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Chapter 41

Spike expelled a deep breath and reached up to brush a few loose locks of hair away from Buffy's eyes, his other hand clasped tightly in her grasp. The look on her face twisted his heart, but he knew better than to speak. Than to console her with words that would mean nothing in the face of what he had just said. Her gaze was steadfast on an empty space on the floor, her body tense, a sea of unshed tears welling in need of release.

Words hung around him. Lingering just above them. He wished he could take it back. More than ever, he wished he could take it back. Take it back and mean it. Tell her anything that wasn't the truth. Tell her something that would make the truth more bearable.

When she finally summoned the will to speak, her voice was cold. Void of emotion. Shaken to the root of her foundation. “A-and…you…you're sure.”

Spike drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Yeh,” he murmured. “Quirinias…the entire time that you were…it was preparation for when he took you over. When he…became a god in your skin. Not human…not even a Slayer. He wanted to be a god on earth with all the benefits he'd get bein' a god on a higher plane.”

“And…when you cast him out…”

“We cast him out. Everythin' else…” He sighed and glanced down. “Honestly, sweetheart, I was more concerned at the time with gettin' you out alive. I couldn't…” He broke off again and licked his lips. “How do you feel?”

A shuddering breath escaped her body. “I don't know. No different, I suppose. I…better than I thought I…but…” Buffy's hand tightened around his. “I'm a god?”

“Baby…”

“I'm not even human anymore.” The first few lazy rivers of tears started flowing. “What am I? Dear God, what am I?”

“You're Buffy, sweetheart. Always.” Spike couldn't stand the distance between them anymore and tugged her into his arms, brushing a kiss against her forehead. “An' I'm here. For however long you need me.”

Buffy blinked and pulled back at that, the haze in her eyes fading. “For however long I need you?”

“I—”

“I'm a god, Spike. I have this…” She gestured emphatically. “I'm a god.”

A humorless smile tickled his mouth. “Always thought so, myself.”

“For however long I need you?” Her lower lip began quivering, her eyes filling again with tears. “I'm a god and now you're not even going to be around if you decide I don't need you anymore? Spike—”

He stared at her incredulously. “Buffy—”

“Gods are godlike, aren't they? They have…they're…”

“Yeh, they are. I jus'…I din't know ‘f you…” There was a pause, then he couldn't help but smile at their foolishness. “I love you so much. I don' know ‘f you understand what that means for me. I don' take love for granted. Never have. I would've loved Dru through eternity ‘f she'd've let me, an' she wasn' even the real thing.” He cupped her cheek reverently. “You are. Even ‘f you got tired of me, I'd spend the rest of the world loving you. I knew I was lost forever back at the Myrtles, I think. Din't know I loved you then, an' if I did, I refused to admit it. An' now…” He exhaled deeply; the wondrous look in her eyes doing a number on his heart. It shocked him that she could doubt the intensity of his feelings. That when he said forever, he bloody well meant it. “'m yours as long as you'll have me. I claimed you to save your life, but god, I meant it with everythin' I am. An' I din't want you to reciprocate until you knew—”

There wasn't much he knew about claims beyond the surface level. The meaning, the sacred implications buried within the ritual, but he didn't know how to differentiate between a true claim and one made out of desperation. He didn't know there was a way to differentiate. However, for the sheer bliss that engulfed his body, the jolts of pleasure that seized his blood and tightened his heart with the enormity of what he felt, the purity of her claim on him surpassed any sensation he had experienced.

It was the sweetest thing he had ever known. Her teeth in his throat, marking him as her own. Done out of a measure of understanding. The warmth of her love burning him from the inside. A wealth he could not have hoped for. The power of what she was giving him answered his own call and then some. And for the first time in his life, he truly felt loved. Loved in the way he loved. Loved in the way he had never thought would be his own.

The knowledge inspired tears to his eyes that were already exhausted from crying.

He had held no aspirations of this being the result of what he told her—an eternity in the arms of his Buffy was something that he had already accepted as something he so thoroughly did not deserve.

“Mine,” she whispered against his throat, lapping up what little blood she had drawn tentatively. “Forever, Spike. That's what I want.”

That was it. He couldn't stop the tears if he tried. With a tremulous sigh and a reverential kiss against her lips, he tugged her back into his arms. “Yours,” he agreed. “Forever. God, I never thought…I never…”

“I love you,” Buffy whispered against his skin. “I don't know if you understand what that means for me.” She drew in a deep breath and glanced down. “I don't love easily, Spike. When I love, it's messy and painful and…I didn't want to love again. Not after the first time. But then, you…of all freaking people…God, you made it so easy.”

A gentle smile spread across his face, and he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.

“I think I would've followed Angel forever, too. And that wasn't even the real thing. Sure as hell felt like it, but now…loving then was terrifying enough, and now that I'm with you, I don't even know if that was real love.” She offered a watery grin at the astonishment that overwhelmed his eyes. “It might've been, but it wasn't this. And this…I love you more than I thought I could love anyone…ever. And you're right, it happened fast. It happened so fast and I'm beyond terrified.” Her gaze dropped to her own hands that quivered beneath her scrutiny. “And I'm a god.”

Spike nodded. “We'll get through it, pet. I promise.”

“I know we will. I just…I can't think about this right now. It's too big.” She glanced up again, tightening her grasp on his hand. “I…I can't think. I don't know what it means. I-I don't know what it means to be a god, other than I'm here for kind of…ever, and it's a…what do I do? All I know about gods is that they occasionally create the universe and kill their children for the good of humanity.”

“Think someone else has you covered in that department, baby,” the vampire reassured her with a wry grin. “Besides, the jury's still out on that one.”

“It certainly gives perspective to that ‘thou shalt not worship any other gods before me.'” Buffy frowned. “I never really got that. ‘Any other gods' implies there are more that could be worshipped if you decided not to follow the one with the Commandments.” She paused and grinned shyly at the look on Spike's face. “I never really believed it. Not before I was called, and definitely not after. Not with everything I've seen.”

“'S understandable. I never bought it, either.”

“Really?”

“Well, there was that time when I was human an' din't know better.” He kissed her forehead. “We have forever to find out, sweetling. What you're capable of. How much power you have waitin' in that sweet li'l body of yours.”

A sigh shuddered through her throat. “I don't want power,” she whispered. “I don't want…I was already strong enough that…and now, a god? I don't—”

“We'll work through it. Won' let you fall.”

“What if you can't stop me?”

“Then we fall together,” Spike promised. “We'll make it.”

Buffy licked her lips and smiled. “Yeah,” she agreed hoarsely. “Thank you.”

“Nothin' to thank me for, sweetheart.”

“No.” She shook her head and tugged him to his feet, wiping her eyes with her free hand. The crack of a car door slamming shut echoed faintly from the parking lot. Without a word, it was suddenly time to face the world. “There's so much. There's so, so much. I can't…what you've done for me, I can't imagine…”

Spike stood self-consciously and fidgeted a bit as her hand took to wiping away his own tears. This intimacy with her was something he cherished, yet similarly, being that close to someone made him strangely aware of himself. The thought that he was actually with her—that everything in the past two weeks had actually happened—and the woman he had pined for, unknowingly for two years and so fervently in the past month, loved him was beyond his comprehension. The very Williamish part of him was still terrified that none of this was real. Convinced that a woman of her purity could never look at him with love in her eyes. And yet, she had bitten him and he had felt it. She had claimed him as hers for eternity, completing the half circle that he had forcibly pushed to the back of his subconscious. Her needs met first, always first. He had never expected her to accept him so sacredly, and even in his wildest fantasies, it had never happened so soon.

It had never felt so real. So genuine. So perfect.

His past had never known such mangled perfection. A paradise that he had searched for and finally found after a century of torturous dead ends. And the fact that she couldn't grasp the endless wealth of what he would do for her if she asked, at the drop of a pin if she asked, nearly knocked him off his feet.

“I love you,” he said. “That's all you need to know. All I need to know.”

Buffy smiled softly and nodded, brushing a tender kiss over his lips. “I love you, too,” she agreed. “And…I'm ready.”

He smiled back as she turned to lead him to the door. “We'll come right back,” he promised. “Or go out. Or do anythin' you want. If you—”

“Spike.” She squeezed his hand warmly. “I'll be fine.”

“Yeh. I jus'…'f you need anythin', all you need to do is tell me.”

She stopped at the door and turned to him, gratitude burning her eyes. “I know,” she said. “All I need right now is you…while I do this. I need to see them. I need…I just need to be me for a little while.”

“You're you, baby,” he promised, opening the door for her. “'S jus' gonna take a while.”

“Doesn't matter how long it takes.”

There was nothing to do but smile at that, because it really didn't. They had forever now. A long path that led them to forever, no matter which way they turned. An eternity to heal.

A long and winding road where the finish line had been replaced with nothing.

There was no finish line in forever. Not in the way of the world.

But that was a worry for tomorrow. For the next day of daunting surprises in the midst of a mid-afternoon wake. When they could finally begin.

When they could finally put this pissant town behind them.

*~*~*

The scene upon entering the Wensel House sitting room was familiar but welcoming. A noted gathering of the Scoobies and the White House staffers, whom Spike was sure had left about an hour ago, talking quietly about some new mishap that had managed to occur in the time since the ritual had taken place. Giles was the first to glance up, his eyes widening with relief when he saw Buffy at his side, but strangely adhered to the severe look the vampire delivered before he could jump into a line of questioning.

Xander, on the other hand, had no such tact. His eyes about bugged out of his head, and he immediately jumped to his feet. “Buffy!” he yelled. “You're all…Buffy!”

A grateful smile arose to her face. “Yeah. Hey, Xan.” Her eyes traveled to the redhead that had saved her life, but she held up a hand before people could fire more questions in her direction. “I…thank you all for everything…but really, I don't want to…I can't talk about it just yet, okay?”

Josh flashed a winning grin. “What? You just had a god mojo'ed out of you and you're not ready for your Barbara Walters special?”

“Ignore him,” Donna advised. “Most of us do.”

Spike smirked and nodded at her. “Aren't the lot of you s'posed to be on your way the hell away from here?”

“Don't start,” Josh said, holding up a hand. “I just got off speaker with Leo and the President, both of whom are starting to freak in a way it's not good to freak when you have nuclear weapons at your disposal. Leo's having to talk the President down from flying down here personally when he has a country to run.”

Buffy frowned. “What good would the President coming down here be to anyone?”

“None, and that's the point. The President can't stand the thought that we're down here, stuck by forces outside of the norm, and there's nothing he can do to get us out.” Josh heaved a sigh. “It's one of those times when the man is trying to overthrow the title. That and he's already…there was a thing with a kid. Lowell Lydell.”

Willow turned to him. “I didn't hear about this.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied quickly before Josh could jump in. “It's bad. Lowell Lydell is a high school senior in Minnesota. He's…he was a victim of a hate crime because he's gay.”

“He died not too long ago,” Toby added soberly. “It was on the news before we came down.”

The room stilled.

“Oh my God,” the redhead gasped.

“That's not the worst part,” Josh continued. “The assailants were thirteen years old. They stripped him naked, tied him to a tree, and threw rocks and bottles at his head while making him recite Hail Marys.” He sighed and glanced down, rubbing his hands together. “The President has that on his desk, Leo's thing, us to worry about and—”

Willow held up a hand, her eyes cold. “They threw rocks at his head?”

Sam rubbed her back supportively. “Willow—”

“They threw rocks at his head?”

The Deputy Communications Director scowled and turned to Josh. “This is why I didn't want you to mention it.”

“I was just saying, the President has a lot on his mind. You know how he feels about—”

“Yes, but you didn't have to mention it.”

“I'd still like to know what the lot of you sods are doin' here,” Spike offered, tearing the redhead's outrage away from an incident she could do nothing about and back to the more important present.

It took a few seconds for the outrage behind her eyes to fade, but it did. A calm reasoning overcoming her adversity. “Yeah, that's kind've the thing,” she said. “They were on their way out and, surprise surprise, the wall's still up.”

Buffy frowned. “The huh?”

“Quirinias wasn't defeated when we…for lack of a better word, exorcised him from your body,” Wesley explained. “In fact, we think his strength may have skyrocketed to catastrophic proportions.”

A cold air settled over the room. The vampire tensed into a stonewall, his eyes dark and dangerous. “What?”

The word was not spoken so much as it was barked.

“We're all going to die,” Anya offered simplistically.

Xander closed his eyes as though pained. “Ahn…”

“He won't be able to take Buffy now,” Willow hurried to explain, shooting a quick glare at the former demon. “Not if he tried…it'd cripple him. She pretty much has the same amount of strength as he has…everything Quirinias has, except, well, being Quirinias. B-but we think since we did the spell and used a lot of power that he, ummm, fed off of it and is loads stronger than he was before.”

Buffy squeezed Spike's hand reassuringly, but he didn't budge. “How stronger?” she asked.

“Stronger to the point that if he wanted to take Faith, it wouldn't take nearly as much time as it did the first time around…with the light show and everything. We've pretty much jonesed him with power.” The redhead licked her lips. “Which also means that those demons that were running rampant through town prior to the entire…thing. The…”

“Buruburus,” the Watchers supplied.

“Yeah. We can expect more of those. And more of…whatever.” Willow turned to the coffee table and tugged the nearest open text into her lap. “Josh also found this thing when we were researching what happened to you.”

“I did?”

Sam nodded at him. “You fell asleep right after.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “I vaguely remember that.”

Buffy wet her lips. “What did he find?”

“Quirinias has the ability to sire gods,” Giles answered, removing his glasses. “And has been known by different names throughout history. Buku, for one, in Africa where he was at times worshipped as a goddess. There is every possibility that he has assumed a variety of shapes and names through different cultures and that this translation that you and Spike found at the Myrtles was just one of thousands.” A somber look crossed his face. “If Quirinias succeeds in seizing Faith as he attempted to do you…”

Buffy blinked. “He has the ability to make gods?”

“Evidently.”

“Does this mean I have the ability to make gods? ‘Cause really? Not a power I'm wanting.”

Giles smiled grimly. “It would take years to progress to that level. You are at heart a human being. Your body is capable, yes…but not without preparation. The power that you have is extraordinary…using it—”

“Okay, let me stop you right there.” The Slayer held out a hand. “There will be no using of my powers. Got it? Good.”

“Power's no fun if you can't use it,” Anya pouted, elbowing Xander. “Tell her she's being stupid.”

The former demon's comment went, by in large, ignored. The Watcher's eyes were trained on his Slayer. “Buffy—”

“No. I'm not a god. Not in the way that gods are gods. I'm not cut out for it. And I just…no. The thought alone terrifies me. I am one, and now I have the ability to create them? Create gods?” She didn't realize how hard she was shaking until Spike drew her into his arms, and then everything else was muffled into his shirt.

The vampire kissed her forehead reverently and glanced at the elder Watcher over the top of her head. “Let's skip ahead on the ‘god creating bit', shall we?”

“We can't,” Wesley intervened, braving the harsh glare that was automatically aimed in his direction. “Well, we can bypass the creating of gods, but Buffy's newfound powers could be what stands between us and the end of the world. Presuming that Faith is not found between now and the time that it takes the possession to become permanent, we could very well need Buffy to banish Quirinias once and for all.”

The look Spike gave him spoke volumes to the fact that if it weren't for the blonde in his arms, Wesley would already be an afterthought. “What makes you think we won' find Faith before then?” he snarled.

Josh cleared his throat. “How about the fact that you guys, umm, haven't yet?”

“And even when you did, you left her where she was,” Toby added.

“Buffy was hit,” the vampire growled, eyes blazing dangerous shades of yellow. “Faith stopped mattering then.”

“Well, she matters now.” Giles didn't flinch when he became subject to the growing wealth of hostility, rather sat reasonably and nodded. “We are not condemning you for thinking of Buffy first,” he said. “I believe any of us in that situation would have done the same. The fact remains that Quirinias very intentionally led Faith here from Sunnydale with the hopes that we would follow. He needed a Slayer, and since Faith is the active Slayer, she was the one selected. He also needed his book uncovered and read as to release his potential and prepare the ritual, all while containing Faith's whereabouts from us using whatever power he had. Everything I have researched has screamed ardently that Buffy was never his objective…she was just in the way. Now that he's lost her but gained an extraordinary amount of power in the process, there is absolutely no reason to think he will not revert to the original plan of possessing Faith. Which similarly means that the blocks that were initially placed around her will be strengthened.” The Watcher drew in a deep breath and glanced to Sam. “I also have reason to believe that whatever she did to you…she was being driven mad, or to a point of desperation. Quirinias has been working her from the beginning. I know that it is not…entirely unlike Faith to behave so wantonly, but even she has her limits.” He turned back to the blonde couple, a sympathetic look crossing his face. “The fact that Faith has eluded you has been neither your or her fault. It is not impossible, but highly unlikely that we will see her again before…the transformation is complete.”

Buffy was grasping him tight enough to break a regular man in two. Spike rubbed reassuring circles into her back and nodded at Giles. “What happens then?”

“Willow…” A shuddering sigh escaped the Watcher, and he turned to the redhead with a note of sorrow. “God, I don't want to do this…the full of the Rite of Thrieve would have to be enacted…not the abbreviated version used on Buffy. Since we are sorely lacking a warlock or a sorcerer, Buffy would be the next choice, seeing as her power—even though she is currently unadjusted to it—matches Quirinias beat for beat. She would do nothing but sit with Willow and one other person of no consequence as Willow recited the passage.”

Josh perked a brow. “Why of no consequence?”

“Because we don't want Willow to be dead,” Anya answered unhelpfully.

The room sent her a cold look that she ignored without fault.

Giles licked his lips and glanced to the Witch, who was already pale at the thought of going through the uncensored account of what had nearly forced her into a coma. There was fear there, but comprehension that could not be undermined. “Because the power that she tapped into the first time was already more than her body was accustomed to,” he explained. “More than she had ever thought to touch before. And there is no going back from that. Throwing a god into the mix—” He nodded at Buffy. “—could be…but there's nothing else. We have nothing else. While Wesley and I are schooled in the basics of wizardry, we have no capacity to hold it as Willow does. And if we tried to take the place as the third wielder, we could end up doing more damage than good.”

“And Anya?”

The former demon shrugged. “I don't have any powers,” she said. “When I tried to regain my powers, I went to Willow for help. Whatever residual powers I have are not nearly strong enough to do something like this.”

“But she has enough,” Giles continued, “to merit a threat. If it comes down to this, it would need to be in an open area where the rest of us could form a circle around Willow, Buffy, and whomever else we select. Some translations of the rite mention a Keeper of Words…or someone who stands not in the circle or with the three, reciting holy passages in Latin.”

“That me?” Spike offered, arching a brow.

“No. That would be my role. We would need you in the circle around the three.” He glanced down. “I'm not entirely sure how much physical strength comes into play, but I'd rather not take my chances.”

The vampire nodded. “You better not sully your Latin either, mate.”

“I do not sully—”

“The President of the United States agreed with me when neither of you wankers would come down from your mighty horse to admit ole Spike might be smarter than either of you ever gave credit.” He smiled proudly. “Better run it through me before you start recitin' somethin' that could end the world you're dyin' to save.”

“The President agreed with you?” Buffy asked, impressed.

Spike nodded and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “Put your wanker of a Watcher in his place, at that.”

The Watcher expelled a deep breath. “Be that as it may, the President would not necessarily agree with your take on every translation, Spike. And there's every possibility that he could foul it up, himself.”

Josh, Toby, Sam, and Donna all exchanged a skeptical glance before declaring on the same beat, “No it's not.”

“I don't mean to suggest—”

“I know,” Donna said neutrally before Josh could jump in. “But you don't know the President. He doesn't foul up Latin.”

“He also gave me an executive order about…Latin,” the Deputy Chief of Staff added, tossing Spike a wary glance. “You're supposed to listen to him.”

Xander cocked a brow. “An executive order about Latin? Can he do that?”

“No, but it sounds impressive.” Josh grinned. “And it wasn't actually to follow Spike, but more that he has no tolerance for messing up Latin. And, call me stupid—”

“You're stupid,” Donna muttered airily.

“—but the guy's a vampire that's been around, you know, a lot longer than you guys.”

Anya cleared her throat.

“Not you. But do you know Latin?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then stop bothering me. Point being, he knows Latin and he's known it longer than either of you. Plus, right now, he's the one the President trusts to not mess up any translations. So you should listen to him.”

Spike grinned. “Thanks, mate.”

The other man shook his head. “Not for you. The President might be a nerd, but he knows his Latin. And in that, I trust his judgment implicitly.”

“You big nerd,” Buffy murmured fondly, squeezing his hand.

The vampire scowled at her, but his eyes were dancing. It was good to hear a note of humor edging into a voice that had known such pain in just the past few days. He didn't reply; instead turned to Giles who had resigned himself to the fact that he was outnumbered. “Do you have anythin' on where the other Slayer might've been taken? Don' wager she's still danglin' a hundred feet up at Longwood.”

“No, she's gone. She disappeared, though, from Mrs. Banta's house before she had entirely healed.” The elder Watcher shrugged. “That's the only lead I could track in the amount of time that I had.”

“How'd you track it?” Donna asked, frowning.

“I called Longwood and asked if anyone had found a girl chained to the dome.”

“Oh.”

“So, I patrol, then? Try to track the bird down?” Spike asked. His hands came up when he earned a series of skeptical glances. “Yeh, I know what was said an' all. Still doesn' mean I'm gonna sit here on my hands an' do rot but wait till the big beastie decides to tear us to bitty bits.”

“You're going to patrol?” Buffy asked softly, her eyes wide with fear that he couldn't bear to see her wear. “Okay. If you're patrolling, I'm going with you.”

“No. You're really not.”

“Spike—”

“You think I jus' went through that to have you—”

The room settled awkwardly; a series of uncomfortable glances exchanged as the couple broke into a mini-spat.

“Spike! I'm going. Case closed. If you're going out, I'm going, too. That's the way it works.” Her grip on his hand tightened. “I'm not going to…we chanced it once, right?”

“Yeh, an' you ended up god chow. You think I could go through that again?”

The pain that flashed across his face tore at her heart, but she remained unmoved. There was no way she was letting him out of her sight until there was a good thousand miles between them and Natchez. This place was tainted with the stench of devastation. It had already taken so much from her; she would not give it the chance to take him, too.

Slowly, Buffy raised his hand to her heart, eyes locked with his. Well aware but uncaring that they were the center of attention, even in front of those who weren't ready for the depth of their relationship. A fact she understood but had long stopped worrying over. She was in love with Spike, mated to Spike, and if they didn't like that, there was a door just waiting to be used. “Spike,” she whispered. “Please.”

The sound of his harsh breaths rang against the still air that did not want them. He was thoroughly torn—the love in his eyes so deep she could drown. It was a hard decision, but one they both had to confront. There in the midst of everything, trust. Trust in more than each other.

Trust in things they had never had reason to trust before.

In a claim that was no more than an hour old in completion.

“Yeh,” he said finally, shoulders sagging. “We go. Right?” When she nodded, it was over. Just like that. Spike reeled her into his side and turned back to the others. “'F Quiriny takes over the other Slayer,” he remarked, “how long do we have?”

There was a pause. Giles finally cleared his throat and glanced down. “Ummm…we'll work on that,” he replied. “You two better get moving.”

“Right.”

And without another word to the contrary, Spike tugged on Buffy's hand and led her out the back, the storm door slamming hard behind them. And then they were off. Falling into stride. Side-by-side. Hands linked. Touring the city with the eyes of a newborn god.

Kissing the night sky that had never shone so bright.

Though honestly, she didn't know if that was the god part of her or the other thing. The power she felt trembled at the promise of what she had at her side. For all the fear, all the sense of finality, the realization of how terrible things were, she had never been happier. Never felt like this before.

Balancing the scales between fear and happiness could be a dangerous thing. But for the moment, she did not care. Could not. There was only this and the mission. The mission was what mattered.

The mission and the man at her side.

All the rest, she would think about tomorrow.

Chapter 42

“'m beginnin' to think we should've brought Donna's book along.”

Buffy made a face as Spike stepped away from the third demon they had come across in the past ten minutes—the third demon that eluded his otherwise encyclopedic knowledge of foreign spirits and legends. There were a few that he had identified—an ekimmu of Assyrian descent and one of the classic British bogeys; this last one was different. A more haggardly but very much ethereal figure with a dead face and long, stringy white hair. Half of these things looked to be incorporeal, but her boyfriend had succeeded in snapping necks and dodging punches. It only served as a testament to how powerful the god had become.

“Donna's book would've helped?” she replied as he wiped his hands on the nearest tombstone. For a thing that didn't look to be solid, the demon released the foulest smelling blood she had ever encountered—a transparent ooze of some sort that even had the vampire shaking his head in disgust.

Spike shrugged with a dry smirk. “She sat with me while you were sick,” he said. “Don' know ‘f she knows that she reads aloud when she's nervous…an' why she'd be readin' a ghost book when she's nervous is beyond me. Sounded like a lot of that rot might've been right up our alley.”

“Donna sat with you while I was sick?”

“In case you needed somethin'…or I needed somethin'. Told her it wasn' necessary.”

Buffy smiled softly and curled her arm around his. “I think she has a bit of a crush on you,” she said.

Spike's eyes twinkled. “The bird's completely taken with her wanker of a boss,” he retorted. “God, you'd have to be deaf, dumb, an' blind to not see it. But even so, I'm a taken gent. ‘Sides, she told me that way back, she an' Red had a heyday of teasin' you ‘cause you were smitten with me.”

It was charming to watch her cheeks redden even after everything they had done and confessed. Even now that they were together, mated in a sacred bond, and all but holding hands in a cemetery. As though her crush was something that she still needed to guard herself from. As though he hadn't felt the same—it being all of two and a half weeks before.

“She told you that?” Buffy asked quietly, eyes glued to the ground. “Well, they were just, you know, giving me a hard time because we weren't fighting anymore and I was kind of…you know—”

“Sweetheart?” She looked up. “If you're gonna start playin' coy, it's a li'l late, don' you think?”

A small smirk quirked her lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just didn't want to give you the wrong impression or anything.”

“What part of a wrong impression? You've told me you love me, you've claimed me an'—oh wait—shagged my brains out.” The blush in her skin intensified, and he found it adorable. “Are you tellin' me,” he continued, “that on top of all that, you like me, too? Saucy minx.”

“Well…so have you!”

Spike smiled and brushed a loving kiss across her lips. “That goes without say.”

“Well then, you don't have to be all superior about it.” A sigh rumbled through her throat and her expression suddenly turned serious. “These demons gaining power—ancient demons that were, you know, folklorey. The kind the Council has never even considered a threat…what…they just—”

“Jus' keep comin' an' comin',” he agreed, gaze taking a turn about their surroundings as if on suggestion alone another would pop out. “No Faith. More than the soddin' buruburus, that's for bloody sure. That ekimmu's a dangerous breed. If we have those runnin' around…” His face fell serious, and he turned to her, panicked. “You din't look at it, did you?”

She frowned. “Why?”

“'Cause those things are bleedin' hard to exorcise. Don' remember the whole of it, but they're allegedly evil spirits that were rejected by the Underworld after bein' murdered or dyin' in some ugly, nasty way.” He released a shuddering breath. “Only saw one once before. Dru captured it ‘cause Angelus thought it'd be a bloody laugh riot ‘f we sent one of those buggers into some unsuspecting's house. It attached itself to the youngest daughter an' had everyone dead within two days. Did you look at it? If you look at it, you chance gettin' haunted by it. You—”

“Spike. It didn't affect you, did it?” He frowned. She placed a hand over her heart. “Not human anymore. In fact…I think when I looked at it—”

“You did look at it!”

“Yeah, and it kinda died. Well, that was either me or you snapping its neck, but I'm fine. It didn't…I didn't feel anything.” A lonely look suddenly haunted Buffy's eyes, and she shivered as they took a turn to leave the cemetery. There was quiet around them, a different kind of quiet than the sort that had fooled them in the past. A vacant cry over nothingness; a signal that whatever demons had lurked in the grounds were moving on to find their next neighborhood to terrorize.

There was no Faith here. Her scent was all over town but the past two hours had led them in circles. Following Spike's nose and Buffy's instinct—tearing them in different directions with the same dead ends. As though the other Slayer had transcended the worldly helix and was beyond their physical reach. As though it was already too late.

Spike's hand dropped to his mate's, squeezing in reassurance when her thought refused to complete itself. “What's wrong, kitten? Is it—”

“I didn't feel anything.”

“Well, prob'ly means the ghostie din't—”

“What if I can't feel anything anymore? I'm a god, right? Do gods…do they feel?” They were at the front gate now, and she twisted to face him, a new sheen of tears sparkling her eyes, never far from release with all she had faced. “What if…I feel things. Emotions. I know I love you…and my friends, and…I feel that. But…can I still feel—”

Her direction wasn't difficult to follow, though he found her sudden concern both heartbreaking and sweet. There would be questions like this for a while, he knew. Questions about everyday things that might change with the results of change. Thus he answered her in the way he knew best; tugged her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. Tasting her for the first time in days in something other than reassurance. In the release of that lust he had all but forgotten when love overwhelmed his worry for her. Now his girl was back, in every sense. And his body missed hers terribly.

He tasted every inch of her mouth. Dueled with her tongue, whispered words against her lips that were for only her to keep. Allowed his hands to find her face, then trace down her body and cup her breasts with soft sensuality that he had never thought to touch again. She was whimpering into his kiss without even realizing it, pushing herself into him, arching her pelvis against his hardness that craved her heat. It couldn't last anymore than a few seconds. Spike finally drew away, albeit reluctantly, and smiled at the moan of disappointment that rumbled through her throat.

He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the prominent bite mark on her skin. “Did you feel that?” he asked.

“Uh huh.” There was a dazed tenor to her voice that he took great pride in.

“Then I don' think lack of feelin' is anything you need to worry about, kitten.”

Buffy nodded dumbly and tugged his mouth back to hers. From nowhere, it seemed, the silently implied physical distance they had placed between themselves was gone, and it was all right to want one another once more. To want it all.

“Jesus,” Spike whimpered against her lips, head sinking to pepper her throat with wet, ardent kisses. “I never thought I'd feel this again. God, Buffy…”

“Yup,” she replied in a falsetto, cheery tone that both turned him on and tore at his heart. “That's me. God Buffy.”

There was no way to respond to that; he wasn't even going to call her on it. Opting instead to bring her attention back to him. “I love you,” he whispered into her skin, one devious hand darting under the hem of her shirt to cup her breast, delighted that she had forgone a bra in her preparations. “I love you so much.” He tweaked her nipple between his fingers, reveling in the throaty groan that rumbled through her lips. “My Buffy…”

“Ooohhh…” Her eyes wedged open with some difficulty, the night air slamming back into her as she remembered exactly where they were and what they had so recently been doing. “Spike?”

He was thoroughly preoccupied in doting his claim mark with sweet little kisses. “Mmm?”

“Maybe we should…go back?”

His mouth suddenly abandoned her skin; not without a sound of complaint. “Must be doin' somethin' wrong,” he murmured, obediently removing his hands from under her shirt and helping her straighten up. “Thought you'd be at the ‘only two people in the world' stage by now.”

“You're not that smooth an operator, buster.” Her playfulness betrayed her jest.

Spike arched a cool brow. “Yes, I am.”

“Yes you are. But really…” Buffy made a face and gestured to their surroundings. “Just a few minutes ago, we were killing demons. Big, ugly, world-endy demons. And all…” She glanced to him mournfully. “We're not going to find Faith, are we?”

“Don' go blamin' this on me. Our li'l tryst lasted all of five minutes.”

“That's not what I mean. I mean, we're not going to find Faith. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. We're not going to see her.” The Slayer released a deep sigh and glanced around. “Even if we looked under every rock in Natchez, we wouldn't find her. Giles said it back at the townhouse. She's gone. She's gone…but she's everywhere at the same time. I can feel her—I know you can, too.”

He nodded and brushed the loose locks of hair from her face. “Yeh. Her scent's all over…an' like she's all over. Not like she left an' went across town. Like she's here an' there, too.” He glanced down, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Buffy…”

“I know.”

“I jus' got you back. I'm not gonna lose you again.”

“No, you're not.” She clasped her hand in his and tugged him back in the direction of the Wensel House. “You wanna go back now?”

A roguish grin crossed his face but did not quite reach his eyes. He would know that body language anywhere. And for just a little while, it seemed, the world around them could stop existing. The world around them that shuddered at the seams. “I thought you'd never ask.”

If only a little while.

*~*~*

Willow was reclined on her bed, engrossed in reading when Sam knocked tentatively at the door. He had a standing invitation to come and go as he liked, of course, and he knew it; there were simply certain measures of privacy that he opted to leave open to her.

“Yeah,” she called absently, not looking up as he walked in.

“Find anything?”

“No. My eyes are about to issue a complaint to my brain. I can't tell you how many times I've read this passage.” She drew in a sigh and glanced up as he nodded, charmingly befuddled for a reason that completely escaped her. “What's up?”

“What? Oh…Donna's trying to get everyone downstairs to do a Christmas exchange thing.”

“Oh.” Right. The Christmas exchange. Shopping with Donna at the vacant Natchez mall on a day that seemed so long ago. The holiday itself had rolled past them at some point. She had given up counting the days once Buffy was infected. Little things like that had ceased to matter. “Ummm…I'll be down in a minute, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” He fell silent immediately but did not move. Rather stood, fidgety, as she lowered her eyes to the text once more.

That lasted only seconds. Willow heaved a sigh and glanced up again. “Sam?”

“Yes?”

“Whatever it is, you can say it.”

“Whatever what is?”

“The reason you're standing there, watching me as though I'm gonna disappear.” Willow licked her lips and closed her book, edging upright. “After this Christmas exchange, I need to start researching the non-Cliffy Notey version of the Rite of Thrieve. Then I need to do a few exercises to get myself ready for…that. Again. Is that what you're—”

“No! Well, yes, but…” He averted his eyes. “I just…the President asked us back in DC while you were unconscious. I didn't want to leave, but the thing with my job and…I didn't want to leave.”

Willow blinked at him dumbly. Then, slowly, allowed a long smile to spread across her face. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Could you be any cuter?”

Sam flushed and kicked at the ground nervously. “Well, as a matter of fact I can, but that's not the point. The thing is—”

Willow help up a hand and he immediately fell silent. “The thing is,” she said calmly, “that you work for the President of the United States. I understand that. That and you left me a note with practically every phone number you've ever been in contact with.”

“I—”

She reached into her back pocket and whipped out the aforementioned list. “573-725-4664. Beside it you wrote, my second cousin, twice removed.” The uncomfortable look that overwhelmed the man at that only further verified her verdict of cute. “The last thing I thought was that you were bailing on me, okay? Again—President. Kind of a big job. And, you know, you've already been away for forever.”

Sam flashed a beaming smile and shrugged. “I just didn't want you to think…you were unconscious and—”

“Yeah. And it's okay.” She smiled gratefully and neared to press a light kiss to his lips. “Okay?”

“Okay.” A heavy sigh rolled off his shoulders and he cast his eyes downward. “I'm also…this thing. The Rite of Thrieve thing. You really have to do it again?”

Willow licked her lips and nodded, holding out her hands in a model of scales. “Me,” she said, wiggling her left hand. “The world.” She indicated the other with a thoughtful demonstration of her life in the face of so many others. “I don't have a choice. It'll get messy, yeah, but I need to do this. And this time…I won't be alone.”

“Yeah.”

“Buffy will be right there beside me. God powers and all.”

“Giles said it might kill you.”

A dry smile quirked her mouth. “Giles said any more power might kill me, which is why he, Wesley, and Anya are staying away. They don't have much, but they have the hint of enough to send me into overdrive.” She shrugged. “I'm not as worried about Buffy's affect on me as I am the…me plus power thing.”

“Me, too.”

“But in that…Giles doesn't even know, I don't think, just how much I can handle.” She released a shuddering breath. “Just how much that last spell gave me. I feel different. More…like anything I touch could…” A pause; she met his gaze and looked away again, suddenly uncomfortable. “Anyway…with the Christmas thing.”

“Yeah.”

“Downstairs?”

He nodded.

“I'll be down in a minute. Just…” She frowned. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

“Okay.”

The reluctance wracking his body tore at her heart, but she did not call him back as he disappeared through the door and back down the hall.

There were only so many more times that she could do this. Amidst all her hesitation, a knowledge of what would happen when she started. Nothing that she could know, yet did all the same. An innate comprehension.

The world would survive. That resolution refused to waver.

She just didn't know if she could say the same for herself.

*~*~*

They didn't make it to the bed.

The first piece of furniture to greet them upon making their way through the back entrance was the recliner positioned in front of the television. She had leapt into his arms and he had somehow fallen into it. And here they were.

For whatever reason, Spike had not seen this as an outcome of the night. Granted, the furthest thing in his mind was complaining, but having Buffy in his arms, her head resting at his shoulder, his cock buried within her warmth—he had not expected it. Not today. Not so soon. Not with his body still healing from wounds inflicted just yesterday.

He would trade it for nothing, though. This peace. This wholeness of being. A union made for the sake of affirmation and a growing knowledge that their time together could know a radical end in the next few days. She was in his lap, shuddering breaths wracking her body. Sweat glistening her perfect skin as she moved over him in long, languorous strokes. Her hands were at the back of the chair, gripping as though she feared touching him for balance. His own took chart down her back, whispered through her hair, cupped and massaged her breasts and settled on her hips.

She was weeping into his shoulder, drawing him in as deep as she could. And weeping.

There were many aspects of the female hormones that he would never understand, but that didn't stop them from breaking his heart. And being as learned as he was, he knew to distinguish tears of reaction from tears of sorrow.

At the same time, the small, incomprehensible sounds she was making drove him mad with desire that could never be quenched. Not even when he was inside her.

Spike lowered his head, planting wet, teasing kisses along the columns of her throat. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, “talk to me.”

Her Slayer muscles contracted, wrangling a long moan from his throat. “What do you want me to say?”

“Anythin'. Jus' anythin'. Please, jus' talk.”

She pressed a kiss to her claim mark and he shuddered against the urge to come at contact alone. It amazed him that she didn't know how much power she really had over him. How the slightest touch could affect him so. And that to know that she was crying drove a stake through his heart—the sort that didn't make him explode, just sat there with the intent of prolonging his torment. “You feel so good,” she whispered at last. “So…so good.”

“You feel wonderful,” he replied earnestly, head dipping to draw a nipple into his mouth. It was an understatement. His time with her before had been brilliant, but this surpassed all else. The sensation alone threatened to blind him with ecstasy. Like touching heaven but from a distance. Knowing flawed perfection—holding it as close to him as the world had deemed possible. “Buffy…”

“I just…I…”

Spike slithered a hand between them. “I know, baby. It's all right.” He captured her clit with a rapturous sigh, massaging her needy bundle with in soft yet speedy strokes. And when she found her release, it triggered his in a way he had never before experienced. As though he felt her pleasure along with his. A burning fire in the pit of his stomach that roared and sparked and died to a slow sizzle without ever extinguishing. He didn't realize how hard he was panting until he felt her hand tilt his chin upward, the wonder in her eyes reading the same for what he felt. A reverberation of her name screamed in euphoric release faded just as he identified the voice as his own. And he was left in repose, staring in awe at the miracle in his arms.

“Oh Jesus,” he gasped finally, resting his brow against hers. “Are you all right?”

It seemed such a silly question, and he didn't know—in truth—if he was asking for the tears that stained her cheeks or the bubble of rapture that refused to know silence.

“Buffy?”

A sob crinkled through the air and she tugged him close. “I love you so much,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his throat. “And God, I'm so scared.”

Spike drew in a deep breath, running his hands soothingly down her back. The admission tore his heart to ribbons. It was crashing now. The reality of everything. What had happened to her; what was happening now. That desperation between needing to save the world and needing to be human. Needing to feel something other than the loom surrounding them.

“We'll be fine,” he promised ardently. “You really think I'm gonna let you go now?”

“I'm a god,” she whispered. “This should be easier.”

“'S never easy, pet,” he replied, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. “Never will be.”

“It needs to be more. If the world ends—”

“It won't.”

Buffy shook her head and drew back, wiping at her eyes. “How can you be so sure? This is a thing that has the power to make other gods and…well, turn me into one…and Willow's dealing with more magic than ever before and—”

“'m sure ‘cause the world has never ended on an apocalypse that you an' me teamed up to fight.” That earned him a grin. “We'll make it. All right? Then you an' I'll go back to SunnyD, find someplace cozy, an' spend the rest of eternity shaggin' an' killin' evil things.”

A ghost of a smile touched her face. “Evil things?”

“Present company excluded?”

“You're not evil, Spike.”

A mock-wounded glare fell over his face. “Am so!”

“Sweetie…no.”

“'m very evil, I'll have you know. I'm so evil that…” His eyes softened at the mirth bubbling behind hers. “You're adorable.”

“Oh yeah. Evilest of the evil, you are.”

“Don' know why I put up with you, really.”

With a small smile, she clenched her Slayer muscles, calling attention to the intimacy of their connection and coaxing a long whimper through his throat. “I have a few ideas.”

Spike's eyes rolled up as his head lulled back. “Fuck.” His hands hooked under her hips and lifted her off his erection, then down again with a sharp gasp. “You feel so fucking good. God, I love you so much.”

“So good,” she whimpered, her eyes glazed with pleasure. “God, Spike…”

“Mmm…”

It could have gone on forever. This simple bliss of being. Rejoicing their love with the oldest dance known to man. It could have easily—they could have forgotten everything for the joy of being together. However, the outside world would not wait for them to enjoy their sanctuary.

Donna was at the front entrance by the kitchen, knocking tentatively, calling inward about some gift exchange and how everyone was meeting in the parlor.

Spike's eyes went wide and his thrusting hips came to an abrupt standstill. Buffy's sharp gasp of complaint sounded instantly; too loud for the blonde outside to not have heard, or recognize what she had just interrupted. And for as well as the vampire had come to know Donna—in the past few days especially—he could practically see her skin flush.

“Don't stop,” the Slayer pouted, moving against him frantically. “Spiiike!”

He clamped a hand over her mouth, his other hand dropping to her center. “We'll be there in a second!” he called, flashing his girl an apologetic look. He waited while Donna went through her internal debate on the wisdom of leaving them unsupervised, capturing Buffy's clit with his thumb and forefinger, suckling her throat with a murmur of content.

It took a few seconds, but a wave of resignation washed over Donna and she spun around to return to the main house. “Okay,” she said. “But we're starting now.”

“Yeah.”

The minute she was gone, Spike released a low, guttural growl and lifted Buffy off the chair, still firmly enveloped in her warmth. “Thought she'd never leave,” he moaned, capturing her mouth as he fell back to the ground, and began thrusting into her with a frenzy.

“Uhhh…”

“So sorry, sweetheart,” he panted heatedly, tweaking her nipples between his fingers. “Gonna make it up to you.”

“Spiiike…”

“Fuck. You're so warm.” His mouth dropped to her throat, planting hot, ardent kisses across every inch of skin. “So tight. God, Buffy, I love you so much.”

A strangled whimper rumbled through her lips.

“I…Spike—the thing…the—”

“Fuck the party,” he rasped, blowing a cool stream of air against a breast before drawing it into his mouth. “Let ‘em wait.”

There was this for the first time. A frantic need—a reminder. Buried there beneath the fear. Beneath the concerns for tomorrow. A need for each other beyond all other.

A need to forget before the world came rushing back.

*~*~*

As it turned out, everyone who had gone shopping—whether with the intention of purchasing Christmas presents or not—had all bought Toby the same thing. Thus by the end of the trade, he had a respectful pile of bouncy balls gathered in the corner.

“When people ask you what I like,” he said to Sam after enduring another round of ball jokes, “you do know that I have, you know, hobbies.”

Donna frowned. “You have hobbies?”

A pause. “Not really, no.”

Willow shrugged and laughed a little. “Sam said you like balls.”

At that, Wesley, Giles, and Xander burst into childish giggles. The same giggles that came to an end just as rapidly with the death glare the Communications Director shot in their direction. “Sorry, sorry,” the elder Watcher hurried to apologize, holding up the bottle of wine he had purloined from the dining room. “A tad tipsy.”

“This is a reassuring thing to hear from our demonologist on Apocalypse Eve,” Josh noted dryly, admiring the tie that Donna had purchased for him.

“How would you like to spend your apocalypse?” Giles retorted, arching a brow.

“Toby's playing with balls,” Xander noted, inspiring the Watchers to giggles once more.

“When the world ends,” Toby said dryly, bouncing a ball in Harris's direction, “you better be the first to go.”

“Oh, I can hold my own, my friend.”

Anya shrugged. “Ten bucks says he'll be hiding behind me the whole time.”

“Ahn!”

“So says the former demon that fled at the last apocalypse,” Wesley observed, earning a snicker from said former demon's companion.

Willow snickered and elbowed her boyfriend whom had yet to draw his eyes away from the pocket watch she had finally selected for him on their shopping excursion. It wasn't a gift she was entirely proud of, but at Donna's suggestion, something he would truly enjoy. “Do you really like it?” she asked for the millionth time. “Because—”

He smiled warmly and kissed her forehead. “Yes. Really, really yes. It's perfect.”

“Hey,” Josh said, suddenly interested. “Does it have a compass? You know, ‘cause it being us, we could really use those when we actually get out of here.”

“Presuming there's a place to go once this is over,” Donna added. “And an ‘us.'”

Willow smiled sadly but refused to think in those terms. Joking about the impending apocalypse was fine. Acknowledging it as an inevitability was something she wanted to save for morning. “So,” she said, turning to Josh. “Did you like your…thing?”

He arched a brow and reached for the snow-globe that she had purchased on a whim. “Sure,” he said, turning it over to set the miniature Christmas scene in full snowy action. “One thing, though.”

“What?”

“I'm Jewish. And this…” He held up her gift. “Is not.”

“Hey! I'm Jewish!”

“Yes, and you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Sam scowled. “Josh—”

“It's a non-denominational snow globe, I'll have you know.”

“Yeah. I can tell that by the way the Santa is holding a menorah. Oh wait, no.” He frowned and pretended to inspect it. “Those would be sleigh bells.”

“Oh, give it a rest, you two.” Toby rolled his eyes. “Josh, the last time you went to Temple, you were in grade school. And you…” He pointed at Willow. “Don't even get me started on you.”

“And really,” Donna intervened. “Please don't.”

“Shut up, Cat-Woman.”

Giles bowed his head and sighed. “Oh thank God.”

“What?”

“Buffy and Spike are here.”

Immediately, Donna's indignant look vanished and her flush returned by suggestion alone. The arrival, however, was oddly timely. There wasn't a person in the room that wasn't grateful for the interruption.

“'Lo all,” the vampire greeted. “Sorry we're late.”

“No we're not,” Buffy replied, unapologetic.

“No we're not, but we were goin' for polite there, luv.”

“And maybe a tad less obvious,” Xander suggested, though oddly good-natured about it. “Come. Sit. Be merry with us.”

“Yeah. Merry's a word I'd use to describe this,” Toby drawled.

Spike smirked wryly and grabbed a seat on the floor, tugging Buffy unceremoniously into his lap. “Aside the festivities,” he began, “do we know anythin' different?”

“Only that the world around Quirinias will be cast into darkness before he awakes,” Wesley replied. “‘And so begins a thousand years of famine, a thousand years of blood and turmoil and destruction.' And sod all to the rest. Babies will be born with their eyes insight out. Cats will birth litters of snakes. Dogs will voluntarily wear those insidious costumes that humanity created as another means of degradation. Honestly, these gods can't think of an original apocalypse to save their immortal arses.”

The room quieted and stared at him as though he had announced that he was Thomas Edison. An uncharacteristic break from protocol, but he did not look the least bit apologetic.

“Must be the wine,” he said, grabbing the half-empty bottle from Giles's grasp.

The elder Watcher frowned and made a play to seize it back, but the younger man had already edged far enough away that the effort to move was not worth the reward. “Yes,” he agreed a minute later. “That and the ankou has to arrive.”

Buffy frowned. “The what?”

“Ankou. Found another culture this god's a big…god in.” Giles winced and shook his head. “At this point, I'm wondering if he didn't assume the name Yahweh and talk a bunch of wandering morons into believing a man he bestowed with godly powers was going to be crucified just because he felt like being nice.”

“Quirinias is God?” Donna whimpered. “Well, there go my beliefs.”

Giles flashed her an apologetic glance. “He's a god, my dear. Just like the bloody rest of them. Yahweh simply got lucky and had a mass following thanks to a drunken Roman Emperor.”

“And if your beliefs haven't been thrashed by now, then we're not trying hard enough,” Xander added.

“Kind of like Dracula,” Anya said helpfully. “He's a vampire that everyone has heard of, but he's not as powerful as other vampires. He just has more notoriety.”

Josh held up a hand. “Whoa. Wait. Dracula?”

The ex-vengeance demon nodded. “Yes. Vlad the Impaler? I trust you've heard of him.”

Buffy's eyes widened appraisingly. “Wow. He's really exists? Cool.”

“No, pet,” Spike berated softly. “I assure you, very much not.”

“Dracula's real?” The Deputy Chief of Staff was completely befuddled. “Okay. You're just having a little fun now, aren't you?”

“Oh, I wish, mate,” Spike drawled, reaching for his cigarettes. “That wanker's needed a good stakin' for centuries. Let out how to kill us, an' became a soddin' celebrity in the process. Hate to think of what he's made in merchandising alone.”

“Merchandising?” Giles asked, wide-eyed.

“Well, think about it. If you were as bloody infamous as the Count, wouldn't you want a li'l piece of the monetary action?” The vampire quirked a brow as he lit up, inhaling deeply. “But Demon Girl's right. Drac has the fame, sure, but he's such a sodding sissy that Harm would pose more a threat. Has his lackeys do all the work for him. Jus' dwells in his notoriety.”

“I swear,” Josh said, shaking his head. “When we get out of this, I'm going to need extensive therapy.”

“Like you didn't already,” Donna quipped.

Buffy licked her lips, snuggling back into Spike's arms. “Anyway…” she said. “Not that all of that wasn't fascinating, but…the thing?” She seized the bouncy ball that had formerly ricocheted off Xander and bounced it off Giles's head, sending its course appropriately back to its owner. “You said we would know when Quirinias was going to rise because of a whatchamacallit?”

He frowned a bit as his tipsiness battled his memory. “Ah yes,” he said a minute later. “The ankou. It's a Celtic death omen, traditionally the last person of the year that dies is given the mission of collecting the souls of the dead for the duration of the next year. In this instance, the ankou serves Quirinias by not only collecting the souls, but—”

“Forking them over?” Willow guessed meekly as she nudged Donna to hand Buffy and Spike their present. The last to be given.

“So it would seem.” Giles sighed. “The a nkou, as described, is fairly distinguishable. Sort of like the Christian ideal of Death only with long silver hair and a skeletal face that can revolve and, by doing so, see everywhere.”

Spike went rigid, his eyes finding Buffy's; her hands having frozen on undoing the sloppy wrap job on their Christmas present. “You're sure?” he asked a minute later.

“I only know what the books tell me.”

“Then I killed it. Tonight. Right between the ekimmu an' that soddin' bogey. It dropped dead.” The room fell quiet. “Well, I snapped its neck. Got puss an' ooze everywhere. But I killed it.” He frowned when the Watcher didn't automatically reassure him, eyes widening to panic. “Din't I?”

Giles expelled a deep breath. “The ankou cannot die, Spike.”

“Died real enough to me,” Buffy muttered, but her face was white. “Oh God. How? How can it be already? Faith couldn't have been infected already. She—”

“We felt her all over town, luv,” Spike reminded her lowly. “There might've been a reason for that.”

“Power juiced him,” Willow affirmed numbly, her eyes empty. “Oh God. Oh…”

“But—”

“You felt her all over town?” Xander demanded. “And yet…?”

“It wasn' the kinda feelin' you follow, Harris,” the vampire retorted. “Seemed like she was right beside you an' on the other side of town at the same time. We couldn't bloody well track her. ‘S why we came back. Well…” He quirked a small smile. “One of the reasons we came back.”

The room settled into a reflective silence.

Suddenly, it was real. Suddenly it really was the eve of the apocalypse.

Suddenly they were faced with the possibility of it being their last on Earth. And here they were. Sitting together, an unlikely group of even more unlikely friends. Trading belated Christmas presents while weighing the knowledge that this time tomorrow, the Wensel House could likely be nothing more than a mark in history. A mark in the universe alongside many that no longer existed.

Buffy suddenly chuckled humorlessly, and the sound pierced through the silence like the wail of a child being slowly strangled. “Look, sweetie,” she said, holding up their unwrapped gift. “Willow and Donna got us handcuffs.”

“Sweetheart—”

“No. We have to…we have to go now.” She had jumped to her feet the next minute, eyes leveling with Giles. “Natchez will fall into darkness? I'm assuming this will be during the day so that we can safely rule out that the apocalypse is going down now while we get drunk and exchange Christmas presents.”

It was Wesley who answered; her Watcher was staring off into space as though having realized exactly what they were walking into. “It will be six,” he said, oddly certain. “Six o'clock tomorrow.”

Josh frowned. “How do you know?”

“The text…when it happened before with the other Slayer…because it was during the sixth hour of the crucifixion that there came darkness. The sixth until the ninth.” He shrugged. “It seems Quirinias has an affinity for irony.”

“Told you he was bloody Yahweh,” Giles muttered, running a hand over his face and sobering slightly from the line of tipsiness. “Right, then. I suppose we have the Rite of Thrieve to put together and prepare between tonight and tomorrow at six o'clock. Willow?”

“Right. Upstairs. With the…practicing.”

“Yes. Buffy…” He turned to her, a somber expression clouding hazy eyes. “I need you to get into a mental place of allowing Willow to tap into whatever power you hold. We're going to need you.” He sighed and turned to the group. “We also need a third. Someone to complete the three. Someone…”

Josh fidgeted a bit as the Watcher's eyes landed on him. “What?”

“Perfect.”

He blinked. Then stared. “What?!”

“What?” Donna, Sam, and Toby echoed.

“I'm not going to leave it to you to volunteer each other. Josh will complete the three.” He held up a hand with a wry smile as the man opened his mouth to protest. “Relax,” he said. “All you're going to do is sit there as Willow performs the spell. Your job is to sit and do nothing. Can you do that?”

“Why me?”

Wesley shrugged. “It had to be one of you,” he explained. “Someone with absolutely no familiarity with magic. None whatsoever. Nothing that could potentially add to the strength that Buffy will be channeling.”

“And not—oh say—Xander?”

“Xander's lived on the Hellmouth. We're not taking our chances.”

“But why me?!”

“Because I don't have time for you four to bicker over who does it,” Giles retorted. “Josh, you're it. The rest of you are in the circle. All right?”

“But—”

“Oh, give it a rest, Curly,” Spike snapped. “You're gonna be in the bloody safest spot of all. The rest of us'll be in the circle around you while Rupert chants in Latin. All you have to do is sit with the two strongest people in the soddin' state. An' somehow, you find it within yourself to complain. Unbloodybelievable.”

“The safest spot?” A worried look overwhelmed him. “No. No, it shouldn't be me. Have Donna do it.”

Giles shook his head as Josh's assistant stared at him in awe. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I would. I want to. But there's…I have reason to believe…Donna might pose a threat.”

Josh reeled in astonishment. “What?”

Toby and Sam exchanged a look.

Donna blinked, snapping out of her softened awe with a bitch-slap from reality. “Huh?”

“It's nothing I can…look. We have until tomorrow to prepare.” Giles nodded at the redhead. “And unless we all cooperate, it won't bloody well matter who is where. Buffy, Willow, Josh—you are the three. Our makeshift sorcerers and warlocks. The rest of us…” He turned his eyes upward. “We have until tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. A sleep away from the end of the world. A simple sleep away.

A sleep in which no one in the Wensel House would get any rest. Not now.

Not when they were standing on the edge of hours away from nothing at all.

Chapter 43

Willow closed the book at last, a trembling sigh tearing through her body. In many ways, it felt like the night before the big exam—reviewing that one question over and over while her stomach knotted itself at the prospect of forgetting the answer to something she had memorized at the beginning of the semester. She hated this feeling. Hated being overly prepared for something that relied solely on her performance. A circle of friends, her best friend and Josh, of all people, holding hands as the god they had released attempted to destroy them as means to the world.

She was in a state to make coffee nervous.

Somewhere between the conclusion of the Christmas-party/last-night-on-earth, she had completely relocated to Sam's room. A place of quiet where Donna wouldn't be pacing herself into a frenzy and, therein, distracting her from the work at hand. More besides, Willow assumed that the Senior Staffers would spend what little time they had until the ritual together. Perhaps on speakerphone with the President—telling him that in twenty-four hours, there could well be no country left to govern.

The fact that, once again, she was shouldering the burden of banishing a god terrified her more than she wanted to admit. Not only that, it stole what could be her last night and turned it into something made of work and stress instead of love and reflection. She knew that Anya and Xander were spending their hours by an even more frantic session of lovemaking, and she hoped for them—even through her envy—that they did not have to emerge from their room until five thirty the next day.

Buffy and Spike…there was little question in her mind. And she felt sorry for them. For them; for herself and Sam. For those who had found each other on the brink of an apocalypse. For those whose time was stolen for reasons beyond control.

The thought of what she would have to channel in the coming hours loomed over her head—a storm cloud of doubt, whispering furtively at the demons in her head. The first time was bad enough; had ripped her skin and done more damage to her insides than she wanted anyone to know. She was healed now, of course. As though a part of that god mojo had transferred not only into Buffy, but into herself as well. It wasn't anything akin to what the Slayer was going through. But now, the Slayer was built to manipulate this sort of power. The Slayer was a god whose boundaries exceeded even the limitation of the redhead's imagination.

Willow was a witch. Nothing more, nothing less. In two days from amateur to a level that she had no conception of grasping. And here she was, on a playing field intent on banishing the god himself—not merely a reflection of what he could be.

Seeing Buffy like that had been bad enough. Tomorrow would break all the rules.

The knock on the door was a relief. A distraction from her disturbing thoughts as she battled her senses in looking over passages already committed to memory. The tremors rippling through her body could not be helped, nor was the drop of her stomach every time her mind reminded her that getting comfortable tonight was not an option.

God, what she wouldn't do for one more night.

“Willow?”

It was Sam. Her heart tore in two. Poor Sam. Poor Josh, Donna, and Toby. All of them. Three weeks ago, they had no idea that vampires existed. That witches and demons and gods were things made of reality and not a mindset built on fantasy. And now they were at the eve of an apocalypse. An, as in plural. One of many. Perhaps one of many more.

A future built on nights like this. Nights when the sentiment was tomorrow could be the end.

“Yeah,” she said softly, trying and failing to control the shudder in her tone. Her back was to him. She didn't want him to see her like this. If this was it, she wanted him to have hope. False hope was better than none. “I…I was…you and Donna…Josh and Toby…you were in the other room and I…I needed a place to…to look over this stuff. Sorry.”

“It's okay,” he said. “Actually, I think Donna wants Josh to stay with her tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Best friends thing. I remember when Josh hired her. The minute she talked him into it, he became one of those people who wouldn't know it was lunchtime if she didn't remind him.” He took a step forward. “Toby's with Giles and Wes. They're going over some of the stuff for tomorrow.”

Willow licked her lips and nodded. Giles wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight, either. Tomorrow depended on them and them alone. “Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”

There was a short, uncomfortable pause. “So…umm…I can…if you need the room, I'll go—”

No. If he left her alone, she would go mad. Open more books; fill her mind with knowledge that her brain convinced her she needed filed in the ‘just-in-case' cabinet. She was knowledged out. Shaken to her core and left to nothing but the ticking of a clock that refused to cut her a break. Right now, she needed to forget. She so badly needed to forget that tomorrow she was supposed to save the world. Tomorrow was the day all others had been leading to.

Tomorrow, she might be lost even if the world wasn't. And dammit if she didn't want to feel him once. Just once. Even if they weren't ready for that. If the world was ending, if she was the one that was supposed to stop it, she needed him now. Tonight. Making her forget. Giving her a false promise of a future they could never have. Reminding her just how much, in such a short amount of time, she had come to love him against every rational bone in her body.

Tonight she needed solace.

Tonight she needed Sam. Just Sam.

Willow released a trembling sigh and turned around slowly, her heart thundering. Even with Oz, with as long as they were together, she had never felt comfortable initiating anything beyond kisses. Years of being a ridiculed geek had degraded her self-confidence when it came to the issue of sexuality, so where to go from looking at him with a come-hither expression was beyond her.

And yet, with one as hesitant as Sam—with one as thoroughly unhinged when it came to a relationship that still lacked formal definition—there was little she could do to convey her intentions short of shoving him on the bed and ripping his shirt off. Though seeing as the last time he had that happen to him the outcome was less than fulfilling, she would have to rely on words.

“I…” It took a second to swallow the knot in her throat. “Sam…tonight…with the world ending and…” She held out a hand, demonstratively showcasing how hard she was trembling. “I don't know if I'm going to make it.”

“You're going to make it. We all are.”

“No. That's not what I'm talking about.” A shuddering breath hissed through her lips. “You…my world. That's what's ending. Tomorrow…the actual world could end. Might. But if it doesn't, I think…” It took a minute but she sighed and shrugged, and met his eyes with a nerve of resounding resolution. “Sam…tonight—”

“Willow—”

“Tonight I just need you.” She licked her lips as he studied her curiously, his gaze widening in recognition when the hidden meaning behind her words stepped around the veil. His cheeks tinted a bit in that manner she found thoroughly adorable. And yet, for the rush of lust that flashed across his face—bordering that angle between what had been previously forbidden territory, she felt her heart skip a beat.

He waited a minute as though granting her time to rebuke the offer, then started with a slight edge to his voice. “Willow…are you sure?”

“I am seconds away from stripping.”

“Okay, then.” He took a few steps forward until just inches separated them, then held up a hand, charmingly befuddled. “I have this thing,” he said. “It's something I need to say before we…before this goes any further. And not only because the world might end, but I want you to know this, and know that it has absolutely nothing to do with the aforementioned world ending, but this is a thing that you need to know before you…and you're undoing my tie.”

“Keep talking,” she said, voice trembling as her fingers slipped against the fabric. “I need something to focus on before I lose my nerve.”

“Willow—”

She kissed him before he could protest, sliding his tie free from his neck. “I want to,” she whispered. “I'm just not very good at this…first time stuff.”

“Honestly, neither am I.”

“Well, we make quite a pair.”

He nodded, then frowned with new panic. “First time?”

“With you,” she clarified quickly, flashing a nervous grin. “I…Oz. Oz was my first. And, well, only. So it's been a while for me.”

“Yeah. Ummm…” He glanced down awkwardly as her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt. “Protection?”

“World's ending, Sam.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Pill. Was taking it with Oz…just forgot to stop, really.” Willow licked her lips self-consciously. “That and you get to a point with it that taking it's kind of an important just-in-case thing. And I'm not even a ‘just-in-case' girl. I just—”

“I love you.”

Willow froze inexplicably, her large eyes finding his with a flare of astonishment that she could not hide. Her hands fell to her sides, and she could do nothing but stare.

“What?”

“I…that was the thing. Before we…and before the world ends but not because it is. I love you.” He glanced down bashfully. “Strange. Haven't said that since before I got engaged.”

“Before?”

“Lisa didn't like me very much. We didn't say it all that often.”

“Oh.”

“But…that's the thing. I love you, and I'm nervous about this in a way that guys shouldn't get nervous, but I think it's because I love you and I haven't…with someone I love for the first time when I know I love them, you know?” He was bright red now. Flustered and embarrassed, but heartfelt, and more precious to her than he ever had been before. “Willow?”

“Yeah.”

“You heard all that, right?”

“Yeah.” It took a second, but she released the breath she had been holding. And slowly allowed a wide, genuine smile that had, just ten minutes ago, been nowhere within proximity. “I…and this isn't because you said it or because the world is ending or because I think there's a good possibility that I might die tomorrow, but I love you, too.”

His eyes widened endearingly. “Really?”

“Yeah. I was just…we haven't known each other for all that long, but—”

“With as long as it feels like I've known you, I can't consider the particulars.” His shirt fell to the floor, leaving his chest bare for her perusal. His own hands coming to the hem of her shirt and stopping obligingly as though he would get in trouble for wanting her naked. “Willow?”

Her nod confirmed it, and then there was no more need for words. Only now. Only tonight.

A night of splendor before the storm. It wasn't too much to ask.

*~*~*

“I got you something, you know.”

Donna glanced up from her ghost book, eyes perked. “You did, did you?”

“Yeah. A few days ago before this thing came up. Sam and I were walking up to the Eola and he saw a bookstore, and you can imagine where it went from there.” Josh leaned over his suitcase and began rummaging through his sloppy packing job. “I was gonna wait until we were home, but it seems that might not happen now, so I wanna give you this thing.”

She held her breath. Deciphering what mood Josh would go for when selecting gifts for any number of occasions was never a clear-cut deal. Sometimes he could be the sweetest guy in the world; sometimes he did things to be spiteful. Flowers from Josh Lyman could mean anything from remembering her birthday to commemorating the anniversary of her break-up with her boyfriend, which subsequently led her back to him in search of a job. Knowing his mood of the past few days, she decided not to get her hopes up. “What thing?”

“Christmas thing, I guess. For you and your Protestantism.” He found whatever he was searching for and turned back to her, holding the surprise behind his back. “You promise not get all weepy on me?”

“Weepy?”

“You get weepy sometimes.”

“You know you're seriously overestimating the power of your nonexistent charm, right?”

“I have plenty of charm.”

“Yes. You just opt not to use it.” Donna smiled at the frown that crossed his face. “Why couldn't you give this to me downstairs? You know, for the actual Christmas trade?”

“'Cause the fact that I have charm is something I'd like to keep under wraps.” He took a few steps forward. “You want this thing or not?”

“Wow. Charming.”

His face fell and he bounced a little with the impending loom of a temper tantrum. “Donna!” he whined.

“Yes, Josh. I want your charming present.” She held her hands out expectantly.

And suddenly, for reasons beyond her, a nervous look overwhelmed his features. And she realized that this might be one of those times—those few times—that Josh shoved aside his alter-ego and became the version of himself that could make her weepy. The sort that reminded her when she needed reminding of why he was her best friend, and why she stayed with him out of loyalty more than pay.

“It's nothing,” he said quickly, thrusting his hands forward and dumping an aged book into her waiting grasp. “You just mentioned something about skiing and I found this, so I thought—”

“You bought me a book on skiing?”

“I'm hoping you start talking about that and give up the cat.” He smiled slightly when the look on her face softened. “And I wrote a note inside.”

Oh God. This was going to be a weepy moment.

She tentatively opened the book cover and sighed. A very weepy moment.

There weren't many areas on the emotional spectrum that Josh specialized in. He was a fantastic friend and would defend anyone he cared about to the death if need be. More than once, he had put himself in the line of fire to protect her from any amount of ridicule that spewed from any mouth other than his. He was very protective—loving, even if he would never admit it. When Leo's thing became a thing, he had lashed at everyone that called the Chief of Staff a drunk and, at one point, might have been charged with assault if Sam hadn't stepped in. Aside the derision she received from him, it was all in jest. Never had she had a cross word from him that wasn't deserved, or apologized for later. If she made a mistake, he would tease her about it but most times it was forgotten by the next day.

His note was a depiction of the side of him he kept closely guarded. And it brought tears to her eyes.

“You see,” she said, hating herself for the emotion that flooded her voice. “You spend most of your time being…you. Then you write something like this to me.” She drew in a deep breath and set the book aside, hugging him before he could object. “Thank you.”

Josh buried his face in her throat, hugging her back just as tightly. “I meant it,” he replied softly.

Donna's world was spinning. There were certain truths she could reckon with; things she had confessed to herself—and at once to Wesley—that could all be explained very carefully. The thing that had been happening between her and her boss—the thing that they never talked about because they couldn't, because it was them—found itself shoved to the front of her conscious once more with the loom of what was happening around them. What was happening right now. What could well happen tomorrow.

From the first day—since that afternoon that she walked into the Bartlet For America headquarters and all but begged him for a job, there had been something. The moment they stood in his office, her resounding, “I think I can be good at this. I think you might find me valuable.” And when his eyes had changed, reading her as though seeing something there that even she couldn't identify…it was then. That moment. And he had told her to answer the phone that was ringing as though the job had been hers since he stumbled into the room, and had handed her his campaign badge.

And put her on the payroll almost immediately after telling her that he couldn't carry her to the Carolinas.

For everything else that had happened between them, it was kept at a distance. Interoffice romances weren't done when you worked for the President. It was simply a no-no, and for those reasons, the acknowledgement of the begrudging feelings that had started developing the moment he handed her the campaign badge were shoved to the far end of her psyche. Never to be mentioned. Never to be talked about. Something that didn't exist except for the glowing knowledge that, yes, it existed.

Admitting her feelings to Wesley was the worst step she could've taken. It was out there, now. Even if she hadn't spoken them to anyone—even if she had just spoken them—it was out there. The words I'm in love with Josh had come out of her, Donnatella Moss's, lips. The world knew. From something beyond the shreds of recognition to something that was very much a thing.

And now the world that knew was ending. And Josh was holding her to him in what could be their last night.

God, her heart was thundering. If tonight was her last night on earth, she wanted to make it memorable. Tie up loose ends; tell her parents that they have her love and that she was sorry for anything she might have done to disappoint them in the past twenty-five years. Call up her roommate and apologize for that one time she had thrown a hairbrush at the meanest of her cats.

And she wanted Josh. God help her, but she wanted Josh. And she was scared to death of it. From being his assistant to being his friend to being in his arms. Tonight was their last night, and she wanted Josh.

Thing was, telling him was something she couldn't do. It was Josh. Even if he felt anything—a possibility of which she was almost certain—there was no telling if he had reached a similar epiphany. If he had fought through rational and come to the conclusion that whatever was between them had boiled down to tonight. That if they were going to be together at all, it was now. Now or never. But she had none of that. All she had to go on was the note he had scribbled inside a book on skiing and the fact that he had yet to release her from his hug.

Donna expelled a deep breath and forced herself to pull back a little.

The look in Josh's eyes bordered on uncomfortable but was similarly set in determination. As though the serious thoughts that had been bouncing back and forth within her mind were not for her and her alone. He released a trembling breath and licked his lips, offering a slight grin. “I, um…this thing. End of the world thing,” he began. “We're…I want to ask you something, and if the answer's no, I want you to walk out of the room and pretend this never happened, ‘kay?”

Oh God.

“Ummm…well, no. But okay.”

His brows perked. “Which one is it?”

“Which what is it?”

“Donna—”

“You can't tell a girl that there's something important you need to ask and then to forget about it if you get an answer you don't like. In many civilized cultures, people have been known to sit down and talk through things.”

Josh shook his head. “This isn't something we could talk through,” he replied. “This is a ‘you walk away and pretend it never happened' thing.” He jerked a hand through his hair and sighed, shoulders sagging. “Maybe this is a sign that I shouldn't ask.”

The only thing worse than him asking would be him not asking. She knew that without having to know anything more. Never in her acquaintance of him had he told her to leave the room after he asked a question because the result could be his embarrassment. And other than hopeful, the demand had her similarly intrigued. “No, Josh—”

“End of the world, Donna. And I'm standing here in your room.”

“No one's holding you here.”

“Yes.” He frowned and wrestled a bit with whatever he needed to say; the tightness of his body making her more nervous than she thought possible. “You're holding me here. It's the end of the world…well, maybe…and I'm here ‘cause I wanna be. ‘Cause there's this thing. ‘Cause if the world's ending, this is where I wanna be. Okay?” He expelled a deep breath and met her eyes almost timidly. “Never thought I'd…it's you, right?”

She offered a weak laugh. “Last time I checked…”

“Yeah.” He rolled a bit on his heels. “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

“Well, yes, because I don't know what you're trying to say.”

“You don't.” Another sigh. “This might be the reason that you can only get Republican gomers to go out with you.”

She would have been offended if she didn't recognize the tension in his tone. “Because they get right to the point?” she retorted. Then frowned. “Josh, if you…is this your way of saying you want sex before the world ends?”

Ordinarily, he would have laughed at her and told her to get 243 for the meeting on the Hill. Or to call Leo's office and have them reschedule the sit-down with the majority leadership. But they weren't in DC, so it was already beyond the ordinary. And he wasn't laughing.

Well, there was a certain air of defense in his eyes that made an appearance whenever the subject of his personal feelings was given the spotlight. “Well,” he replied in the tone she was most familiar with, “on the upside, I came here instead of going to see Anya, so—”

That she couldn't deal with. It was a tad more insulting than she was used to, but likewise a statement to how close to the mark she had come. Donna threw him a look of disgust and made a step around him to leave and go somewhere where she wouldn't have to look at him for a while, but he grabbed her arm before she could reach the door.

“I'm sorry,” he said sincerely, face falling again. “I didn't mean that. And I…this isn't about me wanting sex. Well, not entirely. This is about me wanting…you're the person I want to spend what could be our last night on earth with. You. No one else. And even if there was someone else that I could spend my night with…you know, Mandy or what's her name on that show I like but never get to watch.”

“Law And Order?”

“Yeah, that one. Even if what's her name from Law And Order was here and very willing, I'd still be here. With you. It would still be you.”

She smiled faintly. “I'd hope so, seeing as you can't even remember her name.”

“I can, too.” He frowned. “It's Janet.”

“ Mariska Hargitay .”

“I was close.”

“Hardly ever.” Donna wet her lips and took a step forward. “So it's me,” she said. “What does that mean?”

“Donna—”

“It's a fair question, Josh.”

“Can't it just be tonight? Can't we just be whatever for tonight?”

“Be whatever?” she replied incredulously. “What do you mean—”

“Oh, for Chrissake, Donna.”

“What?”

Before she knew what was happening, the world had tipped off its axis and spun out of their solar system. The next minute, hell was frozen over and the Cubs were the champions of the World Series. Israel and Palestine were in the middle of peace agreements, and Republicans had proposed legislation that would forever define the strict boundaries between Church and State. It all had to have happened in that second, because Josh was kissing her. Josh was kissing her. On the lips. With tongue. And god.

Did she mention Josh was kissing her?

She had no idea how long it lasted. Whether it was ten seconds or forever. Something inside of her went off at the feel of his lips against hers. Something that was terrified and invigorated at the same time. Something she couldn't name for fear of what it meant.

When he pulled away, they smiled at each other awkwardly. But grateful. That barrier was crossed.

“So that's what you were trying to say?”

“Yeah. That was the thing,” he agreed.

“Okay. You could've just—”

“I know.” He kissed her again, almost liberated now that the first kiss was out there. And suddenly, it was the most natural thing in the world to do. Kissing Josh. Josh kissing her. As though they had led every day of their adult lives for this moment.

Donna's heart was thundering. Suddenly it wasn't enough. This wasn't enough. If they were going to have only tonight, she wanted to have tonight in the fullest sense.

Suddenly the tables were turned, and she was the one who wanted sex.

Though for the look in his eyes when they pulled away again, she doubted there would be any objections.

*~*~*

Buffy was curled in Spike's arms, her back spooned against his chest; her eyes fixed on the shaded window that allowed no light into the room. They had been lying together for an hour or so. After the discussion in the Wensel House and the reality of what would happen in less than twenty-four hours, they had stayed awake, discussing everything the future would hold if they were so lucky as to get out alive. The apartment or duplex that Spike wanted to get—a place for them that wasn't too unlike the set-up they had so enjoyed here. A place close to campus because he thought she should stay in school; that knowledge in itself humoring her to no end. A place cozy and small, though spacious enough that they wouldn't bump into each other at every turn. A place for them. The first of many homes at the start of their eternity together.

She wanted that. The things he had talked about made it real. So real. She could practically imagine the layout. See the furniture they would never buy. Hear them arguing about some demon they had killed together, making representative accounts on who provided the most help on the battlefield. Imagined movie nights and even holidays. Times when Willow and Xander could come over with Anya and Sam (because in her fantasy, Willow got to keep Sam in Sunnydale) and play Pictionary or something incredibly coupley like that. Perhaps Spike and Sam could go a round at Scrabble, Sam thinking he was the superior player because of all the speechwriting but Spike's talent with words stretching back through centuries. Her man with her. Her mate. Being as normal as they could be—he a vampire, she a god. Their friends: witches, former demons, carpenters, and politicians. Every now and then they would save the world together. Save the world, then come back at the end of the night and make love until the sun came up. Be as they were now, only without the loom of tomorrow clutching her heart.

Spike's arm tightened around her middle. He wasn't asleep. They were lying in silence, waiting for sleep to come while knowing it was nowhere near a possibility. And similarly acknowledging that basking in quiet just because there was nothing else wasn't helping anyone.

He shifted above her, brushing a soft kiss across his claim mark. “Buffy,” he whispered, running a hand down her arm. “It'll be all right, you know.”

“It won't.” She drew in a breath, fighting the cold that tickled her insides. “When is it ever all right? The Powers don't like things to be all right. Not with me.” She twisted in his embrace so that they were facing each other, the warm blue of his gaze drowning her with effortless ease. “The night we…the very next day from the night we first…and I was jonesed up with god power. And now today…we thought everything was all right, didn't we? I mean, I was terrified. Still am…about the god thing. But it was all right. I was…Spike, we never get a break. Just when things are all right, something terrible happens.”

“Yeh, an' we fight back.” There was determination in his voice that both invigorated her and made the world all the more real in its cruelty. “We always fight back. An' guess what? We've won every round. Suffered a few…” He broke off, eyes welling with emotion as he ran a hand across her face. The impression of what they had lost aside the power of which they had gained. “You hero types are always inventin' new ways to save the world, kitten. What happens tomorrow happens. Won' be the last. It won't.”

He sounded so sure, so positive, that for a few seconds she could believe him. Believe that the world didn't hate her so thoroughly. Believe that the Powers could show mercy every now and then, even on those that didn't deserve it. Believe in anything if nothing at all.

She wanted to believe him so desperately.

“And if it is?”

Spike paused and brushed a kiss across her forehead, drawing her near. “If it is,” he replied softly, “then I have no regrets. None. I love you. I wouldn't've known that ‘f all this hadn't happened. An' whatever else happens, I'd rather the world end tomorrow—loving you like I do—than live an eternity in a world an' not know this.”

His mouth covered hers before she could respond, drawing from her soft, heartfelt kisses that she felt echo through her body in a silver jubilee of everything they had shared. Just a few days. They had only known each other like this for a few days. She had only surrendered a few days before. A few days when they could have been doing this from the start.

There was so much she wanted to do. So much she wanted to make up to him. His tongue caressing her tongue, his hands skating down her body with graceful knowledge of what touches turned her into a whimpering puddle. He knew her body well. As though they weren't still so new to this. As though, on some level, they had known it would happen from the beginning.

He knew her body well because every time they were together, he made it about her. All about her. It wasn't something she demanded of him, but she certainly hadn't been complaining. And now in the reaches of what could be their final hours, she wanted to make it about him. All about him. She wanted to know his body as fluently as he knew hers.

Gently, Buffy persuaded Spike away with a whimper of loss as his mouth was forced from hers. He flashed her a confused glance that she rectified with a small, heartfelt smile, whipping the blankets away to cast herself astride his naked hips; her fingers drawing artless patterns at his chest. His eyes flickered a shade darker, then. Reflecting that endless spiral of lust that had her stomach fluttering with anticipation before she could think to seize control. He cupped her breasts, rubbing her nipples in small circles and arching his erection against her backside.

“Buffy…”

Her eyes fluttered shut. One hand abandoned her breast and slid down her abdomen to massage her mound. Light touches that drove her beyond the border of ecstasy without even trying. He could render her a wreck of incoherent babbles with the slightest caress. Prying fingers slipping through her feminine folds and into her haven with learned ease, his body arching off the bed to tend to her neglected breast with his mouth.

It felt wonderful. Wonderful and more so. There were no words for what Spike did to her. What he did to her surpassed words. Surpassed everything she had ever experienced.

Only again, he was succeeding in making it entirely about her. And that wouldn't do. Not now.

Not tonight.

Buffy drew in a breath and clasped her hands around his wrists to draw them away from her body. His mouth released her breast with a soft plop, eyes finding hers in confusion before she lowered her head to caress his lips with a kiss. “Lay back,” she whispered. “And keep your hands to yourself.” The heated look he gave her made her insides tremble, and she reveled in the shudder of desire that tremored through his body. With a moan, he nodded and reclined.

She sat for a minute and just looked at him. Spike, trapped under her body, his hands clutched in the bed linens as though he did not trust himself to not touch her. Hers for the taking. All hers. How she had come to be here, she didn't know or care. All that mattered in the time between now and tomorrow was that she was. Her vampire. Her mate and lover. She loved him more than she thought possible, and it was time to show him how much.

She started at his chest, her head descending to tease his nipples as he was so fond of teasing hers. She mimicked his technique almost entirely, lightly scraping his hardened tips with her teeth, then blowing onto his skin as he gasped and arched beneath her. Her hands stilled on his shoulders and drew down slowly, nails just barely scraping at his skin. Her touches were subtle and hesitant, but the sounds rumbling through his throat prompted her enough to know that she must be doing something right.

And lower still. Dropping kisses down his chest, she slid until she was straddling his leg and face to face with his erection; studying him with such intent that her body tensed. It was strange; with the few sexual experiences in her past—Angel, Parker, and now the man she would spend eternity with if they lived through tomorrow—she had never come close to doing what she was about to do. She had never had the nerve to study him like this. To study anyone. The mechanics of sex were obviously of no surprise to her, but even with their carnal knowledge of each other, looking at him so intimately made her cheeks redden.

Spike grew harder under her scrutiny; his pants painting the air as he waited to see what she would do. Her hands were at his thighs, running long sweeps while similarly avoiding contact with the source of his need. Her mouth was watering and her body trembling. She had no idea how to proceed. No idea what he would expect of her once she began. A hundred years experience to her three men and his already proven guarantee of marathon sex, and suddenly she was terrified of displeasing him.

Drusilla would have done this for him, she wagered. Vampires weren't nearly as inhibited when it came to such things.

A long moan tore through the air, and Spike threw his had back, propping himself on his elbows. “God, Buffy,” he gasped. “Please.”

“What do you want me to do?” It was an honest question; not meaning to be witty or dangle him at the end of a very cruel string. He had to know this was a first for her. Hell, he knew the details of her prior transgressions better than she did. Knew what had actually gone on other than the physical. And her inexperience now was certainly being shoved to center stage.

His eyes widened and her anxiousness increased. Something he must have seen for his expression softened the next minute, and boldly breaking the rule she had implemented not two minutes before, reached to cup her cheek. “You don' have to do anythin', sweetheart,” he assured her softly, though his voice was tight with barely restrained hunger. The head of his cock was weeping, his skin trembling with promised anticipation. “'F you—”

Instinct alone, then. She lowered her head defiantly and licked a long lap up his length, sending him back to the bed with an impassioned growl. The touch was light; his reaction notwithstanding. She dropped a wet kiss to the head, tongue curling out to lap at the moisture that collected across his sensitive skin.

“Jesus,” Spike swore reverently. “Buffy…oh god, please…”

“Guide me.”

There was a pause. He sat up again, albeit with some difficulty, his eyes wide with astonishment. “You really have never…?”

“You can't tell that I have never?”

“I wasn' gonna make any assumptions, pet. Thought at worst one of the wankers you were with before made a show of their lack of gratitude that you even looked at ‘em.” He paused, trembling. “Mean what I said, though.” He did, though his voice was tight with need. “Don' have to do this ‘f you—”

“Guide me.”

Spike nodded, the love in his eyes swelling, if such was possible. And that alone pushed her over the final threshold of determination. He knew what this meant for her, other than the obvious. The weight of what she was giving him. What she wanted to give him. More than she had anyone before. More trust than she had ever allowed herself to bear for one person. More anything. “All right,” he agreed hoarsely. “Touch me, pet. Please.”

The small request was the only bit of guiding he would do for the night.

She licked her lips and he moaned at the sight, curling a hand at the base of his erection, watching his gaze widen in ecstasy as his head fell back again. This was good. She knew this. She had simply never seen it up close. Her hand pumping him slowly, up and down and up again. And then, tentatively, her tongue swept across the head. Softly at first, then again when he whimpered his encouragement. Her mouth took down his length, a hand dropping to cup his sac. Massaging him there as he did when he took her breasts into his hands. Slow, sensuous squeezes as she planted wet kisses along the underside of his cock.

“Buffy…” The strangled moan of her name ruptured through the air, his hips jerking violently against her. “God, baby, please.”

A sigh shuddered through her as her lips finally closed around him. He gasped sharply and bucked, forcing himself deeper, then flashed her an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he whimpered. “Just feels so fucking good.”

Buffy smiled around him, coaxing a strangled mewl from his throat. She drew her mouth back and lingered at his head, tongue swirling, and she descended again. A steady trek of back and forth, drawing him in as deep as possible. She squeezed his sac rhythmically, her mouth engulfing him, measuring his steady, half-experimental thrusts. His eyes on her face. Watching her with such passion that she nearly lost her nerve in mid-act. Watching her carefully to make sure he didn't hurt her. Afraid that his lust would overwhelm his senses, and he would do something unforgivable as to never feel this bliss again.

“God, Buffy,” Spike gasped, squeezing his eyes shut, then open again. There wasn't a part of this he wanted to miss. Everything committed to memory. The delicate tease of her touch, as hesitant as it was. The almost innocent way she looked back up at him, eyes shining with uncertainty but love. The teasing nibbles at his aching head.

Fucking Christ.

She pursued him with long laps of her tongue, taking him into her hand and bathing him in her glory. Every sweep of her heavenly mouth drew him further into a paradise that could never be fully his. “Ooohhh, bleeding fuck,” he groaned, wrenching his hands into the bed linens again. He wanted to lose his fingers in her golden hair but refrained. He was too afraid of holding her there out of his need, and he understood how desperately she needed to be in control, and he never wanted to presume—never wanted to be that inconsiderate. Never wanted her to think this was something he expected, and not a gift more precious than she could ever imagine. “God, Buffy, feels so good. You feel so good. Oh, fuck.”

“Really?”

The uncertainty buried in her voice tore at his heart.

“God, yes,” he gasped. “So good. So fucking good. You're so perfect. My Buffy. Oh God, love you so much. Love you.” His head lulled back as she drew his belled head into her mouth again, suckling with renewed vigor, and his blabber of adorations intensified. “Fuck. Love you. So hot. So sweet. My girl. Love you, Buffy. Oh god, I love you so much.”

Her tongue swirled around him, and he drowned in her heat. But as wonderful as it felt, it still wasn't enough. Never enough. And though his nearly nonexistent refractory period would allow him to seek pleasure in thousands of venues before the sun rose, he needed to be inside her. Now. With her lips against his and his cock buried in her pussy. Choosing one paradise over the other. The best of both worlds.

“Buffy…Buffy, ohhhh…stop.” She did so immediately, her eyes wide at the unexpected request, and he cursed himself for fumbling that so inconsiderately. “No, baby. I jus'…gonna come ‘f you—”

She relaxed and lowered her head again. “It's all right,” she said softly, drawing him into her mouth. “I—”

“No.” He reached for her, coaxing her head up. “I don'…I wanna be inside you, sweetheart. Please.”

It didn't take much coaxing. The next second, she was in his arms, and he was kissing the life out of her. Flipping her beneath him as his hands roamed freely down her body, his mouth abandoning hers to worship her breasts as his cock nudged at her entrance.

“Uhhh…”

God, she was so wet for him. His fingers ventured southward to tease her, capturing her clit as he suckled needily at her breast. Drowning in her scent. Breathing her in and losing himself all over again.

“Spike!” she gasped. “God, please!”

And that was all the encouragement he needed. His lips found hers as his cock sank within her warmth. Given again to this sanctuary beyond the stars. A home he had taken for himself. His body touching heaven. And when he began to move within her, her small sobs of pleasure rumbling into his ear, he made a vow for both her and himself. That final sinking bit of knowledge that claimed him when no other could.

Tonight could not be the last of this. He would not allow it. Her arms were around his neck; he was thrusting into her with need and love all rolled into one. That fine line between fucking and making love. They had defined it, he wagered. From that first night with her, they had defined it. Knowing now that Buffy was the only woman that had ever made love with him. That allowed him to love her while he was inside her rather than striving solely for her pleasure alone. Her head arched back as his hands found her breasts again, squeezing them tightly as his mouth dipped to taste her nipples.

The hard but slow slide of his flesh from hers…it was a sensation he would never give up. Not tomorrow. Not for any god other than the one in his arms. The one scratching at his back. The one wrapping her legs around his middle and lifting her hips to recapture him every time he withdrew. He was dancing in the clouds, and she was right there with him.

“Perfect,” he whispered against her breast, thrusts intensifying as the demands of his body surpassed his need to make it last. “You're so perfect. My goddess.”

Yes. His goddess. No one else's.

“Yours,” she agreed, tugging his mouth up to ravage with hers. “Always.”

“So hot. So tight. Killing me slowly. My girl.” He knew he wasn't going to last much longer; was honestly surprised he had fought his impending orgasm this long. But he wasn't about to go overboard without her. He slithered a hand between them, tongue sliding into her mouth. Their mingled gasps colored the air. The raw slap of their flesh melding together alongside the squeaky hinges of an old bed that desperately needed to be oiled. A cadence to a song that never stopped. Over and over again.

He captured her clit and massaged her roughly, sliding a finger into her as his body threatened to explode. “Love you,” he roared, eyes flashing yellow, canines descending. He was able to keep his face from completely reverting, but he couldn't deny himself a nip at his claim mark. Suckling intently at the small drop of blood he procured.

“Love you.” She clutched him tighter, head bowing back. “Spike. Do it.”

“Buffy—”

“Bite me.”

There was no need for further invitation. At the moment, his defenses were too weak to deny her anything. The full of his demon burst through those last barriers, and he sank his fangs into her milky flesh. And they came together. Her orgasm triggered by the feel, his by the taste. Gods blood pouring into his mouth, her body milking him for everything he was worth, sending him past euphoria and into a state of uncensored bliss. Something about this. It was more powerful than before. More powerful than he thought possible. Again. Like earlier when they arrived home. This. Just this.

He was making love with a god, and his body felt it. The claim felt it. The wealth of her blood now, as sweet as its taste was before, was unlike any ambrosia the world had to offer. Pure and unabated. For him and him alone.

For the one person who did not deserve her. How in the world did he get so lucky?

The air settled with their mingled pants. Spike rested his head at her chest, holding her to him. His cock still buried within her, hard, not nearly spent. Despite all else, despite his vows and his certainty, the loom of what waited ahead never got further than the door. But he wanted tonight; so did she. Needed it almost as much as they wanted it. Wanted to keep this peace before reality claimed them once more.

“I love you so much,” he whispered against her skin.

Her arms tightened around him. “I love you, too.”

“Not squishin' you, am I?”

She chuckled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Hardly.”

“Din't think so.” Spike lifted his eyes to smile at her, whispering a kiss across her lips. “Now then,” he said lowly. “Don' move.”

“What?” He slipped out of her the next second, a tormented groan rumbling through her body. “Spike!”

“Jus' stay still, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so good.” He grinned at her unrepentantly, sliding down the length of her slick body and burying his face in her pussy, lapping at her juices and eliciting a long moan from her body. “Gonna worship you like you deserve.”

“Spike…”

He sucked at her clit for a few agonizing seconds, then plunged his tongue into her. “Gonna make you scream till you're hoarse,” he promised. “Gonna love you like this till dawn. Tomorrow an' every day after.”

“Spike…”

“Hush now. I'm eating.”

“Perv.”

“Naturally.”

“Love you.” Her back arched and her eyes fluttered shut. “Don't stop.”

He smiled and licked a long trail up her slit before delving inside her haven once more. “Never will.”

There was this. This for the hours until tomorrow came. Reveling in love that was still so new. Love that was deeper than anything either had felt before. Love that had brought them this far.

There would be a day after tomorrow. There had to be. They had not gained this—they had not battled a god and won the first time for it to be over so soon. They had not come this far to lose.

She was in his arms. The Powers had given him that second chance.

Tomorrow would not be about endings. He refused to think it.

Tomorrow would be a beginning. Tomorrow would close the chapter on this part of their lives. Tomorrow they could go home and begin their toast to eternity.

*~*~*

“Where do you suppose everyone is?” Wesley asked as though noting for the first time in two hours that the parlor room was mostly vacant. His observation drew several wry glances from Giles and Toby, who were seated at opposite ends of the neighboring settee.

“I believe Willow was going to practice some magicks,” Giles said after a moment, face flushing. Wesley had gone out for some late night snacks, again at the grace of the Millers' car, and thus had not fallen victim to his own reminder that sound tended to carry in the Wensel House. “I thought she might come down, but she must have fallen asleep.”

“It's been uncommonly quiet,” the younger man observed.

Giles and Toby exchanged another glance.

“It's the end of the world,” Toby said, puffing on a cigar he had managed to wheedle from Mr. Miller. “What would you be doing if you could?”

A tentative silence. They looked at each other speculatively.

Then glanced down and continued with research, furtively agreeing to no more conversation.

Chapter 44

In a way, it was very much like the last supper.

Only it was breakfast. And no one planned on betraying anyone.

And somehow, the thought that the last supper was wrought with such tension—some of the sexual nature—was not something anyone wanted to voice. There was no breaking of bread or passing of wine. There was no in remembrance of me. There was only the knowledge of what was to come. The knowledge that regardless of how the day went, this was their last meal together. The last meal at the Wensel House. The last before it was all over.

The hours until six o'clock seemed endless.

“CJ's coming down on hate crime legislation,” Toby said suddenly, breaking the silence without thought. He didn't look up as he became the center of the attention; expelling a sigh and toying with his scrambled eggs. “When we get back, we're going to have to get her to stop barking at the press.”

“Yeah,” Josh said, fidgeting uncomfortably as he and Donna made every effort to avoid even brushing up against each other—something made difficult considering they had been placed next to one another out of habit alone. “I talked to the President before we came down; Claypool's office is coming close to handing out the subpoenas for our department.”

“Leo,” Sam said, more for the need to say something that reflected what he understood. There was no question that Leo would be at the end of anything with the word subpoena in the sentence.

“Somehow they're gonna get the idea that it's our fault that we're not there if we're not there.” Josh smiled wryly. “And the President wanted us to know that when this thing is over, there'll be some cars waiting to take all of us to Jackson. And that…” He gestured to Giles and, by that, meant everyone Giles represented. “He's going to arrange a flight for you from Jackson to Los Angeles.” A wry grin tickled his mouth. “He wanted to get a direct flight to Sunnydale, but apparently there are no commercial airports.”

“No. There's a private one just outside of town, but Sunnydale is too small to merit its own airline,” Giles confirmed with a nod. “That is very kind of the President, Josh. Thank you.”

“Well, I think he feels he'll owe you all one if there's still a country this time tomorrow.”

“I, for one, feel prepared to face this apocalypse,” Anya said proudly, similarly ignoring the looks she received, but for reasons far placed from the ones Toby would have considered. “If we should all die today, I believe I spent my last night on earth wisely in obtaining as many orgasms as Xander was able to give me.”

“Ahn!” her boyfriend hissed, ducking his head in embarrassment.

Spike finally cracked at that, burying his face in Buffy's shoulder to muffle his rumble of laughter. Of everyone at the table, they were the ones being the least conspicuous of how they had spent their evening; the vampire barely letting her out of his arms, much less his lap. He was eating carefully, but not too much. At Buffy's urging, he had drank from her to strengthen his own resolve and therefore wasn't very hungry. And though her newfound god status made it rather impossible for him to weaken her by blood loss, he was watching her carefully, hands running down her arms every few seconds to quiet his concerns for her well-being. The caresses were casual but affectionate; she knew what he was doing. She warmed at every touch.

The vampire's mirth did not go unnoticed, regardless of his attempts to conceal himself. And Anya was not pleased. “I don't see what's so funny,” she said. “Everyone aside Giles, Wesley, and Toby copulated with one another last night, and it seems to have done a world of good in relieving all that superfluous tension.”

Donna's face paled and Josh froze. Sam and Willow stopped whispering things to each other and glanced up.

The former demon beamed proudly. “See?”

“I…we didn't…” Donna met Josh's eyes for the first time that morning, the workings of a story they had formed in preparation of such a charge flickering between them in a manner of seconds. It was small enough for most everyone to ignore; the vampire, on the other hand—being too well educated in the structure of body language—knew better than that. But he also knew to protect Donna where she deserved it. And for everything she had done for him, he figured he more than owed her one.

“Don' know what tree you're barkin' up, Anyanka,” he drawled, lighting a cigarette. “Not everyone here can be so bloody lucky.” He squeezed Buffy tighter to him.

She frowned at him. “No, I—”

“As bloody keen as you think your sense might be ‘bout this, you forget one thing.” He tapped his nose. “Could smell it ‘f it were otherwise. You an' Harris made with the lucky, an' I don' think that's anythin' to be surprised about. I don' kiss an' tell…an' I'm sure Red an' Prissy wanna keep to themselves. Everyone else jus' wonders what the hell you're talkin' about.”

Sam and Willow were bright red. Donna still looked flustered, but more than grateful. And regardless of the ominous feel the day had in store, it was somewhat nice to begin light. Even if at the expense of everyone's dignity.

“Anya's illuminating report in the details of everyone's private affairs notwithstanding,” Giles said, dispelling the awkwardness that had spread through the room since the former demon opened her mouth, “I want to make sure that everyone knows what their role is for the Rite this evening.”

“Am I still sitting in a thing with Willow and Buffy?” Josh asked.

“Yes.”

“Is everyone else standing in a circle around us?”

Toby groaned. “Josh, let the man talk.”

Giles grinned wryly and nodded his thanks to the Communications Director. “We must be completely prepared for what is going to happen tonight,” he continued. “Whatever occurs, the circle cannot be broken. The circle that the rest of you form around the three as well as myself cannot be broken. Under no circumstances. Does everyone understand?”

A silence fell over the table. Spike cleared his throat. “But no pressure or anythin'.”

“What does the circle do, exactly?” Donna asked softly. “I know we had one semi formed around Buffy when we did this the last time, but—”

“It's a symbol of unity,” Wesley intervened. “Circles are never-ending. True circles are never ending. If there is a circle around the three, it provides a statement of power all by itself. A unity of people facing a god. We're not sure how effective it will be, but I agree with Rupert…everyone must stay in the circle.”

“We also need a place with enough room to go into battle if need be,” Giles added. “A place where power of this magnitude would not be so easily noticed. Any suggestions to those who know the town a measure better than before?”

Buffy and Spike exchanged a dreary glance.

“I was looking at a road map when we arrived,” Sam offered. “There's a place just outside of…” He paused as everyone cast him a pointed look. “Never mind.”

“Road map?” Josh asked.

“For fun.”

Xander shrugged. “There's always the parking lot at the mall,” he suggested. “That place has been deader than dead since this thing happened.”

“I thought the objective was to be somewhere less conspicuous,” Toby grumbled. “You think the mall parking lot will do the trick, seeing as it's right there off the highway?”

“Longwood,” Spike said abruptly, his arm around Buffy's middle tightening. It was the last place he wanted to go—the house that where his father had died. A legacy amongst natives and the castle where his god was birthed. However, of all places it made the most sense. There were certainly other venues to explore, but Longwood was the one they knew. The grounds, the house itself; everything. And it was secluded from public eye.

Very secluded.

“Longwood,” Giles echoed thoughtfully. “Yes, I believe that would work.”

“The grounds are slightly elevated,” Anya offered. “But it does make the most sense.”

“Yeah, but isn't that place open for tourism?” Xander arched a brow. “I know tourism right now's not exactly at an all-time high, but—”

“That shouldn't be a problem,” Sam intervened, holding up a hand. “We can call the President.”

Josh blinked at him. “And, what? Have him order them off their own property? He can't do that.”

“No, but I am willing to bet that they don't know that he can't do that.”

“You're the one who said it's a bad idea to piss off the South. These small towns would make a big deal out of—”

“That was before the apocalypse, Josh. I'm not really concerned with offending some ladies from the Garden Club because we want to make sure there's a house to tour tomorrow. Besides…” He drew in a breath. “I think this might be more important than reelection.”

“And these guys'll know you're not yanking their chain how, exactly?” Xander volunteered. “Do you have badges or some sort of identification that could prove you're from the White House and that the President is actually the President?”

“It's been all over the news that we've been gone,” Donna volunteered. “Well, the press has been heckling CJ for updates. I also think the fact that Natchez has closed down and we're in Natchez is not something the White House has kept a secret. In any regard, it's worth it to try.”

“But you have no badges or identification?”

Sam shrugged. “We do, but it didn't work much when we wanted to get Mendoza out of jail.”

“Isn't he the nominee for the bench?” Willow asked, flushing when her boyfriend looked at her in awe. “Why was he in jail?”

“Driving while being Hispanic.”

“Oh. One of those things.”

“Yeah.”

Spike sighed and shook his head. “Does it even bloody matter ‘f these wankers don' consent? I'm thinkin' they'll bolt once it hits six o'clock an' everythin' starts goin' straight to hell.”

“It'd be better if we could have the grounds to ourselves in preparation,” Wesley observed. “But Spike is right. Even if we cannot get the staff to cooperate with us, it will be of little consequence once the apocalypse starts.”

Giles nodded. “Yes. Well, anything is worth a try.” He glanced to Josh. “I will try the more diplomatic approach before we resort to phoning the President for his help. If nothing else, we will simply wait it out.” A pause. He exhaled steadily, his eyes turning to Willow with a note of more dire concern. “Are you all right?”

She flashed a weak grin. “Aside the part where I think I'm going to die of anxiety? Sure. Right as rain.”

“And the rite itself?”

“Too many rights,” Josh muttered.

“I'm prepared,” the redhead replied. “Nervous. Shaky. Think this eating thing that we're doing now's going to make me sick, but sure. I'm all with the okay.” Her words did little to mask her apprehension. Even with Sam's arm curled around her middle, she failed to relax. Rather the reminder of everything that was at stake succeeded in furthering a miserable downward spiral. “I'm just…scared.”

Donna smiled sympathetically. “I think that sentiment's fairly well universal.”

Giles gave her a rather affectionate look before turning his attention to Buffy. “Are you all right?”

The Slayer expelled a deep breath and snuggled further into Spike's embrace. “Yeah,” she decided after a minute. “Whatever goes down tonight is a must. I'm going to be fine. A little on the side of wigged, but fine.”

“Good.” The elder Watcher wiped his mouth with his napkin and rose slowly to his feet. “I am going to phone Longwood and see about preparations,” he said. “I suggest everyone get whatever you brought with you together. If we survive the day, I have absolutely no intention of staying here another night.”

The sentiment was more than shared. Not a minute more in Natchez than necessary. Not a minute more.

But even that seemed too far to consider. Tomorrow, a bleak hole of nothing where the state of the world was anyone's guess. Packing was a necessary but empty chore. Like this, especially like this. The future unforeseeable.

They were just hours away from the apocalypse.

*~*~*

As it turned out, neither Giles's diplomacy or the President's orders were required in maintaining the grounds at Longwood for the site of the ritual. The house itself stood as it had for a hundred years: an abandoned, uninhabited shell with no one to lay claim. The staff was gone; the house closed and locked down. A sort of acknowledgment that whatever silent tragedy the town had been moving toward for the past couple weeks was building to climax. That whatever was going to happen would happen today.

And thus, Longwood was closed. No authority to circumvent. They had their battleground.

“Are you ready?” Spike murmured to Buffy as she prepared to take her seat between Willow and Josh. The group was slowly dispersing, taking seats on the hilly landscape in front of the octagonal domain. The clock ticking to six; they were running out of time to be nervous.

“No,” she replied, drawing him into a hug, burying her face in his throat. She sighed in a sense of falsified security when he wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him as if they were of the same make. “It's stupid, though. I'm just sitting there, right? There's no reason for me to not be ready.”

He smiled wryly and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I'd say you have a reason or two,” he murmured. “Everything's gonna be fine, baby.”

“I wish I had your optimism,” she replied, releasing a shuddering breath against his skin. “You gotta promise me you'll make it out of this.”

Spike's eyes fluttered shut reverently. “I will if you will.” He whispered another kiss to her temple, then to her cheek, then titled her head up to taste her mouth. “I love you, Buffy. An' we'll make it. You an' me. All the rest of them. We'll get our place an' start livin' it up tomorrow, okay?”

A watery smile crossed her face and she nodded. He seemed so certain.

“Tomorrow,” she agreed. “I love you, too.”

His eyes warmed and he kissed her again, tasting her as though he had not already committed her to memory. The sort of kiss that was either a heartfelt, poignant goodbye or an overture to the future he had promised would be theirs.

Another minute and she would never have left his side. But it was time.

Sam and Willow were having much of the same problem. The redhead was setting up on the flattest part of the terrain as her caring boyfriend followed her at every turn, making sure there was nothing she needed that wasn't at her immediate disposal. As Buffy made her way to join them, Giles had approached to coax the Deputy Communications Director away from the Witch's side and to his place in the circle between Donna and Anya. The Slayer got the end of the whispered I love you's and fought the instinctual smile that tickled her lips.

Her friend had found love. Just a little while after she had been so certain that she would never love again, and she had found the man that, in Buffy's opinion, was more than perfect for her. A man that, furthermore, adored her thoroughly.

And today might be the last day they had.

“Giles?” Willow asked as Buffy took her seat next to Josh. “How are we doing on time?”

“Ten minutes.”

A nervous jitter ran through the Witch's body. “Right,” she agreed, heaving a deep sigh. “Okay. Buffy? Josh?” She licked her lips as she took her seat between them, nodding before they could voice their support. “We better get started with some basic chants.”

“Chants?” Josh asked, quirking a brow.

“More for me,” she clarified. “I need to get the blood flowing. Get into my…” She snapped her fingers fearfully, arms flailing in an erratic gesture. Were she not so nervous, her behavior might have been interpreted as incredibly inebriated. “Get some stuff working.” She glanced to the Watcher and nodded. “You should…get everyone ready.”

Giles nodded and turned to the others. “Is everyone holding hands?”

Spike nodded and held up both arms where he was joined between Donna and Wesley. “All set, Rupert.”

The Watcher expelled a sigh and flipped open his text. The sky was growing blacker by the second; in a few minutes, there would be no light whatsoever. In a few minutes, darkness would cloud them all.

In a few minutes, the apocalypse began. They were inches away from the end of the world.

It was their job to pull it back.

*~*~*

The lights went off with a crack of thunder that barely drowned out the scream behind the voice of an empowered witch. A book drawn between three—the redhead's eyes centered on the text blackened to everyone but herself. The ready growl of the ground echoed through every corner of town. The sky pulsed with a cadence of lightning—blinding against a giant sheen of obscurity.

Willow could barely make out the form of Giles as he circled them, his voice ringing out against the wail of the growing storm.

Quirinias was coming. She could feel it with every fiber of her being. He was one with Faith—he was Faith. He was inside Faith's body, and Faith was gone. There was nothing there but him.

And his first objective was to wipe out those who knew how to stop him.

Oh yes, she felt it. Her hands clenched around Buffy and Josh's, and the pain in her chest doubled over with the influence of what was to come. The power tapped into her body thrumming in strength; an overwhelming current that threatened to drown her along with it. Willow drew in a deep breath and threw her head back.

It was time.

“In nomine patris et filii et spiritus santi.” The ground quaked with just the utterance of those words, and she felt the crushing tide that had tried to suffocate her just days earlier resurrect itself with the aid of a second hand. “Shadow passes. Light remains. I call the living hand by the grace of God to learn and leave and remember death. We come to cast out the unholy one.”

A flash of lightning. Willow frowned, gasping sharply at the jolt of dark energy that attacked her stomach. Buffy's grip on her hand tightened inexplicably—the loom of what was behind her too heavy to focus. Quirinias, then. In the shadows by Longwood. Appearing closer every time the sky went white.

Not real. Focus. Focus.

Yeah. When did that ever work?

“There is no avarice without penalty. No malice that goes unpunished. The journey is over…your judgment day begins.”

A shrill sound squeaked through Josh's lips, his eyes widening in horror at something she refused to look at. “God, Sam,” he murmured to himself, though within earshot of the Slayer and the redhead. “You slept with her?”

The reminder of Faith's violence toward her boyfriend helped in adding to the Witch's energy, but anger needed to be far placed from the ritual. A bubbling spout of power that she could not compromise. Willow rocked a bit as another onslaught of unseen force threatened to knock her back. They were getting more powerful already. Soon it would be enough to shove her out of the circle's protection if she didn't maintain her ground.

Something else was happening, though. The same thing that happened before. Small static waves of purplish energy, forming there right in front of her. Tiny specks against an otherwise darkened sky, but she remembered it full and well. How much it had taken to form. How much power went into the words she was reciting now. It was as though every cell in her body was screaming, but rejoicing at the same time. So juiced with energy that would be ejected into the face of her enemy.

It was going to happen, then. All the same. Something was taking over her and she couldn't stop it. The screams of her friends rang against deaf ears. She couldn't see what was happening to them, now. No. She was too focused on this. Allowing herself over. Giving her will to the call of something larger than she could have ever foreseen.

When she spoke again, her voice was not her own.

Willow wasn't driving anymore.

Willow was gone.

*~*~*

The first waves came at a steady pace. Faith's face broken and torn; white and pasty with eyes of gold that burned with red. There was gibberish coming out of her mouth that some might classify as Latin. Perhaps Greek. A mixture of nonsense that, nonetheless, struck Buffy as eerily familiar. As though somewhere beneath the surface, she knew the meaning to every word that spilled from the god's cracked, bleeding lips.

It was strange looking at her—even at her craziest, she had never seemed insane. Not truly insane.

There was nothing normal about her.

Something had happened to Willow. She didn't know what, but something had happened in the past ten seconds. The words she was muttering were no longer her own. Cast down into some unrecognizable version of herself. And the ball of purple fire that was spreading at her fingertips was starting to burn.

Faith was rasping in tongues—her voice everywhere. Echoing off every tree. Singing through the air for the heavens to hear. The sound of it struck within Buffy the worst feeling of déjà vu she had ever experienced. The sort of buried memory that was never meant to resurface.

“Tolos! Você pensa para derrotar Quirinias? Eu sou um deus! Eu sou um deus!”

She didn't know where it came from, but something hit her then. With the resounding stride of an angered god screaming down upon them, the winds chanting doom as the power at Willow's beck and call grew stronger by the second. The light was so bright. Out of darkness, nothing but this. A flash of lightning, a view of Faith's distorted face, and this.

Those eyes. Those gold, blood-filled eyes.

“He does that!” Josh screamed. She had no idea when it had grown so loud, or when she had taken to crushing the man's hand with her monstrous grip. She knew she was hurting him, but he didn't seem to care; rather took to her in much of the same manner. As though releasing each other just a little bit would unwind the world yarn by yarn. “He yells a lot in different languages.”

“Yeah!” she shouted back, wincing as the wind picked up.

That much she remembered. The screaming. Her throat ached at the thought of it.

“Justitia omnibus!” the Witch screamed, her eyes darkened to a state that Buffy had never seen before. Somewhere between the shadows and the gray. Right there. All Willow. “Leve fit, quod bene fertur, onus. Lusus naturae! Lux mundi, lux et veritas. Liberate te ex inferis!”

The Slayer winced, her body beginning to cramp. Every ounce of energy that the redhead pulled from her felt like a physical blow. As though there were pieces of her up for auction, and every time a bargain was made, she lost a bit of herself.

It will pass. It will pass.

Quirinias was coming at them again. Through the haze formed by the circle—the little light that prevailed—she could see Xander ducking his head in fear. Could see Donna's eyes were slammed shut, her features wrought with fear. Could see Toby's dumbstruck awe. Giles was circling them still, yelling things that were drowned out by the raging sea around them. A power struggle between witches and gods.

Something was slamming into her with every wave of Faith's arm, and she felt her resolve weaken even more.

The circle. Quirinias was trying to break the circle.

“Josh!” Buffy screamed, clutching his hand tighter to calm her sudden dread that he was no longer there. “Don't let go! Whatever happens!”

She saw nothing but his eyes; his face an imagined silhouette against the darkness. How she could see the others from a distance and not the man at her side, she didn't know. But his eyes were fearful. Large and panicked. And though she received nothing in response, somehow she knew that her message was heard. Her words conveyed and understood. He would not let go.

The world around her was falling apart. Her strength draining. Her focus betraying her. And there was that one consistency: Spike. He was there somewhere. She felt him. The claim had not deceived her. He was there. The concern, the strength he was sending her warming her heart even then. Even as hell broke out around them, his thoughts, his energies were entirely with her.

The wealth of that whispered promise.

This cannot be the end.

The thought tore through her mind as the sky was pierced.

The circle gone, disbanded. Thrown to the wind of struggle and gone.

The circle was gone.

Buffy cried out, her grip on Josh and Willow tightening. That sphere of protection gone. Quirinias was coming for them. There was no stopping him now. No sanctuary. Nothing. Just empty ground between them and the thing that wore Faith's face.

“ Abyssus abyssum invocat!” the Witch screamed. “Ad majorem dei gloriam! Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt!”

Her chants sliced through the air. Stronger. Pulsating with power.

Quirinias was still coming for them.

Only Quirinias, at the moment, seemed to be preoccupied. Those that had been in the circle were attacking him left and right with whatever they had at their disposal. Buffy watched in awe as Donna swung at the former Slayer with a branch of some forgotten tree. Spike was doing what Spike did; he was in game face, snarling, and attacking with a mad rage that both defined him and stood apart from everything else she had ever seen him do. Giles and Wesley were throwing stakes, stones; anything they could get their hands on. What little they had brought with them.

And Toby, dear Toby, was chucking every single bouncy ball he had, and hitting his target with every swing.

What little good it did.

A wave of Faith's arm, and they were gone. The eight of them strewn across the sky as a careless afterthought. They were gone. And Quirinias was coming for them.

The next thing she knew, Josh had tugged her to her feet and was all but carrying her away from their spot.

“Josh!”

“I didn't let go,” he replied hurriedly. “You all right?”

“Willow!”

Willow was lost to them, though. Sitting there in a sphere by herself. Her eyes gone—darkened as she focused on the ball of energy that grew with every whisper that crossed her lips. She was somewhere strong. Somewhere that Quirinias could not reach for the moment.

Not without devouring the power of a god.

“Oh Jesus,” Josh whispered as Faith turned for them.

Those that comprised the three. They were the ones to kill first.

Buffy drew in a breath even as her body trembled. Her strength had been stolen for the Rite, and every inch of her felt it in retribution. Borrowed power, granted, but it would take a while for her to return to herself.

Even still, she couldn't let Josh fall victim to her own weakness. Drawing in a breath, she stepped in front of him, releasing his hand. “Stay behind me,” she whispered, astonished at how frail her voice sounded.

She was seconds from falling to the ground.

And then a flash of blonde hair. The wrong blonde, but anything would do. She felt Spike's rush of blind panic and he was running for them, only Donna had made it first. Donna leaping on Faith's back and beating her with closed fists—raw, but it was all she could do. And most likely, it was the surprise that saved their lives.

The foolishly heroic tendencies that in the package guised as humanity often did.

Donna was on her back in seconds—Josh's screams of protest falling silent against the rage around them. Then the god placed her hand on the blonde's forehead and she arched back with a screeching howl, her body sent headlong into a fitful of convulsions.

Josh lunged at that. Lunged and found himself consigned to the ground just as quickly.

Josh wasn't the one Quirinias wanted.

Gold eyes found Buffy's, and a smile that haunted her dreams drew wickedly across the god's broken mouth. A twisted word, rough translation of what she instinctively knew was Slayer rasped through Faith's throat, and she moved forward with every intent of ending it now.

Buffy saw Spike just as he arrived, a snarling mass of animal instinct. He threw himself at the god without thought, clawing as his eyes flashed, his fangs looking for retribution at even the pretense of harming his mate. Quirinias snarled back just as rabidly, and the forest floor found itself bathed in blood.

That was it. She found herself in the middle of it. As Spike toppled to the ground, what little was left of her strength came charging back. A relapse that would not be forgiven in the eyes of what was sacred. The vampire found his way back to her in seconds; then they were battling side by side. A vicious team of never-ending blows. The full of her forgotten strength leaking inward in increments—borrowed or not.

The world was dying around her.

And then, something happened.

The ground quaked and the heavens opened, unveiling glory for all to see. Something inhuman stabbed the air, and suddenly there was Willow. The Witch. There she was. Her feet not on the ground, her eyes vacant, her hands outspread. The cackle of raw energy against a night that had too much of it; there was blood on her hands, blood streaking her face. Blood from where was anyone's guess. But at that moment, the thing that wasn't Willow was calling the shots.

Power crippling her resolve.

“Ubi concordia, ibi victoria!” said the voice commanding the Witch's body, her hands slowly taking aim toward the god. The god that, for the first time in either her body or anyone else's, seemed to quiver with fear.

Buffy knew fear. What it felt like; what it looked like.

And Quirinias was afraid.

“Nu,” came from Faith's lips, awed. “Fieri non potest.”

There was an arm around her middle, suddenly. The next thing Buffy knew, Spike had her buried in his arms, shielding her eyes from whatever was about to happen. “Oh,” she heard him bark contemptuously. His voice strained and broken, but not defeated. Never defeated. “It bloody well is, you fucking rot.”

The mass of sparkling energy at the Witch's disposal made the ground quiver. Not like before; this was different. She felt it from where she was. Curled in Spike's embrace, the feel of the world around her. It was all about to end. This. Whatever this was, it was about to end.

“ Sic volo, sic iubeo! Transit umbra, lux permanet. Esto perpetua!”

And Willow would be the one that ended it.

“Nu! Nu!”

Her flesh burned. Her blood screamed. Her ears rang. Every muscle in her body crumpled and she willed herself entirely into Spike's sanctuary. The full of Willow's blast could have leveled mountains. Could have halted the earth's rotation. Could have killed them all with an ounce of what it took to defeat a god. And every inch of the Slayer screamed with Quirinias as the essence of her magic hit him. As though she felt it alongside her weakened state. Felt the blinding light that flattened the lawn of Longwood take corporeal form and destroy her along with it.

Her shriek found refuge in Spike's shoulder as he held through it. The sting of her tears coming from nowhere. She didn't know why she felt it, too—the echo of it—but she did. It reverberated through every muscle in her worn body, tore at her skin, boiled her blood and then some.

Over soon. It would be over soon.

“Factum est!” Willow screamed in completion. “I cast you out! Consummatum est! Consummatum est!” The last of her energies soaring forward as Faith released a shriek that would make demons weep for her soul. And then nothing. Her body cast into the air and down again, broken as she collapsed to the ground. Motionless.

The sky cleared; darkness abated for the sake of night. And there were stars.

Stars that watched as Willow fell to the earth that no longer quaked. Her energies spent. The full of herself cast out and back again. Buffy felt a pang of fear stab her heart, but she couldn't bear to break free of Spike's embrace. She watched over his shoulder as Sam ran to her, collapsing alongside Giles and Wesley. She heard them confirm that her friend was breathing but unconscious. Her nose was bleeding and her body was aligned with bruises, but she was breathing.

Willow was breathing. Willow had survived.

Buffy's eyes flickered to where Donna had fallen. The blonde was also breathing steadily, her head at Josh's shoulder. The worry in his eyes had not abated, but there was resolution there. He knew that she would be all right.

It was there at the end. That knowledge that came from nowhere. A peaceful understanding. Peace while blood stained the ground.

Buffy didn't know when they moved; there was no ground beneath her. Spike had her in his arms, and suddenly she could see the Witch. Her friend that was breathing but not conscious. Her friend that was covered head to toe with angry blue and purple patches at her skin. Static electricity still dancing off her fingertips.

But it was over.

Buffy didn't realize that Josh had followed them until he was at Spike's side.

“And you're going out with her?” he asked Sam, who spared a small smile. “This has been a weird trip.”

A chuckle rumbled through the vampire's chest and she saw her Watcher grin wryly as he took the redhead in his arms.

Josh had a way of simpling things up that she envied more than she would admit.

The loom that had settled was gone. And it was over.

Time to go home, she thought. Time to get that apartment.

It was the last thing that ran through her mind before consciousness slipped away. The world falling dark around her, but freeing. In Spike's arms as he cradled her to safety. She allowed it to fall away. Whatever was left, she could think about tomorrow.

So she rested.

Chapter 45

It was midnight when they arrived at the edge of Natchez. The Millers—in exchange for the hefty bonus Giles provided alongside the extended time they had spent at the Wensel House—were more than amicable in the final request that they lend the group of twelve a ride to the place they had left the wrecked Winnebago. It took three cars and one of the Millers' close friend's assistance to get everyone out at the same time, but with all consideration to what had happened since the Scoobies and the Senior Staffers checked in nearly three weeks earlier, it was almost akin to helping a relative.

The Winnebago itself, aside being banged up in the front, was deemed drivable as long as the targeted distance wasn't too great. Willow and Faith were still unconscious with no presumed time on when they might awake. It was surprising enough that either had survived. Given that, they were placed on opposing bunks in the very back, Faith restrained with the handcuffs Donna and the redhead had given Spike and Buffy for Christmas.

Not that it would hold her if she awoke with the intent to run, but it was enough. For now.

The others were standing at the edge of town, gazing down a black river of concrete. Standing there in the aftermath of battle. The final testament in the reality of Quirinias's defeat.

In the right hand of the Communications Director was one of the recovered bouncy balls, its owner enjoying a small game of catch with God. It was necessary but nerve-wracking. Somehow, after the display at Longwood, after something that had nearly killed them all, it still came down to this.

“Well, Toby,” Josh urged after a few uneventful minutes. “Whenever you're ready.”

The man quirked a small smile, then cranked his arm and pitched the ball into the face of the invisible barricade. And all watched as it soared into the night, bouncing lightly off the pavement before it vanished into the shadows.

“Wahoo!” Xander screamed, lifting Anya into a hug.

Buffy just sighed in relief and collapsed against Spike's shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut as he squeezed her in reassurance.

Sam took Donna into a hug, released her, then grabbed Toby before he could object. There was, in fact, not one person on the road that night that did not get a victory hug from Sam. The Watchers merely stood in their collective respite and took turns shaking the hand of the Communications Director when he approached.

It was an indescribable feeling. One of those to look back upon and reflect. Somewhere between shouts of joy and tears of reprieved happiness. The line was so thin it was barely discernable. Standing at the edge of forever. The world had not ended. There would be a tomorrow.

As the celebration died, Giles turned to the Deputy Chief of Staff and nodded. “Josh?”

Josh grinned at him like a loon as though he had said something highly significant, then reached for the cell phone that he would likely never return to Donna. Never so happy to punch in the phone number that would remain burned in his memory long after the Bartlet administration had left the White House. “Leo?” he said just seconds later. Then paused, grinned, and quipped, “What's next?”

It was over. Time, then, to move on.

Time for what was next.

*~*~*

It was a surprise to everyone when Willow awoke just as they reached Jackson. The redhead's gasp rang clear through the secret service vehicle, the man at her side reaching for her instantly as Giles twisted in his seat to watch his other daughter come back to life.

Her eyes opened without struggle; clear, knowledged. Rooted in some form of deeper understanding. She turned immediately and found herself curled in Sam's protective embrace, his eyes warming with relief.

“Oh, thank God.”

Spike turned as best he could, his arms preoccupied with Buffy, who was fast asleep at his shoulder. “Red?”

Giles nodded. “She's awake.”

“Very awake,” Willow observed, sitting up with a smile that contradicted her exhaustion. “What happened?”

“It's over,” Sam replied quickly, brushing a kiss over her forehead. “We're about to Jackson now.”

“It's over?”

“Over,” Spike agreed. “Saved the world, Red. Never seen anythin' like that.”

“I did?”

Sam nodded proudly. “You did. Though don't tell that to Josh. He has a thing where, since he was a part of the three, he's gotten it into his head that he saved the world.”

Buffy murmured slightly against Spike's shoulder before lifting her head. “Mmmm. Yeah. Sure, he saved the world,” she added, meeting her boyfriend's eyes with a hint of sleepy mischief. “When the circle broke, he grabbed me and ran.”

“As any sane person would've done,” the vampire murmured, whispering a kiss at her temple. “Saucy minx. Thought you were asleep.”

“Playing possum. Sleep is for the plane.” She turned slightly so she could meet her friend's eyes. “You okay, Will?”

“A little sore, but okay.” The redhead's gaze widened in concern. “You?”

“A little sore.”

“Yeah. I kinda remember the part where I sucked out your strength.” She winced, though it was impossible to tell whether it was out of lamentation or her aforementioned discomfort. “Sorry.”

Buffy shrugged and leaned back against her mate. “Advantage one of being a god,” she replied. “Strength? Not that difficult to come by. My muscles just feel a little worn.”

Spike arched a brow, his embrace constricting protectively. “Whatever hit Quirinias hit the Slayer, too,” he said. “Jus' enough to make her bleed. Think that thing was designated for any god within a ten mile radius.”

“Oh God. Buffy—”

“I'm okay,” the blonde reassured her, pinching the vampire with a mixture of scold and playfulness. “Just a little sore. And, again, god.”

“You sure?” Sam asked. “That was—”

“It wasn't meant for me. I just felt the burn. Really, really okay. And if you make me say god again, I won't turn any water into wine for Christmas.”

Giles blinked in interest. “You can do that?”

Spike smiled wryly. “Li'l eager there, aren't you, you holiday drunk?”

“Holiday?” Toby ventured from the front.

“You're one to talk,” the Watcher drawled, glancing at the vampire sardonically.

“Jus' sayin', mate. Slayer has power to sire gods.” He tugged Buffy even closer in a silent gesture of comfort alongside with jest. “Water to wine? Parlor tricks an' all that. Was when the ancient wanker made it popular.”

“Yeah,” Willow agreed drolly. “Started a fad, he did.”

Buffy grinned and buried her face in Spike's shoulder, and the warmth in the gesture calmed him in the face of their next storm. The time it would take to adjust to her new life. Gone right from awaking a god into being one. She had been granted no time for recognition—rather, fate had shoved her into the brunt of it without pausing for acceptance.

As though tapping into his sentiment, the redhead broke through the small silence, her voice degrees away from where it had been just seconds before. “You don't know, do you?” she asked softly.

Sam frowned. “Who doesn't know what, Willow?”

“Buffy.” She drew in a breath. “How powerful you are.”

Spike tensed as the girl in his arms went rigid. He bit back the instinctive need to scream at her for bringing it up at all. Bringing it up in a manner that was not so readily dismissed under a veil of whimsy. “Red,” he hissed warningly. “Don't.”

It was like talking to a brick wall and getting a better response.

“What I felt,” the Witch continued, her voice calm and unwavering, though not without an ominous note. “It was more powerful than…I was only able to do whatever I did because of you. What I…”

A dangerous air thundered through the vampire's body, his temper failing him and his eyes flashing yellow. With a jerk, he had twisted with a menacing snarl. “Stop it!” he roared. “You insensitive—”

“Spike!” Sam barked contemptuously. “That's enough!”

“Tell your own bird that, will you, mate?”

Buffy licked her lips, settling her hand over his. “Spike…”

“She is, though,” Willow continued, frowning. “And she needs to know it. She needs to know how powerful she is. I don't remember that much of what happened, but I do remember feeling it. What she has. I remember I had to borrow it, and—”

Had the Slayer not settled her grip around her mate's wrist, there was every possibility that he would have leapt into the back and convinced her friend to shut up in the more vampiric, less conventional way. “Spike,” she said again. Soft. Imploring. “It's all right, sweetie. I should know. I'll have to understand it…I just…” A breath shuddered through her body. “Just…Willow. Not now. Okay?”

“Buffy—”

“Yes. Me powerful. Message well heard and even received. I just don't want to think about it now.”

“Wonder if she'd have any influence on Republican leadership,” Toby muttered absently. “Just make everyone forget that Lillianfield exists or that the President wasn't elected with a mandate.”

“We have enough demons in the party,” Sam replied with a humorless chuckle. “Let's leave the real ones for the GOP.”

Willow made a noncommittal sound and leaned back. “So we're getting on the plane in Jackson?” she asked tiredly. “It's almost hard to believe.”

“The President has ensured that you, Buffy, and Spike have first class seats,” the Deputy Communications Director added. “Wes, Xander, and Anya…well, the President asked Josh who saved the world…and after Josh admitted that it wasn't just him, he named you three specifically.”

Spike perked a brow. “Me?”

“I think it was more a favor to Buffy. And he respects the way you held Buffy down when she was possessed, even if he'll never tell you to your face.” Sam grinned in spite of himself. “But yes.”

“Bloody rich,” the vampire said appraisingly.

Willow frowned. “What about Giles?”

“He's flying first class, too.”

“Only I'm not going back to Sunnydale,” the elder Watcher clarified. “I'm going back to England for a few weeks.”

The redhead frowned. “Why?”

A sigh rang through the air. “It might be the worst mistake I could make, but we cannot take any chances with Faith. Once she wakes up…if she wakes up…she will be a god as well. And an unbalanced Slayer with that sort of power…she needs to be kept under supervision. Under…the Watcher Council's custody.”

Buffy went rigid, her eyes widening in horror. “Faith a god?”

“She underwent the same process as you did,” Giles said gravely. “There is no reason to believe that she won't have inherited the same powers. And even so, I refuse to forgo any precaution.”

The Slayer licked her lips and nodded her agreement. “God powers plus insane plus Faith,” she mused. “I'm really not liking that combination.”

“I can assure you, you're not the only one,” Toby murmured. “The girl almost destroyed the world and your best suggestion is rehabilitation?”

“The Council will have a method of detaining her if need be,” Giles said reassuringly, though his voice rang with doubt that he refused to confirm. The display at Longwood was a clear indication on just how much power went into restraining a god; he felt no compulsion to reiterate what they had all just been through. “Regardless, I have every reason to believe that her behavior in Natchez was a result of what was happening to her. Faith is not known for her candor, by any means, but she isn't the type to do what she did to Sam…what she did.”

The redhead bit the inside of her cheek as her eyes flashed with anger. “Yeah,” she agreed shortly. “Only she did it to Sam. I think Sam was there and that Sam remembers.”

“Willow—”

“No. She did the same thing to Xander, for crying out loud.” Her gaze went wide and her fists clenched furiously. “Does no one remember that?”

Spike cocked an interested brow. “The Slayer shagged Harris? Prob'ly the best bloody ride the boy'll ever get.”

“Not helping, sweetie,” Buffy murmured, patting his hand. “And how exactly would you know?”

“Wouldn't an' don't wanna.” He shrugged. “Jus' goin' off what I know of Stay Puft's way too vocal sex life.”

“She tried to kill him, Spike!” Willow yelped. “If Angel hadn't shown up, she would have.”

“'m not sayin' she's a peach, luv,” the vampire retorted. “Fact, were it not for the likelihood of my gettin' staked, I'd off the bird myself. She's given me more than enough reason to.”

“That and the chip,” Buffy reminded him.

“Right, the chip. Let's never forget the chip.”

Willow tilted her head. “Would the chip even work anymore?”

Spike smiled dryly. “I'd wager not, though ‘f the bint's a god, that's one fight I'm not liable to pick.”

Giles cleared his throat. “The point is, Faith is about to go through something as well. The Council has already tried to kill her once…and despite my opinion of her, I fear she might have been through more than we will ever know. That being said, regardless of her past…she is a god now. A god that will perhaps never awake from the coma you put her in, Willow.”

“Another coma,” the Slayer muttered.

“The power used against her was considerably stronger than the power used against Buffy,” the Watcher added. “It was to defeat a god that already existed, not ward off a god from possessing the body of his own creation. You said it yourself—it took Buffy's presence…her newly developed powers to do the spell in the first place. Magic that potent is not easy to recover from. There is every possibility that she will never awaken.”

Willow licked her lips, sulking back. “More than she deserves,” she grumbled, though her voice lacked conviction. That inherent knowledge that refused to die: no matter how terrible a person was, forgiveness was always a virtue.

Lousy knowledge.

Sam sighed and tugged her into his arms. “It's okay.”

“Yeah.”

“There is no point arguing about this now,” Giles reasoned. “You just saved the world…I believe you're entitled to a break.”

Buffy's brows perked as she snuggled again into Spike's side, weariness weighing in over interest. She felt she could sleep through the next century. “We get those?”

“Hardly ever.”

The redhead shrugged. “Nice in theory.”

“Very. Might as well get one in now before it's too late.” The blonde tried unsuccessfully to stifle a sigh, resting her head at her boyfriend's shoulder. “Wake me up in time for the next apocalypse.”

Spike chuckled wryly and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “You got it, sweetling.”

“You think there will be another apocalypse between here and the airport?” Sam asked worriedly. “Because, really, I don't think I could handle more than one a week. Especially with as drawn out as that last one was. And—”

Willow smiled at him. “She was kidding.”

“Oh. Good, then.”

It was bordering three in the morning when the two secret service vehicles roared into Jackson, Mississippi. Not even twelve hours following the minute the Rite of Thrieve began. Since the ground quaked and the sky roared. Since a witch had touched power beyond her wildest recognition. Since a god had tried to pick them off before taking his crack at the world.

A god that was never gone. Not really. Just banished for a few hundred years until another Sam Seaborn decided to read out of a book.

A matter of hours, and it already felt a lifetime away. All gone so simply.

The earth was still quaking, though. A slow reminder that would never die. The ripple effect established. Lives changed forever. A haphazard meeting in a small country town, and their lives had changed forever. All their lives.

Perhaps it had been the apocalypse in that regard. One world had ended. One world was gone and could never again be theirs. A world away from where they had once lived.

And here they were, racing down the highway toward the new one. A hazy future where no one called the shots. Where the rules of life no longer applied. A world where anything was up for grabs.

The past was left in Natchez and could never be rekindled. They had made it this far. They had taken each step without realizing that they were crossing the Rubicon in the process.

The past was left in Natchez. The road ahead was a whole new game.

*~*~*

Giles and Faith had been gone an hour and a half by the time it was announced that the flight to Los Angeles could begin boarding. And in retrospect, watching Xander and Anya dive down the terminal was liberating in a fashion; there was something to be said for those who did exactly what everyone else wanted to do without qualm.

Wesley followed in time after bidding adieu to Donna and thanking the Senior Staffers for a number of things that he was too tired to list off. The strain of a long, unending day bore down without pity. And though the departure would undoubtedly affect Willow the most, Buffy and Spike stayed with her to express a similarity in farewells.

Donna all but had to be pried away from the vampire, and she was crying so much one would have thought her favorite uncle had just died.

“Calm down,” Josh murmured self-consciously. “It's not like we're not going to see them again.”

“Yeah,” Willow added, putting up a brave face as she took the woman who had quickly become one of her best friends in her arms. It was nice to not be the most emotionally unbalanced, all things considered. “If need be, I have a list with every phone number Sam has ever dialed in my purse. I know yours was on there somewhere.”

“Besides, you know the President,” the Deputy Chief of Staff continued. “He's gonna be mad as hell when we turn up in DC without a vampire for him to grill on Roman history.”

Spike arched a brow. “He does know I'm not Roman, right?”

“Honestly,” the Communications Director said slowly. “I don't think it matters.”

The vampire smirked. “Well, guess it helps to have blokes in high places who fancy gettin' to know you.”

Toby stared at him. “Yeah. Never call the President a ‘bloke.'”

Donna laughed a little at that, her head ducking in a random bout of embarrassment for her outburst. “So…you guys really will come and visit?”

A flight reminder came in over the intercom. They were running out of time.

“Worryin' for nothin',” Spike informed her. “Pet, Red's datin' one of you. I think it'll be bloody hard to not come an' visit. An'…” He paused, then leaned down to whisper conspiratorially in her ear, “'f Curly gives you any problems, you know who to ring.”

Her eyes widened at that. “Spike—”

“'S'all right. Secret's safe an' all that.”

“Not really much of a secret.”

Josh went tense. “Donna…”

Spike pulled back at that and winked at him. “Take care of her,” he said warningly, wrapping his arm around Buffy. “'S not a good idea to brass off a vamp.”

“Neutered or otherwise,” Willow teased.

“Dirty pool.”

“And not so,” the Slayer argued, approaching that level of exhaustion that was beyond tired and progressively past slaphappy. “We better go before we're packed into Donna's suitcase.”

Spike nodded. “Right then, mates. Have at it, don' screw up the country too much, an' give us a ring before Prissy decides to start the next big one.”

Sam frowned. “Hey!”

“Absolutely,” Josh agreed, turning to look at his friend. “You're not allowed to read anymore.”

“Visit us!” Donna implored.

“I don't think not visiting's an option,” Buffy assured her. “You have my number right? Call me when you get in.”

“Only don',” the vampire added. “She'll be out for days.”

“Hey…”

“Need your rest, sweetheart. Savin' the world's tough business. As Curly, ‘m sure, would love to tell you.”

Josh grinned unrepentantly and shrugged. “I can run with the best of them. It was great saving the world with you, Buffy.”

She cracked a smile at that. “You, too. Take care.”

Another minute and her fatigue would have overwhelmed her completely. Spike guided her into the terminal and they were out of sight within seconds. And then it was just Willow.

“Okay,” she said with a sigh and a slight smile, the last call for their flight ringing appropriately over the intercom. “Well. Dorothy moment. Ummm…”

It wasn't difficult to decipher what she wasn't making a show of saying. Donna tugged at Josh, who in turn tugged at Toby. “We better go see when we're due to take off,” she said. “Willow?”

The Witch smiled. “I'll give you a call when we get in. If I'm, you know, not burrowed under my bed or something.”

That seemed to satisfy. And then the others were gone as well.

And she was alone with Sam.

She didn't know who had stepped forward first. If her arms had found refuge in his embrace or if he had beaten her to the punch. But at that moment, the crashing reality of what stepping on the plane meant hit her at full blast, and all the rest didn't matter. It was really happening. She was really leaving him. In Natchez, the concept of mapping out a long-distance relationship had seemed so simple. Simple, for the notion was buried in that if we get out file. Way down the road; far from her inspection. Far placed from concern. She had never expected it to happen so fast.

Suddenly it was time to say goodbye. And the fact that he was trembling as much as she was brought it all home.

“Call me when you get in,” he murmured. “Home. Cell. Office. All three. Just…do it, okay? And if you don't, I'll—”

“I'll call,” she whispered, drawing back to kiss him, tasting tears that had come from nowhere on her lips. She didn't know if they belonged to her; their tears, it seemed, tasted the same. “And I'll start saving for a trip to DC.”

“No. I can have you flown out.”

“The press—”

“Screw the press. I love you. You think I'm going to let the press stand in the way of that?” He kissed her forehead poignantly.

“Sam—”

“If you spend your money to see me, I'll just pay you back, anyway.”

“You're—”

“You're going to miss your flight.” He sighed and glanced down. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

She licked her lips. “Yeah.”

“I love you.”

Her cheeks flushed at that and she glanced down. How she had ever managed to win Sam's love, she would never know. It seemed like so much time had passed, and yet she hadn't known him for even a month yet. A man whose career was far placed from anywhere she would see. A man who had a future that couldn't possibly connect with hers. And yet, with him was such idealism, such sincerity, that she could allow herself to believe for now that he would find a way to make it work. That she could be with him and be a witch. Be a nineteen-year-old undergraduate who lived across the country.

She could get on the plane and pretend it wouldn't be the end of their fling, even if he never admitted it. Sam was from a different world. A world far from hers; theirs had just bumped accidentally. A shortcut back to reality.

But she loved him—god help her she did. And as long as she did, she would try everything to make it work. Even if it blew up in her face.

This was worth it. Whatever the future held, this was worth it.

“I love you, too,” she said, kissing him one last time. “And I'll call as soon as I get in.”

“Please.”

“I will.”

It was time to turn around now. Time to pull herself from his arms and walk away. Board the plane to California and return to her life. Return to the empty dorm room and the classes she had nearly forgotten. Return to the place that had been her home such a short while ago.

Leaving the man she loved behind. Leaving him to return to his life.

A continent apart.

Chapter 46

It was just after seven in the morning when Josh's cab pulled up to his townhouse, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. He had been awake for nearly thirty-six hours and was more than ready to collapse in bed and sleep for the next week and a half. To pretend the past three weeks were nothing but a reflective mind-trip left over from his college days.

However, having been home for a grant total of five minutes, it was absolutely no surprise when he received a call from the White House. The President wanted to see him at his earliest possible convenience, though advised he get some sleep first because, regardless, it would be a work day.

The thought of returning to the White House in light of everything that had happened—the idea that in just a few hours, he would be standing in the Oval Office with the President of the United States after what he had seen in Natchez—was more than surreal. Surreal times ten. It was like stepping out of the rabbit hole and into the real world again, only the rabbit hole would always be a step back from where he was.

All it took was a step.

He slept for six hours and awoke strangely well rested. He showered, dressed, climbed into his car, and took the familiar drive to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. He walked through security, smiled at Bonnie and Margaret when they greeted him and made the expected, “Good to have you back,” exchange. Through the Bullpen and to his office, stopping once at the awkwardly familiar sight of Donna at her desk, working away as though nothing had happened.

He could almost believe that it was the day after Leo gave him the assignment to meet with Senator Davis, and that the entire Natchez ordeal was the result of a very long, very bad dream.

But no. At home, he had a snow-globe from Willow on his dresser. He had a scratch on his arm from the battle at Longwood, and his ears had yet to stop ringing from the screams that had torn that night apart. And even if all of that weren't so, the lost, uncomfortable look in Donna's eyes would have been more than enough.

“Good timing,” she said, jumping to her feet. “You've got Senior Staff in five, and a meeting on the Hill with Barnes and Stackhouse to go over 298. They want to attach a rider that has the Majority's office in a fit of fits.”

“Donna—”

“Also, they're going to want to sit down with Sam and Toby to go over some of the language—”

“Donna!”

She stopped abruptly and looked at him with interest. “What?”

“You don't have to be all…” He frowned. “You don't have to be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like this! Like you're being right now.” Josh expelled a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation. “What are you even doing here, anyway? I told you on the plane that I'd give you the rest of the week off.”

“Well, thanks, Joshua, but I prefer to actually be productive and earn my government paycheck.” She handed him a folder and tilted her head. “Besides, if I wasn't here, you wouldn't know that you have Senior Staff and a meeting on the Hill at three.”

“You think I can't read my schedule?”

“Do you even know where I keep your schedule?”

“I could find out. Go home, Donna.”

“Fat chance. Senior Staff, meeting on the Hill. I'll have some notes ready for you before you go.”

She was gone before he could stop her, and going after her was not an option. Such was the job. He had Senior Staff now, and that was his priority.

It had been only a few hours since he last saw Sam and Toby, but to see them now in work clothes, standing outside the Oval as Mrs. Landingham lectured them on proper protocol while in the White House brought everything full circle.

They were really home.

CJ was the first to spot him, and he didn't realize just how much he had missed her until she threw him a casual smile. “Josh,” she greeted. “Returned to the land of the living, I hear?”

“More or less, and let's really not exclude the less.” He nodded at her with a familiar, cocky grin. “'Sup?”

“Just trying to wheedle what's been happening for the past three weeks from Penn and Teller.”

Josh shrugged. “Nothing big. Saved the world, same old same old.”

It was easy to dismiss Toby and Sam's simultaneous eye-rolls as annoyance to the Deputy Chief of Staff's sense of humor rather than his ego. And before CJ could follow up with a smartass comment of her own, they were called into the Oval.

For all intents and purposes, Senior Staff went as it usually did. CJ was told to knock it off on hate crime legislation and to leak the revised budget plan to the press. Sam and Josh were humored to discover that the time Toby had spent trapped inside the Eola Hotel after Spike came forward with his vampirism had gone toward working on the Mendoza confirmation from his laptop. Doing as much as he could, given the perimeters of his authority.

“We don't have long till the vote,” Leo informed them. “As long as Mendoza can keep his mouth shut between now and next week…” He arched his brows at the Communications Director. “There's every possibility that he was just being nice while you were away.”

“From one apocalypse to another,” Toby grumbled, inciting a confused look from CJ. “Yeah, okay.”

“We're also going to need you and Josh to work on this thing for the tariff bill.”

Josh frowned. “I thought we had the votes on that.”

Leo nodded stoically. “We do. We'd just like more.”

“Why? So it'll really pass?”

The Communications Director was looking at his boss as though he had started speaking Samarian. “Leo, you know how I don't get along with these people.”

“All the more reason for you to have the meeting.”

“Leo—”

“Toby, if Leo says we need the votes, we need the votes.” The President glanced up from where he had been reading over a report that Charlie had handed him a few seconds earlier. “What's next?”

“Mr. President—”

“What's next?”

“We're getting some questions on secret service detail,” CJ said. “A student in Zoey's Intro to Film class is reported in saying in the Georgetown Gazette that—”

Leo nodded. “We have the quote. Don't worry about it.”

“Well, that's easy to say, but in the meantime, I'm getting questions. And, while effective, my no comment's are—well—being commented on.” She turned to the President. “I don't see the danger in bringing forward the number of death threats she has received in correlation with her relationship with Charlie. It's not like it's a surprise to the people writing them, and in the meantime, it'll calm everyone down.”

A pause.

“You think letting it known that the President's daughter has had her protection upped because of the increase in daily death threats will calm everyone down?” Toby mused. “You don't think that'll make the students even more jumpy than they are now?”

“I'm not saying it'll make the problem go away, Toby, but it would be an improvement from where we are at the moment.”

“Secret service doesn't comment on procedure,” Leo said. “No comment, CJ.”

“It's not procedure, Leo, it's detail.”

The President sighed and dropped the report onto the desk. “For crying out loud, CJ, we're not commenting. This is a matter of protection, not a security breech. We don't comment on stories from the Georgetown Gazette. What's next?”

Sam shrugged. “It would bring hate crimes legislation to the table again.”

Leo gave him a look.

“I'm just saying.” At that, the younger man sighed and rocked a bit on his heels. “I do have a thing, though.”

The President looked up again.

“Well, since CJ's going to mention in her briefing that we're back and everything, would there be any harm in issuing a thank you?”

Leo frowned. “To whom?”

The Deputy Chief of Staff's eyes widened dangerously. “Sam…”

“What's the problem with issuing a thank you? I mean, we owe them everything, and furthermore—”

Josh perked a brow. “You really want some curious reporter sniffing around people like Buffy Summers and Willow Rosenberg? You really want in a couple weeks some front page feature listing their names, their bios, and that the White House issued a public thanks for events in Natchez that are beyond obscure and will never be fully reported?”

The President shrugged. “Let's do it.”

Toby and Josh looked at him sharply. “What?”

“Sam has a point. After all, were it not for these people, we wouldn't be here now, would we?” He nodded at the Press Secretary, who was more than confused. It wouldn't be long, Josh wagered, before they had to tell her as well. From there, it would be a matter of her believing them. “CJ, Sam's about to give you some names. At your briefing, I want you to thank them as vaguely as possible for events that, at the time, must remain undisclosed.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want to tell you this, then have you go out there dazed and confused.” Off her look, the President held up a hand. “Trust me, you'd be dazed and confused.” He glanced back to Sam. “Give her the names.”

“Mr. President,” Josh began, “are we sure—”

“We're sure. Sam?”

“Willow Rosenberg,” Sam began as CJ jotted the names down in the margin of her notes. “Rupert Giles, Buffy Summers, Wesley—”

“We're not thanking Wesley,” Josh blurted. The last thing he wanted was a public thanks to the man that had banged Donna before him, regardless of the hazy line that defined their friendship now. Even regardless of the fact that the man had had no malicious intent. He simply wouldn't allow it. “I'm putting my foot down at that.”

“Well, that's rather bold of you, Josh,” the President observed. “Mind telling us why?”

Toby looked at Sam, who caught on immediately.

“It's all right, Mr. President,” the latter said. “We should really keep this narrowed to the people that were pivotal in what happened. So nix Wesley. That leaves us Sp—ohh. Hrm.” He frowned. “Did we ever learn Spike's last name?”

The Press Secretary stopped writing. “Spike?”

“We're not thanking Spike,” Josh intervened again. “At least not publicly. That name just doesn't do us any favors.”

“His real name is William,” Leo replied. “Fitz pulled up his bio when I had to tell the President all this to begin with.”

The confusion marring CJ's face deepened. “You all realize that you sound just past the border of crazy right now, right? And I agree with Josh…thanking a guy named Spike sounds like we're thanking some guy for making that late night opium delivery.”

Toby quirked a small, sardonic smile. “Well, amongst other things.”

“Then use William,” Sam offered. “He helped us out, too, despite being an arrogant jackass.”

Josh grinned. “It all comes out now, doesn't it?”

CJ was still staring at them like they were crazy. “William what?”

Leo exchanged a dry glance with the President. “Sam,” the former said, “call whoever it is you would need to call and get CJ the last name before the briefing.”

The Deputy Chief of Staff glanced down at that to conceal his grin.

“Josh?” The President coaxed his eyes upward. “You have something funny that you would like to share with the rest of the class?”

He shrugged, still grinning. “You just gave Sam permission to call his girlfriend.”

“Actually, that was Leo, but I don't think calling your girlfriend is something that requires Presidential approval before picking up a phone. Though that would certainly explain the divorce rate.” He shared an inscrutable smile with his Chief of Staff before glancing back to the others. “What's next?” A pause. “Nothing? Excellent.”

Though not entirely in sequence, each Staffer nodded and muttered, “Thank you, Mr. President,” as they pivoted to return to their offices. It was fortunate that CJ just happened to be the first one out; though the others had rather been expecting the President to call them back once she was out of earshot.

And called back they were. The President's previously light disposition replaced with a mask of emotion that he rarely let them see. The full of his concern over the past few days spilling forward without warning.

“Is everyone all right?” he asked as soon as Charlie had shut the door again.

Josh shrugged. “Little tired. Sore.”

“Sore?”

“Saved the world.”

Toby rolled his eyes. “Please don't listen to him, Mr. President. Josh was selected randomly by Giles to be a part of this thing with Willow and Buffy, and it's evidently gone to his head.”

“Josh let something go to his head?” The President clutched his chest. “No, my friend. I'll believe that when I see it.”

“You both remember that I'm in the room, right?”

“Of course. What would be the point of making fun of you if you weren't here?” Bartlet grinned relentlessly before the look in his eyes turned serious again. “Everyone's all right?”

Sam shrugged. “Well…I think we're all a little disoriented.”

“You go through that and the worst you are is disoriented,” Leo offered with a shrug. “Gotta say, could be worse.”

The President glanced to Josh. “How's Donna?”

“Fine. She came in today even though I said she shouldn't.”

“Good.” Sam frowned at the sharp look he earned in response. “Well, no offense, Josh, but you'd forget your way to your office if she wasn't here.”

“Oh no. Why would I be offended by that?”

“Fellas, let's keep it cool.” The President turned back to the Deputy Chief of Staff. “But she's handling everything all right?”

Josh quirked a small grin. “I think she would've gone back to Sunnydale with these guys if it had been an option.”

Bartlet nodded, more to himself. “You all know I'm going to want to meet this vampire some day,” he said. “Leo says he's over a hundred years old.”

“A little over a hundred and fifty,” the Chief of Staff confirmed. “At least according to our records.”

“The last thing we need is a vampire in the Oval Office, Mr. President,” Toby observed. “Plus, call it intuition, but I don't believe you and Spike would get along.”

“Spike's the one that understood Latin?”

“Yes sir.”

“I like him already.” He turned to Sam. “And this girl that turned into a god?”

“Buffy,” the Deputy Communications Director confirmed with a nod. “She's fine, I think. Physically, at least, she's fine. She and Spike are a thing and I think they're going to be fine…though I would imagine adjustment to being a god would not be something she can just slip into.”

The President nodded thoughtfully. “And this other girl? The one that performed all the voodoo involved?”

A small, affectionate smile crossed Sam's face at that. “Willow. She's…she's fine, too.”

“You would think so,” Josh muttered with a smirk.

“Well, it's not going to do us any favors, but I do want CJ to grant them a thanks, for what little it means for everything they've done,” Bartlet observed. “After all, what's it worth being President if the country no longer exists? And as soon as we're through with the Mendoza confirmation, I'll be issuing them an invitation to the White House.”

Toby and Josh exchanged another look.

“That's really not a good idea, Mr. President,” the former began.

“Good idea or not, I'm doing it. Call me crazy, but I think it's in good taste to thank the people that saved the world in person rather than ambiguously over CSPAN. There are some things you just do, boys…regardless of public opinion or poll numbers.” He smiled wanly. “All right, get out of here before you start to bother me.”

Another series of routine nods and the expected goodbyes. No one called them back this time.

CJ was waiting for them when they approached Toby's office, her eyes wide and expectant. “What was that all about?”

The three men stopped in the middle of the hallway. It was unspoken, but there was a certain air of closeness between them that was just as natural as it was unwanted. Especially Toby, who preferred shutting himself off in his office and banging on the window that separated him from Sam with a bouncy ball when he needed something. They were friends, had been since they joined the campaign, but it was almost now as though they were brothers in arms.

Good to be back, of course. There were just some things that would have to remain private. For now.

“Nothing,” Josh said, moving forward. “We've got good news for you, though.”

“What?”

“Sam's got a new girlfriend.”

She just stared at him. “And this is good news for me, how?”

“Josh—”

“Well, she's nineteen years old, a college undergrad, and she practices witchcraft.” He grinned unrepentantly. He didn't like it that it was his job to bring it up, but the weight shift of burden from his shoulders felt remarkable. There. Leave it to the person who didn't know Willow to tell the Deputy Communications Director how bad this would be for the President. One problem solved, in a manner of speaking. “Try selling that to the Radical Right.”

Just like that, the other was forgotten. The Press Secretary flashed back to Sam. “You're dating a Wiccan?”

He flustered defensively. “It's a religion, CJ. And we are a country based on freedom of religion.”

“Yes, but composed of Judeo-Christians. You have any idea—”

“I have many ideas, and none of them are about to stop me from seeing her. This is a different thing. She's not a call-girl, she's not my boss's daughter, and she lives across the country. And nothing short of the next apocalypse is going to change my relationship with her, okay?”

Toby and Josh froze.

“Sam…” the former said slowly.

CJ blinked. “The next what?”

Sam flustered even more so at that; stuttered a bit, shook his head, then moved to excuse himself. “Figure of speech,” he said shortly. “I have to call Willow now to get Spike's last name.”

He disappeared inside his office the next minute.

Josh didn't know how he managed to wheedle away from CJ, but he was glad for it. There were too many things on his mind today to worry about being evasive when he spoke about what had happened in Natchez. It would take a while, he presumed, for the feeling to go away. The rawness of being back in a world of rules and order. Where vampires existed only when spoken of. Where it was so easy to forget.

A lump crawled in his throat when he saw Donna working away at her desk. Donna. How had things changed with her so radically? So quickly? One night when the world was supposed to end, and suddenly everything was different. In truth, he had not considered the outcome under the possibility that they would make it back. That night—just two days ago—was supposed to be their last. It hadn't been; now there was this thing separating him from Donna, and he didn't know how to work his way around it.

Didn't know how to get back to where they had been. And despite the complications it created, the uncertainty and discomfort, he would never be able to say he regretted it. Not even in theory.

What this did to their relationship was something else entirely. Best friends weren't supposed to sleep with each other. At least not best friends like them. Not when she was on his staff. Not when she was untouchable.

If he knew what was good for him, he would approach her, pull her into his office, and let all of this out. Get it out there now. Now when it could become something. Now before it died, and his chance with her had spent itself.

Which was, he supposed, how he ended up standing over Donna's desk, watching her work.

“Donna?”

She jumped as though she had been thinking of something particularly disgraceful. He knew that jump. He knew her better than he knew anyone, or would know anyone.

She had sat in the Bullpen for nearly two years. Distant. Beyond reach. His Donna.

There must have been something in his voice that drew her back from the mood she had been in earlier, for she was suddenly looking at him seriously, her gaze large and imploring. “Yes?”

A few seconds, and he just looked at her. Watched their entire night together replay within her eyes. Relived his speech to her. Felt her beneath his skin. Remembered everything. Felt everything.

How it happened, he didn't know. Only that it was the thing to do then. In that moment, it was the thing to do.

“I need you to get me those notes for the meeting on the Hill,” he said, pulling back. And instantly regretting the way her face fell. The wealth of emotion that had been burning there, gone instantly. “And jot down some bullet points for this thing on the tariff bill.”

It took a second before she could will herself to nod. Only a second, but she revealed so much about herself just with that. That one little second.

“Yeah,” she said. “Got it.”

Josh nodded and pulled away, turning back to his office, wondering what the hell he had just done.

Not knowing how much just that stolen moment would haunt him. Not knowing how much it would cost. What it would take to fix it.

He couldn't think of that, now.

He had this meeting on the Hill.

Chapter 47

A week later, and Sunnydale still seemed like a forgotten dream. Everything was the same, of course; the theatre, the Bronze, the ruins of the old high school. A town they had saved time and time again that managed to grow distant in the face of a ticking clock. Much of the same passing through without cause. The Hellmouth as active as it ever was. The Initiative, thanks to Angel and some immediate supervision at Presidential decree, stopped from becoming the monster was threatening to at least in the California division. Professor Maggie Walsh, after being found dead at the hand of her own creation, publicly condemned and the creature, Adam, stopped in some small military maneuver.

Something told Buffy that had they not gone to Natchez, that situation could have ended up much messier than it did. Much messier and then some.

Life since returning was more a cycle than anything else. She and Spike had gone to tell her mother together what had happened. Sitting on the sofa in the familiar family room, hands clutched in some parody of a romantic comedy. Her mother's reaction notwithstanding; Buffy honestly didn't know what upset her more: the fact that her daughter was a god, or the fact that her daughter was in love with another vampire.

Granted, Spike was held in much more favor than Angel. Always had been. That didn't mean, however, that Joyce was in the mood to throw confetti.

Mid-noon the day they got back, Willow had received a phone call from Sam, who told her that he had arranged a public note of gratitude and to watch CJ Cregg's briefing at six o'clock their time. And thank them she had, looking a little befuddled and more than obviously on the outs for what heroic event she was thanking them for. Stumbling over names and doing her damndest not to laugh when the word “Buffy” spilled from her lips. But there they were. Names on national television. Willow Rosenberg, Rupert Giles, Buffy Summers, and William Bennett.

It was a nice feeling, though Sam assured them that it was only the start of what they were owed.

They had been home for three days when Joyce came rapping on Giles's door in search for her daughter. Since arriving back in Sunnydale, Spike and Buffy had been inseparable in nearly every way imaginable. Her dorm room offered no privacy whatsoever, and there was no way she would allow Spike to stay in her room at home with her mother just down the hall. Thus, while they were searching for an apartment or a duplex to call their own, they were staying in one of her Watcher's spare rooms.

Granted, doing what they did behind closed doors with Giles down the hall wasn't the best solution, but it was all that was open to them at the moment. And they hoped to be out of the duplex by the time he arrived home from England.

Joyce didn't have much to say. Evidently, Angel had phoned the house in search of a number he could reach Buffy at to relay that he would be in town very soon. He wanted to go over some of the difficulties encountered while keeping an eye on the Hellmouth, as well as a one-on-one account of what was being done with Faith.

“Don' understand why the wanker has to come all the bloody way over here,” Spike pouted after they were alone again. “'S not like he can't pick up a phone or ask Wes. Wasn' that the reason the ponce came with us in the firs' place?” A pause. “Why can't the sod leave us alone?”

Buffy shrugged, popping open a soda can. “To be a pain?”

“Bastard excels at that.”

She arched a brow at him. “You okay? He won't be here long. There's not much to tell…and if he had called, I could've told him that. Unless Wesley told him about…” They stopped at the same beat and exchanged a worried look. “You don't think Wesley told him about my being…all godlike, do you?”

“Every possibility,” Spike agreed. Then paused. “He might've told Peaches about us, too.”

Buffy licked her lips. “No, I don't think so.”

“No?”

“It's not Wesley's job to report the status of my love life. If Angel's coming…it's because of the other thing.”

Spike tilted his head speculatively. “Think so?”

“Well, it better be why he's coming.” She drew in a deep breath, frowning at the look on his face. “What?”

The look that overwhelmed his eyes would have been adorable were it not so insecure. It was impossible not to read his emotions for everything they were. The level of burning uncertainty shook her to her core. There was always the question of first loves. She had told him that Angel was no longer a part of her life and she meant it. She more than meant it.

It was simple for him to hear it; having Angel here in the flesh was a completely different matter.

She released a slow sigh and leaned forward, caressing his cheek. “Spike,” she said softly. “You know I love you, don't you?”

“Buffy—”

She took his hand in hers and placed it over the claim mark on her throat. “You know what this means. You did it to me because you love me, and I claimed you because I love you. I knew what it meant when I did it. Forever. Me, god. I know what forever means.”

“You do?” He quirked a brow. “Buffy, I've been around for over a sodding century an' I don' even know what forever is.”

“But you know you want it with me…right?”

The look in his eyes berated her for even asking. “You know I do. God…I love you more than anythin'. More than I've ever loved anyone, or will love anyone. You know that—”

“Yes, I know that. Do you?”

“What?”

“Know that. I love you, you big doofus. Angel being here isn't going to change that, okay? He's…well, he's pissing me off, frankly.” She drew back to run her hands through her hair in frustration. “This is just like him. He came here for Thanksgiving for my own good and then skeddadled before he could confuse me with his big overbearing presence. And now that I've had this thing happen, he presumes he has to be here to hold my hand.”

Spike grinned dryly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Preachin' to the bloody choir, luv,” he murmured. “Doesn' change much, though. Even if Wes has kept his trap shut, the big sod'll know ‘bout us. He'll smell me on you an' vice versa. See the claim mark…” His fingers trailed the mark and small shudders rippled across her skin in response. “He'll likely go all high an' mighty an' spout some rot about how I'm an evil thing an' don' know what love is. Bloody bollocks that I've heard before…mostly from your crew.”

“They've come around.”

“Angel won't.”

“And yet, I find it within myself to not care.” A pause. Buffy indulged a long sip of her soda, then placed the can on the counter. “We better go if we're gonna see this place. I think we'll be homeless if Giles comes back from London and we're still taking up space in his…space.”

Spike grinned wryly and nodded, grabbing his duster as she made her way for the front. “Think you'll like this place, pet,” he said as they secured the duplex. “Cozy an' roomy all the same time. Three rooms, though I have no soddin' idea what we'd need with three.”

“Three?” She frowned. “Isn't that gonna cost a bundle?”

“One would think, yeh. Not in Sunnyhell.” Spike shrugged and pocketed the key to Giles's flat, hand immediately seeking hers once they started on their way. “Think this'll be perfect, though. ‘S near the campus, too.”

“And how'd you hear of this place?”

He shrugged again and she could've sworn a slightly pinkish tint colored his otherwise pale skin. It might have been a figment of her imagination, but either way, the notion warmed her insides. “Was lookin' through the paper this mornin' when you shooed me outta the shower,” he confessed. “Phoned up the realtor an' explained that we'd like to see it, but we'd need a night tour.”

Spike had flipped through the realtor listings in the paper? That was adorable.

“You're adorable.”

“Am not.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

A grin quirked his lips. “Beg all you want, I'm not bloody adorable.” He squeezed her hand, though, and kissed her forehead. “Have you been havin' any trouble catchin' up in class?”

“Hrm. Let's see. College plus three weeks of elective absences plus me. No, it's been a walk in the park.” She groaned. “Of course I'm having trouble. My professors have some vendetta against me. It's International Pick-On-Buffy week and I'm the only one that didn't get the memo.” A sigh wracked off her body. “I think it might be a good idea if I took off the rest of the semester and just started off fresh next year.”

Spike chuckled and shook his head. “Sweetling—”

“Honestly, what does a god need with a college degree, anyway? You think in three hundred years when I'm looking for a part-time job, my interviewer won't find the date on my transcript a little fishy?”

The vampire just smiled at her. “Do what makes you happy, pet.”

“I mean…you didn't go to college, did you?”

“Bloody well did, thank you. Graduated at the top of my class.”

She paused, stunned. “Really?”

“Bloody right.” A cigarette wedged between his lips, the answering strike of a match sounding through the air. “Though I haven't had much use for it. Whatever paperwork I've needed over the past century's been forged…or I jus' killed whoever was in my way.”

“You feel real comfortable just saying that, don't you?”

“Well, since you love me so much, I figure it can't hurt to be blunt.”

It was against every natural bone in her body, but she found herself grinning all the same. “You just keep thinking that, sweetie,” she replied, dropping a kiss across his shoulder. The wicked smirk he shot back at her made her toes curl. It amazed her that this was something that had nearly passed her by. That if she hadn't walked into the Bronze a little less than a month ago and seen something that, at the time, made her cringe in disgust, she might not be here. She very well might have gone years before seeing what was right in front of her, if she had ever seen it at all.

There was every possibility that she would have never seen it. Slayers did not date vampires. Period. Such relationships were of the bad. She had both been there and done that. And yet, what she had with Spike completely transcended whatever it was she had cherished so much with Angel. Standing here at the end of one road and the beginning of another, she could honestly say there was no comparison. And there could never hope to be.

“How's Red holdin' up?” Spike asked suddenly, his hand tightening around hers. Beckoning her back to him. “Haven' seen much of her since we got back.”

Buffy licked her lips. In all honestly, she didn't know how well Willow was handling being home. With the Slayer, it was a simple transition. She and Spike had been living together in Natchez. Now they were living together at Giles's place, and would soon move to a place of their own. Willow was a different story altogether. Sunnydale bore no resemblance to the life they had quickly grown accustomed to while in the boundary of the small southern town. She had her dorm, she had her studies, she had her witchcraft. There was no Donna here to tease about some ghost cat. There was no Josh to argue the principles of Judaism, and there was no Sam. Sam was across the country, living his life in Washington DC. Doing exactly what everyone had known he would do the minute the apocalypse was over, assuming said apocalypse wasn't of the permanent nature. She knew the redhead and her boyfriend had arranged to keep it long distance, but such would steadily break her apart, as it had with Oz. Only a week had passed, and that much was more than obvious.

“I don't know,” Buffy replied a second later, shrugging. “I talked to Donna yesterday…she said that Sam is pretty much doing his job, but that he seems more than a little down. They're working on some confirmation or whatever for a judge.”

“Mendoza,” Spike confirmed with a nod, tossing his cigarette to the pavement and smothering it with his boot. She issued him a strange look. He recoiled in defense. “Yeh, I watch CSPAN. Bloody deal with it.”

The Slayer's hands came up in a sign of defense. “Hey, I think it's cute.”

“What'd I tell you ‘bout usin' that word around me?”

“Nothing. And even so, it's not smart to be bossy when, of the two of us, you're the one that's not a god.”

The vampire just smirked and squeezed her hand again. “You're gonna remind me of that every day for the rest of eternity,” he muttered, flashing an unrepentant grin. There was something to be said for this. A nice, quiet tease before the storm itself took her in its uproar. Buffy knew that Spike was more than aware of how terrified the entire business made her. Being a god. Being someone with that much power. Having such unfettered access to whatever it was she wanted to get her hands in.

Power like that had a nasty tendency to corrupt. She had seen it before.

And then, on every page she turned, there was Spike. Feeling what she felt. Likely sensing it before the thought could know birth within her own recognition. He pressed his lips to her temple in a whisper of reassurance. “'m here, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Always here. Told you I won' let you fall like that.”

“You think you could stop me?”

“I know it.”

She blinked and reeled back. “Spike?”

He smiled tenderly and again ran his fingers across the mark in her throat that proclaimed she was his and no one else's. “This,” he said, nuzzling her hair delicately. “Claims are older than god, Buffy. Any god. An' they're more powerful. This has you connected to me. Always. I'll feel what you feel. I'll keep you grounded.”

“You can do that?”

“Bloody right, I can.” He whispered a kiss across her lips. “'m evil as sin, baby. Never doubt it. But you're not, an' I love you. I love you because you're not. Because you're Buffy. So yes, evil. Always will be on some level, right? But you're tied to me. You're this for the rest of forever. An' nothin' can take that away.” His eyes danced at her smile, and he kissed her again. The heavens and the stars falling around them in an ode to silent night.

“You're not the one to worry with, luv,” Spike continued, tugging her back into a steady pace at his side. “I'd feel it ‘f it were otherwise. You're not the one to worry with.”

Buffy licked her lips. “There's one to worry with?”

He shrugged. “Well, the other bird, obviously. Chit was already nuttier than a bleedin' squirrel before she was juiced up with power. If those sodding Watchers have any luck tetherin' her to her bed, it'll be outta the will of the Powers alone.”

“If Faith becomes a problem, we'll deal.” The Slayer shrugged. “After all. Hey. I'm a god, too. And if need be, we can also get Willow—”

“Willow's who I'm worried about.”

Buffy paused at that and stared at him. “What?”

“Bird used up a lot of power in that last one, luv. Think about it; she was bollixing up Will Be Done spells an' spinnin' pencils before we went down there. Suddenly, she's upped the ante to banishin' gods?” His eyes implored her to follow him. To understand the inherent danger lurking behind his words. The thing that no one had mentioned yet, despite the obvious glares staring them down. “I know you felt how much mojo went into that last one. I felt it through you. You were bloody terrified, an' for good reason. Red's outta the minor leagues, an' a good three years prematurely. More over, she doesn' have someone to be her anchor.”

“Sam—”

“Lives across the bleedin' nation. An' who knows when we're gonna see any of them again?” Another breath rattled through his body and he shook his head. “Red's a smart cookie, pet. She knows how much is too much. But ‘f she's not careful, she'll tumble headfirs' into something beyond her understandin' an' that'll be the end of that.”

She was almost afraid to ask. “The end of what?”

“You name it. Her life. The icecapades. The world. Gone to hell in a soddin' handbasket.” A pause. “Rupert's afraid of it, too. He doesn' say much, but he knows it. ‘S one of the reasons the Rite terrified him so much. Willow's a pistol an' she's loaded. It'll only be a matter of time before some kiddy finds her in Daddy's sock drawer and blows the cap off this miserable world.”

Buffy bit her lip and released a long, trembling sigh. “No,” she said after a minute. “Willow…she knows the difference between right and wrong better than anyone I've ever met before. Furthermore, Sam's not out of her life. He'll be there. I mean, have you seen them together? He loves her. He's not going to just forget she exists just because they live in different cities.”

“Don' think it'll come to that. Jus' sayin'…the long distance thing doesn' work out all that often. Matter of fact, it rarely does.”

“They'll find a way to make it work.”

“You think he's gonna leave workin' for the President of the United States to come here an' retire when his career's jus' takin' off the ground?”

“Not exactly, but I don't think either one of them will give up.” Buffy shook her head. “Willow's not like that. She did what she had to in order to save the world. That's the kind of person she is. She's not the type to be corrupted by power.”

Spike pulled her to a stop and shot her a meaningful look. “But you are?” he retorted. “Buffy, jus' minutes ago you were goin' off on how havin' all these powers was gonna change everythin'. It doesn'. You've always had that power—you're the Slayer. If you were gonna be corrupted, it would've been well before this. But my answer stays the same: you have me to anchor you. Red has Prissy in theory, but he's not doin' her a lot of good now. If she starts to fall, there'll be no one there to catch her.”

“She has us,” the Slayer replied stubbornly, her voice wavering in conviction.

“Yeh. She has you.” The vampire released a long sigh and ran a hand through his peroxide locks. “Jus' hope that's enough, is all.”

They walked a few seconds in silence, hands still linked and minds warring. The face of unwanted truths shoved impulsively to the spotlight. Buffy didn't want this. She didn't want to acknowledge that he had a point. She didn't want to lose herself in worry for her best friend, especially considering all that had occurred thus far. She didn't want to think that far down the line, or apply the fears that had so recently haunted her to someone else.

It was there, though. Spoken. Spike had a point.

She could only hope it amounted to nothing.

*~*~*

Willow snapped off the television as CJ wound up her briefing with a sigh, turning back to her empty dorm room and the bed scattered with school texts that she would never catch up in. Back to the world where life was complicated. Where the big bads lurked in the form of advanced calculus rather than demons spurned on the radical notion of world domination.

She was missing Sam like something awful. And studying wasn't helping one bit.

The vacancy at the other end of the dorm room also annoyed but was expected. Buffy and Spike had their happiness. At around nine that night, she received a call from her best friend, ecstatic over this dream apartment the vampire had found for them. They were going to move in immediately, she said. Starting this weekend. A big move-in thing and all the Scoobs were invited.

Watching the briefing made her feel connected to Sam on some level. She knew that he was around CJ when she gave it. In the building behind her somewhere, or perhaps elsewhere in DC on business. But still away. And their late night conversations, while treasured, only succeeded in making the hole he had left deeper. More unbearable.

It had only been a week and she was already at this low.

The knock at her door was a pleasant distraction. She needed to talk to someone, even if only for a few seconds. Needed to climb out of her misery.

Only for the entire state of California and half a million dollars, she would never have guessed who was on the other side. And the sight of him struck her speechless.

Speechless and more so.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, lost in eyes that were so familiar, someone might as well have warped her back through time. Standing there as though not a day had gone by. As though nothing at all had passed.

“Hi, Willow,” he said softly, his voice warm with familiarity.

It was him. It was him. It was really him. Not a figment of her imagination. He was really there. Really standing in the threshold of her doorway. Looking at her, imploring her to let him in.

How could she have forgotten so quickly?

“Oz.”

Chapter 48

It was strange going to furniture stores and picking out sofas, tables, and other essentials to fill their apartment as though they were the epitome of a normal couple, but Buffy enjoyed the hell out of it. There was something so adult about the entire experience, so reserved solely for people who could make it this far. She had moved out of her mother's house and into a dorm. Now she and her boyfriend had invested in an apartment for themselves. From where Spike had managed the funds, she didn't know; only had his word that it was entirely legal and would say nothing more on the matter. Didn't want, in his own words, to be labeled cute.

Spike and Xander were out helping the movers with their bed—a situation full of nonstop funny as far as Buffy was concerned—while she and Willow tended to the more tedious aspects of moving day. The Slayer acknowledged that it was likely cruelty to have one of her best friends move something that he didn't want to even consider in relation to her and Spike when she was compact with strength, but similarly, she wanted some QT with the Witch.

This past week had been full of surprises. The visit from Angel that went, by in large, as expected. A bunch of yelling, accusations, name calling, offers of help that were extremely of the unwanted variety, and a retreat when he saw there was no point in his coming there in the first place.

That plus Spike's enthusiastic celebration later that night. A week had gone by and she was still tingling from that memory alone.

Angel's visit, though, paled in comparison to Oz's.

It was all behind them now. Oz arriving in Sunnydale, revealing that his werewolf tendencies were under control, and demonstrated it by taking her outside and revealing that he could stand in the moonlight without suffering the change.

“And you think you made the right choice?” Buffy asked, filing away her numerous garments into the closet in the master bedroom. “I know it was hard…Sam being in Washington and suddenly Oz shows up with this big thing and…you made the right choice?”

Willow paused, her hands freezing on the picture frame she was trying to even. Evidently, Spike had an affinity for obscure art—such to the point that he had dragged the Slayer all over town earlier in the week in search of the right pieces to hang on their walls. “I'm not saying it was easy,” she replied a minute later, heaving a deep breath. “Sam being away didn't help me at all…but really…” She turned around the next minute. “Say it was Spike, living in DC or somewhere else. That he loved you and you loved him but your relationship was complicated to the point that you couldn't live in the same state, much less the same town. Then Angel comes by and says he's figured out a way to make with the whoopie without going evil. Sure you'd have a boyfriend here…but—”

“I don't love Angel.” Buffy shook her head, draping a shirt across her arm. “Not like that. Not anymore.”

“Yeah.” Willow sighed and shook her head, stepping back to admire the painting. “Seeing Oz…I guess I never thought he'd come back, you know? He left and he said he was going to be away until he found a way to fix his thing, but…how do you fix being a werewolf?”

“It's understandable.”

“I just wish I hadn't had to tell him that there was…” She licked her lips. “He took it well. ‘I'm involved with someone.' ‘Is it serious?' ‘Pretty serious, yeah.' ‘Who is he?' ‘He's the Deputy Communications Director.' ‘For who?' ‘The President of the United States.' ‘Hmmm. Yeah, I don't think I can compete with that.'” The redhead moved back and took place next to Buffy, turning her attention to sorting out the clothes. “He didn't doubt me. Didn't even think I might've been…I'm involved with a guy from the White House.”

“Oz has never had a reason to doubt you before.”

“Yeah. I just…” She paused, then slammed her foot on the ground. “Why did he have to come back now?”

“To make things difficult, Will. Not on purpose, but that's the way life works. He didn't know you had moved on. There was no way he could've known that.”

There was a slam at the front, followed by Spike's bellow that any little girlies lurking in the bedroom better move so that the men could do their work. Buffy smirked at him as they moved aside and brushed a kiss across his lips, uncaring that they were in full sight of Xander. She followed Willow into the front room and sat down on the opposing couch just as CJ finished her briefing. Another one missed, though the Slayer reckoned it was nothing worth catching this time around. For the past two days, she had been getting hounded by the press on some unconventional thing the President had done in nominating two people to the Federal Election Commission. Something that, even after Willow explained it, went way over her head. And in any regard, she didn't particularly want to be at the sour end of a punching bag with her understanding of such matters. With as much as she was trying to up her interest in politics, there was only so much a girl could take.

“How's Sam doing?” Buffy asked gently.

“Good. Last time I talked to him, he was going on about how mandatory minimums are racist…and that he loves me and misses me.” A poignant grin crossed the redhead's face. “Despite all this other stuff, he's been in a relatively good mood ever since the Mendoza confirmation. Though…” She frowned. “He had a meeting recently about Don't Ask, Don't Tell that had him all wound up. But this thing with the President's nominees has him really…giddy whenever we talk.”

“Have you talked to Donna? I've been so busy with the move, that I haven't been able to answer her calls for a few days.”

Willow licked her lips. “She's holding it together. Got a little jealous when some pollster that Josh had a crush on flew in to do some stuff regarding the legislative agenda that the GOP has fired back at the President for naming his people to the Federal Elections Commission.”

“Josh is still being…Josh?”

“Evidently, yeah. They haven't even talked about it.” She sighed. “I feel so bad for her. It's like that movie, When Harry Met Sally . I'm living a screenplay by phone every night.”

“That was a good movie.”

“To watch. Not to live.”

“Did you tell Sam about Oz?”

The Witch froze at that and looked at her as though she were crazy. “Are you kidding me? The last thing I need is Sam worrying about that, especially since Oz has already left town and the ‘entire saga of' is over. More over, Sam has, you know, important work to do. Bothering him with that's the last thing that needs to go down.”

“You're telling me that he never asks how you're doing? Just regurgitates whatever's going down at the White House for the daily play-back that you give us?”

“Of course he—Buffy, I don't want him worrying about me.”

“Why would he worry?”

“Because I'm over here and he's really not? I dunno.”

A minute; Spike and Xander were tracking back from the bedroom, both looking rumpled and worn. “Beds are a bitch,” the latter said, shaking his head. “I'm Mr. Fix-It, and I say that thing cannot be done.”

Buffy quirked a brow. “Having problems?”

“Stay Puft wouldn't let me near the damn thing ‘cause he had it under control.” The vampire rolled his eyes. “Wanna go see how bleeding controlled that is? I think the movers are baffled that anyone could mess it up so sodding much.”

Xander glared at him. “You know what, Spike? Bite me.”

“Not in your wildest, Harris.”

“You wanna become friendly with the pointy end of a stake?”

Spike quirked a brow. “'S that your way of comin' on to me?”

Buffy jumped up and practically dove between them before the casual jesting turned into an honest-to-god fight. “Okay, boys, break it up. We just bought this furniture and I'm not looking to go replacement hunting anytime soon.”

The vampire sulked a bit, but wrapped an arm around her middle all the same, shooting an accusatory glare in Xander's direction. “He started it,” he moped, jutting his chin slightly in the aforementioned direction.

“Figures the vampire'd be the one acting like a child,” the other man shot back.

The redhead arched her brows, barely guising her amusement. “Xander?”

“Not a word, Will.”

“I am detecting a certain pot/kettle scenario going on,” Buffy agreed. “Maybe it's time for some air?”

The vampire's eyes went wide and he shook his head. “Braved the sun already once today, pet,” he said. “Don' trust Harris to not shove me outta the shade while tryin' to make it look like an accident.”

“Xander wouldn't do that.”

“Oh yes, Xander would,” Xander argued, though there was no threat behind his words. “Well…Xander would have at one point, but Xander thinks that Buffy would kill Xander if Xander did anything to hurt Spike…and God, have I mentioned how twisted this relationship is yet today?”

“I'm confused,” Willow said. “When did Xander become Julius Caesar?”

Spike snickered appreciatively. Everyone else just stared. He sighed. “Bloody wankers need to read somethin' other than Cosmo every now an' then.”

Willow met his eyes and they shared a moment of private humor.

“Did you just call me a wanker?” Buffy asked, wide-eyed.

“Well, yeh.” He grinned unabashedly as she pummeled him over the head in a bout of playfulness. “Calm down, pet. Wouldn't mind seein' you wank off, anyway. Could be delicious.”

“Ears!” Xander yelped. “My ears heard that!”

Spike just shrugged as Buffy blushed into his shoulder. And seconds later, the movers emerged from the bedroom, reportedly having fixed the problem. They explained that they would be back the next day with the refrigerator, and barely made it out the door without letting their self-satisfied grins surface at everything that had been said.

“On that note,” the Slayer said, her face still flaming. “I'm hungry.”

Xander frowned. “Gods get hungry?”

The vampire drew her tighter to him and flashed a cocky grin. “Like you wouldn't believe,” he purred.

“Not that kind of hungry! God.” Harris turned to Willow in desperation. “Isn't there a mute button or something on him?”

The Witch shrugged. “If there is, I haven't found it.”

“Can't you just magic him into being mute?”

Buffy arched a brow. “Xander…”

“Don' see why you're so skittish,” Spike drawled with a shrug. “At leas' I'm polite enough to use innuendos. Where is Anya, again?”

Point taken. The other man looked down and grumbled something inaudible, then turned to leave. “I'm gonna go get some pizza,” he said. “And…pick up Anya. Are we still wanting to do a movie night here?”

“No busy-bodying parents, no coeds, no Watcher.” Buffy glanced around happily, cuddling into her boyfriend's side. “I have my own apartment!”

Willow grinned. “Hey. Works out good for me, too. Now I have the dorm all to myself.” She stopped at that, frowned a bit, but shrugged the thought off and forced the smile back to her face. “Not that I have a boyfriend within a thousand mile radius to make such a thing necessary, but hey. If he ever did show up—”

“You really think you could take Sam back to the dorm room?” Xander asked, arching a brow.

“Well, no. That would be bad.”

“Of the very,” Buffy agreed. “Besides…he strikes me as the kinda guy who'd want to take you somewhere of the extravagant nature.”

Willow grinned genuinely at that. “Yeah, he's great, isn't he?”

“So, I'm going for movies and pizza,” Xander said, dangling his keys as though demanding approval of his plan. “Be back with Ahn in thirty to forty-five, okay?”

Buffy nodded. “Gotcha.”

The second he was gone; Spike was tugging on her arm. “Come on,” he said eagerly, moving back toward the bedroom. “Want you to see how it looks.”

The Witch's eyes went wide at that and she quickly leapt to her feet. “Okay, and that's my cue.”

A frown crossed the Slayer's face. “Will?”

“You plus Spike plus bedroom equals me not here for a while,” she explained hurriedly, encouraged by the sudden rakish grin that had overwhelmed the vampire. “I'm just gonna go…get some popcorn or something. Popcorn being stuff we have at the dorm and not here because you two…just moved in and such.”

“Willow, we're not going to—”

Spike dipped his head. “You don' wanna?” he murmured gently, hands suddenly drawing seductive patterns at her backside. “Got a brand new bed in there jus' achin' to be broken in…”

Buffy swallowed hard. “Okay, maybe you should get out of here for a while.”

“Getting way outta here,” she agreed, shrugging into a lightweight jacket, then pausing to reach for the remote. “I'm just gonna check and see if the next briefing's still on schedule. Hopefully CJ'll recap…I missed this last one.”

The blonde couple was satisfied with that, apparently, and no longer felt the need to remain polite for their guest. Seconds later, they were bolted behind the bedroom door; the sounds alone reminding Willow exactly why she should be ecstatic to have a room to herself.

CSPAN was covering the House session. She flipped over to CNN for any word on the next briefing. And her eyes about bugged out of her sockets at the ugly headlines that tore across the screen.

A minute then before her shock turned to anger.

“I'm going to kill him.”

*~*~*

Washington DC. 8:47PM, EST

Sam swallowed down a nervous gulp when Cathy told him that Willow was on the phone. It was a call he had been dreading all day, aside his jumbled nerves that weren't any calmer for the fact that the White House received their report card in a couple hours and the President had already sat down with him on this. Ordinarily, that would have been the worst. But no. For the better part of the night and all day until now, he had been worrying himself over a phone call from a certain fiery redhead that lived across the country.

And, quite honestly, he was surprised it had taken her so long. The rational side in him gambled that perhaps it meant she had taken time to calm down before tearing his head off…though he wouldn't waste time by counting his blessings.

He drew in a deep breath, checked the clock, then picked up the phone.

“Hey.”

Evidently, she had not spent the day calmly assessing how best to approach her outrage.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

Sam held up his hand, befuddled. Was it possible she had spoken with Toby before calling him?

“She was graduating. I couldn't go to see her graduate because someone in the Leadership's office knows that I know her. So I went to give her a present.” He shook his head. “Evidently, a friend of hers set up the meeting, confirmed Laurie is a call-girl, and the picture was taken.”

“You went to…Sam—”

“She was graduating. She's my friend, and she was graduating. I swear that's all that happened.”

“Sam…” A sigh rang through the hair. “God, is everything all right? Did the President—”

“The President knows. I had a moderately uncomfortable conversation with him this morning, but he knows. And Toby came to my defense, which was rather unexpected as I thought he would be the first to shove me out the door.”

She sighed again, calmer now. “So you're not going to be fired?”

“Not going to be fired.” He smiled gently. “I feel bad for CJ, since she's going to be the one that needs to convince the press and the country that I did nothing wrong, but what's done is done. I…I just needed her to know that I was thinking about her when she graduated, Willow. I would never—”

“I know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I just…”

He heard her draw in another deep breath as the thought died, then frowned at the crashing sounds in the background. “Where are you?”

“Spike and Buffy's.”

“Are they…?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “God, you can hear them?”

“Well, they are pretty loud.”

He could practically see her flushing. “Yeah. I was helping them move in. They just got their new place. I should've waited to call, but I was just checking the thing for the next briefing and saw this.”

“Oh, so you just—”

“Yeah. Didn't have time to catch anything else today…television or otherwise.”

“Oh.” Sam let out a long sigh, the tension of the day finally crashing down. “I'm glad you called. I was getting worried that you never wanted to talk to me again, but I didn't know how to start that conversation. ‘By the way, sweetie, did you see that I made front-page news with a call girl?'”

A dry chuckle at that. “Yeah. I can see why you would be hesitant.”

“Actually, listen. There's this other thing. The President mentioned something about getting you and whoever else can come out to DC pretty soon. Every day, he reminds us that he wants to meet Spike.” He glanced down to his desk, then again to the clock. He needed to be in the Oval soon. “I thought it might also be fun for you guys to see him speak in person. He's doing this town hall meeting thing in Rosslyn next week.”

“Town hall meeting?”

“Talk to some kids and stuff, answer the important questions. You want to come?” A nervous shrill attacked his voice, and he suddenly felt like the brain in the senior class asking the head cheerleader out to prom, though he knew Willow would resent the notion. He wanted the President to meet her so badly.

He wanted her in DC. These two weeks apart weren't doing either of them any favors.

“Do I want to come?” she repeated, incredulous. “Do I want to come hear the President speak? Do I want to be in Washington DC instead of looking at press briefings all day? Do I want…yes I want to come, you big egghead!”

He was beaming. “Hey!”

“Sam, this is…really? You really want me there?”

“Okay, now you're being an egghead.”

“This is awesome! Oh my god, oh my god!”

“Think you can talk Spike and Buffy into coming?”

A sound echoed over the receiver at that that sounded very much like the couple in question had reached such a point, and several times over.

Willow giggled. “Yes, I'm sure I can.”

“And Giles? Is he back yet?”

“No, he got sucked into this thing…I can call him, though. See if he can manage to get back in time.”

“Right. Well, just make sure you can come. Personally, you're the only one I'm worried with.”

“God, this is amazing!” His heart warmed at the sound of her excitement. And despite all else, the day was turning out to be a good one. “I love you, Sam.”

A grin tickled his lips. He would never tire of those words. “I love you, too.”

“And I'll see you next week.”

“Yes. And I'll make sure you never want to go back.”

“Really, at this point, it wouldn't take very much. Now get going so you can get to your meeting.”

“How'd you know about my meeting?”

“There's always a meeting. Love you. Now shoo!”

Sam was grinning like a madman when he hung up the phone. Next week. He would see her again next week. After two weeks of separation, and he could see her next week.

Oh yeah. Today had definitely been a good day.

Chapter 49

A/N: Spoilers through the end of The West Wing, Season 1.

They had arranged the flight so that, even if there were a delay, they wouldn't be behind schedule unless the delay went over an hour. Willow was banking on the typical obstacles that one faced when traveling by air, but was not about to let such a thing slow her down. She wanted at least an hour and a half between arrival and the event at Rosslyn. She wanted time to land, check into their hotel, shower, change—make sure she was presentable for meeting the President.

Buffy was equally apprehensive. When the redhead had mentioned that the President wanted to meet her and Spike as well, the Slayer's eyes had about popped out of her head. It was a sort of jumpiness that one could never prepare for unless the opportunity stepped outside the realm of perhaps and became inevitable.

As expected, Spike was proud that the President had similarly requested an audience with him, but was taking everything in stride. Rather, for the past three days, all he had done was bring up the very few incidents scattered across his patchy past where other heads of state from various nations had shook his hand or demanded he appear before their court.

Those stories were never finished, and for good reason. Willow wagered that Buffy needed no watercolor on how such business was usually conducted with vampires.

Their flight was out of LA with a half hour layover in St. Louis. They were in the air over California forty-five minutes too late, which led to a subsequent mad dash to their connecting flight once they had landed in Missouri. The sort of mad dash that would make John Hughes more than proud.

Three hours later, a desolate Willow was on the phone with Sam, her frustration barely leashed at the way things had turned out.

“Well, we don't want you in the air if the plane's having technical difficulties, anyway,” he tried to reassure her. “It's okay. If you don't make it to Rosslyn, I'm sure there will be another event very soon that you could see. This one just happened to come up.”

“I've been looking forward to it all week.”

“I know. But you're still coming and you still get to meet the President.” Sam sighed. “Really, Willow, this thing isn't that big a deal. The President's going to be very casual while trying to appear Presidential at the same time. We still haven't decided if he should take off his jacket halfway through the thing or not.”

“What does it matter?”

A dry chuckle at that. “More than you think. How are Buffy and Spike?”

The Witch turned to where she had last left them, only to find their seats vacant. An aggravated sigh sounded through her throat. “Either they're off getting food or are in search of a broom closet.”

“In a public place? Really, have they no—”

“It's Spike, so no, he has no…he's rather voyeuristic. And Buffy…well, they're all rose-bloomy right now. It would be sweet if they weren't giving every bunny in the world a run for their money.”

“They know they can't do that in the White House, right?”

“I've threatened them both at the stake of Spike's…parts.”

“Ouch.”

Willow shrugged. “Well, it got the message through.” Another sigh rumbled through her body. “How's everything else going?”

“Well, Fitz is in with the President now, and there's some noise, so I think the pilot's going to be all right. Toby's about to crucify himself over his brother—”

“Toby has a brother?”

A small sound at that. “I've been singing that song all day. Evidently, Toby's brother is involved in the space program, but there have been some difficulties in a recent…thing. He's…well, you know Toby.”

Willow grinned slightly at that. “Yeah. Well, you're probably almost ready for the thing.”

“Yeah. I'll see you tonight. Ring my cell whenever you get in.”

“Okay. Good luck.”

“Love you.”

The redhead's grin broadened, her eyes twinkling even as Buffy and Spike returned, looking ruffled and content, each with a beverage at their disposal. A nice subtle way to look innocent. Even that failed to deflate Willow's fleeting moment of bliss. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Love you, too.”

The blondes exchanged a secretive look as she said her goodbyes and hung up.

“That lover boy?” Spike drawled, taking a long drink of his coffee.

Hrm. Vampires drank coffee. Who would've thought?

“You're one to talk,” Willow replied, reclining. “Nice with trying to make with the conspicuous.”

Buffy blushed. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yeah.” The Witch just chuckled and shook her head, then sobered the next minute, her restlessness making a slow return. “They're about ready to leave for Rosslyn,” she said. “We're going to miss the entire thing.”

“Won' be too much longer,” Spike reasoned with a shrug. “We passed some blokes on the way back. Think they'll announce the boardin' here soon.”

“We're still gonna miss the thing,” Willow complained. “The flight's going to take up too much time and by the time we land, get to the hotel…I don't want to meet the President of the United States in sweats and a pullover.”

“You saved the world, Red. You really think the bloke'll impart judgment on your wardrobe?”

The Slayer licked her lips. “I'm with Will on this one, sweetie. This guy's…I don't even know…he's the President of the United States.”

“You're scared to meet the President,” the vampire mused, grinning richly. “That's adorable. Sweetheart, you're a sodding god. More over, you'll be around a lot bloody longer than he can ever imagine. We'll still be livin' it large when he's a footnote in history. You save the world, an' you're afraid to meet its temporary leader so he can give you thanks?”

A nod at that, unashamed. “Yes. Call me crazy, but yes, I am afraid of meeting the President. Yes, I am. Yes.”

“It's almost like going to meet Sam's parents,” Willow added, eyes wide. “Only…it's the President.”

“Not his parents,” Buffy supplied unhelpfully.

“Unless the President is his father.”

“Yeah, I don't think they'd be able to keep that a secret.”

The vampire grinned and took another drink of his coffee. “Y'never know,” he mused. “Government types can keep all kinds've secrets.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Spike, you've met two dictators and the Pope. Once. Don't try to pass yourself off as some expert.”

“Well, have you ever met two dictators an' the Pope?”

“No.”

“Then I'm more've an expert than you are, I'd wager.” His eyes twinkled shamelessly before catching onto something behind her. “Better saddle up, girls,” he said, finishing off his coffee as he fought to his feet. “Think they're about ready to call our flight.”

“Two dictators?” Buffy asked, almost impressed. “What? Did you have tea with Mussolini?”

Spike smirked at her, picking up her carry-on. “Bloody laugh riot, you are.”

“How about tortellini?” Willow added.

“I hate you all.”

“In a Lamborghini,” the Slayer chimed in, giggling childishly. “Okay, stopping before it becomes too much fun.”

He arched a brow at her. “Yes, ruthless dictators are fun.”

“So says the evil vampire.”

Willow tilted her head in the direction of the terminal. “Guys? Could we…” She motioned between erratically. “Elsewhere, maybe?”

A laugh at that. Spike fished inside his duster pocket for their tickets, handing them to Buffy as they approached the gate. “Spoil our entertainment, will you, Red?”

“That's what I'm here for.” She heaved a long sigh as they were ushered inward with a rush of people. “Maybe we'll make it. We could still make it, right? If not for the whole thing, then definitely for the last ten minutes, maybe? Sam says the President can make anything go over schedule.”

Buffy patted her friend on the back. They were approaching the plastic smile of yet another flight attendant. “I'm sure it will, Will.” She turned to Spike for silent verification; he arched his brows and offered a slight grin, then began the familiar struggle with the overhead compartment to store the carry-on.

“We'll be there in time to hear the end,” the redhead muttered to herself. “We will.”

There was something, though. A growing sensation that she couldn't blame entirely on apprehension. Her frustration with the airline was overworked and, had it been any other day, she would have been happy to simply crash at the hotel once they arrived. But she wanted to meet the President. She wanted to see the President speak, and she wanted to meet him tonight.

Nerves, then. Her stomach was bound in nerves. It would be all right.

Even if they didn't make it in time to hear the President speak, it would be all right.

There were always more speeches.

*~*~*

“Is he going to take off his jacket?” Josh asked as he and Sam scouted the back of the auditorium. CJ was busy setting up the press and Toby was around standing like a stoic somewhere. Every few seconds, Sam would check his watch and ask Cathy if he had had any calls. No word yet from Willow.

The event was about to start.

“Sam?”

He jumped. “Yeah?”

Josh arched his brows. “Is the President going to take off his jacket?”

“I really don't know.”

“You guys didn't settle that already?”

“Well, it's been a pretty big day, Josh. It's not like we didn't have issues of state to attend to.” A long sigh passed through his lips. “I don't know if we ever made a decision on the jacket. Last I know, the President was still heckling CJ about the water.”

He glanced to his watch again.

Josh's expression softened. “She just got on the plane, Sam. It's going to be a while before she gets here.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, it takes a while to fly from St. Louis to DC unless they've upped the technology in ways we should really be more—”

“No. How do you know she got on the plane?”

“She called Cathy.”

That left a sour impression in Sam's eyes. “Yeah, because that's something she needs to tell you and not me.”

“She told me to tell you.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I kinda just did.” Josh smirked a bit at the look on his friend's face before turning to the stage once more where the secret service were doing one of their checks. “Leo says he's going straight to the car after this thing.”

“He never goes straight to the car.”

“There's a softball game on that he wants to watch.”

“They show softball on television?”

Josh shrugged. “Evidently.” He jutted his chin as one of the Georgetown professors came out to introduce the President. “This thing's about to start.”

“Okay.”

“She'll get here fine, Sam.”

“She really wanted to see this.”

“It's not a big thing. There'll be others. Lots and lots of others.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Sam drew in a deep breath and turned. “I'm going to go over by CJ. And if there's any news for Toby, we better make sure one of us gets it just in case it's bad. Better to come from us than some person he doesn't know.”

Josh nodded in agreement. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

It was just seconds later that the President was introduced, and he came out as he always did; smiling and waving to an auditorium full of cheers. He looked good tonight, and this was the sort of setting he excelled in. Talking to people. Relating to people, especially students. Somewhere, Zoey was in the crowd and likely trying to find some escape hatch to be at the ready when he started in on her, as all proud fathers do.

The pilot was alive. Sam had a good feeling about Toby's brother. And now this.

It was a good day. A strange day, but a good one.

Willow would have loved this.

*~*~*

Two hours later, the feeling hadn't subsided. Rather, with every minute on the plane, her level of anxiety upped. A black cloud looming in the pit of her stomach, gnawing away her insides. Chipping away at her bit by bit. She felt feverish—hot. Perspiration rolled off her skin, her heart was thundering—echoed within the shell of casual, meaningless conversation and the ever-more present claustrophobia. Consumed by something else entirely.

Something was wrong.

Buffy and Spike were critiquing the in-flight movie and laughing quietly at an assortment of private, coupley jokes. Enjoying the view, as the Slayer had been ushered almost immediately to the window seat. That was more than fine with Willow; for whatever reason, she wanted something closer to the aisle. Something where she could get out quickly if need be.

She didn't see the vampire's nostrils flare, or the sudden piercing blue of his concerned eyes as his gaze found her face.

The sickness brewing inside wouldn't go away. There was nothing but that.

Something was wrong.

*~*~*

The laughter of the crowd died down after an appreciative rumble. “Thank you, thank you very much,” the President said. “That was a joke about politicians. There's another one: two politicians are having an argument; one of them jumps up and shouts, ‘You're lying!' And the other one says, ‘Yes, I am, but hear me out.'”

A wry grin tugged at the corner of Sam's mouth.

This would be one of those nights that Josh reminded everyone that the stage was where the President lived. The man was definitely one of the most skilled public speakers he had ever met.

“A man once said this,” the President continued. “Decisions are made by those who show up. So, are we failing you, or are you failing us?”

“Center for policy control,” Josh yelled from the back at one of the staffers. “CJ'll have copies for the bus ride back.”

Sam sighed and turned his attention back to the President, his thoughts elsewhere.

Then, suddenly, Bonnie was at his side holding a cell phone.

“Where's Toby?”

Oh God.

“Why?”

“He's got a phone call.”

Well, that much was obvious. “From who?”

“Peter Jobson?”

Sam nodded and held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

*~*~*

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. She couldn't see. Couldn't breath. Just knew. Knew there somewhere.

Oh god, something was wrong.

*~*~*

Sam could barely keep his smile from his lips. Toby was standing alone, his expression somber. And when he turned to receive the signal that all was clear, the look in his eyes flashed just a bit before he drew in his emotions once more. And he nodded, then turned to relay the message to Josh.

*~*~*

Someone was calling her name. Buffy. There was a motion in the background, but all drown out to the ringing of her ears. She was drenched in sweat, and something sharp had pierced its way through her mind. Burrowing through her, killing her slowly with that reoccurring knowledge.

She didn't know where she was. All she knew was that something was wrong.

*~*~*

“They're telling me that we're out of time,” the President said, a ghost of a smile on his face. “I just want to mention that at several points during the evening, I was referred to as both a liberal and a populist. And the fellow fourth from the back called me a socialist…which is nice, I hadn't heard that for a while.” A pause at that. “Actually, I'm an economics professor. My great-grandfather's great-grandfather was Dr. Josiah Bartlet, who was the New Hampshire delegate representative in the second Continental Congress….”

*~*~*

The world was fading around her. She couldn't see.

*~*~*

“…the one that sat in session in Philadelphia in the summer of 1776 and announced to the world that we were no longer subjects of King George III, but rather a self-governing people.”

*~*~*

“Willow's plane should be landing soon,” Josh said to Sam as he took position next to him, watching as the President's closing statements turned from brief to another string of wisdom as presented by Dr. Josiah Bartlet, his great-grandfather's great-grandfather's great grandson four times over. “There's every chance he'll opt to talk to her rather than watch the softball game.”

Sam just smiled at that.

*~*~*

“‘We hold these truths to be self-evident,' they said. ‘That all men are created equal.'” The President paused with a soft smile. “Strange as it may seem, that was the first time in history that anyone had ever bothered to write that down. Decisions are made by those who show up. Class dismissed—thank you, everyone. God bless you. And God bless America!”

*~*~*

“Willow! Willow!”

The Witch was sprawled between the aisles, her body thrashing, sweat rolling down her forehead. She was drenched in it. Incoherent words tumbling from her lips, her head whipping back and forth. The passengers were torn between dumb wonder and blind panic. And the flight attendants were hurrying forward with a medical kit.

Buffy's eyes shot upward, drops of terror stinging her cheeks. “God. Oh God!” Spike met her gaze, his arms cradling the Witch's head. Watching her with worry. “God, what's wrong with her?”

*~*~*

The President was just minutes away of emerging from the building, and the crowd formed around the area was growing louder with anticipation. This was the sort of situation that made Gina Toscano nervous. The noise, the people; in seconds, Zoey would be emerging from the building.

And she had a bad feeling about this.

“He's not working the rope line,” she was saying into her headset. And nodded. “Straight to the car. I've got Bookbag.”

*~*~*

The President, accompanied by his Senior Staff, walked into the night air outside Rosslyn to a group of rowdy, screaming fans. A clockwork reaction. Automatically, the thought of going straight to the car was shot to hell.

Behind him was Zoey, walking alongside Charlie, and looking entirely pleased with herself.

“He used it,” she was saying, “and you're feeling good and you're looking for a way to thank me.”

“You had nothing to do with it,” he replied, “and you were still unbelievably wrong.”

The President tossed a look over his shoulder. “Toby! Walk with me.”

The Communications Director squeezed between Charlie and the President's daughter in a hurry to comply. “Yes sir?”

“What do you got to say for yourself?”

“About what?”

The President grinned and reenacted the signal. The signal that Sam had come up with earlier in the day; the mock of a plane taking off in case word of the pilot had come during the town hall meeting.

The same signal that had been reassigned to Toby's brother shortly before the motorcade left the White House.

And Toby couldn't stop smiling. “Yes sir!”

*~*~*

Willow was muttering something that Buffy couldn't hear. Through the trials and confusion, a whisper of the same word released over and over. There amongst the uncertainty and fear.

“'S wrong,” Spike said softly, his eyes grave. “She's sayin' something's wrong.”

*~*~*

Gina released the breath she had been holding when she saw Zoey approach with Charlie. The growing sense of apprehension failed to wane, but she was at least relieved that the girl was with her now.

Then gone. In that second, gone. There was something there.

“…baby pictures he's heckling me with—Visa card bills,” the youngest Bartlet was telling her. “Look, now he's walking the rope line. If ever a chance he was going to walk past a crowd of people…Charlie!”

“I saw something,” Gina muttered, more to herself, her nerves tightening beyond compare.

“By the way,” Zoey continued. “Charlie apologized to me. He made a full apology.”

“I saw something.”

The President was still shaking hands at the rope line.

Not there. Somewhere else. Somewhere…

Her eyes landed on him in a series of years that somehow became seconds. There in the crowd, his face tilting upward, then back again. The cap that was on his head gone to reveal a dome of hairless skin.

A signal.

And Gina saw it just seconds too late, the inhuman scream that tore through the noise and soared above them, claimed by her voice in a fit of terror. Terror being the one thing secret service agents were not supposed to feel.

Not supposed to show. But she couldn't help it. Couldn't.

And her scream stabbed the sky just seconds before the first shot sang in release.

“GUN!”

Fire cracked through the night, a blaze of bullets pelted from some window of some building. The eager screams of the crowd dispelling as panic broke out over order. An endless stream from nameless assailants, one after another.

Gina had Zoey on the ground in seconds; Charlie knocked over somewhere near them.

The President was seized by the secret service. Josh toppled to the ground and grasped out for whatever there was to hold. An agent bumped into CJ before Sam could take over, and they both fell to the pavement as the window of the police car in front of them shattered.

It was impossible to tell if the screams of the crowd were louder than the bullets. In those seconds, they melded into one.

Then a single shout rang over all others. Something heard by all. As though the voice of God had decided to intervene. Words that spiraled the night downward into a frozen inferno of new beginnings.

“Oh God, we've got people down! We've got guns here!”

“People down! People down!”

“Who's been hit? Who's been hit?”

*~*~*

It went through her like a bolt of electricity, digging into her skin in a snap of pure recognition. A strangled cry ruptured from Willow's lips, and she knew only one truth.

“He's been shot!” she gasped. “He's been shot. He's been shot.”

Her mouth tasted of blood.

“He's been shot.”

*~*~*

Washington DC came to life in a matter of seconds. A flash of red and blue, the resounding bounce of bullets sprayed across the pavement. Echoing there; a sound that would never die. Loss and confusion, hysterics and tears. And above all else, sirens.

Sirens ringing through the night.

Sirens screaming for Rosslyn.

The End of Book I.

Continued in Book II: Gardens of Crimson Roses