"You fucking bitch." Spike stared at the cold, unflinching eyes, trying to ignore the terror that ran through his body. She was so hard; so powerful. He could almost feel it radiating from her.
A wicked smile crossed Lily's lips. "What have we here?" she purred, running her hand along a sword on the wall.
"Cut the shit," he snarled, game face on.
Lily returned his anger with her own, her demonic eyes flashing. "Don't think that because I have a soul I'll be soft; pathetic like Angel, pathetic like her."
Spike laughed, empty of humor. "Don't worry; I don't think that at all. I know just what a twisted bitch you are."
Lily slowly advanced on him. "I suppose you are the expert on twisted bitches...how is Drusilla lately?"
"She's having a tea party, if you must know. You're not invited, of course," he answered sarcastically. He stood his ground, arms crossed over his chest, and dropped the act. "That might have pissed me off a year ago." He tossed his cigarette on the floor and stamped it out. "Try harder next time."
"Funny," Lily said, stopping her stealthy walk, "that's exactly what I told Buffy before I killed her."
He lunged at her, enraged, grabbing her by the shoulders and slamming her into the ground with all his strength. "How could you do it to her?" he growled through clenched teeth as he pummeled his fist into Lily's face.
Her laughter was the only reply. Her feet plowed into his stomach and she sent him flying; Spike landed hard, trying to ignore the pain. He stood up, ready for an attack.
But Lily stood far across the room, a smirk on her face. "Why, Spikey, I didn't realize how much you cared. I thought only pathetic, whiny, brooding vampires with souls were stupid enough to fall in love with the Slayer."
"I wasn't in love with her!" he snarled, itching to rip the bitch's throat out and watch her bleed.
"Then why bother to avenge her?" Lily sneered. "In case you've forgotten, she's a Slayer, and you're a vampire." She shook her head. "And they said you were one of the smart ones."
Spike hated her, utterly and completely. More than Angelus, more than anyone else in his long life. There was such bitterness in her, such venom in her words. Words which seemed to strike his most hidden weaknesses. She knew how to play mind games; she knew how to distract him with emotions so she could have the upper hand.
She knew what he was afraid to admit even to himself.
And that both angered and scared him. But it didn't matter. He had known before he walked through the door that this fight would be his last. His objective was not to survive. It was to take her down with him.
He had nothing left to live for. His life was a tedious routine of waking up, alone, killing, and going to bed...alone. There was no one who knew him beyond the title of 'Master'; the fledgelings and young ones were too frightened; and the old ones were busy with their own un-lives.
All he had to keep him company was the thought of ripping the bitch's black heart from her chest. Souls were not the line which separated pure unfeeling evil from tender, caring love. Lily was proof. So was every murderer spending the rest of their lives in a cell. There was a part of him that knew he had cared for the Slayer; not necessarily love, as Lily had said, but some deep attachment to her. It was an emotion that would forever remain nameless; and to him, would always be unjustified.
The two combatants clashed again, arms locked in a parody of an embrace. With her combination of both Slayer and vampire strength, Lily easily pushed him away. She clamped her hands on his head, attempting to break his neck; Spike elbowed her in the stomach and moved out of reach.
They circled, each reading the other, looking for signs of attack. Lily moved; Spike's fist lashed out, catching her on the side of her head and sending her to the ground. He kicked her face and blood poured from her eyebrow, pooling on the floor below.
He grabbed her by her dark hair and slammed her head against the ground. She threw him off her, laughing as she stood up. "I'm twice as strong as you, Spike. You'll have to try twice as hard."
Spike grabbed an axe off the wall. "I'm twice as pissed as you are, so I guess that makes up for it." The axe in his hands brought up the memory of Buffy's mother, and he couldn't help but think of the night he had gone to her. The night Buffy had died for the second time. It had been four in the morning but Joyce was still up, sitting on the couch staring silently at a lamp. He had watched her from the window before finally getting the courage to go to the door. She hadn't answered his knock, so he had let himself in, still invited from the time Buffy began to become something more than just a mortal enemy to him.
He held her until the sobs were gone, until the tears were dried; both hers and his.
"I knew," Joyce managed to say in a broken, shaky voice, "I knew that Slayers died young. I just thought...I just kept telling myself that Buffy was different. That she was better than the others. That...that she would make it."
Spike brushed the hair back from her face. "She was different. She was better."
"But it still happened!" Joyce said forcefully. "If she was better, then why isn't she still alive, still here with me? Why is her bed empty, this whole house empty?"
He tried to calm her as she grew more hysterical with every word. "The one who killed her, Lily...she's a Slayer too."
Joyce shook her head. "Then why would she kill my little girl?"
"She was a Slayer who was turned into a vampire. She has the strengths of both."
"Ice cream," Joyce said sadly.
Spike was confused. "Ice cream?"
Joyce nodded. "Last week, we were just sitting at the kitchen table, eating ice cream. I asked her if being the Slayer scared her. She said no, that the only thing that really scared her was being turned into a vampire. She must have been thinking about that...girl. She never told me about her! I could tell that something was wrong, but..." Joyce trailed off, and when she spoke again, her voice was much softer. "I guess she never told me a lot of things."
He could feel the weight that settled in his chest. He had promised Buffy he wouldn't tell her...and he would keep that promise. It would only hurt her further.
A small smile appeared on Joyce's lips. "It was pralines and cream, Buffy's favorite. She used to pick out the pralines as a kid and eat them first." But the smile soon crumpled as another wave of grief overcame her. Spike held her again, thinking how strange the whole situation was. The two Slayers he had killed had both had mothers as well. He had killed them, too. Something had definately changed him since then.
"I'll kill Lily for you...and for her."
Joyce looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. "You're a vampire, aren't you?"
He nodded. He could feel her tense slightly in his arms. "But, you're the good kind, right? With a soul, like that Angel fellow?"
Her eyes were pleading for an affirmation. He could see her expectation, see the fear that was building in case the answer was no.
He had already lied to her once. Though it disgusted him, once more would do no harm to her.
The fight was vicious, bloody. Skill and tactics were abandoned for unadulterated fury, for the primal urge to attack and beat senseless. The ax had long been dropped for direct combat. Eventually, they pulled apart.
Spike held his shoulder, the deep gash in it where Lily had sunk the ax pouring blood freely out. His healing had yet to begin, even with the minor scratches.
He took a deep breath and felt the stabbing pain in his chest. At least three ribs were broken. Blood from a wound on his head was obscuring his vision, tinting the world in red. He stood, hand clamped over his shoulder, staring at Lily.
She stared back at him, eyes never wavering. She too was injured, but less severely.
He gave Lily one last, hard look. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he removed a stake from his coat pocket. Ignoring the demon inside, he said flatly, "You were right. I did love her."
He would never have to deal with the ramifications of that statement. No vampires would ever be able to hunt him, a soulless demon, down for betraying his own kind. It was a parody of a confession, just as he had been a parody of a demon.
Spike had always been afraid of death. As he lunged at Lily, bloodied fingers tightly grasping the stake, he realized he no longer was.