Chapter 31

"What are you getting him?"

"Josh?"

"Yeah. I am seriously low on ideas, here."

Donna snickered and rolled her eyes and reached for the snow-globe Willow was studying with absent infatuation and placed it back on the display table. "Josh doesn't expect anything," she assured her. "It's not like you two go way back."

"W-well, I'm gonna feel bad if I get everyone something and leave Josh out."

The blonde domed a brow. "You're getting Toby something?"

Willow shrugged helplessly and looked down in embarrassment. "Sam thought it'd be funny to get him another bouncy ball. Something about how he never has enough of those." At the mention of her dark-haired sweetie, her eyes warmed and her cheeks flushed. Then she stopped in a panic, disposition forgotten immediately. "Oh God. Sam! What do I get Sam? The first Christmas and I don't know what to get my... well, I don't know if he's a boyfriend or not, but he's definitely a boy and a friend... well, more a man and a friend, but I don't think you should use the term manfriend unless you wanna get some serious looks of the bad kind and oh GOD, I'm a horrible person. I don't know what to get him for Christmas!"

The other woman merely smiled. "You'll find something for him. Really, Sam? Not the hardest guy to please."

"B-but if I get him just anything, he'll think I don't care. It'll be like, 'Oh, Willow got me a tie. How... blah!' And then if I get him something really, you know, personal he'll be all, 'Sheesh! I've only known you for a week and a half!'"

"Willow, I promise you, the last thing he'll think you are is pushy. Or clingy. Trust me. I know him."

"But...I..." She shook her head. "This is hopeless."

"Not even. Look. Sam's probably going through the same thing you are. You know?" She smiled. "I haven't seen him like this in...well, I've never seen him like this. Thought he'd carried a torch for Mallory for a while, but he was never so open about it." A shrug at that. "She played games with him. You don't. And don't get me wrong; I love Leo, and I think his daughter's a gem...but you seem more like Sam's type."

Willow breathed a deep sigh and picked up the snow-globe once again. "Yeah. I...you really think I'm more his type?"

"Absolutely."

"Do I really need to remind you how long you've known me?"

Donna frowned and waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, pooh. I have an excellent sense when it comes to this stuff."

The redhead arched a brow but kept her mouth shut. Obviously, her shopping companion couldn't be on top of the vibe flow if she had yet to sense the evident sparkage between her and her boss.

"So what are you getting him?" she asked a minute later.

"Who?"

"Josh."

Donna's brow furrowed in thought, then she shrugged and began sorting through the four-way of shirts on the display near the wrap-desk. "Probably a tie."

"A tie?"

"Some of the more jaded citizens might find ties to be bland and monotonous," the blonde noted with a tone she usually reserved for Josh. "I'll have you know that it's a classic gift."

Willow made a face. After years of Christmas shopping with Xander when he was piling up items for the assorted members of his crazy family, she had long established ties as being the sort of gift given to men when there was none other to give. "Whatever you say." She hesitated a minute, glanced back to the display counter and retrieved the snow-globe Donna had confiscated. "I'm going to get Josh this. I-it's not much, but at least he'll know I wasn't leaving him out." She frowned off the look on the blonde's face. "What? What? Yeah, it's my first year Christmas shopping 'cause... well... Jewish, but I'm making an exception this year. So cut the new girl some slack."

"Hon, he's Jewish, too. I guarantee he's not agonizing over your Christmas present." Willow shrugged and handed the salesperson the snow-globe anyway, not catching the small smile that quirked Donna's lips. "My gift, on the other hand," she continued, "is an entirely different matter."

"He gets you Christmas presents?" the redhead asked as she digged through her purse and fished out a ten.

The woman at the wrap-desk smiled at them as they collected what few purchases they had made thus far and exited to the bulk of the Natchez Mall. The same mall that was nearly deserted save a few wandering patrons, and being so close to the most celebrated holiday of the year, the effect was more than creepy. Perhaps the citizens of the small town had finally caught wind of what was happening; there was simply no talk of it.

The redhead had seen enough, though, to refrain from surprise. And while she felt a nag of guilt for having bailed on the group research party, it was more than a relief to get away. Away where the demons outside could not reach her. There was little to be done today that had not been done yesterday or the day before. They were on a fast track to nowhere and the big would hit before they knew what it was or exactly what the repercussions would be.

And despite that, being with the others and pouring herself out over a stack of ancient text wouldn't do any good. Not from where she was sitting. Besides, if Giles needed her, he would phone Donna's cell and they would come running.

In the meantime, speed Christmas shopping for a bunch of people she hardly knew was proving to be the most relaxing activity she had partaken in weeks.

Donna was still talking about the bizarre relationship she and Josh had established in honoring their cultural differences when it came to holiday giving and receiving. "It's more like seasonally advantageous tokens of his appreciation through thoughtful yet monetarily conservative gifts." She shrugged. "I usually give him a list of which he is more than encouraged to choose several items to properly demonstrate said appreciation. If we get out of here, I want to learn how to ski."

"Ski?"

The blonde nodded decisively. "Yes. I want to learn how to ski. So I gave Josh a list this morning of potential ski-related gift ideas that he might consider for me."

"Yes, because that's monetarily conservative."

"We might die, so I decided money wouldn't be an obstacle this year."

"That's very smart." Willow grinned. "You really think he's going to go out right now and buy you skiing equipment?"

Donna's brows arched skeptically. "No. It's Josh. Are you kidding me?" She smirked at the answering laugh that rang through the air; the girls exchanged a devious look that was so natural, it felt like they had been doing this for years. Known each other for years. "So," she said a minute later. "What are you getting Buffy and Spike?"

There was a hefty pause at that as the redhead considered her answer. The fact that any gift for Buffy would automatically involve Spike was still very foreign. She had given up, though. Given up any charade in pretending that her best friend was not involved with another vampire, and that they had likely shut themselves up in their private cottage to spend the day making... erm, having sex.

Regardless of how much Spike seemed to care for Buffy; it would be a while before the Witch could safely call it love. Love was sticky business. It broke hearts, inspired tears, and was the root cause of every number one country hit of all time. No one, despite circumstance, could escape the heartache... the angst, the complete desolation of love's namesake. The very best of men had rendered their ladies nothing but hollow shells. Oz. She didn't know anyone better than Oz...or hadn't until this trip. Oz was of the very best of men, and he had broken her heart. He had left her after betraying her, and then sent for his stuff without so much as picking up a phone. And Oz loved her. She knew he loved her. He loved her, and he had left anyway.

Spike was not of the very best. He was a vampire. A soulless vampire. Up until a couple weeks ago, he had tried to kill them on a regular basis. And now... suddenly... he and Buffy were snuggly wuggly? That didn't work. Even if Spike did love Buffy, it would take a long time before Willow would be completely comfortable with the situation.

She wouldn't object, though. She couldn't. Buffy seemed happy, and despite her noted yet tacit objections, the redhead knew somehow that Spike would sooner walk into sunlight than deliberately harm her friend. More besides, Buffy was likely to get more than an earful from Xander and Giles on the matter. She deserved to have at least one hand of support from someone she had known longer than a week.

So, if she was going to do this, she might as well go all the way. Dual presents, his and hers towels, the full shebang. A contemplative frown crossed the redhead's face. "I don't know what I'm getting them," she answered at last. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"I'm thinking toy store for them," the blonde replied.

Oh God, she didn't even want to know. The notion was almost appalling... especially from the blonde's seemingly virtuous mouth. Did Natchez even have any novelty places like that? "T-t-toy store?"

"Yeah." Donna pointed across the hallway. "KB Toys? I'm sure they have some cheap handcuffs or something that would serve as an effective gag gift."

A palpable breath of relief tackled the Witch senseless. "Oh. Those kind of toys. Okay. Yeah, sure that'd be good. Funny, even. What do you think? You get one for Spike, I'll get one for Buffy?"

"You thought I meant a different toy shop?"

Willow's cheeks reddened. "I... uhhh. Well, y-you never know w-w-with Spike, s-so I thought y-you might... "

There was a rich laugh at that, slightly shrill for the scandal tagged onto implication. "God, no. I'd feel weird buying CJ something like that even as a joke, and I know CJ. I don't know Buffy well. I just figured they're in the beginning of their relationship and it's clear you and your friends aren't very supportive of it...but I get the feeling that you're not as likely to be as objectionable as, oh say, Xander."

The redhead sighed. "That obvious?"

"Oh yeah. And then some." A short pause. "So...whaddya think? Handcuffs?"

Willow glanced up thoughtfully, then slowly glanced to the conniving blonde, and they passed the motion with a syncopated nod and dual evil grins. "Handcuffs."

The two tore down the corridor of the mall happily, conspiring on a vast assortment of similar gag gifts. The world for all its troubles melted around them. Books and demons forgotten. Just the joy of shopping for loved ones during the holidays while exchanging tales of holidays' past and trading off family horror stories.

It was good. Familiar.

And it would be another hour yet before Donna's cell phone would ring.

The sun was gone completely; the day caught in that delightful period that was not quite afternoon and not quite evening. It was growing closer and closer to night, and neither Buffy nor Spike had made an attempt to get ready, much less leave the townhouse and face the Scoobies. The hours spent between love making, talking, laughing, and more love making were occupied with desperate excuses listing the many reasons why not going anywhere was most definitely the better game plan.

They traded off responsibility and had talked each other out of leaving using a variety of techniques that would have made Buffy blush furiously were it with anyone else. With Spike, everything seemed natural. There was no reason to be ashamed when he looked at her the way he did.

Currently, they were stretched on the hide-a-bed, fully clothed for the impending patrol once the sun was completely down and happily ignoring the fact that sunlight had absolutely no chance of harming the vampire now. Spike was spooned at Buffy's back, one arm draped around her middle, and they were watching CJ Cregg brief the press on CSPAN. It was growing increasingly difficult for her to poo-poo the questions about the shutdown in Natchez and the absence of three crucial members of the President's Senior Staff, but she was holding the press off admirably. More than once, Buffy enjoyed the cool hum of her boyfriend's chuckle as he murmured something about how reporters had a special place reserved in Hell.

The word struck her out of nowhere. Boyfriend. Spike was a boyfriend. She expected it to frighten her or at least drive her to some reckoning of denial. But no. No. She had already admitted to herself that she was in love with him. She was in love with him, so thinking of him as a boyfriend was not exactly a leap of faith.

The longer the day wore, the more apprehensive she became. Spending time with Spike was surreal in a wonderfully dreamlike way. Breaking down the barrier built on preconceived notions so many years ago... discarding what little she hadn't forever. Half a dozen times, she had caught herself a heartbeat away from blurting her feelings only to bite her tongue.

The feeling that something terrible was going to happen would not go away. Despite the perfection of today, her inner Slayer was screaming that it was all too close to shattering. And even more than that, she was terrified of the burden of her love. Her love had destroyed before. Her love had caused the death of Jenny Calendar, had ripped the soul from Angel's body and sent Sunnydale into one of the darkest periods a hellmouth could withstand. Her love was not a blessing.

Perhaps as long as she kept it to herself, it wouldn't be able to strike. She wanted him to know more than anything. Especially after today and the love they had expressed with their bodies, she wanted him to know. The façade that it wasn't perfect yet had faltered in less than twenty-four hours. No, she was terrified that admitting it would send whatever catastrophe was somersaulting their way headfirst into terrible capitulation and suffer the effects worse than they could have ever imagined. The bad was still going to happen... there was no doubt of that. But bad could happen without the ending breaking her heart.

If she protected Spike from her dangerous confession, she fared a better chance at not losing him.

Should she share these fears with the vampire, he would soothe her, of course. Tell her she was sweet for worrying, but nothing would or could force him away from her side. Take her face in his hands and draw her eyes to his, kiss her softly, and hold her in her worry. And she wanted that reassurance more than anything. She wanted it out there where she could fight it. Where she didn't have to worry.

Sam had released the evil with words. Wasn't it just as possible that her words could signal the evil to destroy them?

She would tell him. Loving Spike was the most liberating sensation she had ever experienced. She would tell him when she knew that the Powers That Be wouldn't take him away in punishment. Until then, she would have to show him. Show him with everything that she was and hope that he could read her for everything she could not say.

"She has to be one of the best," Spike murmured, his slow, sexy voice smashing happily through her reverie.

"Huh?"

He grinned and brushed a kiss across her temple, hand stroking her belly. "The bird, luv," he said, indicating the television where CJ had effectively shut down another reporter for asking a question she had more than established her likelihood of answering. "'ve seen your bloody country go through a lot of press secretaries. Caught 'em every now an' then jus' 'cause it's so bloody funny. She has to be one of the best."

Buffy smiled and shifted so she could see his eyes. "That's cute," she jeered with a smirk. "You stop to watch press briefings."

"Only when there's somethin' funny happenin' in the news."

"Do I wanna know your definition of funny?"

A shy smile crossed his face, and she found it adorable. "Prob'ly not, sweetheart." He cast his gaze upward again, but briefly. "Granted, wasn' much happenin' when Curly took the stage not too long ago. That was soddin' hilarious."

"You mentioned that on the first day."

Spike nodded. "The bird couldn't make it for whatever reason, so Curly got up there an' started yammerin' on about the HUD Secretary callin' a Republican a racist an' ended up makin' a secret plan to fight inflation. God, now that's quality programmin'. Rupert an' I were in stitches."

"You watched this with Giles?"

He winked at her recklessly. "Like I said, luv, it wasn' too long ago." He nudged her back onto her side, teasing her earlobe with his teeth. "We better be goin' soon, don' you think?"

Buffy couldn't help it; she grinned and snuggled deeper into his embrace. "Are we playing this game again?"

"Wish. Don' particularly wanna get up. You're warm an' comfy." A sigh fanned her face, his lips dropping to grace her throat with small, soft kisses. "But, an' I can't believe 'm sayin' this, we should patrol. Get out there, make sure no uglies are testin' the waters jus' yet."

"And drop off the sheets at the cleaners before the Millers ask us why they're drenched in syrup?"

Spike smirked and tickled her side, eyes brightening when her musical laughter touched the air. "An' miss the look on your face when you explain how it got to the bedroom in the firs' place? Don' think so, sweetheart."

"My face? You're the one who..."

"Wound up drenched in maple goodness?"

A pout crossed her lips. "It made you taste yummy."

Spike frowned, a mock-wounded expression settling upon his face. "Right," he grumbled good-naturedly. "Now I'm guessin' I need syrup to be yummy, 's that it?"

"Oh, don't give me that look. I wasn't the only one who got carried away with syrupy-fun." Her nose wrinkled. "I think my stomach's still sticky."

"Really, pet?"

She knew that tone well now; it inspired shivers of anticipation down her spine and punched the squeal that sounded through the air when he flipped her over and attacked her mouth with his. All threats of leaving abruptly vanished with the softness of his lips, the sensual stroke of his tongue against hers. He formed words against her every time he kissed her. Poured himself into describing without sound how much he loved her, loved this. Words without sound... just action.

Buffy's hands curled around his shoulders. She didn't know if he could read her affections half as well, if at all. If he could tell that she loved him simply by sharing a kiss. If her kiss answered his silent vows. Answered his words with words of her own. If the depth of her feeling could be reached.

Before she knew what was happening, Spike had whipped her shirt over her head and lowered his attentions to her stomach. "Mmmm," he hummed into her skin. "Yeh, pet. A li'l sticky. But nothin' like.."

He tugged on the waistband of her pants.

Buffy's eyes widened. "Spike, no. We can't. We have to be..."

A hand, heedless of her half-hearted protests, delved inside and cupped her warmth. "Christ," he gasped, wrestling a hungry kiss from her lips. "You drive me absolutely outta my mind, you know? Never gonna get enough of you, baby. God, not even 'f...jus' never."

"Spike..."

He bunched her panties to the side to tease her wetness for a few delicious seconds, then abruptly withdrew and brought his hand to his own mouth to lick away the dew shimmering on his skin. "I know," he replied, smiling at her expression. "We need to go. Let the ranks know we're still in, give the cemetery another look-see, then come back an' let me make love to you till the sun comes up."

The Slayer released a trembling sigh. "So..." she said slowly. "You decided to get me hot and bothered now?"

He grinned wickedly.

"Spike!"

"Screamin' my name a li'l prematurely, luv."

"Dammit, you suck!"

"Very well, I might add. Or do you need another demonstration?"

Buffy whined petulantly. "I hate you."

"Do not."

Well, that one she couldn't argue with. Not if she wanted to. She was too in love with him to hate him, no matter how aggravating he was. "So?"

"So what, baby?"

She coyly cocked her head to the side, flashing a small, shy grin. "Think we have time for a quickie?"

The emotion that stormed his eyes almost did more to bring her under than anything else. God, but she wasn't used to being looked at like that. Like something precious. Like anything more than a Slayer. It was simply like that with Spike. With every glance, every kiss, every touch, he conveyed how much he loved her. Conveyed in such strong, fortuitous tides that it shocked her that she hadn't seen it before. That it took his words to summon everything to the surface.

"God, you're amazin'," he gasped ardently, commanding her lips in another desperate kiss. "I love you so much."

Oh yeah. She loved the words. She could lose herself in them as easily as she did his caresses and the feel of his lips against hers. His body pressing hers into the makeshift mattress, his denim-clad erection rubbing her through layers of clothing. Arousing her to levels she hadn't believed to be real.

"Spike..."

It would have been so easy to lose herself in his arms all over again. To cast aside time for the sake of his body against hers. To shove priorities for tomorrow, to face the consequences of today when she was certain of this. When she knew that whatever happened would be tempered with the promised time of a day's trip to paradise. It would have been so easy. So easy.

And that was the problem. Nothing was ever easy. Ever.

It took the shrill of the phone to stop them from rising to heaven all over again.

Three beepers had sounded in unison, jarring everyone into a second wake. It took less than two minutes to locate a phone.

"It's Giles," Sam told the others, cell pressed to his ear. They were seated as they had been the day before at the Eola Hotel. A semi-circle comprised of Josh, Toby, Xander, and Anya. A pile of open text in the middle they had scoured thoroughly to no avail. "He needs us all to meet at the Wensel House."

A short pause settled over the group at that.

"The Wensel House?" Toby echoed incredulously. "He's upstairs, for God's sake. Why do we need to go the Wensel House?"

"Smaller. More private." He glanced around the large lobby and arched a brow. "And his room is too small to hold everyone."

"What's this all about?" Josh demanded. "What's going on?"

"An all-nighter study session?" Xander suggested.

"No, no." Sam shook his head, muttered something into the phone, then cut the call with a shudder. "No. It's Faith. He's figured it out. He knows what's wrong with Faith." A sigh pressed through his lips and he trembled again. "He knows what's wrong...and according to the book, we don't have much time to stop it."

Toby paused and licked his lips. "Meaning?"

"Meaning it's over. Giles has figured it out. And if I know anything about these sort of meetings plus that crypt-o-gram gram, it really is the end of the world," Xander concluded with a deep breath. "Again."

Chapter 32

It was practically universal law that if any two people had sex within a ten-mile radius of Anya Jenkins, she would pick up on it the minute they entered a room. Which was why Buffy spent a good quarter hour in front of the mirror trying to primp herself up as much as possible while making a series of practiced unsatisfied faces that hopefully reflected her temperament the last she was seen by her friends. Spike watched her for a few minutes before chuckling and yanking her into his arms to kiss her breath away; thoroughly destroying all attempts.

Buffy pouted. She had no qualm with sharing news of her relationship with the world, as she had assured him earlier that day. She simply didn't want Anya to let the cat out of the bag before she was granted the opportunity to get a word in.

Then again, in the grand scheme, it didn't really matter. And it was somewhat unavoidable in any regard.

“Wouldn't do any good either way, kitten,” Spike assured her, nuzzling her hair. “That glow in your eyes? You can't mask that.”

“My eyes are glowy?”

“Li'l bit. Got this dazed, ‘it's almost like bein' in love' look about you.” He grinned and her heart skipped a beat, but she didn't say a word. “'Sides, your body's all soft an' satisfied.” A hand trailed across her hip, teasing her effortlessly. “An' you have this goofy smile that won' go away.”

She blushed and slapped his shoulder. “You're one to talk.”

“Not tryin' to hide mine, though.” He leaned in to nibble on her lips. “Let the world talk. Doesn' matter one way or another to me. Not gonna pull a Sir Broods-Alot.”

“Spike…”

He sighed dramatically, and the look on his face warmed her in ways she hadn't known to exist. “Don't dance all night with me, till the stars fade from above. They'll see it's all right with me.”

“Okay, now you're singing.”

“Glad you noticed.” And completely unhampered, he gestured in a way that was completely exaggerated but had her hunched over in a fit of giggles the next minute. “People will say we're in love!” He finished the well-sung line by drawing her into his arms and kissing her with enthusiasm that ignited her fire all over again. “Can't help it, sweetheart,” he said a minute later. “In jus' a day, you made me the happiest bloke in the world. I'd sing it from the bloody rooftops if you'd let me.” His lips brushed her cheek. “I love you so much, Buffy. So much.”

There it was again. That warmth, that lighthearted feeling of delirious jubilation that threatened to knock her off her feet every time she paused and remembered that everything was real. That she wasn't living in a dreamworld. That last night had happened and they weren't hiding anymore. Spike loved her; it seemed forever had passed since he turned her reality upside down. She thought she had been loved before, but there was no comparison. He let her know with and without words, with caresses and gazes drenched in longing that did little to mask his adoration just how much he loved her.

She didn't want to go to this meeting. Her heart wrenched with fear at the thought. As though all the jaded worrying she had entertained all day was finally coming full circle. There was something about perfection that made everything horrible. Perfection had ripped Angel's soul away, and though nothing of the matter had been said yet, she had the feeling that it was about to do a number on hers.

Angel, she had survived. On a day alone, she knew would not Spike.

So yes. She dreaded the meeting. Just as she dreaded the knowledge that came with Giles's tone. His comprehension of what the text meant. Of what it would eventually take from her. This happiness. Today in paradise. She should have known better than to accept it at face value. To think the Powers would allow a Slayer to get away with love, whether or not the words were granted a voice.

Buffy drew in a deep breath. Whatever they had in store, she only hoped they were in for one hell of a fight. For having been granted this, the world would have to end before she gave it up.

Of course, those were more than fighting words where she came from.

Something cool touched her lips, and she closed her eyes and allowed herself to get lost in Spike's kiss. The gentle prod of his tongue against hers, the tender sighs and whimpers he murmured into mouth, his hands caressing her skin, cupping her face, whispering without words that everything would be all right. Leaving her to burn in a beacon of ice for the way he touched her.

The world couldn't melt away, though, as much as she wanted it to. The next minute, the front door was wide open and Willow was in the middle of their dining area, her eyes wide and apologetic. “Oh God! So sorry. I'm interrupting a moment.” She took a second before her eyes flashed to her surroundings. “And damn! This place is cozy! And…” The scent in the air was unmistakable; the Witch yelped softly and looked down with noted embarrassment.

Buffy and Spike pulled apart with some difficulty, but with similar haste at the thrill of being caught. So much for stealthy. “Sorry, Will,” the Slayer said quickly. “We were on our way over.”

“Yeh,” the vampire agreed, draping an arm over her shoulder. “An' given how dedicated we've been to work today, we'd've made it in an hour or so.”

The Witch's face matched her hair color, and she was furtively trying to look anywhere but at the two blondes that couldn't help but make googly eyes at each other every few seconds, despite the awkward situation. “I-I-I was just gonna remind you to c-come over and stuff. Before, you know, Giles sent Xander.”

Buffy nodded with a grateful smile. “We really were on our way.”

“Slayer's a li'l antsy,” Spike explained with an easy shrug, tugging his cigarettes out of his duster pocket. “Apocalypse an' what all.”

That was something she hadn't told him. Was she that obvious?

One look at her boyfriend confirmed the notion.

“Okay, well…” Willow put on the cheeriest fake smile that she could manage and nodded diplomatically. “Everyone's here, I think…so we should probably…”

Buffy licked her lips and nodded, hand subconsciously reaching for Spike's. “We'll be over in a minute,” she said, smiling when he squeezed her hand in reassurance. “And Will?”

The redhead stopped with a small grin. “It's fine, Buff,” she said, needing no further direction. And her acceptance—as plain, under-spoken but heartfelt as it was inspired dual expressions of pure bliss. “Really, really fine. But I'm not the one you need to convince.”

The vampire flashed a favorable grin. “Thanks, Red.”

Willow nodded again but did not reply, instead turned to leave the townhouse without making another sound. And dutifully, though with palpable hesitation, Buffy tugged on Spike's hand once more and followed.

At the porch, things changed. The gravel river between the townhouse and the Wensel estate noting the first steps to be taken with a new revelation on their shoulders. The redhead disappeared inside as though Hell followed at the heels, and the moment she was gone, the Cockney slammed the door shut and shoved the Slayer against it. His mouth was on hers before she had time to react, tasting her with desperation marked with promise. Of everything he felt—everything they had shared in the past twenty-four hours to come full circle.

“I love you,” he said, smiling when she smiled—eyes stormed over at the sight of her breathless with arousal. He loved it that he could inspire her to such a state with merely a touch. It reassured him; empowered him in the knowledge that she felt as he did, even if the words had yet to surface. “Whatever happens in there…your friends—”

At that, her jaw dropped to protest. “I—”

“Whatever happens, I'm here. I'm not goin' anywhere. Ever.” He sighed with a small, sheepish grin. “I love you so much. You jus'…I had to say it again before we went in, all right?”

Buffy just stared at him for a long minute before her face crumpled into a smile and she nodded, cupping his cheek and kissing him with all the reassurance he had given her. “Nothing's going to change,” she said. “Today wasn't just today to me…you know that, right?”

He nodded earnestly. “I know it.”

“Good.” Her smile broadened and she kissed him once more, unable to resist the sinister temptation of his soft lips. “We better get in there before they send out a search party.”

He nodded, grinning into her eyes. “We better.” He tugged at her hand questioningly, shoulders rolling back with relief when she refused to let go. And then they were walking off the porch and toward the main house. Two people changed for the better. A thousand years had passed since they last did this—since they faced others and smiled politely. Since anything. And now they were going together, and it was wonderful.

Which didn't at all account for the knot of dread blossoming in her stomach.

*~*~*

The parlor was stretched with people—claustrophobic, but necessary.

Giles and Wesley stood at the mantle by the fireplace, very much like two unruly schoolmasters who were ready to call off an attendance role. Toby had assumed a customary position near the back corner; Josh next to Xander and Anya on the sofa in front of them. Next to her was Sam, and where went Sam, so went Willow. The redhead had just settled herself when Buffy and Spike walked into the room, linked tightly still and thankfully not drawing the theatrically expected silence with their obvious closeness.

Donna—who was seated in the recliner—however, did notice. She noticed and she jumped up immediately to offer them her seat.

“'S not necessary, pet,” the vampire assured her coolly.

“No. I like standing.” She smiled. “My job requires that I sit most of the time, anyway.”

“Except when she's in my office bugging me about something trite,” Josh remarked, earning a scowl and an automatic slap from whichever female was nearest him. In this instance—Anya, who shrugged, muttered something about it seeming the thing to do in the namesake of vengeance, and went on flipping through her magazine.

“Or bringing you memos. Or teaching you how to use your computer. Or reminding you which tie you wore—”

“Yes, yes. The list goes on and on.”

Giles cleared his throat diplomatically, pointedly not looking in his Slayer's direction when she finally caved to the imploring looks that the vampire was shooting her way and wriggled into his lap, his arms bound around her waist; his chin hooked over her shoulder. No, that image was much too disturbing. While he was no longer in denial of what had irrevocably happened between them, seeing it flaunted before his eyes would take some very slow, steady working up to.

“Well…” The Watcher began slowly. “Erm, with the assistance of Anya and Wesley, we have uncovered some highly disturbing revelations pending on the inevitable arise of Quirinias.”

Buffy's face fell. “Rise?”

“Well, erm, yes. That being the problem at the moment.” Giles cast his head downward. “You see, Quirinias is not only a Roman god—nor is he confined to the Sabine culture. It took much cross-referencing, but I am confident now that I know the full of his intentions.” He cleared his throat. “It is my belief that those two are the only cultures that can provide surviving and solid documentation. The Assyrian passages indicated scrolls that mentioned him in passing…as did the Greek…which opened the door to numerous past civilizations with their own account. Which is why I believe that the buruburu attacked you, Buffy. Why it was here at all.”

Xander blinked dumbly. “Uhhh…” He raised his hand. “Can you back up and explain? I'm not following.”

“'S simple,” Spike nearly growled. Through the two minutes of her Watcher's preamble to the longer explanation, his grip around her middle had restricted possessively. And though she was not facing him, Buffy could feel the hint of yellow behind the daggers he shot across the room. “This bloke's bigger than the bloody book was forecastin'—covers more territory an' the like. So when he was released, he let all his sodding baggage out with him.”

There was a minute before Sam realized the last was spoken with a particularly nasty look shot in his direction. “Hey!” he yelped defensively. “I-I didn't know, okay? A-and it might not even be that it w-was me—”

“Don't scare him!” Willow snapped.

“Yeah! Don't scare me!”

Xander was staring at the blondes, his face slack. “Ummm…someone wanna explain to me why Buffy's sitting in Spike's lap?” A pregnant pause filled the room before he received several strategic slaps upside the head from numerous benefactors. “Hey!”

“They're having sex,” Anya said with a shrug, eyes perusing an article in her magazine. “And no, you can't stop it, so don't try.”

“I—”

“So much for practicin' your unsatisfied face,” Spike murmured into her ear.

“I was hoping the impending apocalypse would be more interesting than my sex life,” the Slayer whispered back.

“Never happen, pet.”

Giles was frantically polishing his glasses—Wesley evidently having found something remarkably fascinating with the Monet on the opposing wall. And it was expected. Even with the world literally falling apart at the hinges, everyone took a time out to argue the virtues of sleeping with vampires.

“I just…” Xander met Buffy's eyes worriedly. “I thought—”

Anya released an exaggerated breath and twisted in her seat. “They spent the day copulating, Xander,” she said softly. “Buffy has found someone to provide her with orgasms, something she has been grossly in need of since—quite frankly—I've known her. And even you admitted last night that Spike was the least likely person in the world to harm her. So please desist your irrational objection so that Giles can continue explaining the various ways in which we are about to be extremely dead.”

The Slayer stared at her friend in astonishment. “Xander? You really said that?”

He glanced down. “I didn't mean it,” he replied unconvincingly. “I just…I was talking and words were said. That's all.”

“Aww, Harris.” Spike smirked at him in a tone that betrayed his surprise. “Din't know you cared.”

“I don't. Again with the words and the meaning nothing.”

“Ummm?” Josh raised his hand slowly. “Can we please get back to the extremely dead part? Or something that might be potentially relevant to everyone here and not your daytime drama that is—don't get me wrong—not without the entertaining.”

“Second that,” Giles agreed hastily. His face was ten shades of red. “Well, ehm, Spike was right in the sense of…the buruburus attack. I believe that Quirinias mapped out a considerable amount of territory before he was banished. Really, with all the running around that has been done of late, it is fortunate that a buruburu attack was the only out of form creature that anyone has come across.”

Wesley stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Only not,” he said, ignoring the questioning look he received in turn. “Quirinias has one goal: become corporeal. His powers in the meantime have been significantly drained. Reciting the words from the book did in fact give his essence leave, and therefore more power than the original hold—”

Sam studiously ignored every glare he received.

“—but it takes the fulfillment of a certain ritual to grant him a solid body. I believe that is the reason that Buffy's encounter with the buruburu has been the only known incident. To manifest his hold on creatures that are not originally native to America would take more energy than he has at present. Everything right now is focused on obtaining form.”

There was a pregnant pause at that.

“So…” Toby gesticulated wildly. “Why are we here?”

“You're here by accident,” Giles said. “The wrong bloody place at the wrong time. Sam's muttering the words from the text enforced the barrier around the town, I believe—which would also command a significant amount of energy from Quirinias.” He glanced admirably to Wesley. “I believe you are right. That does account for much.”

The younger Watcher blushed. “I…really…the only natural conclusion…”

Donna beamed at him winningly aside her flagrant fear, which only made the blush more furious. At that, Josh snickered and rolled his eyes. Wesley shot a mildly paranoid look in his direction, turned deeper shades of red that looked almost painful, and glanced down again.

“So, in sane man's terms?” Toby demanded, masterfully getting everyone back on track. “What does this mean?”

“Ah. Yes.” Giles did some more shifting. “The text describes Quirinias as a god feared by anyone who uttered his name—a god as powerful as any of the others in ancient culture, but shadowed with foreknowledge of his power to the extent that he has barely slipped into the history books. And what is mentioned in the more communal text is brief—a powerful god that not much is known about. I am not even sure that the Watcher's Council is aware of…” He glanced down and cleared his throat. “Well, according to the book, there was a prophecy—”

Buffy groaned.

Sam tossed her a sideways glance. “What? Why the ‘ugh'? I don't like that sound.”

“Because that word means bad in so many ways,” Xander explained.

“Prophecies equal not good in our world,” Willow explained calmly, though she was gripping his knee as though the apocalypse was literally at the doorstep. “What's the prophecy?”

Giles and Wesley exchanged a look.

“Well,” the latter began. “Around 750 BCE, Quirinias evidently developed an aspiration to transcend his powers by becoming completely corporeal. He selected the strongest of the warriors at the time to act as a vessel…and the warrior just happened to be—”

Spike held up a hand. His grip on Buffy had suddenly gone rigid. “Lemme guess. A Slayer?”

The Watchers looked at him then with sudden empathy. Not much, but a flash of identical understanding. A knowledge buried that the same would likely destroy him just as well as anyone else bearing that comprehension. “Yes,” Giles said. “A Slayer. And Quirinias was successful. So powerful was the fear behind his name that no one dared contest him. The Slayer fought, of course, but she was overwhelmed. And…”

Josh quirked a brow. “Possessed?”

“That's one way of putting it.” The elder Watcher cleared his throat. “There was a ritual involved. In order to take over the Slayer, Quirinias focused all his energies into…well, firstly making sure she was…compatible. Her body immortalized and prepared to accept all his power. Hardened. Gave her strength beyond strength. This, naturally, arose the interest of a coven of witches. They set about to stop Quirinias with little to no support…and bargained with a demon for borrowed power that they infested into something called the Rite of Thrieve.”

Wesley stepped in automatically as Giles's voice dimmed—an eager pitch-hitter that similarly adored expressions of affection or admiration, even if it embarrassed the hell out of him. “What the Rite of Thrieve does exactly, we do not know,” he said. “But the book does detail it specifically…including the exact incantations. For it to work, a witch, a warlock, and I believe a sorcerer are all that is needed…and, of course, a considerable amount of power linked between them.”

“Warlock?” Josh echoed incredulously.

“Sorcerer?” Toby muttered, the look on his face demanding that someone inform him that he had officially lost his mind and was safely shackled up in some loony bin.

Willow whimpered. “Witch? Witch? I-I'm the only witch here…that's not fair. That's not…I—”

Giles held up a hand as Sam's arms came around the redhead in comfort. “We're not asking you to perform the Rite of Thrieve,” he assured her gently. “I am not comfortable harnessing you with that sort of power…especially when we do not know what it does.”

Xander perked a brow. “Then how exactly are we supposed to stop this thing? I mean, if this bad ass god guy's after Buffy, then—”

“He's not.”

“Not what?”

“After Buffy. I thought that much was clear.” Giles pursed his lips. “Quirinias was banished with the Rite of Thrieve…banished, but not destroyed. You cannot fully destroy gods. If they are gods from separate realms or dimensions, you can send them back to whatever hellfire they came from and place a blockade between the fabric of realities to prevent any reentrance, but you cannot kill them. It's especially trickier with gods from…well, in our case…here. Our dimension. Quirinias has been biding time for centuries…regaining power, formulating moves, but never quite existing. The only true power that he has right now is that of suggestion. Or a pull in all things otherworldly to come when he beckons them. No, Xander. He is not after Buffy at all.”

“Faith.” The word escaped Sam's lips softly, his eyes softening with remembrance. “It's Faith, isn't it? It has to be. The things she said…”

“Things?” Willow frowned. “What things?”

He shook his head, trembling slightly. “J-just things. She was…well, she was…”

“A psychopath?” Toby ventured.

“Any day of the week,” Buffy muttered, leaning subconsciously into Spike for comfort that he gave in abundance.

Sam released a quivering sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “I-I…it all happened fast. A-and it seems like it was a long time ago now. But other than being very strong and…demanding…she was…afraid. And mumbling things about how she ran here and couldn't leave.”

A small silence settled over them as they took in this new information. The Deputy Communications Director had gone pale in recollection of that night, but his eyes were light and oddly relieved. As though he had finally confessed the deadliest of sins.

“So it's safe to summarize,” Giles said slowly, “that Faith was drawn here for the specific purpose of being used by Quirinias.”

“An' we followed like faithful chimps,” Spike grumbled. “S'pose it was our job to uncover the bloody book that let the wanker out in the firs' place, right? ‘S why the Slayer was so bloody sure Faith was in the car ahead of us. An'…” He tossed a mildly apologetic glance to Sam. “Prob'ly the root cause to what happened to you too, mate. Kept the rogue bird nice an' distracted while we were off gallivantin' at some bloody tourist trap.”

“Hey!” Buffy twisted in his arms. “It was your idea to go inside.”

He avoided her eyes almost bashfully. “Jus' wanted to take the sodding tour.”

“And the stupid picture of the stupid mirror.”

“Was jus' gettin' my money's worth, luv. ‘Sides…” His voice lowered conspiratorially. “You din't seem to mind aaallll that much.”

“Okay.” Josh's shrill voice intervened their banter before it could be taken any further. “Okay. Let's just jump to worst-case scenario, shall we? Faith's out there and been missing ever since she and Sam…uhhh…” He glanced to his friend regretfully. “Since she…well, you know. This god guy's been distracting the other Slayer with books and buru-whatchamacallits and her vampire love slave. If he—”

Spike growled defensively. “What's happened between us has sod all to due with some wanker god, all right?”

“How do you know?” Xander demanded.

Buffy's face flamed. “Because it was happening before we left Sunnydale.” The Cockney behind her went rigid with her admission, but relaxed the next minute and purred approvingly, subtly stroking the small of her back where the others couldn't see. “It's been happening ever since the…well…I think it's been happening all along.”

Willow's eyes softened and Donna cooed. “Aww,” she said. “That is so sweet!”

A chorus of ‘no it's not' answered her with enthusiasm.

“Whatever.” Josh waved a hand and continued. “Okay. This god guy does the ritual and possesses Faith. What then?”

Giles and Wesley exchanged another helpless glance.

“The words ‘blind panic' come to mind,” the former said gently. “Without the Rite of Thrieve, there really is nothing. Quirinias in solid form with a body that is already structured to be stronger than any human on the planet is not exactly a heartwarming thought. Especially since he controls any number of ancient demons that seemingly have a habit of following him wherever he goes. Once he crosses that line and fully enters our realm…there will be no stopping him.”

Xander licked his lips. “So I'm guessing the plan is to find Faith before he does?”

There was another pause. “He has Faith already,” Wesley said. “He has all along. He's had her from the moment she arrived here, and definitely from the moment that his power was fully unleashed with—”

Sam wailed miserably. “I know! I know! Do you have to rub it in?”

“It is your fault,” Anya observed.

“I saw a language. I was curious!”

“Didn't have to read it out loud,” Donna grumbled.

“A little sympathy here?” He glanced to Willow who offered him her brightest ‘we're-all-gonna-die-because-of-you-but-I-love-you-anyway' smile and took him in a comforting hug.

“Okay, so the god already has Faith…” Buffy licked her lips and slowly rose to her feet. “Do we have any way to find out where the ritual will take place? Or when? Or how the hell fast I can get there?”

“We can get there,” Spike corrected as he rose behind her and took her hand in his. “Not lettin' you go anywhere without me, luv. Told you as much.”

Giles frowned worriedly. “Buffy…this is power beyond power that you have faced before. If you're too late or…do you realize the magnitude of—”

She waved him off in a manner that did not betray her apprehension. “Yes, yes. I know. Grave danger abounds. One problem. I'm the one chosen to stop the grave danger. Does anyone here have any better suggestions?”

The room fell silent. There was simply nothing to say.

“Yeah. Thought so.” Buffy turned to Willow. “Is there any way you can—”

“If the words ‘location spell' come out of your mouth, I am turning Spike into a newt.”

Buffy winced. “Do you even know how to do that?”

“W-well, that's not exactly the point now, is it?”

Sam grinned at her fondly.

In any regard, the Slayer rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I was going to suggest locating Quirinias based on this power he's allegedly releasing. If you're tapped into it like that, and if he's soaking in so much, won't that give us an approximate on where we might be able to find Faith?”

Willow glanced down at that and shrugged sheepishly. “I hadn't thought of that.”

Giles looked thoroughly embarrassed. “I don't believe any of us had. Oh dear.” A sigh tackled his throat. “Well, I suppose we didn't know where to look…and the Faith/Quirinias bond was always a little vague…”

Josh and Toby glanced at each other wryly but opted to forgo commentary.

Buffy nodded and tugged on Spike's arm. “Well, there's a start. We're gonna go get supplies. I want a direction by the time we get back.”

The redhead nodded in turn. “Yeah. Yeah, if he's using up that much energy, picking up on it won't take much. Give me ten minutes.”

And that was that. The group dispersed into a various array of tasks from the mundane to the ambiguous. Willow speaking softly to Sam on all the materials she would need. Anya trying to persuade Xander to go upstairs and get in some orgasms before the world ended. Josh and Toby debating whether or not to ring Leo and let him know all that was happening now, thanks to Sam's thirst for knowledge. Donna and Wesley standing awkwardly with nothing to do, avoiding each other's eyes now that work had come to an end.

At the door, Giles stopped Spike before he could follow Buffy across the way to the townhouse. The Slayer flashed him a concerned look, but he waved her off reassuringly. A fatherly moment to the boy his baby girl had decided to date, heedless of his warnings.

Heedless of the fact that she was the Slayer and he was a vampire and there should be no discussion after that.

“I just want you to know,” Giles began softly, “if something happens to Buffy, I will hold you responsible. She trusts you—and I believe I can, but you are a vampire with a reputation for murdering Slayers. If something happens to her, I will make you suffer in ways that would make your grandsire weep with shame. Do you understand me?”

Spike nodded solemnly. There was no need to contest; just this much acceptance was more than he had expected. And it was enough. “Jus' one thing, Watcher.” He waited until he had the old man's eyes. “'F somethin' happens to Buffy, my suffering'll be in vain. Nothin' you could do to me would compare.” His voice dropped. “Nothing.”

A glare heated between them, and slowly warmed into a gaze of mutual regard. And that was that. Spike awkwardly patted the Watcher on the back and turned to follow his girl across the way, smiling at the way she had waited for him at the porch.

Giles watched them exchange a tender look before they disappeared inside. Watched, and his heart wrenched at the emotion screamed without muttering a sound. He knew then that the vampire spoke the truth, and above all else, would keep his word.

Spike would die protecting her. He would. It was a surreal piece of knowledge to possess, but no less true when pushed under surveillance. Spike would die protecting his Slayer.

Because he loved her.

Giles pursed his lips in silent acquiescence, then turned slowly and disappeared inside the main house.

Chapter 33

A/N : What happens in this chapter is directly related to the revelations in the previous chapter. I strongly recommend rereading Chapter Thirty-Two before advancing to this one. (It's my fault—I put this fic on hiatus right before the action was supposed to start)

That being said, hope everyone had a brilliant holiday. Enjoy! =)

By the time Buffy had gathered whatever it was that she needed to gather, the town was on fire. A slow burn that had traffic backed up for miles on roads that usually knew no traffic. The taciturn acceptance that had once settled over Natchez was gone in fifteen minutes. And as what commonly happened in a crisis, panic had commandeered apathy with a surprising comeback.

Buffy and Spike found the Scoobies and the Senior Staffers on the back porch facing the townhouse—a sort of grim seeing off party who neglected to greet them, neglected to even look in their direction. Rather, their attention was captured unanimously by the impressive lightshow coming from the highway. An impromptu Fourth of July celebration placed in the last days before Christmas.

“What happened?” the Slayer murmured to Willow, crossbow slung over her shoulder.

The only thing, evidently, that could distract a man's attention from shiny lights was the sight of an impressive weapon. Josh did not disappoint; his eyes immediately fastened on the collection of weaponry the Slayer and the vampire were toting, glistening with appreciation. “Where did you guys get those?”

Buffy smiled grimly, trading a bemused glance with Spike. “Never go anywhere unprepared,” she replied, shrugging.

“It just started,” Willow said, ignoring the smaller trade. “There was nothing and then everyone in town just started freaking out.”

“Yeah,” Xander agreed, nodding. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance, and pointed demonstratively. “And it seems to be coming from over there.”

Buffy followed his point and nearly dropped her crossbow. “Oh God.”

“Yeah,” Willow mused in agreement. “That's pretty much been the sentiment out here.”

“Gonna go out on a limb,” Spike ventured, “an' say that's where we're headed.”

“Very good limb,” Donna agreed.

The relative terrain of the Natchez area was mostly elevated—a series of hills and bluffs. This, naturally, assumed the impression of distance when distance was not at its greatest. It came as no surprise when cars passing the Wensel House began to slow as passengers grew wary in fear and bowed to the more dangerous whims of curiosity.

“I never got that,” the vampire murmured, distracting the group's attention from the light show in the distance. “Somethin' bloody bizarre's goin' off an' you soddin' pulsers think it a brilliant time to stop an' take a long gander.”

Buffy met his eyes with amusement before turning to nudge the Witch from her absorption. “What do you think?”

“It's not as far away as it looks,” the redhead murmured after a few seconds. “The water tower's that way…” She gestured distractedly in the opposing direction, frowning in thought. “And from what Giles suggested…if Quirinias has decided to make his move now, he would need altitude. A place to perform the ceremony…and…” She drifted off for a few more seconds before her eyes widened in realization. “Oh God. I know where it is.”

Sam touched her shoulder. “Willow?”

“It's Longwood. It has to be. It'd be vacated and has a high altitude…not to mention, seclusion and it's on that side of town.” She turned violently to the Slayer, eyes flaring. “You were there. Remember? That dome? It's perfect for utilizing that kind of energy, especially since Quirinias is incorporeal. All the circumstantial…and if that light show is any indication, he's already got a good head start.”

Spike nodded shortly. “We gotta get goin'.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Josh demanded. “Sit here and twiddle our thumbs.”

“I think you're underestimating the virtues of a good thumb-twiddling,” Xander observed. “Unless, of course, you want to be out where the likelihood of becoming extremely dead is at an all-time high.”

The vampire's eyes darkened, reaching for Buffy's hand and squeezing his reassurance. “No one's becomin' dead on my watch.”

“You're going to have to go on foot,” Giles observed, nodding at the traffic. “The citizens of Natchez have selected the most inopportune time to become startlingly aware of the happenings in their town. Right then…” His eyes focused on Buffy. “You know how to get to this place?”

“I know. Will and I were there once before.”

“Be careful.”

“'ve got her back,” Spike growled. “'F she's anythin' but, it'll be because I'm dead.”

“And what a tragedy that would be,” Xander murmured, frowning when Donna elbowed him.

“Bring Faith back to the drawing room,” Giles said. “Wesley and I will do what we can to eradicate whatever damages have been done before we decide what is to be done with her.”

Buffy nodded and tugged on Spike's hand. “Come on,” she said. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we get to go home.”

He nodded in turn, though the look in his eyes was much too distant to trust anything so remote. The feeling that had been surmounting all day—all through their revelations and trades, lovemaking, confessions, and now this. He had known it was coming, and still with everything else, it was still much too soon.

So soon.

Dread would not stop him, though. Nothing could.

To the end of the world and back. Whatever it took.

They had come this far. He would not lose her now.

*~*~*

The path that led up to the old house was off a smaller road and wound into a thicket of woods that seemingly guided them out of the town altogether. It was strange going from an urbanized setting to virtually the middle of nowhere, and still acknowledge that Natchez existed around them.

It was at the gateway where they would, on an ordinary day, stop and purchase tickets that Buffy finally slowed from the fast-paced sprint to a sudden halt, hunching over. The distance between the Wensel House and Longwood was considerable—though not as the light show would have suggested, still a monumentally longer run than she was accustomed to in Sunnydale.

Especially with a considerably heavy crossbow slung over her back.

Spike's eyes widened when he saw her buckle, diving forward from where he had previously been lagging behind to catch her before she tumbled completely. Her arms immediately latched around his throat, and she clung to him, gasping as her heart thundered against his unanswering chest.

He held her for a few moments while she caught her breath, running a soothing hand through her hair. “Don' go losin' your energy on me now, luv,” he whispered, brushing a kiss across her temple. “Not when we gotta god to fight.”

“I'll be fine,” she gasped. “Just…haven't run that fast since track senior year.”

“Noticed. Think you broke a few records.”

Buffy didn't reply, merely clung to him, breathing deeply as she gathered herself. And Spike didn't mind that at all; as long as she was here, pressed against him, she wasn't in danger. She was with him. Her hair curled through his fingers, her body against his. He would hold her as long as she needed. Forever if she needed.

“Thank you,” she murmured. He wondered if he had spoken that last bit aloud.

“For what, sweetling?” he replied, whispering a kiss against her forehead.

“Coming with me. I know you—”

He pulled back, eyes wide as saucers. “Wouldn't've been able to stop me ‘f you tried,” he swore ardently. “Told you, luv, I got your back. ‘m not lettin' you go without a fight.”

“I know. And I know…I…” She broke and shook her head, pulling away slightly in subtle recognition that the time for heartfelt trades and emotional confessions was indefinitely reserved for the post-battle bliss. There were just some things that needed to be said now, regardless of suitability. “I've never fought a god before,” she said.

“Well, ‘f all goes well tonight, you won't be.” He offered a lopsided grin and tugged at her hand. “Come on, luv. This apocalypse isn't gonna stop itself.”

Buffy's eyes narrowed. “Do you have to call it that?”

“Jus' tryin' to implement some sense of urgency.”

“Trust me, I got that memo loud and more than clear.” She turned her eyes to the grove of trees that guarded Longwood, the house itself a display of lights that shot far higher than the tallest branches. “Okay. Willow suggested that this guy would need altitude to get this thing done. I've been in the house just once…the basement level's the only place inhabitable. The rest is all boards and paint cans and tools. It's open air—a cylinder type thing on the inside that leads directly to the dome.”

“The book you gave me had some diagrams,” Spike acknowledged with a nod. “These blokes really like to show off their grandeur, right? ‘S jus' a big octagon.”

“Yeah, and it's completely hollow on the inside.”

“You jus' said as much.”

“Well, when we get in…assuming there are no tricks…” Buffy expelled a deep breath. “She'll likely be up high. Whatever he's doing's going to be pretty well connected with this lightshow, and since the verdict is he's incorporeal, it might be hard to see where he's coming from. We'll just have to remain focused and get her the hell down before whatever's supposed to go down goes down.”

Spike studied her with an arched brow. “Feel better now that you got that off your chest?”

“I'm a whole new woman.”

His eyes raked her body appreciatively at that. “Hopefully not, luv,” he said. “I was rather fond of the woman I spent the afternoon with.”

Buffy flushed but didn't respond. “I just need a picture of what's going to happen. Makes it easier for the in/out thing.”

“Right.” That made sense enough.

“And…be careful once we get inside.”

Spike arched a brow. Her flush deepened.

“I'm mentioning it because above the basement's pretty much every vampire's nightmare.” She sent him a long, meaningful look as they set off down the path once more. “I just wanna make sure that you're gonna be okay.”

Spike just looked at her, smiling gently. “Tryin' to scare me off?”

“No. I just don't want you to get overly-zealous and…” She trailed off sheepishly and returned his grin, squeezing his hand with more affection than even she was aware of. “I don't want you to get hurt. I know that trying to talk you out of this is impossible, but—”

“Damn straight.”

“Just be careful, okay? If you get…hurt, I'm not…” Buffy pursed her lips, her eyes fogging; her breath stopped in her throat. The wealth of emotion that crossed her features alone touched the vampire deeper than any one action ever had before. There were words there that had yet to be said. Words that would feel too much like a goodbye if she said them now. “I can't…”

“Shhh, sweetheart.” He whispered another kiss into her hair, squeezing her tighter to them as they neared the last bend that shielded the house from the main road. “I know. We'll take care of each other, right?”

The uncertainty in her eyes nearly killed him, but he well understood her fear. It was too much their karma to obtain something pure and perfect before life—before the Powers decided to rip it from them. And now that he had this, walking toward an uncertain fate with the weight of the world and the promise of something he had waited forever to have—there was just so much to lose.

And then, just as the house was coming into view—the glow of the lights nearly blinding them both—Spike couldn't stop himself. He had to say it again. Just this one more time. Just in case.

“Buffy.” He stopped abruptly, tugging her back to him. The softness in her eyes was more than enough to attest what he needed to say. That radiance. That kind understanding. That fluster of feeling she had yet to name. It was all there. All waiting behind her eyes. “Buffy,” he said again, smoldering. “I love you.”

Her cheeks flushed and her eyes warmed. It had only been a day. They had enjoyed a night together, spent a glorious day basking in the novelty of budding emotions that they were still hesitant to name.

If they were going out, now would be the time. When they were both so blissfully happy.

Instead, Buffy shook her head and nodded. “I know,” she said, brushing an ardent kiss against his lips. “Spike, I—”

He pulled away rapidly, though likewise with reluctance. “No.”

“No?”

“Not now.” He nodded to the house. “After. All right?”

“What?”

“After. We'll save this for after, right?” He studied her a minute longer, then shrugged with a sheepish, uncertain smile. “Jus' have somethin' to look forward to. Give us reason to get it done quick. Sound good?”

She looked at him a moment longer, eyes unreadable.

Then, slowly, she smiled.

“Sounds perfect.”

His smile broadened and he neared and kissed her again. Right. Perfect.

Now they just had to survive whatever this Quirinias had in store. Survive it and get a Slayer out in the process.

A Slayer that was already a bona fide psychotic.

Right. Piece of cake.

*~*~*

The inside of Longwood was, at first take, deceptively serene. The sort of deathly silence that preludes a terrible collusion. Driving forward slowly into unknown territory. Such to the point that when Buffy kicked the front door open, the splintering crack that echoed through the vacant halls resonated for eerie seconds and hummed to a still when finished, unwilling to fully expire.

“'S this a bad time to mention that I have a bad feelin' about this?” Spike whispered, hands steady at her waist. The inside was exactly as she had described; a large shell with markings of plans on the walls—instructions a hundred years plus in the making. “Right. So…creepy.”

Buffy snickered, eyes tracing the walls. Every step they took sounded through endless and empty corridors; a sure forewarning to anyone who might be listening. “Creeping out the vampire,” she murmured. “That's reassuring.”

“Oi.”

“Just saying.” They didn't get very far in—whatever was there was definitely disembodied, but at the same time, not lacking in power. The outer hall of the house, supported by pillars that would have held statues in small alcoves had the home been completed, parted at the entrance and led to the focal point of the ground floor. A small boxed window embedded in the center of the room—the same that illuminated the furnished basement through a series of paned windows and careful strategy.

The light was blinding. Shooting directly from bottom to top.

And levels upward where no man had traveled in years, Faith was tied between boards; her body outstretched. Made an offering of the gods.

“We don't have much time,” Buffy said. “Come on.”

“That's well an' good. Whaddya have in mind?”

The Slayer didn't answer immediately. Her eyes were fixated on the captive brunette, large with calculation. She was a symphony of light. A showcase of the worst kind. “He's going to go through the beam,” she said slowly. “The show's not for us…not even for her. It's for him.”

“Huh's that?”

“The ritual they were talking about…Faith's here. That's it. The ritual prepares him, not her.” Her gaze widened with understanding. “I've got to get up there.”

“Buffy—”

It was no use. She had projected herself a good ten feet in the air the next minute, landing haphazardly on the floorboards of an unfinished veranda. And he didn't think. Didn't take a beat to second guess himself before following. All he knew was if she ran, he ran with her. He wasn't letting her out of his sight.

Even when she acted without thought.

“Buffy—” he began again to little avail. “Wait! We have to—”

“I've got it!” she yelled back, eyes already scoping the length of her next leap. The waver of the wooden planks beneath their feet was doing everything possible to invigorate his heart out of its century-long retirement. The fall they would both survive, but she was human and that made her fallible.

Something he wondered that she didn't forget every now and then.

The beams shooting from the lower levels were growing more intense. The Slayer was a flight above him. And from nowhere, the ground had started humming a low, intoxicating growl that touched every corner of the unfinished manor.

Spike's eyes widened. They were running out of time.

Already.

“Buffy!” He glanced downward into the focus of the beam, flinching away in surprise when his skin didn't evaporate into dust. “'S gonna come through the—”

“Spike!”

She was a blur of motion, but for the rumble quaking the floorboards, he knew then—in that instant—that she would not be fast enough. There were certain things that a Slayer could not outrun.

A Slayer. Not a demon.

“Buffy!”

Fire flashed out the dirtied window panes. Blazes of orange and red. Spike was moving without realizing it; his feet carrying him blindly in the only direction he knew. It was a question of time now. He had lost interest in saving Faith. Right now, it was a matter of grabbing Buffy and getting the hell out.

Faith was beyond saving. For however fast they were, the god would have her first.

And then there would be nothing to do but run.

The rumble escalated to climax, and in a second, it was over. The lower floors diminished with a roar, dissolving into a blur of rising glory. Spike's eyes widened, fixated on his Slayer. Suspended in midair, a half-leap made to the other side of the veranda. It tore through her body as though she was made of nothing—pierced an inhuman scream through the air as her skin spread with the rage of a sudden inferno.

The blaze stopped with her and the roar was over before he could react. And then, just as quickly, the wisps of power softened into the welcoming embrace of her vulnerable skin, ignoring Faith entirely.

It all happened within seconds. A few horrible seconds. Spike wasn't aware that he was screaming until his voice bounced with impact. He had leapt across the veranda to catch her before she could fall, landing harshly on the other side of the dome.

He didn't pause to think for himself. Buffy was in his arms, and she wasn't moving.

“Buffy!” He clutched at her with desperation, brushing locks of hair from her face. Their surroundings forgotten—he didn't care about the rest. Didn't care that the rumble had died and the beams of light were extinguished. Didn't care to acknowledge what that meant. His mind was racing, his unbeating heart ached to pound. “Buffy! Talk to me, baby. Say somethin'. God, please!”

There was nothing.

No life. No light. Faith was screaming for help, but he ignored her.

The light had gone into Buffy.

No. No, he refused to acknowledge what that meant.

He shook her gently, ignoring the sudden flood of tears washing down his face. “Come on, pet,” he murmured, brushing a desperate kiss across her forehead. “You can't do this to me. We were gonna talk, remember? We were gonna get out an' talk. You can't—”

A groan cut through his pleas.

Spike brought her to his chest and rocked her back and forth. “Oh thank God,” he gasped, not truly believing the words. Needing to hear something hopeful, even in a voice laced with doubt. “Thank God. Sweetheart, I—”

The air pierced with a shriek that would make angels weep sliced through his falsetto relief with a calamitous outburst. Buffy's head lurched back and her body trembled into a fit of convulsions.

Her eyes were made of gold.

Spike felt the largest part of him crash. Holding her to him, sobbing into her hair.

Clinging to Buffy in the shattered remains of his father's home.

His goddess that was to become a god.

Chapter 34

The townhouse was surprisingly vacant when he tore through the back entrance, a writhing, screaming Slayer in his arms. The sprint was a flash of nothing—he didn't recall gathering her in his embrace, didn't remember the sting of the air as he battled his way back to the Wensel House. There were fresh claw marks on his body; the bittersweet scent of his own blood filled the air. He felt nothing, though. There was nothing. She snarled, clawed, screamed, and cried—she tore at him limply and struggled for freedom against strength she should have overpowered.

But this was not Buffy. He was not holding Buffy. It was Buffy's body, Buffy's hands and arms, Buffy's sweet face, but it was not her.

He knew. Because the red streak raked down the side of her face was there because of him. She was hurt because of him; hurt sometime in the struggle between Longwood and home. And the chip had not gone off.

Buffy was not in there anymore.

“Hold on, baby,” Spike gasped, rushing into his bedroom, eyes darting to every corner in desperate search for anything he could use to restrain her. The room was as anyone would expect with a bed and breakfast establishment. A bed, a dresser, a closet, and blankets. Nothing. His heart sank and the tears he had been holding back since making the impossible sprint across town crackled over the surface. “Hold on. ‘m gonna fix you. We'll get you cured.”

Buffy didn't hear anything. A terrible roar erupted from her beautiful mouth and she clawed viciously at his throat, tackling him back to the bed. “Te aari kanssa myöhässä, vampyyri. Adsum! Se has alkaa. Ad vitam Paramus! ”

Spike's eyes widened and he toppled back, releasing his hold on her waist so that he might grasp her wrists. “I've got you,” he promised raucously, ignoring the sharp jolts that shot through his throat. Ignoring the blood oozing through broken skin. “'m not lettin' you go.”

“t? ?t???? t?? ??e? t??a! t? ?t???? t?? ??e?!”

“Buffy—”

Her eyes widened dangerously, blazing yellow there that turned his body to ice. “ Amat victoria curam! O inferno quê-la grande. Você não pode derrotar um deus!” she shrieked. “Magister mundi sum!”

There was a modest amount of Latin and Greek that the vampire understood. Things buried deep within his memory; schooling that had refused to adhere to the rule of time. And the words rumbling through her now, words Buffy would never have any reason to know much less speak, froze his dead blood and frightened him to a second wake.

“Oh God.” His body quivered with recognition alone. “Oh God.”

Buffy's eyes blazed gold with shades of red, her hands fighting his for dominance. “Stultum est timere quod vitare non potes. Sînt un Dumnezeu!”

The next few seconds passed in a blur of movement. His mind was screaming, his body weary and ready to let her have him. The thing that had been Buffy snarled and rasped, her head thrown back in a silent depiction of pain. The crack that buzzed through the room nearly snapped him in half—rendering him instead into the dresser with a calamitous smash. The walls pulsed with power.

“Spike!”

So familiar.

A hand was on his shoulder. Donna. It was Donna. When had Donna gotten here?

It took a few minutes for the vampire to realize his arms were no longer filled with a struggling Slayer. A few prolonged seconds before he saw her on the bed. Saw her; saw Willow standing in the doorway, a pained look on her face. Her extended arm trembling with the weight of a god's influence. Saw Sam and Josh standing behind her, trading uncertain glances between the battered demon and the blonde that thrashed on the mattress.

“Oh my God,” the redhead whispered, her eyes wide with horror.

Something horrible rang through the air. Something that made his insides coil. The slow rumble of a demon's laugh. A demon too far placed in a body that did not welcome it. Spike finally felt the sting of salt against the blood at his throat. His tears ran too deep to flinch at every cut.

Buffy's head was thrown back, a look of sadistic pleasure marring her beautiful face. She had changed languages again with ease, a glow of red that refused to dim flashing behind her eyes. “Prepozen, carovnica,” she rasped. “Prepozen, vampir. Ona dan. Ona dan!”

“Ummm…” Josh licked his lips, staring numbly at the bed. “That's not normal.”

Donna tossed him a glare as she helped the broken vampire to his feet, not minding when he stumbled against the dresser. “Willow…” she said shakily, hand curling around Spike's when he gave no indication to acknowledging her more than that first flash of recognition. “What happened?”

“Quirinias,” the Witch said evenly, her voice dead. There was no question. No doubt. Just a form of understanding that came so bluntly, so burdened with acceptance that Spike couldn't help but wonder if she knew this would happen all along.

Josh's gaze widened. “That wouldn't be the same Quirinias who's applying to be a god of the human-shaped variety, would it? The one that wanted Faith?”

The vampire shook his head, wiping at his eyes. “Buffy jumped in the way,” he rasped. “She was tryin' to get to Faith…she jumped in the way. It hit her instead. Whatever that bastard was cookin' up hit her instead.” He glanced to Willow, the ocean of his eyes crashing over the tide. “You can fix her, right? Make her Buffy again? There's a way.”

Willow was shaking far too much to form a coherent thought, much less piece together a collective plan for eradicating a god from the thrashing body of her best friend. “I d-don't know,” she stuttered. “W-we hadn't th-thought that far ahead.”

“Well, why the bloody hell not?!”

Buffy snarled and attempted to leap forward. A quick blast of energy sent her back to the bed.

And just like that, the Witch's uncertainty gave way to anger. A rational snap from fear to outrage. And she had a target to blame. “Because we just figured this out, Spike,” she snapped, eyes widening. “You guys rushed to Longwood and we had just figured this out!”

“Yeh? Don' seem to recall you volunteerin'!” Spike gestured emphatically to the bed. “'F we hadn't've gone, there would've been a psychotic Slayer high on god juice. You seein' an alternative you fancy?”

“Better Faith than Buffy!”

The vampire sobered a bit at that, the glare behind his gaze fading. “We went ‘cause that's what heroes do,” he said. “Buffy's a hero. The world had already started to fall apart, an' you gits were bleedin' slow on the uptake. ‘F we'd've had this information two days ago, it'd've been stopped already.”

Willow's eyes flashed dangerously. “Two days ago? Two days ago, you and Buffy were doing the prelude to a mating dance that we had to drag you away from. This isn't our fault!”

The writhing Slayer on the bed offered a guttural growl in agreement, her body arching in pain. There were streaks of red embedded in her skin that hadn't been there a minute ago. And suddenly, the values of how and why were no longer important. Buffy was raging an internal war with a god, and she could not win facing him alone.

Saving her was what mattered. It could happen. It had been done before.

“What was it?” Spike said, rapidly alternating prerogatives. “The Watchers mentioned it…there was that thing, right?”

“The thing?” Sam and Josh echoed simultaneously.

“Right. That thing that banished this bloke the last time around? Coven of witches an' all that?” His eyes flashed. “Well, you're a witch, aren't you? Get the fuck to it!”

Willow blinked. “To what?”

“That thing! That…the rite…”

“Rite of Thrieve?” The redhead's eyes widened when he nodded. “I can't!”

“Why the bleeding fuck not?!”

She stared at him incredulously. “Shall I list off the reasons? How about the fact that I'm the only one here of the magically inclined variety. How about that the spell required a sorcerer and a warlock, and they aren't the type notorious for keeping listings in the yellow pages. Not to mention my greatest magical accomplishment is getting a pencil to float without it going berserk!…or, you know…random kitchen appliances.” Willow shot a glance to Sam, who smiled sheepishly. She shook her head. “All of that and more…the Rite of Thrieve is designed for a god, Spike. This is still Buffy. I work something that powerful on her while she's still Buffy, and it might kill her.”

The vampire just stared at her numbly. “She's still Buffy? No, she can't—”

“She is. I feel her. It's strange but…her essence is still in there. She's struggling. Whatever Quirinias was planning, he's gonna have to defeat her to get to it, and I don't mean arena style. He's gonna kill every ounce of her that was ever Buffy without leaving her at all. A god can't just go leaping into bodies like that. Not if he wants to survive.” A long, cold breath hissed through her lips. Then her eyes widened with horror and realization of her own words. The cold that struck the room was felt by all. “God, he's going to kill her. Her body…she's going to be—”

Spike jerked his arm free from Donna's hold and stalked forward. “Bugger. That. Figure it out, Red.”

“I—”

“Hold on!” Sam yelped. “This isn't Willow's fault!”

“'S her bloody best friend an' she's jus' gonna let her die!”

The vampire found himself propelled back into the dresser at the hand of a mightily pissed off witch. The redhead at the foot of the bed; one hand focused on Spike, the other on keeping Buffy from escaping her perimeter.

Donna again came to his side and gently helped him to his feet. Josh and Sam stood utterly flabbergasted.

Spike's nose was bleeding. He didn't care. Nor did he care for the gnashes at his throat or the claw marks around his middle. Didn't care for anything. He had bled before and would bleed again. He bled so often.

The Slayer's snarls and outbursts were reduced to throaty growls. She stretched and struggled against her bonds but nothing came of it. And without even bringing herself around to the realization, the Witch was exercising more power in one fluent move than she ever had thought to utilize before.

“I'm not going to let her die,” she said finally. “There has to be something we can do now. Right now before her condition worsens. I just need you to stay with me, okay?”

Spike sent her a cold glare. “Yeh,” he replied shortly. “'m stayin'. Get a bindin' spell up around her, pet. An' get me in it, too.”

“What?”

“'m stayin'. Stayin' with her.” He nodded to the bed. “Anythin' happens to her, an' I'm there. Right there. ‘m not leavin' her like this.”

The Witch's eyes softened at that, her hand falling numbly to her side. “Spike,” she said gently, “she'll kill you. And then she won't…Quirinias is wrestling for control. Struggling…Buffy's fighting now, but…he's a god. And if we can't…she'll kill you.”

Spike stretched his arms out, waiting for her to take in the full bloody sight of him. It was a strange moment. A sort of full recognition of everything that had occurred in the past hour in gory detail. Even Sam and Josh stared at him numbly; aware that as a vampire, he would survive and had likely endured worse, but unable to look away all the same. That sort of morbid fascination that got people killed every day.

“'m stayin' with her,” he said again. “Don' give a bloody fuck what she does to me. All right?”

The Witch held his gaze for a minute longer, then nodded. There was no sense in arguing.

“All right,” she said. “Get on the bed with her. Donna, go get a washcloth and clean him. Sam, Josh…go tell Giles what's happened.” Her eyes darkened slightly. “Try not to tell Xander. I don't want him having a wig-fest until we know exactly what there is that we can do. I'm going to need some candles and a book. A-and, maybe…ummm…Giles?”

Spike arched a brow as he took the proffered washcloth. He flashed Donna a surprised look to which she merely shrugged with a smile. “My job,” she said simply, shrugging. “I basically play fetch with Josh all day.”

“Ah. Thanks, pet.”

Josh frowned. “Hey!”

The blonde shrugged unapologetically.

“Giles,” Sam said slowly, drawing their attention back to the redhead. “You need Giles?”

“Trust him more than Red to work mojo without sendin' the world into some hellish alternate dimension,” the vampire snorted, wincing when the Witch turned to glare at him. “No offense, of course.”

“Of course,” she retorted dryly. “Why would I be offended by that?”

“Is she…ummm…” Donna eyed the seemingly sedate Slayer warily. “She kinda stopped all of a sudden.”

“That's probably gonna happen again. Quirinias isn't going to wanna remain dormant for long, and when he wakes up again, he'll be pissed.” Willow glanced carefully to Spike as he dropped the thoroughly bloodied washcloth to the floor with a dejected sigh. “You're sure you wanna do this?”

The vampire nodded without hesitation, slipping onto the bed. “Where she goes, I go,” he said. “'m not runnin' out now when she needs me the most.”

Donna made an ‘aww' noise that everyone wisely ignored.

Sam stepped forward. “Willow?”

“I have to stay here until the binding spell is forged,” she explained without looking at him. “Go, get Giles. Only Giles. We don't have a lot of time.”

That was all the Deputy Communications Director needed. He was gone the next second, tugging Josh after him.

And though it could have possibly been the single most redundant thing to ask, for whatever reason, there was some universal law that spoke out against the name of silence. Deathly silence that whispered tidings of dread that none could shake. Silences like this. With a vampire, bloodied and wounded, curled on the bed with his girl next to him. His girl that sounded like a slumbering lion. Their hands linked in the middle—his so tight it would take a crowbar to pry them apart.

It was that need for something where nothing stood. That need.

“Don't have a lot of time for what?” Donna found herself saying uselessly.

Willow glanced at her with a wry, humorless smile. “To learn how to banish a god,” she replied.

It would have been funny if she weren't so serious.

*~*~*

Spike smiled kindly at Donna as she handed him a warmed cup of blood and dropped a couple of aspirin into his palm. The look she gave warned off any protest he had at the ready; he had tried persuading her that, being a vampire, antibiotics were rather ineffective to no avail. She wasn't satisfied until she had doctored his wounds with disinfectant and given him enough medication to take down a small horse. And even then, convincing her that it wasn't necessary for her to hover was no easy feat.

The kindness of people who had no reason to hate him was always surprising. Donna was no exception. Of everyone he had met since arriving in Natchez, she had easily slid into the number one rank.

“Thanks, pet,” he said, indulging a long drink. It surprised him when she didn't flinch and turn away in disgust. Instead, she smiled compassionately and watched as though he was enjoying a glass of raspberry Kool-Aid. “You don' have to stay here, you know.”

She knew. He had reminded her every five minutes.

“I want to stay, Spike,” she replied. “What if you need something? What if she needs something?”

“Could get messy in here, luv. Chances are it will.” The vampire glanced to the dozing blonde curled into his side. Willow had left the room about a half hour before after completing the binding spell, as well as dosing her up with a fairly powerful mystical sleeping narcotic that would hopefully keep her out for the next twelve hours. “She looks peaceful now, doesn' she?”

Donna smiled. “Yes, she does.”

“You'd never know there's a god in there. Lookin' at her…Christ, you'd never know she's…” His voice grew hoarse and his eyes watered. The look on his face dropped from conversational to despondent within a blink. A heartbreaking rendering of a man who had everything to lose. “He's in there right now,” he said softly. “That fuckin' bastard…'e's in her body…'e's in her sweet body right now. Muckin' her up. Changin' her. Makin' her ready for…makin' her ready to be a god.”

The room stretched with heavy silence. Donna waited a minute, then gambled her chances and patted his shoulder with whatever reassurance she had to offer. “You know,” she said thoughtfully. “There was a time not too long ago when, if anything went wrong…anything big, I'd've gone to Leo. Not that Leo's really my next step. I should answer to Josh. I do answer to Josh. Well…” She offered a wane half-smile. “Well, I answer to Josh as much as I have to. He's good for the conversation, and when there's something really important and you get it in his head that it's really important, he's the best guy to go to. He's my best friend—no questions asked. But that doesn't mean he's my first phone call. For woman things, there's CJ. And even though I really don't know Leo all that well…even though everything…I know enough to know that he's the one to go to for the very big things.” Her eyes settled on the slumbering Slayer. “I guess this would be comparable to a terrorist threat or something. This is something I would take to Leo without going first to Josh or CJ. Saving Buffy would be his territory. If she was foreign policy or a threat against the President or something comparable to…anything, really…Leo would know what to do.”

Spike watched her with a soft, understanding smile. “What would Leo say ‘bout this?” he asked.

“I don't know,” she replied. “That's why I need Leo.” A sigh settled over her shoulders. “My point is…roundabout as it is, Giles is your Leo, as far as I can tell. He's doing everything they can for her, Spike. They might not have the answers for you now, but they will. You should've seen Giles when he got back to the main house. He's the Leo of your world. And he's doing what Leo does…gathering the Staffers and assigning them tasks to get the problem taken care of. The thing is, he has us, too. He has more than Willow, Wes, Xander and Anya right now. He has all of us. And we're all helping. Even Toby's buried in research. And considering that Toby barely likes any of us, the fact that he's helping even a little is kind of remarkable.”

“An' what's your job, pet?”

“I've decided that you need someone to keep you company.”

“Oh, you have?”

“Yes.”

Spike glanced again to Buffy, pulling her tighter against him. “'F she wakes up an' it's the other guy steerin', you know things'll get violent in here.”

Donna's brows arched. “Well, you see…Willow did the binding spell, and since I'm on the outside, I'm not all that worried.”

He snickered.

She frowned. “How is it that I can hand you things while the spell's intact, anyway?”

“'Cause the spell doesn' apply to you, I'd wager.”

“You don't think that my passing through the binding spell did anything to deactivate it, did you?”

“'F I say yes, will you go away an' get some sleep?”

She glanced away contemplatively. “Nah. What if you get thirsty?”

“You have to be the only voluntary vampire nurse in the world.”

“There are involuntary ones?”

He shrugged. “Statistics would suggest…”

She grinned. “Now you sound like Josh.”

“Oi!” He was smiling, though. “The bloke's lucky to have you, you know. Sittin' with a vamp, bringin' me blood…givin' me aspirin when there's no earthly reason for me to use it.” He shook his head. “You don' even know me, pet.”

“I don't need to.”

Spike quirked a brow. “No?”

Donna shook her head, gesturing to the girl in his arms. “Here's what I know about you,” she said. “You're a vampire. You're evil. You're soulless. You love her more than I've ever seen anyone love anyone. I knew it from the start, you know. Willow and I were teasing her in a diner because she had a crush on you.” Spike's eyes sparkled with a hint of poignancy, a trembling sigh escaping his body. “I have a great sense about these things, you know.”

“'Course.”

“You love her very much. You love her in ways that make me think romance novelists know what they're talking about.” She smiled at the warmth that flashed behind his gaze. “So yes, I am willing to sit here and keep you company. If she wakes up and starts snarling and speaking Latin…well, the President does that at least once a week, so it's going to take more than that to scare me away.”

Spike chuckled lightly. “Yeh. All right, pet. Twisted my arm an' all.”

“Yeah. Like you could do anything about it anyway.”

“Oh?”

“Well, aside the fact that I know you have a chip in your head and that you're behind that binding spell, there's the issue of you being a big softie, so I don't think there's anything you could've done about it, anyway.”

He scowled. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Wasn' always.”

“Probably were. Are in denial.” Donna shrugged. “I'm going to read now.”

“Right.”

“Abigail Adams. One of the first feminists in American history.”

“Fascinatin'.”

“At least it's not the cat.”

Spike's eyes rolled his eyes skyward. “Donna!”

She grinned, opening the book she had toted into the room and settling it comfortably in her lap. “Fine,” she replied. Then, softer, she added: “Joshua.”

The vampire glared at her ineffectively. She was reading. For now, she was reading.

And he had a god in his arms.

A god that could well rip off his arms when she awoke.

*~*~*

The moment she shifted, the moment before her eyes fluttered open, he knew it was her that he held. Buffy. The Slayer. Panting heavily. Drenched in sweat. Eyes wide and hazed with apology and more emotion than he had ever seen buried within the hazel glow of her warmth.

A wealth of emotion clogged his insides and he had to wan off the tears that stung his vision.

For a few minutes, she was here. She was here, awake, in his arms.

Thank God. Here. They would have seclusion. Donna had just fallen asleep. And he could be with her for whatever time the Powers gave him.

“Spike.” The sound of his name lulled the air lazily. A wrenching strain in her voice that tore at his heart. She tugged him closer, her face crumbling when she met his eyes. “Spike…I'm sorry.”

God .

“Don't be, baby,” he replied swiftly, not bothering the tedious game of playing dumb. He brushed a kiss across her temple. “'S fine. You'll be fine. We'll make it. I bloody well promise.”

She snuggled him closer. And when her next words tickled the air, he thought every last part of him had shattered without appeal.

“I'm scared.”

She knew. God, she knew.

“I know,” he whispered, because there was nothing else to say. “I'm here, baby. I'm not leavin' your side.”

“Promise?”

Spike shuddered and bit back the incursion of tears that were never far from spilling. He wanted to bask in their fear together. Wanted to cling to her and share tears, relate their similar fears of the future. Of the future that just a few hours before had been so bright, even if it was impossible.

He would do anything to share her fear. But he couldn't. Right now, he had play the part of their strength. He had to shoulder it alone, and he would for her. He would forget his fear and help her through hers. He had to.

“I promise, sweetheart. With all my heart.”

Even if he had never been more terrified.

Chapter 35

“Donna!”

Sam jolted as the outcry tore through the silence that had sat uninterrupted for nearly two hours and sent a pointed gaze in Josh's direction. The man was on the floor, surrounded by a mass of open, aged books and looked as though he had not even smelled a cup of coffee in ten years. “She's with Spike,” he said, drawing his friend's attention back to the present. To his credit, the Deputy Chief of Staff had lasted longer than Xander and Anya. Conversation had dwindled about four hours earlier, and those that had survived the night without succumbing to sleep were scattered in respective corners around the house.

Josh blinked at him groggily. “Huh?”

“Donna.”

“What about her?”

“She's with Spike. Well, she's with Spike and Buffy.”

“I know that.”

Sam arched a brow. “You just yelled for her.”

“Oh.” The other man frowned and ran a hand through his messy curls. “Force of habit. Anyway…what?”

“Did you find a thing?”

“What?”

“You yelled for Donna…does that mean you've found a thing?” Sam sighed and performed the routine battle with gravity as he wobbled to his feet. “Typically when you yell for Donna, it's because you've found a thing.”

Josh blinked again rapidly. “Oh. Right. Yeah, I found this thing.”

“What is it?”

The Deputy Chief of Staff stared at him numbly, looking to focus all his energy in not falling over. “What?”

“What did you find, Josh?”

“Oh. Yeah. This thing.” He held up the book to his face so that the pages only shied his nose by an inch or so. “Says…Quasimodo or whatever his name is has, among other things, the ability to bend the fabric of reality and has been known to…sire gods? Whatever the hell that means.” He set the text down again, swaying against his exhaustion. “I dunno what the hell I just said, but it sounds like something that's not good.”

“Yeah.” Sam frowned and navigated to his feet, wheedling the book away from his friend without much of a struggle. “Where did you find it?”

“'Bout a third of the way down on the odd-numbered page.”

The Deputy Communications Director grinned wryly. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “it is okay to sleep, Josh.”

A pause. “Hmmm?”

“I'm just saying, you look like you can use some sleep.”

“I'm fine.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Perfectly fine. Could go a few more hours.”

“Sure. All I'm saying is, it would likely be better if you were more alert while looking for this thing.” He shook his head and pivoted to return to his seat, then stopped abruptly as his eyes scanned the passage Josh had pointed out once again. Perhaps it was better to address this now before he got comfortable. “You know,” he said, turning to his friend once more, “I was being serious. You really should get some rest.”

Josh blinked. “How's it that you're still all...perky?”

“Because something tells me that this might be more important than beating the Republican leadership in committee.”

“Don't be so hasty.” The other man nodded, though, and yawned. “I'm perfectly fine.”

“Yeah.”

“I am.”

“Josh?”

“What?”

“Go to sleep.”

The Deputy Chief of Staff nodded and yawned again. “Okay.” And, without another word, he promptly toppled over, dead to the world.

Sam smiled slightly and cast a hand through his rumpled locks, adjusting his reading glasses. “Well,” he said, “that was easy.” He turned without lifting his head, making his way through the eerily silent halls that quaked with the first steps of morn to find where Willow had settled with her own research.

It didn't take long. The strains of formality between their groups had dwindled to practically nothing over the past few days. The doors to almost every room were wide open in the expectation of midnight visitors. Through the shadows of early dawn, he could see Xander lying open-mouthed on his back across the bed, Anya on the floor next to him. Her arm was stretched over the mattress, head resting against her boyfriend's just slightly. She had an open book in her lap.

The only room that was shut off from the rest of the world was Wesley's, and Sam could hear the small rustle of British quarrel from two former Watchers who refused to sleep.

He found Willow curled on her bed, her head cradled with a volume of open, ancient text. She had another book clutched to her chest, and another was draped over her hip. She looked peaceful, if not exhausted with worry. And too adorable for words.

A tender smile crossed his lips and he dropped his own test to his side as he approached the bed. She had literally worn herself out. And though he hated to disturb her, there were some matters that simply would not wait.

“Willow.”

There was a slight shift and she mumbled something that he didn't catch.

“Willow?” He drew in a deep breath and knelt beside the bed, tenderly brushing a few wayward strands of hair from her forehead. “Willow, I need you to wake up, now.”

“Mmmm.”

“Willow…”

His voice elevated just a few notches, and that was enough. She finally began to blink to awareness. Her eyes foggy with sleep, hand clutching at the book at her breast with sudden fervor. “I wasn't asleep!” she blurted before she was even aware of who had awakened her. “I was just…” Then she saw him, and her eyes softened. “It's you.”

He smiled. “It's me.”

She nodded and settled back, smiling drowsily. “I wasn't asleep,” she said.

“Of course you weren't.”

“I was resting my eyes.”

“Quite comfortably, from the looks of things.”

A scowl crossed her face and she sat up with sudden fervor. “I wasn't sleeping,” she said. “This is how I research. I sit, I'm surrounded by books that say many important and interesting things, and—”

“You sleep.”

“I wasn't sleeping!”

“Willow, Josh found a thing.”

The semi-alert teasing persona immediately dropped from her façade, and she was fully awake the next minute. “What? What is it?”

“Well, nothing about how to help Buffy, but it's something that wasn't mentioned before.” He extended the book for her viewing. “Quirinias has the ability to create gods, it looks like. Aside being one himself. What Josh didn't see was the subtext.” Her eyes immediately leapt to the aforementioned text. “It seems he might be the same as an African god called Buku, who was at times worshipped as a goddess. I don't know exactly what this means, but I think it might be a good idea to start cross-referencing other noted gods in history to see what other cultures might have called this guy.”

Willow licked her lips and nodded, then frowned, shoved herself to her feet and glared at him. “Wait. No. No, this shouldn't be important. Because we're gonna find a thing and it's going to be okay. And we won't have to find out what happens if Quirinias becomes corporeal, because it's not gonna happen. Right? Why are you wasting time looking up stuff like this?”

Sam frowned his surprise and gave her a long look. “I…I didn't…Willow, I know that we're going to help Buffy, but we have to be prepared for the alternative.”

She shook her head. “No. I—”

“When we're running an election, we don't bank that we're going to win no matter how good our numbers are. If you don't believe me, Josh and Toby will vouch. We have to know what to expect if something really bad happens.” He held up the book again. “And if this guy's bad enough to be named in other cultures and listed as one of the gods that can create other gods, I'm thinking we have even more incentive to get Buffy thoroughly exorcised.”

There was a long, silent moment.

“First,” she began, a sharp edge to her tone that she had never taken with him. The rapidity of it all nearly blew him off his feet. This was the last thing he had expected. “Buffy's my best friend. I don't need incentive more than that. Secondly, don't use the world exorcised. I'm not a priest, this isn't a 70s horror movie…and if I was a priest, I wouldn't be, ‘cause I'm Jewish and priests really, really aren't.”

His eyes widened, hands coming up in protest. “Whoa, girl. Calm down. I'm just saying—”

Willow gave him another long, hard look before she sighed and glanced to the floor, tension rolling off her shoulders. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm just…this thing just happened, and I'm so…” A deep breath. “You know if anything happens…if we find anything, it's going to be up to me to fix her. I've never had to do that. I've never been the one who saves the world. I keep needing to talk to Buffy, and Buffy's the one who might bring on the apocalypse.” She shook her head with a quivering sigh. “I just can't let myself believe that I will fail, you know? And I can't sleep on the job. I'm supposed to be researching and I was—”

Sam grasped her hand and tugged her forward to silence her with a kiss. It wasn't much he had to offer, but she softened in his arms and quivered relief into his mouth. Willow's kisses were drops of honey. Like discovering candy that was sweeter than anything he had ever before had the privilege of sampling.

It was meant to be a short, loving kiss, but at first taste he knew he was lost. There was something about her purity, her sweetness that hooked him at the slightest touch. In seconds, the loom of the god that brought the apocalypse on his heels and everything else that had everyone choked with tension they could not swallow—all of it was forgotten. The book in his grasp toppled to the ground, his hands coming to cup her face with gentle veneration. And for a few blissful seconds, there was no world around them, no worries to distract them. Nothing to keep them from the simple grace that was this.

And as all perfection must, theirs faded and the world returned. They pulled away with reluctance but the sort of haste that came with the importance of things bigger than themselves. That instant of guilt that came along with momentarily forgetting what was important.

He smiled when it took her a few seconds to compose herself, despite the nature of the circumstance. “Well, that wasn't planned, but I can't say I disapprove.”

She grinned girlishly. “You really know how to romance a girl, Sam,” she said, clearing her throat before she bent over to collect the book he had dropped. “Kiss the life out of her, then scientifically explain how the kiss itself wasn't scheduled, but you're glad for the sudden burst of creativity.”

The smile faded just like that. “I didn't mean—”

“I know.” She kissed his cheek with a grin. “I was just saying.”

“Well, I got a smile out of you. My morning's already made.” A slow sigh escaped his lips. “You shouldn't deprive yourself of sleep. I know you're stressed, but you're not alone. We're all here to help.”

She quirked a brow, taking in the ragged appearance of him. “Have you slept yet?”

He paused with a frown. “No…?”

A grumble. “How are you so perky?”

Sam shrugged. “I work for the President. I'm used to these hours.”

“I'm in college.”

“Yeah, I think I win.”

“I don't know. My psych professor's kinda scary.”

He waved his hand demonstratively. “Congress.”

“Okay. You win.” She grinned a bit. “But still, you shouldn't be lecturing me on my sleeping habits if you're not getting any rest, either.”

“I'm used to it,” he said with a weary smile. “Listen, I'm going to go downstairs and start breakfast for the Millers. Don't want them to worry with it, especially with the night they had with the light show and the town finally realizing what's going on around here. Then we're going to sit down and go over these books with a hot meal and good coffee and figure out what it is we're supposed to do, okay?”

The redhead arched a brow and shook her head. “No. You're not going to be any good to me if you pass out at noon. Try to get a little sleep. I'll make the breakfast and the coffee and start going over some new stuff that you'll be all ready to help me with when you've had a few hours of rest.”

“Willow—”

“Really. It's, what…” She glanced around the room for a clock and nearly toppled over when the time stared back at her. “Good lord, it's almost five-thirty. You've been up all this time?”

“I know. I look cheery, don't I?”

“Are you the only one up?”

Sam shook his head. “Giles and Wesley were talking when I came in. Josh stayed up until about twenty minutes ago until I told him to go to sleep and he collapsed on command. I'm pretty sure that Spike is still up.”

“Why?”

“The light in the townhouse was on. Besides, if I was in his position, I wouldn't be able to sleep if you gave me a sedative.”

Willow smiled and neared to brush a bold kiss against his lips. “You're sweet.”

He grinned. “You are not wrong in this.”

“You're also going to sleep.” She stepped away and moved around him for the door. “I'll be up around noon to wake you and get you back, okay?”

“Where do you want me to go?”

A coy grin crossed her face. “You can use my bed.”

“Well, if I knew that, I would have tried to go to sleep a long time ago.”

“Good, but I fell asleep on Donna's bed, so that would've been a lost cause.” Willow heaved a sigh and shook her head. “I'm going downstairs now.”

“Yeah. I just have this thing.” There was a deep breath and a sudden drop of their pleasant, however nervous banter. Her eyes met his anxiously. “I know that this is…it's your life. I know that saving the world is what you're used to. And I know the level of stress in your life must make the stress in mine look like child's play. Which, I might add, is no small feat of victory. But I was just wondering…”

Her gaze had gone wide with expectation, suddenly even more nervous than he thought she could become. And almost immediately, he understood the nature of her misapprehension and started with a tense laugh. “I want this,” he reassured her. “I really want this to work. I want to continue seeing you after all of this is over. I just want to know…is this the way it's going to be?”

“Is what the way it's going to be?”

“This.” Sam stretched his arms expressively. “Buffy's possessed by a god and you keep using the word apocalypse. Apocalypse, by definition, meaning no more world and it's somehow my fault because I read a few words out of a book that no one had seen in centuries. Is this the way it is? Will I have to worry about you every second?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. No to me, yes to everything else.” She smiled humorlessly. “This happens. It happens a lot. The first year I knew Buffy, the world nearly ended. Same the second and the third—well, the Hellmouth opened once and then there was an apocalypse on the third, so really…we average an apocalypse every year. This being the fourth, the fact that we're facing another one right now? Not really surprising. So yes. With me comes the added bonus of the annual apocalypse. The thing is…now that you know it happens every year, and that it's been happening every year...does that really change anything?”

Sam licked his lips and stepped forward, expelling a deep breath. He kept his eyes trained on hers, because it was important that she know exactly how deeply he meant what he was about to say. “No. It doesn't change anything. The world turns, the sun rises and sets, and evidently, unspeakable demons try to destroy everything every few months. And I like you, and I want to make sure that you know that I'm all right with this, because something is going on here and I want it to continue after we're through in Natchez.”

Her eyes warmed and the tension in her body rolled off with smooth pliancy. “Good,” she said.

“But why can't I worry about you?”

“Oh you can. Just won't do any good.”

He quirked a brow.

“I'm a witch,” she explained, shrugging. “Can pretty much take care of myself.”

“And that's the same reason you're so worried about a god, because you're a witch and you can take care of yourself.”

“Shut up. And you need to sleep.”

“I really don't.”

“Well, I'm saying you do. So go to sleep.”

Sam smiled. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“You better go now.”

“I'm going.” She turned around with a note of finality and strode toward the door. And, before leaving him in his own company, she tossed over her shoulder, “I'll be back at noon. Be ready to study.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She chuckled but didn't turn to face him. And was gone within the next second.

The Deputy Communications Director smiled and turned to the bed. The concept of sleep was somewhat beyond him. He had gotten through that part of the night where one felt like one could topple at any instant and was to the point of slaphappy where sleep was on the brink of being tackled and yet he felt wide awake.

There was so much riding on what they could dig out of those old books. Spike had not left Buffy's side, and would not if Sam could read any of how much the vampire loved his Slayer. It struck him odd that it took stepping outside the realm of reality to find something that was allegedly true in the world he had grown up in. But even with the marriage of the President and the First Lady, something he aspired to in his own life, there was nothing like the dedication he had seen in just these few days with the demon who was not supposed to love.

No. He was grateful for it, but he knew as well as Willow that there was no chance of sleep.

*~*~*

The sun had been in the sky for about seven hours. He didn't see it; didn't need to have his eyes open to feel it. Didn't even need to sense the warmth that crept through closed windows and touched the curtains in the back room of the townhouse. His eyes had been fastened shut for the better part of morning, and now that the day was stretching into afternoon, that small nagging at the back of his head was growing louder and more insistent. She was in his arms, soft and warm. Peaceful. For the moment, she was peaceful. She had slept the night through without shrieking. Without ripping through his heart, which no longer required bloodshed. She had slept.

It was afternoon. Donna was in the other room, watching television and trying to not make too much noise. She thought him asleep as well.

As though he could sleep while Buffy was dying.

A trembling sigh thundered through his body and he clutched her tighter, burying his face in her hair.

God.

He should have known this was going to happen. He should have sensed it.

For a few hours, he had been so happy. They had been so, so happy. Happy in ways that creatures of the night were not allowed. Happy in ways he had never known in life. Never known with Drusilla. Never known were possible until he knew the warmth of her embrace.

Chancing fate. It was his fault. All of it.

And Buffy was stirring.

Spike blinked and his body tensed. Buffy was stirring.

Here we go.

He sat up, pulling her with him so that she was cradled in his arms. “Buffy?” he murmured, brushing a kiss into her hair. “Sweetheart? I'm here. Do you need anything?”

There was nothing for a minute but the normal happenstance of waking after a long night's rest. She crooned, mumbled, rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, and yawned a little.

Spike closed his eyes painfully and kissed her forehead. “Kitten? Are you—”

Then it happened. She tensed, her grip on him tightening; her nails digging into his skin. Her head jerked back and he saw her eyes.

Her gold eyes that swam in blood.

“Oh God.”

Then she screamed. A shrill, piercing rip through the air that tore through his heart.

She screamed and screamed.

And wouldn't stop.

Chapter 36

Amazing that in their line of work, with all that had happened—with all the death they had seen—there was never too much blood. One of the benefits of saving the world from vampires; blood was always a hot commodity, and usually gone in all the dead they came across. As though demons and fate went out of their way to purposefully censor minds that somehow remained impressionable from the raw horrors of life. The horrors even they had yet to see.

Which was why, in retrospect, the splatters of crimson that stained the vampire's bedroom incited so much shock. It was real. If nothing else, that alone made it real. Shoved them through that final threshold from fantasy to reality that, even with all they had seen, had yet to cross.

Donna had rushed out of the townhouse the minute Buffy shrieked and brought back with her Willow, Giles, Josh, and Sam. The elder Watcher had ordered Xander and Wesley to stay back amidst their protest, not wanting them in the crossfire. Not wanting them to see Buffy like this.

And now…

There were gashes in her side, streaks of red raked down her arms. A mass of tears and screams as the vampire struggled to keep her down, ignoring every time she pierced his body with her teeth, digging her fingers into his sides until the white of aged bones winked through broken skin. His hair was stained with red, and there were claw marks at his throat. And he didn't react to anything. Didn't pay his own wounds any mind. He had her straddled at the waist, fighting her thrashing arms to pin her to the mattress. There was noise all around him, but he didn't notice. His focus was entirely devoted to Buffy.

She was screaming in tongues; her skin saturated in blood.

And all through it, no matter what she did to him, Spike remained with her all along. It was a gruesomely beautiful sight. The vampire wrestling the woman he loved as she ripped through his skin, ignoring the tears that spilled down his face that were not for him at all.

“Shhhh,” he pleaded against her screams, his demeanor never firing above calm and gentle despite how she fought him. “Please, baby, it's all right. ‘S all right.”

“Quod incepimus conficiemus!” she howled, wrestling an arm free and smacking him in a fierce backhand that, despite brute, failed to throw him off her. “Respice post te, mortalem te esse memento, vampir!”

He smiled poignantly. “Not really mortal, luv,” he said. “Jus' look the part.”

The blonde grinned at him maniacally. Blood was splattered on her teeth. “Mundas vult decipi,” she rasped. “Eram quod es, eris quod sum.”  

“Wouldn't be so sure of that.” Spike struggled against the weight of her and pressed his body down until he was lying completely on top of her. “Shhh, sweetheart. ‘S all right.” It was difficult, but he managed to brush a kiss across her forehead, despite the claw mark she burned into his throat in rebuttal. “Come on, baby. ‘S all right. I'm here. I'm not leavin'. I'm right here.”

“Prepozen, vampir.”

“I love you. Buffy—”

“Ona dan!”

He smiled a watery smile, face crumbling at the sight of her. “Switch back to Latin, sweetheart?” he asked softly, running a hand across her cheek. “You're not makin' sense to me now.”

Perhaps the tenderness in the display, despite the splatters of blood that smeared every corner, was what finally drew his horrified audience out of their astonishment.

“Josh,” Donna whispered. “We gotta get him out of here.”

The elder Watcher nodded when the other man couldn't, stepping forward to place a hand on the redhead's shoulder. “Willow,” he said softly. “What's holding him?”

“He's vaulted. He asked to be kept in the same binding spell along with her.”

Donna shook her head. “That's not what's holding him in there.”

A guttural snarl trembled in the back of the Slayer's throat, her eyes flashing dangerously. The next wail to escape her lips was in a language that no one in the room had heard before—in a language foreign to the very strain of humanity. Spike didn't blink, didn't move. Didn't even register that he was no longer alone in the room. The full of his attention was with her, and the more she tried to scare him, the more persistent he became.

He was bleeding enough to make a vampire pass out.

“Willow,” Giles whispered urgently.

She nodded. “Yeah.” Her hands dropped to her sides, then extended palms out. And immediately the temperature in the room plummeted. It had nothing to do with power in that moment and everything to do with exigency.

Which was why it took so little to break Spike's tie to the binding spell and cast him violently across the room. It all happened quickly—such to the fact that everyone, including the writhing would-be god, stopped in blank astonishment.

“Yeah,” Josh said after a moment, blinking when Donna broke from her haze to rush across the room and help Spike to his feet. “'Cause when a vampire's battered and bleeding, throwing him around like a doll is what you wanna do.”

“Shut up!” his assistant hissed, encouraging the limping blonde to her shoulder. “You're not helping, Joshua.”

It took a few seconds in the midst of the heavy atmosphere for Spike to realize exactly what had happened. His mind swam with the unspoken, and when his gaze finally landed on the bed he had just occupied, it didn't take long to reach a conclusion.

And immediately, his face set to anger; he rumbled a howl that somehow rivaled the insane ramblings of a god inside his Slayer's body. “What the fuck do you think you're doin'?” he snarled, making a mad-leap back for the bed that rendered him against the wall again. He didn't bother to look to Willow for confirmation. It was manifest what she had done, and only served to make him angrier. “You bloody bastards! Let me back in! She needs me!”

“She's tearing you apart,” Sam argued, eyes wide.

“Yeh. An' I'll take a chapter out of her book on the lot of you ‘f you don' get me back in there now!” He flashed to the Witch angrily at that. “I swear on everythin' holy an' not, Red, ‘f you don' let me get back to her right fuckin' now, I'll—”

Willow held up a hand, calm, her body language tempered and her breathing steady. That was nothing to say for the irate man beside her, who looked tempted to give Spike a piece of what he was missing in his cage with the enraged god for merely suggesting what he was suggesting.

The vampire wasn't interested in Sam, though. And he seemed to be the only one who took offense. Even the Watcher looked sympathetic, which surprised him more than he wanted to admit. More than he would at present.

“Spike,” the Witch said gently, neutrally, “you're not going to be any help to her if she rips your head off, okay? I'm here for her, too.” Willow cast a glance to the bed. “You have to let me help her.”

The Cockney glared at her for a few seconds, tempered only by Donna's reassuring presence. It wasn't much, but for whatever reason, he felt the waves of compassion and trust rolling off her in stronger form than anyone—aside his Slayer—had ever attempted to give him. Her hand was on his wrist. Grounding him with logic and tempering his demon from the irrational temptation to shove the interfering redhead across the room and make another mad leap for the bed.

It didn't matter the next second, anyway. The Witch had entered the perimeter of her own binding spell and was tentatively approaching the writhing figure on the bed.

“Willow…” The strain to Sam's voice echoed at an oddly shrill volume around the room.

“It's all right,” Giles reassured him, even if he didn't believe it. “She has to try.”

“Yeah, ‘cause all this is too William Peter Blatty for my taste,” Josh agreed.

Spike wasn't listening; his eyes were glued on the Witch, his nerves calming the quenching taste of rationality. Somewhere between the light and the dark, he recognized help when he saw it. Through blood there had to be some sacrifice, and while his body fought similar strains to return to his Slayer's side, he could do nothing but watch and hope that the redhead could provide them a sliver of hope with whatever she planned to do.

It didn't last long. The second that Willow touched Buffy's arm, her eyes went black with an overload of power and a terrible piercing shriek tore through her throat before the impact sent her forcibly to the nearest wall. The foundation rumbled and cracked, and she screamed again, her body succumbing to small convulsions.

Sam was at her side almost immediately, pulling her into his arms.

“Shhh,” he murmured, rubbing comforting strokes against her back. “It's all right. You're all right.”

She was. She was all right.

She was also unconscious.

“What happened?” Josh demanded, eyes wide. “Is she—”

“She's fine!” Sam snapped, rising to his feet, the redhead curled possessively in his arms. “But she's not doing that again.”

“Yeh,” Spike barked, “'cause you're in a position to tell her what to do. Her best friend is dying!”

“And I'm sure she'll be loads of help if she's dead.”

Donna stared at him. “Sam, she needs—”

“We'll take her back to the house,” Giles said softly. “Come on. We need to get her awake. Without Willow—”

“She's not doing that again,” the Deputy Communications Director spat. And though it took a few seconds, the fatherly look in the Watcher's eyes swayed his conviction and he passed off the Witch into Giles's arms.

Spike's glare refused to waver. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he rasped as the elder man moved for the door. The spontaneity of the accusation caused everyone to stop; a sort of inherent knowledge that it was directed toward Sam's panicked brashness.

“Someone who cares enough to know when something hurts someone, you don't have them do it twice!”

That was it. The vampire burst into game face and moved forward quicker than anyone could have anticipated. The chip sent a sharp charge to his brain when he shoved Sam against the wall, but he brushed it off as a minor squick. It was gratifying to see a flash of very real fear banish the irrationality behind his objection, as well as the dual gasps that erupted from Josh and Donna. Being feared, especially in times like this, gave him a sense of indulgence—of power—that he desperately needed.

“Buffy's dyin'!” he screamed, shaking the terrified man again. The chip sounded once more but he ignored it. Ignored everything except his boiling outrage. “She's fuckin' dying an' your girlfriend's the only sodding one of us that can help! So ‘f touchin' her blasts Red from here to the bloody Mississippi, I don' give a fuck. If it makes you feel better, I can gouge your eyes out. Don' care how much it hurts—you're not standin' in my way!”

Donna's gaze widened in horror. “Spike?”

He whipped his head at her, snarling, eyes blazing. “The lot of you are in over your heads,” he barked. “'F you don't save Buffy, you lose the bleedin' world, then it won' matter which of us are alive an' which aren't.”

Josh snapped to at that and took a hasty step forward. “Hey, he's just—”

“Pissin' me off. Get him the fuck outta here.”

“You can't just—”

“Spiiiike…” The plea tore through the air, the last verse of a poem he had yet to complete. And just like that, the hostility drowned from the vampire's eyes and he abruptly dropped his hold on the man and pivoted, almost certain his heart had started pounding after nearly a century and a quarter in hibernation. His breath caught when he read the pain behind her eyes. As though every mark she had inflicted upon his body only now thought to scream its agony. “Spike, where are you?”

Donna whimpered and covered her mouth.

“'m here, baby,” he said, anger replaced with anguish.

Her head whipped back and forth, her body arching off the mattress. “Left me. Left me.”

“No, sweetheart, I'm right here.” Without thinking, he had rushed to her side, breeching the former perimeter of Willow's invisible wall to draw her into his arms. “Never leave you. I promise. ‘m right here.”

Within seconds, his t-shirt was saturated with tears, dampening the blood that had not yet begun to dry. “Left me,” she sobbed, clutching at him feverishly. “You left me.”

Spike pressed a kiss to her temple and shook his head, fighting the incursion of tears that immediately swelled in his eyes. “I'll never leave you. Never. Right here. I'm right here.”

“Oh God,” Donna gasped, her gaze landing on the stupefied men at her left. “Okay. You two need to get out now. This is private.”

“How is he in there at all?” the Deputy Chief of Staff demanded. “Didn't Willow—”

“Willow's gone—she didn't ground the spell. Really Josh, it's pretty simple.” Easy enough for her to say. She motioned erratically for the door. “Now get out.”

“Are you coming?”

“Yes. Now get.”

“But what if—”

Her eyes narrowed. “Joshua.”

There was something inherent in that tone that he understood, and by the widening of his gaze, she knew that he knew. And that was all it took. The next second, they were bustled into the living quarters; the door firmly shut behind them.

Donna remained in the room a minute, glancing at Spike. “I'll be here if you need me,” she said gently. “Just holler.”

He nodded, cooing comfortingly into Buffy's ear, his lips caressing her forehead every few seconds. It wasn't until the blonde was ready to follow her coworkers that he registered exactly what had happened and felt obligated to speak up. “Donna.”

She turned to him on tenterhooks.

“Thank you.”

A smile kissed her cheeks. “There's nothing to thank me for,” she said, and was gone the next second.

And then it was just them. Lovers holding each other in a sea of blood, ignoring all around them. Indulging this with the knowledge that it might be the last.

*~*~*

“How's she doing?”

Giles glanced up, unsurprised to see Sam waiting in the doorway. It had barely been ten minutes since he carried the unconscious redhead out of the townhouse, and as expected, the Deputy Communications Director was the first aside Xander to follow his footsteps up to the room Willow and Donna shared. He didn't know exactly what was going on between the man from the White House and his other surrogate daughter, but he was beyond trying to talk rationalities out—whether they be between personal relationships with long-distance politicians or evil but chipped vampires. There were certain means to the world that put the insignificant objections on the spotlight and shoved them violently aside. Right now, all he cared about was that a man that he trusted was here who cared about the Witch. Cared about her enough to shove logics aside.

“She's coming out of it,” he said gently, offering him the washcloth he was using to dab her forehead. “It won't be long now.”

“What happened?” Sam blinked warily and took a step forward. In that, accepting the other man's offering to not-so-subtly take his place at her side. “I mean, why did she react to touching Buffy the way she did? Spike hasn't been—”

“Spike's connection with Buffy is different than Willow's,” he explained. “Spike is with her because he loves her. He's there to keep her grounded. And I think the…whatever is happening to her…that Quirinias can differentiate between someone who's there because he loves her, and someone who's there to cast him out. Besides…” He quirked a slight brow. “Willow has power that she is not even aware of. Power that, I can imagine, will be tapped into far too prematurely. And…I do not want to think of the consequences.”

“Consequences?”

“If Willow succeeds in banishing Quirinias…and even if she doesn't…she will be channeling more magic than she ever has before, and I am not talking about increments.” The Watcher sighed. “The difference in banishing a god and doing the sort of magic that she is accustomed to is akin to wading in a swimming pool and winning the gold in the Olympics. One customarily works up to what we will inevitably ask of her. She is going to leap in blindly to more magic than anyone should ever have to channel at one occasion. The chances of…” Giles glanced down, removing his glasses for the habitual polishing. “We cannot lose Buffy,” he said. “If we lose Buffy, we lose the world. And…but at the same time…Willow can lose herself just as easily.”

Sam licked his lips, unaware of how hard his heart was beating. “Giles—”

“These are my children,” the other man murmured. “Buffy and Willow…I'm gambling both of them. I have to look at it objectively. Think of the world. Not think about how if I don't let Willow do this, I lose Buffy and the world. If I do, I risk losing Willow to something she cannot begin to fathom. Every Watcher has lost his Slayer…if they hadn't, we wouldn't be here. Slayers are subjects of time. Buffy has already outlasted the average life expectancy for those Chosen. She isn't the oldest, by any means…but she is getting there. And I will have to lose her.” He exhaled deeply, unable to keep from trembling. “I just suppose I never thought it would actually happen. Buffy has always prevailed. Always. She has more talent, more raw ability, than any Watchers have ever…I knew it would come eventually…I simply never thought it would happen now. With this. Finding Faith? Who knew that this would be…” He glanced down and shook his head. “I'm gambling the lives of my little girls, Sam. And the world is what I'm gambling against.”

A brief silence settled the room; Sam brushed locks of hair away from Willow's face. “And there's no other way,” he said. “You can't harness the power to banish Quirinias. Is there no one else?”

“No.”

“I thought perhaps Anya, since she is a former demon—”

“Anya doesn't have power anymore. She is human. She has experience and knowledge to her credit, but she doesn't have power. Willow is the only one here who has a chance of getting…of anything.” A deep breath. “And we're running out of time.”

*~*~*

It was a brief interlude. The quiet of the townhouse surrounding them, her quivering breaths crackled the air, and he cradled her. Two broken beings, drenched in blood. Melded together in tears they shared. Spike rocked her gently, quivering hands drawing hair away from her beautiful face. The soft exploration behind her touch making his insides quiver with tortured sorrow.

God, they had to make this all right. If she died…if he lost her…there would be no recovery.

If she died, he died with her.

“Spike,” she whimpered, skin trembling. “God. It hurts.”

How simple it was for his heart to break.

“Buffy—”

“Hurts so much.”

“'m here, baby. I'm not leavin'.” He pulled away and kissed the tears off her cheeks, saying nothing for the shower pouring down his face. “'m never leavin'. I love you so much.” Spike shook his head, clutching her tighter to him. “Should've been me. God, one move.”

Buffy stiffened against him, grasp on his forearms tightening. “No.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Couldn't. Not…one of us.” Her hand slid down his arm, fingers lacing through his. “Together,” she whispered, pressing her palm to his palm. “Can't be anything but together. I love—”

Spike choked a sob and shook his head, mind swimming with the weight of what she was about to say. The confession. The words he yearned to hear. Not now. It couldn't happen now. Not like this. Not when it felt so much like a goodbye. “No.”

“No?”

“Tell me after. Tell me when you're better.” He brushed his lips against her forehead again. “Tell me when the world is saved. Don' tell me now. Don' tell me when…jus' not now.”

Buffy searched his eyes for a long moment. The battered, purplish glow of her beautiful face breaking his heart. It wouldn't last. In minutes—in seconds—the hazel eyes he loved so much would be gone again. Replaced with that insidious blaze of reddish gold that reminded him of slaughtered angels. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. But if—”

“No.”

She licked her bleeding lips as her eyes fluttered shut. “If…you know. Right? You know without me saying it. You know?”

Spike studied her for a long minute, the very last of his resolve crumbling.

Buffy loved him.

Buffy loved him, and she needed him to know.

Just in case.

And for everything in the world, he could not deny her this. He could not deny her anything, let alone the line between now and forever.

“Yes,” Spike whispered, hugging her close before pulling away again. It was important that she knew that he meant it. “Yes, I know. God, I know.”

A smile crossed her broken face, and she nodded her understanding. Her gratitude. The wealth of love burning behind her eyes was a sight he would never forget. Never.

Never, because it felt too much like goodbye.

Chapter 37

Washington DC. 8:03AM, EST

Leo McGarry was not looking forward to the conversation he was about to have.

Gauging the mood of the President on any given day was nothing that he would ever call simple. Theirs was friendship that stretched years before that fateful afternoon where he had scribbled Bartlet For America on a napkin and delivered it to the governor's mansion in New Hampshire. A friendship that would undoubtedly outlast this presidency and every other until they were in the ground. He knew the President better than anyone outside the First Family. He knew him well enough to trust him with his life. To trust him with the fate of the nation.

And thus, he knew him well enough to know there was no way to predict how he would react to what he had to tell him now. What he had dreaded telling him since the day he was taken aside and briefed by Nancy McNally. Since he realized it was true—saw the documentation, read the reports of respected men throughout history, and realized that they were dealing with much more than anyone on the outside could have imagined.

When he received that first phone call from Josh, he knew, despite thankless hope, that it was only time before he had to go to Fitz and McNally and explain that the President had to be told.

The first Commander in Chief to be in the know since the Initiative was formed in the years following World War I.

The President was with the Joint Chiefs when Leo entered the Oval, which was timely as he needed at least Fitz or someone that Bartlet would trust not to jerk him around. The Chief of Staff nodded in confirmation and the meeting quickly broke up, all but the Chairman vacating within seconds.

“They don't believe me when I say I'm going to recommend they be paid in bananas,” the President said, moving around the desk, removing his glasses once he caught a glance of the seriousness on Leo's face. “What's going on?”

Leo took a long moment himself, mentally recalculating what he needed to convey. Never in his wildest had he thought that he would be standing in the Oval Office, preparing to tell the Commander in Chief what he was about to say. This promised to be the most awkward conversation of their acquaintance. “Mr. President,” he began. “We have a situation that requires your immediate attention.”

The President didn't say anything, just waited. That was fine. It was how he gave the go-ahead in grave circumstances.

Leo expelled a deep breath and nodded at Fitzwallace, who moved forward automatically.

“Mr. President,” the other man began. “About seventy years ago, the United States government began a program that specialized in investigations of paranormal activity after numerous reports and independent field studies at locations around the country. Namely Cleveland, Ohio, and a small town in California called Sunnydale. While there have been other noted sites, these are the two we have been most focused on.” He paused to glance cautiously at the Chief of Staff. “It began as a research committee and in the years since has become a more involved branch of military operations. Particularly in World War II, when the government wanted to utilize its findings against the Germans in a number of war-time scenarios.”

The President nodded, his expression unreadable. “What exactly were these findings, and why are they relevant now?”

Fitz turned to Leo again as though offering him a last-out before they opened Pandora's box. “Mr. President, what I'm about to tell you is classified information. Understand that it is an admitted position of liability, and the reason this is the first you're hearing of it should be rather self-explanatory. A branch of the military called the Initiative respectfully investigates and detains otherworldly beings known as hostiles. Hostiles typically refer to…vampires, were-creatures, and assorted demons. Recently, experimentation on hostiles has extended to harnessing them with advanced computer chips to submit neurological shocks in hopes of downsizing the number of violent attacks perpetrated each year against humans.” The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. The President just stared at him. “The unusual amount of activity in Cleveland and Sunnydale, California is typically thought to be accredited with a heightened focus of demonic activity. The reason you're learning about this now is that we believe something involving your staff might occur within the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours. In the case of Josh Lyman, Toby Ziegler, Sam Seaborn, and the assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff, it is the Initiative's decree that the town of Natchez, Mississippi has been sealed off for such purpose because something in their territory is about to go down. Approximately forty-five minutes ago, Leo received a phone call from Josh that—”

The President held up a hand and Fitz immediately broke off. He waited a minute, then turned to Leo, a frown on his face. “I'm sorry. You must have lost me at the part about vampires.”

“Believe me, Mr. President,” the Chief of Staff replied, “it might be better if you sit down. In a minute, Fitz is going to hand you a file that details the major projects the Initiative has undergone over the past seven decades. Most recently, an underground facility in California. As we understand it, our guys are staying in close proximity with some residents of Sunnydale, which we think might have something to do with what is going on.”

There was another pause.

“We're using American tax dollars to fund the research of vampires,” the President said, expelling a long, disbelieving breath. “Well, I'm glad this is coming out now. I was just about to announce that the FBI has a lead on that absurdly large fellow who flies around in a reindeer-guided sleigh one night a year and very suspiciously leaves toys for children worldwide. They're planning on making the arrest right after completing the capture of the Easter Bunny.”

Leo inhaled deeply. Only one of the many reasons why he had been dreading the conversation was the note of incredulity, beyond the shock that came with realism. “Mr. President—”

“Did I mention aliens have invaded Zimbabwe?”

This was not going well. “Mr. President—”

“Leo, I have a meeting with the British Prime Minister five minutes ago, and you're holding me back to talk about vampires?”

“Josh has met one.”

“Are you sure he wasn't talking about Republicans? You know how he likes to be funny.”

“Sam and Toby concur. They're currently living within close proximity of a century old vampire known as William the Bloody. William the Bloody being renowned through history in a number of texts that I have on reserve for your perusal, not to mention a former hostile of the Initiative.” The Chief of Staff took a minute. “Also with them is a young woman who claims to be what was thought a myth until recently—”

“And here I thought you covered ‘myth' by the mention of vampires.”

“—a vampire slayer. In a series of events that we believe might have been caused by Sam reading out of a book, it appears the situation in Natchez has grown to catastrophic proportions, and…well…” He sighed and shook his head, turning to Fitz with a shrug. “There's just no good way to say this without sounding crazy, is there?”

The other man grinned slightly. “No, sir.”

The President chuckled and shook his head. “If your objective was to not sound crazy until now, my friend, you have remarkably underdone yourself.”

That much was to be expected. Leo smiled in spite of himself, but continued. “From what Josh has told me, the vampire slayer has been possessed by the spirit of an ancient god and will commence the ending of the world if they cannot perform a rite to banish the deity.”

“Leo, is it possible that you have fallen down recently?”

“Mr. President.” Fitz again, nudging forward with the thick file compiled with the evidence needed to believe such an extraordinary claim. “We understand your hesitation. Hell, you should've seen Leo when the news was broken to him.” He smiled gently. “We would not be burdening you with this information if we did not have reason to believe that the situation has grown dismal. Our experts have spoken with two of the guardians of the Slayer, and we are prepared to patch a call into the Watcher's Council in England if need be. Josh contacted us recently because there has been a dispute over the text that, as we understand it, might be what the world is resting on right now. Aside it being a personal issue now, it turns out they need a Latin expert to settle the disagreement.”

The Oval Office had known its share of unearthly silences. This one easily surpassed all that Leo had seen since Jed Bartlet took office. And honestly, if it had been anything but, he would have rethought the entire process by which the man before him was elected.

“Did Mrs. Landingham put you two up to this? She has this tendency to think she's funny, too.”

“Not in the Oval Office,” Leo said with a slight grin. “Charlie can tell you that.”

“I'm just saying, if she offered you cookies, I'd understand. She doesn't give out cookies for just anything.”

Fitz just shook his head and forfeited the aforementioned file. “That will have everything you need to know in it,” he said. “And all due respect, Mr. President, Josh's description of the situation in Natchez sounds dire. I am here at his and Leo's urging. Things are looking to get pretty severe.”

“This is real.” He said it in a manner that clearly defined his current opinion on reality. “You're telling me that the apocalypse is about to happen, well-equipped with fire and brimstone.” The President took a minute to glance from one man to the other. “You're standing in the most prestigious office in the world, telling me that Sam opened the book of Revelations in Mississippi and that they need my help to stop it?”

Leo shrugged. “Well, on the upside, you wouldn't be the first President to save the world.”

“I think those were of the less literal nature, and usually less directly reliant on the sitting Commander in Chief.” There was another pause. The President sighed and glanced down, the formality in his tenor dropping at last to the pretense he took among friends. “All right. I'm going to go through this now before I decide to have you two committed. Leo?”

“I'll be in my office.”

He nodded. “That's all.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.” And that was that. Leo turned at the heel and traveled the small distance back through his private entrance to the Oval Office, finding it strange that he should act so normal when this thing had happened. As if it was a routine conversation. As if it was one of the hundred times he had left the President after a Senior Staff meeting and now was the time to go back to work.

Inside the Oval, Bartlet had situated himself behind the Resolute Desk, adjusting his glasses before flipping the file open.

Then, a pause.

“Charlie!”

The door at his right opened almost immediately. “Mrs. Landingham wants me to remind you that it's not necessary to bellow, Mr. President.”

“Mrs. Landingham can kiss my foot. I need you to give my apologies to the Prime Minister and have that old curmudgeon rearrange our meeting.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“And somebody get me a banana.”

“Yes, sir.”

Charlie was gone the next minute. Then it was just him.

Him and a file on vampires. And the weight of the world that usually rested on his shoulders grew heavier than he had ever imagined.

Not with belief; with the promise of belief.

The promise that Leo would not lie to him about this.

There were some gateways that people took while knowing the other side would change their lives completely. He kept that in mind as he flipped the file open, drew in a deep breath, and began to read.

*~*~*

Natchez, Mississippi. 5:17AM, CST

Willow knew what to do.

That was really all anyone needed to hear. Willow had woken up from her comatose state with a gasp and her eyes blazing with realization, and just like that, she knew what to do. Some form of recognition that one only achieved when she got up close and personal with a god.

Which was why everyone was up now. Researching.

Buffy's body was being tested. Her insides twisting, her bone structure shifting, her mortality altering itself in preparation for a god. Her muscles would soon bear the strength of one not born of an earthly helix, and though the shades of what Quirinias meant to the dimension flashed across her face and persona every now and then, they had yet to meet the god behind the myth.

He could not take her body until her body could take him . And that was it. Buffy's body was becoming fit for a god. Suffering. Breaking. It was the reason for the fits and the screaming—the violent outbursts and wails in languages she had no former knowledge of in a reflection of what was to come. Her body a violent haven, the screams tearing at her throat, hers and hers alone.

Spike did not leave her. The Scoobies were gathered in the den of the townhouse, and though he heard every word that was shared, every secret uncovered and answer unveiled, he refused to leave her side. He knew what was asked of him. He had known it somehow from the beginning.

“The thing is,” Willow was saying. “I think I've found a way to banish Quirinias before he even takes her. The passages of the Rite of Thrieve are focused more on the power involved than the wording. It says we need a warlock and a sorcerer aside the witch. I think I can harness enough power to avoid having to use more. More would kill her…her body in the condition that it's in. The ritual itself…I think I can do it. I think I can…” She sighed deeply. “I can do it.”

“Willow,” Giles began after a lengthy pause. “We need—”

“This is all we have,” she said shortly. “It's gamble this or lose the world. We're out of options. I can do this. There's just a few things…I need someone to ground her physically. Be in the circle when I perform the ceremony, tied to her so Quirinias can't take her during the process. Be—”

And that last was the only thing that could persuade Spike away from the Slayer. Slowly, he untangled himself from her arms and slid off the bed, creeping into the room but only slightly. He wanted to be near if she awoke in tears again.

“I'll do it,” he told them softly, but with full conviction. “'m not leavin' her side.”

There was a certain air of acceptance in that. As though even as the Witch had said it, they knew who would be selected. Even Xander had nothing to offer in opposition.

“Spike,” Giles greeted, nodding with respect the vampire had never before received. “Nice of you to join us.”

“'m not stayin',” he said, tossing a cautious glance into the bedroom. “I jus' wanted that clarified before anythin' else is decided. With whatever else, I'm not leavin' her side. Kill me first. She very well might.”

The Watcher nodded his understanding. “There is something else.”

“Already somethin' else?”

“If you're going to do this, I want you to claim her.” It was amazing how easily those words left his lips. From where they had been only days ago to Giles suggesting so candidly, so without reserve, that a vampire claim his Slayer in a bond more sacred—more powerful—than any other the world in all its age had ever forged. “Don't give me that look. It would just be another way to guarantee our hold on her. Is that something you're prepared to do?”

Spike blinked at him dumbly. “I'm prepared to walk through Hell for her,” he said lowly. “I've wanted to claim her forever. Jus' never thought it'd be like this.”

“If something goes wrong—”

His eyes flashed. “You don' think I know exactly what I'm signin' up for? I know the drill, Watcher. Better than you ever will. I claim her, an' it's the both of us. I share everythin'. We share everythin'. What she suffers, I suffer. I breathe her pain without needin' to breathe at all. Yeh. I enter the circle, I'll claim her. When ‘s over, she can accept or denounce. ‘S all right with me. She stays alive. That's all that bloody matters.”

The room was effectively silenced. Everyone stared at him blankly.

Donna licked her lips, not wanting to be the one to ask, yet unable to stop herself. “And if she dies?”

Spike glared at her a minute before his eyes softened. “'m tyin' myself to her, pet,” he said gently. “Dunno what happens ‘f the claim's not accepted. ‘ve never done it before…'s a gamble. All of it. But ‘f she dies…” It was just a flash, but emptiness that filled the chamber with cold filled his expression with such extended agony that everyone felt its impression. “'F she dies, it won't be the soddin' claim that kills me.”

“She's not going to die,” Willow said determinately. “I can do this. I know I can. I just…” She glanced downward and shifted in discomfort. “It requires reading from Latin, and I can't read Latin. Well, I can…but the wrong word, the wrong pronunciation could mess up the entire thing. Could ruin…whatever chance we have. I need it translated…quickly.”

That was all well and good when she said it. Giles, Wesley, and Spike took the passages from the Rite of Thrieve and set about the translation—deciding inexorably that three minds in this matter would solidify the odds of being correct in their assessment. They had no wiggle room for mistakes.

Which was why, when they arrived at their dispute, Spike refused to cave in to the explanations behind the Watcher's reasoning.

“Look,” the vampire spat. “This is s'posed to be against the bloke, right? Your soddin' translation doesn' make any bleedin' sense. These witches who brewed up the hocus pocus, ‘specially in the day an' age, were before they broke from Church an' into their own creed. Of a more orthodox bend—seein' as dispatchin' Quiriny would make him prime meat for the more prominent an' avengin' gods. ‘Days of wrath beginnin' doesn' exactly strike me as somethin' that would suggest the god was defeated.”

“Spike—”

“Look at the context, ‘f you don' believe me. ‘The journey is over, the days of wrath begin' don't make any bloody sense!”

“I have been researching this passage for days,” Giles argued. “More over, I am quite well schooled in Latin.”

“I took it when it was still popular,” Spike snarled. “I know what I'm doing, too, you arrogant wanker. Look here: the entire spell begins with in nomine patris et filii et spiritus santi. It mighta been performed by pagans, but there is a heavy Christian influence in the text. ‘S a part of why it took you so long to translate, I'd wager. So, is it so off the bloody map to think they might invoke somethin' called Judgment Day later in the ritual? They've mentioned the Judeo-Christian god three times already.”

“There is no room for mistakes.”

“Yeh. So stop bloody well makin' ‘em!”

No solution could be found. No resolution maintained. Therefore, when Willow inquired as to their progress and discovered the problem they had stumbled over, it was decided they needed someone with a more extensive knowledge of Latin to weigh in a final opinion.

Sam was no help. Josh could barely translate a single line, despite their similar familiarity with the dead language.

Donna waited patiently as they debated their options, her hand raised.

In the middle of a screaming match, Spike's eyes landed on the blonde and he quickly vamped to startle everyone into silence. “Yes, pet?” he asked once she had the room's attention.

“Um,” she began, turning to Josh. “I know this might be a very bad idea, but we all know someone who knows Latin to the point where he speaks it fluently in the middle of State Dinners.”

“No,” Josh barked. “We're not bringing the President into this.”

“Why not?”

“Leo was very clear when he first explained the Initiative and vampires to me. Besides…” His eyes widened and he shook his head soundly. “You know the President. He's never going to believe this. His liking of history aside, he's a rational person.”

“Yeah, and this happens to be an apocalypse.”

“I like it how you've opted to their annoying tendency of speaking of the apocalypse in the plural sense. ‘Cause that's, you know, smart.”

Spike's yellow gaze flickered menacingly over the Deputy Chief of Staff. “The President can help Buffy?” he asked. “Why the bleedin' hell are we arguin' at all? Get the bloke on the phone. Now.”

“It's not that easy—”

“Actually, it's exactly that easy.”

“You can't call the President and tell him the world's ending because of an ancient god! You can't tell him about vampires. Not if you're Senior Staff and not, oh say, psychotic. Do you not understand this?”

A look overwhelmed the vampire's eyes at that, and the other man immediately yelped and sealed his mouth shut in the dreary acknowledgment that perhaps it was just as foolish to piss off an emotionally unbalanced demon.

“No,” Spike replied lowly, stalking forward. “Here's what I do understand. You're gonna get on the phone, talk to whoever it is you talk to, an' explain what's happenin'. ‘F the President doesn' understand that, you can tell him to try if he values the life of his Deputy Chief of Staff. ‘Cause if Buffy doesn' kill you once the god is steerin', I sure as hell will. An' I won' be as nice about it. You get me?”

There was something so raw, so honest in the vampire's delivery that everyone in room, regardless of their standing on his previously empty threats, trusted that Josh Lyman was a dead man if he stood in the way of healing Buffy. The chip be damned; the healing marks on Spike's body attested that when pressed, he suffered no qualm to enduring pain. None whatsoever.

Josh expelled a deep breath and turned to Donna. “Get me Leo,” he said.

*~*~*

Washington, DC. 8:39 AM, EST

Leo held his breath as he followed the President back into the Oval Office.

There were no pleasantries in delivery. As soon as the Chief of Staff's office door was shut, Bartlet whirled around and gave him one of the gravest looks he had ever granted. And in as many years of friendship as they enjoyed, there were many in the running to select from.

“This is for real,” he said without preamble. “These aren't documents forged—”

“Mr. President, it took me three full days to comprehend when McNally told me. Even longer to believe the file. Evidently, it's the government's best kept secret, since you're the first man to hold this office and know what you know.” The Chief of Staff shrugged. “I'm just saying, it's natural to feel whatever you're feeling.”

“What I'm feeling?” The President sighed deeply and shook his head. “I don't know what I'm feeling. Acknowledging what I've just read while I have a Cabinet meeting in less than an hour. There's you're thing. We've been telling Danny for the past week to stop sniffing around the Natchez story and now there's a story to tell. And Charlie just told me…this thing with this kid. Have you heard about that?”

“Lowell Lydell?” Leo nodded. “Yeah. CJ's losing her head over it.”

“And all my guys are down in some southern town that's bricked itself in, sans the bricks.” The President sighed again, turning to approach his desk again, his entire body quivering with acceptance. “And Sam's the reason this thing has happened?”

“Josh didn't wanna say, but that's the theory they're working with.”

The President didn't say anything. Just nodded.

“There's been a disagreement over a translation of something,” Leo continued. “A new friend of Sam's believes she can help stop whatever's happening down there, but they need a section of Latin translated as true to form as possible. Three of the Sunnydale guys can read Latin. Two think it's one thing, the other's refusing to agree. Donna suggested that Josh call you.” He licked his lips. “And here we are.”

“And here we are.” Bartlet nodded again, placing the file on Leo's desk. “Do we have what needs to be translated?”

“Josh emailed it to me. Margaret's printing it off.”

“Does she know what it is?”

“No, sir.”

“We want to keep this quiet.”

“Absolutely.”

The President hesitated, and nodded. “Get me whatever it is that I need to translate. Is Josh's phone still—”

“He told me he smashed it in one of his fits.”

There was a small grin at that. “And Donna's?”

“Should be fine.” Leo nodded grimly. “Fitz and McNally are waiting for you in the Sit Room.”

“All right, then. I'll be down in a minute.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

That was it. And in doing so, accept everything radical that the past hour had provided.

Accept a whole new world of unknowns while manning the most powerful office in the world.

It was always something; it simply had never been this.

*~*~*

Natchez, Mississippi. 8:04AM, CST

The President's call came within two seconds of another hysterical fit in the townhouse bedroom. Josh jumped to his feet and answered with a frenzy that he usually reserved for bullying Senators and lobbyists, pressing his free hand to his open ear in the hopes of blocking out the screams in the background.

Fortunately, the population of the townhouse itself had dwindled to only a few. Spike, Willow, and Giles were in the bedroom; the vampire on the bed, struggling with the writhing Slayer and replying to her in calm measure when she screamed something in a foreign tongue. The Watcher, ever mindful, guiding Willow in what would hopefully be another successful dose of the paranormal sedative she had delivered just the night before.

“Yes, sir!” he practically screamed into the phone. “Good to hear your voice, too! Yeah, we got a bit of a situation down here. Has Leo filled you in?”

The atmosphere remained rather distracting. Buffy was cackling in that voice that seemed to get deeper and further away from her at every turn. “Homo nudus cum nuda iacebat!” she hissed, and Josh heard the vampire snarl in turn.

“Shut up!” Spike snapped. “You know nothin' about that!”

In his ear, the President was asking him if the god had a tendency to be pornographic.

“I…uhhh…well, she yells a lot.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the possessed Slayer making a leap in the direction of Giles; the Watcher moving away even if the perimeter's of her grounding spell prevented her from inflicting any damage. Spike, being the ever-present-minded vampire that he was, leaping atop the blonde to wrestle her down into the mattress.

“Caeci caecos ducentes,” came the next wave of insult, this time seemingly aimed at the Watcher. “Antiquis temporibus, nati tibi similes in rupibus ventosissimis
exponebantur ad necem.”

“Well,” the President mused, “that's just not polite.”

“Sir?”

“Yes. The translation reads Judgment Day, and it should be perfectly obvious. I don't know how those so-called Latin scholars could even look at it and think differently.”

“Yeah.” Should make Spike happy. “I gotta convince them that you're right. It's two against two, now.”

“Tell them they have an executive order to perform whatever it is they perform using that translation. I have zero-tolerance when it comes to false Latin.”

“Can you do that?”

“No, but it sounds impressive.” He could practically hear the President smiling warmly. “Josh…when this over, I want you to call me first.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“When I say first, that means before Leo.”

“I understand.”

“Mrs. Landingham has direct orders to patch you through. If Israel and Palestine are seconds away from a peace treaty, she'll interrupt negotiations for your call. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

He chuckled a bit at that. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. I'll be waiting.”

As was customary in the West Wing, there were no formal goodbyes. Josh waited until he knew the President was no longer on the line and clasped the cell phone shut, his mind mentally answering for him, What's next? though the answer was more than obvious.

They had their translation.

It was time to banish a god.

Chapter 38

Spike expelled a deep breath, trying to ignore the tremors that shuddered across his body as he approached the bed. For the past hour or so, the screaming had dwindled to nearly nothing. A few writhing moans here and there; she couldn't seem to keep still for any amount of time. Her body arching with pain, whimpers tearing at her throat with such rawness, such agony that every sound that whispered through her lips tore deeply at his heart.

His Slayer. His gorgeous girl.

His girl that he had to claim now. Claim for reasons he had never before fathomed. It was something he had wanted on some level since he first touched her. Something he couldn't remember not wanting. A burning in the pit of his stomach that would have consumed him eventually, yet something he would never have presumed to take from her. Claiming. Mating. Making her his forever.

Right now, the line between transience and forever was so blurry he could barely make it out. It was this or possibly lose her forever. To Spike, there was no alternative.

Call it selfish. Call it anything. He could not lose her.

Not like this. Not to a god so wholly unworthy of her. So fucking unworthy.

His eyes hazed over with tears. He had shed so many over the past few days. An eternity between where he stood now and where he had been in a span of worthless hours. Just hours. Forty-eight, fifty-four at most. Hours. Time.

Willow was getting ready to perform the Rite of Thrieve. He knew he should feel something for having her shoulder that sort of power, but there was nothing but urgency. Before the day was over, they would know. Buffy would either be back in his arms and they could begin as they should have, or he would have lost her forever.

Though being what he was…the creature of evil that he was…he knew the bliss she offered was something he would never deserve. And similarly, feared that factor alone would condemn her to death. He had defiled her. Tainted her purity with the blackness of his being. That was something unforgivable. For him. For Buffy. They were marked forever. Blemishes in that wretched continuum of time.

He was so bleeding nervous; he was genuinely surprised when he didn't reduce himself to dust by anxiety alone. It came down to this. To time. Time would tell if the Powers would take her away from him or give her back. A matter of empty minutes. A clock ticking away until the winds selected her fate.

Hers and his.

Spike's eyes swelled as he watched her, the pain in his chest nearly unbearable. It had to be now. He expelled a deep breath and approached her on quaky knees, a watery smile forcing its way to his lips. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed, just beside her. “'S me.” He brushed a hand across her forehead, dropping to caress her cheek. Her skin was warm beneath his. So bloody warm. Alive for everything else that was happening to her.

“There's this thing I gotta do now. I never…I din't think it'd be like this. I never thought it'd be like this.” He wet his lips and lowered his head to brush a kiss at her temple. “You know I love you, baby. So much. I can barely think for the feel of it. It happened so fast; I barely knew what hit me. One minute I was watchin' you…the next…” A storm of emotion overwhelmed his voice, and he forced himself to choke back a sob. “I don' know how it changed. When it changed. When it went from wantin' you to loving you as much as I do. It just did. You're my goddess, Buffy. You're my own heaven…as close as I've come, or will ever come.” He released a sigh that shook his foundation. “I love you. I've never loved like this. Never will again. This is it for me. You're it for me. The one. For now an' ever.” A beat. His eyes fell to the quilt he had wrapped around her broken body after the thrashing stopped. “I jus'…I jus' wanted you to know, okay? I have to do this thing…I need you to know that it's more than that to me. This thing. It's everything. I love you so much. An' this…” He raised a hand to her face, curled knuckles tracing a line across her cheek. “'S more to me than a claim. It's a promise.” Another tremulous sigh escaped his body and he glanced down again. “Anyway…I gotta do this thing now. I jus'…I jus' wanted you to know.”

The scent of his own tears tickled the air. He released a deep breath and carefully gathered her precious body in his arms, holding her up so that her head rested against his shoulder. He took another minute, burying his face in her throat, inhaling her sweet scent. His free hand drew her hair to the side, lips busying at her skin. Her taste intoxicated him, drowned him in a wealth of splendor that he would never find after her.

Splendor that would not exist without her.

Almost against his will, he felt the bones in his face shift as the bumpies that had defined him for over a century made a reluctant appearance. With all the want to taste her blood, he never thought he would feel this sickening pull at his insides at the thought of penetrating her flesh with his fangs.

His tongue worshipped her, his hands trembling. And before he even registered what had happened, the ivory of his bite found the sweetness coveted by millions and cherished only by a fortunate few. The intoxicating indulgence of Slayer blood filling his mouth. Paradise made sour for the knowledge of what it meant. He felt her hands curled around his shoulders, but didn't think. Couldn't. It had to be done. For him. For her. For the world.

He swallowed her blood almost against his will, trying his damndest to ignore how good—how pure—she tasted.

“Mine,” he murmured into her red throat, clutching her tighter to him. “Mine. Oh God, Buffy. Oh my God.”

And then something shuddered through the air. Something soft and sweet; unprecedented by all counts. A voice scratched raw with her own hands. Music so blissful he felt his insides break down and weep.

“Yours,” Buffy whispered back, pulling away with arms that quivered with the weight of her drained strength. “Yours to all of the above.”

His eyes widened. “God, Buffy—”

A small, weak smile crossed her face. “I don't know...” she rasped. “I don't know…it hurts…”

“Buffy—”

“Yours. I want to be yours.”

The fresh sprout of tears that he had been battling for the past ten seconds broke through the dam. He choked a sob and tugged her into his arms again. “We're gonna be okay, baby,” he murmured. “I promise. I'm not gonna let anythin' happen to you. I can't. I—”

“I'm yours.” When he pulled away, the pain in her eyes broke his heart all over again. He wanted to tell her not to speak if it hurt, but she pressed a finger to his lips and smiled as best she could. “I want to be. Never…ne …never wanted to…to be anyone's. But…for wh-whatever…time we have…today…forever…” She pressed her brow to his. “I'm yours.”

An incursion of something indescribable flooded his insides. A feel of raw bliss so pure, so agonizingly singular that it somehow, in the midst of the wholesomeness of ecstasy, made the hurt that much more potent. His lips found hers, bruised and chipped from bleeding. The most glorious sensation to grant his broken body with evenhanded grace.

“We'll get through this,” he swore against her mouth. “We'll get through it.”

“Yes.”

There was a lack of conviction buried in her voice. It broke him, but he would not play the fates when he did not possess the winning hand. He would hold his proverbial breath, pray to a god that had long ago shunned him, and wait with guarded hope for a miracle the Powers did not grant on a whim. “'m gonna be right here,” he promised. “I'm not lettin' you go.”

“I'm scared.”

To hear her confess that tore his insides to shreds. His Slayer was never scared.

God.

Spike brushed another kiss against her temple. “Not lettin' you go,” he said again. Softly. “Never. If this bastard wants you, he has to take me, too. I'm not goin' anywhere without you.”

“Spike—”

He shook his head, burying his face in her golden hair. Her golden hair splattered with aging red. “Never. I'm right here.”

Buffy drew in a deep breath, wincing when it hurt, and curled in his embrace.

These moments. These stolen moments.

Moments before her control was gone. Moments before she was forced aside, and the thing that was not Buffy returned.

Moments before they engaged in war with the devil.

*~*~*

The calm that overtook the main bedroom of the townhouse would not last; Willow was almost certain of that. Once Quirinias felt that his impending hold on Buffy challenged, he would strengthen his power over her—send her through a spiral of agony that would make what she had already endured seem like child's play. A windstorm that they could not avoid.

Spike was already on the bed with her, his hand clasped with hers. He looked strangely serene for the tempest that loomed ahead, his cheek resting atop her crown, his free hand stroking her shoulder absently. They looked so tranquil together; Buffy's head snuggled at his chest. She seemed relaxed; as though even with the wrenching of the world that was twisting her body in ways none could fathom, she had never felt more at peace. More safe. More content. There in the arms of a vampire.

The last thing Willow wanted to do was disturb them, but time was a factor. A factor now like it never had been before. Thus, tentatively, she approached the invisible circle that she had implemented for them and licked her lips apprehensively. “Spike?”

The vampire wasn't asleep. She knew that for the tension in his aura.

“Red.”

“We have to do the thing now. I'm about to make the binding spell permanent…neither you or Buffy will be able to leave the circle.”

“Well aware, pet.”

“I'm just saying…with whatever happens—”

“Red, jus' do the soddin' spell.”

Willow licked her lips. “I know. I know. But this is important, and even though I know you know, and you know I know you know, I need to go over it again. Okay?” She waited a minute, encouraged when his eyes sparkled with that aged humor that she didn't even realize she had missed. There was something about the platinum blonde that if one took even the slightest measure away from him, the weight of loss could be felt for eons. “Since we're working to banish Quirinias before he even really takes her, it's going to be me. Just a part of the actual ritual, because I think more power would kill her. And there's that thing where I'm the only one qualified. And even though it's not going to be as powerful as the actual Rite of Thrieve would be—if it was performed to the text and not just the Cliff Notes—you need to understand how important it is that you do not…do not, do not, do not let go of her. Mentally, physically…if you do, she's gone. The impact of the magic will throw her into some dimension or tear her to bits or do something…this is a god we're talking about. Nothing like what we've faced before. Therefore the magic itself is going to be deeper…more powerful than anything I've dealt, and by default, anything we're used to. So you can't…no matter how terrible it gets…you can't let her go.”

Spike just looked at her.

“So…I'm guessing you knew that, huh?”

He grinned wryly.

“And I'm also guessing that I just spent two minutes of my life that I'll never get back telling you something that you would've done even if it wasn't a thing, right?”

A small, humorless chuckle rumbled through his lips. “You're the one that needed to say it all again, ducks. ‘You knew that I knew,' an' all that rot.”

“Yeah well, you could've stopped me.”

“Unlikely.” He stopped for a minute, gaze wavering to the blonde in his arms. “'m not lettin' her go, Red. Not for this god wanker, not for you, not for anyone. You could pour holy water on me an' I wouldn't budge. Understand?”

Willow smiled gently. “Yeah. I know. I just…I just needed to say it.” She glanced down, counted to ten, then looked back up again. “You know…if anything goes wrong…if we do this thing and she's still…if she wakes up and she's not Buffy, she's going to rip your heart out.”

A trembling sigh rolled off his shoulders. “'F she wakes up an' she's not Buffy,” he said softly, “she's welcome to it.”

There was a beat and the redhead nodded. She had expected as much, but there was a certain effect of admiration in hearing it spoken. When the vampire had become so close to her, she didn't know. When she stopped being surprised at the depth of love he held for her best friend, she didn't know. She only knew that Buffy was more than fortunate to have him in her life right now. Now more than ever, if at any point more than ever.

“I'm about to put a sphere of protection around the bed,” she noted, stepping back. “After I do, the others will come in to help further solidify our hold on Buffy.”

“Strength in numbers?”

“Something like. The Rite of Thrieve says a circle enforces unity and strengthens…something. I don't know if it means a circle of power or a circle of people…so I'm doing both.” She expelled a deep breath and smiled. “Ready?”

“As I ever bleedin' will be.” When she nodded and raised her hands, he quirked his head at her and bade her to stop. “Willow.”

She blinked at him, surprised at the unbidden use of her given name.

“Thanks,” he said gently. “For everythin'.”

It was a strange thing coming from the mouth of a demon that had tried so many times to kill them all. A demon that had, such a short time ago, pined for the death of the very Slayer he had now sworn himself to protect. It was strange. So strange. But not beyond heartwarming.

“She's my friend, Spike,” the Witch replied. “I can't not help.”

“No. That's not what I meant.” His eyes leveled with her and for the briefest minute, the universe around them did not exist. “Thank you.”

A stolen breath escaped her body. And she nodded.

There were times when they were utterly nowhere. This was one of those times. But her acceptance in everything, the quick days since he and Buffy announced their relationship, meant more to him than she could ever imagine. She didn't need him to say it to know that was what he meant. It was in his eyes. In the every ripple that coursed through his body. One of those things that she just knew.

He was thanking her for treating him like one of them. Like a man. Like someone who deserved the woman in his arms.

“Yes,” she said automatically, nodding and raising her hands again. “Okay. I'm gonna do this, now.”

“Okay.”

Jolts of energy burst between her fingers. Even with all the practice she had endured, there was something about this moment that always made her a little nervous. That took her off guard. And all things considered, it wasn't the best sentiment to focus on with everything that was riding on what she had to do.

“All right, then,” she murmured. “All right. You might wanna close your eyes.”

Her skin began prickling, little shards of electricity flickering off her skin.

This was it. Showtime.

*~*~*

Fifteen minutes later, the bedroom was overly crowded, which made it entirely difficult to dodge the digital clock that yanked itself from the wall and jolted through the air toward Xander's head while untouched by human hands.

Spike tossed the boy a worried glance while struggling with the Slayer's snarling attempts to yank her hand away from his. He had resolved just seconds before that the only way to maintain contact was to straddle her at the waist and hold her down to make sure a part of him was always touching her.

“Sorry,” he yelped.

Anya was struggling against Giles's barked commands to not break hands with the people on either side of her. “What happened?”

The Slayer was cackling a long, malicious laugh. “Diabolus fecit, ut
id facerem!” she shrieked giddily. “Postatem obscuri lateris nescitis!” And then dissolved in a series of screeches that would make any demon shudder.

Josh blinked numbly. “Do we need holy water or a priest or something? ‘The power of Christ compels you?'”

Sam glared at him. “This isn't a movie, Josh.” He frowned and turned to Willow. “That wouldn't help, would it?”

“No.”

“All I'm saying is, it worked for Reagan MacNeil.”

“Josh!” Donna hissed.

The Slayer writhed and wriggled, nails drawing red rivers down Spike's cheeks and whatever flesh she could manage. There was something maniacal in her eyes—something that hadn't been there before this. She spat at him, the growls scratching at the back of her throat growing more intense with every beat. “Damnant quod non intellegunt!” she screamed, twisting to point at Toby, who was directly in her peripheral view. “Mater tua criceta fuit, et pater tuo redoluit bacarum sambucus.”

“Yeah,” Toby said slowly. “'Cause I'm following that and everything.”

Spike growled lowly and seized hold of her wrists, flipping her under him again, not reacting when she spat at him once more and wrenched another hand free, digging her nails into his side. “Vampir,” she sneered. “Ne feceris ut rideam.”

His eyes widened and he grasped her wrist again, compressing his thighs on either side of her. “Willow!”

The Witch was already standing in the middle of the half-circle, a book curled in her arms, a nervous look battling with wrought determination. And just like that, a collective hush fell over the room aside the strangled snarls erupting from the Slayer's mouth. A darkened shade fell over her eyes, and she began. “In nomine patris et filii et spiritus santi. Shadow passes, light remains. I call the living hand in hand by the grace of God to learn to live and remember death. We come to cast out the unholy one.”

Buffy's eyes blazed and she jolted forward, succeeding in twisting the vampire over her for a second before he was atop her again. “Non! Quod incepimus conficiemus!”

“No, pet,” he growled. “I really don' think you will.”

Willow continued, heaving deep breaths. “There is no avarice without penalty—”

“Alea iacta est!”

“Hey,” Wesley said brightly. “I know that one.”

“The journey is over…your Judgment Day begins.” Something around them crashed and the lights throughout the townhouses burst into darkness. The book toppled from Willow's grasp, her head flying back with a gasp as her body climbed inches into the air. Then she hissed in pain, her hand flying to her abdomen, her eyes widening dangerously.

A worried look befell Sam's face. “Willow…”

The room darkened even more, the howls of the figure on the bed notwithstanding. Fabric ripped and hands lashed; a purplish tint formed between the Witch's fingers. “ A precipice in front, wolves behind,” she said lowly in a voice that was no longer hers. “Hell calls hell; one misstep leads to another. May the omen be absent. May the light bathe in light. Make the spirit noble. Bring them into arms again.”

“Rupert!” Toby yelped. “What the hell is—”

“Quiet!”

The Slayer expelled a long moan, her teeth sinking into the welcoming beckon of Spike's shoulder. A splatter of red painted the wall behind them, her howls seizing intensity as the waves crashing over her body diminished the line of violence with an entirely new translation. Her eyes were glowing, now. Red instead of gold. As though the specks that had always colored her sight had now taken over. The last of purity to be cleansed from her body in preparation for the oldest of the old.

“ Te volja knotkle istinit bol, veštica! ” she screamed, fists pounding into her vampire protector as he held her down with determination none in the room had ever seen before. “ JA ce kupanje na otvorenom unutra tvoj krv pa obrstiti tvoj oko rupa. JA ce tvoj telo jedan utocište umjesto moj ljutina. Dopust mene zatim!”

Xander's eyes widened. “What the hell?!”

“It's Zulu,” Anya answered. “You don't want to know what it means.”

“He's gaining power. Pulling in from other cultures.” Giles pushed forward. “Willow!”

The Witch was forgone. Now at least fourteen inches off the floor, her hands outstretched, her eyes darkened. Something terrible in formation between herself and something else. There were marks, now. Along her arms, across her calves. Streaks of red down her face born there by claws that had no arm. And yet she remained distant. A step and a half away. Focused now in a world to herself. “A god in man's clothing. A god that knows of flesh. Bringer of deceit and destruction. Bringer of horror and death.”

“You're telling me this isn't Exorcist material?” Josh demanded, twisting to face Donna, snark betraying his fear.

A crash snapped in the middle of the room, stealing the floor from the semi-circle of observers. Their grips on each other remained steadfast even as they fell in unison to the whim of an enemy they could not see. The light forming between Willow's hands had grown too bright to look at.

“Justitia omnibus,” the Witch bellowed in a voice that was not her own. “Leve fit, quod bene fertur, onus. Lusus naturae! Lux mundi, lux et veritas. Liberate te ex inferis!”

Buffy screamed and slammed Spike with her free arm as hard as she could, sending his body toward the head of the bed but not managing to separate his hand from hers. “Trošiti drek, ona - carovnica!”

“Ubi concordia, ibi victoria!”

Spike's eyes widened and he hauled his broken body toward the writhing Slayer. Where the Witch had picked up Latin, he didn't know. All he knew was that it was nearly over. It had to be. The loom through the windows was growing. The wails of his girl, while violent, were such to the degree where her energy would soon dwindle to nothing. It had to be nearing its end. It just had to.

“ Sic volo, sic iubeo!”

The Slayer's head whipped back and forth, pain filling her face in the midst of the crimson staining her cheeks. “No! No!”

Oh God.

“Buffy!” He leapt forward, only to be shoved back with an angry howl and another swipe at his midsection. But he had seen her. For that split second, he had seen her back in her body.

In the midst of such fits, that had never happened.

It wasn't over. He leapt forward again, swooping an arm around her middle to pull her back against his chest. His flesh met a river of blood, and the cold against him made him sick to his core.

Blood shouldn't be cold. Not hers. Not hers that had just an hour ago been so warm.

“Vi hoteti obžalovanje kakšen vi življati slepar vsepovsod, carovnica,” the Slayer hissed at Willow, tearing madly even if they were separated by proverbial miles. “Bom storil a žetev od vaš drobovje ter slavnost naprej vaš meso!”

“Transit umbra, lux permanet. Esto perpetua!”

The piercing scream that tore through the Slayer's throat pulled at every wound, current and old on his body. “Nu!” she bellowed. “Nu!”

Willow's arms outstretched toward her, the ball of energy engulfing the room with its luminosity. “Factum est!” she declared, palm dipping and the beams of light shot forward, tearing through the invisible force guarding them from each other. Spike felt it, too. Felt it as it surged into the girl in his arms. Felt every knot turning, every wound screaming, every pain of long ago jerking to life as never before. “I cast you out! Consummatum est! Consummatum est!”

It was the gift of life. The shriek that tore through the Slayer's mouth was a physical move. Her body lurched forward as it left her. The entirety of the manifestation. Burning there in refuge, then gone. And just as Spike had tugged her back into his arms, Willow's hold faltered and she toppled to the floor, a broken, lifeless heap of tangled limbs.

And they settled in darkness.

Buffy panting but unconscious, the tears at her body all but gone. The crowd on the floor coming to with slow awareness. Willow, drained. Breathing steadily, slowly, but dead to the world.

Sam reached her just as electricity burst through the townhouse with a defying crack, and the dying lamps snapped back on as though suffering from a power shortage.

“Oh God.”

Giles sat up, his eyes torn between his tattered Slayer and the unconscious Witch.

“Spike?”

The vampire didn't respond. The resignation about him, the hesitation between relief and outrage boiled down to a thin red line of tolerance. His face was buried in her hair, and he was rocking her gently.

“Spike?”

“She's alive,” he sobbed into her blonde locks. “She's alive. She's all right. She has to be all right. After all that…she can't bloody well leave me now.”

It wasn't clear to anyone if the vampire was even aware others were in the room.

Josh sat up, rubbing his head. “That's some girl you got yourself, there, Sam,” he murmured, only partially in jest.

“What happened?” Xander demanded, hurrying over to the unconscious redhead. “Is she—”

“She's fine…she's out, but she's fine. It drained her.” Sam sat up, gathering Willow in his arms. “We need to get her back to the main house. She needs—”

“We're going,” Josh said, nodding to Toby. “Xander?”

“We're coming.”

The Watchers glanced to each other, then to the two blondes on the bed. They agreed in silent accord to wait in the other room in case they were needed.

In the end, Spike only asked for Donna. Came to enough, aware enough, to ask for Donna. Asked her to sit beside him as the hours rolled by. Asked her, because he knew that if Buffy awoke and needed something, Donna would not hesitate to get it.

Nothing could pry him from her side now. Not with a red sun rising in the east. A matter of simple hours at their disposal.

And a whole new ballgame at their feet. The healing body of a newborn god was cooling in his arms. That, despite all, could not change. It was too foregone. She was lost from the mortal coil and given to something greater. Something none could have foreseen.

Such things would be reserved for tomorrow. It was too much for him to take in. Far too much. All that mattered was that Buffy was alive. Alive and safe, and in curled his embrace. Her calm could not be forfeited in now.

It would take all the demons of Heaven and Hell to move him. And even then, he wagered he would give them a good fight.

He would be by her side when she awoke. Tomorrow, and every day thereafter.

Chapter 39

It took a minute to fully comprehend what Josh was saying.

“We're what?”

“Leaving. I just talked with the President and he wants us on our way back right now. I'm here to sit with her in case she wakes up while you pack your stuff.” The Deputy Chief of Staff deftly ignored the wounded puppy look the other man was giving him, instead pivoting so that he could sit at the edge of the bed and take the washcloth from his hands. “Giles says there's no reason to think that the invisible wall is still standing, seeing as your girlfriend saved us from the big baddie.” He grinned humorlessly, features softening when the anxious worry in his friend's expression failed to fade. “Look, I'll stay with her. And we won't leave until we absolutely have to, ‘kay? But Sam, we need—”

He held up a hand. “I know.”

“We can't stay—”

Sam nodded, eyes lingering on the unconscious redhead. “I know. We've already been gone far too long.”

“Toby's been saying all morning that there's probably a new administration.” Josh smiled boyishly. “He's already making reservations in Memphis.”

“We're not flying?”

“Oh, we are. The President's making sure there are some guys waiting for us in Jackson. The reservations in Memphis are just in case. You know, we don't wanna end up in some other crackpot town with a bunch of vampires and crazies that like us even less than this crowd.” Still no relief. Josh sighed and combed a hand through his hair. “I know you're worried about her, Sam, but she's gonna be fine. All right?”

“I know. I know she's going to be fine. I just…” He licked his lips and frowned. “I wasn't expecting to leave so soon. Giles said she might be out for a day or so. I wanted…I don't want her to think that I just left, is all I'm saying. That the barrier went down and I took my first out.”

The Deputy Chief of Staff arched his brows. “And she doesn't know that already from how freakishly protective you are of her?”

“It's not freakish.”

There was a pause and a deep breath. The loom of a conversation that neither was looking forward to but had to have regardless. With the reprieve from Natchez came the return of the life they belonged to. The place they knew and lived in. The place that had no part in the world of vampires, demons, and apocalypses. In Washington, things had to return to a line of understood and defined fantasy and reality. “Sam…I know this isn't what you wanna hear, but…you hardly know her.”

“Josh—”

“It wouldn't work. She's not even twenty yet. She's a college student in California. She practices witchcraft. She's been here with you, with us, since we arrived. You're the White House Deputy Communications Director. The scandal alone could cripple us for weeks. The Radical Right would burn you in effigy, and I guarantee you it'd come back to haunt us in the primaries.”

Sam scowled. “Scandal, what scandal? She's a consenting adult, I'm a consenting adult, and even though we haven't actually consented to do…anything that consenting adults usually consent to, it wouldn't be illegal if we did.”

“You're throwing adult out there pretty loosely.”

“It's not a crime, Josh.”

“Not for Joe Nobody. You're not Joe Nobody. You're incredibly recognizable, and furthermore, you know that this is a public relations disaster waiting to happen.”

“Since when is my private life a public relations—”

“Since you work for the President of the United States, and you know that.” Josh expelled a deep breath and shook his head, eyes glued to the floor. “Look, you knew it was gonna be a thing. Better it be a thing now than later, right? Better now when you don't know her very well. Yeah. I like Willow. I like her a whole, whole lot. Aside being the essential female you, except—you know—a lot smarter, she's become a good friend of Donna's and…a good friend of mine. But it can't work. Not while you hold this job. Not while she's so young and tied in with this Natchez thing; not to mention a witch. It just can't happen.”

The room settled. The weighty breaths heaving from either man swallowing the air and claiming it in refuge. There was the burden of knowing what was right and the burden of knowing what should be right. This little time in Natchez, however horrid the circumstances, had drawn them away from the edge of reality. Outside waited the world that judged at the drop of a pin. The world that would see him a cradle-robbing pervert who used his influence in politics to take away the bright futures of clever undergraduates. The world that had not elected this President with a mandate.

There was a line between personal issues and public. The public simply had a funny way of defining what should and shouldn't be on the front page of their newspapers.

Next year kicked it off for them. Next year was the make-it-or-break-it-year. And already, Sam had incriminated himself by knowing a call-girl, his association with Faith—regardless of circumstance—and now this. A girl not yet twenty. A girl who was legal in the eyes of the law to make her own decisions, yet not old enough to drink alcohol. A girl whose innocence would be smeared with tabloid headlines. Whose future would be ruined with scandal.

“Why are you saying this now?” Sam asked, gaze intent on the floor. “I know you've been thinking it for a while. Why now?”

“'Cause the world didn't end, I guess.” He smiled with a sheepish shrug. “And I haven't been the only one thinking it. You knew this would be a thing. If you didn't—”

“I knew it.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what? You were just gonna go along with it?”

Sam shook his head. “I don't know. I was just…I like her. I like her a lot, Josh. And I promised her we'd work through whatever—”

“You can't.”

“Josh—”

“You can't. I know this isn't fair, but—”

“I promised her. And I'm not going to be this guy.” He sighed deeply. “Maybe if we'd been in and out like we thought, but we weren't. And I got to know her. And in my defense, this is the first time you've mentioned anything—”

Josh held up a hand, frowning. “You knew it without me having to say a word. At least you should have. It's the same reason you had to stop seeing Laurie.”

“That was wrong, too.”

“We don't get to decide. It's them.” He gestured wildly to the wall, though it was understood that he meant the country that waited on the other side. “It's America. Voters. Polls. Approval ratings. They decide. In this line of work, that's what decides. It's unfair—of course it's unfair, but this is what you chose. You serve at the pleasure of the President. And it's better to end it now before it's…” Josh's voice cut off in mid-sentence, his eyes widening slightly as though the final piece of a puzzle he had been working on for days had settled in completion. “Oh no, Sam.”

The other man recoiled in defense. “What?”

“You don't.”

“What?”

“You can't.”

“What?”

“God, you do. In just two weeks?”

His eyes widened. “Josh, what?”

“You love her.”

Sam blinked dumbly. “I…Josh!”

“Oh God. This is a nightmare.” The Deputy Chief of Staff heaved a deep sigh and bit the inside of his cheek. Then glanced down and finally up again, new resignation settling in his eyes. “Look, how ‘bout I butt out and let CJ chew your ass off? Someone who doesn't know the both of you.”

“And that'll help?”

“It'll help me. I've seen you two together. If you think this is any fun for me, you are sadly mistaken, my friend.” He shook his head. “I really didn't wanna be this guy, either. And neither did Toby. No one wants to be this guy.”

“Well, that's surprising.”

Josh grinned a bit at that. “I think we're all a little more open-minded after this thing. And no one wants to be the one to tell you to not be with someone you want to be with.” He licked his lips. “Have you two talked about how this thing would work, if you decide to…have you talked about it?”

“No.” Sam frowned. “Well, we've talked a little, but I thought we had more time.”

“Yeah, okay.” Josh nodded and motioned to the door again. “You should go pack, though. If she wakes up, I'll come get you.”

“Okay.” A pause. “Does Donna know?”

“I'm gonna go get her after you're done packing.” He shrugged. “We're trying to get you as much time as possible.”

“I know. Thanks.” Sam stopped again before he stepped into the hallway, tossing a glance back to the motionless redhead and exhaling deeply. “You'll come get me?”

“Sam—”

“Okay.” And he was gone.

Josh sighed again and turned to Willow with a wry grin. “He likes you,” he told her, uncaring that she didn't hear him. “Yeah. Of all the people to like. Not that I don't like you, too…this is a match made in Heaven and organized in Hell.”

His voice fell dead around him with no one to answer.

In the early rise of morn, the townhouse was as it ever had been. Stretching with silence that had led them to the cliff they had jumped just yesterday.

And not even a breath to spare before their reality returned.

*~*~*

Wesley started a bit when Donna knocked on the door to his bedroom, open as it was. And consequentially, blushed brightly when he realized the shrill peep that bounced off the walls belonged to him. The disarming smile on her face only served to trouble his nerves, and though feeling tense and foolish, he could not help but smile back.

“Hello.”

She waved shyly. “Hi. Ummm…can I…?”

“Oh, certainly.” He gestured inarticulately. “Come in.”

Her smile wavered a bit but she stepped over the threshold in time. “I really don't want to interfere with anything, but we're getting ready to leave, and I just needed…I wanted to apologize.”

The incident to which she was referring was clear in his mind, having been stuck on replay in the few but endless moments between crises. However, Wesley was—first and foremost—a gentleman. And though he had not expected anything along the lines of mentioning to their one and only night ever again, the notion that she wanted to say anything had his mind spinning in seconds. “I'm sorry?”

A nervous titter sounded through her throat. “That's sort've my line.”

“Donna—”

“I acted badly that night.”

If that was her definition of bad behavior, it was better for everyone if they kept Donnatella Moss as far from the Hellmouth as possible. Wesley smiled slightly and shifted from one leg to the other. “Look, I—”

“I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I didn't…what I said that night—”

“You said you were in love with Josh.”

Her alabaster skin flamed, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Well, I don't! I'm…I'm not. That was a thing. It was…the world ending and Josh is…the longest relationship with a man that I've ever had, platonic as it's been, so in a moment of panic that I would die alone, my mind reached out and…” A pitiful look overwhelmed her features when she saw she wasn't convincing him. “I am not in love with Josh.”

Wesley licked his lips and glanced down. “Okay.”

“I'm not.”

“Okay.”

“I'm not in love with Josh, and I shouldn't have said that that night. I shouldn't have…because it's not true, and because you and I had just…but more importantly, because it's not true.” Donna stopped and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose with a sigh. “I didn't mean that. I—”

He nodded gently and held up a hand. “It's fine. I won't tell anyone. Who would I tell? If you love Josh—”

“Which I don't!”

“—which you don't, it's hardly any of my business. He would be a lucky man to have you, if he ever realized it himself. And…it was lovely spending time with you. That night…awkward as it was, was definitely the best night of this trip.”

She smiled prettily. “Thank you. Me…me, too.”

“Donna—”

“I'm sorry. I really, really am. I didn't mean to—”

He nodded again. “I'm fine. It's fine. We…it's fine. I hope…well, if we meet again, I hope it's under different circumstances.”

“Yeah, I think that goes without say.”

He grinned as she lowered her eyes in farewell, nodded a little, and pivoted to leave. “Donna?” She stopped at the door and turned back to him. “If you do...” His hands came up in a sign of neutrality. “And I'm not saying you do. But if you do, you know, love Josh…it's okay. I hope you know that.”

She licked her lips. “No, it's really not.”

“I won't presume to understand how American politics work anymore than what I know from catching the news and the occasional turn in Congressional seats. I know that the President is limited to two terms of four years each…I don't understand, really, why working in politics makes it impossible for you to have a personal life.” He turned his head slightly and nodded in the direction of the room she had stayed in for the past several days. “Sound carries in here. Josh and Sam were arguing about Sam's relationship with Willow. I'm presuming that your loving Josh would illicit the same sort of scandal that Sam's relationship with a nineteen-year old Wiccan undergraduate would.”

“Not quite. But…along the same lines…if we got involved. Which we won't.”

“Right.”

“Because I don't love him. And did you say that sound carries?” Her eyes darted worriedly to the hallway. “Oh God—”

“They're downstairs,” Wesley reassured her. “Sam came in here just before you did to ask me to keep an eye on Willow while they packed up the Winnebago. I wouldn't have mentioned it had they been down the hall.”

“Yeah…since we're taking the Winnebago, what are you guys using?”

“The President has arranged for the Winnebago or some form of transportation to be delivered back to us within two hours of your arrival in Jackson. It gives us time to locate Faith, anyway. Achieve our original objective.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, God. Faith.”

“Yes, that's pretty much what we did around five o'clock this morning.” He sighed and removed his glasses, whipping out a handkerchief at the same moment. “We haven't been able to pry Spike away from Buffy—”

“Is she awake yet?”

“No. But she's fine. As far as we can tell…” He frowned and shook his head. “Anyway, Spike says he left Faith at Longwood when Quirinias hit Buffy. While we do not presume to think she is still there, by any means…I don't believe she was strong enough at that point, even as a Slayer, to free herself. The keepers of Longwood likely helped her down. And if not, once Spike is able to, we're going to ask him to track her by scent.”

“Not Willow?”

“Not Willow. Not any magic right now. Not for a while…not after what she just went through.” A beat. “Anyway, you and the others taking the Winnebago gives us time to find her. And the sooner the better. I hesitate to consider the state we will find the Hellmouth in when we return.”

She smiled slightly and nodded. There was nothing else to say to that. “Thank you, Wesley.”

“You're more than welcome.” She almost made it out the door before he raised his voice to stop her once more. “Donna?”

“Yes?”

“You've been staying here for a little more than two weeks, and you haven't noticed that sound carries?”

She shrugged. “I'm a heavy sleeper. Goodbye, Wes.”

“Goodbye. I'll keep my eye out for you when I watch CSPAN.”

“You'll be looking for nothing, but if I ever do manage to get on CSPAN, I'll wave just for you.” She smiled her concluding goodbye and at last left without interruption.

Wesley sighed and stared at the empty doorway for long seconds. Then turned, closed his suitcase with a mind to finish packing later, and followed in the course so that he might be with Willow if she came awake before the Senior Staffers made their leave.

But even at that, there was something else. For whatever reason, the air of finale that everyone expected had yet to settle.

And that alone made him edgier than he wanted to admit.

*~*~*

“This thing is monstrous,” Sam said, settling in the driver's seat. While his sense of direction had wound up the punch line of many jokes, a full circle was a complete road of ineptitude where navigation was concerned. It had been Toby driving at last turn, though notably off Josh's directions that he never double-checked after Leo provided them. And though the men seemed to agree that Donna needed a turn behind the wheel, the blonde deftly refused and instead opted the passenger seat.

“You should ask Josh how to drive it,” Donna said, tossing her boss a coy look over her shoulder. “He's the one that drove it into a wall.”

“I did not drive it into a wall.”

She quirked a brow. “Was there a wall?”

“It was invisible.”

“Thank you for that astute observation, Josh. Was there a wall?”

A begrudging pause. “Yes.”

“Did you drive into it?”

“…Yes.”

“So you drove into a wall.” She and Sam shared a secretive grin. “You see how much easier your life would be if you just listened to me?”

Josh made a low noise. “Yeah, ‘cause that's happening.”

“And in the meantime, you'll be driving at full speed into walls.”

“It was invisible!”

“You still drove into it.”

Toby growled, almost inaudibly. “I swear, I almost miss the cat.” He caught the look the comment earned from the Deputy Chief of Staff and slammed the words back into his mouth with another long groan. “Oh dear God.”

That was all the fuel Donna needed. She twisted in her seat to face them, eyes alight with revelation. “Aha!”

“No. Just stop,” the elder man grunted.

Josh glared at him. “See what you did?”

“The cat. The cat was spotted and the world nearly ended. I'd like to see you try and mock me now.”

“Why bother? It's no fun when you make it so easy.”

“Since when?”

“Since now. Leave me alone.”

“Not until you cut me a break on the cat.”

“Forget the cat!”

Sam glanced into the rearview mirror as he pulled onto the highway. In just minutes they would drive by Devereaux, the grand antebellum home that welcomed those coming in from the north. “You know,” he said, “she has a point. The cat has been sighted—”

“Sam—”

“—prior to every national tragedy, including some of the more recent ones.”

“There was no national tragedy,” Toby grunted.

“Oh, yeah. If the apocalypse had actually come, that wouldn't have been a national problem at all,” the other man replied, arching a brow. “Why can't either of you acknowledge with everything that has happened that there might be some credibility—”

The Communications Director threw his head back and groaned. “I honestly can't believe we are still having this conversation.”

Donna grinned wildly. “Kinda puts everything in perspective, doesn't it?”

“If by everything, you mean your obsession with stupid urban legends,” Josh replied, “then yes.”

Sam snickered and sent her a kind smile. She just shrugged and settled back.

The Winnebago fell silent, then. Zooming down the highway on the way home.

*~*~*

Something is wrong.

Her mind was spinning—that sort of spin that took one and sat them down in a chair and made them rotate until it was time to gag. Her eyes were weighed down with exhaust and a lack of willpower to open them. She was tumbling down a tunnel of colors, her stomach dropping every few seconds, forcing her breath to catch with each inhalation. It was a slow struggle to awareness. A line she saw without seeing anything. Her sharper senses stirring to wakefulness while trying unsuccessfully to convince her body to follow.

Something is wrong.

That alone, that sense of dread originating from nowhere, churned her stomach with compounds she could not identify. There were voices around her. Familiar voices. Voices she would know when her memory caught up with her mind. When everything came back as it did in those first initial moments following a long night's rest.

She didn't want to get up. She wanted to lie in seclusion forever. But she couldn't.

Something is wrong.

Something…something…

It hit her out of nowhere. A train wreck in the midst of her internal struggle. One that struck fast but started from miles away. And Willow felt the wind knock out of her as her eyes flew open, a gasp clawing for freedom as the voices around her matched with faces.

Something…

“Willow!” That was Giles, rushing to her side. “Willow, are you—”

But she wasn't listening. Couldn't. Something was wrong.

“Oh God.”

And she knew what.

*~*~*

It was nothing like the first time.

The first time had been safe, almost playful. A casual scolding from a force they hadn't known with the intent of punishing them in ignorance. The vehicle had ricocheted a little, though endured no real damage. It hadn't exactly been a cakewalk, but it hadn't been like this.

There hadn't been screeching metal. The tires hadn't burned the asphalt. The airbags hadn't gone off.

The first time it was like bouncing off rubber. This time, it was a wall. A real one.

And they crashed into it. Again.

And while not at full speed, at a damn good one.

Chapter 40

Someone was murmuring his name. A soft, angelic melody that warmed him inexplicably in ways he had never before fathomed. It had not been his intention to fall asleep; if anything, he had been relying on vampiric endurance to keep him well alert until she awoke. But for the absence of Donna and the scars on his body wearing down his vigilance, it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to the need of rest.

Though for everything else, drifting into slumberland had been surprisingly effortless for all the worry compressing his mind. His body was surrounded in softness. A gentle guide to paradise behind closed eyes where the looming world could not touch him.

Though now someone was murmuring his name. Softly. Melodiously.

The sound was too divine to actually exist. The hand that found his face with gentle caresses too tender to be meant for him.

And yet, when he opened his eyes, a gorgeous sheen of hazel reflected back at him. Buffy. God, Buffy was awake. Buffy was looking at him. She was sitting beside him, tenderly running her fingers through his blonde curls. For a split second, he was sure his heart was thundering. And he could do nothing but stare at her. The face of his salvation, and she was finally looking back without a river of tears between them.

The love glowing in her eyes sent an exposed, indescribable sensation through his entire being. Something he had never known before. Never been close to before. That glorious warmth of Heaven's gate.

He was blind-sighted. She was touching him and he could do nothing but stare.

God. It couldn't be a dream. He wouldn't allow it.

“Spike,” she whispered, cupping his cheek. “Spike, can I say it now?”

That was it. All he could stand. Whatever was bubbling inside him demanded release, the fear that had blackened his heart lifted with a kiss of promise. And he couldn't help himself. He crumbled with a choked sob, bowing his head as the tension that had spent the past few days ripping his innards to shreds came rushing out in a baptism of tears. Long, hard sobs of endless relief. Her arms were around him, pulling his head to her chest as he wrapped his arms around her. The sounds that erupted from his throat were raw and guttural. Dry leaves dancing together in the midst of a summer storm. He cried until he had no more tears. Until there was nothing but raspy, dry sobs. Until he had nothing left to offer.

“It's okay,” she whispered. How odd that she would be the one to console him. He felt more vulnerable than the length of his years had taught him. “Spike…”

He shook his head and pulled away, almost convinced that she was a figment dressed in hope. “God, Buffy,” he gasped, peppering her face with kisses. “God…oh God. I…I…”

Her eyes were glistening with tears. She drew him close and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Can I say it now?” she asked again, voice clogged with emotion. “Can I tell you now?”

“God, yes,” he gasped, drawing another heated kiss from her lips. “Are you real? Christ, I nearly went outta my mind. I—”

“I love you, Spike.”

He had known it, of course. Known it since she told him she wanted to tell him and he forbade her. He had known it then, had felt it longer than that, but hearing the words tumble from her lips gave him a sense of something he had never thought to touch. Never thought to explore, for everything that made him who he was. He had known love before. Some superficial plane of reckoning, though nothing that would stand a fighting chance to the pure elation rushing through his body. It was like being killed and reborn all over again. The best moment he had ever known, or would ever know. Buffy loved him.

She really loved him.

“I love you, too,” he swore ardently, drawing her into his arms. “So bleedin' much. God, I don' know what…I was so…”

“I know. I was, too.” She curled into his embrace, head resting against his chest, her arms around his middle. “I've never…god…my skin was on fire. I remember it. Not everything. Just…feelings. Images. What I did…I…”

The knowledge made his insides quiver. He would do anything to eradicate her of those memories. Memories that did nothing but hurt.

“'m so sorry, baby.”

“It wasn't your fault,” she replied, surprised.

A bitter sound rumbled through his throat, and he shook his head with self-aimed disgust. “Wasn't it? If I had been faster…'f I had seen it…God, all I had to do was open my bloody eyes. Then—”

“Spike.” Buffy pulled away, a frown on her healing face. The scars were fading, of course. She was a god now. Her scars would fade with ease. Similarly, the blood that had gushed so copiously from her wounds had long since halted. He didn't know if she knew what she was—if the full of what had happened to her had really hit her yet. And when it did, how hard it would hit. “Spike,” she said again, “you saved my life. How can you not know that?”

“I—”

“You saved my life.”

“I held you down while Red did the spell, yeh. But—”

“Not that. You…” Her haunted eyes widened suddenly, a hand coming to his face and tracing one of his newer scars as though it hadn't been there just seconds before. “Look what I did to you. Oh God.”

Spike shook his head and planted a kiss on her brow. “You din't do this, sweetling,” he whispered. “It wasn' you. God, you think I'd've known if it was you? That thing had your body. Had everythin'…turned you…”

“My hands did it. That's all I need to know. And…” Her gaze dropped to his t-shirt, tattered from their brawl, gorges in the sides where her fingers had plunged into his flesh. Claw marks on his chest, healing with vampiric aid, but there nonetheless. There because she had given them to him. “God.”

He smiled gently, raising her chin so that their eyes were even. “'S not your fault,” he said again steadily. “None of this is. An' even so, I'd do it all again in a second. I'd do anythin' that was asked of me. You know that, right?”

Her eyes clouded with tears, and she nodded.

“Nearly tore my world in two,” Spike murmured, his voice trembling. “Din't want you to know how bloody terrified I was.” He glanced down with a sigh. “I also said some pieces to the Scoobies. Bloody almost took a good chunk outta Sam. An'…do you remember what was said when it was you in the driver's seat?”

A water smile spread across her face. “Do I remember the claim, you mean?” Spike didn't answer; couldn't. Instead he nodded, almost afraid of what she would say. The million plus ways his mind had established in reference to rebuking whatever it was he could offer. He knew that it had been her that had accepted the claim, but even now, he didn't know if she completely understood what that meant. She loved him, but was she ready for this? Ready for the boundaries sealed with blood and established before the world had a time to refer to?

“I remember it,” she murmured. “And I meant what I said.”

“I—”

“I should've told you before we went to Longwood. Before this thing happened. But I meant it…and I'd like to do it again sometime. Properly.” It broke his heart to watch such a warm, sincere smile break across a face that held such pain.

There was that and the other. The loom of what he needed to tell her.

He had no idea where to begin. Even looking at her now, for all her beauty, the hint of what she had become rolled off her with such potency, he was surprised when she didn't drown from her own power. How she could refrain from feeling the strength that surged through her now. There was no going back from that; Willow had been more than certain. Her body was still a vessel, but it was in her command.

Quirinias had prepared her to be a god. He simply hadn't reasoned that he would be banned from the haven of her warmth before he could finalize his possession. Her body was stronger than ever before—charged with muscle that was made to endure the long winds of time. There was power at her beck and call if she ever needed it. Power that could blow this sad little world off its axis. He reckoned she could slay an army of vampires with a single glance if she tried. If she perfected her innovative abilities.

If she accepted them at all.

She had everything a god should have. Everything. And yet, there was the mind and soul of the Slayer. The woman behind the myth. The woman that owned his heart. Sitting before him was the reason that gods were born without conscience. Now this thing had happened and there was no going back, and he had no idea how to tell her.

“Come along, sweetling,” he murmured at last, tugging her out of the bed. “I'm gonna see to your wounds.”

A frown crossed her face. “My…they're nearly all healed up. I—”

“Jus'…let me, okay?”

It was impossible to not hear the plea in his voice. That strained edge that demanded further reassurance that despite all the bad, she was here. A single promise to be kept. There were things ahead that he wasn't sure of. Things he didn't think she was ready for. Things he doubted he was ready for. But for everything else, he would always be sure of this.

“Okay,” she agreed softly, allowing him to tug her into his arms.

It was strange leaving the circle of protection, fortified by a witch's spell. He didn't even know if Willow had lifted the damn thing, though he left the bedroom without a problem. Walked right through the boundary that had previously imprisoned them to the bed with nothing pulling him back.

Granted, his girl was a god. Walking through invisible walls was likely nothing to her. The struggle was over and the power was fortified. It belonged to her, now.

He gently lowered her to the bathmat, unaware how hard he was trembling when he reached for the hem of her shirt. As though at any moment, his permission would be rebuked, and she would formally introduce his face to the wall. A wounded look filled her eyes at his hesitation, but before he could explain the cause, she had tugged his mouth down to hers and swallowed all his fears.

“It's me,” she whispered. “Not…it's gone, Spike. I promise.”

He exhaled slowly and forced his tears aside. God, he was so fucking sick of crying.

“I know it's you. I can feel it.” She frowned at him curiously, and he offered a sheepish smile. “Claims never lie, pet. I feel everythin'. ‘Sides, there's no bloody god in this or any other dimension with eyes like yours.” Except for the one in his arms, of course, though that went without say. “But that's not…I knew it was you before I woke up. I'm not worried about that.”

“Then…?”

He shrugged honestly and smiled on his own behalf. “I dunno. Guess it's…it feels like it's been years since I touched you. Since this. Now I'm almost…I guess I—”

“Spike…” She said nothing else. Didn't need to say anything else. She took his hand in hers and placed it over her breast, her eyes falling shut as he rumbled a surprised gasp and caressed her gently through her shirt. Her warmth seared at his skin, and more than ever, he was unworthy. Unworthy of this. Unworthy to touch her. A lowly vampire, no matter of what Order. He should not be allowed to touch her.

God, but he was already a sinner. A few more couldn't hurt.

And even so, she loved him. She had crossed the Rubicon at his side. She was here with him because she wanted to be. She had placed his hands on her body, and though his touch was soft and delicate, not beyond cautious, she was moaning in response.

Spike trembled, aware vaguely of how hard he was breathing. As though his lungs suddenly demanded air. His head dipped to caress her throat with his lips, his hands abandoning her breasts to tug her shirt over her head. Then, reverently, he sank to his knees and worked her out of her trousers.

Bowing reverently to the god of his new religion.

He didn't realize she had removed his shirt until her horrified gasp rang through the air. Her eyes, wide as saucers, taking in the damage in the form of claw marks and gashes that fit her body like clockwork. Spike swore softly and rose to his feet, tugging her into his arms before he could see the first tears spill at his expense.

“'S'all right, kitten,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against her brow. “Bloody well believe me, I din't feel a thing.”

“God, Spike—”

His heart constricted at the sound, and he tightened his embrace. “Please don' cry. Not for the likes of me. Remember? You used to like goin' a few rounds.”

“Not like—” She pulled back suddenly, an accusatory flare rising behind her eyes. “This is different. I never…I never would have done this. Not then, and sure as hell not now. I love you. God, and look…” A whimper escaped her throat as her gaze dropped back to his healing cuts and bruises. “Look what I did.”

“Christ, Buffy, this wasn't you. Furthermore, it was my choice. I wasn' about to leave your side. The Scoobies tried to tear me away, but I wouldn't let them. Willow even banished me away, an' I demanded to be let back in.” His fingers found one of his scars, and he traced it slowly, eyes never leaving her face. “I din't feel a thing. I was too focused on you.”

She didn't look convinced; the sorrow embedded in her eyes running too deep to eradicate with any measure of reassurance. “You didn't feel this?” she asked, gently running her hand over one of his angrier scars, watching his face carefully for any hint of reaction. “God…I'm so sorry.”

“I din't feel it,” he whispered, brushing loose strands of hair from her face. “I only felt you. This doesn' hurt, kitten. Din't then, doesn' now. I was where I wanted to be.” He smiled softly and caressed her brow with another kiss. “Now let's get you cleaned up.”

“I'm fine.”

“Humor me.”

Buffy's eyes lowered again, touching one of the deeper scars on his chest tentatively. “You need this more than I do,” she said, not bothering to acknowledge the double meaning that haunted her words.

Spike licked his lips. “We both need it. Come on, pet.”

There were words lodged in his throat. Words he needed to say. Buffy was a tower of strength—she always had been. Her body had been a war-zone less than twenty-four hours earlier, and here she was, being what he needed her to be. Not dwelling, not playing the victim. Being the Slayer first in that manner that so often went unappreciated. The part that was about healing more than slaying. Of being brave in the face of adversity.

The water that pelted his skin was hard and nearly sent his skin ablaze. He ignored the superficial burn against his abrasions, rather soaked in the feel of her in his arms. Her head resting against his chest as they clung to each other for endless seconds. Just standing in the comfort of a lover's embrace.

So much to say. So much to tell her.

But he couldn't now. Not like this. Not when he had just gotten her back.

At the same time, though, he couldn't put it off forever. He had to tell her soon. This day. Before they left the townhouse. He had to tell her. It had to be him. Not Giles. Not the Scoobies—not even Willow. It had to be him.

It was their future now. It had to be him.

*~*~*

“Oh my God,” Willow gasped as the Miller's car sped toward the city limits. They had just past Devereaux and now the Winnebago was in view; the front scrunched tightly against an invisible barrier. A spiral of twisted metal, smoke rising from the hood. The pit of her stomach dropped, the dread that had been manifesting for the past twenty minutes reaching new heights. “Giles…”

“I see it, I see it. And no, for the last time, I'm not going faster.” He frowned at her and motioned for her to sit back. “With as nervous as you're making me, it would be our luck to crash as well.”

But Giles didn't crash. In a matter of endless seconds, they had screeched to a halt beside the wreckage, and Willow all but bounded out of the car.

“Sam!” she screamed, circling the vehicle while doing her damndest to ignore the thundering of her heart. “Donna! Josh!”

In all honestly, it likely didn't take as long as it felt it did. The back door of the Winnebago slid open and Sam bolted out, taking her in his arms before she could even sigh her relief. He looked a little shaken, felt the same as he spun her in celebration of his own regard, but otherwise was unharmed.

“You're okay,” she gasped, pulling him down for a hard kiss.

“So are you,” he replied.

“See,” Giles said, oddly good-naturedly. “Just as I said.”

A noise rustled behind them. Josh, Donna, and Toby were similarly sliding out of the broken vehicle. “Hey,” the Deputy Chief of Staff drawled, “we're all okay, too, you know.”

The redhead nodded and shot them a winning smile over Sam's shoulder. “Good to know.”

“Yeah,” Josh continued. “We were actually kinda wondering what was taking you guys so long.”

“Josh was wondering,” Donna clarified. “The rest of us knew that you aren't mind readers.”

“And you're okay,” Sam said, running his hand through her hair, uncaring for the concern that burned his eyes. “You were kind of unconscious the last time I saw you, and that was just a half hour ago.”

The redhead nodded, smiling softly. “I'm okay...I really don't know what happened, but I was kinda catapulted out of…whatever by this thing.” She gestured to the nothing that had them imprisoned. “I…I can't even really explain it.”

“How did you guys get here so fast?” Toby asked.

“We borrowed the Millers' car,” Giles explained. “Willow was insistent that something had happened, so we borrowed the Millers' car and rushed out as fast as we could.”

Josh frowned. “Yeah, now that you mention it, why is this thing still here?”

Willow glanced to the wreckage once more and winced. “Are you guys sure you're all fine?”

“Josh and Toby fell over because they weren't wearing seatbelts,” Donna offered with a shrug. “And Josh now has a bump on his head, but that's what he gets for not listening to me. Sam and I, who were wearing seatbelts, have some bad whiplash, but that's pretty much it.”

Sam nodded. “We also had airbags.”

“Ah yes. Airbags. The lifesaving invention that could quite possibly kill you.” Donna grinned. “We're fine.”

“Other than wondering why the hell we're not halfway to Jackson right now,” Josh agreed. “Which raises the interesting question…why aren't we halfway to Jackson right now? I thought this thing was taken care of. You know…with the exorcism?”

“Yeah, that's the thing.”

Sam frowned. “What's the thing?”

Willow heaved a deep breath and shook her head, offering a nervous smile. “Yeah…that's what…while I was…there's something. We didn't banish Quirinias.”

Donna's eyes widened. “We didn't? Then Spike—”

The redhead raised a hand and shook her head. “No. No, Buffy's fine. I felt that. I felt…we banished Quirinias from Buffy, but that's the thing.”

“What?”

“We banished him from Buffy. Not from the world. And we used a helluva lot of power doing it.” A long sigh rolled off her shoulders. “We didn't banish Quirinias. In fact…I'm pretty sure we made him stronger.”

There was a long moment. She felt Sam's arm around her turn to granite.

“Well,” Josh said finally, kicking at the pavement and heaving a sigh. “This is a whole new thing.”

“No,” Willow replied. “No, it's not. This is the same thing. Exactly the same.”

“Only…?”

“Only now it knows us. Now Quirinias knows us.” She paused and tightened her grip around Sam's middle. “And we've pissed him off.”

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