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.”