Rating: R
Timeline: Post Season 6 with no reference to Season 7
Summary: Spike, struggling with his soul and his love for Buffy, is offered redemption from a very surprising source. However, when signs of an uprising evil begin to appear, he must face his fear and guilt and return to the place it all began for him—Sunnydale.

Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon. They are being used for entertainment purposes and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [24] [25]

[26] [27] [28] [29] [30] [31] [32] [33] [34] [35] [36] [37] [38] [39] [40] [41] [42] [43] [44] [45] [Epilogue]

*~*~*

Chapter Twenty-One

The stillness of the roads unnerved him. Not even half past six, and already an unspoken abandonment had seemingly grasped the town. Event local hoodlums were not out causing their normal mischief. The Bronze looked relatively dead as he steered Willow onward. Granted, a few people had hit the streets—but for a Friday night, things were most certainly too serene.

It was as though the world had stopped.

William prodded the Witch for details along the way to Xander’s, but she was regrettably ignorant of the more valuable information. Dawn had allegedly phoned Buffy that morning shortly after arriving to alert her that she would be late arriving that night. In response, the Slayer returned that she would be home promptly and not to argue. There were dangerous things about, and this was certainly not the appropriate time to concern oneself with shopping or social gatherings of any sort. When she had balked and not abided immediately, Buffy categorized it as typical teenage rebellion.

However, it was unnaturally dark out, even for the considered circumstances. A half hour prior, she had talked Xander and Angel into accompanying her to the mall with no success. Drained of ideas, she dropped by Denise Langston’s house on the way back, and was informed by her mother that Denise had yet to return home as well.

That was when they got worried.

School was mostly deserted and the least likely place to find wandering teens without any extra-curricular activities to their names, and yet all other possibilities seemed illogical. Despite Dawn’s tendency to disobey sisterly orders, she was mostly responsible, if not predictable, in habits. If she wasn’t at the mall, she was at a friend’s house. If she wasn’t at a friend’s house, she was at the mall. The only other places she went were school and patrolling, and she knew enough not to go patrolling by herself anymore. Not with the precautions being barked out from every which corner.

The panicked phone call to Willow was made directly after locating the drained body of Diana in the school basement. Vampires were the immeasurable verdict—and Buffy summarized by the indications of a struggle that Dawn, for the ten thousand nine hundred and eight sixth time of her life, had been abducted.

“It really doesn’t happen all that much anymore,” the Witch explained hurriedly as they paced their way to Xander’s. “I mean, since Dawn turned into The Super Mini-Slayer, she’s been very self-reliable and hardly gets into any jams. Granted, her mouth does have a way of running away with her…but—”

“If the Nibblet’s been taken, it’s ‘cause Geryon’s gettin’ closer. ‘E wants the Slayer.” William was practically sprinting. “I knew that prat would try somethin’ like this. Bit shoulda known better than to go wanderin’ around a dark basement. Doesn’ she take anyone seriously?”

“Dawn’s still a kid, Spike,” Willow retorted, unable to prevent her own frustration from leaking into her voice. “And she takes after her sister. She’s not one to really follow the rules. She probably went to find her friend and got caught.”

“I’m goin’ to rip her bleedin’ throat out next time I see ‘er,” the vampire growled. “Now’s not the time to be all heroic. Now’s the time to think straight if yah wanna save your arse.”

The Witch frowned. “She couldn’t have known—”

“’S all part of Geryon’s plan.” The house was in sight now. Angel, Buffy, Xander, and Giles were all on the front porch, talking animatedly, unaware of their hurried approach. “Fo’ the Slayer to make a gibbet out of her own lintel. To make her home be her bloody gallows. Dawn’s the key…in more ways than one. ‘E knew he couldn’t touch Buffy unless he got somethin’ she loves. So she would kill herself in the process of getting her back.”

Concern was masked with rationality. Her voice shook as she spoke. “I-it’s not like Dawn’s completely helpless, or-or that she’s never been taken before.”

“No. But there’s a firs’ time for everythin’, innit there, pet?” William paused emotionally. “If that git harms one hair on her head, I’ll tear ‘im apart limb for limb, or die tryin’.”

“Don’t you dare.” A sudden yank of his arm brought the vampire to a startling standstill, and his eyes leveled with the fiery infernos of a brassed off Wiccan. “Don’t you go do something stupid and get yourself killed. Buffy couldn’t take it if she lost Dawn and you. We’ll figure something out. We always do.”

Stubbornly, William shook his head, throat emanating a discontented growl. “No. ‘S different now, Red. Everythin’. I can’ just wallow around an’ wait fer somethin’ to happen. And bollocks ‘f she doesn’ like it. I won’ sit around on my bum waitin’ fer news. Tha’s what you an’ Harris are to do.”

At that, a cloud of darkness flashed over Willow’s face; almost hurt, if not annoyed. “Hey! Why do we have to wait? I mean—hello—really powerful witch right here!”

“Exactly. Mighty powerful witch who’s been knackered up enough a time or two to go really bad. ‘Sides, I need you ‘ere, Red. ‘F somethin’ happens that we weren’t countin’ on, you might end up being a last resort.”

“Oh no. No. No. No. I am so tired of being ‘oh, last resort’ girl. It doesn’t work with Buffy anymore, and it sure as hell isn’t going to work with you.”

Vehemently, William paused in stride, dark eyes glowering over her with the utmost enormity. They challenged each other with unrelenting gazes—stubborn and grounded in the oldest of convictions. Many had fallen under the influence of Willow’s ‘resolved face’ in the past, he knew, but hell if he allowed himself to yield. “Listen,” he growled. “I got me enough to worry about without adding you to the list. Also made me a promise to Stay Puft that I’d watch out for you—make sure you don’t fall. Don’t aim to go back on that now. This’ll be up to me, the Slayer, and Peaches, should he decide to tag along. Can’t really speak on behalf of Buffy, but this is sorta her gig, and I doubt any words of advice would keep her from runnin’ after her sis.” He took a step forward. “You though. You, Harris, and Ripper—you lot’s got your lives ahead of you. You can’t keep runnin’ about like this. You’re made of tough stones, pet, but stones can get smashed easier than you think. Jus’ stay an’ work your mojo. Be ready for anythin’.”

The biting conviction behind Willow’s eyes flared in brief with heightened intensity before she inevitably conceded with a nod of defeat. “Yeah, all right,” she grumbled. “But I don’t like it. You’re being pushy and stubborn and…mean…”

He huffed a breath of false pride. “Components of being the Big Bad, baby. Neutered or not. Soulful or not. I’m still—”

“A humongous pain in the ass. All right? I get it. Let’s get moving.”

It was Giles who saw him first, and his eyes softened in glazed relief. Without alerting the others, he hurried off the porch to meet them, stepping immediately in pace with the vampire while nodding a distracted hello to Willow. “Thank goodness,” he said breathlessly. “We don’t know how much time we have. I practically had to hogtie Buffy to keep her from going off without conferring with you first.”

“It’s going to be me, the Slayer, an’ Peaches,” William retorted, not pausing in stride. “I don’ ‘ave a bleedin’ clue where we’re gonna start, but somehow, I don’ think this ponce’ll hide long. ‘E took the Bit intendin’ for Buffy to come after her. ‘S only a matter of time before he lets us see ‘im.” A brief pause as the others spotted them, waving them over with fierce intensity. “I worked out that code, with a lil help from Red.”

The Watcher drew in a shuddering breath. “Do I even want to know?”

“Prat took it right from Dante, along with his purloined name. Canto VIII at the very end says: Io fei gibetto a me de la mie case.”

Giles groaned and came to a stop at the foot of the porch, ignoring the wealth of gazes under which they were immediately placed. “‘And I made my own home be my gallows,’” he recited.

“Or ‘a gibbet out of my own lintel.’ Same diff.” William sighed. “’E’ll ‘ave gone by the house, I reckon. Seen it all empty-like.” With emphatic wisdom, he turned his attention to the crowd gathering around the railing. He motioned to the Witch as his eyes locked with Xander’s. “‘S prolly best you lot set up there while me, Peaches, and the Slayer go out hunting. We’ll scope it out first, o’course, but if those vamps ‘ave already been there, they won’ be comin’ back.”

For the first time in several days, his eyes met Buffy’s and held. There was no time for exaggerated emotional pauses and reflections, but his gaze was ardent just the same. The sort of promise of I’m here and I won’t let anything bad happen soaring without the need for words. Without the need for anything. The concern he saw mounting within her killed him. How many times would the fates allow this to happen before they left her alone?

He had a feeling she would be long dead and buried before destiny decided to stop messing with her.

“We’ll get her back, luv,” William murmured, loud enough for everyone to hear, though there was no denying to whom his statement was directed. “’F I ‘ave to rip off every vamp’s head in this bloody town, we’ll get her back.”

The Slayer nodded. “Yes we will.” Then, without waiting for the others to follow, she soared down the steps and set off down the street.

William met Angel’s eyes and nodded, and mutely, they tore after her.

The walk was hurried and no words were shared. He had seen that venomous gleam in her eyes more than once—that pivotal ‘you fucked with me in the wrong way’ malevolence that encouraged all creatures of any origin to run for the hills. As suggested, the tenor at Revello Drive revealed more than one visit during their absence. Buffy said nothing as she surveyed the damage. Nothing inside had been withdrawn, of course; it wasn’t in vampiric following to ally oneself with demons for support, and without outside help, no access to the interior could be gained. But there were other minute destructions. Little things.

William watched the Slayer’s face closely—carefully. He noted the way her jaw set in that determined, fiery and familiar manner. Several theories began circulating, but he didn’t dare speak while she was thinking. Not to drive her away from some pivotal realization.

Angel occupied himself studying the insignia entrenched on the door. He touched it studiously, as though the senses would interpret the meaning on the slightest whim. The look on his face betrayed displacement.

“We should split up,” the Slayer finally whispered, drawing both pairs of eyes squarely to her resolute form. “This guy…this…the Master wants me by myself. I’ll give it to him, if that’s what it takes.” A wealth of oppositions filled his throat immediately, but Buffy met his gaze before he could voice any and shook her head in a manner that informed him promptly her will would not be altered. “I can’t waste time worrying over dreams and other nonsense. This is what I do. The most important things right now is getting Dawn home safe and sound. We’ll have more luck if we’re not together.”

He couldn’t help it. The comment was there and begged to be heard. “We’ll ‘ave better luck if we’re not all dead.”

An aggravated grumble filled her throat. It rang with so much familiarity that William had to take a beat of recollection. Within seconds, his mind flashed to every look of raw irritation she had sent him, every sneer that suggested he was too slow to grasp a given concept, every time she had snickered and made a joke on his behalf. That was the Slayer he knew. Not the girl sobbing many confessions, proclaiming love that couldn’t possibly exist—pursuing him while he placed the much needed distance between them.

Apparently, she recognized the gesture for what it meant, as well, and her eyes softened immediately. The notion was brief and she was back on task within a beat. “I don’t have time for this,” Buffy grumbled. “And neither does Dawn. I know I can handle myself on my own. Do either of you have an objection to fighting the evil without backup?”

“Yeh, pet, you handle yourself real well,” William retorted hotly. “Wasn’t jus’ the other night when—”

“SPIKE! For God’s sake, shut up!”

No tenderness or aching resolution in her tone. No endearing marks for his well-made point, nothing to suggest that he meant any of what she had sworn days before. No indication of that lasting patience she had always granted Angel and Riley—despite impending circumstances. It was truly like old times.

The emphasis on his former moniker was noted with dry acknowledgement.

He felt his demon rising at the notion, but calmed just as quickly. “Whatever eases you, Slayer. Little Bit’s worth more to me than wastin’ time out ‘ere squabblin’. But I don’ see how we’re going to do her any good if one of us—” He nodded to Angel “—ends up in a dustpan.”

“You won’t.” There was nothing to suggest how this ominous knowledge occurred to her—she just knew.

And oddly enough, that seemed to settle things.

Sunnydale was a town of modest size and many graveyards. The average funeral home toll accumulated so rapidly with each passing year that adding more hollow ground to the town’s reputation seemed to be an annual event. However, it was decided amongst the three that a cemetery was the least likely place for the Master to have taken up residence. It was too obvious, for one thing, and her nights were occupied patrolling those grounds, anyway. Had there been any unusual activity to suggest a nest of vampires were familiarizing themselves with the territory, she would have been clever enough to notice the signs.

Okay, so no graveyards.

There were the usual places, of course. The mansion that had remained deserted since Angel’s departure seven years earlier. The Bronze. The factory. That old castle Dracula had occupied that seemed to materialize and disappear all within one evening. Places that had seen too many fights to really take one more into account.

There was, of course, the Hellmouth. And that was where Buffy first volunteered to explore. Grudgingly, William accepted the Bronze on the eye-rolling worthy promise that he would work and not drink. He didn’t have time to go over the logicality in her concern, and decided, in the end, to let it slide. Anxiety had likely sent her in the pathway of former habits—and even so, it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it. That left Angel to tend to the places least likely to see action this evening, but all ground did have to be covered. They agreed to meet again within an hour at Revello Drive. Should one of the party not arrive, the remaining two were to assume Geryon had been found and progress to such location immediately.

William did not like this. Not one aspect of it. The plan was full of too many holes, and he didn’t trust Buffy not to wander off after investigating the Hellmouth to other possibilities they had not discussed. He didn’t trust himself not to do the same. It was all bloody ridiculous. The thought of the Nibblet out there in the clutches of some vampiric madman, successfully being used as bait to lure two arbitrarily selected vamps and a Slayer with more than one death wish to her name made his insides furrow with rage.

If he could not trust himself, there was no way he could trust her. Not with her sister out there. Dawn wasn’t exactly helpless; she didn’t need to be to get herself killed.

Yet there was no alternative. The sweep at the Bronze was thorough though made with haste. He busied himself whirling girls who looked distinctly like the Nibblet to face him and left them filled with puzzlement as he moved on. All the backstage rooms and secret compartments that people weren’t supposed to know about were searched as well—but she wasn’t there. The air did not carry Dawn’s scent. His inward tinglies failed to alert him to a recognizable presence. She was definitely not being held at the Bronze.

The familiar alleyway outside the nightclub was vacant, though it did little to ease his nerves. As the nights grew longer, the crowds populating the regular hangouts became less and less innumerable. William sighed heavily and reached for his cigarettes. His feet commanded him onward to the Hellmouth but he refused to comply. Something told him Dawn was nowhere near a place the Scoobies would think to investigate. The purpose behind her abduction was abundantly clear, and he didn’t reckon the Master would wait too long before making his move.

His thoughts trailed to Buffy in everlasting concern. Any involvement on his part—despite purity of intention—would inevitably brass her off. Right now, her thoughts mingled only with the safety of her sister.

And the Slayer herself?

Nothing would be discovered at Sunnydale High. Had Geryon intended to hold the young Summers girl there, Buffy’s slayer senses would have gone haywire the minute she discovered Denise Langston’s body.

This continuous reserve was petty and stupid. There were much more important things afoot.

To the Hellmouth it was, then.

Beyond finding Buffy and emphatically pointing out the holes in the unremitting game of ring-around-the-rosy, he was at a loss for what to do. They couldn’t retreat and wait for someone to come to them. Not with Dawn’s life on the line. And yet, any action seemed futile; the Master would not be traced until he willed it so.

So help me, he thought begrudgingly. If they hurt the Bit…

Something hard fell to the pit of his stomach—a cool, extra-sensory wave washing over him. The motion was brief but there was no denying it: the instantaneous trigger of his defenses. The way his demon emerged so thoughtlessly. A growl erupted from his throat and his nostrils flared into the telling air. William stopped in mid-stride and turned.

There were three. Three newbloods, from the looks of it. Three whom had just been sired, perhaps earlier that week with the lightened emphasis on patrolling. Three that smelled of blood. Three that had been sent to him.

The bleached blonde’s lips drew up a tantalizingly confident smirk. “Wha? This it? Come on, now. Bleedin’ Master must ‘ave at least a few stones in ‘im. Can’t bare to share more?”

A growl and it began. It was a dance he had choreographed so long ago. The first attacked without thought and was kicked back a second later. Back and out of eyesight. But not gone. Never gone. Another came forward—a bit more thoughtful, to his credit. William backed several paces, wishing fervently for a weapon.

It was an alley. He could improvise.

Then they all came at once. Each from a different angle, each aiming for a different body part. A stake appeared from nowhere, though regretfully, not in his hands. William inhaled needlessly and dove for the ground, rolling out of a tangle of arms and legs and to his feet at a safe distance away. The entrance to the Bronze tempted him in offer of meager sanctuary, but he knew better than to endanger more lives by leading a pack of hungry vampires into an all-you-can-eat hormone fest.

Besides, William the Bloody ran from no fight.

The platinum vampire eyed the weapon clutched in the middle attacker’s hand avariciously, drawing in another unnecessary breath and circling around the snapping fangs and jaws. He snickered and attempted to bluff without anything to show for it.

“Come now,” he taunted. “Surely one of you wants a taste of the Big Bad. Or p’raps I’m too demon for the likes of you.”

Well, didn’t that take him back? If only Drusilla could see him now.

The acerbic jest was all the motivation required. Again, all three lunged; stake aimed poetically for his heart. William kicked him back clumsily, sending a punch to his blind corner before he pivoted to throw off the last. With every blow, he seemed to be in the clearing—then they came reeling back for more.

The trouble with over-confidence was both the ill-fated attempts to prevent it from going to one’s head and the smashing job it did fogging the level of peril in any given situation. To say William suffered from such regretful tidings was wrong—he merely possessed the misfortune of carrying an overload of Spike’s former characteristics. Though the first initial minutes of his predicament passed with marks to his credit, he rapidly drew upon the irrefutable evidence that he was looking to be in serious trouble if he didn’t think quickly.

It wasn’t his life—or unlife—that he feared for. The smell of blood coated the air. Living blood; a step away from a vampire that both fed and drained their supplier. If these prats bested him, they would likely use him to play on the Slayer’s weaknesses, rendering her alone in the position where there was only time to save one life.

Dawn, he thought desperately, ducking out of the way of an accelerating fist but finding himself on the ground the next minute by a blow from the back. There was no doubt about that, and he felt at peace. That was the way it should be.

Then he hopped to his feet.

Two of the three attackers were recovering a series of assaults near a darker portion of the alley. William focused his attention on the vamp holding the stake—determined to wheedle it into possession one way or another. He seemed to be the brightest of the assailants and had thus far managed to evade severe injury. However, the look of him stank of newbism. The bleached blonde smirked assertively and stepped back with open arms—welcoming an attack.

Then he froze, and his eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. There was something terribly familiar about the scent of that blood. The aroma, the musk, the…

It took only a second to piece together, and before he could stop himself, William released his demon in a fit of hysteria and charged. Stake be damned; it held nothing against searing fury. His deepest animalesque roots emerged without prompt. There was no thought beyond the blackness—no rational notion swaying in the collective turmoil of his cavity. Nothing beyond her face. Nothing beyond, ‘You drank from purity itself, you sick, twisted fuck!’

The stake was in neither’s grasp. William hadn’t noticed. Black blood sprayed across the ground, pouring candidly from a series of open wounds and inflictions. Something primal tore at his vocals. And then he was yelling, screaming in unkempt outrage, pounding the demon into the ground with every vigorous drive.

“I’ll tear your sodding limbs off, you bloody bastard!” he roared. “How dare you touch her?! I’ll rip your bleedin’ head off!” Before he could stop himself, his fangs had latched into the vamp’s throat and began to tear. He had never bitten another of his kind in a manner that wasn’t affectionate. God, he wanted to taste the fucker’s blood. Wanted to eat right through the skin and gnaw his head off. He withdrew, though, when the first coherent waves broke through a longstanding fortitude of mad internal screaming. A long trail of blackness covered his face, and there was nothing but rage behind his eyes.

The vamp under him writhed in pain—his howls for mercy at last reaching William’s ears. There was none to give. He curled his hand around what was left of the newbie’s throat, yellow gaze burning maliciously, daring him to look away. “Is she alive?” he managed to growl, spitting blood onto dark concrete.

The vampire made a move that suggested reply, but all he produced was a disgusting gargle of fluids.

Sounds behind him. The bleached blonde didn’t pay attention. His grip constricted dangerously. “Is she alive, you fucking rot?”

“Yessssssss!” the vamp hissed desperately. “It…just…a…tasssssste…”

William released another roar of vehemence, tearing away what was left of the whelp’s head with one furious stroke. And before he could release another cry, the struggling being beneath him vanished in a whirl of dust.

It was only then he remembered the other two. Too late. As he attempted to swivel around, the oncoming blast of another vampiric implosion rang through the air. Wearily, he turned his eyes upward. The taste of dead blood ran bitter in his mouth.

Then he saw her and offered what he could of a grin.

“Buffy,” William coughed, fighting to his feet. “When did you get ‘ere?”

The Slayer stood directly in front of him, holding her former Watcher’s crossbow, the look on her face drawn between concern and horror at his rugged appearance. “About the time you went postal and tore that vamp’s throat out.” She waved through the dispatching cloud of dust. “And hey—really gross. What provoked you to—”

“Why are you ‘ere? Find somethin’?”

“No.” She sighed and looked down. “I was at the school when I got this…feeling that you were about to do something incredibly stupid. Had to come.” Her eyes darkened as she studied the black ring circling his mouth. William realized he was still sporting bumpies but didn’t think to draw them inward. Any composition of thought left him when her hand touched his mouth. “What happened?” There was fear behind her fortitude; voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you do this?”

She searched his eyes. He knew what she was looking for.

Yep, still there, luv, he reflected, taking her hand and drawing it away from his blood-stained lips. “I smelled her on ‘im. The Nibblet. Her blood.” The Slayer’s eyes widened in horror, and he quickly added, “She’s all right, an’ all. Least tha’s what he said before I tore his bloody head off.” William exhaled deeply, eyes darting around in increasing awareness that another attack party could visit them at any minute. “Listen, pet, this ponce aims to get us all separated. ‘S what he wants. ‘E’ll come to you soon enough. An’ he won’ kill the Bit. Can’t afford to. All’s it would do is brass you off. Wouldn’t get you there any quicker.”

Buffy looked appalled. “You better believe it would.”

“Even if you knew that was exactly what he wants?”

She didn’t reply. There were no words.

“See, luv? Best find Peaches before they bloody well try to take ‘im out, too. We—”

The sound traveled so rapidly through the air that his first instinct was to pounce the Slayer and drive her to the ground, using himself as her protective sheath. However, by the time the thought had birthed and died, she was already crumpled—a motionless heap. The action took him by such surprise that all he could do was reach and catch her before she hit the pavement.

William’s eyes turned upward, a primitive growl rippling from his throat. No one was in sight; no telling scent befouled the air. A dart, small and proud, was embedded deeply in her throat. He yanked it out immediately—hasty and without thought, but it was too late anyway; the toxins were already sweeping through her system.

His mind raced down a labyrinth encircled with dead-ends. William drew in a breath and lifted her into his embrace. There was nothing to do but run for it now. Run for it and hope that faint, distant whizzing sound was just—

It struck categorically, hitting him when there was nowhere to hide. And without ceremony, he, too, hit the ground with deathly stillness.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The room around her was blurry—a wave of fuzzy shapes and seemingly intangible objects. A sharp pain jittered across her back, alerting her to the numbness infecting her neck. Buffy squeezed her eyes together and took in a shuddering breath. Her body ached in affect. She didn’t want to see where she was.

The surface was cold. Long minutes ticked by, revealing nothing but silence that stretched forever. The air seemed odorless—she had never made study of the atmosphere’s various tangs, and wouldn’t have noticed it if there was something to notice.

There was nothing.

The events accumulating finally came soaring back. Buffy’s insides went cold with dark comprehension. Her tinglies were shooting off the wire, something sharp though insubstantial jabbing her in the gut.

“Dawn,” she murmured, attempting and failing to sit up. Her voice sounded far away, dry and raw—leaves scratching at her throat. At last her eyes edged open, but there was nothing to see.

Nothing.

“Dawn?” she called again, knowing somewhere that it was fruitless. No answer came.

Blackness.

Buffy drew in another painful breath and forced herself to wobbly feet, stumbling over as her hand shot out to find an entity of measurable support. Nothing greeted her for several yards, and the thought arose that she had been abandoned somewhere in the wilderness. It sounded too ridiculous within her mind’s cavity to voice aloud, and just as the notion passed, cold steel brushed against her skin. An undeniable barrier. Pieces were slowly fitting together. Seconds calculation verified she was in a room. A holding pen.

Trapped like an animal.

The Slayer let out another quaking breath, pressing her back against the wall before sliding to the ground. Though awake, she could tell she had been sufficiently drugged. Her voluntary reflexes were not obeying—rather behaving as though under supervision: monitored and even controlled. Abandonment seared every responsive nerve, ignoring the thousands of questions that bombarded an already overloaded mind. Where was she? What had happened? Where was Dawn? What had they—(and who were ‘they’?)—done with Spike?

Buffy’s breathing leveled as her nerves calmed. There was little dispute concerning whom had taken her or for what purpose. Her mind raced with unnerving consideration. Her last distinct memory entailed falling forward and landing into the platinum vampire’s arms. The attacker had targeted her from the shadows—and she knew William would not have given her over. Whoever it was had incapacitated him, as well.

Or worse.

That thought sent a sour taste down her throat. Buffy exhaled again and her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since that morning.

Something flickered in the far corner, bursting through the silence with unspoken calamity. The Slayer started in surprise, heaving herself to her feet out of defensive reflex, but finding the legs she depended on were too wobbly for support. Then her insides engulfed in warmth, and a premature sensation of unbridled relief washed through her.

In the corner opposite her sat William, lighting a cigarette.

Somehow, through unspoken understanding, he realized the exact minute she recognized him that she had made the connection. The calm in his voice was disconcerting. She would have preferred a bit of panic. “You’re awake,” he observed softly, indicating he had been watching her for some time.

“Wh…where are we?”

“Don’t know.” A huff of smoke materialized through the darkness. “Did plenty of bangin’ around earlier that you slept right through. Can’t find a bloody door or light. Might be in Bulgaria, for all I know. Guess they gave you a stronger dose than me. Prolly didn’t reckon takin’ out two at once.”

“How long have we been here?”

William sighed, and a cloud of smoke rolled with him. “Woke up ‘bout an hour ago. How long we were ‘ere before that is anyone’s guess. Made sure you were all right, then tried to find the sodding exit. Gave up. Watched you sleep.”

Buffy nodded and again attempted to rise to her feet, but her footing caught her off balance and once more, she fell to the ground. Only this time, the vampire—lithe and limber—had bolted from his position to catch her. She found herself in his protective arms, lighted fag dangling between his lips. The smell—one she usually rebuked—comforted her in an oddly familiar fashion. A reassurance that he was here. That she wasn’t—as she so often found herself—alone.

“Careful, luv,” he cooed soothingly, guiding her to the wall once more, finding purchase with her. “They drugged you up right good. Made me a bit woozy, too, wanderin’ ‘round ‘ere.” A breath rumbled through his body, and she relaxed against him, giving into the temptation set by the chemical compounds fighting through her bloodstream. “I ‘aven’t heard or seen Dawn, but I got a feelin’ she’s nearby.”

The sound of her sister’s name brought her back from any pivotal edge of tranquility. “Dawn,” Buffy muttered, attempting to sit up, only to be brought back by the vampire’s insistent embrace. “No. Stop. We got to…Dawn…gotta get to…”

“Shhh, shhh. Save your strength, luv. Bloody prats won’t leave us in ‘ere forever, an’ I’d much prefer to ‘ave a slayer at full power. That stuff they doped you with was mighty potent.” William stroked her hair calmingly as she settled against him once more, reluctant vibes quaking through her body. “’S only a matter of time.”

Little by little, she was warming up to him, softening into his hold. Allowing him to hold. It was beyond sensationalism. Beyond any form of soothing remedy the petty world could offer. Buffy’s eyes fluttered as she battled again with sleep. No, no. Had to stay awake. Had to in case…

Had to talk. She would stay awake as long as she was speaking. “Why didn’t you say something when I woke up?” she asked, wondering when on God’s green earth William became so comfortable. Had he always been? She knew she enjoyed resting against him after times of intimacy—despite how feverishly she had denied it—but this was just soothing. Reassuring. The sort of embrace people spent their whole lives trying to discover. The way he held her with such warm encouragement and unspoken love.

The vampire hesitated and rumbled into her hair. “I was watchin’ you, pet. Guess I got caught up in it. Didn’t think to speak till I saw you thought you were alone.”

Buffy smiled against him, and felt a growl ripple through him in return. “Very reassuring.”

He ran a hand through her hair appreciatively, clutching her to him, as though trying to absorb her warmth. When she did not complain, he rested his cheek on her head, enjoying a moment’s peace.

For a long beat, there was nothing in the universe save two kindred souls locked together in a moment of closeness so exceedingly greater than anything the union of two bodies could conjure. A world of abbreviated concern—where these earthly agonies failed to drive anyone away to a proverbial point of reasoning.

It amazed her—this continuous kindness. No matter how horrible she was to him, he always came back.

Buffy sighed, closing her eyes tightly and willing herself away. “Why not just kill us?” she whispered. “Why go to all this trouble?”

His arms tightened around her. “Bloke wants us to suffer. Prolly aims to make you watch a whole walloping load of badness before offing you. ‘S not any fun if you can’t soak up the pain.”

“I need to get to Dawn,” she stated again, making no bodily move to suggest any intention of rising. “She must be so scared.”

“Not now,” William retorted. “At first, sure, but the Nibblet’s got a good head on ‘er shoulders. She’s sharp enough to know if they ‘aven’t killed her by now, she’s safe for the time being.”

The Slayer went rigid. “Until the Master decides she’s served her purpose. God…I…I got to get out of here.”

“An’ you will.”

“How can you be so sure? So…calm?”

“’Cause I know panicking won’t do a bloody thing to help.”

Buffy heaved a breath and sat up, painfully retracting herself from William’s reach. “What about Angel?”

With annoying negligence, he shrugged. “Dun know. Let’s hope ‘e got to Ripper when we didn’t meet up with ‘im. Only problem, luv, is the Scoobies wouldn’t know the firs’ place to start lookin’.” A shuffle behind her as he sat up, leaning comfortably against the wall. “IF they got ‘im, though, ‘e’s prolly in another holdin’ cell, or what all.”

A small silence settled between them, almost awkward where noise desperately needed to fill the empty gaps. Buffy took in everything. Apart from the vampire’s huffs of nicotine, there was no visible light anywhere in the room.

Something took command of her—dawning with irrefutable knowledge. She was drastically unprepared for whatever it was she was aiming to face. The past couple weeks had been void of conventional study. Too enwrapped was she in settling the matters of her personal affairs. Had she stopped nagging William for three minutes about this business concerning his soul and his reluctance to rekindle their doomed-from-the-beginning affair, she could have prevented Dawn’s capture. Could have prepared for what she would inevitably face. These past few years were colored with over-confidence. She had reached a point where death was just an omen—non-existent in all regards.

It was a simple conclusion to reach, given her inability to die and remain dead.

“My fault,” Buffy whispered, voice practically inaudible.

The vampire stirred. “What?”

“This…this everything. Dawn’s in danger now because I’ve been so goddamn selfish. Wound up in my own little world with my issues.” She growled in frustration and banged her head against the wall. “God! I’ve been so…stupid.”

William’s face darkened—though she couldn’t see it, and a snarl of discontent tickled his throat. “No, this is not your fault. Don’t even begin to think it is.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to look at it?!” Buffy cried ardently. “I’ve been so focused on dealing with you that I overlooked the big picture. I stopped worrying about my friends and more about making things right with you that I allowed my sister to become the bait to lure me here. That’s wrong, Will. It’s so wrong. I can barely see straight for being so pissed at myself. I’m a horrible, horrible person.”

William growled and lunged for her, pinning her to the ground as shots of self-exasperation flared behind wounded albeit understanding eyes. “Then it’s not your fault, luv. ‘S mine. All mine. You can’t blame yourself for my mistakes.”

“I do blame you!” she spat, writhing ineffectually beneath him. “If you hadn’t come back, I would never have gotten this distracted. If you had just come clean with your goddamn soul in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to force it out of you. We spent more time arguing about blame and who had more right to love than…wasted. It’s all wasted. This is why a slayer is destined to be alone in life. Because of all the fucking distractions!”

The vampire grumbled course disapproval, but sat up and allowed her space just the same. “I didn’t want to come back. Hell, I told Ripper it’d be a sodding distraction.”

“Yes, so you’ve told me. And told me. And told me. Fuck your excuses. Fuck it all.”

“Look, pet, I didn’t ask for anythin’. Goodwill, love, forgiveness, any of it. Least of all forgiveness. An’ yet you insisted. I tried to distance myself, an’ it didn’t work. You came to me anyhow. All right?” William fought to his feet. “But if it makes you feel better to hate me fo’ it, go on about it, then. Your hatred is easier for me to accept.” There was no revocation of the proffered recognition of blame he voiced just seconds before, and though his eyes were cold, she knew he spoke the truth. “That’s the Buffy Summers I know.”

The look she portrayed nearly resolved all negative means. Another aching wind suddenly grasped her tortured core. Stubbornly, she turned away from him, refusing to allow her mind and will melt again to the secretion of sweet tidings. She could not look into those eyes she had hurt over and over. Things were so much easier when she was angry with him. There was that air of undeniable familiarity. That which she knew how to react. Where she knew what was expected of her.

But she did look at him, and it was her mistake. No blame burned behind the ocean haze of his sea-born eyes. None of these things could rightfully be accredited to him in harmful partiality. That was her folly, lived and relived as some infernal purgatory.

Buffy drew in a quivering breath and stifled a sob, returning to her original crime. “I’m…I’m a horrible person.”

The shaded hurt and anger dissolved from his expression without any potent influence. At once, he was at her side again, taking her hands in his as she forfeited her tenacity to tears. He caressed her sodden face with tender affection, beckoning her gaze to his with no success.

“Buffy, look at me.”

“No. Leave me alone.”

“Come on, Slayer. What—”

“How can you do this?” She granted him her swollen eyes, though grudgingly. “I’m so awful to you. I always have been.”

William smiled poignantly and wiped her face free in a motion of the utmost attachment. “Because you’re Buffy,” he replied softly. “This—being with you, feeling what I feel…it means all of it. Every bloody part of what makes you who you are. Wouldn’t change it fo’ anythin’, luv. You wouldn’t be worth pain if you were any different.”

By now, she had stopped crying and was back to staring at him in endless wonder. Every breath he took, needed or not, seized hers from her lungs. Poetry was a harp he played beautifully, pulling at each string even when he wasn’t trying. Her many faults were overlooked time and time again, reflected without judgment and always forgiven—no matter how she hurt him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, running a hand through his hair. “Even when I’m supposed to love you, I end up doing something that causes more pain…”

“Don’t,” he murmured in soft protest. “Don’t say that. Don’t—”

“Someone once told me that you always hurt the ones you love.”

William pursed his lips to trap a rumble. “Someone that wasn’t me.”

Buffy sighed and cast her gaze downward. “I know. Oh, I know. But you…you’re so different now, and the same. There’s a part of you that will always be Spike.”

At that, he looked away, face falling out of her reach. “I’d change that ‘f I could.”

“I wouldn’t. Spike wasn’t like Angelus.”

“And you love him.”

“I love you—whoever you are. Isn’t that enough?”

The vampire smiled sadly. “Once, maybe.”

“Stop being a gentleman. It really wigs me out.”

William arched a flawless brow. “It’s me, luv. As I am now. Take it or leave it.”

Buffy sighed and urged his eyes upward, caressing his face with gentle tenderness. A shuddering breath quaked through his body, trembling under her touch and doing little more than prompt her onward. Through the darkness she saw his face—drawn to the heart of his blue gaze, as though it alone was the center if illumination. Softly, cautiously, she moved forward, touching her lips to his with deceiving chasteness. She felt him draw in sharp breath, not responding and not pushing her away; rather sitting there to enjoy the feel of forbidden bliss. When she moved to deepen her touch, William rumbled against her, returning her fire with his own. Lips clashed as their tongues battled mercilessly, small involuntary sounds filling the space silence once resided. As soon as her knees buckled and threatened to collapse, he returned her initiative and gently pushed her to the ground, covering her body with his.

Then his hands were everywhere—encouraged and unbidden as his mouth became more insistent. When at last he pulled away, Buffy took a much-needed breath of air, having forgotten its necessity in the surrender of pure rapture. He darted to taste the still lingering salt of her tears, teasing her skin with blunt teeth as her hands swept through his hair and caressed the muscles in his back.

William turned his attention to her throat, nuzzling affectionately with an occasional nip at welcoming flesh. Her legs parted and he accepted the invitation, rolling to lie between her thighs. When she moved to draw his shirt over his head, he stiffened but did not refuse; and if anything, his attentions sharpened with alarming vehemence. He crooned in pleasure to feel her hands against bare flesh, and a groan of ecstasy escaped her throat in rugged reply.

“Oh God!” Buffy gasped, throwing her legs around his waist, seeking more friction.

William growled as she rubbed against him, tearing his mouth from her skin and blinking harshly to return to some sense of self. “Buffy,” he panted desperately. “If I don’t stop soon, I won’t be able to.”

“Then don’t,” she pleaded, drawing him down for another kiss.

A moan, plain and simple. Sweet surrender. His hands traced patterns on her belly, reaching to untuck her shirt and raise it over her head. Her legs pulled him down further with brute force, earning another whimper and a frenzied tear of her upper garment when his seemingly infallible patience got the better of him.

Skin on skin. Infinitely better.

William sucked a sliver of the flesh on her neck between his teeth, hand covering a laced globe of flesh. Buffy cried out in joy as he ground against her, and a single name past her lips, colored with bright elation.

“…Spike…”

And just like that, it was over. William paused in his ministrations with painful restraint and raised his head to look at her. A small yelp squeezed out of her throat at the sudden standstill, demanding him without words, pleading him to continue. But he would not.

She reached for his face to see his eyes; her own filled with need and confusion as he pulled away completely, and out of her reach.

Buffy panted immodestly. “What is it?”

Through the darkness, she could see him. A silhouette against a darker backing. She could nearly make out the soft, heartrending smile on his lips. A deeper sort of understanding that left her miles from comprehension.

“It’s not me you want, luv.”

“What?” The Slayer heaved a breath, attempting unsuccessfully to calm down. She knew she was flushed and didn’t care. “How can you say—”

“An’ despite everythin’…even if you love me, it’ll never be what you need. What you’re lookin’ for.”

Tears sprouted to her eyes and she angrily blinked them away. “Goddammit! Why must you be so fucking rational?”

“Because no matter what you say, pet,” he returned softly, “I am not the one you want. Not really. An’ I never will be. To use your image of what you desire to get my ya-ya’s would be wrong an’ selfish. I won’ do that to you.”

Buffy shook her head furiously, tears flowing freely. In one last attempt, she reached for him, leveling their gazes even as he shrank with reluctance. “But I love you.”

William sighed. “Only cause ‘e was ‘ere first.”

“No. That’s not it. That was never…” The Slayer saw she was fighting a losing battle, sighed in turn and looked down. “Do you love me?”

Foul play. An inequitable question—a startling shadow of an understanding she had once traded with Angel. That seemed lifetimes ago.

The vampire frowned as his eyes darted away. “I can’t answer that.”

A note in her voice grew desperate. “Why not?”

“’S not fair, pet.”

“To who?”

“Either of us.” William heaved another breath and edged away, out of her reach. “I can’t say. Either answer would hurt you.” He paused once more. “An’ hurtin’ you’s something I won’ do. Never again.”

“You’re hurting me now!” Buffy spat in empty respite, moving urgently to touch him even as he shifted further away still. “This is killing me, William.”

“An’ if I were to say no?” the vampire replied rhetorically. “That wouldn’t hurt you? Or yes? That I love you so much I won’ let myself ‘ave you? Won’ let you ‘ave what you say you want? That wouldn’t hurt you at all?”

Buffy emitted a muffled sob and shook her head furiously. “Then you do. I knew it. I knew you had to.”

“Spike had to. As much as he hated it, it was somehow in his nature. It was what he was meant for.” His eyes hardened but she saw shots of self-aimed disgust spark behind the façade. “He left it to my duty.”

Those were not his words. He could not have convinced her even if he had not flinched. She understood his motive, and even though that singular knowledge kept her from breaking completely, a deep wound carved her heart.

And she looked at his face to reflect her hurt and conception, drawing strength into her tone. “The vampire doth protest too much, methinks.”

William’s gaze shot upward in immediate acknowledgement at her insight. A small smile of impressed stability favored his features. The streaming fondness that poured into his eyes betrayed everything he was trying to accomplish. The love she saw took her breath away.

“Buffy,” he whispered. “I—”

A sudden burst of light shone into the room, so blunt that William hissed in instinct and recoiled into the shadows. The Slayer gasped and seized her shirt, bringing it to cover her state of undress. It came from above—the abrupt interruption, and she saw immediately that it was not sunlight that buffed so zealously. Artificial brightness filled the pit, leaving nowhere to hide.

Buffy’s vision began to clear, and she called out with false hope. “Dawn?”

Then she saw them. The deepest pair of maroon eyes anyone had ever possessed watching her with amused withdrawal, blinking once in silent repose.

Chapter Twenty-Three

For the first time in days, the rooms of the Summers residence on Revello Drive buzzed with conversation. Most lights remained untouched, but the excited frustration pouring through warring voices could not be quenched. Angel had arrived at Xander's basement two hours after the hunting party departed, wide-eyed and explaining in a panicked frenzy that Buffy had not met him at the approximated time. Harris immediately suggested they go out searching and was silenced by the vampire for rationality in continued safety. He related the state they found the Summers home in and proposed everyone move there for the time being. Especially now that the Slayer was missing.

"Well," Xander was saying in an unsuccessful attempt of reassurance. "It's Buffy, right? She typically doesn't follow the ru-"

"Spike's gone, too. Spike, or William, or whoever. If-"

"He is?" Giles echoed, paling in complexion. "Oh dear. Then something has happened. I know Will - he's punctual to a fault."

Harris stifled a chortle. "Yeah...about that...are we sure this isn't some crazy whack job and he's not the good twin? Anyone else here not convinced?"

Both the Watcher and the vampire looked at him incredulously.

"What? I'm just saying..."

"This is no time for jokes," Giles grumbled, voice raw with concerned irritation. "Buffy is missing and Will...he was expendable. To the Master, I mean. He might have simply-"

A voice of much-needed reasoning sounded in return, coated with disagreement. "No," Angel murmured. "He's alive. I would know if it were otherwise."

A brief silence settled, demanding calm with alarming neutrality. Willow was seated by the window - listening only partly when her eyes snapped furiously to the vampire. The look on her face was distant but present at the same time. She had not spoken since Angel arrived and announced that the two people save Xander she was closest to were missing. It was then that she raised her voice, masked with frantic worry. "How?" Her façade suggested an unhealthy expenditure of caffeine.

Giles glanced at her meaningfully, and was consumed with infinite understanding and gratitude. "It's through blood," he explained softly. "I suppose you could compare it to maternal instinct. I can't believe I didn't think of it before. Angel is William's grand-sire, and that connection - though not as potent as the bond formed between the immediate sire - is strong enough to relate significant loss. And, needless to say, Will's complete absence would indicate something."

"It goes both ways," the vampire added. "Something went through me both times that Darla died."

"And he's okay, then?" Willow asked roughly. "If he's okay, then Buffy has to be okay. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. Ever."

"If we presume they were taken at the same time and place." The Watcher withdrew his glasses and consigned them to the hem of his shirt. He had never felt so tired. "But it doesn't make much sense to keep Will alive."

"Then there's a purpose," Angel replied sharply. "There has to be. Maybe they're going to use him."

Willow's eyes went wide with alarm. "Oh God! He's been having me research the curse...your curse." She waved an arm in his direction. "What if...oh God! What if...?"

A grim silence settled over them once more.

Giles cleared his throat. "Ummm...even if that was the case...it was Spike in the first place who sought out his soul. He wouldn't do anything."

"Anything but try to rape her again?" Harris snickered bitterly.

"Yes, Xander, repeat the very act that persuaded him to get a soul in the first place. That sounds rational." The Watcher rolled his eyes, though there was doubt behind them. There was no mistaking the obvious. William the Bloody was a trusted man. Spike the Soulless Vampire was not.

Willow sighed heavily and shook her head. "Well, we can't make any assumptions. All we know is Buffy, Spike, and Dawn are out there somewhere, and we have to help them."

"It's better if you just wait here," Angel replied. "If Buffy was overpowered-"

"Hey! I'm Last Resort Girl! Spike said so! And Last Resort Girl says we've been spending too much time on our patooties and not enough out there fighting the big evil. Look where it got them!"

"Alive, for the time being," Giles retorted softly. "But you're right. We can't just sit here and-"

Angel grumbled in mild complaint, but conceded. "Fine. Rupert, you're with me. Xander, Willow...stay here in case they come back and need help."

"Oh no!" the Witch huffed indignantly. "You're not going to ditch me again! That's my best friend out there! I'm not going to just sit here twiddling my thumbs until I know that she's all right. Besides, and do I really need to shout this - umm, magic? Hello? How about a locater spell? Won't take long. I'll just-"

Xander frowned. "I don't like the idea of you messing with-"

"Well, get used to it. It's who I am, and all those times when I'm not homicidal, I can actually be of some help." Willow looked desperately to Giles. "Please! I can't stand this. This...not helping crap. It's stupid. We've been in this thing together for, what? Ten years now? I don't think one lousy spell to find the Slayer and Sp-Will-whoever will hurt anyone."

The look she received could have frozen hell. "Listen," Angel said, heaving a breath for emphasis. "I need you here. You and Xander. Do your locater spell or whatever - that'll be enough to point Giles and me in the right direction. If you want to be helpful, you'll stay put. If we haven't found them by daybreak, I'm going to call my...associates and get them to come here and help."

"Your 'associates'?" Xander retorted skeptically.

"We work together. Kind of deal with things of this nature."

"Slayers Incorporated?"

No one dignified that with an answer.

Willow pursed her lips, calming. "You mean Cordelia, don't you? And your son. And...all those other people that I don't know."

Angel offered a dry smile. "Not entirely sure that Conner would want to join me, but we can always try. I was thinking along the lines of Fred and Gunn. Cordy would want to come, I know. Wesley, too, if he wants to tag along."

"Wow." Xander looked thunderstruck. "I feel so out of the loop."

"I won't call them unless I need to," the vampire added quickly. "We have enough to deal with in LA, and I'd prefer not to get them involved. But...if this Master has risen, or done something to Buffy...it might be necessary."

Another silence - not quite as heavy. Giles's eyes fell gravely, and he drew in a breath and he looked to Willow with resolution. "Let's try the spell."

It seemed they were led forever down a tangle of corridors and chambers. The darkness had not alleviated to the point of identifying the mystery behind the holding cavity, but with each passing minute, Buffy was more convinced that it was a place she was acquainted with. There was nothing convenient to suggest location; all was feigned by sensory and impulse. She just knew.

The Slayer was shackled and prodded, forced to the ground by a commanding hand from behind. Though he was not beside her, she knew William was near. Whatever chemicals had been injected through her system had yet to fully wear away. The legs she depended on were stealthily unstable. Her eyes pierced the shadows in futile search for her sister, but there was nothing to see.

Buffy attempted to ineffectually to flex her shoulders in the direction her instinct told her carried William. When her vision finally started to return, she saw she had been steered ahead, and he was not made to follow. Every fiber of her being demanded cautiousness. A rage against the fire that was growing steadily in power as each minute passed.

"Will?" she exacted from the darkness, ignoring snickers crowding around her as the shadows in the distance materialized into tangibility. "You still-?"

"'Ere, luv," came the familiar, wanted Cockney brogue. "I can see you."

Buffy heaved a breath, amazed at how it pained her. Through all her years as the Slayer, she had only endured a few instances that exposed her to normal human frailty. It felt someone had grasped her very essence and yanked it out of reach. There was nothing to suggest enhanced strength and durability. Overconfidence, she saw, had shaded her pathway, leading her to believe in invincibility. Death had not frightened her in many years. She neither craved it or wished the prospect away - simply stopped believing it could ever successfully transpire.

When nothing moved for a few minutes, her mouth drew into a thin smile. "Wish I could say the same."

"Jus' stay with me, pet. Everythin'll be all right." There was a moment's pause. "Is today the day, kitten?"

A terrible coldness washed over her with infinite understanding. Buffy inhaled sharply once more, eyes clouding with tears of recognition. "I think," she replied hoarsely. "Oh God, it has to be."

"Stay with me," he repeated soothingly, though his voice sounded more and more distant with every syllable. "Stay, stay, stay..."

I'll try, she tried to say, but the words lodged tightly in her throat - rendering her forgone and alone. And then William was miles away, stretching across eternity, trying to reach her. Reaching, reaching, but never succeeding.

Then the blackness swallowed her.

The voice that echoed so menacingly in her ears lacked any means of conventional definition. It was soft and metallic, malevolent and commanding. Confident and eerie - ringing like a blade against grass. Pliability that could be heard in a crowded room: something that would make all subjects of any kind yield and listen. The pits of the creature's eyes glowed with magnificent wonder, capturing hers without ritual. It was not the face that was hard to look at, but the eyes nearly did her in. Gleaming maroon pits of endless torture suggesting fun among the wicked. Something fell hard in the bottom of her stomach. Was this what Dawn last saw? Those eyes of pure malice? Had the sight alone done her little sister in?

Buffy released a quivering breath and willed herself to slowly returning strength. She understood William was still behind her, no further away than he had been a few minutes ago, despite the implied distance between them. Through a swarm of confusion, she called his words to her psyche, repeating as though they were a sacred incantation.

I have been led here for a reason.

That wasn't her thought. From where had it originated? The Slayer blinked, wanting to look down. Its eyes commanded her upward still, shining into her, through her, with all the willful intention of a mischievous dryad.

"Ms. Summers," the voice hissed with shards of glee. "What a pleasure to meet at last."

Buffy flexed her shoulders again, hands cuffed constrictively against the small of her back. A thousand angry words bombarded her throat, but she could speak none of them.

From behind, a potent 'Stay with me' rang with incessant persistence.

"Ah," crooned the voice. "Nothing to say? No ill-mannered quips to share? No empty threats to give shape? My, my, perhaps I overestimated you after all. Is this all the challenge I am to expect?"

The Slayer fired daggers with her eyes; ounces of power returning like insulin shots. "If you wanted more, you might have tried me at full strength," she retorted bitterly. "Or were you too afraid I'd surprise you?"

"There she is," the Master replied coolly, stepping forward but not close enough to be completely seen. The focal point behind ocular emphasis shone with adequate reasoning the threat implanted in his words. "That's my girl. There's the spirit of that little fireball whose career I have followed with such enthusiasm. You are quite the troublemaker, aren't you, Ms. Summers? You have enjoyed a decade of war on the demon world, mocking death with every step, and even taking the liberty of defying its permanent namesake. Oh yes, I have heard much about you. I was eager to see just how much was fact and what was construed from myth."

"So you decided to drug me up?" Buffy's breaths were steadily gaining force. "You must be really insecure."

An amused chortle tumbled out of the Master's throat, clearly anything but threatened. He snickered in good humor and took another step forward. "How bold of you," he commended with thick falsity. "Such a brave little girl. I have always valued the importance of knowing or - at the very least - anticipating your opponent's weakness. I gave you ample time, Ms. Summers, and you had more than enough help guiding you along the way. Your intentions were not so nobly motivated, were they? Hmm? Even in the eyes of danger, you took liberties over what was important to Buffy Summers and not what would keep the Slayer alive. Tsk tsk. What a shame."

There was no sense in denying the claim. That much was true. Buffy held in a breath and glared, though the menace behind it was gone. Faded and nonexistent. Still, she had to maintain her ground. The Slayer drew in a deep breath and fortified her will, steadfast with resolve. "Where is Dawn?" she demanded.

"Quite all right, for the moment."

"Where is she?"

There was no immediate callous reply. Something in those maroon pits twinkled with merry delight. "Mmm...rather bold of you," the Master mused, twiddling and pivoting to circle her. "A Slayer forced to her last whim. Bested before she knew what hit her. My, my...what would your mother say?"

Buffy's face hardened with renewed tenacity. "Where is my sister?"

"As I said," Geryon remarked, for the first time allowing aggravation to collide with the confidence of his tone. "Alive, for the time being. And most tasty, at that. I must admit, the extremes to which she was preserved...I had never anticipated the Slayer's sister could be so wholly untouched by any of demon kind. She was not without her flaws, of course. I could smell others on her. But, for one who faces so much exposure...not to mention those nightly escapades through the cemeteries alone...it is a great wonder she has not tasted as much death as say...oh, you have."

A hard retort coiled her tongue, but it was a voice behind that sounded first. "Y'old git!" she heard William cry. "Nibblet's made of more bullets than you'll ever muster! Little girl can be frightenin', can't she? Downright scary when she puts her-"


"Sp...Will!" Buffy snapped. She didn't know why, but such bantering could not possibly conclude well. "Please!"

Geryon rumbled in mirth. "And it always seemed you two got along so well."

The Slayer turned her eyes upward once more, growing dark with fury. Worn muscles surged with rekindled intent. "Go to hell."

"Well, I suppose, Ms. Summers, that is the material intention."

At that, the Slayer's brows perked, cynicism soaring through her aching muscles, feeding her worn nerves. The implications were not difficult to read. "Oh, how stunningly original," she spat. "Sucking the world into Hell. Is it really Wednesday? These things just creep up on you unexpectedly. Hate to tell you, but that threat just loses more of its edge every time I hear it."

If Geryon was intimidated in the slightest, he did nothing to let it show. Another patronizing chuckle rippled through the air. "Such confidence," he drawled with counterfeit admiration. "Look what the façade of invincibility does to one's esteem. Don't be so closed-minded, Ms. Summers. I would never presume to do something so undeniably tedious and predictable."

"Well, then you've pretty much failed in that department." Buffy stretched her arms, testing her restraints with dying futility. "Do you have any conceivable idea how many apocalypses I've stopped? If you want a chance to end the world, I'd suggest you just kill me now."

From behind, she heard William growl and attempt to spring forward. "Buffy!"

The Master clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "You're still not listening. It's better not to underestimate me. My intention, you see, has nothing to do with the end of the world."

"Or really?" Her wrists pressed against her bindings, and she heard a bolt pop and bounce away. The telling flicker of the Master's eyes betrayed the same recognition, but he in no way appeared alarmed - rather, encouraged. "Enchant me."

"Well, look at the proposition logically," Geryon retorted calmly. "What is the end, after all, but the beginning? Or the beginning but the end? If you consider things within the bounds of reasonability, you will find they are quite one in the same. What you see as an apocalypse, I see as a most promising new start. There are no delusions of drawing your earthly world into Hell, my dear."

"Oh?" Any cunning retort lodged ineffectually in her throat, her focuses shamelessly directed at her bindings.

"There is the most remarkable difference between sucking the world into Hell and unleashing Hell on earth."

Buffy froze as did her meager escape efforts, and she glanced upward with cautious resolve. "What?"

Geryon released a coo of pleasure. "Ah. There it is. That first flash of fear. That shudder of reproach. Yessss...but, by all means...do not allow me to shatter your misplaced integrity."

The Slayer exhaled slowly. "What do you mean...Hell on earth?"

"You really are most naïve," the Master snickered. "Why would I want to put an end to a world such as this? So much vulnerability to dwell on. Feed on. Destroy humankind? Ridiculous! People, you see, have a thousand convenient uses, and I have an eternity to experiment every one of them. I would never presume to do something so foolish as to cheat myself of such a glorious opportunity. After all, beginnings are so much advanced, and quite underrated. Yes...I believe this will be...the dawning of a most glorious era."

"I won't let you." The struggles against her bindings resumed, more pronounced - fevered and encouraged. "You should know in your old age that cuffing a slayer will do little to stop her."

"As your experience should have indicated not to take any threat for granted." The Master drew a tight smile. "You are not without flaws, Ms. Summers. Nor are you invincible, as you would have your friends who follow you so blindly believe. No, I'm afraid...you are most ordinary." At that, he emitted another rumble and emerged fully from the shadows. Buffy didn't flinch as she beheld his face. Her line of work had presented more than its fair share of horrible sights. This was no different. "A rather plain, unremarkable girl who has little more than luck in her favor. Oh yes, you're well reputed. If not for the insidious assistance of those around you, you would have been long gone years ago."

Behind her, William snarled and flexed against his bindings. "Leave 'er alone, you bloody ponce! I'll rip your soddin' head off!"

Geryon's lips curled in an ugly sneer. "You see what I mean, do you not? So influential, even my own kind turns his back on his true calling. You've rendered William the Bloody to nothing more than a personal lap dog, waiting infernally at your beck and call. But your friends aren't here, are they? And your precious sister-"

Buffy growled and attempted to lunge forward.

"-being held here. Right here. Used to snack on between meals. Taunted for our amusement when we're bored. The perfect, however overused ploy to lure you right where I wanted you." The Master stepped within her reach, commanding her gaze with the same thrall his predecessor had possessed. A cold sensation washed over her; rage beyond imagination soaring through every artery, fueling her with strength beyond strength. She would not be used in this manner. Nor would her sister.

The reaction seemed to please Geryon and he cackled again, eyes gleaming maliciously. "That's it," he encouraged. "Give in to your anger. Your fury. It empowers you. Charges you with life. It alone can bring me down." He took her chin in his aged fingers, jerking her head upward. William roared pointlessly in effect, but neither was paying attention to him anymore.

Buffy felt she was falling through oblivion.

"Such youth," the Master mused. "And power. But you, my sweet, you are still most...average. Painted with great velocity in bright colors, made to think you're worth something in this great big world. But you're not. All these hardships, all your suffering compact in a thousand sacrifices for people who don't even know you exist. People who would never flinch if they heard your name. Chosen like all before her to die. Useless and alone." Geryon smiled and stood, releasing his hold on her as though repulsed. "And yet your title alone...the Slayer...is enough to make any decent demon shrivel in fear. No matter how easy we prove it is, fundamentally, to tear you down." With that, he smirked and glanced behind her. "Wouldn't you agree, William?"

"Fuck you, y'old sod."

The Master smiled softly. "Charming. Thought you might see things differently, given your history. What a shame." With deathly stillness, he again turned to the Slayer and rumbled in mirth. "Now then. I bid you, Ms. Summers...rise. I will not end you while you are squabbling on your knees." He motioned to something behind. "Unshackle her. Arm her." His sneer turned ugly. "You shall not accuse me of cowardice, girl. Rise and fight."

Before she knew what was happening, the binds that secured her wrists behind her clamored noisily to the ground. Freedom surged her veins with new conviction, and Buffy rose to her feet, taking the proffered staff that materialized to her left. Her eyes never left her captor's.

"You've made a very big mistake," she growled. "You kidnapped your sister, abducted me and my friend, drugged me up, insulted me from every angle - pretty much pissed me off - then freed me and gave me a nice long stake to play with." She grinned and lifted her staff in emphasis. "Not smart, pal. You'll regret not having killed me when you had the opportunity."

"I won't disappoint you."

The Slayer arched a brow and snickered. "You won't get the chance."

Geryon's sneer hardened. "Your over-confidence is your weakness." His eyes twinkled. "As is your mislaid faith in your friends. Let not yourself be overwhelmed with the promise of total success. Your self-assurance is your enemy, Slayer. It comes in the guise of ally, but will turn against you in the end, and serve as my agent."

"Then I'd say you have nothing to bitch about," Buffy snapped, ignoring the foray of protests tearing at William's vocals. "If you have so much going in your direction, then do it. Come on. After all, you are the big bad vampire. The Master. Do your goddamned worst."

"My worst?" The Master arched his swordsman arm and directed the pointed end at her throat. "But you, sweet Slayer, deserve much more. However, as your being in itself lacks poetry, your end should appropriately be void of justice."

The first blow was blunt and without definitive warning. Short and demonstrative. Buffy leapt back, eyes narrowed and accusing. She maneuvered her staff eloquently-a combination of cunning and craft. Many years had passed since her last sword fight, and though this lacked proper definition, it was close enough to merit.

An incursion of low swings and miniscule deflections - every attack a work of art in itself. The wood of the colliding spears rang a soundless splinter through dead air, and while noise surrounded her, Buffy heard none of it. There was only her and her objective. The menace wielding the opposing staff. His mocking retorts stung her where she would not flinch, and she forced her thoughts elsewhere. This was the bastard that had Dawn. The bastard that had corrupted her dreams and threatened her where she felt safe - as safe as one could feel on the Hellmouth. Without him, William would never have returned, and her world would not be upside down.

Even in the middle of her showdown, she could not help but think of other consequences.

Geryon advanced with a series of blows - his movements quick and masterful. Certain poise held above mortal thought: the influence of centuries of practice assisting every attack. A jab to his middle blocked easily, supported with a round turn as he kicked her bothersome being to the ground. The mocking humor he so willfully expressed had vanished from his features, but carried over in every turn of his body. He was limber - more so than his appearance would lead one to believe. She didn't remember his predecessor being so lithe, or having as much to say.

So much fuel her with. She had been scathed. Time and time again. That didn't matter to a creature of his reputed callousness.

The Slayer grunted as she rolled away from the spear's objective. She bounded again to her feet, forcing Geryon backward with a sortie of elaborate strikes, putting her upper body strength to full power, asserting herself with immeasurable durability. She saw the opposing staff coming for her, swiping ferociously at her abdomen. Instinctively, Buffy dropped to the ground and swung her spear for his legs to knock him over. The Master sprang into the air - seemingly weightless - and pounded to the ground behind her. She rolled away before he could nail her to the floor.

A wave of fresh dizziness reeled over her, and Buffy lost her footing. The Master seized the opportunity and hurdled forward, catching her by the legs and sending her to the ground. William's cry of warning pierced through the silence and the Slayer's eyes went wide, forcing herself to roll to safety and regroup her resilience.

Geryon growled and circled, the first bits of aggravation bleeding through an impenetrable façade. They stared each other down for what seemed like hours, neither wavering in fortitude. The Master again stalked forward, approaching with another series of assaults, all of which she deflected without challenge, moving backward just as slowly. Buffy twirled and caught his chin with her ankle, twisting to snatch his weapon between her legs, but he pivoted and sent her again to the ground. She hated being on the defensive - and he was clever enough to anticipate what was coming. There was no tact or motive. It was left to pure instinct.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy pressed her spear forward in a diagonal form, hoping futilely to catch him off guard. Geryon again brought his own to repel, a horizontal line. He pressed upon her relentlessly, using such force she nearly toppled backward. A topple she could recover from, a topple was not the end of the world. However, what happened was hardly a topple, nor as easy to recover from. The Slayer's heart stopped as she heard her spear crack and snap in two. In her surprise, both halves fell to the ground, and she stood before him defenseless.

The next few seconds occurred so quickly that she had no account of what had happened until it was over. Another fresh wave of dizziness commanded her focus, and Buffy tumbled in an unimposing attempt to maintain balance. Wearily, she wavered, and in her stupor, Geryon seized control. A quick flash and his arm held her hostage against his chest. Barely an instant passed before his fangs found her throat.

Buffy was well schooled in the propensity of vampiric bites. Ten years earlier had given her the first touch. A brief sensation, as though her taste was displeasing to the Master's sensory. Two years later to save Angel's life. A conquest for Dracula - sampled but not drained. This was a new feeling altogether. Geryon was not modest in his demands, nor articulate. The previously manifest appearance of any form of eloquence dissolved, and the monstrous nature of his true form emerged at last. There was nothing beyond the pain. From a far distance, she heard William's roars of outrage. Heard him cry with sorrow, sorry that she could not go to him. Sorry...sorry...

Then there was another voice. Nearer. Buffy forced her eyes open with lasting ounces of strength and saw her sister. How long Dawn had been in the room, she did not know. All she understood was she was there now. Tears were streaking down her cheeks, and her mouth was in full motion, vocalizing strangled cries of protest.

It all seemed so surreal.

At last, the Master withdrew his fangs, taking a prolonged lick of reddened lips, supporting her from falling as he drew his wrist into sight. A long sliver of blackened blood revealed under a flab of peeled back skin, and he held it to her mouth in offering.

"Save yourself, Slayer," he murmured. It was the only thing she heard - her other senses failing her. Failing...failing... "Drink up like a good girl. Just a taste, and all your earthly woes will cease to exist."

"BUFFY!" She forced her eyes widened and saw William again, struggling against his bonds, restrained by the helping hands of mindless subordinates. "BUFFY! NO! Don't do it!"

As if she would. The Slayer shook her head in cold rejection, turning her head away. "No...I won't."

"Not even to save your lover?"

She shook her head.

"Your sister?"

"No!" She wasn't sure whose voice that was and decided it didn't matter. "If I drink, I'd turn into..." Her consciousness battled with an oncoming sense of fatigue. "I...become...I'd hurt..." With one ounce of lasting resolve, Buffy looked to her sister and smiled. "I'll never do...anything to...hurt...her..."

"So instead you'll leave her to die here, instead of giving her a running chance?" Geryon pressed his wrist against her mouth, nodding to the cronies to begin Dawn's release. "Do it, Slayer. Drink your troubles away."

"BUFFY! DON'T!" That was her sister, strangled tears muffling her voice. "I will so stake your ass if you dare touch it! DON'T BUFFY, PLEASE!"

The Slayer looked up with new conviction coloring her eyes. Her vision was beginning to fade. And with lasting penance, her eyes met William's gaze and held. She knew what she had to do. Not for him - it was never about him. Sisterly love went beyond anything material. Devotion.

But he would help her. He always did.

"BUFFY!" Dawn was sobbing, crashing to her knees as tears poured relentlessly down her cheeks. "You've already died once for me. DON'T YOU DARE DO IT AGAIN!"

Buffy gasped and drew her hand to feel the scar forming at her neck. Her touch encountered dampness, and she saw for herself the blood staining her fingertips. That was it. Her eyes fogged and matched with William's. She saw nothing beyond him. And as her lips parted, a single utterance spilled forth. A single word, and nothing more.

"Red." She said it with such distance that he thought briefly she referred to the color tinting her skin. But Buffy looked ahead, and he saw the clarity behind her gaze. Saw and comprehended. His Slayer to the end.

Their eyes remained locked with mutual understanding - his reflecting a course sense of grieved loss. Futilely, he shook his head, desperate to reverse her intentions. The tears streaking down his face had silenced his voice. There was simply no more left to say.

"Red," she murmured again. And she was tumbling, tumbling, her lips pressed to the open skin of Geryon's wrist, drawing blackened blood into her mouth.

Distantly, twin voices shouted in opposition, warring and finally tearing away. A cackle and she fell - dying a third time. Feeling life evacuate her body, slowly but surely. A senseless parade from which she would never recover. Death was once her gift; now it was her purgatory. Her eternal punishment for numerous wrongdoings, for restless nights she could have spent elsewhere. For empty pride she wore like a brace. A crutch.

It was left in the hands of Red.

The last thing she heard as she clamored to the floor was the Master's mocking refrain. "Goodnight, sweet Slayer. May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

Her eyes closed and all went black.

Chapter Twenty-Four

A maze through tunnels led from dead end to dead end. They weren't being pursued, he knew, but fighting to the outside was the prime focus, lest Geryon decide it was best to finish them off himself.

Against his chest rested the lifeless Slayer. No pulse coursed her veins; no life flushed her paling face. She was a dead weight in his arms. Gone, gone now. Robbed of her ever-deserved normality. Doomed if he was not fast enough - if he could not make it out in time.

Dawn was on his heels, tears sticking to her cheeks. She had not stopped crying since that fatal bite. Livid and discolored, muttering furious words under her breath. He wanted to stop and comfort her, but time was against him. They had to get out. For now, all other matters subsided in importance. There was nothing beyond escape.

"Why did he let us go?" she sobbed. It was the first thing she'd said since fleeing the main chamber. "He killed her. We shouldn't have been any problem."

"'E wants 'er to do it," William murmured, feeling short of nonexistent breath. He tasted he salt of his own sorrow. "Wants to get all the hurt 'e can manage with one blow. It'd be worse if it came from 'er. You see?"

Dawn sniffed. "I hate her."

"What?"

"She never stops. Ever. She can't...she turned herself into something she hates because she never stops."

William frowned. "She did it to save you, Bit."

"Yeah, well, it was stupid." Dawn's sobs showed no signs of relenting. "I would never wish that on her! Let the bastard kill me. For Christ's sake, she should let me make the sacrifice once in a while. It doesn't matter anymore, Spike! The slayer has an expiration date...right...but I'm not even human. Not really. Let me die instead!"

"You don't wanna die, sweets."

"But it's okay if she does?"

The vampire sighed. "Part of the fun of bein' a slayer...don't really get a say." The words struck his ears and fell unconvincingly. His eyes refused to linger on the being resting deathly still in his arms.

You really don't know what you've done, do you?

"Spike?"

"Yeh, pet?"

"Do you know where we are?"

He pursed his lips and frowned. "Got a hunch. Master needed a place no one'd think to look. I'm guessin' with all the debris, we might be in what's left of the Initiative."

"The Initiative?" Dawn echoed. "Didn't the government-"

William snickered. "Yeh. The government. Real reliable chaps. Can't rightly say, though. Master might've spent years makin' this place homey again." With reluctance, he looked to the precious bundle he was carrying, and a lump immediately formed in his throat. "Oh God," he gasped. "This is all my fault, Bit. I wasn't quick enough. I could have stopped it."

"How?"

"I dunno. But there's no way this was supposed t'appen." The vampire paused at last, taking Buffy's face into his hand with gentle affection. "There 'ad to 'ave been something I missed. She wasn't due to die, pet. She wasn't supposed to leave me."

Dawn blinked, drawing her hand across her eyes, wiping away stray tears. "You?" she demanded. "What about us? Me? It's all right for you to leave her...but when-"

William's eyes fell again, watering without suggestion. "You're right. O'course. Sorry. She wasn't supposed to die an' leave you, then. Or her precious Scoobies."

"She's done it twice before."

"Not like this," he replied softly, dangerously. "There's no comin' back from this, Bit. Not really. She can't've known what she's done. What she's condemned 'erself to. An ageless sleep. Wanderin' through self-constructed purgatory. Watchin' her friends and loved ones die as she goes on. Denyin' herself sunlight. Oh, my sweet." William's voice grew heavy with more tears, tracing a finger across Buffy's lifeless face. It was obvious he no longer spoke to Dawn. "Even if Red can fix this, even if she does, you'll have changed everythin' forever. Don't you see what you did? Don't you feel it?"

The young Summers girl began crying once more, turning away and continuing without direction. "We need to get her to Willow, don't we?"

The query drew William from his trance, and immediately, he snapped back to attention. Emotional outbursts faded to responsibility. It was hard trying to be the adult when all he wanted to do was mourn. "Yeah, luv, we do. Before she wakes up. We 'ave until tonight, I think. The sun'll rise 'ere shortly. 'F we don't get outta 'ere before then, you're gonna 'ave to run off. Get out as quick as you can."

"What if-"

"'F we can't manage that, I think I'll be able to hold 'er." That was a lie. A slayer mixed with vampiric strength and a soulless outlook on life was not a being he felt up to facing. Especially one carrying her face. "What she says or does, 'f it comes down to that...you know 's not 'er, right?"

"Right." Dawn knew, of course, but there was still doubt in her voice. "Just like you're not Spike."

Another pause. "Right."

A cold silence fell over them.

"Would you stake her if you had to?"

William drew in a deep, painful breath, as though the oxygen he needlessly inhaled poisoned his dead lungs. "I'd do everythin' in my power to make that the last resort, Bit. But 'f it came down to it...tha's what she'd want me to do. You know that, right?"

With a heavy sigh, Dawn looked down, eyes welling with more tears. "Yeah," she acknowledged hoarsely. "That's what Buffy would want. Even if we could help her? Make her better?"

"'F she's comin' at you, an' it's you or 'er...the Slayer would kill me then 'erself for hurtin' you." He paused, shaking his head free, as though attempting to cast away accumulating burden. "She did it to save you, pet. Because she loves you so much. Nothin' else could 'ave ever made her drink that blood. Not me, Red, Ripper, Harris, or even bloody Peaches. An' if we don' fix her before she wakes up, it'll be my fault. She's countin' on me, ducks. To get 'er to Red before she turns into something darker than the darkest evil imaginable."

"And we have until tonight?"

"'F slayer risin's like any other, then yeah."

Hours progressed with little advancement. They didn't trade more conversation, didn't speak lest it was a grumble of hunger or a suggestion of which corridor to take. William was entirely focused on their escape. He could carry Buffy for miles, and often felt that he had, but her weight never bothered him. When it grew almost deathly quiet, he would hear Dawn sobbing softly, expressing her grief for none other to share. This had hit her with more gusto than she could have ever anticipated. Despite numerous indications to blatantly scream the contrary, she never fully grasped what she meant to her sister. What Buffy was willing to sacrifice. There was nothing the Slayer hated more than the thought of turning into the creature she was born to kill, but when Dawn was on the line, the decision was made with no second-guessing. Perhaps in a haste, but the Slayer wouldn't be able to live with herself if she knew she hadn't done everything in her power to ensure her sister's safety.

William understood, though. Buffy's open affection was not easily obtained. After Angel's departure seven years earlier, the persona of doting ardor vacated her humor, rendering her hurt and dry. True, time enough had passed, and true, Buffy's love for his grand-sire was not what it once was, but she had never fully recovered. While her relationship with Dawn was typical inside the realm of sibling rivalry, her love for the girl was so pure that she gave everything to protect her. If her life weren't enough for such reassurance, certainly the willful embrace of an unlife served as all the clarification anyone would require.

He knew when it was afternoon, felt time slipping beyond his grasp with each passing second. And yet they couldn't be far. He had carried her forever and back and would again - however long it took.

Jus' stay with me, luv, he bade her. After all this, don' leave me now.

When they hit sunlight, it came as an abrupt surprise. Down a dark corridor one minute and hissing in blind shock the next. William leapt instinctively, reflecting his horror when Buffy's skin started to sizzle. The sight was so foreign on her - so new - he nearly forgot to pull her away in the midst of his astonishment. As he panted needlessly in the safety of shadows, ignoring the frenzied cries of Dawn's panic, he was overwhelmed with a fresh sensation of sorrow. "So unnecessary," he choked, barely aware he was speaking. "But I can see why you did it, luv. Because you're you, an' that's the sort of thing you do. Tha's why I love you so much."

Why were things always easier to say when you knew the person you were speaking to couldn't hear a word?

"Spike?"

William blinked slowly and looked up. "Bit?"

"We're out."

Indeed they were. He squinted through the endless acres of sunlit ground, protectively drawing Buffy closer in his embrace. The fading duster hugging her shoulders did well to hide what he could not. There was no way he could hope to perform one of his traveling tricks with this precious cargo weighing his responsibility.

"Nibblet," William murmured. "Get yourself outta 'ere...now. Go to Ripper an' Red an' tell 'em what happened. I'll be along when the sun sets. Tell 'em to get everythin' ready."

"No...I'll get Willow to come here. She-"

"You do that an' I'll never forgive you. None of your lot's to come near this place, understand? 'S too dangerous, and the Slayer would agree with me. 'Sides..." He drew in another needless breath. "Red needs to rework the spell. Make sure everythin' honky dory. She had it all revved for me, should I need it. She 'as until tonight to redo it again."

"What if Buffy wakes up before then?"

"I'll deal with it. 'S better that you're away 'f it 'appens...better chances of gettin' 'er back without 'avin' to worry 'bout you."

Dawn bit her lip, trembling. "You'll be all right?"

"'Course, pet. I can hold your sis."

She released a breath and met his eyes skeptically. There was such wisdom behind them, such understanding. A world full of growing up residing in one gaze. The look alone voiced everything he feared. "Slayer plus vamp strength?"

"Don' you worry 'bout me. Go on now. Get outta 'ere."

Honestly, William didn't expect Dawn to listen to a word he said. It was her sister in his arms, her sister that had once again given her life in ode to the continued welfare of another, her sister that would potentially awake darker than any creature the Scoobies had before encountered. With guised astonishment, he watched as she nodded in concession and cleared away, melting into the daylight where she belonged. Slow steps at first - then hurried. Accelerated until she was running hard - running, running, and out of sight.

He sighed and looked again to the unresponsive Buffy in his arms, caressing her cold face with curled knuckles. The heat he so enjoyed from her skin would never be regained. That energy. That spunk. That life.

"You hold on, now, luv," he whispered, settling against the wall, safely cosseted in the shadows. "I won' let you down."

He hoped he never got the chance.

There had never been a longer day. Under normal circumstances, William would have been intensely satisfied simply resting with the Slayer, feeling her against his chest, combing his fingers through her hair as he mapped out the already memorized contours of her face. He didn't like looking at her now. Didn't like seeing a face of death. It reminded him drearily of Drusilla - not in manner but in implication. Drusilla, Harmony, and every other woman of his kind that he had been with.

He dared not think of what could become of this, of everyone if he didn't get to Red in time. His mind traced the look of anticipated disappointment from Ripper. That notion that screamed 'I knew you'd bugger this up someday.' Though he knew logically stringing himself to the blame of this awful circumstance was unneeded and would likely be forgiven, a burden rested with him yet. Their last conversation reflected as much. Buffy had spoken out of hurt and concern, but she was right. However helpful his presence was in no way compared to the amount of strain it placed on her. Their continuous game had engaged her focus, even when he tried to break it off. A part of him so desperately wanted to give in to temptation that he hadn't been forceful enough in the insistence that they could never have what either wanted - and that much truly was at his blame.

And the last thing he said to her? Denouncing her love and refusing to admit his own? That his demon had left it to be his duty? As though loving her was some chore he grudgingly attended to instead of the pure agonized bliss that coursed through his system every time she displayed the barest smidgen of affection? She had seen through it, of course, but that didn't make things right. William wouldn't be able to go on if that was Buffy's last memory of him. Of them together.

Night eventually came, as it always does. The instant the sun began to droop, the vampire scooped his ladylove into his arms and rose steadily to his feet. Expected shivers of lingering daylight shot warning flares down his spine. It was nothing he was not accustomed to. When the last elements of danger melted into an evening sky, he bolted - running harder than he had in his long unlife, wondering why it felt someone had tied an anvil to his foot. Forever and a day passed before he saw the familiar sign announcing his arrival on Revello Drive. William sprinted for the Summers' doorway, leaning Buffy against his shoulder as he retracted an arm to pound against the frame.

The answer was almost instantaneous. Willow stood on the other side of the door, eyes wide as she motioned him inward. Behind her stood the rest of the Scoobies, watching with the same somber, fearful expressions. He didn't venture to look at Giles or Angel - didn't want to consider what he might find behind disapproving eyes. However, the minute he attempted to step inward, an invisible barrier pushed him back.

Surprise overwhelmed him, a loud, "BLOODY HELL!" escaping his unsuspecting lips. His first notion was - naturally - that in response to his failure, the lock had once again been placed on the house. The thought lasted only a second before his motor functions commanded him to catch the Slayer before she tumbled out of his grasp. Time was growing short if so many of the rules were already starting to apply. Gasping, he limped back to the doorway, ignoring the looks of grief-stricken horror that rebounded in response.

"NIBBLET!"

Dawn fought her way through the crowd, not looking to have advanced from the state she had left him in. Her eyes were swollen from crying, rimmed in red and shot with strained fatigue. It was obvious sleep was a luxury she had lacked for the past couple of days. The look she delivered was one of confusion, steady, and comprehension finally emerged.

"Come in!" she demanded hurriedly, and no sooner did he sprint forward.

A moment of awkward reflection commenced in instinctual consequence. The vampire dropped his head in shame before hazarding a glance in Ripper's direction. He looked worse than William had ever seen him. Disheveled and grief-stricken, rendered to a point where words were ineffectual to convey anything. He gazed sadly at Buffy for a long, helpless minute before meeting his companion's gaze.

"We..." So much fogged emotion behind his tone. He sounded liable to break at any minute. "We tried, Will. We tried so hard to find you. Willow attempted a locater spell that was inconclusive...Angel even called his associates back in Los Angeles. Wesley was on his way as of four hours ago...we haven't been able to reach him since..."

The Watcher trailed off, steadily stepping forward. Tears welled in his eyes and he ran a fatherly hand over his Slayer's forehead, quivering with emotion. "We weren't fast enough. Or thorough. I could have sworn we tore this town apart trying to find you. It...never occurred to me...the Initiative..."

"Didn't occur to the best of us," William replied unsteadily. Any minute, he expected a foray of accusing cries and glares, but blame placing seemed to be last on anyone's agenda.

Something squirmed in his arms, and his eyes went wide with alarm.

"Red, let's go! Kitchen!" Without waiting, he made a dash in the indicated direction. Another jitter coursed through her body, quivering against his as a moan squeezed through dead lips. William swiped the contents of the kitchen table away and placed her delicately atop the wooden surface. This was it.

"Nibblet," he commanded, not knowing if she was in the room, not paying attention. His eyes were focused solely on Buffy. "Go upstairs."

A voice of indignation rose from the back. "I-"

"Do as he says, Dawn," Angel said softly, moving out of Willow's way. No one looked to her as she left - hurt and belittled. There were more important matters.

"I don't know if this is going to work," the Witch said gently, tone sad but business-like. She handed Xander - who had yet to say anything and looked perhaps the worst of everyone - a cross and some holy water. The ever-dreaded 'just-in-case' material. "I mean...I didn't even get to try it out."

Another moan coursed through the air, and Buffy's hand moved.

"'S time to find out, Red," William urged hurriedly. "Get on with it!"

Everything was in readiness, and eyes were trading glances between the collected visage of Willow and the steadily arising vampire on the table. No one present had ever seen her perform the curse before, and while other magic had indeed been done - in the worst of ways - it was still an area of measurable curiosity.

William took Buffy's hand and held.

"Giles," the Witch indicated softly. He nodded and released a quivering breath, never having looked so defeated.

"Quod perditum est, invenietur."

Willow nodded once more to herself and began. "Not dead...nor not of the living. Spirits of the interregnum, I call. Gods, bind her. Cast her heart from the evil realm." The waves of dizziness projected struck their course as they had during the first incantation. Soon the flash would take her entirely. "Return. I call on..." And here it came. The next beat passed and the Witch was whisked away - down a sphere of powerful magic, magic she had touched before. Potions she had devised and spells she had tried with little success. Magic she had mastered so long ago. Magic she could control. And it consumed her - not in the sense of destruction; instead, she embraced a feeling of normality. It was as though she was coming home. "Te implor, Doamne, nu ignora aceasta rugaminte. Nici mort, nici al fiintei... Lasa orbita sa fie vasul care-i va transporta, sufletul la elle."

Buffy's body began to tremble. Initially soft tremors that grew in number and power. Then she was shaking from head to toe, thrashing on the table. Her grip clamped on William's hand, shuddering cries coursing through her form.

Giles looked to Angel with blind panic. "Did this happen to you?!" he demanded.

"No!" The alarm behind his voice had caused him to go up an octave, but no one seemed to notice. "It wasn't there, and then it was. I-"

They were drown out by a booming call from the back of Willow's throat. Her body shook with affect. "Asa sa fie! Asa sa fie! Acum! Acum!"

A spark filled the Orb of Thesula, flashed in brilliance, then faded. The Witch relaxed with a breath of much-needed air. Buffy abruptly ceased her outbreak of mini-seizures, her body lurching once more as a gasp clawed its way out of her throat. Then she slumped and relaxed once more, just as lifeless as she had been.

William bit his lip, hand still entwined with hers. No one else seemed willing to move, willing to breathe until they knew she was...and yet there was nothing. The moans had stopped; the twitching had ended. She lay there like a corpse - one never to rise again. Dead in every sense of the word.

At last, Xander spoke. His voice was rough with unshed tears. "Is she...I mean...that didn't...she's all right, isn't she?"

No one dared suggest an answer. William took a step forward, reaching to brush hair out of her face. No movement. He moved to sit beside her, cradling her with his presence. No movement. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her cold skin. No movement. Nothing.

Then she moaned. Once.

And again.

And again. Her hand suddenly stiffened, squeezing his in empty reassurance. A silent breath held over the room as they watched her. There had never been longer seconds. William was sure his heart had started beating again for fear of what he might see when she opened those glorious eyes. Never had a thought brought to him such fear.

Please, he pleaded silently. Please let me see her when she wakes. Please be there, luv. Please let me have done this one thing right by you.

A flash and Buffy gasped loudly, her eyes flying open.

Chapter Twenty-Five

It felt odd to hold breath when you knew such lengths were unnecessary. William released a long huff of air, body relaxing into a state of relieved palpability. There were not words enough to describe how he felt. There weren't languages enough to put any of it in context. She met his eyes and held. Distant at first, blinking as though only awakening from a deep sleep. William stifled a cry and reached to caress her face, eyes welling with tears. It was awful, watching wave after wave of recollection sear into comprehension. Long minutes passed before she emitted a shrill laugh, long and piercing. He didn't think to know why. Didn't want to. All he knew was he was looking at Buffy, and she was looking back.

Buffy was looking back.

William felt himself burst into what had to be the most ridiculously happy smile anyone had ever witnessed. "Buffy!" he gasped, coming forward as she sprang off the table, melting into each other's embrace. Unneeded breaths heaved against his neck, as though willing her lungs to revive and work again. She was fighting either to force tears down her cheeks or trap them inside, and succeeding little down either path. How long he held her, he did not know. Only that it seemed forever and a second in the same instance. He could have held her, comforted her, all night.

"It worked, then?" she gasped, voice muffled. "Sweet Jesus, it had to work. Is she all right? Where's Dawn? Did he hurt Dawn?"

"No, luv," he replied, barely audible for the sentiment ruling his voice. She held him so tightly he thought he might pass out, even if it was impossible. "You know what you did, right? Oh God, you know what you willed yourself-"

"I saved her. Tell me I-"

"Buffy?" The young Summers girl stood to the side, having crept down the stairs in rebellion to verbal instruction. Her eyes were rimmed with tears. Without awaiting confirmation, she looked sharply to William, lip trembling. "That's her, right?"

"DAWN!" The Slayer tried to sit up, but two strong grips held her down. Angel met the bleached blond's inquiring gaze wordlessly. They understood she needed time to orient herself.

Buffy, however, did not.

"What's your problem?" she growled. "Let go of me!"

"You need a minute, kitten," William explained softly, tone layered with infinite patience. "Don' move too much."

"Don't tell me-"

"Buffy!" Dawn broke and ran for her, throwing her arms around her and releasing the long mournful sobs she had pent up inside. "God, why? You should have let him kill me. WHY DIDN'T YOU LET HIM KILL ME?! Look what you've done...look what you've..."

"For you, sweetheart." Lovingly, she brushed her sister's hair out of her eyes. "If I have to live forever just so you can live until tomorrow, I'll do it. There's no use in crying now. What's done is done."

Fruitlessly, Dawn shook her head, unable to cease her tears. "No...you've...Spike, tell her what she's done!"

A flicker ran through the room. William wasn't the only one to notice she demanded reason from him instead of Angel. With a small, sad smile, he ran his hand through the Slayer's hair, touched her cold skin that matched his own, and shivered still in affect. Girl knows what she's talkin' about, he mused despondently, but pet, I understand. Blood always comes first. "The Master pulled dirty pool, Sweetness," he murmured. "Threatened Big Sis with what she loves the most if she didn't become what she hates. If there 'adn't been a curse...if we didn't...but I would've done it too, Bit. You're worth it all."

Xander had finally broken, releasing the tears he fought so valiantly to conceal. "Buff," he said hoarsely. She turned to him blankly, the life drained from her face. William related to his anguish: the sight was enough to drive any man to tears. For a minute, Harris struggled - battling instincts to simply melt in sorrow. Perseverance won, and he managed to keep hold of his grief. His tone feigned a frontage of normality. "How's it going?"

Buffy smiled, though there was no feeling behind it. "I've been better, Xan."

William looked to the Watcher and his inward fortitude collapsed. Only a few minutes had passed, but his façade had weakened further still. The windless strains of worry and heartache. Unadulterated sadness swept behind his eyes, suggesting pain beyond pain. To see his Slayer so dead, and yet acting as though she lived.

Giles had watched Buffy die three times now. It was slowly eating him away.

"How do you feel?" That was Willow, shy and timid, not know what to say. If there was anything to say.

At that, his own words came back to haunt him. Bein' killed made me feel alive for the very first time.

There was nothing to suggest life behind those eyes.

"Strange," she replied softly, hand reaching for William's once more. He clamped and held; thumb caressing her skin with comfortless support. "Like I'm bursting with energy but drained at the same time."

A thought crossed his mind - one he hesitated to voice. However, it was of material importance, and the sooner the suggestion was made, the sooner she would become accustomed to the notion. "Buffy," William whispered softly. "Luv, we need to get you fed. Soon."

A glance from Angel conveyed relief. Obviously, neither had wanted to be the first to make such a proposal, even with the rationality behind it.

"You mean blood, don't you?"

"Yeh." It was hard to explain - never, in his experience, had a vampire been born with a soul. Without that original bloodlust. Without the hate that drove the inner demon to do those ghastly things that merited a good staking. To Buffy, dying was simply a matter of rest and wake up. She had done her part. Transitioning herself from the norm into a life of sheltered darkness would not be an effortless expedition. The meaning of her calling was put to rest. "'S really not all that bad, pet. Sounds grizzly, but you get the knack of it. You're made to eat it, now. 'S in your nature."

"This was never her nature," Angel growled needlessly. "This was forced upon her, not chosen. How dare you call it her nature?"

Buffy's mouth formed a line and, still holding William's hand, she helped herself off the table and took her first steps as a newborn vampire. Carefully, he watched her face. Watched the liveliness of sensory sweep over her features. The additive feelings that inevitably claimed each freshly risen demon. Enhanced sight and smell, taste and touch. She flexed her hand experimentally, watching the contours of her skin wrinkle and fade, paling already by indisputable nature. He imagined the potency pouring through her muscles. Without requiring a demonstration, he reckoned she was the strongest to rise from the ground. Others sharpened their skills with age. Everything she needed to know was there at her fingertips. She had lived this, and now she died just the same. Her own form of damnation. An eternity spent in the body of a slayer.

Angel was still reprimanding him, but William had long stopped paying attention. When she again became attuned to the noise around her, Buffy tightened her grip in an unspoken request for support, and flexed herself with a roar until her demon emerged.

That shut everyone up.

It was not a sight that Giles, Xander, and Willow had not seen before. Tales of past adventures were related in the empty hours overseas, most fondly. William remembered a particular afternoon he spent enjoying blood-flavored coffee and a cigarette, listening to Ripper narrate tale after tale. Buffy had spent a day locked in a vampire's body, trapped with their features, unable to flex her own back into place. However, that had been ten years ago. People, like memories - even good ones - change with influence. No one had expected to see her like that again.

"Angel," she said. It was difficult to hear that sweet voice come from such a creature - something shaped with dark beauty and fatal attraction. He shuddered to think how his demon counterpart would react to the sight. "Look at me. What do you see?"

He didn't reply. His eyes were cast downward.

"What do you see?" the Slayer demanded once more.

With loyalty, he obliged and glanced up, pain flooding his gaze. "You," he said softly. "I see Buffy Summers."

"You see a vampire," she clarified. "You've seen enough, made enough, in your existence to know one when you see one. What am I, Angel? Tell me!"

"You're the Slayer."

"Obviously not!" A shrill had reached her voice. "If I was before, I sure as hell am not now." Disgusted, she turned to William and her face softened. "Sp-Will. What do you see?"

Any answer at this point seemed to be a bad one. He had a premonition that directed him to the solution she was searching for, and yet cowardice prevented him from voicing it. Shaking his head, he looked down. No sooner did her hand coax his chin up again, forcing his gaze to hers.

"What do you see?" Buffy asked again.

He looked into her eyes, those neon eyes and paused. There he saw power, fire, potential, love and fury. A rage that had finally taken shape. Earthly life stolen from earthly body - the same as it had been stolen from him. A wilting rose, dying in the midst of cold winter. Braving ice-turned winds as the storm grows ever nearer. Integrity and absolution. The acceptance of penance and return for the flame. She wanted it, he saw. Wanted it all.

William rumbled a growl and allowed his own demon to emerge.

"I see you," he replied raucously. "My dark beauty, I see you."

"Then this," she decided, "this must be my nature. If you can still see me under all of it. A part..." Her voice trailed off dejectedly. Words were strong but they meant nothing. That fortitude she relied so desperately on was beginning to slip, no matter how she attempted to mask her diffidence.

Xander's eyes about popped out of his head. "No. No, Buff. This wasn't supposed to happen. You can't think that."

"Then why did it?" The peroxide vampire took a step back, features melting once more to human form. It was a tone he knew well - that exasperated end-of-the-rope rant. Reality was slowly showing its ugly face. "If everything that's supposed to happen does...why did this happen to me? Why did I let it happen to me?"

"You chose," Giles said softly. They were the first words to come from his mouth since doing his part in the restoration incantation. Everyone was drawn to him immediately. "You faced what you've always feared...what you've always dreaded becoming. You knew what hardships you were to challenge. What your decision would entail. Becoming the very essence of everything you were raised to spurn. Born and trained to slay. You went against your calling and embraced the thing you loathe with open arms, because of your sister. You were called to serve and protect, and you did just that. That was your nature, Buffy. Dawn came first for you, like she should." He sighed heavily. "I just wish there had been some alternative. Any alternative. If only I'd been there-"

"There was nothing you could've done," she said firmly. "Any of you. You would've been killed or used against me, like Dawn and Spike were." Buffy let out a sigh, her face relaxing at last. "I'm so glad you weren't there. The things he said-"

"Weren't true," William affirmed. "Not one sodding syllable, luv. If you believe nothin' else, believe that. You oughta know by now that these demony types like to mess with your 'ead. It gives 'em kicks." A sigh coursed through his system and he looked down. "I shoulda fought harder. Known more. If I'd looked closer, if I'd read between the bloody lines, I coulda-"

"There wasn't anything you could've done, Will," Giles murmured. "You worked harder than any one of us. You saw more than anyone here can attest. Lord, I wouldn't have even known about Geryon's coming were it not for you. All the signs, all the research we did..."

"It wasn't enough, Ripper. Everythin' I did...I jus' wasn't ready for that. An' all the warnings in the world were right there under our noses. 'Made a gibbet of my own lintel.'" Mournfully, William's eyes met hers again. "Made your own bloody home to be your bloody gallows. An' now what for? What good did-"

"I could not have gotten through this without you," Buffy said honestly. The straightforwardness in her tone surprised him. Blunt and true - sincere. "Not just because of what...you told us things we wouldn't have known. But I couldn't have. Dawn would be dead, I would be...I don't know. What if he had used that same threat on me and there was no Willow to perform the curse? Huh? Or the curse wasn't here, being researched? I would've done it...let him kill me to save her. Even if I knew he would just go after her in the end...I'd have to let her have the chance to run away."

She looked down, and he knew she was putting on a courageous frontage. Screams echoed behind her eyes at the world she had lost. The world she would never again touch. He wondered what sort of thoughts crossed her mind. If she realized that that morning had carried the last live sunrise she would ever bear witness to. That simply being in her home as she had it was hazardous. That if she walked into her bedroom, she would be overwhelmed with the wealth of crosses and holy water she stored there. She would finally understand the burn of blessed possessions. Of sunlight and the taste of garlic. How she would feel when she looked in the mirror and saw the wall behind her and nothing more. How she was, at the time, locked out of all of her friend's houses for the unseen barrier that kept creatures such as herself bound to the outside.

A vampire, true vampire, doesn't care about such things. It's a part of the hunt. As a souled vampire, William was accustomed to abiding the rules. He had spent over a century growing accustomed to the dos and don'ts of the world he occupied. Getting his soul back was an eye-opener, a sweltering mark that burned him to the core. He could not imagine the unlife if he had awoken with a conscience. If he knew he was different in every aspect of his being save the clockwork upstairs. That period of transition was lost.

"This isn't going to be easy, pet," William whispered softly.

"Whatever is?" Buffy sighed needlessly. That was a habit that would take a while to break. Breathing when it was no longer essential. Sitting and hearing no heartbeat, feeling no pulse race through veins but knowing, nevertheless, that the blood was there. "But I'll make it. I'll make it."

He had no doubt. He just wondered if she truly understood at what price her immortality was purchased.

It seemed rather doubtful.

Things grew quiet.

The evening bore long, spreading its wings to cover all hours. It seemed the sky would never gray, but the telltale sign of morning would eventually tickle through the clouds and kiss the earth beneath it. The night guaranteed to be a sleepless one. Too many revelations seared through dead air, unresolved and discomfiting.

Buffy spent a good part of the evening in her own company, reflecting everything that had occurred. She sat on the back porch, watching the night pass above her like so many others. The light of day was a luxury she would never again indulge. There was no pounding against her chest, no fight to breathe coating her lungs. She knew she could still cry. Could still laugh. Could still give and receive pleasure. Could still live without the living.

She did not want this to be her prison.

The dark notion that she would one day become a vampire was one she had abandoned sometime after sending Angel to Hell. It wasn't that she stopped caring or fearing the possibility; rather, she understood if it was meant to happen, there wasn't a thing she could do about it. She could fight until the end and back, refuse to become a part of the sacrifice. A trophy for her sire to gloat about. She saw that whatever inhabited her body would not be her, and that wherever she was; she was not accountable for her doings.

Buffy saw that through Angel. Death no longer frightened her, but she didn't crave it. And at the same time, Spike told her that every slayer has a death wish, and he was right. Wherever he was now, he was right.

Wherever he was. Somehow, she couldn't help but feel if Spike were here - Spike and not William - he could put this into some annoyingly simplistic explanation that would both amuse and aggravate her weary nerves. That was one of the qualities she had secretly loved about him: regardless, he told it like it was when such was asked of him. He never painted the truth to spare others feelings. He was there as a constant reminder that no matter how bad things got, they could always get worse.

Not one night had passed since she learned of his soul that Buffy admitted she truly missed the demon in place of the man. Tonight, looking at the heavens, she uttered her confession, hoping he would not hear. And yet it didn't seem to matter anymore. She knew she loved him, whoever he was, but William had been right to turn her down when she was at her neediest. It was Spike she wanted. That element of danger. That snarky sneer. That dumbfound look on his face when she did anything to suggest affection. That complacently sweet smile he delivered whenever they engaged in actual conversation. The way he held her when she grieved, the way he forgave when she was at her worst, the way he helped when she was at her best. Everything.

And yet that hadn't been enough for her. Buffy would never have made the sacrifice she did for Dawn for anyone else, and she believed he understood that. Whether or not her sister did was a different matter.

The back door opened behind her and she heard someone step out. Heightened senses identified the visitor as Giles, and it unnerved her that she could know such intrigues so quickly. It almost felt like cheating. Taking the surprise away from everything.

All a part of vampirehood.

With a sigh, he sat beside her and folded his hands, looking wearily at the sky. Neither said a word for long minutes; merely sat there enjoying each other's company, watching nightly clouds roll by without a care.

When Buffy decided to speak, there was no preamble to her statement. They were far beyond that. "I can't do this forever," she whispered.

Nothing for a long minute.

"I know," Giles replied. "I didn't expect you to. I don't expect you to. You've served yourself, Buffy. Yourself and the world. More than once."

"I get it. But it's not as easy as that, is it? How can I walk away, truly walk away?" She sighed. "There'll always be something. Something that calls me back. Something I feel compelled to fight. Something I'll only trust myself with. Always. And it will never end, Giles. Every day. Forever. Over and over, I'll be sent to deal with the baddies. If I'm not sent, I'll go because it's in my blood. My calling. And I can't do that forever."

"Of course not." The Watcher shared her sigh and removed his glasses. They still had not looked at each other. "There are other slayers now, Buffy. More than just Faith. You have died three times, and another will be called. Perhaps sent here once the Council discovers your transformation. I don't know. The point is it's no longer your responsibility. Not if you don't want it to be. It never has to be your responsibility again. You've done everything a slayer can do - you surpassed every expectation I ever had. Every hope."

The Slayer shook her head, the first tears brimming her eyes. "You must be so disappointed in this," she murmured. "To see what I've become."

"Oh no. The way...what happened...that was unfair. And the Master knew it. He knew what he was doing to you, and what your answer would be. Buffy, that was not your fault." There was a brief silence. "I would never blame you for what happened."

"The thing is..." Her voice trailed off as she choked to hold back emotion. "I don't know if I can ever stop. Ever stop being me. No matter what I say...or do...there will always be something that I need to..."

"I understand-"

"No, you don't!" Emphatically, she jumped to her feet, drawing an arm across her eyes. "You really, really don't. You had a choice, Giles. You...you have a choice. The fact is you watchers are...if you didn't want to do it, I mean really didn't want to...you had the choice of getting out. I don't. I can't get fired. I can't just quit. I can't be let off the hook - ever! Even if there are a thousand slayers populating the planet, I'll feel...I'm trapped. Don't you get that? There will always be something I could do. Something I'm better at than someone else. Something I can stop when no one else can. This is it..." When she looked up, she expected to see cold resolution and instead received nothing but sympathetic understanding. He didn't speak - merely listened. "When I made my decision to save Dawn...when I went against everything I have sacrificed myself to save. When I accepted his proposition, I knew. I knew it was condemning me to an eternity as a slayer. That I was drowning in a well and I'd never get out."

The Watcher sighed, still polishing his glasses in the hem of his shirt. "Then you did the truly heroic thing, Buffy," he said softly. "You learned complete selflessness. Complete and utter sacrifice of oneself for the welfare of another. Beyond laying down your life for her...you laid down your opportunity of finally gaining silence in the face of a world that has screamed so much at you. You did what your true nature commanded."

"What?" It was barely a whisper.

Giles smiled sadly, finally placing his glasses again on the ridge of his nose. "You were human. What you did...it was not as a slayer, it was as a sister. Despite how long you live now...should it be forever or until next week, I do not believe that you will ever come to regret the decision you made. Not where Dawn is concerned. Anyone with any inkling of feeling would have done the same were they in your position. In a heartbeat."

Buffy held his eyes for their truth, feeling a wave of calm sweep over her tortured soul. A breath vacated her body - still and unnecessary, but likewise strangely needed. With a nod, her gaze lowered to the ground, a shudder coursing through her body. The air contained a bizarre scent; one she had never experienced before but similarly identified without requiring any outside assistance. "Sunrise," she whispered. "It's away, yet, but it's coming."

"Yes."

"What happens now?"

"I don't know." Giles sighed once more and heaved himself to his feet. "This...changes everything. I don't have any suggestion beyond what happens tomorrow. Geryon must be stopped...this, plan of his...whatever it entails. Dawn told me what she could, but...she was in too much a state of shock to..."

Her gaze remained pointed downward and she nodded. "We can try again tomorrow. Maybe she knows something...I can stop it. Whatever it is. That hellhound's going to pay for doing this to me."

The Watcher offered a poignant smile. "In that, I have no doubt."

"And then? After that?" Buffy hazarded an upward glance. "What will you and William do? Just...go back to London?"

"I don't know. It's all subjective now." A moment's pause. "You want answers I can't give. I don't know what will happen tomorrow, or the next day. Or the next twenty years. You have some issues that merit resolving. In the end, it will be your decision. What you think ought to happen. If you could stay here and watch your friends and family...Dawn...grow old and die without you. If you could resist your calling while still living on the Hellmouth. I cannot decide for you, Buffy. It's up to you, and you alone."

She pursed her lips and looked away, sniffling as her eyes again threatened to release their spring. "Then I don't know what I'll do. How can I stand here and watch...and it's not just them. It's everyone. Everything here. Spike and Angel saw the world change and thought nothing of it. I can't do that. And I can't lose Dawn. I can't lose you, either. You can't leave me. Not ever. You can go away, sure. Go live in London. Then we're only separated by wires and an ocean. But you're still there if I need you. You can't leave me, Giles. I can't be a grown-up when all I want to do is crawl up and die like a good, normal person should. I can't be...punished to live here forever. I can't!"

The compassion she saw behind his eyes, the hurt and the suffering she caused him, nearly tore her apart. It was the third time he had watched her die, the third time he mourned her loss. And it was not getting any better. Something told her it never would.

"If you could go back now," he said softly, "and undo your sentencing...would you?"

The answer was simple and immediate. They both knew it before the question was voiced, even thought up. There was no denying logicality. "No."

He smiled. "Then there is nothing left to discuss. Nothing left to grieve. You made your decision. You saved Dawn's life. Things will look better."

"Do you promise?"

"I can't, on that." Giles turned to walk back inside, his body heaving in silent screams of heartache and fatigue. With his back turned to her, he paused, turning his head in her direction but not pivoting to face her. "Every time I lose you, I lose a part of myself. Just the same, you are not my daughter, but you feel like one to me. I love you like you were my own, and even wish it at times. What you have been taught...what you have become through your lessons and training...is more than a slayer, Buffy. I watched you grow up." At that, he turned fully, catching her eyes. There was nothing but full sincerity behind that warm blaze of gray. "I watched you transform from girl to woman. I watched your judgment sharpen. I've seen you at your best and at your worst. That being said...it takes a great deal of courage and devotion to give up something you love for someone you love. To embrace something that you...despise with such ardent fervor. I'm proud, Buffy. You did more than give up your life for what you believe in...you gave up your rest." He looked down, backing toward the door in miniscule steps. "And I understand why."

The Slayer sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. "Good," she whispered. "Maybe one day you can explain it to me. I know I did the right thing, Giles. I know it. But...it's..."

"Hard, yes." The Watcher nodded. "And it will be for some time."

Buffy remained outside long after Giles retired. Night encompassed her with a willing embrace, cocooning in a protective sense. She had always been a child of the darkness. Someone told her once that she belonged in the shadows, that she, herself, was a creature of the night. That same person was undoubtedly watching her, concerned but respectful of her privacy. That same person who wasn't the same person at all.

Her treacherous stomach rumbled, demanding compensation. The craving for fresh blood was something she had never wanted to experience, and while the thought repulsed her, there was no doubt that was what her body begged for. She remembered the coppery taste of Dracula's essence - how she had hated it so. While a new liking was rooted in her nature, there was no getting around the initial repugnance.

The back door creaked open and silent footsteps slithered up behind her. Her frighteningly sharp vampiric senses alerted her to the scent of warm blood. Before she knew what was happening, William had taken purchase next to her, offering a mug full of rich sustenance.

"Drink," he said without looking at her, sighing and running a hand through platinum strands. "No use puttin' it off, Slayer. Drink now an' get used to it. Won't 'ave you gettin' all sickly on my watch."

A streak of irritation coincided with the gratitude that shuddered up her spine. It was reflex alone that persuaded the rim to touch her lips. Reflex seemingly already born into her system. As soon as the blood sweetened her taste buds, Buffy felt a course of firm desire sweep through her, and she hungrily drained the cup clean. Nothing had ever tasted as delicious. The power. The fire. New strength attacked every worn nerve, enhancing, prompting her with will she had never considered. Power beyond power. Power beyond anything she had touched before. The quintessence of life itself in such a small package. It wasn't until she caught herself licking the sides that she pulled back in disgust.

Silence engulfed the space that breath should reside.

"I can't believe I just did that," she whispered.

William still hadn't looked to her. "I only stayed to make sure you would," he replied softly, though making no move to excuse himself. "That oughta hold you till mornin'. I think Red said she'd go to the butcher and get us all fed."

Her eyes glazed over with tears, and resolutely, Buffy set the cup aside. "I don't know if I can do this, Spike."

"You can. You will. It just takes some gettin' used to." A long beat passed. "It'll be hard, luv. Don' think you've estimated jus' how hard it'll be. Bloody nasty business. I shoulda stopped 'im. Don' know how, but I shoulda stopped 'im."

"You did all you could," Buffy retorted, eyes focused on her clasped hands. "I know what you would have done, if he had offered. There's not a doubt in my mind. But he didn't offer. This is what I had to do. And now..." Wearily, the tears came again; she was too tired to stop them. With forlorn fatigue, she leaned her head against his shoulder, reassured when he pulled her in for a supportive, however chaste embrace. "I'll need help, Sp...William."

"I know. I'm 'ere."

"Yeah, but for how long? You and Giles are-"

"We're right 'ere, luv. Right now. Tha's all that matters. Don' worry 'bout what's gonna happen when this ruddy mess 's all over. Let's jus' get it over first, all right? Then we'll worry about tomorrow."

Buffy shook her head. "I feel so lost."

"We're all lost." Subconsciously, William reached to caress her back. She could tell the motion wasn't planned; it was something second nature, born to him out of instinct. Something Spike would have done. The man left in his place was one to always ask before touching if he could help it. In whatever context, the contact was welcome. Needed. "All of us, luv. Hell, I've never been more lost. An' comin' back 'ere's not helped at all in that department."

"I'm glad you did," the Slayer replied, hugging her knees as she involuntarily licked her lips, drawing remnants of blood into her mouth. "Had you not...I don't want to think about what might've happened...to Willow, to Dawn...to any of us."

He shrugged sheepishly, beset by a new feeling of discomfort. "A fella does what he can," he retorted, gaze turning downward. The comforting pressure against her back alleviated once he realized where his hand was, and he drew away as though scorched. "Listen, pet...I don' know what's gonna happen. Everythin' so far's been played by ear. An' now 's all different. But I know why you did it. I woulda done the same for 'er...you know that. In a bloody heartbeat, so to speak." William's body quaked with a sigh, and she hazarded a glance at him. "I never wanted you to know this," he whispered. "Know what 's like to be a creature of darkness. To grasp the feelin'. 'E did, sure. I know 'e did. Nothin' woulda made 'im happier than to 'ave you forever. An' tha's all it'd be to him, luv. 'Avin' you there with 'im as long as..."

Her eyes fogged over again, a few stray drops of sorrow skating reluctantly down her cheeks. "No," Buffy refuted, shaking her head once more, pulling completely out of his grasp. "You're wrong. I was never some...replacement Drusilla to him. That would've made things easier."

"You can't know that. I was there, too. I remember everythin' 'e was feelin'."

"Then you know you're wrong." An uncomfortable silence followed. The air was cold, she knew. A draft had set through the town unwittingly. Odd, as it was so close to summer. Odder to not feel the chill. To not feel the need to search for a sweater. The night seemed to stretch forever. "You were there when he asked for you to be freed." Buffy reached for his chin and forced his eyes to hers. "I've been there. I've seen it. I can't keep having this argument with you, Will. A very real part of you is still him. I know it. Just as a very real part of Angel will always be Angelus. You can't help it; neither of you." For what seemed like forever, their gazes remained locked. Compassionate and pleading. When at last she looked away, the hold broke: shattering anticlimactically. "But that doesn't matter anymore. It took getting killed to understand what you've been saying all along. And now it...everything I was worried about earlier...seems so trite and...stupid. I was so concerned with...I could have stopped this had I paid attention to Dawn. Had I listened to you when you asked me to leave you alone. Had I done any of the things I was supposed to. So really...I have no one to blame but myself. And everything I...it just doesn't mean anything to me anymore."

"Things'll be better, luv. They-"

"God! I wish everyone would stop trying to tell me that. Sure. Whatever. Things will get better. All right?" Aggravation burning her deadened veins, Buffy rolled her eyes and jumped to her feet again. "But right now I'm so...lost! Spike, God help me, I'm just lost! I'm dead - again - and now I'm here...I'm something I hate! I hate it all! And I know I wouldn't do any different if I could...how can I be me if I'm the thing I was born to kill? Who the fuck am I anymore?" Tears came on their own accord now. She couldn't stop them if she wanted to. "I'm supposed to protect the world. Not-"

"No one could carry that weight as long as you 'ave an' not make the choices you did," William growled, clamoring to his feet. "It can't be about the world all the time, luv. You 'ave a family to look after. Kid sis an' all. She's worth a thousand of those no-accounts that run around out there, muckin' up their lives an' others while never botherin' to look the other direction. Dawn's everythin' to you. She's everythin' to me, too."

"But what now? Huh, Spike? WHAT NOW?" Buffy drew her arm across her face, wiping angry tears away. "I CAN'T DO THIS! Not with you, not without you. I need help and you're running away. I need independence but I can't stand on my own. Giles was right. He was right about everything. Everything he left town for. I never grew up. I tried, and I tried...and I saw the bad things I had done. I stopped hating you and myself. I stopped hating the world for still being here. I stopped doing a lot of things. But I never stopped making it all about me. Even when I knew it wasn't. I can't take care of myself."

"Bollocks."

Buffy raised her eyes and glared at him. "Don't."

"Well, it's the sodding truth, Slayer. An' you know it. Don' go 'bout lookin' for reassurance. You already know what I think." William took a step forward. "An', despite all my attempts to hide it, how I feel. Can't take care of yourself? Pish posh. Tha's a load of bull an' you know it."

Vehemently, she shook her head, turning away. "No, I don't. I really don't. Everything I thought...everything I ever...it's all gone now. And I'm lost. More so than ever. I need help."

The words were replaying themselves. Spoken time and time again, but needed just the same. "I'm here." Another step forward.

"So you said. But again, Spike, for how long? I can't live on absolutes or maybes. I need to know."

William lowered his gaze reprehensibly. "I'll stay as long as you need me, luv." The words were a shocking reflection of something Angel once told her. Her reply burned vividly in her memory, but remained unvoiced. "But no longer."

"Why not? Because I need a normal life?" Buffy shrugged expressively. "Yeah, as if my chances of that amounted to anything the first thousand times I heard it, it really means nothing now. I can't be alone. And I won't be...I know. I have Xander, Will, and Dawn here. Always here." She shook her head to war off further tears. "But not always. They'll all leave me someday. They'll be gone, and I won't. And Giles...he'll be gone, too. I need help, Spike. I need someone who will be there for me forever."

At that, the platinum vampire looked up, eyes full of pain and surprise. The first was not his. No, he had stopped aching for himself the night before. What he carried now was her burden. Her hurt. Her inward torment. It pained her to witness. "I will," he whispered, voice barely audible. "I will be 'ere for you to turn to, pet. Always. So'll Peaches. We'll...we'll work somethin' out."

That was hardly within the realm of encouragement. Buffy felt her insides flood with coldness, her eyes watering again. "Yeah, sure," she whispered. "We always do, don't we? Figure something out? Pardon me if I don't find that the least bit comforting."

"It's all I can do for now," William replied softly. "'S not much, I know. But 's better than nothing."

Shudders claimed her again, and she saw the same run through his body. Comprehension and beyond claimed his gaze. Without saying another word, he turned and headed for the porch, grasping her arm to take her with him. "Come on, luv." She complied needlessly, though her heart wasn't in it. "The sun'll be up quicker than you know it. I know you can smell it comin', even if it is a ways off. You should rest."

"Rest," she repeated. "To face tomorrow? And the next day? And the day after?"

"What else is there to do? Bein' dead's no excuse not to live."

Her brows arched poignantly, the first smile of the evening finally tickling her lips. "Are you aware of what you just said?"

William couldn't help it. He flashed a grin of concede, grip tightening on her arm as he reached with his freehand to shut the door. "Totally serious, pet. I've had time enough to reflect on everythin' nasty tha's happened. What it comes down to is knowin' that, in the end, there's nothin' you can do to make everyone an' yourself happy. You did all you could. There's no goin' back, no sense in waitin' up all...mornin' tryin' to sort things out. I'll help you as much as I can, an' you know it. But firs' you gotta help yourself. The worst isn't over. Not yet."

Her body trembled with a sigh. "You know just what to say to make a girl all jittery."

"'S true, an' you know it. What you didn't do before, you 'ave the chance to do now. Everythin'...I'll tell yeh, though...that Master bloke...'e has another thing comin'." When she looked up, a wicked smile had coated William's face. "Brasses off the Slayer an' all her Slayerettes. Not a move I'd fancy makin'. 'Sides, you got new strength to ya. Whatever's comin', we'll stop."

Buffy's smile melted with suggestion, and she shuffled awkwardly, guiding him to the staircase without a word. There she turned, read deeply into his gaze, and sighed. "I'm not the Slayer, Spike. Not anymore. I told Giles...after what I've been through, it's over. All of it. I can't do it forever."

There was no surprise behind his eyes. "I don' think any of us expect you to."

"No. But there's always something."

"Always. An', for the record, you'll always be the Slayer. No matter if you're actively slayin'...'s a part of who you are. To me, to everyone." William's lips curled movingly, and he cupped her cheek with his hand. "No one else deserves it like you, pet."

She scoffed. "No. Just-"

"Don' argue. I'll never stop callin' you Slayer, jus' like you'll never stop callin' me Spike." Buffy's eyes widened in surprise as his face remained perfectly neutral. Calm and understanding. "Not really. Even if you grasp that 'e an' I are not the same, there's enough similarities to make the mistake. Don' think I don' notice it. Now go on. Get to bed. The sun's on 'er merry way as we speak."

There was nothing for a long minute: just a beat of reverberated surprise. Finally, when she found her voice, the Slayer nodded and started up the stairs, hand still grasping his with vigor. It was like trying to move granite. William's eyes widened at her intent, and he began struggling with desperation.

"No, luv," he gasped - caught in a grip of fortitude. "Not like this."

"I don't want anything from you, Will." A note of lasting sincerity lingered in her voice. "Not that it's dangerous...or...whatever this curse dealy entails. I don't want that. I've...I've seen what it can do. I just can't be alone. I'm needy and I'm vulnerable, and I want to be held by the one I love as I go to sleep." Buffy met his gaze, rekindled tears shining through her own. "Please?"

There was no want of refusal. No shape that could manifest anywhere near his presence. When he nodded, she suspected it came as much of a surprise to him as it did to Angel, who stood near the doorway by the foyer and unwittingly captured the entire exchange.

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