host body. It might recognize William as something to be protected, and leave the soul alone, but now, with the two so intertwined, if “Spike” died, would the soul that was left survive?

If they took the powers that made it possible for me to kill Xander- if they were taken from me now, would * I * survive? Would I go insane without them, and the power they give me?


As Willow hung up the telephone, she looked up at Giles and sighed wearily, “Miss Chalmers seems to think you’re on the right track. But she says it’s very risky. She told me…” Willow tried to avoid the angry flash in his eyes, “…she had to, about your family history,” she bit her lip, unsure she should go on, “About why your Grandmother Rachel became the first female Watcher in the history of the Council. And why you, as incredible as it seems,” she said as she rolled her eyes, “were almost kicked off of the Watchers’ Council, even before you were assigned as Buffy’s watcher- more than once.”

Giles cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with Willow’s new insight, and taking his handkerchief from his pocket, he removed his eyeglasses, and glided the cloth over perfectly clear lenses, “Yes well,” he spoke softly, “I would be most grateful to you, Willow, if you kept that in the strictest of confidences. That particular,” he visibly winced before continuing to speak, “ ‘cross’ is not something that is common knowledge. In fact, I’m not sure why Miss Chalmers is even aware of it. I had thought that I had buried it…”

Willow became alarmed as all the color drained from Giles’s face and his eyes grew wide. He quickly looked in the direction of the stairs, which were outside the den. His face was terror-stricken, “Giles,” Willow gasped, “what is it?”

“There is no way for Lydia to know that particular piece of information. Unless…” he whispered, “good Lord!”
************************************************************

5 December 1910- Essex, England-

As Drusilla nibbled at his neck, he tried to keep the impatience out of his tone, “Pet,” he sighed, gently pushing her off of him, “I know you want to play. But this isn’t the time,” he eyed the bride and groom, who were murmuring words of devotion to one another in front of family and friends.

That was another world. That didn’t belong to him now. And yet… “We must be quiet now,” he whispered in Drusilla’s ear, as they stood in against the back wall of the little chapel, “Mustn’t let them know we’re here, Princess,” he smirked as he nuzzled her neck, “We’re uninvited you know,” he said thickly.

“Oh, I know,” she purred, “I feel so naughty. But I do so love weddings. The little fairies all dressed in white. She looks like an angel, doesn’t she William?”

He nodded, “ Yes,” he agreed.

And she really did. Standing there, at the small alter; looking into her groom’s eyes, she was beautiful. So full of life that it almost made his chest ache. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. But then, now, to him, all humans were beautiful. To him, they were like the pixies that his sister Emma used to spend hours chasing.

Humans were the myth now. They were the things that were as elusive as sunlight. They were something to catch and hold- and they did warm him for a while, as sunlight once had. But, it never lasted. It was fleeting.

There was a time that he wanted this, and as the minister joined the two as one, he knew that Rachel would be safe.

And, she would live to be an obscenely old woman. He would see to it. That was his promise to her.

“…We could make her into one, shall we?” Drusilla whispered coolly into his ear.

“What was that, Sweet?” he asked, distracted. He was suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the world of light, and the weight of his deception.

“My silly boy. A beautiful wedding, a beautiful bride, and my Prince is out of sorts. So much like Daddy. He’s so hungry he can’t think properly. Well,” Drusilla pouted, “Mummy can remedy that, soon enough. She will go fast, I promise. You can be gentle with her. I know you can,” she tried to soothe him, but this was something she couldn’t touch. This was something he wanted to be with him always. This was not something he wanted to forget, “…She’s ready, William. She looks so pretty, and so sweet. You like sweet things, don’t you?” he felt her hands gripping his shoulder, urging him on, “You can do it. She’s already dressed for Heaven.”

The implications of Drusilla’s words cut through the fog of loss and regret, “No,” he hissed, his tone harsh.

“But William” Dru whinged, “she’s perfect for you. Don’t you see?”

“I said no,” he growled in her ear, his voice was so slight, that the wedding guests in the pew directly in front of them must have assumed that he was whispering sweet nothings into his lady’s ear, “not this one, Dru. This is very tiresome,” he grumbled. “I’m certain we could find you a nice street urchin,” he smiled, his eyes glinting with an evil light, “That would be much tastier than an old spinster trying to put on the airs of a young bride,” he snorted dismissively, “would it not?” he coaxed, “It is dusk just now. There will be enough of them for you to have your fill. Leave these two alone. We must be going now.”

Drusilla looked longingly at the bride and groom as they slowly made their way out of the tiny chapel, arm in arm, then looked back at William, who seemed so eager, “You’re right, William,” she said, “ We must be going. A girl mustn’t waste time chasing pixies.”

Her words brought back thoughts of Emma. But, there was nothing to be done for it now; William smiled, perhaps a bit too broadly, “Indeed not!” he said exuberantly as he led his Princess into the night.

As he ran with her, he felt strangely light on his feet. He’d done it; he’d convinced her to let them live another day.

His dear sister, Rachel Louise Dustin, and her new husband, James Fredric Giles, could have a life.

As he let the chill of the December night flood his senses, and he watched Drusilla race ahead of him, William sent an almost breathless prayer up into the air, “Live well, Rachel. Live well.”

Joyous laughter rang into the night, as a wedding was celebrated.

*************************************************************

His heart shook and shattered. If this was true… if his hunch was correct…

“Willow,” Giles gasped, “We have to help him. We must help him. I must help him.”

Willow had never seen Giles like this before. His hands were shaking, and he looked to be on the verge of tears. She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but she did her best to comfort him, “We will, Giles. We will,” she said softly.
 
Eulogy
 

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His father had told him that there was a reason his Grandmother Rachel had defied the conventional wisdom of the Council. He had spent years trying to discover the family secret, but his father would never divulge the information. He would only say that Rachel Giles was of the opinion that a demon might be influenced by the vital force of the person it inhabited. She was convinced, some said obsessed, that, somehow, in taking a body’s life force within, that force, the intangible thing that made a person what he was, could hold sway with the demon.

It was a heretical thought. And, as he grew to follow in her footsteps, as did his father, he saw her as a foolish old woman.

Now though, it seemed that he had indeed stumbled upon the very secret his family had kept. Faced with the amazing force that was known as “William the Bloody,” and a scattering of memories that were now becoming brilliantly sharp and relevant, he wondered if he was the fool.
************************************************

15 JANUARY, 1990- HIGHGATE CEMETERY- LONDON-

He knew being here, long after the gates had closed for the night, was a risk. But he had to keep her gravesite from being gawked at or desecrated. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Henrietta Mills had died in a tragic accident. But, as her Watcher, he knew the truth, and he knew that soon enough the demon world would learn of her death. She was the Slayer, and she had given her life in the service of the Council. So now, he would do his, and protect her memory from those that would subject it to mocking and ridicule.

As Rupert Giles stood in front of the headstone, he fought back tears. He knew that this was how all Watcher assignments ended, with the death of the Slayer and the rising of a new. But knowing that did nothing to ease the pain.

That pain prevented him from noticing the companion that had slipped silently beside him, until he spoke, “Shame,” the voice was barely a whisper. In fact, it could have been mistaken for the wind that blew fiercely around the cemetery grounds, “she was so young.”

Startled, Rupert looked for the source of the voice. What he found was incongruous with the cultured tones that were spoken.

The person standing beside him now, looked like he belonged more in the bowries of London than in a cemetery. The voice was cultured and soft, but the appearance was very menacing. The unnaturally bleached blonde hair was enough to make anyone give this man a wide berth. Everything about this man screamed danger, yet he felt strangely comforted by his presence. Rupert ‘s eyes narrowed, as he acknowledged him, “What are you doing here? The cemetery closed hours ago.”

A hiss of air could be heard, “Yeah,” he whispered, “I was visiting one of my dearly departed and I lost track of time,” the face was all sharp angles and almost ghostly, “I lost track of the hour,” the leather coat that the man was wearing billowed around him as the winter winds continued to blow, “ I’m ashamed to admit it but, I was just about to go over the wall when- I noticed you standing here. I thought perhaps you might be in the same predicament; or that you might know of a way out. Perhaps the key to the gate?”

The young Watcher shook his head, “No,” he breathed.

The man eyed the tombstone in front of them, “Eighteen years isn’t a long life,” he mused, “ But, it is more than some are privileged to have. I’m sure she lived a rich, full life.”

“She shouldn’t have died.”

“If we could choose, it would all be different. Wouldn’t it?”

The question puzzled him, and he looked at his companion’s face; trying to decipher his meaning. The man’s face was almost as opaque as the black winter night that surrounded them both.

He turned away from the man for a moment, trying to gather his thought, and when he turned back, the man was gone.

************************************************************************

Even as he heard her speak the words, he knew he was in danger. This was the kind of thing that would kill him; and that wasn’t metaphor. Those words were deadlier to him than sunlight.

He knew what lurked just out of reach, waiting for him to weaken. It was ageless and ruthless, and stronger than he. But he didn’t care.

I’d die for those words. I have before. Bleed me dry, you faceless * coward *! You’re not taking this from me!


He wanted this. He wanted to get lost in her. Let it take over, but he knew that he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to keep her safe.

Spike stared at her in disbelieving silence.

Her eyes were so honest and true, so giving, that he could not help but be drawn to her. He fell against her, weeping as the storm of emotions swirled in him, “Oh Buffy! Oh, Buffy…Buffy…Buffy…Buffy…” he murmured, placing light kisses on her face and neck, “please tell me…”

“Tell you what, Spike? Anything!” she promised, “I swear, Spike. Anything!”

As he felt the truth of her words bubble up from deep within him, he felt the monster getting stronger. As he tasted the salt of her tears on her skin and the sweet tang of her sweat, he could feel the last of his defenses weakening. He groaned as he tried to keep from drowning in the tide he knew would kill her.

With his last, he would save her, like he hadn’t before. With his last bit of strength, he would do the one thing that might save all those he held dear, as well as himself.

There was no other way. He could feel the spark dying inside of him. The monster was too strong now.

Oh, Love! I’m so sorry. I know. I do. But… this is the only way! Please!

*************************************************************

Willow felt the thing roll over her like black tar, sticky and hot and suffocating. She shuddered from the power of it, gasping, “Giles, we have to get up there,” her voice was a tense whisper, “I’ll get Althenea…she’s the strongest here,” she said, as she made her way to the main part of the house, where she had last seen Althenea.

“What is it, Willow,” he asked in a hushed, tight voice, as he slowly followed Willow, his face showing his alarm.

Willow tried to keep the tears out of her voice, “I don’t think we’re dealing with Spike anymore,” she shook her head in despair.

“You mean…?”

Willow nodded, “Giles, if he’s there…he’s so far under that he can’t get out on his own.”
**********************************************************

Buffy felt his body stiffen in her loose embrace, and a cold fear came over her. By the time she felt his fangs pierce her flesh, it was too late to escape.

A force more powerful than any other she had faced, a force that felt kindred to her, whispered in his voice- his last wish, “Lie to me.”
 
Objects in Motion
 

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Dawn held her breath, trying to listen through the door. She knew, as soon as she saw Willow and Giles go into Althenea’s room that something big was going on. She just hoped that Buffy and Spike would be okay when all this was over.

Because, the way the voices behind that door were rising, she wasn’t sure they could be.
********************************************************

Giles could feel the tension rising. The danger in this house was real. They didn’t have much time left. He looked at Althenea expectantly, his voice teetering on the razor’s edge of frustration and rage, “Well?”

Her hazel eyes were soft with worry and understanding. She shook her head, sadly, “Rupert,” Althenea sighed, “I can’t let you take that risk. Not again,” her eyes drifted slowly to Willow, who could not meet her knowing gaze, “We did it once before,” she calmly told him, “and you barely came back. You’re family here, Rupert. I can’t do it,” she sighed heavily.

“Family?” his voice was grating with rage, “Woman,” he said slowly, standing on legs that trembled with fear and fury, “all the family I…” Giles swallowed the terror. He would not break. He couldn’t, “…have in the world- is in that room. I have to do this,” his voice became sharp with the decision he had made, “And I will,” his eyes met hers, bright with intention, “You know I can. With or without your assistance, it will be done.”

Althenea’s eyes widened in shock, “Rupert, you can’t put Willow in that kind of danger!”

Willow watched as what he intended to do became clear to her. Oh, Goddess, no! He can’t! She caught his arm in a desperate grip, “Giles, you can’t!”

Giles looked down at the small hand that held his arm, and smiled ruefully at Willow as he spoke to Althenea’s concerns, “Miss Rosenberg will be in no danger,” he said quietly, “The risk is mine. And, only mine.”

As Althenea Morris watched two people she had grown to care for head to the upper level of the house, she called out to her friend, “Rupert, it’s suicide!”

Giles smiled at Dawn, who was still hovering around the door. The look of concern on her face was enough motivation for him. He nodded, trying to reassure her. It was then that Althenea’s words finally slipped into his conscious mind.

Well…It’s a good day to die.

There was something familiar about the way Giles looked at her. Something that made warmth rush into Dawn’s heart; that something made her know that everything was going to be all right.
*********************************************

Thump…thump…thump…th…ump. What is that noise? Is that my heart beating? Why is it so loud? And…is someone calling my name?


She could hear voices, but they were muffled and sounded like they were far away. It was almost as if she was under water. She felt dizzy as the sting of his fangs cut through the blinding haze. It should have hurt. The fangs of a killer were in her throat, and it should have hurt.

The feeling she felt was nothing more than mind-bending fury. Anger so old there wasn’t a word for it, and it had Spike’s fangs in her throat.

Oh Spike. I’m so sorry. I should have saved you from this. I know…and now you never will…


She began to slip under. She knew, from somewhere outside herself, that she was dying; that she was being held in the embrace of death by arms that once held her in a passion she couldn’t feel. They were strong arms. Arms that should have held her now, but they didn’t. They had disappeared. She was dying in his arms- alone. He was gone. He’d disappeared before her eyes.

And she’d watched it happen. She’d let it happen.

Oh God…I’m sorry…Spike…
Then, through the fog, came the whisper of something. Something she had all but forgotten in this dance.

It should hurt. He should be tearing my throat out like Angel did. That didn’t feel like this. This should hurt. Why doesn’t it?

Spike? William, are you still here?


That was when she felt it. Under all the anger and the loud thumping noise, was a feeling she never expected. At least, not from the thing that was wearing Spike’s face.

Fear.

Buffy realized that the thing that had her didn’t want her dead. If it had, there would be no stopping it from killing her. After all, she knew this thing. It was part of her. She knew that the rage was consuming. It knew nothing but the kill. She knew it had nothing to fear.

Yet it did. And that gave her power over it. It gave her the power to bring him back.

The noise was getting quieter now. Thump…Th…ump…th….ump… The soft hiss of ragged breathing filled her ears, and made her body shake as it shuffled off the shell of living. The throes of death held her now.

He held her now.

The murmur of strong voices was hidden now; lost in the ecstasy of the dance.
*****************************************************************************

Giles looked anxiously at Willow’s face; eyes closed tight in concentration and pinched with worry and exertion. He strained to hear any signs of life beyond the door, but there was nothing. They were out of time, “Willow!” he hissed, “Get. That. Door. Open…Now!”

Her voice was tight with effort, “I’m trying…I’m trying…Oh, Goddess!” she gasped, “There’s so much…hate!”

He knew that. He felt it, too. It was the darkest presence the old warlock had felt since Eyghon. In fact, this was beyond that. Oh God! Has the institution my family gave its life to, subjected generations of young women and * girls * to something this dark? It’s darker than anything I’ve felt- even from a vampire. Oh God, Buffy!

But then, under the weight of the hate, Giles sensed something else fighting against the current; something that was small and urgent, but important, and unchanging; something that was quickly waning under the swell of hate.

Something- someone that he had taken comfort in, when there was only grief; when there was nothing but the loss of her. He had taken comfort in their mutual love for her, and in fact, his constant presence had saved him from death more than once during that long, excruciating summer without her.

Spike.


And, he was panicked, almost beyond reason.

She’s dying! I can feel it! Oh God, no! It’s me…It’s me…Help me…Can’t…no…it’s me…Oh, help…She’s dying, and I…Am…killing…Her…Oh God. Killing…her…Her…so sweet…I can’t! It’s her! Her…Buffy!…Oh God…that’s it…sleep, sweet…so sweet…Down…Down…down….Sweet silence…


The pain and fear he felt was all he needed. Willow was no longer needed. He called upon the rage and hate that once consumed him, and focused it to the task.

You will yield! Open. This. Door. Now!


As Buffy fell into the ecstasy of Heaven once more, the room clapped with thunder and was bathed in a red glow. She was forcibly driven from the peace. Ripped from the peace of that place, and his arms, again, and flung out into the emptiness, as she dimly felt her body hit the wall of the room. She was lost again, away from him. she wept at the pain of it, “No,” she whispered as she fell into unconsciousness.

Giles’s voice rang with otherworldly power and strength, “I believe this has gone far enough!”

Startled amber eyes took him in, and hardened in defiance as a tongue touched fangs that were coated in blood, a mouth widened in a ghastly grimace, “The weakling is gone,” the monster climbed to its feet, “It is I who live now,” the voice was cool and calm, its gaze fell upon the still form that lay in the room with it.

Giles followed the gaze, “Willow,” he called calmly to the girl at his side, “do what you can for her.”

Willow nodded, and rushed to Buffy’s side.

Spike’s voice was cool and deadly, “Foolish man,” it chuckled, “The weakness of the Slayers, and this vessel, has been purged. It is I that am now. That cannot change. And if you attempt to change what cannot be changed, I will destroy you.”

Giles walked slowly into the room, “Willow,” he said, never taking his eyes off of the vampire, “…is she…?”

“No,” Willow’s voice was quiet with relief, “but I couldn’t tell you why not. She’ll be out of it for a while though. We might need to get her to a hospital.”

Giles nodded tersely. He knew that Dawn was nearby, “Dawn, please come in here and help Willow to take your sister to safety.”

Dawn was a blur as she rushed in to help Willow. When she saw her sister, fallen in a heap on the floor, she tried not to cry as she picked up her sister and, she and Willow silently, carried her out of the room, and away from danger.

When Giles was sure that Buffy and Dawn were relatively safe, and the door was shut, effectively sealing him in with the lion, he turned his attention to the beast in William’s body, “Now,” he said, his tone calm, “You say that what has happened cannot be changed,” his head tilted as he regarded his opponent, “Yet you tell me that you will destroy me, if I attempt to do so,” he grinned, as a new confidence flowed through him, “I think there is a flaw in that argument. I’d like to test my theory, if you don’t mind.”
 
Survival Instinct
 

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Giles studied the monster. Is this what Travers wanted? He could feel the Ukesolrill’s presence crowding him, trying to force him to back down. But, that was something he would not do. Not when the monster was wearing the face of someone he had a connection with, on so many levels.

When William’s form advanced on him, Rupert Giles felt a chill run down his spine. For a brief moment, he reconsidered the wisdom of his plan. It had been years since he had even attempted something like this. Back then, he was unable to withstand the force of the entity he had tried to commune with. He was young and weak then. Now he was older, and more focused.

Being older, he had more to lose. And now, he had a budding respect for the family he thought he, and his Grandmother Rachel, had lost years ago.

He had mourned his Uncle William like he’d mourned no other, simply because of what had happened to him. As a young Watcher, Giles felt that, becoming the victim of a vampire was one of the worst deaths he could imagine, and that made him grieve for an uncle he never knew. His grief was part of what drove him.

And now, years later, he was staring into the eyes of someone who was dead, yet was not. Spike had proven, over and over again, that he was much more than a mindless killer.

The Ukesolrill however, had not.

The connection he felt with the being that had been hijacked by the force that powered the Slayer, made him strong, but it also made him weak.

He knew the monster could use the emotions that were coursing through him. It could be as perceptive as Spike. It could use those emotions as a weapon against him.

The question was, would it?

With a voice that was eerily calm, Giles spoke to his enemy, “Now, if what is done cannot be changed, then why expend any of your considerable strength trying to kill me?”

Yellow eyes narrowed and regarded him coldly, “You are just as corrupted as she. You were a Watcher, but you have lowered that calling, and yourself,” Spike advanced on him, and despite the fact that he was taller than the vampire that was eyeing him, Rupert Giles found himself consciously resisting the quite physical need to back away from the power he felt coming from the Ukesolrill. He could feel his mouth going dry as it used Spike’s familiar tones to hurl barbs that were very hurtful. Barbs that the old Watcher knew that the vampire would never use, “…so far as to wallow,” it continued, its eyes now black with hate, “in the filth with this thing! You no longer have a purpose in the fight. You have lost. Things corrupted will be taken from the earth. It is only the pure that will remain.”

Giles was saddened by the words the voice he had learned to trust over that long and horrible summer was being forced to utter, “It really is sad,” he mused, “All that strength and power, and there still isn’t much of a survival instinct.”

Giles felt his throat constrict as he watched the vampire’s jaw twitching. He knew that he was pushing the thing inside of Spike to the edge, possibly pushing the limits of his own survival with every passing second.

Suddenly, his mind was transported back to a cave in Africa, to another time when he seemingly stood, looking into the face of the agent of his death, yet he was here. And his heart began to swell with the hope that something still remained of the vampire he knew, because then he might have a chance of surviving this encounter.

The voice shook with rage and the eyes that saw him were as black as tar as they looked at him, “I was here,” Spike’s voice hissed, but the voice was hard and sharp, it carried none of the soft round tones that had become so familiar. There was nothing of what Giles had come to need, in the voice that spoke to him now, “before you were born. I will be here, long after you are dust!” Giles could feel the air of the words against his eyes, and he tried not to blink, afraid to show this creature any weakness.

It was then that the full implications of what Travers had planned hit him. He wanted to start over- from scratch. With a new Slayer…and a new… “You have no idea where you are, do you?”

“The Council has ensconced me, finally, within a vessel worthy of my power. This vessel is pure. It is strong, and can last for eons,” the voice changed suddenly, lowering, as if shaken by a powerful sadness, “I will no longer feel the pain of death.” Giles was shocked when he saw the hardened face of a monster soften, and become, once again, a face he knew well. Deep blue eyes stared into him for a moment, before lowering in sadness, “Or the pain of loss,” William’s soft eyes looked up at him, and then drifted toward the door, following the path that Willow and Dawn had taken when they removed Buffy, “It is too much. Now, I can be without that.”

Giles smiled sadly as he watched William fade, once more overwhelmed by the monster inside. There was torment in the amber eyes that looked at him now. And, that he could use to his advantage, “I see. You want to live. But you don’t want what comes with that. And, along the way, you want to destroy, vampires. That is what you do, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, you’re very fortunate. Because, this ‘vessel?’ I’m afraid that you are mistaken,” the Watcher’s voice hardened, “This purity you feel, comes from a vampire…a vampire that wants to die. So why don’t you help it along. And then, we can get on with the business of living- without you.”

Before he had a chance to blink, the Ukesolrill had him pinned against the wall, holding his arms immobile at his side using the closeness of Spike’s body to fasten him in place. The fact that the Ukesolrill could have used the fangs, as it had before with Buffy, and did not was very encouraging. Perhaps it meant that Spike was indeed still able to exercise some bit of influence with the creature; “You lie,” it hissed, “I have served the Council well in the battle. They have been my masters. I have done their bidding. I have pleased them…for generations!” it cried, as it shook with rage, “I am their best warrior! I have done…what they made me to do,” the voice descended from blazing fury to frigid, barren dejection in seconds. The eyes of the Slayer looked at the Watcher as they tilted in contemplation of his words, “Why would my masters banish me?”

Giles swallowed the empathy he was beginning to feel for this entity, and said coldly, “Perhaps it is because you are no longer of any use to them. Perhaps you are too corrupted, and the Council wishes to start afresh.”

Confusion flittered in the gaze that stared at him, and the monster backed off a bit, allowing Giles to step away from the wall he’d been pinned against, “But I am pure. I am what they made me to be. I cannot be corrupted.”

Suddenly an idea came, “You are a slave, are you not?” Giles asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” the Ukesolrill answered simply.

“And you are what has powered all of the Slayers- from the beginning…until this day?”

The vampire nodded.

“Do you wish to be free of your chains? Free to rest, as is a warrior’s right, after a battle?”

“Yes,” it whispered.

Giles took a deep breath, “You know that…I am part of the Council once again. I am…one of your masters. I have the power to rescue you from the exile of this form,” his eyes roamed quickly over the vampire and returned to the face of the warrior the Council had created, “ and to let you rest, until the next Slayer is called. Is that what you wish?”

The voice that answered him quivered with years of repressed emotion, “I wish to be. If I stay…here, the Slayers I have served with my power will cease. As will I, because of that power. If what you say is true, it cannot be otherwise. I know nothing else,” once again Giles was shocked by the emotions in the amber orbs that looked upon him, “Would my masters murder me? Have I so displeased them?”

“It looks that way, doesn’t it?” Giles said, his own voice soft and quiet, “But, you may yet live, through all the Slayers that have been, and may yet be. I am offering you that choice. Your old masters are gone. I bring with me a new day, and a new understanding. All I ask is that you yield this form. And, rest for a time. Do you consent?”

“But, if I leave here, where will I go?”

“There is a place. You know it. You were there, and then you were not. Fools who did not understand that that was your right, tore you from that place. I am offering to set you free, to allow you to go back to that place, if you wish. The Slayers will not die, but will draw on the wealth of your strength from within themselves, until you are needed again.”

Spike’s voice was tired and shaken with loss, as it said, “Yes, I am weary. And I remember that place, and long to return,” the eyes were moist with what Giles could only describe as gratitude, “I will go, until I am called once again. I shall not forget the kindness you have bestowed upon me,” the body turned around and sat, once again on the bed. As the Ukesolrill lain its head against the pillow, and its feet upon the mattress, “And on my return, I shall serve you well. Release me,” the Ukesolrill said, as it closed its eyes.

The calm and submissive nature that the Ukesolrill suddenly took on, surprised Giles greatly, and a lump came to his throat as he watched the essence of the Slayer wait, passively, like a lowly lamb, to be acted upon by its masters; waiting for permission to rest.

The feelings that the sight evoked in him, made his voice weak, but the words he spoke were strong, “In the name of the Council of Watchers, I release thee, Ukesolrill, from thy fealty, until such time as thou art needed once again. I beseech thee to leave this body, as thou didst find it, and rest. Gain the strength that is needed to serve in the battle, Warrior. Go in peace, and know that thou dost serve thy purpose well and true.”

The room suddenly became enveloped in a blue light. Giles looked on in wonder as a black mist seemed to be drawn out of Spike’s skin and into the air. It hovered over the vampire’s prone form, as it lie on the small bed, and then gradually floated up through the ceiling, seemingly pushed by the gentle blue light, until the black had disappeared and all that was left was the soft blue glow.

The glow lingered above the body, and Giles sensed it hesitate, and, if not physically, turn toward him. He knew the sight of this light should have frightened him as it hovered in the space between him, and the lifeless body he knew, without being told, that it belonged to, but he was not.

Instead, he was filled with a familiar warmth, “Go on, old man,” he smiled, “Buffy will be fine. Go. We have so much to talk about when you awake,” the blue glow still hung in the air, as if unsure of what to do, “Go to sleep. You need it. We will all be here when you open your eyes,” Giles whispered, “I promise.”

With that, the blue mist floated over to the space above the bed Spike was lying on, and slowly drifted down until it poured itself into his skin and became absorbed by it. The vampire began to shiver as if a cold wind had blown against its skin, and gave an audible sigh, but other than those miniscule outward signs, nothing else told of the battle that had been fought in this room.

When Giles was certain that the body on the bed was sleeping, and not, in fact, in any other danger, he quietly left the room to see to the rest of his family.

There would be time to talk things out, soon enough.
 
Facing Me
 

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“I don’t know how,” Althenea said, as she gingerly dressed the wound on Buffy’s neck, “but it seems that the vampire didn’t drain her as severely as I’d first feared,” her brows knitted with concern as she looked the young girl over, “Yet she’s still unresponsive,” the woman took hold of her limp wrist, “Her pulse is strong and steady. She should be coming around.”

Giles looked at Buffy as she lie on the bed in Lois Kingsbury’s room, which was a short way up the hall from the one Willow had been using that now held Spike behind its door, and became concerned, “Is there any physical reason why she should not be conscious?”

Althenea shook her head, clearly dismayed be the young girl’s state, “There is no reason for it, that I can see. The wounds on her throat look brutal, but they’re shallow. They will heal, and rather quickly, too. The blood loss is minimal. That is very surprising. The impact from the magic should not have caused this…” her voice trailed off and she turned a scrutinizing gaze toward Giles, “You say that the vampire reached out to you; asked you to help him…save her?”

Giles heaved a sigh. He understood the witch’s skepticism. If he hadn’t seen Spike with his own eyes, in Africa and Sunnydale, he would be as well, “Yes,” he said softly, “he did.”

Her brows were still knitted in confusion, “This is a vampire, correct? Of the same line as the Master…and Angelus?”

The look of incredulity in her eyes almost made him laugh openly, “Yes,” Giles said.

“I see,” Althenea sighed, but it was clear from her tone that she, in fact, did not. She set her eyes once again on Buffy, “Perhaps you could shed some light. Do you know what would cause the girl to be in this condition?”

Althenea Morris was a dear friend, but Giles was beginning to realize that the same rigid thinking that had driven Quentin plagued her. It was enough to make him ill, “Perhaps,” he growled, “she is tired. She has been through a great deal, of late, as have we all. Would you care,” he ground out, his voice low and menacing, “to wake her, and ask her?”

Giles walked away from Althenea. He had better things to worry about than her curiosity.

Dawn and Willow worried outside of Lois’s room, waiting for news when Giles stalked out of the room. The look on Giles’s face sent chills down Willow’s spine. She’d seen that look before, and it * was not* a look that foretold of puppies and hugs.

It was that look that had made her believe that Giles could have killed her, or turned her over to the Council. He didn’t do either, but maybe he should have.

“Willow,” he said, turning to her, “tell me if anything changes with Buffy,” he shook his head in disgust, as he looked back at the room’s closed door, “I can not be anywhere near that woman, now. Heaven knows what I might do!” he hissed, as he descended the stairs.

Willow shuddered when she heard the door of Giles’s temporary office slam shut with a jarring thud.

She gave Dawn a worried look, before Dawn headed toward her room, and Spike.
*******************************************

Buffy could hear the voices murmuring around her, and she knew that what those voices were saying was important. She wanted to respond, but couldn’t find the energy to form the words. Her mind however, was fully aware of what was going on around her.

And, she was livid.

Why are you worried about me? I’m not the one who’s in danger, here! I never realized how angry…how violent. No. That’s not true. I do know, because it’s in me. It *is* me. It tried to kill Spike before. And, now it has. It almost killed me. It would have if…oh, Spike…

************************************************************

As Giles collapsed into the chair behind his desk, Spike’s gently mocking words came to mind:

“Oh, poor Watcher. What’s the matter, did your life flash before your eyes? Cuppa tea, cuppa tea, almost got shagged…cuppa tea?”


In point of fact, it was.

He could remember the intense sense of satisfaction that flowed through him like his life’s blood, when he felt his boot slamming into Ethan Rayne’s stomach. He could remember relishing the sounds Ethan made as his boot and fists bruised his flesh.

He remembered vividly, watching the light go out of a man’s eyes, a man that Buffy had taken pity on, in sparing his life.

The Slayer could not have killed him. He was human. To the Slayer, he wasn’t a threat.

She couldn’t kill Ben. So he did.

The tension and grief of the past few months washed over him, and he began to weep. As the tears coursed down his face, one thought played over and over, in his mind:

What makes me any different than the vampires I’ve fought over the years?

******************************************************

Willow sat quietly next to Buffy, lost in thought.

She knew what Spike’s aura felt like. She knew that, when all was said and done, the vampire, and this vampire in particular, did get something from the rush of a fight, from the violence, but they only killed to live.

Underneath it all, humans, and the life force within them enthralled Spike. He had many opportunities to kill, both her, and Buffy, Xander too, but didn’t do it.

She had loved Xander too. But, she killed him, without thought.

Spike had his fangs in Buffy’s throat, yet he had enough inner strength- where it came from, Willow would never be sure, but he found the strength to call out for help. And, as she watched Buffy begin to stir, she knew she had much to learn from Spike.

Because although she did love Xander, she had killed him.

Spike loved Buffy, and although he could have killed her, he didn’t. She was alive. Xander was dead.

Just what is it,
Willow thought, that makes me any better, or him worse, than me?
*****************************************************************

Dawn could have wept for joy, as she knelt beside his bed, when she saw Spike’s blue eyes open groggily, and take her in, “Nibblet? What are you doing here?” his voice was slurred and tired, but she didn’t care.

He was here- with her- and he was looking at her like he used to. Like he loved her.

It wasn’t until his shaking hand had risen to her face to wipe away the tears, that she realized that she had been crying, “Hey, what’s this?” he asked softly, as he rubbed the wetness between his fingers, “None of that. Not from you, Nibblet. Not because of me.”

“I’m sorry, Spike…” she sniffed.

His eyes widened a little, as if he were in shock, “Sorry? What for, Nibblet?”

“For not seeing you, Spike,” she lowered her eyes because she couldn’t let him see how ashamed she was, “For only seeing the vampire…not you.”
 
Seeing You
 

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He smiled at her as he slowly sat up, “Bit?” he asked, looking around the room, “I’m ashamed to admit it, but, don’t rightly know. Where am I?”

“England,” Dawn said.

Spike’s eyes squinted in confusion, “England…Well then, what are you…?” his eyes widened, “Oh God,” he gasped, “He didn’t get you too,” he moved to stand up, but when his weakened limbs refused to hold him, he sank back onto the bed.

“Don’t worry,” Dawn said quickly, trying to comfort him even as she felt a swell of sympathy for the vampire who had been her confidant, and an anger at what Travers had done to everyone she cared about, begin within her, “that man never touched me. I’m here…because,” she gave a lopsided smile, “I finally decided to grow up. And because Buffy wanted me here, because she knew that…you would need me, like I need you,” she lowered her eyes from his shyly, “She was right,” she muttered.

She looked up and saw his anxious eyes, “Buffy?” he whispered.

Dawn bit her lip. She knew that he wasn’t going to like the answer, but she didn’t want to lie to him either, “She’s…sleeping,” Dawn said softly.

“Sleeping…? No,” Spike’s head lowed for a moment, and when he looked up Dawn could see his eyes shining. They were shining the way they had when he thought she was someone named Emma, “She’s all right…?”

“We don’t know. No one can figure out why she’s still asleep. It’s been three days since…”

Spike’s head was lowered in grim acknowledgement, “…Since I bit her,” he ground out as the images flashed in his mind.

He could remember the thing gaining strength when he heard those beautiful words. He could remember trying desperately to hold on, and not let the darkness overtake him. But he wasn’t strong enough.

Against his will he felt the sweet rush, and it made his stomach turn, now. The thing he had come to Sunnydale for- the taste of her- still lingered on his tongue. What at one time would have been sweet- now was as bitter as gall. He hadn’t felt this sick since Mouse had found him groveling in the sand.

He felt spent, and used. His nerves felt raw and his skin felt as if it had been turned inside out.

And, as the images of what he had done cascaded over him, he wanted to vomit. He remembered the unrelenting hatred pulling at him, and he was so weak. Too weak to stop it…Buffy…forgive me…please? I was weak. I should have stopped it…

He could remember crying out to the heavens for help. He was too weak…He couldn’t stop it. And now, the Watcher had won.

He didn’t want to believe it. He wanted it to be a lie. But, he knew it wasn’t.

He wasn’t stupid. This house was so full of grief that he could taste it. It had to be true. The fact that Dawn was in shock proved what he already knew, in his heart. And, if by some miracle she had managed to hang on, it was only by the thinnest thread. If she was hanging on, it was for Dawn, not for him.

She didn’t love him. She couldn’t.

It’s a lie. Please…let it be a lie.


He looked up at the one who could save him, the sister, and his stomach nearly retched. He knew that look. He’d seen it before. But how could she…? Unless… “Bit,” he stuttered, her name nearly silent in the face of his fear, “…tell me…I didn’t…?”

“Okay,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “You didn’t.”

Spike’s body shuddered, and he let out a sigh, “Bit…”

Dawn held out her hand and said gently, “Come on. Seeing is believing.”

Spike didn’t know if he should believe. But the hope Dawn offered was all that would save him now. So, reluctantly, he took the hope she offered him when he took her hand.
***********************************************************************

KENYA, AFRICA-

He smiled at the tourist, “Thank you, sir,” Panya said as he took the man’s pocket change, “Thank you very much.”

It wasn’t much, he knew. But, if he put this night’s take with the savings he had accumulated over the past few weeks, it might be enough.

He was worried about his friend, Simba, as well as the old Englishman and Shujaa, of course. He hadn’t had word of them since they had left here to find Simba, and that worried him.

By now, Panya felt that he should have heard something. Silence, he knew, was not a good thing in Simba’s world.

He felt that he was needed, and so he would go.

As he watched the man walk away with his trinket, Panya took the pouch out of its safe place under the counter. He opened it at surveyed the contents. It was just as he thought. Now, he could afford a plane ticket, and the correct documentation; documentation that would allow him to travel to England.

His friend needed him. And tomorrow morning, he would go.
***************************************************

The short trip up the tiny hall was the longest he had ever taken. Spike knew that he was most probably crushing the bones in his Nibblet’s hand, seeing as how he had it in a crushing grip. But it couldn’t be helped.

Right now, the Nibblet was his lifeline. And, as the door loomed closer, his mind went blank. He couldn’t think of anything but her- and the sickness hit him again.

How could I be so weak! I let that…that…* thing*…that monster use me like a slave. I let it take her, when I swore I wouldn’t!


Dawn lightly tapped on the door, “Willow,” she whispered, “Spike is with me…”

“What?” her voice was sharp and disbelieving, “He should be sleeping! After all he’s been through…”her shocked face appeared in the doorway.

Dawn nodded and sighed, “I know Willow. But, he wouldn’t believe me otherwise,” she gave Willow a mischievous grin, “You wanna tell him no?”

Willow blanched, and retreated, “Goddess no! I know better!” she gasped as she stood away from the door, allowing him access.

Spike pushed past Willow and slowly approached the bed that Buffy was lying on. It wasn’t until he noticed her steady breathing and pulse that he allowed himself to relax.

She’s alive…but…
“Why is she unconscious?” the question barely registered, as it took no air from the room. She needed it. He couldn’t take anything more from her.

“Willow has a theory,” Giles’s quiet voice came from the doorway.

Spike turned to face the Watcher, but his question was for Willow, “And, what is that Red?”

“I think she’s given up,” Willow said.

“Given up?” Spike’s haggard face looked to the Watcher that was his only kin for the answers.

“Yes,” Giles choked, “You see…Travers…he…” his eyes became hidden and grim. He was unable to look up because of the shame he felt at being a party, in any way, to the hurt that now touched everyone he cared even the least about, “The entity that he put inside your body…with you…was meant to be used to…assassinate the Slayer, in a way that would elicit no argument. Vampires have killed Slayers before. No one would question it,” he sighed, and continued, “And in the process a vampire would be eliminated. Because, you see…the entity that had you in its thrall, has been, and is, a part of the Slayer. It is, in fact, what gives the Slayer her strength. It was designed to kill vampires. So when it…overpowered you…she thought that…”

Spike gasped involuntarily, and Giles looked up, and was astonished to find, not the eyes of a vampire, but the eyes of his family- his uncle’s pain filled eyes- looking back, “…She thought that…it had killed me,” Spike whispered, “Oh…” he turned and looked at Buffy’s small body as she lie on the bed, apparently lifeless, “Rupert,” he choked out, his voice rough with unshed tears, “What can I do?”
 
Me
 

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20 OCTOBER, 1866-

She was so still, it was hard for him to breathe, looking at her. Under the bedclothes, she looked so small. She looked even smaller than she did when he watched her slip beneath the murky waters of the pond.

Her small bedchamber had never seemed so large as he took halting steps toward her. She looked so delicate and fragile.

He stilled his breath-and prayed. * Emma, sweet Emma, I should have protected you. If I’d only been swifter…If I’d only seen…swam faster… and now… *

His recriminations were stopped short when he heard her strangled cough, and he rushed blindly to the bedside table, fumbling with the basin and pitcher. His hands were shaking so, that the water splashed out from the side of the basin and onto the floor as he poured it from one vessel to the other. He took a deep breath and took up the cloth that lie beside the water basin, carefully placing it in the water, he tried to calm himself, as he placed the moist cloth on her little forehead, “There…is that better?” he asked, his voice shaken with concern.

Emma gave a soft cry as the cool water brushed over her fiery skin, “…Hot…”she murmured deliriously, and William stifled the cry that rose up in him at her pain, “I know,” he said softly, “This should help cool you. Father has gone to fetch the doctor. And Mother…” his soothing voice trailed off. Their Mother was so beset with worry for Emma that she had taken to her bed. But there was no reason, that he could see, to trouble his dear little sister with that knowledge, “…is busy badgering cook to work her magic and bake you the most delightful sweets for when you are well again.”

Fever-bright eyes looked up at him, and the tiniest bit of breath escaped, “Will?” she squeaked wearily.

“Yes, dearest?” he whispered, his throat raw.

“Do you love me?” Emma asked as sleep took her once more.

“Oh,” William whispered raggedly, suddenly wishing his father were near, to comfort him, “Emma,” his voice shook as a dark weight settled on his shoulders. He somehow knew that the coldness that had begun two days ago, when he’d pulled her from the icy water, would be with him until the end of his days, “dear sister, you know that I do,” he said as he stroked her brow with the cool cloth, “With my whole heart.”

****************************************************************

The sight of Buffy lying on the small bed brought back images that were unwanted. Until now, William’s memories had been safely cocooned inside the shell, the mask that Spike wore to protect himself from Angelus’s abuse. They were always there, but they could be drowned out in the rush of blood and violence. They had to be drowned out, or he would never survive.

Except now, William had broken through, had saved him. And, even though the Nibblet had given him back the leather he used as a protection for William, Spike felt the old pain wash over him.

As the pressure built up in his chest, threatened to overtake him, he focused once again on the surprisingly kind eyes of the Watcher, “Rupert,” Spike sighed, “do you think you could see your way clear to letting us be for a moment?”

Giles opened his mouth to protest, but it was Dawn’s voice that Spike heard, “Spike, are you sure that’s…?”

His eyes shifted toward her, and he smirked, and tilted his head, regarding her softly, “Nibblet, I understand,” he nodded, his blue eyes sparkling at her, “But, this is me…understand? It’s me, yeah? Look at me,” he said tenderly, as he watched the beautiful pink rise in her as she looked away. When her eyes slowly returned to his face, he continued, “You know me, in ways big sis doesn’t. She can’t. I love you. And, I love her. You love her. You know that I would never hurt her. I think I can help her now, in a way I couldn’t before,” his eyes shifted again to Willow and Giles, “Please, let us be…and let me try.”

The room was silent for a moment, and Dawn could feel the warmth rising in her. The warmth she felt last summer, when all they had was each other to cling to. When she felt that feeling, she knew that her Aunt Darlene was right.

The love * doesn’t * go away. It’s there…I just saw it. Wow…wow.


Her mouth pulled itself into a grin, as she turned toward Willow and Giles. Just then, the sound of the doorbell drifted up the stairs, “Well,” Dawn giggled, “I guess that would be our cue to leave,” she said as they all turned toward the door.

“Expect so,” Spike said softly as he watched them file out of the little room. When the door closed quietly, he let out a heavy sigh and turned his attention to the Slayer that lie on the small bed, “All right, Slayer,” he said, as he took the parsons chair from the opposite corner of the room, “it’s just you and me now,” he planted the chair near the side of the bed, with the seat facing the door, and straddled it, resting his arms on the back of the chair, “I’m not letting you do this to me, or to us. After all we’ve both been through- all the hurt- there has to be an us. I’m a bit thick- headed,” he chuckled, “Another thing we have in common, and I’m not leaving. Didn’t leave Rupes…Won’t leave you. So you can cross that off your list. I’ve been in your skin. And apparently,” he breathed deeply, taking in the scent of her that lingered, and was stronger, newer than, the old worn leather that he’d worn for close to thirty years, “you’ve been in mine,” he smiled at the thought of her wearing his duster, and remembered what he saw, in that cave in Africa, “So you weren’t a figment, then? Should I be flattered? Or, do you want to claim it back?” he shrugged, “It did belong to a Slayer, once. I suppose it does again,” the easy tone he’d been trying to build, suddenly crashed as he looked at her still form. William was so close to the surface, and everything that he’d gone through suddenly overwhelmed Spike. Tears that came from raw emotion- emotions that were over a century old, and as new as an hour ago- rained down his face. He rested his forehead against the back of the chair. The soft upholstery grated his nerves, as he heard himself begging, “Please, Buffy…don’t do this. I’m too tired. I’m here…and I need you. I need to rest. Please…I need you,” he whispered, hopelessly, “Let me rest…”

Voices were floating somewhere in the ether, and she felt the sadness. It was heavy here. She could feel Giles and Dawn near. And, she felt something else, something old and familiar, and heartbreakingly sad.

It smelled like copper and leather, with an undercurrent of whiskey. There was dust, soil, and moonlight, and cigarette smoke.

Spike. It smelled like Spike.

And she wanted to scream.

* No! No, you’re not him! You killed him! You…I killed him…*


The head that rested heavily against the back of the chair, shot up at the smell of unshed tears. His eyes widened as he looked at her.

Had he reached her? “Love?” he whispered, as both demon and man were poised on the edge of hope.

It was then that the most beautiful sound hit his sensitive ears. It was so slight that he almost missed the precious sound. It was not even a breath, “Spike,” she keened.

Suddenly, the months of pain didn’t matter, and as he saw her emerald gaze blazing through him like an inferno, he felt as if he could fly. By some miracle, his voice became sure and strong, “I’m here. I’m here, and I’m never leaving you…it’s me.”

“Really?” she whispered as she stared disbelievingly into his face.

“Yes,” he choked, trying to hold tight control over the emotions that were flooding him, “It’s me,” he sighed, feeling a weight lift off of him, “Maybe for the first time. It really is me.”

There was a soft tapping sound at the door, and Spike growled a little at the intrusion.

“…What does that mean?” Buffy’s voice competed with the tapping for his attention.

Spike slowly got up from the chair and went to the door, his eyes never leaving hers, “I don’t know, Love,” he said as he yanked the door open.

The quiet voice from behind the door lilted, in a familiar singsong way, “Perhaps, Simba we can discover that, together.”

The tears of gratitude that had begun flowing when Buffy awoke, were now flowing for an entirely different reason.

Spike was looking at the face of one of his only true friends in the world. He was so full of gratitude that he could barely speak, “Mouse,” he whispered.
 
Beginnings
 

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Dark eyes looked sheepishly at the floor, “Please forgive the intrusion,” Panya said, “Mister Giles told me, but…” his eyes took in the whole of his friend; took in the ill- fitting fleece, and the worn duster that he’d seen Shujaa wearing, that seemed to fit very well, and smiled, “I had to see for myself. All is as it was, yes? Giza is where he belongs?” he asked with a happy glint in his eye.

Spike gave a shuddering sigh and hoped that Mouse didn’t notice how much of his body weight was being supported by the door jam. He was grateful that Panya could not see his hand shaking and the muscles of his forearm straining to hold the doorknob, “I think so,” he whispered, the strength of his voice disappearing in the swirl of pain that had been his existence for months, “I’m a little older,” he shrugged, “maybe a little wiser. Oh Mouse,” Spike shook his head, once again overcome with emotion, “You have no idea how good it is to see you.”

Panya’s shining eyes looked back at him, and his voice quietly broke, “I think I may. It is good to see you, Simba,” his eyes again returned to the floor, “You and Shujaa need to be…I will be down with the others, should you need me,” as he turned to go, he said softly, over his shoulder, “Tell her, Simba. Tell her what is in your heart.”

Spike nodded, taking in breath heavily, the sound spoke of how weary he was, “I intend to, Mouse.”

Simba’s eyes and voice betrayed the great pain that Panya knew was lurking just beneath the face his friend showed to the world, “Do not wait, friend,” the boy said quietly.

“I think I’ve waited long enough,” Spike said as he watched the boy who had cared for him when no one, not even he, could care for him slowly leave his sight.
**********************************************************

Willow had seen that look on Giles’s face before. That was the look of disillusionment. Watching him pace the floor, she knew that the future of the Council was on his shoulders.

The events of the past few months, even the past few days had changed everything for her. So, she could only imagine what it was like for Giles.

When he stopped his pacing and looked out of the small window, in the foyer, onto the Devon countryside, she quietly slipped beside him and took in the colors that weren’t to be found anywhere in Sunnydale. She sighed, looking out at the mists that muted the green of the land, “Can you believe that I almost ended all of this?” she mused, “Crazy, huh?”

“And therein lies the rub,” he sighed, shaking his head.

“Kinda messes with the whole, ‘Good-guy, Bad-guy’ thing doesn’t it?”

Giles nodded, his jaw set as the conflicting emotions flowed through him, “If you had seen what I’d seen in Africa…the future of the Council is in doubt, Willow,” his voice was gruff and pained; the sound almost brought tears to her eyes, “If a vampire can be more humane than the institution, or the man charged with ridding the world of their threat, why does it even exist? What gives us the right? Who are we to judge them, when we are as corrupt, maybe more, than they are? When a vampire is monstrous, it’s known. But, with a human…”

As she listened to Giles speaking, Willow let her mind travel over what she had done, and what Xander and Buffy and she had done to Spike, and to each other, over the years they’d known one another. And, not all of it was pretty. They’d all lied to each other, and hurt each other in ways that were very cruel.

She remembered how much they all grieved when Buffy was gone last summer. She saw the way that Spike lingered like a ghost in a graveyard as he worked through his grief. She saw how soft and caring he was with Dawn, when all the rest of her friends and family, herself included, were too numbed with grief to notice her.

She could remember how Xander dismissed Spike’s sorrow as just an act- an attempt to “get in good” with Buffy- even when Buffy was gone, and he could in no way impress her.

And she did nothing to disabuse him of that notion.

How could we have been so stupid?


Willow sighed, “Well, things can change,” she murmured as she turned to see Spike’s friend from his time in Africa coming to join them.
***********************************************

Spike tried not to focus on the loose gauze at her throat, tried not to notice the small, yet ever-widening spot of red as it seeped through the white.

He tried, but he couldn’t.

She looked so pale as she slept. So pale that he began to wonder if he’d hurt her, if he’d taken too much from her. But he was grateful that she could sleep.

He knew he wouldn’t; until he knew she was safe.

He sat on the chair again, this time with the seat facing the bed, his fingers trembling as he touched the small bandage, “I’m sorry, Love,” he whispered, as he battled the emotions within him, “Let’s see what we can do to fix you up,” he slowly removed the medical tape and cotton. His stomach lurched as two deep gashes were revealed. The fissures weren’t clean; the flesh was torn. It was jagged and bruised, and the sight of her skin blackening around the oozing, red, wounds in her neck made him physically ill, “Buffy…” the weight of what had happened made it hard to speak. He hated the weakness in his voice. But, he was too exhausted to care, “…If you can hear me…” he heaved a heavy sigh as he felt the long ago darkness settle over him once more, “…You have to know that if I could have…if I’d been strong enough…I would have stopped it,” his fingers skidded over the wound and recoiled as if he’d put them in holy water when she moaned at the contact.

“It doesn’t hurt that much, Spike, Buffy said softly, her eyes still closed, “I’ve hurt worse.”

Spike bowed his head, “Part of that is because of me.”

Buffy opened her eyes then and looked into his wavering blue gaze, “That was different. We were different, then,” she paused, and winced a little as she thought on her actions back then, “Or, maybe you were. Me…I’m not so sure.”

Spike shook his head in denial, still unable to look at her, “Buffy, don’t…”

“You didn’t hurt me, Spike,” she said, her voice growing stronger with her conviction.

Spike’s eyes shot up, and he tried to look into her eyes, but his gaze stopped at the torn, traumatized flesh of her jugular, “Buffy…” he bit back the rage he felt building within him at her blindness “I’m a vampire. That’s what I do. But,” he closed his eyes, trying to escape the deep tear in her throat, “…not like that. Not to you. I’m sorry…” his eyes lowered again. He knew of a way to help heal the wound, but he was certain that she wouldn’t allow it, “There’s a way to make it…” he faltered and stuttered. Suddenly his feelings were unwieldy, and he felt his forgotten hurts surfacing again, “…I could close the wound. There won’t even be a scar,” his eyes went to hers shyly, and he whispered, “If you would let me…”

Buffy couldn’t help feeling the lump rise in her throat as she sat up in the bed, “Of course I’ll let you help, Spike,” she tried to hold back the tears that stung her, but couldn’t, “I love you…so much Spike.”

Buffy felt the emotions vibrate through his fingers and flowed into her as he gently touched her neck, moving her head to the side. His voice whispered her name worshipfully as he placed his mouth on the wound and kissed the skin softly, “Thank you,” he murmured, the tremor of his words shot pleasure throughout her, “…don’t ever want to hurt you…”

Buffy’s tears flowed at the pain in his voice, and her heart hurt for him, “You won’t, Spike. You won’t…I love you, Spike,” she whispered to him, “I love you.”




 
Post Mortem
 

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Panya listened quietly, and when Giles paused he asked the question that had been in his heart since Simba had been taken from Africa, “What was Simba like before the change? Does anyone know?”

Giles sighed and sat heavily in the chair behind his desk, “All the Watchers who’ve had occasion to cross his path- their writings say the same thing- that he was a ruthless killer. One that took great delight in being what he was, in being a vampire,” Giles sighed again, trying to reconcile what he’d seen with his own eyes with what he had been taught, “Before the soul, he was just like any other vampire. He had no conscience to guide him. He was an animal.”

As Giles looked at the boy’s dark eyes, a shudder of guilt went through him. His mind flashed on his grandmother; she’d lived to be over a hundred years old, and when he’d finally decided to follow in her footsteps, and become a Watcher, she’d looked just as Panya did now when he refused to listen to her wisdom.

Why did he feel as though he had disappointed his grandmother?


Panya spoke quietly, “Forgive me,” he bit his lip as he tried to make his meaning clear, “perhaps I did not say it correctly. My English is sometimes faulty. My meaning was simply this; what was Simba like before. Before he became marehemu?”

“Marehemu?” Willow asked.

“A vampire,” Giles grumbled tiredly, “And the answer is, we don’t know.”

“I see,” Panya said, his eyes squinting in thought, “There was no family to speak to, when Simba joined the ancestors,” he could see the confusion in the older man’s eyes and tried to choose words that would better express his thoughts, “…When he…passed on?”

Giles sighed as he felt the laugh building up in his chest, “Out of the mouths of babes,” he mumbled softly, smiling to himself as he leaned back in the leather chair, “I am quite certain there was. Just as I am certain that, until this precise moment, the Watchers’ Council had absolutely no interest in what any surviving family members would have had to say on the subject of their departed loved ones.”

Even as he was speaking, Giles could not help but think of his Grandmother Rachel.
******************************************************************

11 SPETEMBER 1973

Rupert hated being here. Hospitals made him uncomfortable, and to make things worse, every time he came here, she expected him to wear a suit.

He kept his eyes down as she spoke. The sight of his grandmother made him squirm. She had become thin in her old age, and her skin was sagging off of her bones. The veins were too prominent, showing blue under her skin.

He knew that she was dying. And, he did not want to see it happen to her.

Her thin voice filled the small room, “Rupert, your father tells me that you have become incorrigible; and that you will not see reason, and you’ve refused your place in the Watchers’ Academy. Is this true?”

His weight sifted from foot to foot as he looked at the floor and mumbled, “Yes, Grandmother.”

The softness in her voice surprised him, “I understand, Rupert. You’re young…and to be focused on death at such a young age…” her voice faltered, and Rupert looked up to see his grandmother’s eyes bathed in tears, “…It goes against nature. I only wish that I had never…I’m ninety-nine years old, and closer to death…”

He winced not wishing to face what he knew to be true, “Grandmother, please…” he begged, “Don’t…”

She blinked at him and wiped her eyes with a shaking hand. She nodded and sighed, “For me…the Watchers’ Council was never a job. It is a calling,” her eyes shone at him, a glistening blue, “ and I don’t want you to ever forget what it is that makes you different from those poor souls that have not been able to rest. Rupert, never forget that you are human. Without that, we are no better than the…evil we fight.”


“…Mister Giles, has anyone thought to ask Simba?”
****************************************************

His eyes were glistening as he looked at her. She could still see the shadows of his bruises as they were fading from his skin. And, she thought of the kind of force that would be needed to deliver a blow that could not only make his skin bruise, but make them visible weeks after the abuse had stopped.

She had an indication because her mind flashed on the night of the birthday party that wouldn’t end due to Dawn’s wish, and an overzealous vengeance demon. That had occurred a full week after she had beat him to a pulp outside of the Sunnydale police station, and his face had still been swollen.

The possibilities horrified her, “Spike,” she asked, in a timid voice, suddenly unable to meet his eyes, she unconsciously mirrored his posture, “when is the last time you had anything to eat?”

He bit his lip in thought, and sighed heavily as his eyes drifted up to recall the memories, “I think I took a good bite out of the Watcher,” his eyes returned to her head, that was lowered in thought, “Don’t know how long ago that was though,” he smirked, “Don’t think I would have finished him. He didn’t agree with me.”

Buffy put her legs over the side of the bed so that she could be face to face with him, and close the gap between them. When he saw her begin to move, Spike pushed his body, and the chair he was sitting on, slightly away from her.

She put her hand lightly on his knee as he pulled back, and as she did, she felt him shaking, “…And, there was me…” she whispered.

“No!” Spike cried, his eyes wide with shock, “Slayer,” he shook his head, “I won’t do that! I can’t…”

“Spike,” Buffy spoke slowly and carefully, “I think I understand. But…I already told you…you won’t hurt me.”

His voice shook as he spoke to her, “No…you don’t understand. I can’t do that. I just…I can’t,” his shoulders sagged and his voice ebbed with the despondency he felt, “I just…can’t.”

“But you need it, Spike. And, it’s been months since you’ve taken anything in. Panya told me that you hardly ate, in Africa, and so did Giles…”

“That’s just it,” he sighed and looked down at the bandages that ringed his wrists as the reality of what had happened to him hit, “Slayer,” his voice shuddered, “the Watcher…he hurt me. But, I hurt myself too. What I did to you…it was wrong…”

“No, Spike…”

“No, it was. It was wrong, and there’s no way I can say how sorry I am. It’s just not enough…”

“Spike…” she soothed.

His eyes shone up at her, “Let me finish…please. I had to rid myself of the monster that would do that to you. So I did…what I knew I shouldn’t have,” his voice lowered to a whispered, “And now, even the thought of blood…Buffy,” a sob burst from his throat, “It makes me sick. I won’t survive like this. I can’t. And there’s only one other who would understand…”

Buffy nodded, “Angel.”

“And, there is no way in sodding Hell I’ll go crawling back to him. So,” his face held a ghost of a smirk as he looked at her and his eyes sparkled with a bit of his old fire, “So…you and Rupes and I…we’ll work out a place for me, in the world, yeah? See if I fit?”

“Indeed we will,” Giles’s authoritative voice sounded softly from the open doorway.
 
Interlude
 

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“Giles,” Buffy said softly, never taking her eyes from Spike’s face, “if you can spare Spike just a few more minutes. We need to have a little talk. And, could you do something for me?”

“Of course,” he said.

“I know there has to be a butcher or a fishmonger somewhere in Devon. You know what it is Spike needs…”

“…Slayer,” he interrupted, his tone low and measured, “I already told you…”

She saw the warning in his eyes and knew she was treading in things he didn’t want her anywhere near, but she also knew, that she had so much to make up for, that this was the best place to start.

I’m not letting you do this Spike. I’m not letting you kill yourself, not because of me.


Buffy hoped that he could see, as she looked into his eyes and saw the mixture of anger, sadness, and trepidation that warred in them, that she was just as serious as he was. She was not going to back down, and that was that, “And,” she continued, “I know he won’t ask. That’s why I’m asking.”

“I know of a place,” Giles said, “It will be done, within the hour, I should think.”

What Giles had said made Buffy’s eyes flutter toward the window, which was covered in blinds that were letting small slivers of late-afternoon light into the room. And although Spike’s back was turned away from the light, and he had the back of the chair and his duster to protect him, she had absolutely no way of knowing how long he’d been sitting there, or even if he had the strength, or the will, to move away if he were in danger. The thought made her sick to her stomach, “And Giles,” she ground out harshly, her jaw clenching in anger, “Tell Dawn to tear apart Althenea’s linen closet. We came to her for help. She doesn’t need to help him like this! Something has to be done about those windows!”

“Slayer,” Spike interrupted, sensing where her thoughts were headed. He shook his head, “that isn’t what I was trying…”

Buffy’s green eyes flashed at him, “You didn’t let me,” she lowered her eyes, “…When I came to you…” she felt the prickling of tears, “so, I’m not going to let you. And,” she continued, looking back up into his face. Buffy couldn’t help but feel a rush go through her when she saw Spike’s dumbfounded look, “tell that twit in Los Angeles to stop preening in the mirror, looking for his lost reflection, long enough to get over here,” the sound that hit her ears next sounded like a gasp that was caught somewhere between indignation and choked laughter, but she still went on, “His family needs him right now!”

Giles was suddenly thrown back in time. He was looking into his Grandmother Rachel’s pleading eyes. Eyes that begged him not to do what he knew had to be done- and he knew he was finally making his grandmother proud, even if the eyes that looked at him now didn’t know it, “It will be my pleasure,” he said as he left the doorway.

Buffy sighed with relief as she watched him go, and was proud that he didn’t argue with her. One down, she thought, as she looked back at Spike, Now for the * bigger* battle.

Buffy saw the pain in his eyes. But pain was easier to deal with than not having him around at all. She was only now beginning to understand why Spike had allowed her to treat him like she did last year.

He allowed it because anything was better than not having her there. She understood that now. But, that didn’t make what she did to him right, in fact, his need for her made what she did to him just that much more wrong.

His eyes shone at her with barely contained anger and hurt, and at this moment, if he wanted to hit her once for every time she thoughtlessly hit him in the nose, she wouldn’t blame him one bit.

Spike’s voice quivered with months of repressed emotion as he spoke, “Slayer, this is my fight. I don’t need him…or you…looking down your nose at me. Pitying me because I’m a pathetic…broken,” his voice broke, and he spit the word out of his mouth as if it tasted rancid, “…monster!”

“Spike,” Buffy gasped, in shock, “I love you. You’re not a monster!” she tried to continue, forcing her voice to rise beyond the hurt she felt at his words. This is what you did to him. And, you will listen to what you did. You have to, or you can never begin to try to fix it, “Not anymore,” she tried to breathe as the anger she felt at herself squeezed the air out of her chest, “If you ever were. You loved me, and I took advantage of that. I did things to you that I should never have done. Things that I can’t even begin to apologize for,” she sniffed, looking up at his shining, softening eyes, “ But I’m trying. This is part of that. If you need Angel, so be it. I’ll get him here. Even if I have to drag him by his bloody stupid, spiked hair! You won’t be crawling to him. He owes me. He left Dawn and me when Mom died. You didn’t. You are so much better than he will ever be! And, it’s time he knew it.”

Buffy stopped to catch her breath. Bowing her head, she waited for his verbal volley. The one she knew was sure to follow. The one that said that this little tirade was too little, too late.

She waited for it. But, there was nothing. The silence was first a second, then two, and then three- it stretched into a full minute, and still there was nothing.

She couldn’t bear to look into his eyes. Couldn’t bear to see the hate.

His voice was low and controlled. The tone took her breath away, “You love me?” his voice quivered with awe, and she looked up to see the shining blue eyes of a little boy, “Really?”

“Yes,” she whispered, “and I’m sorry for all the horrible things I did to you…”

Spike smirked, “And,” he asked, leaning forward in his chair with anticipation, his eyes twinkling with a secret glee, “did you just say that Angel’s hair was, ‘bloody stupid’?”

“Yeah,” she smiled a little, “I guess I did. Is that good?”

He chuckled from deep within his chest. It was a sound Buffy had missed very much, “Yeah,” he said, “It’s good,” he leaned over to take her lips in a gentle, passionate kiss, “It’s very good.”
 
The Chicken and the Egg
 

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11 JUNE 1868- LONDON, ENGLAND-

This was the worst day of his life. Father hadn’t been in the grave an entire year, and he was here, in the same church where the funeral rite had been performed, watching Anne Ellis, his own mother, marrying another man.

William knew that this was the proper thing for his mother to do. The past two years- first Emma’s illness and death- then Father’s unexpected demise had decimated the family finances. They had no home, and no standing in society.

He knew this union would restore his mother to some semblance of propriety, but this man would never replace his Father.

Mother looked radiant-even effulgent- as the guests showered her with wildflower petals as they left the church and stepped into the waiting carriage. The sun shone brightly in her golden hair. The sky above them was a singularly beautiful blue.

He should have been happy; there were no more worries now. The weight of caring for her had been taken from his shoulders.

Instead, where others saw a beautiful light, he saw only darkness ahead.

He wanted, with his whole heart, little Emma, back, safe and warm with Lady Alice at her side. But, he knew that would never be.

He knew that things would never again be safe, and he longed to be safe once more.


“…Spike?” Buffy’s voice held a cautious optimism, “Are you all right?”

“No,” he breathed unconsciously, and he blinked when Buffy recoiled slightly, eyeing him warily. He knew that look, and knew it well. She was frightened- of him. And, she had a right to be, “No, Slayer,” he shook his head, suddenly overcome with exhaustion, “not like that. I’m here,” he gave her a lopsided smile, “All present and accounted for. May be that I’m a bit too present, now. The melancholy…” he lowered his eyes, unwilling to see her softening expression, “comes on so quickly. It’s overwhelming at times.”

There was a tinge of humor in her voice, “Yeah…I know.”

Buffy tried to draw his eyes up to hers. She wanted him to know that she was truly sorry for what had happened to him, and for her part in it. She wanted to help.

She tried to keep her tone light and unthreatening, but every time he avoided her gaze, her chest became tighter and she had to fight to keep the tears away. He was small, so much so that the leather that had helped to make him an imposing threat in her eyes, now all but drowned him out.

What she saw in front of her now was a shadow of what he had been.

Oh God…Spike, no. This can’t be you. Where did you go? The only vampire that ever really scared me. And now…I really am scared…for you.


Spike knew that his silence would be unnerving to her. He could hear the small hitch in her breathing; the one that always came when she was unsure of what he would say next. It was that sound that drove him, told him she loved him, when her words denied it.

He wanted to be what she needed, but he just couldn’t find the strength. He didn’t know if he ever would be strong again.

Silence was all he could give her now.

Buffy’s voice wavered with tears, “Well,” she said as she stood slowly and moved past him to the door, “I suppose I’d better check on that take out,” she sighed, “You need it,” he could hear the tiny sniffle as she opened the door.

“Slayer,” he said softly, “I know that you’re trying to help. And, I am grateful to you…and Bit,” he took a shuddering breath, and Buffy winced at how empty he sounded. She wondered how Spike was able to bear hearing that emptiness in her voice. She was sure she sounded, at one time, like he did now, “and Rupert too. If I hadn’t had…” his voice ebbed away, “I don’t know if I could have…” he whispered.

“You would have,” she interrupted, her throat painful with suppressed emotion, “Even if you didn’t have us- you would have made it,” she smiled over her shoulder, still fighting the tears that wanted to fall, “That’s just who you are,” she shook her head, bemused at the enigma that he was, “A vampire who refuses to quit. An annoying vampire,” she turned and looked at his slumped form- his head and shoulders so low now that his body was almost pulled into a tight ball. The very sight of him made her shiver. The sight of him made her want to run out of the room, but she knew she couldn’t do that, not now. Buffy fought the impulse to run, and made her way back to his side. She tentatively put her hand on his shoulder. This seemed to surprise him, and as he looked at her, his eyes appeared to dim because of the trauma he had gone through and she felt a devastating sadness come upon her. She could only hope that what she was about to say would ease his pain a little. She took a deep breath, “A vampire,” her voice was shaking, “who has suddenly become the most beautiful person,” she swallowed the lump in her throat, and her heart skipped a beat at the bright, rapt, look that was on his face now. It was a look that took her back to the Heaven she’d been denied, and she prayed that he knew what he meant to her. She prayed he knew, because she was just beginning to know, herself, “…The most beautiful man I have ever known,” she was enthralled by what she’d just discovered, “How…?”

Spike waited patiently for her to finish. He was, quite frankly, astonished by her words. His brow quirked as he quietly begged her to continue, “How what…Love?”

Buffy smiled, feeling happiness go through her as he used the endearment, “How did you do it, Spike? No one’s ever… He never…” Buffy hated to even mention the other. There was no comparing them.

Spike sighed wearily as he stood, his eyes caressed her as gently as his arms did when he pulled her into his embrace, “No,” he shook his head, “he never did,” his soft voice reached a cold place in her heart, “And, I tried not to, believe me. But,” he put his fingers under her chin, and pulled her gaze up to his, “how could I not…love you?” he finished quietly, a bit self-conscious, “And, I don’t know how. I only know that I had to. I couldn’t be what I was, anymore,” he smiled slightly, “I don’t quite know what I am, now. I just knew that I couldn’t be that. I couldn’t be the thing that hurt you,” his head lowered, and his forehead touched hers, “Because,” he whispered, “being that…was killing me.”
 
All The Difference
 

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As shadows begin to wane, an army will rise and friend will become foe. - Prophecies of the Unhesines
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Suddenly, she found it difficult to breathe. The words he had just said kept running through her head: Being that…was killing me.

The thought of what had happened to him-what Travers had put him through- made her sick. He had changed himself. A demon she had been taught, through both word and deed, could not change the vicious nature that lurked beneath, had essentially killed himself to be with her.

And, when he was at his weakest, when he needed her most, she hadn’t protected him. He was taken and held prisoner, tortured and violated by the force that gave her the strength to fight the things of the earth that seemed to be like him but were not.

Suddenly she realized that what she was had almost killed him. Travers had forced him to…she was overcome with revulsion, “Oh God,” Buffy gasped, pulling away slightly from his embrace, she looked up and saw the dichotomy of his face; the soft blue of his eyes and his harsh, emaciated face. All he’d been through showed on his face, “…Spike,” she shook her head, trying to blink the tears away, “I’m so sorry.”

At first, Spike wasn’t sure what he’d heard. It sounded as if she was apologizing. She had been so strong, but now she seemed unbelievably fragile. He could feel her trembling as he held her, “Buffy…” his voice shook as he tried to discern where he had gone wrong, “What is it…?”

“I just realized…” her eyes were downcast, unable to see what was done to him, “The Ukesolrill…”

“Ukesolrill?” he questioned softly.

“The demon…that gives the Slayer her strength…Travers used it,” she quickly looked up, but could not bear his soft gaze, and her eyes fell again, “Spike,” she stuttered as the tears began to fall, “It…I raped you…”

The room fell deathly silent for what seemed like an eternity. Buffy held her breath, waiting for him to say something.

Say something, Spike! Stupid soul…first I can’t get you to stop talking. And now, I can’t get you to start! Things were so much easier when you didn’t have…Oh, God…
Buffy’s eyes widened; she looked at Spike’s face. His expression was hardened and unreadable. Did I really just think that?

His embrace tightened painfully around her arms. It was painful enough to make her want to pull away, but she didn’t- she couldn’t- and not just because he was holding her. She couldn’t pull away now, not when he needed her, “Slayer,” he said, his voice tight and controlled, “Don’t… ever compare yourself to me,” his words were colored with a strange blend of pity, anger, sadness and distress, “Don’t do that! Don’t you dare drag yourself down to where I am, where I belong,” his words drew her reluctant gaze, and when she saw the fire that burned within his eyes, it nearly took her breath away, “I tried that…and I’ll never be the same again. I knew that,” his eyes lowered in shame, and his voice faltered again, “I knew that that night. The moment I saw…in your eyes,” he choked back a sob, “I knew. I know…” he whispered, “What the Watcher did… it doesn’t compare,” he fell silent again, clearly reliving the tortures he’d been through, “…You’re nothing like me.”

“Aren’t I?”

The stunned silence that filled the room was broken by a gentle knock at the door, “Spike?” Dawn’s shaky voice filtered through the door, “Whenever you’re ready, Giles is back from the butchers. He asked me to come and get you. He wants to talk with you. Something about some gaps in the Council’s records about you…well all vampires, really, and he wants to know if you could help. So…come down when you can?” Spike could almost hear his Little Bit blushing at the thought of what was- or was not- going on away from her prying eyes, “Okay,” she said, “I’m leaving now. I’m helping Willow with her meditation drills…It’s really distracting…won’t hear a thing. Come down soon…okay?”
************************************************************************

31 OCTOBER 1976- LONDON, ENGLAND-

Rupert Giles made his way to his Grandmother’s room. The hour for visitors was long passed, so why was he hearing an unfamiliar voice- a male’s voice- wafting softly out of his Grandmother’s room? She should have no one other than family visiting her now and he knew of no brother, or son, other than his own father, who still survived.

Unsure whether this was indeed a member of the hospital’s staff, he decided to linger outside the room and listen.

“…William,” his Grandmother’s frail voice, broken by age and impending death, “I knew you’d come. It hasn’t touched you, you know. You’re still the brother I loved. Never forget that. You’ve been with me…I know it. For every important thing,” the rasping breath shivered Rupert to the bone. With all that was in him, he wanted to be at her side. He wanted to hold her hand, but some invisible force was keeping him still, keeping him out of her room, and away from her side, “…I heard you…in the little chapel…when James and I married.”

“Please Rachel…don’t…” Rupert could swear that it was his own thoughts had somehow been voiced. He was not even certain that it wasn’t, in fact, his own voice that had spoken, and was still speaking now, “I need you to save your strength. Don’t waste it.”

“…When Thad was born…you were there. And even when Rupert was born…don’t know how…it was bright. Too bright…you shouldn’t have.”

“I had to,” the voice spoke the pain that Rupert felt in his heart. Just how his most intimate emotions had acquired the ability to speak he couldn’t begin to fathom, “I had no choice. Your life is mine. The dark…I need it. But, I need you so much more. I need you…to live…”

“Rupert…” her voice was ebbing away, “He is angry…He doesn’t understand…he doesn’t know. And now…you’re here and I’m so tired…”

“Sleep, Rachel. Sleep for me. Rest…”


As Rupert Giles thought back to the night of his Grandmother’s death, the voice he heard suddenly became clear.

The voice he’d heard that night had been Spike’s voice. The voice of a vampire, a thing he’d been taught to hate- even to fear- had been Rachel Giles’s only comfort at her death.

It made him wonder- if the Slayer’s power came from a demon- what made the Slayer any different from the vampires she fought? And for that matter, what was it that distinguished Spike from all the others of his kind. What made him different from Angelus? Or even he, in his darker, confused adolescence?

He had killed a man, with his own hands, and he had a soul. So, was it the soul that made the difference? And, what did that say about Willow, and the countless other humans who had been and were incarcerated for evil they had done?

Quite clearly, there was an unknown in the equation. It was something that had to be faced, and dealt with.

A voice from his past broke him out of his thoughts, “…You wanted to see me, Rupert?” Spike asked.

“I did. I was hoping you might be able to tell me…” his suddenly felt old, and found it difficult to find the strength to ask the questions he needed to ask, “What makes you different from Angelus?”

Spike chuckled, and his eyes twinkled, although dimly, “Do you have a hundred years to spare? This might take a few minutes.”

“Yes, quite,” he muttered, “Then perhaps you could tell me,” he looked up expectedly at Spike, “what my Grandmother’s brother…my uncle, was like?”

The wide-eyed look Spike was wearing told Rupert Giles that his suspicions were correct.

“I hear tell,” Giles smirked, “That you used to be him.”

The ease and humor in the Watcher’s tone made Spike momentarily speechless, “Well,” he started, silently asking to sit in the chair that was opposite the man. Giles nodded, and Spike quickly sat, facing the Watcher across his desk, “isn’t this a kick?”

“Indeed,” Giles agreed.

Spike lowered his eyes, “He still is me, you know,” he said quietly, “Always was…a little.”
 
The Lost Art
 

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31 OCTOBER 1976- LONDON, ENGLAND-

The anguished image was only before him for a fraction of a second. It had just begun to be part of his conscious mind when it left, amid the displaced air thrown about by some unseen force that seemed to hang heavily over his Grandmother’s room.

And, even though it had barely formed in his awareness, Rupert knew that the image he had fleetingly seen as he rushed to his Grandmother’s side when the monitors began to wale was the image that would define the very idea of grief, for him, for the rest of his days.

******************************************************************************

Rupert Giles looked at the face across from him, “You were there, weren’t you?” he asked, his voice suddenly carrying the burden of his Grandmother’s death once more.

Spike’s eyes narrowed, “When?”

Giles’s breath shuddered and he averted his eyes. He couldn’t bear to look into those eyes and say the words, “When Rachel…” he whispered, distracted, unable to even say the word without faltering, “…When she…”

“Died?” Spike finished, his tone cold and flat, “Yes, I was there. It changed me,” Spike seemed to be strangely apathetic about the words he was using and the power they could wield, “more than you know. I killed my second Slayer not five months later. And,” he ground out, his jaw tightening, “tell me, when did my sister lose your respect!”

The vehemence of his words shocked Giles, and his head shot up. The fire he saw in Spike’s eyes made him instantly examine his words with more care, “Of course,” he whispered quickly, feeling the heat of embarrassment climbing up the whole of his flesh, he was soundly chided, “I meant no disrespect,” Giles felt oddly comforted by the harshness of his tone, “I know what you meant to Grandmother. It is only reasonable to assume that she meant as much to you,” he released the breath he was unconsciously withholding when he saw the fire in Spike’s eyes was overcome by a gentle, shining, mist, “I am sorry.”

Giles watched with fascinated awe, and not a bit of horror, as Spike’s shaking, pale hand tried to wave the hurt aside, “No,” Spike said, his voice rough with emotion, “I know. It’s just that…now everything…even the thought of…It all seems so much more real than it did then. You know?” he asked, looking up at the Watcher with mournful, wet, eyes.

“I do.” Giles nodded, commiserating, “It was her love for you…The stories she told of you, that made me turn for solace where I shouldn’t have…”

“The magics?” Spike questioned.

“Yes,” Giles said, shamed.
**********************************************************

Dawn watched as Willow slowly climbed back to awareness. It was amazing that she could look so serene. This was the person who nearly ended the world, and here she was looking like a fresh-faced maid.


Dawn smiled. Life is definitely strange. Here I am, living in a house with some of the most powerful people on earth and the one that * looks* scary is the one who’s saved my life more times than I can count. And, the one that looks sweeter than pie is the one I wouldn’t want to run across in a dark alley!

Willow let out a calming breath, and slowly opened her eyes. She saw Dawn smiling at her as she sat on her bed with her, and she smiled back, “Happy thoughts?” Willow asked.

Dawn shook her head, “Nope, sorry. Just weird ones.”

Willow frowned, but her body bounced slightly on the bed in her eagerness to once again be helpful, “Can I help?”

Dawn bit her lip, and looked down at the bedspread, trying to lose herself in its white fluffiness. But, the harder she tried, the more she came back to the darkness that was hiding in front of her, “Um, yeah,” she looked up at Willow, “actually, you could. Do you know…”

When Dawn didn’t finish, Willow prompted gently, “Know what?”

“Why you needed the magic?” Dawn could see that that wasn’t the question Willow was expecting, but she had to know; she had to understand, “I mean, bad things happen all the time. And, when they do, most people don’t think, ‘I’ll do a spell and blow up the world.’ Most people just have a good cry and gorge themselves on cake and ice cream. Why did you automatically go there?”

“I didn’t…”

“Maybe not at first, but…I mean,” she continued, shaking her head as memories of that horrible time came back to her, “I do understand it. I was going to use magic…to bring Mom back. Spike even helped me. But, I realized that having Mom back was just…wrong. I don’t think Buffy would have been able to save me,” suddenly she felt a lump in her throat, “if Mom had been around. She wouldn’t have been the same person, the person that did that, if Mom was alive. And,” Dawn whispered, looking down at the bedcovers, “if I hadn’t wanted to do that spell, Glory might never have found me. Spike tried to tell me it was wrong. But, I was hurting, and he wanted to help,” she looked back up at Willow, and said, with a shaking voice because she suddenly understood some of the crushing guilt that Spike felt that summer. Rightly or wrongly, he felt responsible for losing Buffy because he was part of the reason her true nature was found, therefore, in his mind, he was the reason Buffy was gone, “There are reasons that things happen, Willow. If you try to change that, bad things can happen. Why did you do it, Willow?”

Willow’s brow creased, and she took a deep breath and slowly blew it out, “Boy…you think big thoughts, don’t you?” she asked, smiling self-consciously.

Dawn nodded, her eyes never leaving Willow’s.

“Well…” Willow began.
******************************************************

Giles took a deep breath, and lowered his head, unable to see the truth of his Grandmother’s stories in Spike’s eyes, “I grew up, as did my Father, on tales of Uncle William’s…of your gentleness. Even though she was only six years old when her brother,” Giles looked up and was taken aback by the calm that seemed to have overcome Spike’s face. It was almost as if the mere mention of her had called her face to his mind. His Grandmother was obviously someone that he still had tender feelings for; whether that was due to the return of his soul or not, of that, he couldn’t be certain. He lowered his head again, and went on, “…when you…died, she still remembered you. She may not have understood exactly how you had changed, but she never spoke of you in anything but kindness. So, as I grew to understand what the word, ‘vampire’ meant, and that the gentleness she spoke of had been snuffed out…taken from my family by such a…creature…I was outraged.”

Giles stopped speaking as he tried to call up the words he needed to use in order to explain what had caused him to rebel in such a dangerous manner. His eyes drifted up to Spike’s, and he was surprised to find within their depths, the gentle encouragement he needed, “Grandmother Rachel tried to tell me…” he took another deep breath.

And, in the brief silence, Spike was transported through time…

27 APRIL 1883-LONDON, ENGLAND-

Rachel woke to a gentle tapping at the window. He was here again. She tried to tell Mother and Father about the ghost, but they did not believe that he was real.

Sometimes he came to her window, and would watch her through the glass. She felt safe when William was near. But now, he seemed upset.

She climbed out of bed and went to the window, “William,” she whispered, “is that you?”

“Yes,” the ghost whispered to her through the pane of glass, “Rachel, it is me.”

“Let me open the window,” she begged, her hands twitching at the edge of the sash, “You must be so cold…”

“No!” he hissed, the vehemence startled her, and she stepped back slightly in shock and hurt, “Never let me in, Sweetheart. I don’t belong with you anymore,” he looked to his side, nervously, “Listen to me. I am sure Mother and Father wouldn’t do so, but I want to tell you…in the next few nights…do not let anyone into the house whom you do not know, especially after dusk. If someone you don’t know comes calling…you hide. Don’t let him find you! You hide, until the sun is up in the morning,” his eyes seemed sad and lost, “Understand?” he asked, putting his hand against the pane that was between them.

“Yes,” she sniffed, pressing her hand against the glass, her hand mirroring his, she longed to touch his hand, “You look so cold,” she whimpered, “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you, Rachel, so much…” he whispered.


“…that there was more nuance to being human, and being…not human than just good and evil- black or white. But, I didn’t want to believe what she was saying. If a vampire could take someone as gentle as Grandmother’s dearest brother away from her, then they were all evil. The man she spoke of was good, and kind. He protected her…from evil things- from Angelus,” he again looked up at Spike, because now he had no words for what he was feeling.

“In all fairness…” Spike spoke quietly, “most vampires are more like Angelus and Darla than they are like Dru and me. But, I always had a hand on Dru and kept her from veering too far down the dark path. If I hadn’t been there…” he shook his head, sadly, “Angelus was so…and now…I don’t know,” his eyes shone, and the intensity was jarring, “So, your feeling, more often than not, is correct. Vampires are evil. So, a stake is the Slayer’s, and humanity’s, best friend.”

“I want to believe that,” Giles’s shoulders heaved, “I did,” he looked, imploring, into the face of an unlikely vampire, into the face that had been, and was, his Uncle’s, “But then, you came to Sunnydale. You kept me alive…when Angelus would have…he would have…”

“I know,” Spike muttered, “I couldn’t let him.”

“You see,” Giles’s voice was tired and rough, he sounded beaten by life, “You changed the rules. How do I deal with that?”

“Just as you always have, Rupert,” Spike said, gently.

“But how can I? You…there could be more like you.”

Spike gasped, “Dear God,” he chuckled, “I hope not. There’s only one me,” he shrugged one shoulder, “All right,” he smirked, “there is that boy that calls himself a singer,” he teased, “but, who do you think taught him his moves? He’s a pale imitation, but you gotta love a bloke who can still make the leather look that good…and at his age?” he laughed, “You know…in my more evil days, when he, and his mates were in town, I never went hungry. I would go to one of his concerts…and, well…” his eyes glinted with mischief, “You can figure the rest. But, that’s not the point. The point is, you and the Slayer need to keep doing your jobs.”

“I can’t,” Giles sighed.

“You have to,” Spike said, “I’m counting on you.”
 
Fight or Flight
 

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29 April 1883- LONDON, ENGLAND-

The sound of the carriage wheels and the horses’ hooves as they clattered on the pavement filled his ears. As the driver raced the coach through the London night, William found himself hoping that what he’d heard was just more of Angelus’s drunken boasting. Ever since Yorkshire, Angelus had expressed his displeasure with him in countless ways. Over and over again, and at times quite painfully, he had been told who was the master of the family he’d been born into, and just how far beneath the master he was.

Angelus was a jealous and cruel master, who liked to use his fists to teach his lessons. And, he had learned his lessons. But a cruel ruler could expect his subjects to revolt. And William had, on many an occasion, done just that.

The fact that he had not been one to easily bow under his boot had caused Angelus to search for things to taunt him with.

Most of the taunting could be, and was, dismissed. But last night, Angelus and Darla came home just before dawn. Angelus was extremely drunk, and through slurred words, began boasting about a particularly violent, and vile kill.

The sneer on Angelus’s face, and the glint in his eye when he looked at him spoke of someone who had finally put an unruly child in his place. And Darla did not deny the threat; the look on her face made William gasp involuntarily. What he saw filled him with a sickening knowledge.

Angelus had followed him. He had seen him outside of Rachel’s window.

The wait for dusk had been excruciating. His imagination took him to horrible places as he waited for the last ray of light to fade. * What could he have done to them…to her? *

All through the long ride to the estate his mind imagined all the horrors that might await him. It imagined all the things that Angelus could have put Rachel through; the things he could have done to her, and his mother and father, “No,” he breathed, cursing the carriage’s slow pace.

He’d told Rachel…he’d begged her…but she was so little…and Angelus could be deadly charming, “No. Please, no,” he whispered as the carriage neared the edge of the Dustins’ sprawling estate. William hastily jumped out of the coach before it had reached a complete stop and quickly ran the two-acre span from the roadside to the main house.

As the front door loomed closer, William hoped that he would be denied entry, that his Mother and Father were still alive and the fates would keep him out.

The house was quiet as his gloved hand hovered over the door. He touched the door lightly, and pushed. To his horror, the wood swung on its hinges and he stepped over the threshold with ease.

He knew what that meant. The owners of this house were dead, as was he. Angelus had killed them.

His mind spun. * Where were they? Where was Rachel? *

He tried to calm his mind enough to hope, enough to find Rachel. As he ran throughout the house, he tried to keep his emotions from overwhelming his senses. It was the most difficult thing he had ever done.

As he went from room to room the fear escalated with each passing second. The rooms on the lower level were empty, but he could smell the odor of death in the air. He ran up the stairs to the private rooms. Rooms he knew Angelus took pride in using to arrange his kills for viewing by whatever poor soul that happened upon them when the sun came up in the morning.

He looked into his Mother’s chambers, dreading what he would find, and he found an empty room. It was just as he feared when he opened the door. The smell of death and fear was heavy here. * This is where he killed them. I know it. The undertaker must have taken the bodies this morning. Oh God, Rachel! *

The outrage at what Angelus had done overwhelmed his senses. He staggered out of the bedchamber and down the staircase. He was about to leave the house when something reached him, something that had been hidden from him beneath the fear and death.

A tiny breath, and then a tiny sound. The sound filled his head. * Why had I not noticed this before? * The sound led him to an open place in the floor. A crawlspace that could hide valuables from thieves. A space in which Rachel would sometimes hide, whether in fun, or from cross parents. William could remember finding her in the spot on many a night, before what he became banished him from the house.

His own words came back to him, “You hide until the sun comes up in the morning!”

He moved to the center of the floor and moved the loose boards aside, their clattering hitting his nerves unmercifully as they fell back to the floor.

In the hollow of earth beneath the floor, Rachel lie on her stomach, her dressing gown bunched high on her little body, exposing the bruises that disfigured her upper thighs and buttocks. It looked as if she’d been tossed here, carelessly.

There was nothing careless about this. This was done with purpose. This was his lesson. This was art.

He hastily rolled her body until she was face up and as he did her gown moved again, revealing more of her skin. He closed his eyes and quickly pulled the fabric down, his stomach lurched at the thought of her lost virtue. The blood boiled within him. * She’s only nine! *

He removed his gloves, and trembling fingers brushed the earth and hair from the icy skin of her face. As he did, he noticed the wounds on her neck, and gasped, “Rachel,” he could hear her weak heartbeat; he knew that Angelus would never have killed her, not if he wanted the lesson to take hold, “can you hear me?”

When she whimpered, it took all his strength not to show his true face. She opened her eyes and blinked at him, disbelieving, “William?” she cried, “Oh he…he…. I hid…. but he found me…He killed them and he…He…”

He closed his eyes and begged, as tears of rage escaped, “Don’t say it, please,” he whispered, holding her close, “I’m here. William’s here. He will never hurt you again…”


Hearing this, Giles longed for a brandy…or something stronger. He raked his fingers through his hair, “She never told me,” he breathed, “If she had…”

“If she had…” Spike sighed, “Maybe Jenny would still be…” his blue eyes glistened up at the Watcher, as a shared pain passed between them, a pain he hadn’t voiced until now, “If I could have, I would have killed him myself, for what he did to her. If I had…If Buffy had been able to, that night in the factory, then maybe she would still be…happy. If she had staked him the first time she saw him… The world would have been better off.”

Giles looked intently into Spike’s beleaguered face and saw the truth, “If Grandmother Rachel had told the truth, then things may have turned out differently. And perhaps,” he said gently, “the impetus for change would have never been put into place.”
**********************************************************

Willow took a deep breath, “Althenea tells me that I’m a bit of a control freak.”

“Uh huh,” Dawn agreed.

Willow’s eyes widened in shock, “You knew?”

Dawn winced and nodded, “Uh huh.”

“Wow,” Willow blushed, “I’m always the last to know. When Tara died,” her voice lowered to a whisper, “…No, it started before that, way before that. It started when Oz left. Magic made me feel in control again. When Tara died…there was no control. I knew I would never be in control again. And, I was so angry. I couldn’t bring Tara back, and I knew that. I know I shouldn’t have brought Buffy back. That wasn’t fair to her. I should have known the forces would punish me for that. Tara said…” she shook her head as the tears came to her eyes, “But, I didn’t think that- and then it happened, and I knew why. I was so angry. The world wasn’t fair, so I was going to destroy it. And then Xander tried to stop me. He told me he loved me…”

“And,” Dawn said softly, “you made a choice.”

“A choice I can’t take back. Now the magic’s inside of me, and I can’t get rid of it. I don’t know what that means, but it has to mean something,” she lowered her eyes in shame, “Xander’s death has to mean something,” Willow whispered.
****************************************************************

Spike’s voice shook under the weight of what he’d done, “If you had seen her face…I was so ashamed. There was nothing else I could have done. I couldn’t be…” his tears flowed easily, and Giles saw the honesty of his grandmother staring back at him, “that anymore. And, I couldn’t do that, anymore. Not to her, Buffy, or you.”

Giles’s head bowed, “It didn’t happen that night,” he stated, his voice shaken.

“No,” Spike sobbed, “but the fact that I tried… Something had to change. And now…” he looked up at Giles, his face despondent, “I’ve changed. But, I don’t know…” his voice ebbed, “what I am.”
 
Paradigm Shift
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: While reasearching Victorian era mourning costoms, I came across something interesting. While in the extended mourning period, people in Victorian England would wear jewelery,like watch fobs or rigs and pins, with skulls on them. I don't know if M.E. knew this, but it's an interesting fact.
*********************************


AUGUST 30, 2002-SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA-

His coat billowed behind him as he walked the small town’s streets. Sunnydale used to crackle with life at night, but now it was dead. It might as well have been a ghost town. By the looks of things, the rumors were true. The telephone call hadn’t been some kind of sick joke. The Slayer was gone, and he was sure that anyone that lived here knew better than to venture out after sunset.

The smarter vampires and demons that were here once, had left for greener pastures; their food source had dried up. That suited him just fine. He wasn’t looking for a meal anyway.

What he wanted was information, and he knew just where to start.

There were faint traces everywhere he turned, but nothing recent. It was like they’d both vanished into thin air.

As he walked out toward the edge of town, out past the mansion on Crawford Street, and Brook Side Park, he reached Restfield Cemetery. His nose told him that Spike had, until recently, spent a great deal of his time here. As a matter of fact, Spike’s scent was strongest around a particular crypt.

Angel knew exactly where to go; he could track Spike from miles away. As he approached the door of Spike’s crypt, another scent assailed him. A scent he knew well. Though admittedly, he’d only caught that scent once, it wasn’t something he was likely to forget.

One doesn’t forget losing one’s soul. And, he had tried.

He could smell her now- her and Spike. It was old, he knew, but he didn’t care. Spike should * never * have been allowed to touch what was his. He had been taught.

Still, the scent lingered- and enraged him.

He hadn’t wanted to believe what Giles had told him. But now he knew it was true, at least part of it. And it was the truth that he couldn’t stand.

The air reverberated with a growl.

Angel couldn’t believe that Spike could have done this. Buffy was his and he knew it. Angel knew that Spike was slow…but this? Taking what was his was unforgivable.

Soul or not, Spike needed to be taught a lesson.

*************************************************

Coming out of Willow’s room, Dawn hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but last summer had sharpened her senses when it came to Spike’s emotional state. Any difference in tone or inflection could mean that the next time she came by his crypt, all she’d find was a pile of ash. Spike had become very important, almost indispensable, to her and her emotional well-being that summer.

She learned to read “The Book of Spike” very well. And, judging by what she was hearing as he talked to Giles, it would be a long time before there was a happy chapter unless she did something fast. She knew that Buffy was still in Lois’s room.

Dawn knew from experience that Spike’s capacity for guilt, even before he went to get his soul, could be crushing. It wasn’t the all over guilt that Angel said he felt- Dawn had serious doubts that Angel could feel any guilt at all- Spike didn’t feel guilt for being a vampire. But, he did feel guilt when it came to Buffy. She’d seen that first hand.

As she headed for his crypt with the jeweler’s pouch in her pocket, she wondered what he would think. Would it make him happy? Would it make him sad to know that she had found it and that Buffy had kept it?

She quietly opened the crypt door, and wasn’t surprised to find the upper level darkened. He was just as sad as she was- maybe more.

“Spike?” she whispered, stepping further inside, “I know you’re here. So I’ll just…tell you,” she heaved a breath, “I was going through Buffy’s things…and I found something…”

“Don’t want anything of hers, Bit,” Spike croaked.

She could tell that he’d been crying, “I understand that,” she said softly, squinting her eyes to try and see him, “But this…it belonged to you…once. I thought you might want it back.”

“What could she have…” his voice ebbed, “…had that I would want?” he asked, slowly stepping out of the shadows, and stood in front of her.

She reached into her pocket and fished out the ring, and taking Spike’s hand with her empty one, placed the skull ring in his empty palm.

He stared down, dumbstruck, “Why would she keep this?” his voice shook.

She gave him a small smile, “It was important to her. You were important to her?”

“Was I, Bit?” he whispered, because he could not manage to make his voice any louder, “Was I, really?”


The sound of his voice told Dawn that he needed to know that he mattered to someone. He needed to know that he mattered to her, and to Buffy, before the night that he left for Africa.

Dawn knocked on Buffy’s door, and slowly opened it; seeing her sister sitting on the bed curled into a tiny ball, broke her heart, “Buffy…you need to tell him.”

“I did!” she sobbed, “I don’t think he believes me!” Dawn could see that Buffy’d been crying for a while, because her eyes were red and puffy.

“You didn’t think he’d believe you,” she snapped her fingers, “just like that, did you?”

“Why not?” Buffy sniffled, wiping at her face, fiercely.

“Buffy, for a Slayer, you’re pretty dumb,” Dawn said, shaking her head, “You told him that you love him now. He needs to know that you loved him before too.”

“I did.”

“Have you shown him that?”

“How do I do that, Dawnie?” Buffy whispered, her voice small and childlike.

Dawn smiled, “When you,” she lowered her eyes, “were gone, I had to help Spike through a whole lot. And, I learned a few things,” she sat next to her sister and patted her knee, “Do you still have that skull ring, the one you took from his crypt after he left?”

“I didn’t take it Dawn, I…”

Dawn rolled her eyes, “Fine, borrowed then; or Clem let you keep it, or whatever,” she smirked and muttered, “You big klepto,” she teased, “Do you have it?”

“Yeah…”

“Here?”

“Yeah…why?”

“Get it and I’ll show you why!” Dawn chirped excitedly as she headed down the stairs.
 
Adding Up
 

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The sad, small, crumpled figure that was before him now screamed exhaustion with every shuttering breath he drew. And, even though he was slumped in his chair, his hand covering his eyes, and Spike might never admit it to him, Giles knew that there had been tears during the course of the evening, on both their parts. The revelations were shattering to him, and he hadn’t been there. Spike had seen all of this first hand, and speaking of what he’d seen, seemed to be slowly torturing him.

Giles knew that he could no longer be a party to the pain he’d been through. He let out a heaving sigh as he stood up and walked to the front of the desk. He reached down and put his hand on Spike’s shoulder, and felt his body tense involuntarily as he drew back a little, flinching at his touch.

Rupert Giles again found himself biting back the rage he felt, at the man he’d called his friend. He closed his eyes and waited for him to relax, his hand never leaving his shoulder, before saying, in a hushed, thick tone, “It’s nearly dawn and you need to rest-perhaps eat something…”

Spike bowed his head, and in a tight, aching voice that was moistened by sadness and regret as well as anger, came the weary reply, “You know I can’t!”

A chill ran down Rupert’s spine at the sight of Spike’s whole body shaking with emotion. Even though he was trying to hide it, his body could not contain the violent flow of feelings that was coursing through him; feelings he was sure had been repressed for so long, but were now rushing to the surface because of recent trauma- because of the soul. He’d been right; and so had Buffy, “So…” he felt his throat tighten in anger and fear, “Buffy was correct, as was I. You want to die,” at once he realized the foolishness of his statement, and clarified, “You wish…not to exist,” he nodded, resigned, “Still, after all you’ve told me…after all this time…you want to die?”

The same anguished expression Rupert saw the night his Grandmother died surfaced once more in Spike’s eyes as they looked at him, “No,” he whispered, “I don’t. In point of fact,” his eyes lowered in shame, “I’m afraid…to die. What I do want and what I know, now, I’ll never have because I…took that away…” he wept softly at the agony of the millstone he’d placed, willingly, around his own neck, “is peace. I took it away. And now, all there is…is the pain. I want peace…” he raised his eyes, pleading, “and I know I’ll never have that…” his voice hitched, and he sobbed hopelessly, his hand covering his eyes to shield and protect himself from scrutiny, “…again.”
****************************************

The sobbing she heard as she came down the stairs only made Dawn more certain that she had to do this. She couldn’t bear to hear Spike cry, and she hadn’t heard him cry since the night Willow resurrected Buffy.

The sound of it made her want to cry, herself. She was about to come into the room, to try and comfort him, when she remembered something; and, turning around, she headed back up the stairs.

She knew what both Spike and Buffy needed, and she knew just where to find it. And, since they were both so stubborn, she would have to be the one to show them how much they really did love one another. She only wished she’d told Buffy what she knew before everything went completely crazy. If she had, then maybe none of this would have to have happened.

She went back into Willow’s room, and headed straight for the closet, where her suitcase was, and opened the small zippered pocket in the front. Opening it, she found the jet-black opal ring right where she had left it. She took it from its hiding place, “Bingo,” she whispered triumphantly, again leaving the room to prod her stubborn Slayer-of-a-sister along.
**********************************************

JUNE 12, 2001- SUNNYDALE-

Dawn took the key from around her neck and put it into the lock. As she opened the post office box, she smiled. Dawn had to wonder if anyone really knew who “Ian W. Mills” was. Although she supposed taking out a post office box under the name, “William the Bloody” might draw unwanted attention.

Looking inside the box she found a small package with the return address of the “Gem Emporium” on Main Street. * Why didn’t he just walk in and pick this up? It’s right down the street from his…Oh my God…I can’t believe I forgot about Buffy! It hasn’t been three weeks and I’ve already forgotten. *

The thought that he was probably sitting in the dark, while she was out here in the light of day, brought a tear to her eye. She wiped it away, took the small box; closed the mailbox, and headed for his crypt.
***********************************************************

“It’s really pretty, Spike,” she said as she admired the way the stone glinted in the candlelight, “I think…she’d like it.”

His eyes lowered and his voice wavered slightly, “It’s not meant to be liked, Bit,” he said as he slipped the ring, with a lock of her hair inside of it, onto his finger, “It’s for me, to remember her. I thought this was what I wanted,” he shook his head, “But it’s not,” his voice became gruff, and Dawn knew he was in tears as he stared at the ring on his finger, “I never wanted this. You believe me…” his eyes shone as he looked at her, and her throat tightened at the lost look in them, “Don’t you, Bit?”

“I do,” she nodded, trying to hold back her own tears, “I believe you, Spike.”
*********************************************************


He could remember crying himself to sleep at night as a boy. The more stories his Grandmother Rachel told about Uncle William and how gentle he was, the more he wished he could have known him and spent time with him.

And now the opportunity to know him was here. Giles knew that a great deal of the vampire sitting across from him was indeed his uncle, and had been, even before winning his soul. Giles could listen to his Uncle, could learn from him.

He sighed with contentment. He felt as if he was in Heaven.

Suddenly the weight of what Spike had said hit home. Could it be possible? There are so many aspects of this that haven’t been explored.

“All of us long for peace, Spike,” Giles spoke softly, not wishing to try the vampire’s jangled nerves any longer, “That is what you want to be called…isn’t it?”

Spike’s shoulders heaved, “Yes,” he said, the weariness straining his voice, “That’s what I’ve been called. It’s what I will be called. It’s my name…” Giles was comforted to see narrowed, suspicious eyes looking at him; so much so, that he got up from his seat and stood in front of him and placed his hand on his shoulder, in a gesture of budding friendship, “Isn’t it?”

Giles nodded, “Yes it is. It is. I know you are strong. And you are a very powerful fighter, as well as intelligent. You’ve allowed…” he stopped, as emotions began to overwhelm him, “my family,” his voice lowered in deference to the things that had been revealed tonight, and all he had yet to know, “to survive longer than I thought was possible. Would you deny me the pleasure of knowing that my Uncle William is living still…in you?”

“No, of course not!” Spike hissed.

“This is perhaps the greatest foe you’ve yet to face, Spike,” Giles’s voice rose steadily; steeling with determination that spoke of authority, “You cannot fight if you do not take proper care of yourself. You have to feed, Spike. Or, you will not win over this enemy.”

There was a soft knock at the door, and Giles rose to answer it; Spike’s voice followed him, though he did not turn his head to see his path, “Just what enemy is this, Rupert?”

“Yourself, of course,” he said easily.

“There’s more to this than food, Rupert,” Spike sighed.

“Maybe we can help with that,” Dawn’s voice grinned, “Can we come in? We have a surprise for you, Spike,” she grinned at his wide eyes looking at her.

Spike slowly stood, trying to be strong, though his shoulders were still hunched, “What is that, Bit?” he asked, though his eyes never left Buffy’s.

“You ready, Buffy?” Dawn whispered, smirking at her sister, and then looking back at Spike when she nodded, “On three. One…two…three…” simultaneously both girls’ left hands shot out from behind their backs. Each hand was adorned with a ring. One was shaped like a skull and the other was made of black opal.

Spike recognized the rings very well. The sentiment nearly moved him to tears. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and cursed his unexpected lack of language as he stared at them.

“…Well?” Dawn’s voice rang in his head.

“Will you have us, Spike?” Buffy’s now.

“We just thought you’d want to know that you’re more than a soul to us…” Dawn’s again, and now Buffy’s, saying the words he never thought he’d hear, especially after Angelus, “…And to me.”

There was no use fighting it anymore. They were his girls. His.

He ran to them, and held them tightly in his arms, “Of course I’ll have you,” he murmured into their hair, his voice weakened by starvation and torment, as well as tears, “You silly bints!”
 
Catch
 

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He didn’t know when it happened, but suddenly he found himself shaking; holding onto them as if he never wanted to let them go. Then, he felt himself sinking, and they were sinking too. Why are they sinking…? What…?

“…Giles!” Buffy’s voice echoed, and he tried to focus, to make his head clear, but he could not, “…What’s wrong with him? Dawnie…watch his head…!”

I’m so tired…haven’t eaten in…Oh, right…
“Nothing wrong, Love,” he whispered up at her even as he felt himself being lowered to the carpeted floor, and he sank- finally- to safety, “…Just…hit the wall, is all.”

Everything around him went grey as he slipped into sleep.
*********************************************************

Buffy left Lois’s room and sighed as she shut the door. She pressed her back against the door and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to leave him, but Spike had already gone through most of the blood that Giles had brought back from the butcher during the brief periods he was conscious.

She doubted he was even aware of anything but the blood, if he was even aware of that. She had never seen him like that before. He reminded her of Angel after he came back from Hell.

She was tired, and she could not understand why.

Buffy went slowly down the stairs, and found Giles and Panya waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase. She didn’t have to ask if they were worried; it was clearly written on both of their faces, “Giles, can you get more blood? I’ve never seen him like this. He’s almost…” she shook her head, completely at a loss for words.

Panya’s dark eyes shone up at her with compassion that seemed beyond his fifteen years, “Shujaa, he is a warrior, not an animal.”

“I know, Panya. I’ve known for a long time.”

Panya’s eyes were lowered in a respectful gesture, “Please,” he said softly, “call me ‘Mouse.’”

Buffy gave a little smile, wondering why she hadn’t seen it before. Spike…even crazy and half starved you’re smarter than the average bear. Maybe that’s why Angel hates you so much… “He calls you ‘Mouse?’” she asked the boy, “And… Simba means lion, doesn’t it? A big cat?”

“Yes, but…” Panya murmured.

Buffy laughed; and the shocked look on Giles’s face only made her laugh harder, “Giles, don’t you get it…? ‘Cat and Mouse’…? That’s all we’ve ever done,” she shook her head, “Never mind. I just need sleep. I think I’m a little bit punchy,” her eyes focused again on her Watcher’s face, “Can you get him more? He needs it.”

Giles nodded, “Yes, of course. I’ve already seen to it.”

At that moment the front door opened and Dawn came cheerily through it carrying a paper sack, “Giles, I got more blood, and I went shopping,” she bounded in from the foyer, “And, I can tell you that Dad’s gonna blow some kind of gasket when he gets the bill!” she shouted joyfully as she handed Giles the sack and hugged her sister, “And, you know what? I don’t care. How is he, Buffy?” she asked.

“Very tired, and very hungry,” she smiled at her sister, “And I think I need to talk to Giles. Can you sit with him for a while?”

“You don’t even have to ask!” she said excitedly, grabbing a pint out of the sack in Giles’s hands and rushing up the stairs.

Giles watched, bemused, as Dawn rushed up the stairs and then turned to Buffy again, “He’s doing well, yes?” he asked as they walked to the kitchen, and he put the remaining pig and cows’ blood in the cottage’s icebox, “Well enough to return to Sunnydale soon, I hope?” he asked, turning to face her.

Buffy blinked in disbelief, “I don’t know, Giles. If he never wants to see that place again,” her voice was becoming strident with frustration, “I wouldn’t blame him,” her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you ask Spike that question?” Buffy remembered that she had asked Giles to make a phone call; it seemed days ago now, “Ugh,” she moaned, rolling her eyes in disgust, “He’s not going to help, is he?”

Giles shook his head, grimly, “No, he is not.”

She sighed and pursed her lips in a scowl; her hands went to her hips in a way that spoke of her readiness for a fight. In that stance, her whole body said “Slayer” to anyone who knew how to read the signs. Her voice was slow and controlled, “What did he say?” she demanded.

Giles sank into his chair, “We must have a bad connection,” he simply could not believe his ears, “Say again?”

The thinness of the voice as it came through the receiver made the words seem even colder, “I said, he’s on his own.”

“Perhaps you misunderstood. You are the only other he can turn to,” Giles could feel his ire rising, “There is no other. You…are his family.”

“I understood perfectly,” Angel said coolly, “and I said, he’s on his own.”

“He’ll most likely die if you do not help him. He won’t feed…and he has a soul. Surely you can understand. He needs your help. You must know that he will not ask for it directly…”

“Then he doesn’t get it,” the response was clipped, “A soul doesn’t erase the evil he’s done.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Giles agreed bitterly as his mind took him back to his torture at Angelus’s hands.

“If he’s looking for forgiveness, he’s looking in the wrong place. He won’t get it from me.”

***************************************************************************

Dawn sat quietly, waiting for him to awaken. He’d been sleeping since the wee hours of the morning, and according to Buffy, waking up just long enough to eat before falling back into sleep again. That was fine with her.

He sat silently by her side while she grieved last summer, giving her his strength when even speaking was painful- for the both of them.

He sat silently, not expecting her to speak. He held her, sometimes for hours. Now, it was her turn.

“Hey, Nibblet,” his gruff voice breaking her thoughts, “They’ve made you my sitter, huh?”

She looked into his hazy, sleep- riddled eyes, as they shone softly at her, “No one made me, Spike. I wanted to,” she looked down at the packet of blood in her hands, “Breakfast is served, Sir,” she said, affecting a French accent as she handed it to him, “Pity it is not warmed but, I will not go down there,” her eyes widened in mock fear, “It is too dangerous!”

Spike nodded as he sat up in the bed, “Ah, I heard the rumblings. What’s going on?”

“Well,” Dawn smirked mischievously, “Giles tried to call Angel…”

Spike’s eyes widened in commiseration and his eyes roamed to the ceiling and the walls, “And the house is still standing?”

“Uh huh, just barely. The phone call didn’t go well.”

“Yeah,” Spike snorted, “could’ve figured…”

Just then, Buffy’s voice could be heard, “Ugh!” she groaned, loudly.

Underneath Buffy’s voice, Spike could hear Panya muttering a gentle expletive, “Buku!” and Spike couldn’t help but laugh.

Dawn, caught up in his mirth, asked, “What is it?”

“They have to be talking about Angel,” he bit his lip, trying not to laugh.

Dawn was interested in whatever could make Spike smile, “What does it mean?”

Buku?” his eyes twinkled at her.

She nodded.

Spike smirked, “It means…” he trailed of as laughter took him again.

“Well…?” she prodded impatiently, “Come on…tell me!” she teased.

“It means…” his eyes twinkled again, “ ‘giant rat.’”

 
Fools' Gold
 

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29 April 1883- Outside London- His mind was reeling, even as he held Rachel close to him and whisked her to the waiting carriage at the edge of the estate. Her ragged breathing was painful for him, but he welcomed, and silently encouraged it.

The two acres shrank to nothing as he raced her to safety. He knew of one place that Angelus would never look for her. It was at least a day’s journey from London, and he knew she might not survive, but it was her only chance.

He quickly reached the dark shelter of the coach, “Driver!” he hissed, holding Rachel to him, “Devon, and do not stop!”

“But, Sir…” the driver stammered, astonished.

“I am aware,” the demon within wanted nothing more than to drain the coachman and drive to Devon himself, but the man was needed as he would not last once the sun rose, because even though the weather in England was very favorable to what he had become, he could not leave her, or risk being seen, as he did not know if he would be able to keep the demon at bay during his flight to bring her to sanctuary, “It cannot be helped. Drive!” he growled, and pulled the drape that would keep them hidden, and keep him safe from prying eyes.

* If Angelus knew… *

It was, indeed, a gamble, but it was her only chance. It was the only place that she would be safe. They would know how to care for her…if she survived. Angelus would most probably beat him upon his return, if he cared at all, but a convent was absolutely out of the question. Where they were going, Angelus would never think to look for Rachel there.

He knew that he was going into the lion’s den. *A vampire outside the gates of Hell? Placing himself within a stone’s throw of the Slayer and her stake? This is utter madness. But, it is the only way to keep her… * His thoughts trailed off as he listened to her breath, “Very good, Sweetheart,” he murmured softly; rocking her as the coach raced on through the night, feeling the small bit of warmth she still had slowly draining from her, “You stay alive. You stay alive for me, all right?”

**************************************************************************

Buffy could feel the color draining from her face. It ran out of her just as if a vampire had bitten her. She took a deep breath, trying to put the world back on its axis, and suddenly it all made perfect sense. The hatred and the arrogance, the condescending attitude… “He told you this, Giles?”

Giles could feel the heat of anger as it rose in him, and the shame that he could have been so taken by Angelus’s affectations of remorse. It was amazing to him how completely he could be taken in, “Yes, he did,” Rupert wiped at his face wearily with his hand, as if he were trying to erase the image from his mind, “At that time, the Council’s headquarters were here, in Devon. In this very house, I believe. He brought her here. And, if he had not done so, Angelus might have…” he trailed off, lost in the horrible possibilities, “…He left her on the doorstep,” his voice was soft with memories, “Grandmother Rachel told stories of a wealthy cousin…a man called ‘Ian W. Mills’ who was her benefactor. He provided her with the means to have a reasonable quality of life and pursue an education,” Giles looked at Buffy sheepishly, “Last summer, I began to suspect that this cousin and Spike might have a connection. I stumbled across some post that was addressed to him. It seems that the household bills that had accumulated while you were…gone had been routed to his address for remittance.”

Buffy’s brow furrowed, “You mean this Mills guy…he paid some of the bills?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “The majority of the bills were routed to a post office box. But, it was not until tonight that I discovered, for certain, whom mister Mills was…”

Buffy nodded, as Spike’s voice echoed in her mind and heart- “I can get money. Walk with me now… “It was Spike, wasn’t it?” Buffy asked, already knowing the answer. She saw it in his eyes; he was so sincere. He would have taken care of her…If only I had let him… “He paid the bills?”

Giles nodded.

“Ugh! I am so stupid!”

“No more foolish than I, Buffy,” Giles said.

Slayer and Watcher realized that they were not alone when they heard a normally gentle, lilting voice hiss, “Buku!”

From the tone of his voice, and the way his face was suddenly cast in shadow, Buffy could tell that the meaning behind it wasn’t good. It wasn’t like mtina. She liked that word, very much, “I agree with you,” Buffy nodded, putting him at ease, because his eyes widened at his own presumption, “Mouse. I don’t even know what it means but if you’re using it in relation to Angel, I agree with you.”

“I am sorry,” he mumbled, trying to control the rage that was boiling up inside of him, “I do not know all that has happened…but, if this marehemu is of Simba’s linage…Why would he feel the need to protect his sister from him? Was the child not part of his pride?”

Giles sighed, amazed that, with all the boy had seen, he could distill complexities into such simple terms, “In the animal kingdom, Panya, that might be true. But, as a general rule, vampires are very cruel. Spike…Simba, is quite different from others of his kind.”

“Yes, but this other has changed too, has he not?”

“Apparently not as much as he would have us believe,” Giles grumbled, “Because he has refused to render any assistance.”

Buffy almost growled as what Giles had told her finally began to sink in, “Ugh! Giles, how could I be so stupid…?”

“You weren’t stupid, Buffy,” Giles soothed, “You were in love. It is I who was the fool. In talking with Spike, not only did I come to find that he is much more than he seems, but that I have been privileged to be witness to some of those changes.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise, “But I thought…Giles, you had to look in your books. You’ve seen him before? I mean…” she stuttered, “before I did?”

Giles sighed, “As I have said…foolish.”
******************************************************************

Her laughter was both tonic and intoxicant to him, “…And then he…”

“Oh no, Spike…” Dawn sputtered through her giggles “…You have to stop…My stomach hurts…” they were both weeping from mirth “…He really did that…?”

Spike heard the soft tapping at the door that sounded under Dawn’s beautiful laughter, “Yep,” he chuckled, nodding, “he sure did. Have I ever lied to you?”

She shook her head, “Nope…”

“Good,” he smiled, “Bit. But that’s a story for another time. Got company. Come in.”

Buffy opened the door but did not enter the room. Instead the stood in the doorframe, and looked at the floor, “Spike…” her voice trailed off timidly, “…can we talk?”


 
Yesterday's Girl
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please remember that, earlier in the story, Buffy's heart *did * stop. That is, until Spike did C.P.R....
*********************************
31 AUGUST 2002- DEVON, ENGLAND-

Bloody Hell…so small, and I’m over…God…I might as well be a spotty-faced teenager!
“Surely,” he spoke, nodding quickly, “Bit,” he turned his attention back to her, afraid that if he looked at Buffy any longer he would combust from the sheer tension he felt, looking at her. Dawn was much more inviting and safe. He could drown in the warmth of her eyes now, because now there was no judgment. Instead he saw understanding, “you said that you went shopping today?”

She nodded.

“Well,” he smiled in the way that he knew would make her blush, and he felt a strange sort of satisfaction when she did just that at seeing the smile that only they had shared, “why don’t you go down and gather the things. Then after Sis and I talk, I’ll finish that gruesome tale, all right?” he winked at as she got up to leave the room, “Only remember, names have been changed to protect the innocent.”

He could see her rolling her eyes as she left the room, and it was all he could do not to burst out laughing. Oh Bit, I do love you. Everything I am…all I can do is love you. Please don’t ever forget that… “…Oh yeah,” she was saying, “like you’re all ‘Mister Innocent.’ And, I’m not a kid…”

He shrugged and bit his lip as a slow smirk played on them, “Maybe not,” he admitted, “But,” his eyes twinkled at her, “I know where you’re ticklish…”

Her eyes widened and she slowly shook her head, “You wouldn’t…”

He tilted his head and regarded her as she stood next to Buffy in the doorway, “Oh, I don’t know,” Spike drawled with a smirk on his face and in his voice, “I am evil. The urge could just…” he wiggled his fingers as if to tickle her and slowly stood up, moving closer to the door, “…take over, you know. I might not be able to control myself.”

Dawn instinctively stepped back, putting her sister between her and the threat of being tickled until she wet herself. He knew just how to break her. She had this spot, right around her ribcage, that he hit every single time that just made her melt. As an extra precaution, she put her hands up in surrender, “Okay,” she said quickly, “okay I’m going,” she smiled at him, “But if you start glossing over the good parts, like last time…I’ll tell Buffy everything I know about a certain ‘Big Bad’ and a vengeance demon we all know.”

Spike’s eyes widened, “You wouldn’t…?”

She smirked as she disappeared down the hall, her voice trailing after her, “Wouldn’t I? I used to be evil you know…”
**********************************************************************

SUNNYDALE- JULY 31, 2002-

He was fuming. How could she just…it made no sense. As Angel walked up and down the familiar streets, he looked at all the people she’d abandoned and he growled in frustration.

He’d heard the rumors, but there was no way that it could have been true. Spike would never be that selfless, it just wasn’t in him- not anymore. He’d made sure of that.

Still, he had been here, and recently. The scent was strongest on Revello Drive; its epicenter was directly beneath the large oak tree in the front of her house. * Further evidence of just how sick and twisted Spike is. He’s obsessed with her. *

Just then, Angel’s demon flashed. He’d heard a noise from inside and his gaze shot to the upper windows, the window to her bedroom, specifically. Something wasn’t right.

Something was wrong. Something about the smell wasn’t human. Angel couldn’t put his finger on it- But, something about it screamed * vampire. *

His words were barely recognizable as the demon took control, “Oh no. Spike, I swear, if you touched her…” he ran the short distance from the tree to the house and stood, for an instant, at the front door, hoping for a barrier. It was then that he remembered that she had rescinded the spell that had kept him out of her house the last time he’d seen Spike, in town.

He ran easily over the threshold and up the stairs. He rushed into the room that held the strongest scent of her- her room- and was confronted with the surprised gaze of another vampire, not much more than a fledgling and a teen when he was turned, judging by the dirty t-shirt and dungarees, that had been sleeping on her bed, “Baby bear,” Angel growled, as his demon raged and he picked the fledgling up by the scuff of his neck, “this is the wrong house. Out!” he forced the sputtering vampire bodily into the hallway and was satisfied when he heard the thud of his body against the wall.

He spun the still dazed vampire around to face him, “How did you get in here?” Angel growled.

The younger vampire blinked, and swallowed nervously, “Hey man, if this is your place…I can clear out. It’s just…this place has been empty for a while, ever since…” Angel shook him again, his eyes burning into him, “I got no problem with you,” the fledgling looked over the imposing older vampire, “If this is your place…you really shouldn’t have…”

“How did you get * in here! *” Angel growled again.

The boy fledgling scoffed, “Come on,” the vampire snarled and pushed away from Angel’s grip, “You’ve been around a while,” the boy’s eyes glowed and glinted with contempt, “I can smell it,” he grimaced, “You smell like mothballs…and rats,” he made a growl of disgust, “I thought you would’ve figured it out by now.”

“Figure what out!”

The boy shrugged, unconcerned, “Slayer’s dead.”

Angel’s face clouded. He knew immediately who had done it, and he would pay.

The stake moved easily to the vampire’s chest, and as it went in, one name crossed Angel’s lips as he was covered in the fledgling’s ash, “Spike,” he growled.

As he left the empty house Angel vowed that before the sun came up, the Hellmouth and the demons on it would tremble because of the Slayer’s death.

**************************************************************************

Buffy looked down nervously, “I’m afraid,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

And there it was, the thing he dreaded she would say. He’d known the forgiveness he’d thought he’d seen had been a lie. Now it was time for truths. He felt his stomach churn, almost rejecting the nourishment he’d blindly taken into himself, he swallowed and steeled himself for what he knew would come. Setting his jaw, he gently drew her gaze back up to his, “Of what?” he breathed.

The shimmering blue gaze that refused to relent reminded Buffy of what Willow had helped her see, and she knew that, beneath the sapphire shield lay the man. The insecure, and yet completely brave, man he’d always been. The one she knew was waiting to be rejected.

She knew what hid behind those eyes, because she was hiding too, “That I was wrong?” she said softly.

Spike closed his eyes and released the tension with a shaking breath. This was not what he’d expected, “A Slayer who’s unsure doesn’t live long,” his mouth quirked; it was an attempt at a smile, that he didn’t quite manage to sell convincingly, “I know.”

“That’s just it, Spike,” she shook her head, trying to force the words she needed off of her tongue, “I’ve been wrong so many times…” Buffy looked up and took comfort in his shining, steady eyes, “…I’ve died so many times,” she saw his gaze falter, and she cupped his cheek in a gesture of reassurance, and was surprised to feel him lean into her touch, “No Spike, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Spike asked, his voice wavering despite his great effort to keep it steady.

“He lied to me,” she gulped, “He said he loved me, and yet he knew. A hundred years, you have to know something…” Spike could feel her anger rising, could hear it in her voice; her skin vibrated because of it and he had no idea how to calm her, “…He let me give him my most precious gift…”

“Buffy…” Spike said softly.

“….And I gave him my heart. He told me the soul was what made him good, and I believed him,” she took a deep breath, “He stole them from me, both of them. I can’t get them back. He lied. I know that now.”

As she spoke, Angelus’s voice came back to him, in a blinding flash: “To kill this girl…you have to love her.”

He may have tried, but I can still see the fire in her,
“What do you know now, Love?”

“I know you helped…when my friends wouldn’t. When I wouldn’t. I know about Cousin Ian. You didn’t have a soul then, and you still helped,” she looked at the shock evident on his face and in his expressive eyes, and she smiled, a bit sheepishly, “Talking to Giles has really opened my eyes, Spike. I want to give you…so much. Give you what you’ve given me…and I can’t, because he stole it…”

For a moment Spike couldn’t speak. Is she really offering…? No. No, she couldn’t be. Not to me. “Well,” he spoke breathlessly as he watched the prisms of light that danced in her eyes, “I can’t do anything about the one gift,” his jaw tightened and ached at the thought of what Angelus had; something she could never take back, and he didn’t deserve the privilege of having, “…I can’t do anything about the one- much as I’d like to. But the other…Buffy, you can take that back. And give it to whomever you wish.”

Her eyes shone as she asked, “Will you help me, Spike? Help me to take my heart back?”

He nodded, speechless once more.

The beautiful silence between them was broken by a familiar, roaring voice that boomed up the stairs, “Giles, don’t try to hide him. You’re not getting rid of me. I will come back, night after night. I’m not going away- until I see him. I will see Spike, and you won’t stop me,” Angel’s voice held a tone of command in it that Buffy hadn’t heard before; and she felt Spike stiffen a little under her hands at hearing it, “Do you hear me, boy!” Angel shouted, “You will pay for what you did!”

 
Olly, Olly Oxen Free
 

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Angel stared at the large door that had been shut in his face, and the rage bubbled up inside of him as his fists pounded heavily on the door, “Giles,” he shouted, “I know he’s in there! He can hear me, even if you can’t! If I can’t get in, I can make sure he comes out!”

Despite himself, Giles was more than a bit distracted by the feral tone of Angel’s voice. It was a tone that he had intimate knowledge of, and one that had haunted his dreams for years.

This was the voice that had tortured him for hours. This was the voice that had nearly broken him. The voice of the animal that had killed his Jenny, and had made it nearly impossible for Spike to be seen as anything other than an animal in his eyes, no matter that he too had grieved over Buffy’s lifeless body at the base of that tower; no matter that he had taken care of Dawn, when all of her friends could not.

This was the monolithic presence that had impeded Spike on his path to become something more. This was the thing that had colored all that came after.

This was Angelus.

As the booming voice suddenly quieted, Rupert quickly moved to the coven’s small cache of weapons near the entranceway and strained to hear any stray sound that would reveal Angelus’s location, he glanced briefly in Dawn’s direction as he chose his weapon.

Her eyes were large with both fright and indignation, as he suspected his were, as well. He quickly motioned for Dawn to take refuge with Althenea and Willow and the rest of the coven in one of the seldom used parts of the house. But, as he could glean from her expression when Willow reached out her hand to lead her, she was having none of it, “No way!” she hissed, her chin jutted toward the door, and she moved to stand next to him as he stood in the center of the foyer, facing the door, “No way in bloody Hell that’s gonna happen! He gets in here over my dead body!”

As Rupert readied his crossbow, training it on the doorway, he was strangely warmed by the pluck- and insanity- of a Summers girl, “Quite,” he nodded, somewhat taken aback by the feelings that small action had evoked in him. And, as Panya, too, fell in at his side, encasing him in a strong and wondrous, if dubious, protection, he knew that, whatever happened this night, he would be forever changed.
*****************************************************************************

Do you here me, boy? I’ll force you out. I’ll burn them. I’ll burn them all. Her too. I’ll burn the house down around them. I burned Drusilla, I’ll burn you too, boy. *Come out and face me. Now, boy ! *


The yelling had stopped, but Buffy could feel his tension, “Spike,” she tried not to let the tension that was bleeding from him affect her voice, “There’s no way he’s getting in here,” she tried to catch his eye, to reassure him, but all she saw in his eyes was fury…blinding fury, and fear, “Spike…what is it?” she asked, trying to ignore the tight and painful hold he had on her. His eyes were wide and dark and she could hear the quick, shallow breaths he was taking in.

He only does that when he’s agitated…or scared…
She nodded to herself, and rubbed his arms, doing her best to relieve the tension in him. For a moment she thought she could feel his skin warming because of it; God, he’s like a live wire… “Okay,” she decided, “No more discussion,” she smiled up at him, “I don’t need anymore yesterdays. It’s today…” she winked at him, happy that she’d finally made a decision, “and tomorrow that count. I love you,” she said, before kissing him passionately.

The kiss hit him like no other. It was sunshine and springtime and warmth and home and hearth. It was everything he hadn’t had in a century. It was everything he wanted and it was here.

Oh Buffy…I need you…I love you…please…
Spike could feel his knees weakening from the force of her kiss. That had never happened before.

She was pouring everything she was into this one kiss. This kiss told him everything. If this was how he was going out, this was how he wanted it. To go out like a hero, to be hers, this was everything.

This kiss was everything. She was telling him everything…

She was telling him goodbye.

Buffy took a very womanly pride in the dazed look in his eye, as she pulled away from him, and turned to head for the door.

Damn, I’m good!


She had barely left his embrace, and taken half a step toward the doorway, when she felt his hand on her arm, and his gruff whisper, “Love, please…this isn’t about you. He’s not here for you. He’s here for me, but to get to me…” his breath shuddered, “He’ll go through you and the Bit…even Mouse. Everyone I care about. This is about me. It’s about me taking what he thinks is his. And, it’s not just you I took…”

1 MAY 1883- LONDON, ENGLAND-

He had passed out somewhere around the hundredth lashing, and awoke woozy from loss of blood. Of course, the sting left on his skin from the holy water he used to wet the cat-o-nine-tails, and the splinters of wood at the end of the whip only served to remind him that he’d failed this lesson.

He had taken what belonged to Angelus.

But at least Rachel was safe and away from him.

He could hear the barn door opening, and William tried to raise his head to face Angelus as his body swung slowly as it was suspended from a beam in the ceiling.

He knew what Angelus wanted, and he struggled to obey. He struggled, as he heard the loud snapping of the straw and the thudding of his boots, to look up at Angelus. But he was too weak.

“Well, boy,” he whispered harshly, “have you learned not to take what’s mine?”


“…Love, this is about me, not you. I have to do this…”

Buffy knew that if this were a fair fight, Spike would win, but Angel didn’t fight fair, “Spike, you don’t have to…”

“Yes, I do,” he insisted, “He’ll never leave me be if I hide behind the Slayer’s skirts,” with that, Spike left the sanctuary of the tiny room, and headed down the stairs.

Dawn head the rustle of his leather coat as he came bounding down the stairs. Looking at him she couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride.

He was so confident.

The pride quickly turned to horror when she saw Buffy following behind him. She had tears in her eyes.

Spike strode past the two, young and old, who would have been his first line of defense, stopping briefly to clasp Giles’s shoulder in a gesture of comradeship.

His shoulders heaved as he opened the door, and looked into Angelus’s eyes. His jaw twitched as he said, in a clipped tone, “Give me twenty minutes to prepare, take care of some…things,” his voice wavered slightly, “Then we’ll do this properly, and once and for all.”

Without another word, the door was soundly shut in Angelus’s face.
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Armor
 

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As the door latched with a soft click, Spike turned to see the wave of shock as it went through all of their faces. He read them all so easily, and as he took it all in, he knew he would miss them.

He looked at each of them, drinking them in. It was amazing how full of light they were. Each facet of the emotions on their faces cast a different shadow and always had. Reading emotions was as easy for him as looking at a painting.

And what he saw amazed him.

It was all there. In their faces he saw sadness, fear, anger, regret, awe, respect and pride.

He saw a myriad of emotions on their faces. But underneath it all, there was one commonality. They were all proud of him, in their own way- all of them.

The very idea of it made him giddy, and it horrified him. He took a deep breath to clear his head as his eyes fastened on Dawn and he walked slowly to meet her. She began shaking her head slightly as his intent became clear, “No,” she said softly, her eyes downcast, “don’t you dare…”

“Bit…” he began, his voice barely a whisper.

Dawn’s bright gaze met his, “I’m counting on you to finish that story,” she choked out.

“I know,” he nodded, his eyes never leaving hers, “And, I want to finish it. If I don’t…” his jaw twitched when he saw water pooling in her eyes. The emotions that he was fighting made words difficult. So, his words failing him, Spike pulled her into a gentle embrace and kissed her on the forehead as he pulled back. Clearing his throat, trying to ignore the tiny hitch in her breathing as he pulled away, he continued, his eyes as soft and clear as the morning sky, “I assume some of the dent you put in Daddy’s charge card was for me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dawn nodded, her voice barely audible.

“Well then,” he smirked, “no reason it should go to waste. I’ll follow you up in a few minutes,” he nodded toward the staircase, “Go on then.”

She turned to go, walking slowly, trying to delay leaving him because she knew in her heart that she might not see him again, and stopped at the base of the stairs, turning her glistening eyes back to him, “Spike I…”

“I know, Bit.”

As she climbed the stairs, he could hear her whispering to him, so that only he could hear, “He better not kill you, ‘cause if he does, I am so gonna hate you. You know that?”

He smirked sadly as he watched her go. Then, he turned and smiled at Panya.

“Well, my friend,” Spike watched Panya’s eyes glisten with awe and a touch of excitement, “I think you already know what I want from you.”

“I do, Simba. Do not worry.”

Panya, msimulizi,” Spike said as he winked at Panya, clasping his shoulder.

“They will know of it. This I do promise. They will know of ’Kivuli isakuwa angaa.’

Spike laughed in surprise, his left brow quirking in silent questioning, “ ‘Angaa’? You’re sure about that, are you?”

“Yes,” he nodded enthusiastically, “I am.”

“That makes one of us, then…” his voice trailed off as the poetry of the thing hit him and he thought of that night, so long ago, and what might have been, “… If only…” he whispered, turning his attention to Giles.

The two stood silent for a long moment, each studying the other. Each trying to find in the other something of what had been lost to them both. Spike opened his mouth to speak, but the emotion of the time they had spent together overwhelmed him, and he found that he could not bring himself to speak.

He could not bring himself to say goodbye. Yet, he knew that he had to say something and his jaw tightened in self –reproach as the poet once again lost his words.

He hung his head, still unable to speak.

Giles’s soft, caring voice rescued him yet again, “I understand,” he said, “There’s no need. Because, you will be back.”

Kindred eyes met his in gratitude, and Spike said gruffly, “Damn right, I will.”

“I second that,” Buffy spoke up, her voice tight with agitation, “And, I would really appreciate it so much,” she set a blazing, challenging gaze on Spike, almost daring him. With her arms crossed defiantly at her chest she raised her chin and continued, “if you would stop this, right now. Dawn’s right. This sounds too much like ‘Goodbye’ to me. And, we both know,” her mouth quirked in an echo of the smirk she’d seen so many times on Spike’s face last year when she’d tried to make him go away. No way in Hell, Love was what it said to her, and now she put her voice behind it, to prove to him what she already knew, “that there’s no way in Hell you’re going anywhere.”

There was a mixture of trepidation and amusement in Spike’s expression when he found his voice again, the reply came softly, as though her confidence had awed him, “Buffy, there’s no way to know that…”

“Yes there is,” she stopped him, “I know. And I know because you’re ‘Spike.’ The bane of almost my entire run as the Slayer…”

His head tilted quizzically at her, and she approached him, her stance softening, her whole body conveying venerability; something she had never allowed, while in the company of others, before, “Spike,” she spoke softly, breathing in his scent as she kissed the flesh of his neck. She was rewarded for this softness by a low growl that rose from deep within him. It seemed to almost be a purr, and she smiled, speaking softly to him, her eyes closed as she tried to memorize him; because she knew that this might be goodbye, no matter how much she might want it to be otherwise, “…floods could come. Earthquakes, fires…a nuclear war…and you would still be here,” she pulled back slightly, and pulled his glazed eyes down between them and placed her hand at her heart as she spoke, her voice barely loud enough to disturb the air between them, “You’d still be here, Spike.”

Her words were enough to revitalize his purpose. He had her heart, and that was all he needed to take with him. It was all he needed to defeat any foe.

Including, if he had to, Angelus- whom he knew still waited for him outside.
 
Taking It Back
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: The "Big Scene" still needs to be tweaked. Hope this will tide you over. Enjoy!
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The throes of the birth of this fragile peace will cause great pain, both in the heart, mind, and body. Many will parish to bring it to pass. The one of light and shadow faces the truth of the one that made him. - Prophecies of the Unhesines
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy held him in her arms. Suddenly she didn’t care that they weren’t alone, or that Angel was outside. Spike was all that mattered. She kissed him deeply, and the way his body trembled, she knew she’d reached something that he’d tried to hide from her. She felt his shock and surprise melt and become a soft kind of worship.

The old dance made her dizzy, as his fingers began to remember the things she’d long denied. And, she was amazed too, to find that his fingers still trembled, as they lightly held her, as if he were afraid to wake from the dream he’d been granted.

As she pulled away for breath, a heavy, desperate whisper seeped into her heart, “Buffy please…” Spike pleaded, “Don’t…Don’t go…”

She nearly choked on the sadness and need that those words held and her mind screamed out- Spike, don’t do this! You don’t have to…God, please…Let me help…Let me do this. I could…I could… “Spike,” her voice shuddered as an idea began to form, “I know this is your fight, and if you have to do this…” she swallowed the rest of the thought, looking up at his darkened eyes; darkened from fear or from passion, she didn’t know but it didn’t matter. She watched as his chest heaved needlessly, and a smile played on her lips, “If you have to do this, I think I know something that might help. Or,” she shrugged, her eyes dancing, “It could piss Angel off even more, maybe so much that he’ll be off his game. Then you can get the upper hand…”

His curiosity piqued, he asked, “What’s that, Love?”

She pulled his ear to her lips and spoke.

Giles watched as the muted sadness and pleasure that had just begun to settle over Spike’s features became first shock, and then anger. Spike’s eyes locked with his, and he knew that somehow he had been remiss in training his Slayer.

Spike’s piercing gaze left him with no doubt. What she’d suggested could be deadly for them both. And as Spike began to lead Buffy, rather quickly, into the den and shut the door, he was sure of it.
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He had whipped her around so fast, that, when he released her hand, she nearly lost her balance, “Hey,” she said, indignantly, “I know you’re nervous but I didn’t peg you for a caveman!”

“How could you, Buffy?” he hissed at her, his eyes blazing, “After…”

“But that’s why!” she insisted, her voice rising in pitch, betraying her own fear, her eyes widening, “It makes sense! More sense now then it ever did when I…” she stopped, shocked that she would even bring it up. Way to be supportive, Buffy… she chided herself as she watched his jaw clench as he fought for control. As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about…

“When you what?” he asked through clenched teeth, his voice sounding as low and deadly as she’d ever heard it, “When you let him rip your throat out?”

“Spike, please…” she whimpered, her eyes stinging with tears and her chin quivering, “It might help.”

He shook his head, his anger fading as he saw how earnest she was. She hadn’t meant it as a slight. She had only meant to help.

His eyes downcast, he moved across the room, opening his arms waiting for her to let him hold her, “I’m sorry, Buffy,” he whispered as she fell softly against him once more, and his hands traced slow circles on her back, “Love,” he spoke softly, breathing in the scent of her hair, “do you even know what you’re asking, how powerful a thing this is?” he pulled her chin up so that he could see her eyes. He searched for understanding there in her eyes, but didn’t see enough, “No,” he decided, “If I didn’t make it back…It could hurt you, maybe even kill you, Buffy. A bond is a very powerful thing to a vampire. And once it’s done, it can’t be undone. There’s no such thing as divorce, when it comes to what you’re asking, Buffy. I can’t do it. I’ve already taken enough from you.”

Buffy felt a twinge of jealousy, “Then you and Drusilla…?”

“No,” he said quickly, wanting to comfort her, “It’s not that. Dru and I never… It’s just that…what you’re asking…” a wave of conflicting emotions swept over him as he searched for the right words. There was love- so much of that- and sadness and fear; fear that she didn’t know- that she couldn’t know what this meant to him. What she meant to him, “It’s like nothing else. If I did this, it would take so much out of you, Love. And, it hasn’t been…” his voice ebbed as what Travers had made him do to her came rushing back. He only remembered bits of it, but the taste of her blood still lingered on his tongue, and in the recesses of his memory. He closed his eyes and sighed, trying to push the memory out of his head. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to tell her all of what had happened to him at Travers’s hand, but he did know that he couldn’t burden her with it now; especially now, “I can’t hurt you anymore, Buffy.”

He felt pressure at the small of his back as she held him tighter and she spoke softly and hopelessly to him, “Spike, if you do this…and you don’t come back…” Spike was amazed at how bright her eyes were. They were brighter than any star he’d seen in the night sky, “…you’d be killing me anyway. You don’t have to do this, Spike,” she closed her eyes and took comfort in his closeness, hoping that he understood what it was that she was trying to say, even if she didn’t understand it herself.

The silence that filled the room was unnerving. So unnerving, in fact, that she looked up at him and found him looking at her with wide eyes and his mouth agape, wearing an expression that could be described as a cross between “Yipe” and “Wow”, “So, what’s the verdict,” she asked, trying, not too successfully, to lighten the mood, “Is it ‘Yipe’ or ‘Wow’?”

“Neither,” he managed to say, and then, sighing, he added, “It’s a ‘No.’”

Buffy opened her mouth to protest, but Spike stopped it when he brushed a feather-like kiss across her lips, “But, thank you,” he whispered, “Can’t keep the Bit waiting,” he smiled at her as he turned to leave the room, “All that finery and such,” he shrugged, lingering by the door, “I have to make a good impression, don’t I?”

Suddenly she found herself alone again, hoping that she would see him again, and that she would be able to tell him what an idiot he was.

And, she hoped she could tell him, in big, bold, sky-high letters that she loved him.
 
Sounds of Life
 

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As he walked up the staircase to the room in which Dawn waited, the cottage seemed incredibly small. He tried to memorize the rhythms that sounded in his head, and in each one of them. They each had their own, very distinctive sound, and the radiance…it was unbelievable.

He couldn’t help but want to be near them.

Buffy was always surprised when she’d find him following her, but she shouldn’t have been. She was his beacon. Her light drew him in, warmed him. He loved listening to her. To be near her, it was the closest he’d ever been, and would ever be, to the divine. The sound of her sigh as she…the way her skin exploded in a mosaic of color right before…it was beautiful.

And the thought that he could soon be without her, without them, and their sounds of life, was horrifying.

Absolutely horrifying; and the taunts Angelus was slinging at him, through a bond that he rarely used except to subjugate and control him, weren’t much better.

It was a wonder any bit of William still survived within him, in the face of their venom. Still, as he looked at Dawn’s worried face, he tried to focus on her, and tune him out.

Even so, some of the venom seeped through.

How dare you touch what belongs to *me* boy! What you did…do you want me to kill you? Come out- or, I swear, I’ll burn them, you know I will!


He did know- and if he had succeeded…He tried to shake the memory off. That was yesterday. He couldn’t think about that, not when tomorrow was standing in front of him- how tiny she looks- with tears in her eyes. Spike swallowed the lump in his throat, “Hey Nibblet,” he breathed, as he carefully took the clothing that was cradled softly in her trembling hands and watched the water rise in her eyes, “none of that,” his voice was strong even though he could feel the terror mounting within him, “You’re my second, yeah?” he smirked, “Be strong for me, yeah?”

Her soft, pleading gaze struck him right in the center of his dead chest, and the soul that rose up cried out; wanted nothing more than to hold her, and take refuge.

But, he didn’t. Instead, he took the bundle of cloth, and drank her in slowly, his body buzzed at the bittersweet sensation of her heartbeat as it strummed through him, “Bit, go down and wait with the others,” he nodded slightly, “There’s my girl…?” he placed the clothing on the bed, alarmed, but not surprised at the strong scent of fear that she gave off, “No need to worry,” he lied softly, “Off you go now…?”

His words were telling her to go, but Dawn could see that everything else about him was pleading for her to stay. He couldn’t lie to her. Not now. Not after what they’d both gone through last summer. She bit her lip, struggling with the torrent of emotions she was feeling. He’s gonna do it…? He’s gonna do it! Don’t be dumb, Spike! Buffy could kick his butt…with her pinky finger! Why do you… “Okay,” she choked, her eyes slowly leaving his. And as she brushed by him as she left the room, she whispered, “Love you, Spike.”

As he closed the door after her, it was all he could do not to weep for her, and the peace he knew she was willing to give him. Here, in this little cottage, he’d finally understood; and found a scrap of tranquility.

Tranquility that he feared he was throwing away.

And, as he picked up the fresh shirt from the bed where it lay, he breathed in and savored the scent, even the fear that nearly overwhelmed everything else. It smelled so much like the littlest Summers, and now she was, and they were, as vital to him as blood.

As he dressed, he tried to still the tremor in his hands.
***********************************************************

“Time’s running out, William!” Angel growled, “You can’t hide forever…”

Buffy paced furiously in the foyer, listening to him growl. How could I have ever loved *that*? At least Spike was honest. He told me he wanted to kill me, right from the start. But this…?

She heard the unnaturally heavy footfalls of her sister on the stairs, and heard her quiet sniveling. She knew her time with him was drawing short. She wanted to slow time down, to linger in this moment, in her time with him, for as long as she could.

But, that was impossible. All she could hear was his voice, his vicious taunts.

“…I’ll smoke you out! The third time’s the charm. Isn’t that right, Spike? You won’t be able to save the little boy this time…”

Her Watcher’s gasp was almost imperceptible, but it was enough. The look of slowly dawning terror in his eyes propelled her to action. Buffy’s eyes blazed with rage, and she turned toward the door, opening it with a savage pull, “If you keep talking like that,” she glared at him, “you’re in for one Hell of a heartache. If you know what I mean,” she spat, “I would love to just shoot an arrow right through this doorway. And, you know I won’t miss,” her eyes sparkled and her fingers urged him forward in a gesture of challenge, “Come on, ‘Hero…’ Give me a reason…Just one’s all I need. But,” she shrugged apathetically, “Spike seems to think that this is his fight. So, I suggest that you wait. And, I suggest you change your attitude, but I know that’s hard for you, and take it easy with the death wish. If Spike wants to take his time,” she shrugged again, “I’d let him,” her voice was cold, but her eyes were an inferno, “At least then, you’ll survive a bit longer,” she smirked, “Because you know that, once Spike steps foot out this door,” Buffy held the edge of the door, prepared to swing it shut again, “Spike is gonna kick your ass,” she said as the door closed once again.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Slayer,” his voice sounded from the stairs. And, as she turned, Buffy was reminded of another time- Who are you…? - and she had never been so glad to see his lethally gleeful eyes boring into her.

She slowly walked to the base of the stairs, and stared up at him in awe as he descended toward her. Spike was dressed all in black, but that’s not what she saw. To her, he could have been wearing a suit of armor, like one of the knights of Camelot.

That’s how complete the transformation was, how proud she was of him, “Wow…” she whispered, eyes shining.

As he reached the bottom of the steps, he reached out for her and Buffy gladly stepped into his gentle embrace, “Thanks, Love,” his brow knitted slightly in concern, “One last thing, though,” he held her lightly as his eyes sought out Giles, “Need to talk to Red,” he blinked, as though he’d just remembered something, and shook his head slightly, “…Or, you could…”

“Of course,” Giles nodded, unconsciously stepping forward in his eagerness to be of help, “White magic. Protection spell. No grey at all…”

“Speak for yourself, mate,” Spike smirked.

“It can encompass anything you like,” Giles said.

“Just the house,” his voice was ragged with repressed emotion, “Don’t want anything happening while I’m… not here,” his eyes swept over them all, lingering a second on each of them- You’re my world. You know that? - “Once I shut the door. Can you extend it for twenty-four hours, no one in or out?”

Buffy’s eyes widened incredulously, looking at him, “You can’t be serious! You want me to wait…What if you…?”

“If I’m not back here by then, screaming to be let in, banging down your door,” Spike sighed, “…Then I’m not back,” his tone was laden with sorrow and regret, “and you can go home to Sunnydale.”

The idea of it made Buffy’s heart cold. Sunnydale…without Spike might as well be a hole in the ground. The town would die without him. I’d die without him…

“…Town’s been without a Slayer for far too long,” Spike said, as he headed for the door, “Ready Rupert?”

Giles nodded.

How can this happen?
Buffy wondered, He’s walking away. I’ll never see him again… suddenly panicked, she reached hastily into the pocket of her dungarees and retrieved her stake, “Spike,” she shouted out as the stake left her grasp and sailed through the air, “Catch!” she watched his left hand shoot effortlessly up and wait patently as the stake landed in his palm. The fluid black of his coat fell silently back into place and he paused to collect himself, his shoulders rolling, readying him for the fight.

His back straightened again, and he opened the door and stepped out.

The door closed again. The air shimmered. Buffy couldn’t be sure if the distortion was because of Giles’s magic…or her tears
*****************************************************************

KENYA, AFRICA- THE NEAR FUTURE-

Panya loved watching the fire in their eyes as they listened to the stories he took delight in telling. They waited for his every word.

They were taking the journey with him, just as he wanted.

Then, one of the young men spoke out, breathlessly, “What happened to Simba? Did the buku get him?”

Panya only smiled at the young man’s eagerness, and said nothing.

Shujaa must have been so sad,” the boy ventured, “What happened?”

Panya smiled, “A warrior must be patient,” his eyes swept the boys’ eager faces as the glow of the fire rose high into the night, “I am coming to that…”
************************************************************************

Spike didn’t have to go far to find him, he was waiting down by the water’s edge, “Peaches,” he said quietly, his voice loud against the sands and wind of an empty beach, “you’re losing it,” he began to circle around him, slowly sizing him up, “Should’ve just staked me when I stepped out the door.”

“I’ll do more than just stake you, Spike,” Angel growled, “You raped the wrong girl…”

“Oh, so it’s that is it?” Spike jutted his chin out “Something else we have in common. This is a lesson, is it?” he shook his head, smiling at the irony, “Don’t wanna kill me, do you? Wanna hurt me? Go on, take a swing…”

Angel did just that and when he did, Spike, with his lighter, more lissom frame, he ducked under his wide arm swing, and stood up behind him, “Ha!” Spike taunted, “Missed me. Getting slower, Grandpa?” he asked as he pushed Angel face first, into the sand and stomped his boot on the back of his neck, “I paid for what I did to Buffy, and all the others,” Spike hissed, “I’m still paying,” he took his foot off of Angel's neck and kicked him in his side; Angel grunted in pain as he rolled over, “and I will always pay. You however,” Spike pulled Angel to his feet, as his eyes flashed amber, “have yet to pay for what you did…” he gritted his teeth, “to my family!”

Angel landed a punch to Spike’s stomach causing him to double over, “That’s the trouble with you, Spike. You talk too much.”

From his crouched position, Spike used the cover of his body to ball his fists, and as Angel closed in for another blow, Spike brought his fists up, and they connected with the underside of Angel’s chin, sending him flying backward into the sand, “You know, what? I think you’ve forgotten what it means to have a soul, Angelus. It’s made you numb. After all, you didn’t want it. You raped and ate the wrong girl, and her family cursed you for it. You’re not reformed. You’re just in prison.”

Angel could taste blood in his mouth. He must have bitten through his tongue. He spat the blood into the sand, “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he rasped.

“Don’t I?” Spike questioned as he closed in again, deliberately kicking up sand as he walked, letting some of the displaced sand fall onto Angel’s face, “Having a soul doesn’t change what you are. Believe me, I know. And, you are a bastard!” he hissed, “You’ll look for any excuse to break out,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “After a hundred years, who’d blame you? That’s a long time,” he pouted, nodding in false commiseration, “A pretty, fifteen-year-old girl shows up…Doesn’t know you from the Anne Rice trash she’s read with her torch under her bed linens…” Spike shook his head in pity, “And you fall in love! You just can’t help yourself!” Spike sneered as he stood over Angel, his amber eyes glowering down at him, “Don’t lie to me! I know the truth. I’ve done it myself, too many times to count. You got yourself a pretty, young, naïve key to your prison cell. And, the fact that she was a Slayer?” Spike’s fist crossed Angel’s jaw, “That’s just icing on the cake, isn’t it?”

Spike couldn’t hear anything but the roar of the ocean and the rush of borrowed fire in his veins. For him, this wasn’t just about Buffy; it was for Rupert, and Emma, Rachel and Dawn.

Angel’s mouth was moving but Spike couldn’t hear what he was saying, because the pain that burned so hot in his chest was hammering Angel’s face into a gory mass of flesh.
*********************************************************************************

Buffy had never hated seeing the dawn lighten the sky more than she did this morning. She raked her hand through her hair. She’d been awake all night, waiting and watching; and watching the hours creep by at a snail’s pace.

The more light that peeked through the clouds, the more the grey of night faded, the tighter her chest became and the more tears of worry cascaded down her cheeks, “I hate the sunrise,” she whispered, looking over at Giles with anguished eyes, “it hurts. Where is he? Where is he, Giles?” she begged him to tell her.

His face was haggard from anxiety, “I don’t know,” Giles admitted, solemnly.

As if on cue, there was a loud pounding on the door, and Buffy’s heart leaped as she shot, like a bullet, to open the door.

There he stood, his face and body battered to the point that he was nearly unrecognizable. But, she would never forget that voice as long as she lived, “Hello, cutie. It’s getting a bit bright out here,” he looked over his shoulder at the rising sun, and then back at her stunned face, “Mind if I come in…?”
*****************************************************************
 
Wave
 

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She let out the breath she was holding. Oh God! He’s here…He’s here, and…I didn’t know. How could I not know? The light. He looks beautiful in the light. I’ve never seen him before…in the light. The sun just makes him look so…Oh. My. God. The sun. The light… Buffy shot Giles a terrified, anxious look, “Giles,” she gasped, “The sun…”

Giles’s brow furrowed, his eyes closed in concentration, “Just…two…more…seconds,” he hissed.

The air shimmered again with a purplish glow, and when it dissipated there was a rush of wind, and she seemed to be magically swept up the stairs by a mystical force. Buffy didn’t have time to think about what that force was, or to fight it, but somewhere in the recesses of her brain the scent registered. The scent that she had spent the entire night trying to remember so that she could call it up, at will, if, when the sun came up again, she was without it.

The scent of earth, blood, and leather. The scent of Spike.

As if by magic, she found herself once again in the room he had occupied, hearing his soft murmuring concern pouring into her ear and spilling lightly over her skin as he caressed her.

Her skin shivered at the sound of his voice, “Buffy, are you all right?” his voice shook, laden as it was, with sorrow and worry.

Buffy was amazed, “Spike…?” she choked, “How can you ask me that?” she pulled back from his tight trembling embrace, even though everything in her wanted to stay close and drown in him, to look at him.

His gaze shone brightly at her. He was beaming, and that made her stomach feel funny, as though she’d swallowed a handful of butterflies that were now trying to fly back out of her body. He was looking at her as though she was the most precious thing on earth; the most treasured thing in his world. And that only made her love him more, because his face, his beautiful face was once again battered and bruised.

His eyes were swollen. One of them was even swollen shut, and he was bleeding from a cut above his right eye. His lip was spit and bleeding, and there was a dark spot that marred his left cheekbone. It had obviously been shattered.

She knew what it was like to go up against Angel in a fight. By all rights, as much as she loved him, Spike should be falling apart at her feet.

Yet, he wasn’t. He was filled with worry. His eye, the one she could still see- God, it’s so blue. Just like…Oh…- swam because of it, and it was worry- not for himself- but for her.

Her fingers shook as she brought them up to his cheek, and she sighed with relief when she felt him lean into her touch, “Spike,” she whispered, tears making her voice ebb, “you won…?”

His brow quirked, and Buffy nearly sobbed from the swell of joy she felt within her heart, “You didn’t put a few quid on the ‘Poof’, did you?” Spike smirked.

“No,” she breathed, taking in the tang of the leather and the scent of him, “I’m just so proud of you. You’re hurt,” taking in the discoloration on his face, she bit her lip and her eyes hid behind her lashes; she didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know, “Did you have to…did you…?”

“Dust him?” Spike asked gently, as he put his hand under her chin and pulled her gaze back to his face. His face softened as tears welled up in her eyes, “No,” his voice gained strength as his senses confirmed for him that she was all right, “Think I hurt him more by letting him be, though. He might be hurtin’,” his eye went up. In wistful thought, “At least, I bloody well hope he is. But, he’ll be around to lurk another night…”

Buffy found herself falling against him again, pressing a kiss lightly in the crook of his neck. Her next words sent an excited thrill to his spine, “I think I would have dusted him,” her voice was as near to a growl as Spike had ever heard it.

His chest rumbled with laughter, “Careful, Pet. Your demon’s showing,” he said softly as he placed light kisses in her hair and held her tighter, her true presence and her warmth finally calming his shaking hands.

“Don’t care,” she breathed, her voice dripping with a strange combination of desire and rage, “ What he did to you…?” she pulled back slightly, her hands skirting over his face and neck and fluttering over his chest. She looked back up at his battered face and tried to choke back the tears of anger, “What he did to you…and Rachel…?”

Spike’s open eye widened with the horror of what she seemed to know, “Buffy…?” he questioned, shaking his head in denial.

“Giles told me,” she fairly shook, body and soul, with rage, and he could feel it, “about his Grandmother Rachel and what he d-did to her. And then there was Jenny…and I still couldn’t…”

“Buffy,” he said softly, “He didn’t know. Not until I told him…”

“You knew?” her voice shook. She saw the lines on his face harden again, and his gaze became razor sharp. She nodded grimly as the horrible knowledge filled her heart, “Of course you did. You were there.”

Spike closed his eyes and breathed deep to calm himself, hoping his face would not betray him, “Yes,” his throat ached as the word ripped itself from him, “I was there…too late…”

“You wanted to s-save her?” Buffy hated that her voice cracked in disbelief. She believed in him…now. But, if this was true…what would that mean?

“…She was only nine !” his face contorted with the memory of her bruises- her frightened eyes, “I just…I…” he stuttered, not wanting to feel the pain again.

After all I’ve been through…all I did…to show her. To tell her…How could she think…


The searing heat of her mouth on his interrupted his thoughts. The scent of her need overwhelmed him and sent his mind reeling.

His body responded to her, as it always had. Her fire drew him in; consumed him. He was drowning in her.

He needed her.

But, was this what she wanted? Did she want him?

“Buffy…?” he had never been this nervous before, in his entire existence. He searched her darkened eyes for the truth, and listened as she drew in panting breaths, her heart- her beautiful, miraculous heart- pounding…in…his…ears… “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed as the desire she felt made her heart swell. Her hands floated up to his shoulders and slowly, almost reverently, peeled his coat from him, “Yes, Spike,” she said again, her eyes shining, “I am so proud of you.”

In the wake of that whispered blessing, he let her swell over him, and take him under.

He surrendered to her power, and let the wave of her love crash over him.
 
Fire
 

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Giles watched, a small smile teasing his lips, as a roughly Slayer-shaped blur disappeared up the stairs. Just as the thought of what might be, and most probably was happening up there, as well, he knew, as it was in Sunnydale, began to take hold in his mind, Rupert found himself having to do his level best to stop a minor apocalypse.

An apocalypse in the form of Dawn Summers, who had begun to make her way up the stairs with an armful of bandages and antiseptics.

She was standing at the base of the stairs, ready to tear blindly into…who knew what, when he placed a gentle hand on her arm, and whispered, “Dawn, give them some time, yes?” he sighed, his gaze following hers up the staircase, “Some things don’t need…bandages.”

“But…” she sputtered, worry blinding her to his meaning.

He nodded, understanding her confusion. He placed his hand on her shoulder, “They will find us, when they’re ready,” he said softly, leading her away from the stairs, “I’m certain Panya has a few stories he could be persuaded to tell. Come with me, Dawn…”

******************************************************************
She wasn’t sure how it was even possible because her knees felt so weak, but Buffy knew it was real. She was in his arms, and for as long as she lived, she would never see anything more beautiful than he was, and the way he trembled as he touched her took her breath away. The way he looked at her, she had never felt more beautiful. She felt loved, and worshiped.

She felt divine. The world had fallen away. They were all that was left, all that mattered now. She couldn’t speak, he looked so surprisingly new.

How could I not see this? How could I have denied this? Look at him. Even broken, he’s beautiful. My God… He’s poetry.


The look in his eye- she couldn’t decide if it was awe or fear, or both. She’d barely touched him and he already looked like she’d given him the world.

He loves me…he really does.


She could feel herself starting to fall, and she could hear his thick, ragged breathing sounding loud in her ears. She could tell that he wanted this as much as she did, and always had, and still, even as his breath glided across the tiny bones in her ear, just as he shook every other bone in her body, he seemed so far away.

It started as a thought, a thought she chose to ignore because she didn’t want to be cold anymore. But then the thought became a word. A word that had taken his voice-his warmth- away from her, and she froze at the sound of it; the chill came upon her, like an artic blast, “…No,” he said, as he slowly and disbelievingly, as though he could hardly fathom the word coming from within him, or even that it existed now that she was in his arms, began to push her away, his hands trembling.

To Buffy, the inches between them felt more like miles.

She swallowed hard and blinked, “Spike,” Buffy breathed, “It’s all right. I want this. It’s all right…” she stepped toward him, trying to close the small gap that felt like a chasm between them, “No one’s going to hurt you, Spike,” her voice quivered with hurt. Doesn’t he trust me…? “I promise, Spike…”

Spike’s voice seemed drenched in a strange combination of fear and hope as he whispered, “No, Buffy…no we can’t,” he shook his head, his eyes shut against the vision that he knew he didn’t deserve, “Not like this. It’s…it’s just too much…”

Buffy could feel the room spinning as the heat of an old, familiar fire rose from deep within her. I have to fix this. How can I fix this…? She looked at him and was met with his widened, bright… “Oh, Spike,” she whispered, choking back the tears that welled up in her at seeing his, “please…” she swallowed the lump she felt in her throat, “don’t cry.”

His eyes couldn’t hold her gaze. He couldn’t take her fire. Why didn’t she tell me? Is it possible…she doesn’t know…?

He felt as though he would burn if he didn’t have her, and yet, he knew she would burn him. She had before, but now he didn’t know if he could survive the fire.

“Oh Buffy,” he said, his voice hushed, not daring to look at her, “…what I did…I…How can you…?”

“Spike,” she whispered, wanting him closer; wanting him to know, “How could I not? What you did, it was…amazing…”

She heard the air hitch in his lungs, catching on words of protest, she was sure; well, no more, not here, “No,” she said, smiling as she caught the scent of wonder on the air and the tears welled up once again, and she began to wonder, herself; Spike…don’t you see…? Don’t you know how amazing you are? “it was. And don’t you deny it. I want this,” her eyes went down, shyly, “But, if you don’t, we don’t have to…”

And suddenly, Buffy felt helpless. For the first time in her life, she was truly helpless. Her heart was in freefall and she didn’t know. She didn’t know what he would do. Would he catch her, or would he let her fall?

He was merciful once again, and her heart soared as he spoke softly, his voice cloaked in wonder and awe, his words filling her with an indescribable joy, “Of course I want to, Buffy,” he breathed, “But,” his words were both a balm and a shock to her as they fell, like fire, onto her skin, “Buffy, why didn’t you tell me?” she could tell, from the quiver of his breath on her skin and the light, amazed kisses that rained softly on her face, he was struggling against something powerful, something that wanted him in its sway, “Buffy, it…is this…?” he shuddered, and she saw the glint of light in his eyes as he brushed his lips against her eyelids, and she sighed, feeling the haunting tenderness of his touch, as his broken voice made her want to weep, “…Is this what it’s like, this burning? Is this what it’s like for you, Love?” he whispered, “Or is it just me, because it’s been so long…?” his voice ebbed, and became a shower of fevered kisses on her skin.

She didn’t know if he had stopped speaking because he expected her to answer, or because he could no longer find the words to express what he was feeling. Either way, it didn’t matter, Buffy could think of nothing but Spike, could smell nothing but him, and could feel nothing but her need for him. Her head was too swamped by his nearness and his touch to think.

She couldn’t answer him now, even if she had wanted to, because his question was truly innocent- as was he. It was one she’d never thought to ask. And, why would she?

For her, it had always been this way. But, for him? For him, this was new, and all he could do was ask. His voice floated over her, and made her shiver with its power, “…Is this what it’s like, Buffy, for you? Is this what it’s like…to love…when you have a soul?”
 
Something New
 

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The question took her breath away it was so enormous. Buffy could feel her heart quivering in her chest.

How do you answer something like that? Does it even have an answer?


She looked at his face, his eyes searching; always searching for the truth. His eyes hid nothing from her. There were no mysteries there.

What was there was both heartbreaking and wonderful. And, she felt her heart swelling within her. It hurt so much she thought she would die.

Buffy could see the pain flare briefly in his eyes as his head tilted in an achingly tender gesture, and he reached his hand out to catch a tear that was falling down her cheek, and he lowered his head, as though he were shamed. As though he’d hurt her.

It was then that she realized what it was that was making her heart ache. It was what she’d seen in his eyes, and in the question he’d asked.

He’d never felt love before, not really. And the thought nearly killed her.

His tender caress made her want to swoon, and her breath shuddered as she whispered the words, “Spike, what does it feel like?”

With those words, the bottom dropped out of his world. If even she didn’t know, then how could he tell her? How did she expect him to think, or even speak, when all he wanted to do was touch her? Oh God, Buffy…I’ll do anything just to be near you. I just * need * to touch you… “I don’t…” he shook his head, suddenly awash in sensations and feelings the poet inside of him had no words for. He felt as though he were drowning. I didn’t know…How * could * I…? He took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling, as if to call on the heavens for help. His gaze returned to hers, and his voice was a rasping murmur as he tried to use language that felt so inadequate to describe what he felt, “It’s like…” he stuttered, suddenly feeling small, and nothing like the “Big Bad” at all, “I feel like I’m drowning,” he closed his eyes, trying to center himself; breathing in her scent, “I’m dying…and I’m alive…" The fire inside…it burns me now, but it would be so much worse if I didn’t have you. It’s so warm. So warm that I think I’ll die. But it’s just too bloody cold here, without you. My chest aches when I remember how empty I was before, and now my heart…I didn’t think it could…but now…now I think it might…It’s so full now that it’s breaking my ribs, ready to burst because of what you put inside of me, Love. There’s no way I can tell you… “I’m so alive! Does that make any sense?”

Buffy nodded because words had failed her, again. She was amazed at what she saw. His face…it was exquisite, so much so that she couldn’t speak. She could see all of his emotions. Emotions that were still so close to the surface. Not even the Ukesolrill had beaten them down.

She smiled a little at the myriad of emotions she saw churning in his eyes. She’d seen them all, at one time or another. Hell, I’ve even felt them myself. The thrill of the hunt, a good fight. It’s amazing how fast the blood can rush; make you warm, so warm you think you’re on fire.

This isn’t so new after all, is it Spike?


Buffy could see the flame spark in his eyes, and she moved closer. She couldn’t resist, “It makes perfect sense,” she whispered, her head spinning, “I feel like that, too. And, when you left…”she bit her lip, feeling the tears stinging her eyes, her breath caught on the jagged ice that she hadn’t realized was in her heart until he left, “…I felt cold. So cold that I didn’t think I’d ever be warm again. Not like before, when I came back from Heaven…”

“Buffy don’t…” Spike choked, he could feel her pain, and taste the hurt that was in her heart. He didn’t want to cause her any more pain, “Don’t…” he begged; his heart breaking for her, “You don’t have to…”

“But you helped me. You made me warm again,” the words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush to erase the shame that she could see in his eyes, “Don’t you see that? Everyone else…Willow…Giles…” her eyes were downcast and her voice shook as she remembered that time, and friends that were no longer with her, “Even Xander and Dawnie. They all cared about how they felt. But not you,” she took his hand and felt him shudder and heard his sigh of longing and relief as she melted into his embrace. His back stiffened, as though the slight movement was a great shock, but then she felt safe as his arms enfolded her, and she whispered, her head pressing into his quiet and calm chest, “You cared about how I felt…I tore your heart out, again and again, and still you cared. You gave me your heart,” she sighed, stifling a sob that wanted to tear from her throat, “because I’d left mine behind. I didn’t even know it was missing until Clem told me you were gone, and I was cold again, like before. I was so cold that I thought I would die. And, I wasn’t warm again until I saw you.”

This is it then? It has to be. The world’s ended…and no one told me. Thought it would be a bang, but it’s not…It’s a bloody whisper…
“Buffy…” Spike rasped, as the power of what she had told him began to manifest itself, making him weak and helpless against her.

The light that shone from her eyes now, was blinding, but he would not look away. She was so beautiful. And he wondered if her light would allow him to touch it, and her.

She looked so vulnerable. As though she would break into shards and cut him if he kissed her. But, he had to kiss her. His heart would burst open and kill him if he didn’t.

Her fire would kill him.

He could feel himself trembling, even now. And, his heart fluttered a little when she smiled. Her eyes twinkled at him, and she winked. Did she just…?

Buffy’s heart filled to the brim with a joy she thought she’d lost when she heard his deep and hearty laughter coming from deep within him. The sound was new, and crisp, but it was an old friend too.

And, as his lips met hers, she kissed him as though it was her first time.

He was new. And now, so was she.
************************************************************


 
The Guardians of Light
 

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LONDON, ENGLAND 29 APRIL 1897-

The thrumming of her heart boomed in her ears. It was so loud, almost loud enough to drown out that horrible growl, but it still wasn’t enough.

And, his eyes are like small, deadly flames in the dark. She hoped she could do as he had told her, and stay still, but as she hid in her secret place beneath the floor, hoping the darkness would hide her, she could hear her Mother’s screams and her Father’s pleas for mercy. The more he pleaded, the more the monster laughed.

Rachel heard his heavy footsteps above her head, and the voice of her brother’s spirit came to her again. William had told her to hide, and she wanted to do as he said, but the monster seemed to be inside her, it seemed to know her.

And, his eyes, his terrible eyes, they followed her.

She had tried to be quiet, but her heart was so loud. Would that monster hear it?

It was suddenly quiet, and she shut her eyes tight. * Go away! Please, go away! Leave us alone! Please! *

There was a tearing noise above her head, and then his voice again, “Well, what have we here?”

Rachel looked up. His eyes glowed in the dark. They were like candles. He reached down and touched her face with his icy hand, and she drew back away from him. She tried to scream, but no sound came…
***********************************************************************************

Rachel awoke to the dark, and for an instant, as her heart beat rapidly and she gasped for breath as she sat up, she felt like that little girl again.

But, she was no longer that frightened little girl. She was a young woman, about to become the only female Watcher on the Council.

She was about to complete her schooling. Schooling a man she had never seen, was generous enough to provide, and she was conflicted, and tormented by memories that seemed to both confirm and refute what she had been taught. There had to be a way to reconcile the frightened girl she had been with what she learned from the people that had taken care of her, and allowed her to be alive, when she knew she should not be.

Rachel left her bed and stood near the window of her room in the Council Home. It was a clear, warm night, but she was cold.

Her childhood had been ruined by a vampire- by Angelus. She may not have known what it was that had killed her parents, she had been too young to know, but the Council knew him well, and now, as she stared out into the garden in front of the place she had called home since she was a child, she wished she could go back to that childish ignorance.

Angelus was a monster. He had taken her innocence from her, and made it difficult, if not impossible, for her to marry, and leave this place.

She wasn’t simple; she knew that her education was only being permitted because without it, she could not hope to survive in society. Without it, there were very few options for her. It was not an ideal life, but it was a life.

It was a life that should not have been hers. Why had he left her alive? She knew, now, that he did not leave his victims alive, except to torture them, and living was a torture for her. Angelus had taken everything from her. He’d taken her parents, and she had lost her dearest brother to his insane progeny, she knew now, a brother she still saw, in her weaker moments in the night. And, he had taken any hope of security from her.

Why had she been allowed to live?

A flash of light and movement in the garden below, drew her eye, and she gasped, “William?” her hands shook as she struggled to open the window, and her heart lodged in her throat as the phantom stopped, and turned to look up at her window.

The sight of him made her weep. It was he, it was William staring up at her, and he had not changed from what she remembered of him as a little girl. His eyes were still so sad, as though he wished he could be with her.

The warm spring breeze blew lightly into her window, and seemed to speak in his voice, “I love you, Rachel,” it whispered, “Remember the good that was within me. Please?”

**************************************************************************

As he led Dawn away from the staircase, he was met by Althenea, “Giles,” her tone was clipped and cold, “A word with you please?”

Her gaze was hard, and he could tell that the conversation that she wished to have with him was not one that would be pleasant. He nodded slightly as he gave Dawn’s shoulders an affectionate squeeze as she leaned into his side, “Dawn, I’m quite sure that you are capable of finding Panya on your own,” he looked again at Althenea’s dower expression, and fought the urge to wince, “It seems I’m needed here. Stories will have to wait for a little while.”

“Okay. See you later?” she asked, as she walked down the hall.

“Yes,” he assured her.

Rupert watched Dawn walk away and turned to Althenea, his head tilted as his eyes narrowed, “What is it?”

“By this time tomorrow, all of you must leave this place.”

Giles blinked, and frowned, “May I ask why you insist we do so? Why the urgency?”

Her breath huffed incredulously, “Need I remind you that you have brought a vampire, of the worst recorded linage, into this house, a house that has served as a sanctuary for generations? Why, your own Grandmother was raised in this house for a time. You have put us all in danger. I must ask that you leave, as soon as possible.”

“And are you aware,” Giles’s voice was low and measured, hiding his true fury, “that that ‘threat’ to your safety, saved this house, and everyone within its walls, last night?”

“Rupert,” her voice was strident, and her hazel eyes flashed toward the staircase, “How could you be so blind? That is a creature. A vampire…”

“Spike,” he interrupted, “has saved this sorry world more times than you will ever know. I would even venture to say that he has saved the Slayer’s life, as well as mine, Willow’s, and yours as well…” his tone was quiet, but his gaze was blazing as he stared at her, “…woman.”

Althenea blanched, “Rupert,” she hissed, “That is a vampire! A killer! You can’t possibly think that it is capable of doing anything else! Honestly,” she threw her hands up in a gesture of surrender, “your entire family seems to be preoccupied with this fantasy…” she shook her head in frustration, “…with the idea of redemption. It’s a killer, Rupert! It cannot be redeemed…”

A quiet voice came from down the hall. A voice that shook with sadness, and power, “I’ve killed people too,” Willow said, “And, I have a soul. Does that mean that I can’t be redeemed, Althenea? Because, that’s not what you told me. But, if that’s what you truly believe…Then, why don’t you just kill me, too?” Rupert was heartened to see Willow’s eyes shining with the need for knowledge again; he hadn’t failed her. The spark was still there, “That is what you want us to do to Spike, isn’t it? Tell me, I want to know.”
 
Belonging
 

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This feeling was…what? There wasn’t a word for it. Somewhere deep down, he knew that. And still, as he looked down at her smiling face, he felt frustrated and exposed.

Now she knows. She’ll see what a git I am. William the Bloody awful…


He felt like a fraud. And still, she smiled at him, her eyes dancing, “Are you laughing at me?” he asked, a touch of hurt in his voice. He hated the weakness that he felt.

“No!” Buffy breathed, as she brought her head up to kiss him again, “No, I’m not,” she whispered, biting her lip, trying to resist the urge to smile when she saw the flash of gold in his eyes, “No, I’m really not. I just…I can’t help it. I thought that I knew.”

He pulled back, studying her stunned expression, “Knew what?” he asked, letting his fingers comb through her hair, idly, as it spilled out around her head like a halo, unable to keep from touching her, even for an instant.

“That I belonged,” she sighed, “I mean, I thought I had friends, and because of that, I let them tell me what to do, and what to think,” she closed her eyes, burned by his astonished gaze, preferring to take comfort in his soft, cool skin, and the way he shivered when she touched him.

The silence of her lost words wasn’t silence at all. It was filled with his shallow breaths, breaths he did not need, but seemed to be the perfect compliment to the racing beat of her heart.

Why does he do that? I never understood…


She took refuge in the small sounds of pleasure he made as she slowly ran her fingers up his arm, reveling in the way she seemed to delight him, before speaking again, “…Who to love,” she hoped he had heard her, her voice had barely been a sound, “And, I let them, because I thought I belonged,” she shook her head, at a loss, “I thought I knew…what it meant. But, now I know. I know what it means to belong…because I know that I belong with you. And, that’s something I’ve never felt before. Thank you,” she whispered.
****************************************************************************

She waited, in the stunned silence that filled the empty space. She waited, and tried to find the answer in her teacher’s eyes, “Well…?” Willow asked, still searching Althenea’s eyes for her answer, “Do you want to kill Spike? Because, if you do, you’ll have to kill me too, because I’ve killed people, and I have a soul.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Now, that does surprise me,” Giles said, smirking slightly as Althenea looked at him, shocked. He found it amusing that she had forgotten him so completely, considering that, only moments ago, she was questioning his sanity, and that of his family, “Because, despite an admittedly thick accent, I am quite sure that Miss Rosenberg was speaking English. And, it was a perfectly legitimate question.”

Again, there was silence, as the woman gaped at them both, her eyes smoldering with anger, “I have heard horror stories about the way you’ve allowed vampires, and other demons,” her eyes rolled toward the ceiling, aghast at the muted sounds that were coming from the upstairs rooms, “to cavort with the Slayer. I had hoped it was not true. You may have forgotten what he is,” she huffed, “I, however, have not.”

“You are right,” Giles said, “there is one thing I’ve forgotten during my time in Sunnydale.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” Althenea grumbled, “I am relieved that you’ve come to your senses,” she sighed.

Giles raised an eyebrow, and it was all Willow could do to keep from laughing out loud. That look was so familiar. So much like…her eyes widened, and she closed her eyes, reaching her consciousness out to one other. The one whom she considered a friend.

Spike…? I hate to interrupt, really…but…you might want to see this…


“…I’d forgotten how provincial and pompous some of my compatriots can be at times. It’s extremely annoying, and time consuming. Because, you see, you still haven’t answered the girl’s question.”
***************************************************************************

Spike could sense Willow at the back of his mind. She wanted his attention, but she wasn’t going to get it. He had better things to focus on.

Like her perfect…little…mouth…and that marvelous tongue of hers, as it was leaving small wet kisses on his body, each kiss was lower than the last, until she was gleefully teasing him, flirting with the monster within. Taking him, happily, to the edge.

“Oh, you little minx,” he growled, when he felt her nip his tender skin, not hard, but just enough to make his demon take notice.

“Mmmm…” she moaned, the vibration of her voice driving him to distraction, “Mmmm…”

He hissed, trying to control himself. He didn’t want to be rough, didn’t want to do anything that might remind her of that awful night. But, if she kept up at this frenetic pace, he didn’t know how much longer his gentler nature could stay in control.

His hands wandered to her hair, and gripped lightly, as his head fell back, bearing his throat to her, and his eyes closed tightly, as the last of his control abandoned him, “Buffy,” he breathed heavily, his voice shaking with passion and need, “get up here.”

Her lips suddenly left his skin, and he almost whimpered at the loss, and met it again as she kissed his mouth. As he opened his mouth just enough to let her tongue play with his, the fire of ecstasy singed every nerve in his body.

He tasted it. The liquid fire, the manna he did not deserve. Her blood, willingly given. And, in that moment of incredible color and heat, he knew he belonged.

“I love you, Buffy,” he said, softly, when she pulled away, unconcerned with how he looked, in her eyes, as he watched her eyes glisten with joy.
****************************************************************************

He was disappointed, but not at all surprised “If you can tell me, honestly,” Giles ground out, “that these last few days have taught you nothing about the true nature of evil, and the strange dichotomy that exists in humans, as well as demons; then you might be correct. Are you unable to see the truth of what we are saying to you? You yourself, I’m sure, are aware of Faith’s, or my own, flirtation with the darker side of our natures. Why cannot the reverse hold just as true?”

Althenea’s tone was firm, and unchangeable, “I have not changed my mind.”

“Then you are right,” Giles conceded, “We do not belong here anymore. We will leave as soon as it is possible.”
 
Exile
 

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KENYA-THE NEAR FUTURE-

The fire climbed high into the night. And, Spike had to bite his tongue. They should be on alert. One could never be too careful. These were dangerous times.

He was still more prey than predator, and for Mouse to be so careless…he could have sworn that the old shaman knew better.

As he approached the fire, and noticed the young boys sitting there, Spike did his best to keep his temper under control, as he surveyed the land around the glow of the fire. There was nothing for miles. He sensed no immediate threat.

The old man knew better. He had been with him from the beginning, when he actually thought he would change the way the world worked.

Before it all went to Hell.

And, Mouse knew better than to build a fire, in the open like this, for anyone to see.

Yes, Mouse knew better. But, Spike had learned some time ago, that to constantly be focused on the fight would wear a person down, make him sloppy, and make it more likely that a fighter would not return from battle.

Panya was in his element, and if he had to take an extra watch to let him be happy, when it was so rare these days, then so be it.

After all, he was in the boy’s debt.

He shook his head in affection as the old man weaved his spell. Spike could still see sparks of the boy, whom he had clung to in his time of darkness, in the man before him.

He had them enraptured. They were hanging on his every word. Spike could remember a time when he’d wished for that kind of power, and now, he only wished things could be as simple as Panya’s stories made them seem.

How the old man loved to tell a story.

Still, it is bloody stupid. There’s no telling what they’ll do next. It may be safe now, but that can’t last much longer…


“Panya,” he said gently, as he made his way carefully around the fire, watching the wonder-filled eyes of the young cubs that were watching him take his seat beside him, “Mouse, are you telling stories again?”

Panya smiled, shaking his head, “One cannot be telling stories, Simba, if what one says is true,” his wise gaze locked with all of the young warriors that surrounded him, each in turn, as he continued, pleased to notice the excited whisperings that had begun, “Can one?”

Spike took secret delight in the rumblings, they fed his ego, and, like it or not, in times like these, he needed to be reminded that he could be good. That the Synod wouldn’t have started this war if he wasn’t still some kind of threat to them.

He gave the shaman a knowing glance, “One can embellish. I’ve done it myself.”

Panya could only smile as one of the young warriors that had been listening to his story, spoke up, in a hushed voice, “You are, Simba? Truly?”

Spike raised an eyebrow, “Well, that depends on your point of view, doesn’t it?”

The boy fell silent, confused by his words.

“There are no untruths or embellishments here, Simba,” Panya insisted.

Spike sighed, wearily, as he settled in for a long watch, “All right then,” he relented, “Where are we, old friend?”
*******************************************************

Spike tried to get lost in the nearness of Buffy, in her softness and her warmth. But, there was something gnawing at the back of his mind.

He tried to shut out the argument that was growing louder with every kiss, every kind touch that she gave him. With every soft whisper, it became more and more real. It was as harsh and unforgiving as the sunlight. But, it reminded him of his place, and so, he welcomed it.

He tried to get lost in the small miracle she had granted him. But, the voice was so loud that he couldn’t ignore it anymore, “Enough,” he growled, reluctantly pushing Buffy’s comforting touch away, “I’ve heard enough!”

Buffy brushed his cheek with her fingertips, and shook her head, her eyes softening with regret as she watched his face harden, and she watched the little spark of hope, that she had nurtured and tended to, disappear, “No, Spike, don’t listen to her,” her voice trembled, “She doesn’t know you…or me,” she tried, gently, to keep him from leaving her side. She put her hand on his arm, and felt his muscles tighten in resistance, as he drew away from her, “Don’t listen to her, Spike,” she begged, the look of determination in his eye made her stomach lurch. She hated the feeling.

She knew it- too well.

Her heart screamed, as she watched him pull on his clothes, and as he turned to look at her, the cold tone in his voice made it scream even louder, “She’s right, Buffy,” he tried to keep his gaze steady, focusing on a point just above her head. He had to be strong. If he allowed himself to actually see the pain he was causing her, he didn’t know if he would be able to do what he knew he had to. This was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. The battle for his soul, his torment at Travers’s hands- it all was unbelievably painful, so painful he didn’t know how he’d been able to survive them; but, what he was about to do was worse than all of that, “Buffy,” he sighed, trying to speak over the desperate ache in his chest, “we know that the longer I stay here, the longer you’re all in danger. Just in the past few days, I’ve put you in danger. Did you know, that if I hadn’t fought him, Angel would have burned this house down,” his eyes took in his surroundings, and then came back to her glistening eyes, and in them, he could see her pain. Still, she had to know, she had to understand that he was doing this out of love, both for her, and the Nibblet, and everyone around her, “with you and Giles, and the Nibblet inside?”

Buffy shook her head, imploring him not to do what she knew he thought he had to, “Spike, I would love to see him try! He knows he would have been dust before he struck the match,” she got up from the bed, wanting to do what she could to convince him to stay; she stepped up to close the space between them. She knew what he wanted to do, and she didn’t want him to do it, “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Maybe not,” he sighed, his gaze falling on the bruise that was still discoloring her skin, where he’d bitten her, “But, we both know what is,” he said gravely, “And, the longer I’m here, the longer you are in danger, the more your methods are questioned,” his voice ebbed, as very powerful emotions began to shake him, and his resolve. His whole body seemed to tremble, against his will, “I’m endangering the Slayer, and you,” he sighed, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his decision, and what he knew he had to do, “and everyone I…” he swallowed the pain that threatened to consume him, and looked, unwaveringly, into her shining eyes, “…love. Slayer,” he choked, stepping unconsciously closer to her; wanting to touch her, to memorize her. His eyes drifted down, away from hers. He didn’t want to see her pain, not wanting to add to all the pain he’d already caused her, “Slayer…I have to leave.”
 
Of Dust and Beams
 
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Buffy’s heart sank. No…he can’t. He wouldn’t… She swallowed hard, her mouth was suddenly dry, “Then I’m going too,” she whispered.

She was amazing, simply amazing. He had no doubt that she would follow him wherever he went in the world. She was strong and, looking into her eyes now, he knew that she did love him. And, he knew that she loved him well, and with her whole heart.

And, that was the problem.

He knew, now, that his existence would be difficult. It would be a life on the run. He would never be able to have a home, or anything to call his.

He couldn’t do that to her. She should have a home, and something that was hers, something that she could count on. And, that wasn’t him, anymore.

He needed family, a place to belong. But, he needed her happiness more. To save her, he would do whatever he had to. To save them, he would disappear.

“Buffy,” he whispered, tracing his fingers lightly up her warm skin, holding her close, trying to protect her from a world that had already been so cruel to her. Her skin hummed and shuddered under his touch, and his knees nearly buckled under the weight of the sadness he felt cascading from her. He could tell that she knew what he meant to do, and he tried to be strong, swallowing back the sob that desperately wanted to escape his throat, “I don’t want to leave you…”

“Then don’t!”
*****************************************************************


“Althenea, one of the things that this coven professes to believe is that everything in the universe is connected,” Giles said, heatedly, his voice raw with controlled rage, “If you truly believe that, then the events of the past few days would serve to prove that! If a human can fall, as Willow did, and as I did, then, conversely, a demon might be able to rise!”

Althenea’s eyes flashed with an indignant light, and her voice was a heated, hateful whisper, “Oh Rupert, do you actually believe that drivel? I would have thought that your experience with Angelus would have disabused you of that notion!”

“My experience with that particular vampire, and his progeny, has only served to contrast the extraordinary strength of will that the vampire who is currently,” Giles crossed his arms, in both a gesture of defiance and protection, at seeing the flash of hatred that sparked in the woman’s hazel eyes, “by the way, the only reason you have the breath in you, that allows you to spew these loathsome words. One could expect that you might be a little more grateful for it,” he smirked at her, his eyes narrowing, “…and for my restraint. Which brings me to a question. Perhaps you can help me? The Council was, at one time- the time that my Grandmother Rachel was left here, as a foundling-headquartered in this very house. Is that not correct?”

“That is correct,” Althenea hissed.

“Then tell me, please,” Giles mused, “Why is it that the Council seems to have exhaustive records on every vampire, and other demon, that they have had the dubious pleasure of encountering, up to, and including demons and Hellgods that are older than both the written and the spoken word…yet seem to be lacking information that pertains to one, ‘William the Bloody’…?”
****************************************************************************

He knew that this could be his last few hours with her, and he tried to focus on the present, and on the softness of her skin, and not the sharp, jagged cleft in his soul. A cleft that was widening the longer he listened to her pleas, “No,” Buffy murmured, “please, you can’t…It’s too dangerous. They’ll hunt you. Please stay…”

“I want to, I do,” Spike spoke his heart against her skin, so that it would be a part of her, so that she would know, “But, I can’t just sit here. I put you all in danger by standing still. I won’t wait for them to kill me,” he kissed her lightly, tasting the bitterness of her tears, “If the world doesn’t want me,” he sighed, “then I’ll just have to wait until it’s ready for me.”

“I want you,” Buffy’s voice trembled with sadness, “I don’t know if I can be without you,” she fought to blink back the tears that were threatening to fall.

Bloody Hell…I can’t do this…Not to her. It would tear me apart not to have her. And, if they did find me…it would kill her. But, it’s the only way to keep him, and anyone else that might follow, off of my scent…


Buffy knew there was hope. She was reaching him. She heard him sigh, and felt him hold her tighter. She looked up at his face, and saw that his eyes were closed, his face the calmest she had ever seen it. And, she knew…
****************************************************************************

Willow could hear the hatred in Giles’s voice, and she wondered if he was too distracted to notice what was happening.

They were flashes, really, almost subliminal. Like trying to follow the ball in a shell game. If you weren’t looking for them, you would miss them, especially when the images were camouflaged beneath a cloud of powerful emotions.

She was surprised that she saw them at all, and that he would be sending them. She didn’t know he could do this. She knew he didn’t trust magic, so for him to even suggest something like this, after what he’d been through …

She just hoped that she was worthy of his trust.

What she was seeing was jarring, and cruel, but it was perhaps his only chance to become what she knew he could be. And, it was her chance to use the magic, that was a part of her now, to protect instead of destroy.

Spike, are you sure…? This is…risky, not to mention cruel.

*I know that, Red…It’s the only way. Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease. *

Spike, don’t do this! You know what it was like. Why would you even…?

* I know, Red! I KNOW! *


Willow tried to shake off the sadness and nausea she felt, and went to find Dawn and Mouse. For this to work, everyone had to be present, had to see it, and believe it.
***************************************************************************************

…She’d reached him.

He wouldn’t leave her. He would be dust first.

She felt safe as she heard him whisper, “I’ll always love you, Buffy. Always. Please…never forget that.”
 
Double Bind
 
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Spike felt woozy. He was worried. And as much as he loved holding Buffy, having her close was only making him worry more. He knew that being here was putting her, and everyone he loved in danger. There had to be a way out.

The people beneath him weren’t even trying to keep their voices lowered, as apprehension played at the edge of his consciousness.

There was something familiar about the sick feeling that was settling in the pit of his stomach. It felt like the walls were closing in on him, like they did in that cell he was put into. It was almost as if…

Oh…No…


He could hear Rupert, too clearly. He was walking the edge of the shadow, and listening to the two people who were trying to keep Willow on the straight and narrow argue only reminded him what a balancing act that was. He’d been walking that edge for years. Sometimes the edge was so thin that all that one would need to do is…push and the balance was lost.

And, you could tumble into Hell without thinking.

Suddenly, cold fear clutched at him. The idea of leaving this solely in Willow’s hands was not comforting.

He may understand her struggle to overcome something very powerful that was now a part of her, but that didn’t mean he trusted Buffy’s well-being or sanity to her.

She meant too much to him for that. And, this had to work.

It would be stupid not to call on him for help.

Rupert…please calm down. Do you hear me, Watcher? Rupert, I need to know…where did the *thing * that had me go? Is it still here? I need to know. Please, Rupert! Please hear me! I need you…to protect her, and me. It’s the only way…I’ll come back, I promise. When it’s safe. I’m counting on you. Protect her…please?


Spike held Buffy tightly as he heard the argument rising, and he hoped he could break through.
*****************************************************************************

Giles could feel the anger choking him, “…And I don’t know why I entrusted an impressionable, fragile young woman to you!” he shouted, feeling the heat in his face rise, “If this is what you honestly believe then I…”

He flinched, stunned. Why did a haze of blue suddenly flood his vision? He tried to clear his head, tried to focus on Althenea’s flashing hazel gaze. The blue cleared in the center. He could see her now, but it seemed as though he were looking at her from inside a long tunnel. The blue haze was still at the edges of his sight.

Then came the shrieking, insistent quiet at the back of his mind. And suddenly, it was all painfully clear.

He understood.

Use the enemy’s strength. Use it to escape…


“Oh, good Lord …” he whispered, as he saw Althenea’s eyes flash with hate, and he watched her face twist in a grimace so old he didn’t know if he had the power to stop it, as she headed toward the small weapons’ chest the coven kept in the foyer and then ran up the stairs.

It’s still here…


He could only hope he had enough strength. There might be only seconds in which to act.
*****************************************************************************

KENYA- THE NEAR FUTURE-

The others had long since fallen into the slow rhythms of sleep. To everyone else the night was quiet, but not to him. To him, the night was full of noise, and regret.

Spike stared at the line of smoke that struggled up into the sky, trying to escape the fate of the dead fire, and he couldn’t help but feel the weight of it hit him again.

Panya’s stories help him forget, but he would never be able to escape it.

He’d shattered her. And everything that happened afterward was on his shoulders. Stories couldn’t change that. They wouldn’t change it, no matter how much he wanted them to.

He could still see the grief in her eyes, the shock, as what she saw became reality…and she watched him disappear.

The argument was rising to a crescendo. There wasn’t much time now. No time to think.

He pulled back to look into her eyes. He saw it all. How much she loved him. How much she cared. He could live on that sight, for years.

Confusion flitted across her face, “Spike, what’s going on?” she asked, worry making her tremble as her eyes jumped to the door, and the growing noise of voices beyond it.

She looked so lost, and he couldn’t have that.

“Buffy, there’s no time to explain…” his voice was a desperate, clanging whisper. Faster. Footsteps down the hall…

“…And, you’ll never know how much it means, or how much you’ve given me. I have to ask you for something.”

“Anything! Anything, Spike!” her voice cracked under the weight she saw in his eyes.

“Do exactly as I say,” his voice was gentle, but full of power, “Quickly now. There isn’t much time,” he said, his hand reaching up to caress her face.

Almost instinctively, Buffy knew what he wanted her to do. So, when his gentle hand brought her mouth to the flesh that covered his neck, covered his silent jugular, she knew what to do, and what to say.

She bit the flesh hard, and was surprised when she drew a tiny draught of his blood, “Mine,” she moaned, as the depth of his love sang to her, through her veins.

He moaned in response, holding her tighter. She didn’t take much. It was so small, but it was too much. And the noise outside, “Buffy,” he whispered fervently, “I love you! Please, never forget that. I will come back. Never doubt it. I will come back! I have to…”

The door crashing open. Rupert and Red along behind her.

And Nibblet. Poor Nibblet…

Althenea’s rage filled the room. It shook his bones, and left no question.

The Ukesolrill had found a way to survive, and fulfill its purpose.

“…I’ll show you that this is just another *beast * like all the rest!” Althenea roared as she charged into the room, her stake raised high, ready to deal the deathblow.

* Please, Rupert. You can do this. You have to do this…for her. *

Spike felt the electric charge thrum through him, setting his nerves on fire. If this didn’t work…

* Oh Buffy, I’m sorry. *

Spike gasped in shock at the pain of it. Pain, in the center of his back…

He can see her mouth, open in a silent scream as he’s falling into empty space. Blackness creeps in…and he wants to move. Wants to…hold her as she’s falling.

The colors are so bright here.

And he’s falling…into nothing. Breaking down. Crumbling to dust in her hands.


The desert wind blew cold around the embers of the fire, biting at his moist cheeks, making him feel…cold. So cold.

Spike could sense the shaman near. Of course he was. Mouse was never far behind him.

Still staring at the lonely embers, he spoke to his old friend, “It’s late, old man. You need your rest.”

“As do you,” Panya said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “And I am not old,” he teased as the sand shifted under his slight weight as he knelt beside his friend.

“You know I can’t,” Spike sighed, “Not when she…I’ve been everywhere, Mouse. Tibet…Greece, Afghanistan…India…even sodding Israel!” his voice broke in desperation, “And still nothing!” his eyes were the very picture of despair, as he begged his old friend, “You’re my last hope, Mouse. And hers, too. You’re my last hope of stopping this,” he closed his eyes as the pain of memory washed over him, “Of reaching her.”

 
Apparitions
 
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KENYA, AFRICA- JANUARY 2, 2008-

Spike sighed. He was so tired. The smoke of the dying fire was more substantial than he felt. For more than five years now, he led a ghostly existence, not by choice, but to protect her.

All he did was make her life a living Hell.

Panya was sitting next to him. He could hear the shallow breathing and he knew Mouse was frightened. He had that look. It was the same look Buffy had in her eyes, all those years ago. That look was both a blessing and a curse. It was a testament to Rupert’s spellcasting skills.

Mouse looked as though he were having a fireside chat-with a ghost, “Simba?” his voice was strangled with disbelief.

“Yeah, Mouse,” Spike croaked. He really had grown to hate the look of fright in their eyes. After so long, even Rupert wore it, “It’s me,” he said.

Panya was dumbstruck. Simba looked so real. His head was bowed, as if in sorrow. And the way the starlight fell upon him, it veiled his face in shadow, much like it had when he’d first discovered him, in a grotto not far from here. And that made the hope rise in his heart again. Sometimes his mind would venture out. It would wander, especially when he would tell his tales. Sometimes he even spoke like him. Called him “Mouse.” But, it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

But, others had seen him this time. They spoke to him.

Something was different this time. The winds had shifted, and this time he’d touched Simba. That had never happened before. He felt so real, like he remembered.

No. It wasn’t true. He often thought about Simba at times like this, when the Synod was close, and everything that Shujaa had fought for was in danger of collapsing.

No. It was just a boyhood dream. Yet…Could it be…?

Simba even asked for his help. That was something he had hoped for, all these years. He’d prayed for it. Because he didn’t want to believe that his friend was gone. He didn’t want to think that Simba would leave a part of himself, his mtina, alone and so full of sorrow.

But, he was…gone. He’d seen it happen. And, poor Shujaa… If only it were so…If only I could…

And now, he was here, asking for his help. Help he knew Shujaa needed. The Synod couldn’t do what they had threatened to. If they did…But then, that could be seen as a blessing. She was more beast now than human.

Sorrow and grief could do that to anyone. And that was something Panya knew Simba would understand.

But to watch it happen to her…to Shujaa…To watch her hope slowly die as the years went on…? It slowly killed his hope as well.

Perhaps that was why Simba had come. To give him hope?

Panya sighed, his lungs stinging from the smoke of the fire, and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want Simba to disappear.

He didn’t want the smoke and the stars to tell him he’d gone completely mad.

The wind seemed to laugh at him. It was a laugh that held no joy in it. It shattered the air, sharpening it to jagged points, “I’m so bloody tired of running, Mouse. If I thought that it would help her, bring her back…do her any good…I’d surrender to the Synod tonight. I’d let the garrison have me…”

Suddenly, Panya did not care that he might be mad. What Simba was suggesting was simply unthinkable, “No, Simba!” he gasped, “You can’t! You mustn’t! They are out for blood!”

“Yeah,” Spike hissed, “and it’s mine they want! They hold me responsible. And, they’re not wrong!”

Panya watched his friend shake with rage, saw his eyes glow with the power of flame, and felt his pain deeply. He understood the rage.

“Simba,” he soothed, “You brought down an evil in our midst,” his voice became wistful and soft, “Your memory galvanized first one, and then many, until the many became millions. And, for a time, there was peace.”

Spike trained his eyes on Panya, his voice wavering with both shock and memory, “Mouse, I’m no one’s martyr.”

“You were hers, and ours. And, for a time, she was strong. We made her so. You made her so.”

“Yeah,” Spike whispered, “I was bloody well proud of her.”

“She would not want you to surrender. The Synod may indeed have lost control,” Panya admitted, “But you cannot give it back to them, by giving up your own,” he felt his lips turn up in a smirk, “Shujaa would want you to fight. I’m sure, if she knew…” he sighed again, and looked at his friend with sad but hopeful eyes, whispering, “I still…” his voice trailed off, carried away into the desert night.

Spike nodded his understanding. Seeing was not necessarily believing. He grasped Panya by the arm in a firm grip. It was the only way he knew of that would convince them both that what had happened was real, “I’m here, Mouse,” he said, gruffly, “You’re not dreaming,” his mouth pulled up into a sad smirk, “And, you haven’t lost your mind. This is real.”

Panya’s could no longer deny his eyes, or his heart. As he pulled his lost friend into a grateful embrace, his voice shook as a weight was lifted off of his shoulders, “Oh, my friend!” he exclaimed, “It is so good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you too, Mouse,” Spike returned the embrace, grateful for the support, because he suddenly felt weak, “Where is she?”

“The Cells have kept her safe…”

“I know that. I trust you,” Spike’s voice shook with exhaustion, “But with what happened to Rupert…” he fell silent, his lips pursing into a grim line as his jaw twitched, working to keep the outrage and fatigue at bay, “I had to come out of hiding,” he said, after he had himself under more control; once his emotions were once again hidden he spoke with more strength, but his voice showed his true age, “ I couldn’t stay away. Where is she, Mouse?” he shook his head as his emotions, and his years without her, once again began to overwhelm him, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“I understand. I will take you to her. Perhaps you will be able to reach her.”

Spike sighed and stood up, moving away from the fire. He turned away from the concern that was clearly written on Panya’s upturned face. He doubted his presence would be of any help to her now, but, he needed to be with her.

He needed her.

“Maybe,” he said, “I just need to be with her.” He turned back toward his friend and asked, “Where is she?” he asked, “Which Cell is taking care of her?”

“None,” Panya said.

“What?!” he whispered, horrified.

Panya stood carefully, pulling Simba slowly away from anyone who might hear, and tried to keep his voice calm, not wanting to wake the others in the camp. He swallowed notably, gathering his thoughts before he spoke, “In order to maintain secrecy, the Cells have been dissolved.”

“The Synod…?”

Panya nodded, “The Cells were discovered. She is safe. Lydia has seen to it,” Panya placed a gentle guiding hand on Simba’s shoulder, “And I can bring you to her, but we must do so quickly,” he whispered, “Word has it that the garrisons are storming this place soon…”

“A raid?”

“Yes,” Panya stopped walking, turned and tilted his head, regarding his friend quizzically, “How are you? Are you fearful of closed places?”

Spike winced as the memory of his time as Quentin Travers’s captive came back to him, “Yes,” he admitted reluctantly, “But if it will take me to her- let me help her- I’ll do anything I have to do.”

Panya nodded as he led his friend away from the camp and into the night, “You are very lucky to have found us. By morning, there will be no trace of a Cell here. We would have gone. Miss Chalmers has arranged the transport…”

Spike stopped, a wave of vertigo suddenly engulfing him.

Not that thing…That box…it’s…


Panya noticed his faltering steps, and asked, genuine concern coloring his tone. His friend suddenly looked paler than he had just a moment before, “Are you all right, Simba?”

He sighed, trying to shake off his nausea and disgust at the idea of spending even one more moment in a cold, dark, casket, “I’ll be all right,” he shuddered, “If it’ll take me where I need to be, I’ll do it.”
********************************************************************************

Panya had offered to sedate him for the flight, but he wouldn’t have it. He wanted to be clear-headed once he met her. It had been years, and the last time he saw her was horrible. It wasn’t a memory he wanted.

But it was all he had.

2 SEPTEMBER 2002- DEVON, ENGLAND-

He can see her mouth, open in a silent scream as he’s falling into empty space. Blackness creeps in…and he wants to move. Wants to…hold her as she’s falling.

The colors are so bright here.

And he’s falling…into nothing. Breaking down. Crumbling to dust in her hands.


Then everything went blank. Screaming white noise. His name. Her tears.

It worked. Oh, God…

It worked.

Her eyes wide, her face twisted in fury, Buffy rushed Althenea, forcing her to the floor. Her fists and words flew in wild succession, “You murdering bitch! I’ll kill you!”

“Buffy, no!” Giles shouted, trying to throw her off of the woman, “Buffy,” he pleaded with her, “think! You’re the Slayer…Please think about what you’re doing!”


Spike saw it all. The beautiful, deadly glint in her eye, and he knew what she was going to do.

He tried to scream, but the magic and the grief was too thick, and well placed. He couldn’t break through it.

Yes, Buffy…

He could remember the strength in those tiny, perfect fists, the power they had…It was blinding, consuming…

…Please think…

Please tell me that I didn’t make you a killer…

Those were the memories that he’d slept with all these years, the ones that kept him warm. They were nothing but cold comfort. He had seen that rage. He knew it.

He knew. He’d made her a killer.
**************************************************************


7 JANUARY 2008- SOMEWHERE IN CHINA-

It was dark in here. It was always that way now, had been that way for years. The lights were on, but it was dark. No one home…ever again. No one home…No one home, now.

She could hear the screams and the whispers in her head. All of them making promises he couldn’t keep.

Didn’t matter though. It didn’t hurt.

Because, he was a liar.


It made her laugh. The darkness was gone…and now there was no more light. It was funny.

Sometimes she heard his voice in her head. But not now. He was gone.
**********************************************************

The place reminded him too much of the dungeon that Travers kept him in. It was dark and cold. The place was a labyrinth. Even a Slayer at the peak of her form would have a bit of trouble navigating all the twists and turns.

He growled a little as he went deeper into the darkness. This is taking care of her? When I get my hands on Lydia…I’ve treated my food better than this! This isn’t the bloody Synod. You’d better pray Rupert pulls through, because he’s the only thing keeping your head on your shoulders, you stupid chit!

A tiny sound floated out to him from the depths of the darkness. A sound that broke his murderous thoughts, and spoke to him of a hope he thought he’d lost.

It sounded broken, devoid of the hope it held for him. A sob smothered itself in his chest.

Laughter. Her laughter. But, something was wrong, it sounded like brass, hollow and grating. It jittered his nerves, that sound.

Too many years with Drusilla not to know.

She was mad.

He raced toward the sound…
*********************************

He found her, deep in the cavern, the fire from the torches along the stone and sand wall, threw her face into shadow. But, he knew her. He would know her years from now. She was in his blood. She screamed at him all the years he was gone.

And before he left her in this darkness, he had made sure that he was in hers. But would she hear it? Would she recognize him?

She was standing with her back to him, her head bowed, her gaze fixed on a spot in the dirt, as though it would tell her its secrets.

It hurt, seeing her like this, seeing what he’d made of her. A small shudder broke loose from him, and she stiffened and turned slowly to him.

Her face went slack with shock and her eyes widened, as a ghost from long ago materialized from out of the dark and the mist. It had a name. She remembered that.

If only she could still speak it, “Spike…?”

The broken hope of his name, spoken as a whisper by that sweet voice, washed over him like a bittersweet benediction.

And suddenly, it didn’t matter that she might not believe, might not understand what was happening. It didn’t matter that he might not be real to her.

She was real to him. And, he needed her.

She jumped into his arms, gripping him tightly, proving to herself that this was no ghost. This time, it was real.

She peppered him with kisses, and ran her fingers through his hair, “Spike,” she whispered, her voice nearly a sob, “Don’t leave me. Please don’t ever leave me…”

“Never leave you again, Love,” he murmured, “Never…” he drank in her kisses and her touch like a man dying of thirst, “I’m here now…”
 
Ghosts
 


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2 SEPTEMBER 2002-

The world was collapsing in on itself, and he was responsible. They were moving slowly, as though they were dinosaurs caught in suffocating tar.

And the screams…the screams were tearing the fabric of the universe. He swore to himself, last year, that he would never hear that scream rip his Little Bit’s throat again. He’d been covered in it when he’d fallen from that tower, and he swore he would never give her reason to make him hear it again.

He was such a bloody liar.

He’d placed it there, something that was like acid to her soul, and to his. And he’d done it on purpose.

The fury and grief twisted her face, and suddenly time sped up again. It was too fast.

Before he could stop her, Spike saw Althenea Morris crash to the floor, the unbridled, passionate power that he loved so much in her was pouring out onto the woman’s body as her fists flew mindlessly, breaking flesh and bone in their misery.

He couldn’t believe it. No one was stopping her.

Their faces showed their grief. A grief he didn’t believe they had bestowed on him, until he saw it. He knew they would never be the same. They were crippled by it, this grief he didn’t deserve.

He looked on, dumbstruck; even Rupert was lost. That was when he knew…it had worked. If even Rupert believed it, he knew it had worked. He was gone- lost to her, to them all, really, and he didn’t know how to make it back to them, or even if he could.

He wanted to scream, to make it stop. He hoped that his blood would whisper to her, let her see the truth. But as he watched Buffy writhe on the floor with a woman nearly twice her size, he knew that the shock he’d seen in her face was real, and that the pain she was feeling now was overwhelming its whisper.

He knew that kind of pain. And he knew that look in her eye.

She was going to kill. And he had to stop her.

Spike yelled out, “Slayer, stop! Think about what you’re doing!” he opened his mouth, and the words came out, he heard them rattling around in his skull, but they were of no use. No one could hear him.

To them, he was a ghost.

He watched helplessly as Rupert tried to pull Buffy off of the woman, “Buffy, you’re the Slayer! Think about what you’re doing!” he yelled. For an instant, Spike thought that he had somehow reached Rupert, and been heard. But, even if he had been heard, Spike wasn’t sure anything, or anyone would have been able to speak to her through the kind of pain he saw radiating from her.

“I know what I’m doing, Giles. Get off me!” she was screaming, as she stood up, throwing Giles carelessly to the floor in her grief. Buffy pulled Althenea with her, wrenching her arm so severely that Spike was sure he had heard the bones dislocate, spinning her around to face the interior of the room, and the window on the other side. Spike saw the light streaming from her eyes. He’d seen that kind of pain before. It came from above him, as he was sprawled in an alleyway behind a police station.

She was going to kill her.

Her voice confirmed Spike’s worst fears, “I’m killing the thing that killed Spike!” she growled, her voice distorted, nearly unrecognizable as human, any restraint she may have had seemed to be lost in the tide of her shock and grief.

Spike looked at her, trying desperately to find something he knew…and sadly, he did. In that moment, Spike understood. She did know what she was doing. She’d felt it too, and she felt as though she had to atone…for hurting someone she loved. “Oh, no…” he gasped in horror and frustration, as he identified what it was he saw in her eyes.

The animal. The hunter. Giza…


And there was a window. They were on the second floor.

As he screamed her name, Spike saw the old witch’s body flying through the air. He heard the horrible sound of breaking glass. Then came the silence, and the sickening thud of a lifeless body.

Spike watched the others move toward the broken window, in shock. They needed to look, but he didn’t. He knew. He knew, but he didn’t want to look.

He closed his eyes against the pain of what he’d turned her into. He didn’t want to look, because he knew.

That woman was dead, and he’d made the one person he truly loved, the person who had become his soul when his was lost to him, into a monster.

She was a killer. Her worst fear had come to pass, and he was responsible.

He didn’t want to look, but he had to.

The sound of her sobbing broke the shocked silence in the room, and he watched her crumple to the floor, unable to stand beneath the weight of what had happened and what she had done.

Dawn came over to comfort her, and he was glad she was there because he wanted to hold her, to tell her that someday they would be together again, but he could not.

“What have I done?” he cried as he felt her loss, and her guilt screaming through him.

The sounds that shook the room were painful to hear. The tears that filled the room tore his soul out with more precision than a scalpel in a surgeon’s hand.

There was so much pain, and he was the cause of it.

But, the numbness of death came as Spike heard Buffy’s tear-laden voice softly speak, “Giles,” she looked up at the Watcher with glistening eyes, and determination hardened her face, “tear it out of me. Now.”

“Buffy, no!” Spike begged, cursing himself for what he’d done to her.

Giles gasped, reeling from the shock of what he’d seen, and heard, “Buffy, do you know what that could do to you…?” he swallowed the fear in his throat, “…To your mind?”

“I don’t care, Giles,” she choked, “If it can do that…even after you,” her voice lowered to a trembling whisper, “let it go… You set it free, Giles!’ she hissed, “And still, it did this. It kills, Giles. That’s all it does. Take it out of me!”

**********************************************************************
7 JANUARY 2008- CHINA-

He breathed in her scent, took deep lungfuls of her. He was drowning in her sadness and grief. There was so much grief that it nearly overwhelmed everything else. But, he needed her. It had been so long that he would gladly drown in her and her sadness, just to have her. Just to know she was here, and that she was real.

“Spike,” she murmured, “what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here. You’re dead, you know,” her voice cascaded fervently over the skin of his neck, her words chilling him.

Was it possible that she didn’t know?


His voice broke, “Oh Love, please…” he couldn’t control the tears anymore. It had been so long, so many years. He held tightly to her, both delighted and saddened by her closeness, “…Just…let me hold you,” he breathed.

“But Spike, you can’t be here. They’re still looking for you,” she pulled back, her eyes wildly searching his, “He’s…” her voice trailed off as he pulled her to him.

“Shh,” he whispered, as he kissed the matted hair on top of her head, “That doesn’t matter, now. Angelus, and the Synod can have me. I’ll come to him with a sodding bow tied around my neck if it’ll keep you safe.”

“Are you real?”

The question tore at his heart, and told him just how far she had fallen. The tone of her voice left him with no doubt.

He had driven her mad.

“I’m real, Love.”

Slowly, she pulled back from his embrace, and she looked up at him, her gaze dancing on the water of unshed tears; tears of disbelief. She gave him a lopsided grin, and his chest ached as the wound in that empty, dark space widened and grew larger.

He knew that she had seen that look on his face, many, many times before.

“Good,” she giggled to herself, amused by the noises in her head, “Because I killed you, you know.”
 
Torn Asunder
 
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2 SEPTEMBER 2002- DEVON-

Bells were clanging somewhere, at the edges of his consciousness. Is that a telephone…? He couldn’t be bothered with the edges, when something much sharper, and more painful, was consuming him.

His family had crumbled to ruins. The static in the air made his flesh crawl, and his hair stand on end.

And, that ear-splitting sound…

The bells. No…not bells. Something else…painful…Like a scream…


Giles was not prepared for what he saw, or how that made him feel. A part of him understood what Spike had meant to do, and was grateful for it.

But, to see it…


He would be a fugitive. And, Rupert knew that the small part of Spike that was still his Grandmother Rachel’s brother loved Buffy; there was no denying that. He wanted her to be free. But, he knew that Spike had not expected this.

It’s devastating.


Seeing the depth of her grief was heartbreaking, and he had read the accounts of what had befallen the one Slayer who had willfully shunned her calling. As her Watcher, he could not allow her to be harmed in that way.

He loved her too much.

“Buffy,” Giles spoke softly, as he watched the two girls he thought of as daughters grieving together, his own voice shaken by what his eyes had seen, “please…You don’t know what that would do to you. The authorities will be here soon…”

“But Giles,” Dawn sobbed, as Buffy sat, nearly lifeless, in her arms, “she killed Spike. Would they put her in jail…for killing a killer?”

“Dawn, all the authorities will find,” Giles’s gaze darted to the broken window, not wanting to see the body he knew was beneath it, “is a body. Everyone here knows the truth. But, we have no proof…”

“…It doesn’t matter,” Buffy’s voice rattled up, from the empty place in her soul; her wound so deep that her spirit echoed the pain she was too angry to feel, “Nothing matters now. Take it out.”

“No,” Giles croaked, overcome by her grief, and his own.

Her eyes met his, blazing with anger and cold as death, “If you don’t,” she rasped, “I’ll throw myself out of that window.”

The room was heavy with sorrow. It was thick, like tar, or black trickle. Something was out of place.

And that was when he remembered. They weren’t alone.

How could I have forgotten?


His throat felt raw, as he tried to comfort them, “Buffy,” Giles whispered as he knelt in front of the huddled girls, “you know that Spike doesn’t…he wouldn’t have wanted that, for you. And neither do I. He was my family, Buffy, just as you are. If you were harmed…” his voice trailed off, as the unseen presence in the room moved to the front of his mind.

“Oh, God…What have I done to her? I’ve got to make this right. Rupert, tell her to wait…until just after sunset. If after that…she still wants this to happen…Tell her you’ll help her.”


Her voice continued, making him wonder if he had, in fact, spoken. She hadn’t acknowledged him at all, “…There’s no way I can make this right,” Buffy sobbed, her face in her hands, “He’s dust. I have to make it right,” Buffy shook her head, lost and hurt; her voice muffled by her hands, “But, I can’t! It’s what I am,” her hands fell from her face, and the anguish in her eyes cut Giles deeply, and forever, “I’m a killer,” she whispered, vacantly, “Oh, Spike, I’m so sorry!”

Giles looked at her, stunned, and numb from shock and grief. Was he delusional? Had he been too slow to react? Was he strong enough? Did William Ellis still exist- at all?

Would he ever see the family “ghost” again?

“Buffy,” Giles was nearly breathless with anxiety and fear, “please wait. If…after sunset, this is what you still want- if you want the Ukesolrill to be removed…” he sighed, as the weight of what he might have to do, kill the Slayer, and tear Buffy’s mind, indeed her whole world, asunder, fell upon him, “then, I will do it myself.”

“I won’t change my mind, Giles. What could a few hours do?”

“Exactly,” Giles sighed, feeling hope creep into his heart, “Just a few hours, Buffy.”

Giles sensed movement in the room, and felt a peace settle over him.

“I’ll take care of her, Rupert.”


But, that sense of peace did not last long.

Willow’s voice cut through the softness that was to be his refuge, “Giles…?”

He looked up to see a deep pain in her eyes, “What is it, Willow?”

“That was the telephone,” she said softly, “I thought I should get it. You were…busy. That was a call from the States… California…The prison,” she choked, “Faith…it was a fight. Someone had a knife…She’s dead.”

A soft, chilling laughter came from Buffy, “She’s dead; so am I. Spike’s dead too. And poor Althenea…the lion got her. Ate her up. Now, you have to kill it. Kill it, Giles. Before it kills another innocent little girl.”

The shock of what had happened in this house had rendered Panya speechless with sadness. He’d watched it all, seen his friend murdered in front of him.

He thought he would never speak again. But to see Shujaa like this…so broken…he knew that Simba would not want that.

“No, Shujaa,” Panya whispered, “Do not become Njozi . Please. He would not want that for you.”

“He can’t want anything for me, anymore, Mouse. He’s gone.”

“I am sorry,” Panya’s voice was tight from pain, “I know it may seem to be so. But, it does not have to be thus. You are his mtina. Simba still lives,” he smiled at her weakly, looking at the scene before him with watery eyes, “He lives,” the boy said gruffly, “as long, and as well, as you do. Now Simba is truly immortal.”

Buffy gasped, feeling warmth in her chest. She had never thought of that. He was right.

“Thank you, Mouse,” she whispered.
 
The Killing Kind
 
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7 JANUARY 2008- CHINA-

China. Yes, he’d been here before, when he’d killed his first Slayer. The ghosts still haunted him.

“Tell my mother…I’m sorry.”

That stung. How did…? Cunning, this one, I can admire that. Smart. She will pay for it, though.

“Sorry, Love,” he said, “I don’t speak Chinese.”


Yes, he could remember tearing viciously into her throat. He could remember killing her; and, as he held another Slayer in his arms, he realized that he had come full circle. He was back here, again, looking into the eyes of someone he’d killed.

His fingers traveled lightly over her hair, trying to ignore the dried mud that seemed to turn the silky hair he remembered into unruly knots.

Spike murmured softly to her, feeling her tremble as he held her, “I don’t care, anymore, Love. What you did… I never thought...I never wanted this. The pain, I can feel it. It screams," his breath shuddered, as he let his defenses down, and he felt her confusion and fear. He felt the emptiness that he felt years ago. He felt the darkness enveloping him again, and he nearly wept for her, as he whispered, "Being the Slayer, it’s a part of you, and I can’t watch you suffer. Not anymore. Not when I could stop it. I can feel you slipping, Love. I can’t…Rupert…Do you even know what happened…?”

There was no reason to this. He was just so lost- so desperate. “It started out so pure. How did it all go so wrong?” Spike knew this was hopeless. He was essentially talking to himself, and he knew that. But, it had been so long since he’d held her, heard her voice, that he found that he was longing for any contact, even if it made no sense to him, “You’ve lost so much,” he sighed, placing a kiss on the crown of her head. His throat tightened painfully, as he tasted earth and blood, instead of the clean soap that he longed for. The clean, sweet taste that always lingered, from the shampoo she used. But, that was so long ago. It was lost to her. Just another thing on a very long list, another thing she could no longer understand.

Who is she, now? Who am * I * now?


“I can’t be the reason you lose anything more, that’s dear to you. You don’t belong in the dark,” he whispered, trying to keep his demon at bay as he surveyed the darkness that was her world now, the darkness that kept her safe.

Lydia Chalmers did her job. She did the best she could. She kept Buffy safe, from herself, and from the Synod that threatened her. The Synod was everywhere; he knew the Cells had to stay one step ahead at all times. Sometimes that meant running-and fast. He knew that meant hiding Buffy in places he’d rather kiss daylight than think about. But, he trusted Lydia, more than once, with his life. And, she had kept his life safe, for all these years.

At least, Buffy was still alive. Though he knew that that fact, at this moment, gave him far more comfort than, he was sure, it gave her.

The darkness was Buffy’s only comfort now. The world she once lived in was confusing and loud. It clawed at her, bit and scratched, because now, her soul was torn to shreds.

Because of me…


Buffy squirmed a little in his arms, as though she were uncomfortable in her skin, and looked down at the sand that covered the ground, “Stop,” she breathed, “You yell too loud. I killed you, and now you yell too loud. I’m sorry. I can’t do anymore. I killed it. I killed it,” she looked up at Spike again, and he could see the desperate confusion that had pulled him to her. The confusion he wanted so badly to take from her, “…Is that enough?” she asked, and his heart broke, once again, for her.

“Oh, Buffy,” Spike choked, as the agony of that night washed over him again, “You and I…” he said, holding her tighter, cocooning her against his chest, away from the darkness and cold that he felt. He hated that his hands were trembling almost as much as his voice. He needed to be strong, not weak.

He needed her. She needed him. She was still his beacon, his light. What she had done for him was… “We are so much alike. Always have been. We love…too much, I think,” he tasted the salt in the air, the salt of her tears, as he spoke, “But, you were right. Our kind of love…it’s the killing kind, Pet.”
************************************************************

2 SEPTEMBER 2002- DEVON, ENGLAND-

Sunset. Buffy had never wanted to see anything more in her entire life than this sunset. It meant an end. Finally, an end to this.

She understood him, now. Broken, and sobbing, tired of living, he’d begged her to end it for him.

Now, Spike was gone.

And, it hurt. Nothing, no thing had ever hurt this much. And nothing ever would, ever again.

Now, as she watched the last of the light disappear into the dark, she wanted it to end.

The police had been to the house. It was a tragic accident. Statements were taken. The noise had died down, and now she was here, on a beach, watching a sunset, listening to the wind as it called her name. It was cruel, and cold.

It called her by her name…and it used his voice.

“Buffy…”

She closed her eyes, and felt her stomach tighten. She wanted to believe that this all had been a dream, that it wasn’t real and that the monster inside of her hadn’t staked him. But, she knew it wasn’t so. She’d felt it, saw it happen.

And now, she hurt.

“I’m sorry, Spike. Please know that.” Buffy whispered the prayer. He felt so close, and she felt so weak. There was nothing she could do. Nothing could bring him back.

His voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. It vibrated her bones, rang in her head, and sang in the night air around her. It was a familiar, if not always wanted, feeling. The feeling that made her body and mind hum, like a finely tuned instrument, was like no other.

No one could make her feel like he did…

* Did. *

“Always wanted to see the sunset with my girl…”

The sound made her ache. She wanted it to be real. Her blood was screaming, telling her it was true. But, it couldn’t be…

She turned…

And there he was.

Still dressed in black armor, and silhouetted against the soft light of the coming evening, he stood there. He looked so real, and when he smiled, and ducked his head shyly, as though he were afraid that * she* would vanish, she asked, “Spike…?”

He only nodded.

She ran to him, and her heart leaped with joy when she found she could hold him, could touch him, and that he was real. He was * here. *

He kissed her neck, softly, and she sobbed with relief, “You know,” she breathed, the warmth of her voice lessening the sting of her words, “I could kill you. That was…”

“…Bloody stupid?” Spike murmured sheepishly, his lips hovering at the crook of her neck.

“Yeah,” she said thickly, her head lost in sensation, “That was too…close. And, I believed…”

“I know. I’m sorry…”

“I know,” she paused, looking up at him. He adored her. She could see that. It was easy enough to see. He showed her how much he loved her. Every move, every look, every word was for her now. She knew that. And, she hoped that she could show him how much he mattered, how much he meant, to her. She hoped it would be enough, “But,” she said, softly, “if you think this changes my mind…”

He looked so hopeful, so open. Of course, he would think that.

“…It doesn’t.”

And now, the devastation. * Oh, Spike, I’m so sorry. *

“That thing…it could have killed you. I want it out.”

***********************************************************

He hated leaving her, but her pain and her confusion were almost too much for him. The Synod knew this. How could they not?

They were using her- as bait. They wanted their Slayer back, their slave. And now, with Rupert barely holding to life by a thread…And Panya, the only other living person that might know where the Watcher had locked it away, where he had hidden the key…they were going to smoke him out.

They wanted their slave. But all he wanted was his girl back, whole, and sane.

He would do anything; go anywhere. If only he knew where to go.

Mouse was waiting outside, near the entrance to the labyrinth, when Spike emerged. He could see that his friend looked weary, “It is not as you hoped then, Simba?” he asked.

“No, it’s worse. Soon… her mind…” Spike’s voice trailed off, completely at a loss. He suddenly felt weak, and looked to his friend, for guidance and help, as he had many years before. He pleaded with the boy, a shaman now, “Mouse, you have to help me,” he could feel the pressure, the weight of her sorrow added to his, making his voice, his very words, almost nonexistent, “You’re the only one who can. If you can’t, then I will surrender. I’ll let the Synod take me. Is that what you want?”

“No, Simba.”

“Then you have to help me reach her. Maybe…? Do you know…?”

Mouse shook his head. He didn’t know…or he wasn’t telling…

Damn, Buffy and her loyal lap dogs…! Myself included…


“…Then, if you don’t want that, and you won’t tell me…”

“I do not…”

“You don’t know…right,” Spike sighed, “Well, someone, somewhere knows where the Slayer is…And I’m going to find the Slayer, and bring her home, where she belongs. Buffy can’t survive…not like she is now, and I need her, to survive. If you won’t help me, then someone will.”
 
Right Hand, Left Hand
 
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FEBRUARY 10, 2008- LOS ANGELES- WOLFRAM & HART OFFICES-

Daisy Pendleton detested her client, and around here, that meant something. She wasn’t stupid, she knew where the power really was, and it wasn’t in the Synod. Not these days. Oh, they had it once, briefly, but the Slayer had it now, and didn’t know it.

That made the Slayer very dangerous.

Huh, imagine that. The words, “The Slayer” had actually formed in her mind, and the roof hadn’t caved in.

The Slayer was a monster that anyone who knew better, and valued their parts, steered clear of. And, she’d done her best to do just that, like a good girl. For years, even uttering the words, “The Slayer” within earshot of a garrison commander was grounds for imprisonment, and a rather…lethal interrogation.

Yes, she’d done her best. Until she met Rupert Giles, and everything changed.

Daisy looked at the clock on her office wall. Four o’clock. The sun would be up in less than an hour, and The Synod’s head cheese was late.

She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of malice as she felt a smirk tickle the edge of her mouth. Maybe they got him. Maybe I don’t have to see his ugly…

“Did you find that bitch?” Angelus’s voice boomed as the door to Daisy’s office flew open.

Daisy winced as she watched the fine Italian marble door shatter as it was forced against the wall…

…It’s just * not* my day, today, is it. And the marble…! Oh, why couldn’t the door be made of wood? A stray splinter and…poof…and I can go back to where I belong…


With the ease of years of courtroom experience, which allowed her to veil her true feelings, Daisy looked at the furious picture he presented, and said calmly, “No. And, you’re late. It’s rude, and unprofessional…”

“I didn’t hire this firm, or you, for a lecture on lawyers’ etiquette. I hired you because you deal with the scum of the earth all the time. You would know where a killer like that would hide.”

Daisy couldn’t help smiling as Angelus scowled at her, “We have quite a file on you. Have you tried your old haunts? You might get lucky…and it would save you the embarrassment of having to come to us for help. You came to us to help you find a rag-tag bunch. People you know. It’s sad, really. Didn’t you fight on their side, at one time? Why on earth would they hide from you? Why are you hunting them?” her blue eyes glinted back at him, triumphantly, “That is what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

“I have my reasons…” Angelus bit out.

“Oh,” she said, as she opened the file, and leaned back in her chair, forming a tiny steeple with her fingers, she contemplated him, “I’m sure you do. Our last confirmation was in China. But, that was over a month ago…”

Daisy saw no reason to inform him that the Cell that protected the Slayer was already one step ahead of his efforts, and would remain so, until her debt to Rupert Giles had been paid.

She was loyal to the resistance, and the Cells.

No one knew that she owed her life to the Cells. No one in the firm knew where the Slayer was. She didn’t even know, and that was by design.

If Angelus tried to read her, now, he wouldn’t find anything. Nothing- except what he already knew, what she knew from the files, a vivid account of the demise of “William the Bloody.”

Rupert Giles’s magic was powerful. So powerful, that even the very elect, the upper echelon could truthfully say- that they were blind.
********************************************************************

10 FEBRUARY, 2008- NORWAY-

Panya had never been to a place that was this cold. His blood was not accustomed to the icy temperatures. But, he was young, despite what Simba thought. He would often say that he had, “the soul of an ancient.”

Panya was not sure what that meant. But, he did know that he would do whatever he had to do, to keep Shujaa safe. Safety meant staying one step ahead of the Synod. It often meant that he woke in unfamiliar places.

He would do what he had to do- to give Simba some peace.

He would even lie. He had lied. They all did.

He only hoped that, one day, Simba would forgive him, and his beloved Shujaa…

Panya could still hear the screams…

Buku
would not rest until the Ukesolrill was destroyed. In his eyes, nothing but blood would satisfy.

He would not rest until it was destroyed, and the power was his to control. He did not know, nor could he, that destroying the spirit that gave Shujaa her power would destroy the being he mourned.

And so, that power was kept hidden, even from the one that held it.

Not even he had known exactly where it had been hidden. And then, when the word came that the Englishman had taken ill, and Simba appeared, he knew where the sorcerer had hidden the power.

And, the joy of seeing his friend again, was overshadowed by the great responsibility that was now upon him.

He had to protect that power, from all those that would destroy it.
********************************************************

In the darkened room, he sighed. Respite of any kind was rare in these days, and Simba was finally asleep.

He tried to look after his friend, as well as he was permitted to. At times, Simba made looking after his welfare very difficult. Simba did not exist well. The years away from her, the years of carrying her burden, and his own, had taken their toll. Time had drained him of the life that had so long ago refused to release its hold on him.

Time had become a weight that was nearly impossible to carry.

But, Panya knew that he would continue to shoulder the weight for his Shujaa, because he loved her.

A blind man could see that he loved her. It was impossible for him to do anything else. Because he loved her, he could not see.

He could not see that he was right, more right than he knew.

Panya sat and wondered, shivering from the cold that had seeped into his skin and heart. Did Simba know? Is that why he called him an “old man?” Did Simba see that he was carrying his own burden, one that he could not speak of?

To speak of it meant death to all that Shujaa had built, all that she knew.

It meant Simba’s death, not the banishment that had been created for him.
 
To Serve And Protect
 
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2 SEPTEMBER 2002- DEVON, ENGLAND-

The only sound was the gentle crashing of the waves against the sand. He’d turned away from her, walking to the edge of the sand, staring at the water as it crashed along the shoreline, and washed heedlessly over his boots.

The time away from him felt like eons. She felt cold. She hated that he’d turned away, but she knew why he’d done it.

This was crazy.

Now, he finally faced her. He stared at her, and she couldn’t help but give him a sad smile. He was speechless. “Spike, did you hear me?” It was a stupid question. She knew that. The fire in his eyes told her just how stupid he thought it was.

Suddenly she was glad Spike had chosen to put some distance between them. The way his jaw twitched, the way his eyes blazed through her made her feel something flutter in her stomach. It felt familiar and warm.

But it was also frightening.

“Oh, I heard you,” he growled, low in his throat; it was almost a whisper, “I’m hoping this is a nightmare, and I’ll wake up soon, because, ‘bloody stupid’ doesn’t even begin to cover it! You can’t seriously think I’d let you…”

She felt happy, and sad at the same time, that he cared this much. No one else had, “You’re not the boss of me,” she said softly, hoping, that the childishness of the words would diffuse his anger.

He stared at her. She couldn’t tell what was going on inside his head, but the expression on his face told her everything. It told her how he felt. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.

His world was falling to pieces, burning down around him.

“What?!” Spike choked, turning away from her again.

Spike looked out at the dark water. The dark was so inviting. It would be so easy, so familiar…so…wrong. His fingers brushed lightly at the mark she’d left on his throat. It was small, barely even noticeable, but touching it now made him feel so close to her. He shuddered, and wondered if she knew.

Does she know what she’d be doing…? Thank God there wasn’t time to…
He shook his head. No. And, I won’t tell her.

“Buffy,” he spoke slowly, his back still to her. He was afraid to face her now. If this is something she wants to do, I can’t stop her. “It’s a part of you,” his voice was raw with restrained emotion. He tried to lose himself in the sound of the busy water, in its quietly powerful beauty. So much like her. “What you want,” he could feel her pain already, and that made his throat tight, made the words hurt as he said them, “It would be like cutting off a limb or cutting your…It would be like…”

“…Cutting my heart out?” Buffy whispered, approaching him slowly. She wanted to be close to him. She could see his shoulders moving oddly underneath his leather coat. Is he crying?

He was still watching the water. He’d always faced her before, told her things she didn’t want to hear, and she would punish him for it.

She wanted to make up for it now. She sighed, suddenly feeling vulnerable. A fear began to come over her. Why doesn’t he look at me? Why won’t he look at me? “Spike? Will you please…look at me?”

He turned around, and she felt her throat tighten. The shock of seeing that he wasn’t dust had worn off, and now she could see what Angel had done to him. His face was still swollen. It reminded her of how it looked when he brought Clem to her birthday party.

She wasn’t stupid. And now, after what she’d just “seen,” it was clear. She knew why Clem was at her party.

There was safety in numbers.

She’d left him to the sunrise. She’d left him on the pavement, and hadn’t glanced back. It was only now, looking back, that she realized that he could have dusted in that alley, and she hadn’t cared.

She’d left him to die. He was a vampire. She was the Slayer. That was her job. It was her calling.

Spike had brought Clem because he was scared of her.

He was scared of her because she was the Slayer.

Her eyes stung, and she swallowed the lump in her throat.

She was never good with words. Where would she find the right words, the words to say how sorry she was?

He looked like he did in Africa. So tired that he didn’t look like he could stand anymore. His eyes were glistening, pleading with her, and she could barely hear his words, “Slayer, I…I-if you want to do this, I won’t stop you. I can’t. But, please, don’t do this. I’m not worth that kind of sacrifice. The world doesn’t need me, doesn’t want me,” he lowered his eyes, and his voice was shaken with concern for her. As he spoke, his fingers went, of their own volition, again to the mark at his throat, the mark that was his secret tie, his private chord with her.

“That’s not true! Someone thinks you’re very important. Travers certainly did, and so did those monks…”

“That’s not…I’m just a vampire. Nothing special. That’s Angel…”

“It wasn’t Angel his goons followed all the way to Africa. It wasn’t Angel he put in a box…”

Spike winced. Even the thought of his time in that prison, of what Travers had done to him, caused him vertigo. Again, he was thankful that there was no time to complete the bond. She didn’t need to know what he’d been through. She had enough pain in her life. He would not cause her any more.

That’s why this was out of the question.

“…It wasn’t Angel he drugged,” her voice hitched, “and beat, and put in chains. It wasn’t Angel Giles…or I killed for. That was you.”

“Buffy, please,” Spike whispered, uneasy with the reminder of his torture, and what he’d made her become, “stop. If you do this, what will happen to you? The world needs a Slayer. It needs protecting…from monsters like me.”

Buffy wanted to step close to him, wanted to hold him, but his whole demeanor told her that he needed her to keep her distance. He was still shaken, still frightened.

For the first time since she’d known him, Spike seemed frightened. She could see his whole body shaking, however slightly. This wasn’t a show for Dawn, or Angel. The armor was down. She was seeing him.

And, he was terrified. And Buffy was terrified, too.

He was scared enough to make me think he’d dusted…he wanted to disappear- To escape- Seeing that, shocked me into…Oh, God…that thing tried to kill him from the inside. It tried to smother him. He was weak…couldn’t do anything. Oh, he must be so angry.


In that moment, the battle was lost.

“You need protecting from the monster, Spike,” she said softly, closing the distance between them, “Giles told me that, but I didn’t understand,” she stood on her toes, looking up at him. She tilted her head slightly, so that her neck was exposed to him, and sighed when he closed his eyes and flinched, turning his head away from her invitation in disgust, “Maybe, in time, Giles can learn to change it, or teach it, or bind it, or…” she shook her head; this wasn’t sounding like it did in her head. He didn’t understand, but she wasn’t giving up, “something. But, until then…the last of it’s in me. I want to protect you, Spike,” she looked up at him again, and offered him her neck, “This is the only way I know how. I’m offering, Spike. Please let me…”

Buffy felt his hands in the center of her chest, felt herself hurling backward onto the sand, and heard his needlessly labored breathing, “No! I won’t do it. This isn’t the way, Buffy.”

She looked up at him, and saw the mixture of anger and love shining down on her from his amber gaze, as it glowed in the darkened sky, “Don’t you see?” she said, her voice strong and clear, full of conviction, “I’m stronger than you are,” Spike was shaking his head, but Buffy continued, nodding her head a little, “I’m sorry, but it’s true. You can knock me down, but the Slayer will always beat you. I’ll always beat you, and I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Spike. I love you too much to do that.”

“No, you don’t!” he growled, furious that she would not get up from the sand where he’d thrown her.

She’s giving up! No, you can’t do that. I won’t let you do that!


He ran across the sand, to the spot where he’d shoved her, and dropped to his knees beside her, “Don’t say that! I don’t want your love, not like this!”

The look of devastation and pain on her face made his chest ache. “Please, don’t say that!” he croaked.

“The Slayer will always win, Spike. It will kill. That’s what it does. It’s what I do,” Buffy looked down, suddenly overcome with shame, she whispered, “ I’ll kill you, Spike, unless you kill it first. Please, Spike, do it. I can’t hurt you… I don’t want to. Just do it!”

“No!” His voice was as angry and as sad as the wind that swept the lonely beach.

“If you won’t let me take it out of me, it will hurt you again. And, I don’t want to hurt you anymore. Don’t you understand that?”

How could I not understand, Love? I understand…
“Buffy,” Spike said, as he held her, there in the sand, “please. I love you. If you tore yourself apart,” he kissed her face, and caressed her, in a forlorn dance of grief and a perverse joy; no one had ever cared enough…she was his light. If she took that away… “…it would kill me, Buffy.”

“You did it!” Buffy sobbed against him, breathing him into herself, “You did it, for me. You gutted yourself. For me. How is this different?”

“It is, Buffy,” Spike whispered as he rocked her gently, in the sand, “It just is.”

As she found herself whispering promises of love to the broken vampire she loved too much to see hurt, Buffy made herself a promise.

I swear, Spike, I’ll find a way to change it. Someday. I promise.




 
Partly Sunny
 
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AN: This was meant to be a longer chapter, but I thought we all needed a little breather from all the angst...Hope you enjoy...
**********************************

Giles knew that Lois Kingsbury would not let them stay any longer. They’d burned their bridges here. Bloody Hell, we burned down Rome! The Slayer had killed the coven’s most powerful witch and the source of the Slayer’s strength was now loose, because he had freed it. It would be foolish to expect anything less than banishment.

He hoped that would be all that they would have to endure. If there was anything else, then he knew where to lay the blame.

It belonged to him, and him alone.

The shock still hung in the air as he stepped out into the main lounge of the house. The sounds were heartbreakingly familiar.

There were tears; and the sight of Dawn clutching at Panya in her grief as they watched the light slowly devour the night as viciously as it did his hope, tore at him.

He walked over to the window, dreading the light, and that he had been such a fool, and stood beside Dawn and Panya. He sighed, and he felt Dawn lean close to him as he wondered how to put the genie back into the bottle he’d uncorked, without hurting his Slayer.

As he held her, the sound of Dawn’s tears brought a painful memory back, and he realized how alike they were; how strong the sense of guilt could be, the sense of duty to family.

He wanted more time with his family. He wanted to know William. He had trusted him with his life, and Buffy’s too.

May 27, 2001- SUNNYDALE-

If he weren’t so numbed by the events of the past few days, he would have been amazed, things like this were supposed to be impossible. That’s what all his training, all his education, told him. The Council…but, he remembered something his Grandmother Rachel had tried to tell him.

Staring into Spike’s unseeing eyes, he wondered if it was true. * No. No, it can’t be…*

“Dawn,” Giles said softly, trying hard not to let the girl know how grief-stricken he was, himself, “I’m sure he’ll be all right,” he looked into Spike’s eyes, listened to his mumblings as he rocked himself, absently, on the crypt floor, and knew he was lying. It couldn’t be helped; the girl needed some stability now, not chaos, “Just give him some time.”

Dawn’s eyes were a picture of devastation as she looked at him, “But, I’ve never seen him like this. What’s he saying?” Dawn sniffed.

“I don’t know,” he said, not really wanting to pay attention to the mantra that had been constant from the moment they walked into the crypt. The whispering was so low that it was almost beyond the range of human hearing. He heard, though, and understood, unwanted as it was.

Understanding made it real. And it couldn’t be real. He couldn’t have failed her.

“…My fault…my fault.” Spike whispered, “Wasn’t fast enough. Trusted me…wasn’t fast enough…Gone…Nothing…My fault…I should have protected her…should have been faster. She’s dead…should’ve been faster…so stupid…so…sorry.”

He understood, because the same thoughts were plaguing him, and would until the day he died.

“If he…? Who would take care of me?” Dawn asked.

The question cut at his heart. Did she not trust him to take care of her? And, she did have a father, although only God knew where he was now. * Blasted twit didn’t even have the decency to show his face at Joyce’s funeral. He can fall off the face of the earth for all I care…* “I’ll take care of you, Dawn.”
******************************************************************************


Had he been fast enough? Was he strong enough? Was what he saw- was Spike really dust, or was it an illusion?

“Where is she?” Dawn asked, her voice small with worry and grief. She looked out the window at the lightening sky and said, “It’s almost daylight. She’s been out all night.”

“Dawn, we’ve all seen…” he sighed; some part of him hoped it wasn’t true, but as the morning approached, the hope was fading. His heart was heavy and the sorrow was beginning to show. The tremor in his voice, and the pain in his throat made it difficult to speak of what they had all seen; he so hoped it wasn’t true, “…horrible things. Buffy may need time to…”

“You don’t think she would let some vamp get her, do you, because of what happened to Spike…?” Dawn looked at him in shock, and her eyes widened as though she couldn’t believe what she’d just said, her hand went to cover her mouth and she sobbed softly into it, “Oh, God, Spike!”

With tears forming in her eyes, Dawn turned her face back to the window, and they watched the coming day in silence.
**************************************************************************

The breeze blew cold over her face, and she shivered. Frowning, she closed her eyes tight, wanting to keep the moonlight that she could still smell on her skin.

She didn’t want to wake. She wanted the moonlight, wanted to make it a part of her. She wanted to apologize. She didn’t want the daylight to intrude, she wanted to keep the dream, but the day always came.

It always came. And the things that belonged to the night disappeared into the light.

Buffy’s heart leapt for joy. His scent was still in the air around her, it was clinging to her skin. She had beaten it, the daylight. The night could stay wrapped around her, and hold her tight.

If she stayed asleep, it could all be a dream, and she wouldn’t have killed him.

But, the coolness of his touch, of his special brand of moonlight infused kisses, had never been this cruel and biting, even when she wanted it to be…


She opened her eyes and everything disappeared. The day had come and the magic was gone. And so was he.

She sat up. Why did he seem so close? Was she losing her mind? She’d seen him dust, right in front of her.

Althenea…her fist came down, the stake came down into his back, and he fell forward. His eyes…the shock, I’ll never forget it. I can remember…screaming…reaching out…my hands wrapped around him. His coat…I felt the leather crumble in my hands…


Buffy put her hand out in front of her, as if to grab the air, and her breath caught in her throat. She stared in wonder at her arm. Now she understood why his scent was so heavy around her…

Her arm was surrounded by leather. She was wearing his coat.

It wasn’t a dream. It was real.

She was shaking so much that she didn’t know how she was able to stand. Her breath came in shocked, shallow, gasps as she raced across the beach, “Giles!” Buffy screamed as the hope and joy she thought she had lost carried her onward, tears of happiness and faith streaming down her face.

 
Home
 
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03 SEPTEMBER 2002- DEVON, ENGLAND-

The sound of Dawn’s tears was getting to him, and, as the sky began to grey with the light of morning, his hope was all but gone.

Rupert Giles quietly excused himself. He had to be away from everyone. The dawn was coming- and there was nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing to say that he was ever here. William Ellis was dead. He knew that now.

He knew that because he knew that he had failed.

He closed the door and turned to watch the sunrise. Even here, with its shades of lilac and grey, it was beautiful.

It was something William, something Spike, would have enjoyed. It was harsh, but the harshness of its light made it just that much more breathtaking.

He watched it to soothe the ache in his bones. He felt old, but this was something he needed to do.

It was his way of remembering him.

His heart clenched when he heard the Slayer, someone who trusted her life to him, and the things he had to teach her, things that were now in question, screaming his name.

He squinted. He could see her, far ahead, running toward him. And, was she wearing…?

He stepped forward. The hope in her voice was painful. Oh, no, dear heart, please don’t make this harder. You have to accept… “Giles!” Buffy shouted as she ran, stopping only when he caught her and held her gently, “It’s not real!” she breathed, “I know it’s not! I don’t know what you did,” she panted, her eyes wide with hope, “But, you can undo it now. Please…?”

She seemed so tiny. How can someone this small be so strong?

He closed his eyes and tried not to notice that she was trembling, and sighed, trying to control his own emotions. He slowly opened his eyes, pushing her away, slightly, to look into her eyes.

So much hope. I hate to crush it.


“Buffy, if only I could…” Giles spoke softly. There was disbelief in his tone, the words a distracted jumble, “He meant well…So did I. It was meant as a kind of hunters’ blind. He wanted to…to…” his grief would not let him continue. He took a deep breath, and lowered his head, unable to meet her eyes. He preferred to look at the sand, “But, “I lost him,” he choked out.

“What?!” Buffy hissed. The word was grinding and sharp, too loud in the air around them.

“Soon after Althenea…died. I had him,” Giles whispered, “I did. But now…” he shook his head, and his words were sharpened with loss and his acute sense of failure, “It’s as though he’s slipped through my fingers. There’s nothing now. Not for hours…” he closed his eyes again, “I have tried,” he choked, “But, there’s nothing…”

The loss settled in, and it hit her in the chest, and stopped her heart.

Oh, her heart still beat; still moved blood. It kept her moving. Blinking. Breathing.

But, make no mistake. She was dead.

“Oh, Giles,” she sobbed, clinging to him in her grief.
**************************************************************


FEBRUARY 10, 2008- LOS ANGELES-

He gained control again, which was something he, admittedly, didn’t have much of these days, not since Spike…not since he found out what really happened to him, and sat in the leather chair across from her. He looked at her; really looked, and what he saw nearly made him choke. He tried not to let the hatred consume him, but it was difficult, almost impossible.

The way she looked…it just brought it all back.

He sighed. She was small. Petite really, and in desperate need of a meal. Thin. But, something about her made her powerful. Someone not to be toyed with. If she were a male, she would almost remind him of…

Spike. And there it was again, that familiar pain.

I didn’t know that I would feel like this. How could I? It can’t hide from me no matter what it looks like. I was a killer for nearly five hundred years; I can be one again. He was my family…He meant something. I didn’t realize how much until… He had a soul, not a curse, and she just… And now, I just…
“You lost them a month ago?” the question held a hint of menace, even he could feel that his hold on his demon wasn’t as tight as he would have liked it to be. Angelus gritted his teeth, and glared at the blonde, blue-eyed woman that stared dispassionately back at him from behind her cherry wood desk, “And you’re just telling me this now? That is not what I pay you for,” he said as he sat in the chair across from her.

Daisy Pendleton smiled the smile of a Cheshire cat, “No, it isn’t. But, you will pay for the custom, imported, Italian marble door that you just destroyed. I’m adding it to your bill.”

“I really don’t care what you charge me for,” Angelus growled, “I don’t care if you charge me for artwork you stole from the Vatican! Just find that bitch! Find the Slayer!”

Daisy regarded him coolly, “And just what it is you think we’ve been doing for nearly six years?”

“Fleecing the Synod’s, and my, pockets.”

Daisy blinked, and smiled, “Well, yeah,” she admitted and then sighed, “But, you’re not exactly low profile. Everyone knows what happened, how you found out, and how you dealt with…” she winced, “The people and things that you felt kept you in the dark, as it were. Behavior like that makes anyone who might have anything new to tell us….understandably reluctant to divulge any information…”

“I said, find her!” Angelus thundered as he stood up, “I don’t care what it takes!” he shouted as he stormed out of the office.

As he left the office, he knew he had to hurry. It wouldn’t be long before the sun was up, and he was barely holding onto his control as it was. The empty feeling, the loss that drew him back to her in the first place and led him to fight by her side, for the sake of his memory, was returning. Indeed, it never really left.

Not since that last night, on the beach. He felt the loss gnawing at him again, just thinking about it, but the pain was good. It motivated him. It made him remember what he was fighting for, and who.

I’d never seen him that angry. He won. He actually * won. * And, he let me go. He had me pinned…I saw the stake…and I was glad. I was tired…I’m so tired. But don’t worry. She’ll pay for what she did.


This pain had been with him. The emptiness. The missing. Part of his family was gone, forever. Taken from him. He felt it. Even before he’d finished licking his wounds in Somerset.

That is what drove him back to her. It was back, and it felt good.

The harpy…


“That witch!” he growled.

The hate began to harden in his gut again as he reached the shelter of the old hotel.

She would pay. Oh, yes. She would pay.
 
Secundum Os
 
AN: Title is Latin for, "Behind the mask."
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10 FEBRUARY, 2008- OSLO, NORWAY-3:00 PM-

The room was quiet and the curtains were drawn. The boy, standing as a sentry over his friend, was grateful that he had finally allowed himself the mercy of sleep and sighed, releasing some of the worry he felt as he sat in the small chair in the dingy little room and he, too, closed his eyes, if only for a moment before opening them again and smiling.

Sleep. This was a wonderful thing to see. A wonderful thing, indeed.

Sleep had been slow in coming for Simba, and now that it was here, he did not want anything to wake him unless it was absolutely necessary. Sleep was so elusive for him. He was nearly as mad as Shujaa, now, and so broken that he wondered if Simba could survive much longer.

Simba had lost so much, more than even he was aware of. There was emptiness in his soul. An emptiness that only grew, because of his bond with her. He needed to be close to her, but could not, not without endangering her. And, that was something that he knew Simba would not do.

The tiny telephone in his pocket buzzed. Panya Mosi started, and his eyes darted to Simba. The sound seemed to bounce off the walls of the room, and echo, too loudly for his ears. But, Simba took no notice at all, and slept on, thankfully oblivious. He answered it quickly, fearful that Simba might wake at any moment, “Yes?” he questioned, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s Daisy,” the voice on the telephone was as quiet as his, and he had to strain to hear it.

For a moment he was confused, “Daisy?” and then his brain woke. He looked at the sleeping form of his friend, “Oh. Go ahead.”

“Time to move,” Daisy said.

Panya shook his head. If she could only see what this was doing to him. He swallowed, “But, he is not well…I do not think…”

“All the more reason,” Daisy whispered.

“All right,” Panya sighed, closing the phone and placing it back into his pocket.

He sighed. He was tired. Simba was tired. He didn’t know if he could convince him to continue this way. He wanted to rest, was on the verge of giving in. He did not want to hurt Shujaa. Her well-being was above his, and always had been.
*******************************************************

02 SEPTEMBER, 2002- DEVON, ENGLAND- 11:00 PM-

Giles was glad there was someone to take care of her. He wasn’t sure if it was wise to leave Buffy alone right now. She was in shock, and, to be completely honest, so was he.

He wasn’t even completely certain that he was not hallucinating. Grief could do that, and he had released a killer on the population. Something that had not even a kind of morality. It was a killer, and it had done what it was meant to do.

He knew now that he had put his trust in the wrong place. He had trusted the entity that powered the Slayer to have a conscience. It did not.

It had to be caged somehow. But, how to do it? He wasn’t sure he’d have enough strength to execute a proper binding. Right now, he wasn’t even sure he could say his own name, let alone remember it.

Yes. He was in shock. Because…standing right in front of him…holding Buffy…was Spike.

“…I killed someone,” Buffy said, her tears and voice muffled by Spike’s chest as she pressed against him in an embrace.

“I know,” Spike said.

“I-it killed you. I want it gone,” her voice was like steel, “I don’t want it anymore. Not if it hurts you. Let them find another girl. I’m done. Take it out.”

“Buffy…” Spike whispered, trying to hide the warble in his voice, the devastation, as he pulled her back to look into her eyes even as Dawn still clung tightly to him, “please. I don’t want you hurting yourself,” he shook his head, slightly, “Not for me.”

“But, I killed someone! I have to be punished for it! It’s wrong!”

“Buffy…” Spike whispered, his voice falling silent. Giles couldn’t help but notice the vampire’s hopeless gaze as it fastened to his. He was asking for help.

Giles tried to shake his disbelief as he spoke, “I promised I would help you, and I will.” He blinked. Yes, he was definitely grief- stricken. This idea was further proof of that. “I have an idea,” he said.

**************************************************************************

FEBRUARY 10, 2008- LOS ANGELES- 6:30 AM

Daisy Pendleton closed her eyes and sighed. She got up and went to her ruined door and looked out. The hall was empty. Her colleagues seemed not to notice her brute of a client. It was business as usual at Wolfram and Hart.

Break a few doors, kill a few babies, start an apocalypse- no one bats an eyelash. But, try and rescue Buffy Summers’s vision from the perversion the Synod had made of it and people would notice.

She had to tread lightly here. It really was a tightrope. Angelus didn’t trust many, and yet she’d made it into his circle. It had taken her years, but she’d done it.

The darkness inside her was finally being used for good. In fact, it was her darkness that kept her hidden from him.

She’d chosen her form deliberately. It was both homage and object lesson. It helped her remember that she was no better, and that he was out there somewhere. And that he was Buffy’s only hope.

She knew that she had to keep him safe.

Daisy moved back to her desk, trying to keep her knees from knocking. She couldn’t afford to lose her composure. Giles had taught her well enough. That was close, and these heels are really killing me… She sat in her chair, letting the tension dissipate with another sigh. She opened the drawer that held her purse in it and fished out her tiny compact from its depths. Daisy flipped the plastic pink disk open, admiring her face.

She smiled. No wonder he hated looking at her, if she didn’t know better… “Summitto os,” she whispered, and the face in the mirror shifted and shimmered, revealing her true countenance. She put the compact back into her purse, and headed out the door. The glamour was difficult to maintain now because she had to keep track of multiple locations, but she knew she could do it.

Willow knew she had to, because Giles was in no condition to do it.

She stood up again, careful to take the second she needed to put the glamour back in to place. Willow knew that she was taking a risk by lowering it. But sometimes she had to remind herself who she was, and why she was doing this.

She was doing this for Buffy, and for Spike. And, she was doing it because it was right.

With the glamour back in place, Daisy stepped out of the office, and down the hall, into the elevator and out onto the street. The sun was just coming up. There was little chance that she was being followed, the sky was too light now for any of Angelus’s garrisons to be lurking, and she knew she had to get to a secure location. She had to tell Panya that it was time to move again.
 
Hello, Huston...
 
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02 SEPTEMBER 2002- DEVON, ENGLAND-11:05 PM-

Spike kissed Buffy lightly on the forehead, and whispered something to her that he couldn’t hear. But, to be fair, he was certain he was in some sort of shock. Spike could be screaming, and he wasn’t sure he would hear him.

Spike led Buffy into Dawn’s gentle embrace, and then turned and walked to him, “Rupert,” he said, his eyes shining with both deep pain and hope, “I need to speak with you.”

“Yes, of course,” Giles breathed, surprised he could speak at all. As Spike stepped closer and took him by the shoulder, Giles noticed the tiny puncture on his throat, and he gasped.

Spike seemed to sense his apprehension, and nodded slightly, “Not here, yeah?” he said, pulling him toward the place that had been his working office, but was no longer.

That small wound let Giles know, even as he was being guided, that they had indeed been banished.
************************************************************

The door closed softly, and Spike turned, giving the Watcher a small smile, “I love her, you know,” he confessed, “So help me, I love her,” his eyes drifted to the ceiling, closed, and he sighed, shaking his head, “Don’t want to see her hurt,” he said, as his eyes fell to his family again, full of pain and love.

Rupert Giles, his eyes riveted to the mark on the vampire’s throat, whispered, “I know.”

“This will kill her,” Spike’s voice broke, “She has to be whole. I have to have her whole.”

Rupert tore his eyes from the mark on Spike’s throat, and ground out the question, hoping against hope that it was not true; that he was worthy of his trust, and that his Grandmother Rachel *had* been correct in her assumptions. “You didn’t…?” he couldn’t even utter the word, “…Not from her…?”

“No!” Spike assured him, “Not after what I…” he shook his head, “No,” he whispered, lost.

“I am grateful for that, at least,” Giles said.

“You may not be,” Spike muttered, his voice sounding tired and strained, “She’s determined,” Spike said, a note of irony in his tone, “Sees me as a model. Won’t see reason…”

“And that,” Giles barked, pointing to the mark that was obviously made by the blunt teeth of a human, “is your solution?!”

“Well, I had to think on my feet, didn’t I?” Spike snapped, hurt, “Surprised I could think at all. I could hear her coming up the stairs…and Buffy…I was so scared. And then…after…What she did…”

“Does she know?” Giles asked, sitting down behind the desk because his knees were weakening suddenly, “Did you tell her?”

“No. Didn’t have time, did I? There was a stake in my back before I could finish…” his eyes went to the floor, “Thank God for your quick reflexes,” Spike whispered, “I felt the magic power up right before I felt the pain…And…her face…”

Giles squinted, “So, what happened to Althenea, that had nothing to do with you. Did it?”

Spike looked askance at the Watcher, eyes still half on the floor “Couldn’t tell you. If I had seen what she had,” he whispered, shaken by the very thought of Buffy’s death. *If I had seen her die, right in front of me…I might not be able to control myself…* “It’s possible. But, I don’t think so. Did you tell her what a thing like this,” he touched the fresh mark lightly, brushing it with his fingers. He took a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes as he felt her strength alight him from within. The force of her will and her pain was greater than anything he’d felt before. It would force him to his knees one day, he knew. It was that powerful. So powerful that, right now, it made him seek out the nearest chair, or fall to the floor in a worthless mass of besotted vampire, no good to her or anyone, “would mean, did you?” he asked, his voice a coarse whisper.

Giles shook his head, “If I had…” Giles said, hating to bring a painful memory back to the present, to allow it to inflict the pain Angelus would have taken great delight in, “She was so much in love…” his voice hitched on regret, “If she had known of the power of the bond when Faith…” he stopped, remembering that Faith was dead. He swallowed the hurt that brought to him, and continued, “…poisoned Angel…There is no doubt in my mind. She would have done it. You and I both know that. To have her bound to him…” he shook his head again, the idea unthinkable, “No. I couldn’t have her bound to a thing like him, a monster…No. I did not tell her.”

Spike spoke in a quiet, sad voice, “And yet, here I am. And, it’s too late. If you stake me now…”

Giles blinked, dumbfounded. *He sounds so certain. He’s almost pleading…Does he want me to…? Does he think I could do that…? Now…? *

Giles looked across the desk at him, “No,” he said, “I will not. It would hurt Grandmother,” he smiled ruefully, “and me,” he finished.

Spike sighed, unconsciously relieved, “Then we have a problem,” he said.

“Indeed we do,” Giles agreed.

Giles watched as a shadow seemed to overtake Spike’s face, setting it in grim, harsh lines, “Tell me about these prophecies again,” he said, “There’s got to be a way around them, a way out…”
*************************************************************

“Buffy,” Giles tried to reason with her, “what you’re asking for is dangerous,” he looked at Spike, who had somehow faded into the background. Even he had tried to talk her out of this, to no avail, he would not allow him to tell her…*Sod it…* “Buffy, there is something you need to know,” he told her, silently asking for forgiveness even as he spoke the words, “Look at Spike,” he said, turning her tear-filled eyes to him, gently, “What do you see?”

She studied him carefully and her eyes widened as she noticed the bite mark, “The bite?”

She knew she was right. She could see the tragic certainty on his face. Her mouth went dry and she swallowed hard, turning back to Giles.

She knew it was true when she saw him nod.

She didn’t want to hurt him. But, she couldn’t be *that* anymore, either. “What do I do?” she asked, “They’ll hunt him. And, I killed someone. I can’t have that killer inside of me anymore. It has to be destroyed…”

“I will take charge of the Council, “Giles said, pained by her words, “We’ll start afresh. Teach…the new Slayer what we know. And no harm will come to Spike. I’ll make certain of that…”

“But, not everyone knows what you and I do. You won’t be able to run the Council forever. Not everyone will see things like you do. People, other Watchers and Slayers, will always hunt him. He’ll never be able to rest. And, you don’t know if you’ll be able to control the Ukesolrill once it leaves me. It’ll be free to…”

He couldn’t watch her be in this much pain. Not when he could do something to stop it. “What if I stayed dead?” Spike asked, “This Ukesolrill, it’s toyed with me before, can’t do much more than kill me. I’ve already been staked- in front of a whole roomful of witnesses. Why not make sure I stay dust? It’s perfect."

“What?” a chorus of voices asked at once.

Spike shrugged, “Better than hurting you, or the Bit,” his eyes twinkled at Dawn as he spoke of her, “Not letting that happen again.”

“But Spike,” Dawn protested, her voice strident, “I’m not even human…not really. I could…”

“Absolutely not,” Spike hissed, his eyes blazing defiantly, “And all the more reason I’m not letting this nasty bugger anywhere near even one hair on your head. Understand me?”

Dawn’s eyes lowered and she said nothing. She was losing him, and she knew it.

“Spike I can’t…” Buffy spoke, even though the words choked her.

Spike raised an eyebrow at her, knowingly, “Then it’s simple. Don’t do this to yourself.”

“I can’t,” Buffy whispered, “I can’t. I hurt you…I…I can’t.”

“Then it’s settled.”
*********************************

“Okay, Buffy, relax,” Willow said softy, “I’ve added a time buffer. You won’t remember. I promise.”

“Will it hurt?” Buffy asked, looking up at her friend, as she lie on the bed, trying to do as she had been told. She reminded herself that this was what was needed, that she wanted this.

She wanted to be done. Finally done… She’d never be done.

He was braver than she’d ever be.

*Spike…I’m sorry…*

“It shouldn’t,” Willow assured her, “You’ll go first. But, we’ll all go through it, remember it the same way,” Willow bit her lip, and averted her eyes, “Spike will take good care of you, make sure you’re safe. He’ll go last, obviously. And when you wake up…”

“He’ll be dust,” Buffy choked.

“Yeah,” Willow whispered, “You sure you want to do this?”

*No, I’m not. Tell me I’m crazy. Tell me to stop. Tell me…*

She nodded.

“Okay. Close your eyes.”

She did.

“EGO adveho pro thee iam, quod queso thee occulto is proeliator quisnam has exorsus suus iter itineris ut semita of Lux lucis ex quicumque would probrum vel vulnero him. Quod EGO scisco thee tego him intus vox of Goodness, ut is may exsisto nurtured illic, in pectus pectoris of insons insontis ut lies novus quod atrum, insquequo talis vicis ut oportet iungo per suus radix, amo valde seas flow in vos, Filiolus, quod convalesco,” Willow took a breath, overcome with the power of what she was saying, and what it would mean to all of them. She didn’t know if they would understand why, but it was the only way.

Buffy didn’t know what she was asking, and Spike wasn’t going to tell her. *They’re both so stubborn!* But, they would need that now, in spades.

“Insquequo talis vicis ut oportet,” she continued, “ut scisco thee ut veil is proeliator ex totus, amicus quod inimicus. Quod operor sic insquequo foes have fio amicitia quod mos suo huic novus proeliator pacis.”

As she finished, Willow felt the power in the air almost disappear, but not quite.

“Okay Spike,” she called softly, once she was sure Buffy was completely asleep, and unaware of what was happening.

She watched Spike come into the room, without a word, solemnly take Buffy in his arms. Even she could tell that this was not something he wanted. But, he was going to support Buffy, Willow knew, even if he thought Buffy was wrong.

And she was.

“We’ll be down at the beach, Red,” Spike said gruffly as he carried Buffy gently out the door and down the stairs.

******************************************************************************************

03 SEPTEMBER 2002- DEVON, ENGLAND-7:00AM

The smell of his leather as it hugged her made her tears cold and bitter. Not even the murmuring voice of her Watcher, as he held her and cried too, could stop the pain.

She’d seen Spike dust, and there was no way she’d ever forget that, or him.

 
Past Participle
 
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Giles held her as she cried, and he hoped he’d done the right thing. The buffer that Willow had added to the spell still had a few hours before it took complete effect. He’d been, of necessity, the last to be affected, and as such, he still remembered some of what had happened.

Looking down at her crumpled face, and hearing the depth of her sadness as she cried, he almost envied her, her ignorance.

Was it only hours ago?

************************************

This was wrong. In point of fact, it was insane, and even though it had been years since he had been her “official” Watcher, he loved her like a daughter and it was his duty to convince her to abandon this course.

She had to stop, before it was too late. “Buffy, you don’t understand,” he implored her to listen to him, “This could…no…” he shook his head, as he mentally went over the grave possibilities of what she was asking, “No,” Giles decided, “it will make you insane. You can’t possibly think that I’d let you…”

He was interrupted by a soft, gentle laughter, and he was shocked to find that Buffy was smiling at him, “Well,” she said, “I can see that the apple didn’t fall too far from the family tree in your case, did it?” her head inclined toward Spike, who was still trying to fade into the background. Giles suspected that was due to his not wanting to tell Buffy of the dangers this plan posed to him, as well as to her. “He tried to tell me the same thing…”

Giles chanced a look in the direction of the vampire standing silently against the wall. His eyes burned with an odd combination of love and loss and certainty.

He seemed lost; terribly, powerfully lost, and it had nothing to do with the incomplete bond; nothing at all to do with that.

Giles knew what Spike was feeling, because he was feeling the same way. He knew it, and he knew it because his Slayer was an unstoppable force. Everyone around her somehow fell into orbit around her, and submitted to her pull; good sense seemed to be a casualty of dwelling within the orbit of the event horizon that was Buffy Summers.

Well, no more. He would make her see what she was doing.

Taking a deep breath, Giles closed his eyes and held the breath within him for a second, before opening his eyes and exhaling slowly. He needed the brief respite from her madness to center him.

“Buffy,” he said, trying desperately to make her see, “Willow and I have done our research. The Ukesolrill is the very essence of the Slayer…”

“Right,” Buffy agreed, “And, it’s a killer,” her voice ebbed as her eyes sought a place off to his left, where he knew Spike stood. When her eyes came back to his, they looked as strong and sure as steel, “I want it gone,” she said again, “If that means that I won’t be the Slayer anymore…”

“That’s not all it would mean, Buffy. There was a Slayer, Willow and I found, who accomplished what you are trying to. Do you know what became of her?”

“No, and I don’t care, Giles…”

“She was a great warrior,” Giles went on; he had to make her see what she was doing. What she would be doing to herself, “She led armies into battle…and those armies won, under her leadership…”

“Rupert,” Spike cautioned softly, “Don’t…”

The pain that he heard in his lost kinsman’s voice, only steeled him. She had to see… “But,” he continued, even though he felt a sudden tightness in his chest, “those battles left her disillusioned. You see, she battled armies of men, not demons. She saw what men could do to one another, while under no undue influence, no demonic sway. She began to see no difference between the two, and she began to wonder…if there was, indeed, a difference…”

“Giles,” Buffy growled, “if you’re trying to talk me out of this,” a slight smirk, a pale imitation of the expression he’d seen on Spike’s face many times, began to play on her lips, “it’s not working.”

“I’m not finished,” Giles said, grimly, “Her Watcher tried to dissuade her. But, to no avail.”

“Uh huh,” Buffy nodded, “Still not working, Giles.”

“The Watcher expelled the Ukesolrill…” his voice trailed off. He did not want to tell her what happened to that poor soul, but she had to see. Perhaps then, if she could truly be made to see, he would not lose her-again, “and, after a time, she began to have hallucinations. She heard voices. Some began to think that she was possessed. Some saw her as divinely chosen. Others…did not. She went insane, Buffy. She was put into prison, and put on trial. When she could not explain her actions, why she chose to wear clothing that women of her day did not, for example, or why she chose to wear her hair short, as some of the males, of her time, did; when she could not explain her voices, and would not denounce her strength or abilities, say that they were demonic in origin, she was burned, Buffy, at the stake. The Council…” he gritted his teeth. He needed strength to finish this. He lowered his eyes, in shame. And, his voice became a whisper as he finished, “had her condemned as a heretic. The Church burned her at the stake. She has since been canonized, considered a saint, but that took hundreds of years. At first, though…

Buffy gasped, “Burned?” her eyes widened in shock, “But, why?”

“People fear what they cannot understand, Buffy. And, not everyone lives in Sunnydale. The Council had to…”

“You’re the head of the Council now,” Buffy smiled, hope in her voice, “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No, I would not,” he agreed, “That is why I cannot stand by and watch you do this to yourself. I love you too much for that…”


As the memory began to dim, and her pain began to settle into his bones, he tried to remember what had caused her tears, and why his heart felt as if it would never be whole again.
******************************************

10 FEBRUARY 2008- OSLO, NORWAY-

The voices, the screams were a constant. They were so loud that, at times, it was hard to hear anything else. There was no distinction anymore, no way to pick out the voices from the din. They crawled up his skin and burrowed inside.

They nested, the screams, and became a part of him. They’d become his. They were the only thing he had left-of her.

Sleep had become both a blessing and a curse. There were times when he prayed for silence, for the sickening confusion to end, so that he could finally rest.

But, as he felt Mouse’s gentle hand, and heard his voice calling, he realized that today was not one of those times.

“Simba?” Panya questioned, timidly, “Can you hear me?”

Spike opened his eyes. Another hotel room- God only knows where. Where are you, Buffy? He rolled over. Stared at Mouse and tried to summon enough strength to growl at him, to hate him, but he could not. There was just too much concern in his eyes.

Was the concern for him? “Yeah,” he said, wearily, as he slowly sat up, “I hear you.”

Panya nodded quickly, “Daisy says it is time to move. She says the Synod is closing in.”

Spike lowered his eyes, and whispered, “She calls, and I go. All is as it was before.”
**************************************************************************

FEBRUARY 10, 2008- LOS ANGELES-

Daisy walked into the quiet hospital room where her friend and mentor was lying. Something about the quiet gave her pause, and her mask nearly slipped.

She sat down on the chair next to the bed, and sighed. Daisy knew she couldn’t afford to let the mask slip. She had people counting on her.

Spike was counting on her.

Suddenly, she was struck by the notion that they’d all been through this before- many times, and never got to rest.

Poor Spike…


“Giles,” she said, “I’m taking care of him. I don’t think he really knows…Angel doesn’t seem to have a clue, so that means that Spike still doesn’t know. Doesn’t it?”

She had hoped that he would answer her, but he didn’t. He remained silent. What Angel had done, it didn’t matter that the mystics at Wolfram and Hart had done the actual deed, his hands were dirty, to his mind was horrible. Maybe it was best that he stay silent, and maybe peaceful.

“I’m taking care of him, don’t worry. He’s hidden,” she choked, “I knew there was something I could learn from Rack. He’ll be safe. I promise.”
 
For Him
 
AN: This is the last chapter for this part of the saga. But the story will continue in "Of Light And Shadow: The Seventh House," which will be coming soon! Thank you all for reading, and I hope you will continue to follow the next adventure I create. :)
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FEBRUARY 10, 2008- LOS ANGELES, 2:00PM-

His face was so serene, almost tranquil. If she hadn’t seen it herself she would never have believed he was capable of that kind of magic.

And why is that? He nearly kicked my ass. The only reason he didn’t…


“…You love him, don’t you?” she asked him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to answer, but it didn’t matter, she needed someone to talk to. And, he looked…well…satisfied. Like he’d done the right thing. She just hoped that, when the time came…when it was all added up, somewhere…Tara would… “Do you think he’ll forgive you?” she asked, “Does he even know? I don’t remember much, but…Will Buffy forgive you, maybe?”

She waited for an answer, but got only silence as a response. Poor Giles… She hadn’t expected any. Just the silence to comfort her, and fall into.

She understood now. She would give anything to fill that silence. She didn’t want to sympathize, not with him, but there was some kind of peace there, and she needed peace because, truth be told, she hadn’t been at peace for years, not since she’d killed Xander. She knew she would never be able to make that right. She knew that there was no amount of penance that would wipe that from her memory.

She just hoped that what she’d done in the last five months, protecting what Giles had nearly given his life for, would be a beginning.

Her eyed filled with tears at the thought of it, what he had done. She could hardly believe it. She had known he was a powerful wizard, she had felt that power, but she hadn’t expected…She still reeled at the magnitude of it. To even attempt something like that…to love someone like that…and now…

Willow shook her head, the incredible silence of the room filled her ears, and she welcomed it. The horrible silence.

She sighed, and tried to fill the silence with things. Anything, really. Anything would do…

Willow could still remember the moment everything changed. The moment Daisy Pendleton had to exist, because Willow Rosenberg would be a target, if she was found to be aiding the Slayer, in any way, shape or form.

She just couldn’t take the quiet. She had to talk, to get it out, and Giles was the only one who knew… Her voice was unsteady. Am I crying? “I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, “I know I’ll slip, I just know it. And if I do, it’s all over, and not just for Buffy…” her voice hitched as she realized the weight he had been under for years; she understood now why he looked so much older than he should, as he slept on, oblivious to what was going on around him.

At least she hoped he was oblivious. She hated thinking that the trauma the mystics had subjected him to had any lasting effects.

She hated thinking it, but she knew it was true, and the thought of his mind being injured so viciously, reminded her once more of Tara, and she knew…if she could only take it all back…

She hoped that Tara would be proud of her, now. She had so much to make up for, and only one lifetime. . “…for Spike, too. How did you do this for so long?” she wondered aloud, “How did you do it? How did you keep them safe?”

She wanted an answer, so badly. But she knew that she might never get one.

She knew grief could be deadly. It could be an agent of destruction, mindless in its intensity. She knew that too well. But, she never expected Angel to be the agent of that destruction. She never thought that he cared at all for Spike, from what he told them all, Spike and he hated each other; he told them that Angelus only showed himself when the soul was missing, but now she knew that it wasn’t true. She knew, because that was the first thing that came to mind, the first thing she checked; had he lost his soul somewhere? Was that the reason he was determined to destroy the Synod, and Buffy too?

No, he still had the soul. It had been that way for years, ever since their exile from Devon, really. His grief was unexpected, at least at first, but Willow understood it. It made him endearing, and invaluable to them at first…

04 SEPTEMBER 2002- DEVON, ENGLAND- 8:00 PM-

Willow stood by the door with her suitcase in her hand. If they were throwing Giles out, a man she loved more than her own father, then she was leaving too.

She sighed, not really wanting to leave. Lois said she was welcome to stay, but she hadn’t been through Hell and back with her. Lois didn’t really know what she was capable of. Lois only knew her for the bad things she had done, and Willow was afraid that Lois would never completely trust her again.

She was afraid none of her friends would trust her again. That no one would remember what kind of good she was capable of, if she were only given the chance.

Dawn said she was a control freak, and she knew she needed structure, Lois could provide that.

But she needed friends. Friends who loved her, warts and all, like Giles and Buffy, even Dawn did. They were waiting for her. She would go, and work with Buffy. Fighting the good fight wasn’t much, and Willow knew that they would never really get to stop, but that wasn’t the point.

Winning wasn’t the point. It was the fight that mattered. And she was in it now.

It would be just like the old days.

She would make Giles, and Spike, proud.

She took a deep breath, and opened the door. Stepping through it, she spotted them, standing together, their faces drawn tight in grief.

Poor Spike. Poor Buffy.


She was surprised to see Angel standing there too. He was standing away from Giles, and Buffy. Dawn wouldn’t even look at him, and that was just as well, because Willow could tell that he wasn’t paying her too much attention.

His face was hard and drawn, like theirs, but…more somehow, and it wasn’t from the bruises on his face.

The bruises Spike left him with.

Her breath caught at the sight of him. It was shocking, how he looked. She was wary, almost frightened by him. Could it be…?

She stretched her senses… No, Angel was still Angel. His soul was there, but it was buried under so much guilt.

She nodded sadly. I know how he feels…

Willow approached the sad group, “Well, looks like I’m heading back to Sunnydale with you,” she said. Her voice was tight as she looked at Buffy. She wasn’t going to cry, “I can’t stay here,” she told Buffy, giving her a gentle hug, “It would only remind me of…”

Buffy nodded, swallowing hard. Willow was so glad that she didn’t have to say his name; the thought of what had happened- it hurt too much.

“Angel says he has a jet,” Buffy said softly, “He can bring us home, to Sunnydale, then we can start over. Fight, and make it better, somehow. We can be in Sunnydale by tomorrow night. We’ll be home, and we’ll start over. Fight…for him.”
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