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.”