They reached the cemetery gates and looked out in amazement into a sunlit world. Buffy started through the gate and yelped as Spike grabbed her arm, roughly hauling her back.
 
“Ow. What was that for?”
 
“Sunlight, pet. You were right—whatever’s goin’ on here ‘s weird, but it doesn’t change the fact that you,” he stabbed a finger at her, “are a vampire. You go out in that sun, and dust is all you’ll be.”
 
“Oh, God. I forgot. I’m sorry… I just… I wasn’t thinking.” A shudder of fear ran through her at the thought of how close she had come to committing accidental suicide.
 
He gathered her close against him, feeling her body tremble slightly in his arms. “Yeah, well… ‘s time to start thinking, ok?” he asked gruffly, his tone softened by his concern for her. She nodded against his chest and, satisfied that the lesson was well learned, he released her. “C’mon, let’s see what we can find round here.”
 
They headed off through the night-shrouded grounds, Buffy happily deferring to the older vampire’s knowledge as to what made a good lair. His urgency somewhat of a mystery to her, she finally ventured the courage to ask him what the rush was.
 
“’s obvious this is all some kinda spell pet. So, same deal as before at the gate; we get caught out here when whatever it is that’s causing this wears off, an’ you an’ me—nothin’ but two big piles of dust.”
 
A chill ran down her spine at his words. Ok, he was right; she was so going to have to start thinking. Everything she had ever taken for granted no longer applied. She needed to start listening to her vampire instincts, and fast.
 
Spike’s voice cut through her self-flagellation.
 
“Now this looks promising.” He led the way into an old crypt, the heavy oak doors giving reluctantly under the force of the sharp blows administered to them. The inside was musty, with cobwebs and dust littering all surfaces, but it was roomy. Although two small windows graced the walls, they were made of stained glass and mostly covered on the outside by foliage from the creeper that adorned the crypt, preventing any sunlight from filtering through. All things considered, it had the makings of a very nice lair; even Buffy, early in her vamp-hood, could see that.
 
*****
 
Giles stumbled out of the cemetery grounds and into the sunlight, sinking exhaustedly to his knees on the warm grassy verge. The pain from the wound on his neck barely registered over the anguish in his heart. His slayer was gone. Truthfully, she was worse than gone—she had become the evil she had fought so valiantly against. Slow silent tears ran unacknowledged down his face.
 
Time passed unheeded by the grieving man; whether he had been there five minutes or five hours, he could not say. All he knew was the torturous grief that filled his being, the keen awareness that he was in no small measure responsible for the fate that had befallen his charge—a girl he had come to love as dearly as if she were his own daughter.
 
“Quick! I found him. He’s over here.” Xander’s excited voice broke through the cloud of misery surrounding him, and he shook himself to clear his head. Yes, he had lost Buffy; but her friends were all right, and it was the least he could do to see that they stayed that way. He must ensure their safety until such time as they were able to ascertain the cause of, and eliminate, the current state of mayhem that had so recently overtaken the town.
 
Before he had had time to completely gather his thoughts, he found himself staring into the eager faces of the children whose fates and security he was taking it upon himself to preserve. Willow threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. After a few moments, she pulled back to look at him; he noted that her face was a combination of sheer delight that he was still amongst the living and trepidation over the current state of events.
 
“You’re ok! We were so worried! And that vampire… Giles, he was really scary. Like Nightmare on Elm Street scary!”
 
“Oh yeah, Will—cause watching it with your head hidden under a quilt would be a good way to know how scary it was.” Xander seized the opportunity with both hands and quickly adopted the air of male superiority that he so seldom got away with, considering the company he chose to keep.
 
“I could hear it. And I have a highly vivid imagination, I’ll have you know.”
 
“Children.” Giles tried weakly to interrupt the two teenagers, his voice quiet and feeble even to his own ears.
 
“Besides, I’m not the one who got all freaked out over Dumbo!” Willow raised her eyebrow scornfully at her friend.
 
“Hey! I’ll have you know that was completely justified. Those clowns were evil! Why is it that I’m the only one who sees the evil in them?” he whined pitifully in response.
 
“Xander, it’s a cartoon.”
 
“There is truth in that, yes. But I still maintain that they definitely rated super-high on the creep-o-meter.”
 
Giles drew a deep breath; summoning every ounce of his remaining strength, he tried once more to interrupt the arguing teenagers. His effort, although slightly louder than his last, still failed to break through the petty squabbling in which the two were so deeply engaged. It did, however, drain the last of his reserves, and with a pain-filled groan he sank to his side on the grass and waited for the comforting embrace of oblivion.
 
His slow descent to the ground succeeded where his efforts at speech had failed, catching Willow’s eye and breaking the argument immediately.
 
“Giles! Are you alright?” Willow attempted vainly to pull the watcher up off the ground.
 
“I rather think not.” Giles tried to keep his voice as calm and even as possible, even as the overwhelming urge to close his eyes and welcome unconsciousness became stronger.
 
“Oh my. Xander, help me! We need to get him to a hospital… I… I think he’s been bitten!”
 
“What? No! That can’t be—the G-man wouldn’t be beaten by…”
 
“By what, Xan? The scariest vampire either of us have ever laid eyes on?” Willow retorted, again raising a sceptical eyebrow at her friend. Honestly, he could be so dense…
 
“I wish Buffy was here.” Xander’s voice rose in an unmanly squeak as panic ripped through him.
 
“Yeah, me too. But she isn’t, so you’re gonna have to help me.” Willow fixed her friend with what she hoped was a firm, unwavering resolve-face, while on the inside she trembled with fear and uncertainty. Giles had to be alright! With Buffy gone, he was all they had left.
 
 
*****
 
Spike set to dusting off the large stone sarcophagus in the centre of the room; when he had finished, he held out his hand to Buffy, silently inviting her to sit.
 
Buffy removed the pale blue leather jacket she was wearing and sneered worriedly at the sarcophagus before pouting down at her lovely jacket where it lay in her arms.
 
“What’s wrong, pet?” Spike asked, noting the none-too-happy look on his childe’s face.
 
“It’s all dirty,” she pouted at him. “I’ll ruin my clothes.”
 
“Well, sit on your jacket if you’re that worried. ‘s not like it’s gonna kill you or anything—‘s only a little dust.”
 
“But I don’t wanna get my new jacket dirty. It cost me a lot of money—and it’s pretty. Why don’t you put yours on there?” Her eyes lit up at her solution.
 
“No bloody way!”
 
“Why not? Yours is old, and besides it’s black so it won’t show up any of the dirt.” Her lip jutted out in a perfect pout, and she ducked her head and looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Please?”
 
She was bloody adorable. And that lip—god how he ached to taste it.
 
“This coat ‘s worth a hell of a lot more’n that little thing you’re wearin’. ‘sides, I’ve had it a long time, an’ it’s—significant.”
 
“What do you mean ‘it's significant’? I mean, what kind of big worldly importance can a coat have? It just keeps you warm... except, you know, you don't get cold. And hey! Why do you have to talk like that? God, you sound just like my watcher, only... not.”
 
“Talk like what, pet? You mean use words over two syllables?” He chuckled softly to himself at the look of indignation on her pretty little face. Realisation of the rest of her comment caused the laughter to die as suddenly as it had begun. “Oi, you little bint! I sound nothin’ like your bleedin’ ponce of a Watcher!”
 
“Geesh, you don’t have to get all like… that. So?”
 
“So what?” Spike looked at her, his brow creasing; it was hard work following this one round the bends.
 
Buffy’s pout grew, and she huffed impatiently at her proxy sire. “So what is so important about a silly old coat?”
 
“Took it off the last Slayer I killed, that’s what. ‘ve had this beauty for twenty years, an ‘m not about to ruin it just so your pretty little behind doesn’t get a bit grubby.”
 
“What?!”
 
“I said, I’m not gonna ruin the coat just…”
 
“No. About the Slayer. You killed a Slayer?”
 
A self-satisfied grin lit Spike’s face, and his chest puffed out a bit as he replied. “No, love. I haven’t killed a Slayer—I’ve killed two!” He waited for her adoration, or at the very least her surprise and awe… the last thing he expected was what he got.
 
Tears pricked his eyes as he clutched his nose. The bitch hit me! A deep growl sounded in his throat, and his fist shot out in reply.
 
They faced off, both falling immediately into fighting stance: one completely brassed off vampire, and his equally pissed slayer/childe.
 
They danced around the room, fists and feet flying, fangs flashing as they pummelled each other—each of them fuelled by self-righteous indignation and the thrill of the fight.
 
Eventually, the older vampire succeeded in pinning his wayward childe against the wall; he growled his fury at her before sinking his fangs deeply and roughly into her soft tender flesh. In deep draws, he pulled on the delicious nectar of her slayer’s blood; Spike drank until she whimpered softly in submission, then gently licked the wounds closed before gathering her close in his arms. He nuzzled gently and soothingly into her hair, stroking her back with long, calming sweeps of his hand. The aim had not been to hurt her; rather, his intent had just been to teach her her place. Now that the lesson had been learned, he allowed himself to soften, his voice quiet when next he spoke.
 
“Shush , love. ‘S ok now. You just be remembering your manners, pet, an’ we won’t have this problem again.”
 
He picked her up and carried her to the sarcophagus. He placed her so that she stood on her feet, resting weakly against the stone; removing his coat, he bundled it tightly before placing it down at one end before picking her up once more and laying down carefully. Spike settled comfortably on his back, his head pillowed on his coat as he gathered the girl’s pliant body against him, tucking her against his side with her head resting on his shoulder.
 
“You wanna tell me what that was all about?”
 
“You... You killed Slayers!” Buffy tried to be vehement, but her reply came out weak; she was too busy fighting the overwhelming urge to let her eyes drift closed and allow sleep to claim her.
 
“Yeah. But ‘m still not understanding why you went all Xena on me?”
 
“I’m a Slayer, Spike. It’s… well… it’s wrong. That’s all.”
 
“You were a Slayer, love. Not any more. You’re a vampire now, kitten, an’ our world is dog eat dog. You kill the Slayer, or she’ll kill you. ‘s as simple as that. You go feelin’ all kinship-like with the Slayer an I’ll be mournin’ your dust. You understand what I’m sayin”?”
 
After a few moments of silence he felt a slight nod of her head against him and a soft sob as she snuggled deeply into his chest, clinging closely to the only person she had left in the world as if terrified he would be taken from her.
 
Spike hauled her gently on top of him, tilting his head and manoeuvring her head against his neck. “Drink, love. ‘s alright. Just don’t you be bloody hitting me again, you understand?”
 
Even with his vampire-enhanced hearing he barely made out her softly spoken agreement. Her fangs pierced his neck, and a rush of lust had his cock jumping to attention as his arms tightened protectively around her. This time when he told her it was enough, she stopped without hesitation or argument, licking tenderly at the wounds to heal them.
 
“Ok, pet. Let’s get some sleep.”
 
She shifted off him and moved to his side; gently she curled herself around him, her head pillowed on his shoulder and her left leg thrown over his. The combination of his cool fingers gently stroking her hair and the safe comfort of her sire’s presence soon had her drifting off to sleep, a quiet purr sounding in her throat.
 
Spike lay awake for some time. He watched Buffy as she slept peacefully in his arms and marvelled at the incredible turn of events that had brought this slayer to him. He had come here to kill her, to add another notch to his belt. To prove something to himself—and to another. Instead, he had ended up with the slayer as his childe. His mind spun with seemingly endless questions.
 
Strangely, the feeling of her tiny body wrapped around him was rapidly driving out all of the thoughts and agendas that had driven him in recent months. The gentle contented purr emanating from her slowly lulled him towards sleep, and his eyes drifted closed as he allowed the soothing tones of his childe’s affection wash over him.  
 
tbc