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.
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“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
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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…”
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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.
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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…?”
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