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-Six

The first cracks of sunlight struggled against closed shades, by nature engaged in the never-ending struggle with strategically placed manmade barriers. When that proved ineffectual, it spread to the downstairs, lining sleeping faces of unexpected houseguests. Giles felt it first; tickling one foot that had snaked free from the tangle of blankets he had wound himself into on the sofa. Having forfeited her bedroom for the sake of charity, Dawn was curled on the floor beside him, wide-awake. The night had presented her no hope of slumber.

The first indication of sunshine was enough to arouse everyone that remained outside nocturnal origin to battle lingering strains of useless fatigue. One restless night would not be compensated with a lackluster morning. Willow trekked downstairs, stifling a yawn and nodding her greeting to the stirring Watcher as she turned to brew much needed caffeine. A few minutes later brought Xander, returning from the same room, sporting shiny pajamas and unkempt morning hair.

“Morning all,” he said, collapsing tiredly into a rocking chair.

“Hey, Xan,” Dawn greeted unenthusiastically. “How’d you sleep?”

“Sleep? Oh…you mean that thing I didn’t do last night?” He offered a worn smile that lacked feeling and sank into the cushions of the rocker. “You’d think with all Willow and I have been through together that sharing a bed wouldn’t be such a big deal.”

The Witch grinned, entering the room with two cups of coffee. She handed the first to Giles and ignored Xander’s inquiring expression that silently requested a share. “He’s just cranky because I made him sleep on the floor,” she explained, taking her seat alongside the Watcher. “Anya never told me he was a kicker.”

“That’s because I’m not!” Harris looked to Dawn for empathy, but received only an amused smile. “She just made that up so she wouldn’t have to share the covers!”

A mild outburst of laughter surged unnervingly through the air, mingled, and died within seconds. Things grew uncomfortable again.

“It feels bad…making jokes,” Willow said after a minute. “I feel like we should all be…mourning or something.”

“Don’t.” Giles sighed into his coffee, unable to raise his eyes. “Buffy is fine. She’s…she’s with us, and it was by her decision. I can’t say I approve, or that I believe she…but there’s no use in mourning over it. It or…or anything.” After a prolonged breath, he looked to the Witch, face expressionless. “I couldn’t hear a thing last night. Do you know if they slept all right?” There was no hesitance in voicing the undoubted ‘they’ in that equation. Even Xander failed to shuffle uncomfortably. Whatever Buffy and William were to each other now was a matter of her personal business, despite rationality and objections.

“I didn’t hear much. They went to sleep really late, but I guess that’s expected.” Willow pursed her lips in thought. “I’ll admit to having checked in on them before I came down. Just to make sure…you know. Everything looked all right. Sleeping like the dead.” At that, the Witch’s eyes widened into saucers, and she clamped her hand over her mouth in astonishment. “Oh God. Really didn’t mean that. All…they weren’t…ummm…they hadn’t…” Her face reddened. “What I mean—”

Dawn cracked a smile in spite of herself. “I think we all get your meaning.”

“Besides, she wouldn’t,” Xander said. “Not with knowing what happened the last time…I mean, when that curse was tested.”

“We don’t need any reminders,” Giles softly confirmed, eyes growing distant. “Well, I’m glad at least those two could find rest after yesterday’s emotional revelations. I need to speak with Will sometime today. We have some decisions to make, pertaining to his future.”

Willow’s face brightened. “Are you gonna make him stay?”

“And you’d be happy about this why?” Xander retorted.

“Because, brainiac, if he leaves, we got a mopey Buffy on our hands. A mopey Buffy who’s just made the largest sacrifice of her life.” She rolled her eyes at his lack of insight and indulged in a long sip of coffee. “Besides, Spike’s my friend, too. I know that’s…weird. It’s weird enough for me to deal with. The truth of the matter is, he’s not Spike. Not like we knew him. Not anymore. He’s this really great guy who’s had it really rough and is trying to get by with things he’s done that haven’t been his fault. And crazy as it sounds, I want him around.”

“So do I,” Giles said softly. “Believe me, returning to London without my cohort was the least of my concerns upon arriving. You all have been wonderful sports about this. This…transformation. But honestly, you don’t know him—Will—like I do. If things hadn’t taken the road they did last night, there isn’t a doubt in my mind to suggest he wouldn’t get back on the plane with me to go home. Buffy changed that. Not intentionally, but she did. I think…it would be selfish of me to force him back when it is clearly here he is needed the most.”

Willow smiled tightly to herself, struck by a whim of irony. “I never thought that one day we’d be sitting in the family room debating over where Spike was needed. Really needed. Besides an ash tray.”

“Still objectionable,” Xander quipped, quickly assaulted with affronting glares that he compensated for with a smile. “But all this is beside the point. How is Buffy doing? I didn’t really get a chance to talk with her last night. She was so…”

The Watcher nodded understandingly. “I know. She’s…terribly misplaced. There’s no sense in denying it. Anyone would be, after what she was put through. I spoke with her a little last night, and from what I gather, she’s most concerned with her future. Her’s and yours alike.” He sighed. “I truthfully don’t know what to think. Every slayer has…well, Buffy has twice denied plausibility. There is no furthering her death sentence. To…”

“The next step is something we won’t see,” Harris said firmly. “No. Not after this.”

“I agree. Another slayer was called upon her death. There will be four now. Faith, Buffy, and the two following. I just wish…there will be no sanctuary for her. You understand that, right? Everything she had before Willow…” Giles caught himself and swallowed, gaze darting away from her line of vision. “Before she was denied eternal rest. That only comes with another death. A final death.”

“No one considered that,” Dawn murmured.

“There wasn’t enough time for consideration.” The Watcher sighed and removed his glasses, free hand subconsciously patting the girl’s head in unfilled reassurance. “You know your sister. If you’re in anyway implicated, her choices come at a separate expense.”

Xander bit his lip and leaned back. “She’s changed everything forever. She knows that, right?”

“Of course.” The Witch took a deep breath, shaking her head free. “What Giles is saying is, despite what she says or tries to do, Buffy can’t not save the world. She can’t just up and give up her calling. You’ve seen it—she trusts the world with no one but herself, even if she does resent it. It’s a paradox. And now she’s trapped. Possibly forever.”

“It’s senseless worrying about the future when we’re unsure what is going to happen tomorrow,” Giles said, shaking his head free, as though trying to convince himself. “Willow…you should probably head to the butcher shop. I don’t know when to expect them up…William never slept terribly late into the day.”

Xander grinned somberly. “And you know that how…?”

More irritated glares. The Watcher rolled his eyes and stood. “Because every time I arrived at the library, he was up. His flat was just above the…” He stopped and frowned. “Why am I explaining this to you? Why don’t you go with Willow to the butcher? She might need help bringing back such a large order.”

“Large order?” Dawn’s eyes widened. “How much are we getting?”

“Enough to feed three vampires for the rest of the day.” Giles removed his glasses and consigned them to the hem of his shirt. “In the meantime…Dawn, I know we have already discussed this at length…but I need you to go through all the details once more…what the Master told you before…”

At that, the young girl balked, hands going up in ode to her annoyance. “God! Will you just…give me a break? We went over this, and over this, and over this yesterday. I didn’t hear much of anything, okay? He told me, but I wasn’t paying attention. I thought I was dead! I thought—”

“Ummm…we’re gonna…go…” Willow and Xander were already out the door before either could register their departure. It was expected—redundant, in a fashion. The first sign of trouble and all who were not implicated seized the easiest out.

In this instance, neither seemed to notice. Dawn’s eyes were dark, swollen and hurt from a lifetime’s worth of crying spilt in the matter of a day. A thick silence settled between them; the sort that screamed without saying a word. There was no need for words. Not at first. As great as the tension soared, it was nothing in comparison to the shared sense of empathy.

When she did speak again, her eyes were glued to the floor, broken from a penetrating, however understanding gaze. “He was going to kill me, Giles. Don’t you get it? I mean…sure…naïve Dawn. Boohoo. Things like that don’t occur to you when you’re being used as a vampire’s chew toy. I should’ve thought…should’ve listened…should’ve realized it wasn’t me they were after. But hey—everyone makes mistakes. All I knew was that he was…he said I was going to die, and that Buffy wouldn’t be there to rescue me.”

“And all the times that you’ve been told that, you picked then to believe it?” Giles retorted incredulously. When she looked away in aggravated shame, he sighed again and sat down. “It doesn’t get any easier, I understand. But you should know…you should always know…never give up hope unless it is for absolute certain that help is not on the way. Buffy would never let you go without making sure her face was the last thing you saw. What happened…what she did for you should be evidence enough.”

The girl’s eyes welled with tears, muffled sobs contorting her voice as the first quivers consumed her. A new morning’s sorrow. “I know…” she gasped. “God, I know. But I don’t get it. She needs…she can’t do this forever. She can’t keep jumping in and saving me. Someday…she’s just gonna…gonna have to…”

“Let you go?”

“Yes! I know she loves me. I know I’m her only family. I mean, Dad is so unaware.” Angrily, she drew her arm across her face and wiped stray tears away. “She’s died what…three times now? He’s never been in on that. Never known what she’s gone through. What I’ve gone through. He didn’t care enough to try to take care of us when Mom died. If he did, it wouldn’t be because he wanted to. We’re it. Buffy and me. We’re all each other has. And I can’t lose her again! Not after what she put me through.”

Giles sighed again, looking down. “I wouldn’t worry about that now, Dawn,” he replied softly. “After we deal with the Master…Buffy is finished. With slaying, with it all. She ought to have her peace.”

“But you said…you and Willow…” The girl shook her head in disagreement. “And you were right. She can’t stop, ever. Even if she wants to. I know she wants to. But that doesn’t mean there are any less people out there that need help. Buffy just can’t stand aside and watch the world about to end without doing something to stop it. You know that.”

“Of course I know that. She does as well.” He stood and paced steadily to the opposite corner of the room, hands finding purchase at his hips. There was a beat of silent consideration. “As long as she’s on the Hellmouth, she’ll never stop being the Slayer. There will always be an apocalypse to stop. A new evil to defeat. Something to hold her to her calling. She doesn’t deserve that, Dawn. She shouldn’t endure an eternity of this godawful violence after what she has been through.”

“Then what? Are you going to take her away from here? Is that it?” Her face darkened a shade with intense ferocity. “Don’t even think about that, Giles. Don’t…you can’t do that to me!”

The Watcher grumbled in frustration. “I said nothing of the sort. I would never hazard to make decisions for her. But you cannot be selfish in these matters. Don’t you see how hard it would be for her to stay here? To watch her friends and you grow old and die without her? Then again, it would kill her spirit to be away from her family. I have no solution. She can’t stay and she can’t leave. But none of this makes any difference unless we stop Geryon before he has the chance to fulfill his threat. You must go over everything again. Just once more. I need to know what to research.”

At that, Dawn looked down, her nerves calming. Her body was shaking, heaving deep breaths and wracked with sleepless tension. “All right,” she complied quietly. “But just one more time, okay?” She waited until Giles nodded in understanding before continuing. “The Master…he came in…started talking about a gate. At first I was wigged, you know. Thought he would try to use me, being all Key-y and such. He…laughed at me. I didn’t say a word and he knew what I was thinking. I hate that. He called it the Gate of…something that starts with ‘A’. I swear that’s all I know. Nothing about how to close it, how it opens, or what it does. But I’m guessing it has a definite part in this entire ‘hell on earth’ thing.”

“Yes.” The Watcher was no longer there. Every contour of his face was driven with worry. For long moments, they sat in silence. There was nothing left to say. No further interrogation to conduct. A minor lead that inevitably initiated a night surrounded by books.

Dawn sighed at last and stood. “Look…I didn’t sleep much last night. Since Willow’s not using her bed, I’m going to borrow it for a while, ‘kay?”

Giles immediately zoned to the present, blinked at her unthinkingly, and nodded. “Erm…yes, of course. I don’t believe any of us acquired much rest. Go do that. I need to be up to help them when they get back from the butcher.”

“Yeah.” She turned and made the slow, steady retreat. When she stood at the foot of the staircase, she saw the Watcher had made no effort to move. He was staring at the same spot on the wall, face blank and emotionless. Lost in a labyrinth of deep thought and a pounding clock that ticked each second with cruel diction. The sight troubled her. It wasn’t often she saw Giles so unprepared—without theory or suggestion. And while her faith in his abilities never wavered, the slightest lapse rocked the wobbly legs she depended on. Dawn bit her lip and cast her gaze downward, clearing her throat. “It’ll be all right, won’t it?” she asked. “In the end…it’ll all be all right…right?”

He looked up and met her nervous eyes. His own were not much for reassurance. It was a bit late to make speculation on how all right everything in its nature was. And the Watcher would not lie to her. No matter how ugly the truth was, he would never keep it from reaching her ears.

What he did say was perhaps the worst. “I wish I could say.”

Dawn hadn’t felt a shudder that dark in a long time.

The first thing she was aware of was the degree of silence that spread across the room like wildfire. It singularly was unlike anything she had heard before. A still nothingness. No breaths mingled in the air, no telltale rise and fall of the man whose chest so protectively cradled her in an emptily warm embrace. Instinctually, Buffy drew in a deep gulp of air, reveling in the uselessness that soared with it. She thought of all those times she had splurged on ice cream or other fattening goodies, only to berate herself later for putting something into her body that she wanted but would never need. The suggestion that oxygen had reached that pivotal plane was not a happy one. And yet working her lungs required more effort, and for that, she was too drained.

When she finally opened her eyes, Buffy saw they had fallen asleep in the same position he held her in the night before. William’s body cupped hers, the feel of his skin comforting her. She adorned his black tee, his arm draped over her shoulder, and their hands were laced together. What few breaths he subconsciously took tickled her neck, filling the air with much-needed sound before everything once more fell flat and dead.

Dead.

That’s what she was now. Dead. Again, but not so. Deader than dead. The undead. The living dead.

Silence. Silence meant death, when boiled down to a simple conclusion.

Buffy squeezed William’s hand tightly and earned one in minor response. Her companion murmured lazily in his sleep, nuzzled her hair, and stilled once more. Pursing her lips, she settled again, eyes fluttering shut. How she wished to just will the world away. Fall asleep and let this day along with all the rest melt into one magnanimous frame of consistency. The thought of facing the downstairs household was not a pleasant one. There was work to do, prophecies to investigate, a world to save. Again.

That resurrected the promise she made to herself the night before returned with all its aching glory. An empty one at that, but a vow she would lose herself repeatedly to upkeep. This could not continue for an eternity. She would not let it.

Taking a deep breath of comfortless air, Buffy conceded that further rest was improbable. Her mind was much too full to let her lose herself in slumber again. Reluctantly, she untangled herself from William’s arms and edged out of bed. The room looked foreign to recently reborn eyes: filled with things that denoted herself as the Slayer. Half these artifacts she could no longer touch. The crosses in her chest. The vials filled with holy water. The necklace Angel gave her a lifetime ago. Forget the note of fairness in this cursed damnation; the logistics alone would prevent her from fulfilling her calling. How was she supposed to fight the forces of darkness when touching anything more than a stake affected her more than the demons roaming the earth?

She knew the air was cold, but she couldn’t feel it.

Buffy’s eyes watered and she looked down. Whatever she had been fighting for, wasting away for all these years seemed lost. A whirlpool of never-ending mockery. She fought to heave a sigh through tired lungs, wiping frustrated tears away with a sniff. If anything, there was no sense crying over it now. There was an eternity to spend roaming this earth—unless she found herself at the end of one of her own sharply pointed stakes—and such consistent boohooing about her lot in life would do little good. After spending so many years specializing in self-pity, however hidden she kept it, the Slayer would have to force herself to maintain the adulthood the weight of her decision carried.

When she looked up, her eyes caught the mirror and the contemptuous nothingness it threw back at her. That was all it took. Chosen or not, this was not how it was supposed to be. Buffy trembled and her inward fortitude collapsed. She didn’t realize she was sobbing until she paused where she would normally gasp for a timely breath. There was nothing. No reflection of swollen eyes, of the tears skating hotly down her otherwise cold cheeks, no picture to accompany her sorrow.

A sudden tightness around her middle took her by surprise, but only for a minute. William hadn’t made any move as he sat up, said nothing as he cradled her against him, softly, wistfully caressing her neck with feather-light brushes of his lips. She choked out a sigh, reaching to rub the arm that held her. The mirror echoed nothing, of course. Nothing of the tenderness he exhibited, the love he showed with every infinitesimal indication of her returned affection. He was accustomed to that, but she wondered if it was something he ever missed with uniformity.

He was still coating her neck with kisses, comforting and somehow chaste, in his own respect. “It takes some gettin’ used to, pet,” he murmured as he nuzzled her. “Lookin’ without seein’ a bloody thing. I know. Lots takes gettin’ used to.”

Buffy exhaled once and nodded. “And you’re here to help, I know. We don’t have to go through this again. It’ll…just take some time.”

She felt his smile against her throat, and he held her resolutely in a firm, reassuring squeeze. “Tha’s right.”

For a moment she went rigid, and delightful as it was, William’s warm affection served as only a minimal comfort. The feeling that resided in the pit of her stomach had made itself at home. The sensation of complete and utter loss of oneself, and try as she might, it wasn’t something she could release with any measure of ease.

However, with such a sheath of strength behind her, Buffy sighed heavily, closed her eyes, and finally allowed herself to relax. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered, encouraging his fervent attentions to resume. “The…the thought of what could have happened…had one thing gone differently…I—”

“Shhh…” William urged, lips against her skin. “We’ll never ‘ave to know, pet.” When he sighed in turn, his breath fanned her ear with such simplistic normality that it nearly provoked her to tears. A rush of aggravated shame coursed through her body. It would not do to overreact in such a pubescent manner to every reminder of what mortality felt like. If he noticed, he had enough civility not to voice her pain. “An’ even then…I wasn’t fast enough. I—”

“Don’t,” she gasped, eyes flying open. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it was.”

He smiled expressively. “If you say so, luv.”

“I do.” A beat of encompassing silence passed between them. “What time is it?”

William paused and lifted his head, and Buffy seized the opportunity to recline comfortably against his shoulder. His eyes wandered to the window where beats of sunshine still struggled against the safety of closed blinds. The intensity of heavenly rays weren’t as potent as they were in mid-afternoon. “’Bout ‘alf hour till sunset, I’d wager.”

“They’ll be wondering about me.”

“Well, yeah.” Reluctantly, he pulled away, hand instinctively running through ruffled platinum strands. “After what you went through? Luv, they’ll be wonderin’ about you till they’re long gone. You’ve got to know what you mean to the Scoobies. An’ now you’ve made this walloping sacrifice.”

Buffy nodded dismally and moved passed him, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I know. It’s—”

“Going to be hard.” William turned to face her with a gentle smile. “We’ve covered this, pet. Won’ become any more or less true the more you say it.” His shoulders rolled with captured tension. “I’ll bet you’re hungry. Feelin’ a bit peckish myself. Let’s go downstairs. I’m sure Willow’s hit the butcher’s by now.”

She made a face. “Oh joy. More blood.”

“’Ey there.” A mischievous grin crossed his lips. “Might be right degradin’, but I saw you chow down last night. You love it an’ you know it.”

“And knowing this is supposed to lower the disgust factor…how?”

“Jus’ think of it as that sodding diet soda you chug, only with flavor.”

Buffy smirked at him, reaching for her jeans. She understood that venturing into the world below adorned in his t-shirt probably wasn’t the best impression to make after a night like the one she had had before, but at this point, it didn’t seem to matter. Not anymore. Perhaps never again. “You’re a riot,” she jested, throwing the duster over her shoulders. “All right then…let’s get this over with.”

It wasn’t until she reached the door that she realized William wasn’t behind her. Instead, he sat calmly on the bed where she left him, regarding her with a sweet, almost impish smile. A frown flashed across her face, then she understood. “Ummm…I have a shirt or two you can borrow, I guess. They might be a little tight-fitting, but…” That only seemed to heighten his amusement. What he found so entertaining she didn’t know, but it was strangely appreciated. Buffy sighed and conceded, shrugging the duster off and tossing it in his direction. “All right. Fine. But no ideas…that’s my damn coat now.”

She expected the display to heighten his spirits, but instead it worked the reverse. The frisky expression tainting his features fell immediately, as though just informed a favored pet had died. He made no attempt to catch her offering; rather watched it consign itself on the floor. An unexpected shudder coursed through his body, and at last, he stood.

“Take it,” William murmured, kicking the duster wearily in her direction. “I can’t wear that. Jus’ another bloody trophy of mine, right? ’Sides, I told you once…’s a slayer’s coat, an’ tha’s where it belongs. On you.”

Buffy pursed her lips. Not a sound reverberated through the room. Not an inkling of life, or the previously uplifted morale she could have lost herself in had the road had been pursued. But no. There was always a reminder of reality. Of what they had to challenge on the other side of that door, whether it come in the form of a knowing look or a familiar article of clothing. There was always something.

With a weary nod, she leaned forward and took the duster in her arms. William wordlessly navigated to her closet and explored all possibilities. The thought never occurred to her to simply return his shirt to him, just as he never asked for it. He settled with a flannel top she had borrowed from Xander a lifetime ago and never given back.

The sun was down by the time they stepped out to face the world, each accommodated in their own awkward respects. At the top of the stairs, Buffy turned to him abruptly, seizing him in a spontaneous embrace. Her will demanded nothing of him but to be held and reassured. No words were exchanged. There was no need. Simply the comfort of being held and cared for, in view of the world of ache they lived in, was more sentiment than any idiom could convey.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It truly was beginning to feel like old times. The sad dismal face of deeper realization had struck its usual nerve. An instinctively uncomfortable regrouping commenced on the lower floors, achieving little more than further displacement and fatigue. The atmosphere was confined and strangely quiet. No one knew what to say or how. And in the midst of this, there was research. Long live Giles-The Research King. Never a break. Never a want of rest. There was no time for ideality.

As the night wore on, everyone consigned themselves to different parts of the house. The Watcher, the peroxide vampire, and Willow occupied the living area, each buried in a separate book. Xander and Dawn were making supper that no one would eat. Angel sat on the back porch, immersed in his own studies. No words had been exchanged in the course of several hours. There was simply nothing to say.

All felt like a bad dream. Nothing to do but read and wait. Search and hunt. Find and destroy.

Willow glanced up from her studies, eyes heavy with lack of sleep or substantial caffeinated support. "Anything?" she asked Giles, boldly breaking the silence.

A heavy sigh heaved through the room. "Nothing," he reported grimly. "There are several gates mentioned that will open portals to hell dimensions. But no specifics. With what we're going on...Dawn wasn't able to tell us much, other than give us a lead that eliminated twenty-five letters of the alphabet."

"Well, that's helpful, right?" the Witch asked fearfully. "I mean...yay...less research. Gives us at least a little hope to stop this thing..."

"It helps, yes," he conceded, removing his glasses in an orderly, very Giles-like manner. "And no. The way things turned last night...it's difficult to speculate-"

She nodded. "Very. To know anything anymore. I just don't-"

"None of us do." Giles looked up finally and glanced in the general direction of the back porch, eyes glazed as though he could see through the walls that barricaded his view. "Where is she?"

"Where else? Patrolling." Willow shook her head. "I think she wanted to be somewhere normal. She was talking with Angel and..." The other member of that statement was in the room, still reading and pretending not to hear a word of the passing conversation. The two shared a look of courteous acknowledgement. "She left just a few minutes ago."

The Watcher's eyes widened. "Did Angel go with her?"

It was William who answered, head peaking from its hiding place amidst a number of dusty pages. "'E offered. We both did. Jus' a while back. She wanted to be alone."

"And you let her go?" Giles demanded in alarm. "After everything that has happened? Wasn't it you who suggested-"

"'Ey there. 'S not like I din't try, you bloody pillock." The vampire shot him a somewhat affronted look, but there was no burden of accusation weighing behind it. Nerves were clinging by the last strand of decency, and snapping at comrades seemed the only way to vent stress. Unless one, of course, was a recently turned Slayer who got her kicks by fighting the forces of darkness. "Couldn't talk 'er out of it. Believe me...I don' want 'er out there by 'erself. But you know Buffy..."

That was most certain. Once she put her mind to something, the Slayer never backed down until her objective was complete.

"But I figure," he continued, "any vamp that tries to cross 'er now is in for one massive walloping. 'S important to 'er. Couldn't..."

Willow held up a hand to signify mutual, however unspoken understanding. "Right. Probably for the best," she said. "Did she eat anything?"

"Every last drop, an' even some of mine." An ironic smile flickered humorlessly across his features. "She was hungry-no doubt about it. We talked a bit with Peaches, then she jus' up an' left. When I offered to go with 'er, she flatly turned me down. I know the Slayer...'f I 'ad followed, I'd've ended up mightily sore tomorrow."

The comment slipped by with understanding until Xander entered the room, blinked, and double-tracked out. "I really shouldn't come in during the middle of a conversation."

Not one pair of eyes was spared a good rolling. Then things grew quiet once more.

"Is Angel still outside?" Giles asked.

"Yeh," William replied, also glancing in the aforementioned direction. "'E 'asn't said much as of the late." He paused again as though considering, hesitated, then climbed to his feet. "Think I'll go for a smoke break."

Willow glanced upward from her reading and quirked a brow. "Peace offering?"

"Figure might as well, now that she's gone an' we can figure this sodding thing out," the vampire retorted with a shrug. "Get all our bloody differences behind us now. I got a knackering that the three o'us'll get real chummy sooner or later, whether or not we really want to."

That was logical enough. William waited a minute to complete the final paragraph of the page he was reading and flipped the book shut. It wasn't until he made the motion for the door that the Watcher realized the implied conversation with the grand-sire was due to be held right away, and spoke up abruptly. "Wait a minute. We have a matter of some urgency to discuss. Before you and Angel decide anything..." With that, he arched a pointed look to Willow that issued a wordless order to vacate the room.

A hushed silence overtook them for a few uncomfortable seconds once they were alone.

William frowned and conceded a step inward. "Wha' is it?"

Giles cleared his throat. "I know this isn't a topic you look forward to discussing," he acknowledged drearily. "But it merits attention. Given the course of everything that has occurred these past few evenings..." His gaze was trained on clasped hands. "Our objective has changed, Will. I need to know...where you plan to go from here."

The vampire's eyes narrowed. "Whaddya mean?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean. You said it yourself." Giles sighed and rose to his feet. "You have the opportunity to...to have everything you ever wanted, even if your conscience would not allow it. Right now, the ball is in your court. What you have forbidden yourself to consider must now be taken into committee." The Watcher's shoulders heaved with tension, and William felt his already-cold body going numb. He knew what would be said next and silently implored it not so. And yet the words continued, unable, unwilling to stop. "You must decide where it is that you are needed most. Whether or not you will return with me to London as we originally planned...or stay here...with her. To help her through this. Through...whatever it is that she's going through. It's not something of which I can be of any assistance. Despite my knowledge and my studies of the vampiric society, no one is as ample a teacher as one who has been there. I must conclude that, in my belief, it is here you are needed." He hazarded a look at the vampire's face and frowned. "I know you might not agree...but it's...it's what is in her best interest. And as her former Watcher, looking after the girl as though she were my daughter...I have to...consider everything and disregard the respective disposition of others. In the end, though, it will of course be your decision. I just believe here is where it should reside. Here or wherever she is. Wherever you're needed the most."

There was nothing for a long minute, then a pained look flooded William's eyes, and he expelled a small sound of agony. With a furious rumble, he automatically initiated himself into an empowered pace, taking strides that quaked the house with magnanimous force. "Oh no," he said shortly. "Not you, too. Everyone else 'ere an' I can say no, fer all the right reasons. But not if you join the bandwagon. I can't stay, an' you know it. No matter 'ow I wan' to. 'S badness, Ripper. All of it. One way or another. I-"

"What's keeping you, then?" Giles retorted. "Nothing but petty fears and selfishness. You want to stay here, you're needed here...and everything considered..." A long sigh rolled from his throat. "Listen, I don't like the prospect of losing you as a work colleague, but I have to think about what's best for her. Right now, you are it. You've kept her grounded throughout this ghastly ordeal. You're the only one she lets inside anymore. And after this all passes, if we're miraculously able to stop whatever gate the Master intends on opening, she will need you. For guidance, for support...someone to help her as the people she loves grow old and move on. She needs someone who will always be here. I can't give her that. No one else can. Only you, Will. You're it."

Intensity had dropped by degrees in Spike's tenor. A somber look overwhelmed the denial so previously manifest, and his lower lip quivered. "What about Peaches? 'E's 'ere all the time. A drive away an' all. An' I'm willin' to bet he'd be ecstatic to-"

"Two reasons," the Watcher interjected sharply. "We don't want an ecstatic Angel on our hands. That leads down the path of..."

"Wackiness?"

"In a nutshell." Giles shook his head. "Secondly, she doesn't want Angel. Do you have any comprehension on how pivotal that is? Her first love and it's no longer good enough for her. If things were different...if he still held her affection, he could have her now if he wanted. The reasons of his leaving were dismissed enough when she made the decision to sacrifice herself. It's not him anymore. You're the one she loves, Will. You've seen enough to know that by now. And despite what you may say, a sense greater than duty is the drug that lures you here. The idea of leaving at all aches you away day by day. Don't think I can't see it. I know you well enough. You are at home here. This is where you belong."

"Maybe," the vampire replied, voice hoarse. "Apart of this bloody town'll always be with me. I know it. God, how I know it. But London's where I belong, Ripper. In that soddin' library, workin' alongside the likes of you an' all those other wankers. When all 's said an' done, all I wanna do 's go home an' forget any of this ever happened."

Giles arched a skeptic brow. "Forget that she loves you?"

"Forget everythin', mate. 'S too painful, even now. I can't help but feel a bit responsible, even after everythin' the lot of you 'ave told me 'bout bein' all helpful-like." He sighed. "'F I 'aden't been 'ere, she never woulda got so distracted."

"And all of us would have gotten an extreme case of dead." The tone was unmistakable. The old man was calling out the full Ripper now. "Stop meddling with excuses. You know what you've done here. Who you've saved. What you've helped prevent from happening. You know it just as well as I do. It's this insidious self-loathing that you've never been able to rid yourself of. You're the one holding you back, Will. No one else. No...it would be easier if you had more than yourself to fight. But you don't. This is it." A beat passed. "You can't go home, you see? You're already here. Answer yourself honestly...do you really, beyond the guilt and the other that you put yourself through, do you really want to leave her?"

A thick pause settled between them in immediate affect. William cast his eyes downward and twitched uncomfortably. Before any word could be spoken, enough was portrayed through the passing silence. Giles's mouth formed a solemn line of conclusion. With that alone, the need for verbal substantiation dissipated.

"You see, then," the Watcher continued when an answer was not provided, "why you cannot go? Duty calls you back, but love and honor anchor you here. The question, however...the final question is not whether you stay or leave. That is material, in my opinion. I want what is best for her, even at the expense of others." He paused once more. "Do you love her, Will?"

The vampire blinked at him incredulously. "Tha's a bloody stupid thing to ask."

"Precisely. And she loves you. Nothing but guilt keeps you apart now. Guilt that has been pardoned and shared. The past cannot be redone, but the future is at your disposal."

William sighed. "There's more to it than that, you git. An' you know it. Sure, it sounds all honky dory when 's not your unlife you're talkin' about, or her's, for that matter. There might come the day when she doesn' wan' me around, an' what then, eh? What am I to root myself 'ere for? I can love 'er forever. I will love 'er forever. I know I can. I've been there. But for Buffy...forever's a ruddy long time. I don' think she grasps it. You can't romance it up like that."

There was little sign of conviction in his colleague's face. "Like what?"

"Like it's so bloody easy!"

"And it's not?"

"No! 'Aven't you been listenin'? Not after all tha's 'appened. What we put each other through."

"If you're not there for her, then she will be alone." Giles shook his head and heaved a breath. "And a slayer is supposed to be alone, inherently. But she will forfeit that position when this is all over. She will never stop being the Slayer, of course...but her responsibility where the world is concerned is finalized. We can demand no more of her. Expect her to accomplish no greater feat, even though I know, should she try, she would succeed." He sighed once more and rubbed his eyes with fatigue. "But she might not stay here. I think it better that she don't, but I cannot make that decision for her. What would you say to that, Will? Instead of staying, you take her with you. Away from the Hellmouth where all she will do is fight the evil until it ultimately consumes her. It's not her battle anymore. It's not fair to her to make it so. Not after everything."

"I'd say you're a crazy ole sod without a heart," William retorted bitterly. The look he received in reply was coated with astonishment, to say the least. "Wha? Take the Slayer away from her family an' friends? Away from the Bit? From Red an' everyone 'ere who need 'er? That would kill her, mate. You know it."

"Yes. That's why I would let her make the decision. I would never presume to take her away against her will." Giles looked down somberly. "But she cannot stay. Not without subjecting herself to a never-ending cycle."

The vampire nibbled lightly on his lip and nodded in agreement. "Right. I see that."

"So where, then?"

William sighed. "Listen...I don' 'ave the answers right now. There's a lot to think about. I told 'er I'd always be 'ere for 'er. Told 'er that plenty of times last night while we shared our touchy-feelies an' my expert words of wisdom. But we might not see eye-to-eye on what's in 'er best interest, Ripper. When's bein' around me ever done 'er any good? A phone call away 's better than nothin'."

"Have someone you love beside you during times of unspeakable difficulty is the greatest incentive of all."

A growl of frustration clawed at his throat. "You right annoyin' ponce! Stop!"

"Stop what?"

"Tryin' to do this. It won' work." Furiously, William paraded for the door. "I gotta talk with Peaches, all right? We need to figure wha's all out. Right."

Giles waited until his friend was almost out of earshot before he spoke again. "You will think about it, though, won't you?"

The peroxide vampire paused heavily in stride but did not turn, anger evaporating from his voice. "Tha's the problem, Ripper," he replied softly. "I am thinkin' about it. I 'ave been ever since last night. It's so bloody temptin' that my concept of wha's good an' wha's not 's completely hazed over. I love London, 'kay? Love it so much that, painful as it would be, I could've left 'ere without much difficulty 'ad things not gotten as ugly as they did. But what it comes down to is what I think 's best, right? Not what I want, not what you or she wants. I can't let myself think like that."

Apparently, this was at least a part of the answer he was searching for. The Watcher grinned tightly and nodded, even as William could not see his compliance. "But you are considering it."

"O'course." The previous notes of shame lingered nowhere near his tone. It was honest and straightforward-the type of answer Giles demanded of his cohort. "What bloke wouldn't?"

That was enough. Nothing more was shared. As William retreated to trade these musings with his grand-sire, the Watcher exhaled deeply-both weary and pleased-and resumed his research.

Angel would have known Spike was behind him even if he hadn't lit up the second he stepped outdoors. It was second nature, and had been for a century and a half. The certain knowledge of when your family was nearby. When he put his mind to it, the peroxide vampire could be as quiet as a cat, but often he failed to apply any attempt. If he was there, it was because he wanted attention. Recognition. A pat on the back for something he didn't do, and if he did, not at all well.

At least, that was Spike as he had known him. Spike of yesterday. The Spike who stood behind him was, for all intents and purpose, a stranger. A person he did not know. A person capable of so much more than anyone had comprehended. Change. Yes, change. So much change. The demon willingly converted to man. The man inside, breathing, feeling, acting in the way he thought was in the best interest for those around him. Such candor was beyond the grasp of what Spike could recognize.

There was no doubt in Angel's mind that his childe had had absolutely no idea what he was grasping when he made the decision to seek out his soul. Spike, by nature, was a vile, selfish creature that only acted if his behavior would in some way benefit his status in life. No deed portrayed had truly noble cause behind it. Certainly the want of a soul was no different. Points for intent, sure, but had he truly known where it would lead him...that the Slayer's love was only a matter of time from being his. That his souled self would revert to a mini-watcher in many senses...returning to that plane of humanity would have been an impossibility. A soul was more than a conscience; it was a completely defining sense of self. A new will. A new understanding.

At least, that was what he wanted to believe. To credibly grasp that Spike-evil, arrogant, cocky Spike had done something so completely selfless out of human guilt was a concept beyond his experience and perceptibility. They hadn't spent much time together since that first night when the revelations were made. Even then, Angel had been hesitant. Unwilling to believe. Not wanting to believe.

When a creature so entirely filled with iniquity willfully reverted to the light, why was it so that he could not? Soulless Angel was not a drinking buddy. Soulless Angel was not someone, chipped or not, that you could trust your family with. Soulless Angel was one would never let into your home. Soulless Angel knew nothing of real love. There was lust and jealousy and obsession. Oh, there was obsession. But love? The word held no meaning to him. Four letters to occupy unused space, not at all wisely. For all that he had shared with Darla, with Drusilla, there was nothing beyond the physical.

If Soulless-But-Chipped Angel had sometime during the duration of his self-imprisonment discovered a loophole in the manufactured wiring keeping him jailed, he would have seized it. The Slayer would be dead-captured during a moment of unguided trust. He would seize hold of her vulnerability and play it like a harp. Soulless-But-Chipped Spike was a different story. Whatever ties he felt to Buffy had kept him from feeding on her after times of intimacy, and Lord knew he had had plenty of chances.

How did that work? The willful want of redemption? The seeking of something he couldn't possibly desire, and further, the acceptance made with such eager and open arms?

That was of the past, though. There was no use in brooding over it now. Things had changed. Things had drastically changed. He and Buffy now shared a common trait. The thought of her classified as a creature of darkness sent cold shudders to his already frozen heart. She was above it. Above the sentencing of vampirehood. Above everything that made him into who he was. What he was. She claimed to know what she had done, and yet there was no way she could make sense of it. To fully acknowledge what the path she chose would entail.

A puff of smoke drifted beyond his head. Angel heaved a needless sigh and arched his gaze in Spike's direction. "Is she back yet?" He knew the answer, of course. He would know as soon as she entered the house. As soon as she was a block away from the front door. As soon as the thought of returning for the night crossed her mind. The silence demanded fillers, and nothing seemed to fit as well as an inquiry to which he required no reply.

"No," came the retort, knowing the angle he manipulated but letting the unspoken implication pass without comment. "Don' reckon she'll be back for a while, yet. Out there's all normal to 'er. Wanderin' through the ruddy cemetery night after night."

"Home is her prison," Angel murmured. And he was abashed with sudden culpability-the source from nowhere. Not made with suggestion, rather the insinuation of numerous standing shortcomings. It was impossible not to feel a twinge of responsibility for the outcome of this horrible mess. "We should have tried harder. If...if I hadn't stopped to think...I could have had Fred and Gunn here in a matter of hours."

"An' that would've helped?" Spike retorted with poignant cynicism, blowing a ring of smoke into the night air.

"They're good at what they do. Whether or not we could have saved her is another issue, but it would have helped."

The other vampire sighed, head falling to gaze at the face of his boots. "There's a number o' things any one o' us could've done to save 'er. We jus' din't know, tha's all." He took another drag of his cigarette, smoking away the manufactured excuses that convinced him no more than they did Angel. The words filled his lungs with Giles's unhelpful influence.

"Is Watcher Boy still comin'? Thought he'd've been 'ere by now."

"Wes? No. I reached him. Turned around after much convincing." Angel fisted his hands tightly. "There's not a decision I can make right now that would be the correct one. If I bring the others into this, they could get hurt. If I don't, we could lose the world. I don't want to put them in danger, especially with as busy as things have been recently."

"Busy?" Spike repeated, blowing another ream of smoke into the air.

"Like you wouldn't believe. At least before I left...things might have died down now."

"I'd say leave 'em out." The platinum vampire sighed. "Don' think it'd be exactly good fer business if things started goin' all wonky on the home front because of some vamp troubles in a soddin' town not 'alf of California's livin' population's even heard of."

Angel nodded. "I suppose...but the Master is not just-"

"Some vamp, I know. 'E's the one who changed everythin'. Don' think I don' know that." A brief silence passed between them. "Listen mate, I don' wanna chat 'bout this anymore than you do, but Ripper's got me all ancy. I told Buffy last night that you an' I would always be there for 'er." At that, the older vampire finally turned to meet his childe's imploring gaze with tacit understanding. There was no need of anything further than shared comfort. "Fact is," Spike continued, "that we're it. You, me, an' her. From 'ere on out. After the Scoobies are gone an' buried...it'll be us, less we get clumsy an' find ourselves staked."

Angel grinned tightly, but there was no humor behind it. "Two centuries' worth of experience just doesn't earn any weight around here, does it?"

"Well, jus' in case you need the reminder, it was you she killed to save the rotten world."

"I seem to recall being told you were in on that deal."

"So what if I was? Point's still there."

This felt new, and strangely familiar. Jesting, mild as it was. Acting natural around his childe. Sitting next to him and holding a civilized conversation about grown-up material. It was something he would never have granted Spike capable of. And while, true, the vampire at his side wasn't intrinsically Spike, the imitation was good enough to make anyone double take in surprise.

What he said next surprised him-not for the words, rather the burden behind it.

"Ripper wants me to stay."

"Is this a problem?"

Spike narrowed his eyes and tossed him a wry glance. "What do you think?"

"I think it's fairly simple; either you want to stay and do, or you don't..." Angel arched a brow. "You do want to stay, don't you?"

"O'course. But I also wanna go home." A sigh coursed through his body. "More over, I wan' her to be happy. She deserves it, after all this."

Angel glanced downward. "Then leaving likely isn't your best choice," he reported. "It's sickening, the way she loves you. All of you. The demon and the man together. What she feels...I can't presume to know anything. Whatever it is that you have with her...it's different from anything she's had before. Different from what we had-not any more or less powerful, but different. It's the difference she needs, growing up with it. Maturing into the person she is now. What she will need to keep her steady. Yes, she deserves to be happy. After a life of forced servitude to a world that doesn't know you exist? I can't imagine that."

Spike scoffed. "Sure, go 'head. Make it sound all easy. You an' Ripper really oughta tag team on this one, you know? Ruin a bloke's chance of ever doin' what 'e alone thinks is right."

"I didn't say I think you should stay," he replied softly, earning a confused look. "I don't know what you should do. Giles has a point, of course. He always does. But he hasn't taken into account what binds her here. What makes her stay the way she is. To him, she's just Buffy." Angel sighed. "I don't blame him, of course. He never thought this could happen. I don't believe any of us did."

A thin silence settled between them. Knowing and uncomfortable.

"You're talkin' 'bout the curse, aren't you?"

Another deeply taken needless breath. "Yeah. I am. And it's the happiness that scares me. The happiness that makes this entire situation so completely unfair. Understand that she can never be happy. No matter how she deserves it. How she has earned it. The curse is doing what it should-sentencing her to a term she should never have received. An eternity of misery to the woman who warrants more than her share of happiness. This is my sentence, see? I earned it with everything I did. She didn't. She chose immortality over watching her sister die...and I don't know how or why...and it never occurred to her. It's more than just living forever, Spike. More than drinking blood, avoiding sunlight, being burned by crosses and holy water...it's the willful sacrifice of any shot she had to be completely satisfied." He looked down at his laced fingers. The vampire beside him had not uttered a word, moved a centimeter, even blinked for long minutes of pivotal understanding. "I'm not sure what would do it for her," Angel said a minute later. "It could be anything. She has no guilt to plague her. Nothing to focus on to keep her from reaching that point. And if you stayed..."

"Dear Lord," Spike whispered, finding his voice, or lack thereof, clinging to air with a gasp. "I can't...why din't I...why din't Rupert-"

"You didn't because you were focused on keeping her calm. On getting her home. It's not a curse for you, you see. It's a choice. You don't have to worry about those things." Angel shook his head. "And Giles...he didn't because, well...like I said. The most obvious things can overwhelm our better senses.

"I suppose my final answer would have to be, then, I don't know. The last thing I want her to do is grieve. Things would be easier for her if you decided this is where you belonged." He closed his eyes tightly. "Use your judgment, Will." The uninhibited use of his given name lent Spike a moment of honored reflection, but Angel didn't let him dwell. "You've proved you have your share these past few weeks. What do you think is best?"

And time stood still. Forever, it seemed, they sat in silence, hovering over the final statement. He could nearly hear the clockwork tickings of his childe's thoughts. The thinking. The toil and torment that poured down the pathway to every possible conclusion. And then there was nothing. No proper way for the evening to end. No one distinct answer that would solve the massive riddle holding over the household like dam willing to break. With heartbreaking defeat, Spike turned to him and uttered the three words that struck devastation into the heart all mankind.

"I don't know."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“I have it.”

The statement itself was located somewhere between the realm of implausibility and complete bewilderment. For days, it seemed, there had been nothing. Word after word followed the continual stream of dead ends. And suddenly all was lifted with a simple declaration. He had it. Of course Giles had it. That was his job—to get it when things were darker than ever before.

But all was all right, now, because Giles had it.

“The Gate of Abraxas,” he read, glancing to Dawn for verification. A string of enthusiastic nods immediately commenced; the girl’s eyes brimmed wide with delayed recollection and acknowledgment. “Yes,” the Watcher continued. “This does make sense. “Named after the God Abraxas, whose title numerically values three hundred and sixty five—otherwise, the duration of a year. It was believed by those who worshipped him that he commanded that number of gods. Some record him as virtuous…others do not.”

“Well,” Xander ventured, “if they named a hell-gate after him, I wouldn’t put my support behind that vote.”

Giles nodded distantly, flipping a page. “Some demonologists declare he was…well…a demon. A demon with the head of a king and serpents forming at his feet.” With a sigh, he looked up, eyes connecting instantly with William. “That would make sense, then. Didn’t the Master name himself after a serpentine monster?”

“Yeh,” the peroxide vampire verified with a short nod. “Geryon from the Inferno. Right bastard.”

“Enough with the origin,” came Buffy’s distant input. She was stationed in the corner of the living room, purposefully detached. Hardly three words had been coaxed out of her in communal conversation since she returned from patrolling days before. She, William, and Angel spent most evenings in each other’s company, chatting about things they would not discuss with others. When she felt ready to retire, she would beckon the peroxide vampire to her side, and they wordlessly retreated to the upper levels where they were not heard from until the next evening. “I don’t care who made the gate, or who’s used it in the past. I’m only interested in two things. When the Master going to open it unleash hell on earth, and how I stop him.”

At that, the Watcher looked up once more, his eyes distant with worry. A cough scratched at his throat and he adjusted his glasses before tacitly returning to the reading.

“Giles.” The warning in Buffy’s voice was well perceived.

“It…umm…” He sighed and conceded, glancing up once more as he placed the book aside. “Not too dissimilar from Glory’s ritual, if I read correctly. The Gate, theoretically, is anywhere and everywhere. At any time, the Master may access it, if he has what is needed for the rite. It is not a matter of merely one hell dimension, you see. It’s all of them. Every one that populates the time and space continuum will be unlocked once Abraxas is activated. However…he lacks something in order to complete the ceremony.” With the deadest of expressions, Giles met her inquisitive face, sorrow overwhelming his features. “And that’s you, Buffy. The Gate will be outlined with the entrails of a pig and protected by…” He frowned and reopened the book, eyes squinting at the text. “Ivory blood, it looks like. Yes. It will open under the influence of the essence of a slayer. Tainted essence. Impurity, otherwise. Adulterated blood.”

If possible, the room grew even quieter when he finished speaking. For a long, uncomfortable moment, a dull nothingness engulfed the atmosphere. The look on Buffy’s face was neither angry nor astonished; rather grim and accepting. Instead, she merely nodded, stood, and took a turn about the room, face forgone as though lost in a trance. No one dared move or spoke a word, too fearful of disrupting a moment of fragility, of breaking her before she took a final wind.

Then at a highly anticlimactic moment, the resilience she relied on crumpled and Buffy dissolved into shrill, high-pitched giggles. Instantly, William tore from his mannequin state and rushed to her side, attempting without success to comfort her with an embrace. She would have none of it. With effort, she pulled away, furiously wiping the tears from her cheeks as her laughs became harder to grasp.

“Oh then!” she finally exploded. “Well, doesn’t that just make perfect sense? Huh? It’s not enough he uses my sister to…he conveniently leaves out the part where—hey—I’m going to end the world, wanna know how? So what have I done? Huh? What did I…I helped him! I helped that sadistic sonofabitch. I—”

Simultaneously, Angel and William stepped forward and were both ignored.

“Luv, please—”

“Oh no. Don’t pull that.” Buffy shook her head madly as her cries grew louder. “Don’t you dare try to make everything seem like it’s all right and easy, okay? It’s not, Spike. It never, ever was.” Every fiber of her being was trembling with rage that had to be placed somewhere. With desperation, she grasped the thing nearest to her—a vase owned by her mother—and watched with empty satisfaction as it broke into a thousand shards against the mantle.

“It’s not easy,” she said firmly, when the initial shock of her outburst had withered with passing understanding. If Buffy was at all disconcerted with her behavior, she did little to show it. “And it’s certainly not all right. I know what I did. I don’t need any goddamn reminders. I know that if the world doesn’t end, I’ll be here for a very, very long time. And you know what really bites? If I had to go back and do over—even now, even knowing this—I’d do it all again. Because the world means SHIT to me if the people I love get hurt.”

Tears were skating down Dawn’s face, and she looked beyond the point of intelligible communication. When she tried to speak and failed, she choked and ran upstairs. Her door closed with an accentuated slam.

“I think we’re jumping the gun here,” Willow said abruptly, rising to her feet. She earned an irritated glance from every angle in the room, and fought quickly to redeem herself. “I mean, we didn’t let Giles finish. He didn’t…there has to be some way to stop it. Has to be.” Her gaze focused squarely on her friend, hardened with conviction. “Buffy, you said that nothing just happens. That everything happens for a reason. I know that’s true. There’s…you changed because you were supposed to. I know—hell, even I don’t see how that’s possible, but it has to be. Some way, it has to be.”

“Has to be?” the Slayer spat back spitefully. “It was meant to happen so I could be the reason the world ends?”

“You don’t know that, Buff,” Xander intervened. “I mean, how many times has the world possibly ended? Hmmm? About as many times as you’ve stopped it.”

“That was different. I was never the key to destruction before.”

“Yes you were.” Angel this time. Calm and collected—masking his worry through words. “Of course you were. You stopped the world from ending only six years ago by acting the part of the key, correct? And you did it for the same reason… There’s nothing to do now but fight it. That’s what you’re here for. That’s what you were born for. Fighting it. And when it’s over, you can quit. That’s what you’ve earned.”

Buffy laughed again, loud and stinging of falsity. “Oh yeah. Everyone keeps telling me that. Like it’s so easy. Just stop being the Slayer—it’ll be fun. News flash! I’ve never tried that before. It doesn’t work. It never works.”

William stepped forward again. “You can fight it all you want, luv. ‘S still ‘ere. It’ll always be ‘ere. An’ you know it. Accept it an’ deal or die. Those are your choices. You’ve come this far already. Don’ let a little thing like an apocalypse get in the way now. We got ourselves a vamp to slay.”

“Yeah, well…you guys can have him.” With a conclusive huff, she turned and followed the path taken by her sister only minutes before. “I won’t do this. No. Not ever. He can’t open the portal without me, so I’ll just stay right here. Right here where he can’t reach me. Where I—”

Giles hissed a sigh and rolled his head in aggravation. “That’s ridiculous,” he said sternly. “And you know it. Buffy Summers doesn’t shy from her duties, no matter how ugly they are. You can’t just wait here for him to come for you. While he prowls about stealing the lives of innocents. There are many ways to hurt you without ever laying a finger on you, and you above all people should know that.”

“Of course.” Buffy threw her arms up in defeat. “So, what, Giles? What? Do you have a master plan? Because the last time I went up against this guy, there was that little issue of me becoming dead. Again! Why do you think next time will amount to anything?”

“Why do you presume that he will conclude his hunt with you?” the Watcher snapped. “I tell you, if he cannot use you, he will settle for other sources. Faith, perhaps. I’m sure her say in the end of the world would be most memorable. And even if she disappoints him, there are two new slayers somewhere out there. It doesn’t have to be anywhere specific. Just kill a slayer and open the Gate.”

“So why did he let Spike take me away, huh? I mean, wouldn’t it have made more sense to just use the dead girl then?”

“I believe Will was correct in his original assessment.” Giles shook his head and heaved another sigh. “The Master did not count on our being in possession of a curse that would summon your soul and decided to play it safe by eliminating your circle of friends. I’d wager he planned on encountering you somewhere on the killing fields. It’s amazing you haven’t seen him yet, what with all the nights you’ve spent patrolling.”

That seemed to be the final buckshot needed to crumple the Slayer’s impenetrable shield. A beat passed before the real tears came. Hard and true, desperate and screaming. She waited for William’s embrace before falling to her knees, throwing her arms around his neck as she muffled her cries into his shoulder. He did not attempt to calm her, rather let her scream her fury and grief at the world she had lost onto his weary body. A few strokes of encouragement glided down her back, but any further prompt would be resented.

When at last her sobs subsided, William released a breath. Kneading her skin through her shirt supportively, weary that at any minute she could collapse and wash away once more. Nothing that had been voiced rang one syllable of spuriousness. There was nothing anyone could say to make her hurt less. Nothing anyone could do but stand in silence and wait until the storm was over.

When he thought the worst had passed, the platinum vampire pulled her tightly to him with empty comfort. The touch was reciprocated as though she were in the arms of a snake. His shirt was damp with the affects of her sorrow. There was nothing to do or say but hold her to him and wait it out.

“So what now?” Buffy finally croaked, voice raw with worry and tears. “We go fight this evil? I wait until he decides it’s time to make a move and right out kill me?” With some reluctance, she tore herself away from William’s arms, not bothering to wipe the residue of her outburst away from her face. “How, Giles? How do we stop it?”

The Watcher, tainted with manifest concern, cleared his throat and looked down once more to his reading. “Ummm…quite. The Master is the only one who can perform the ritual. It has something to do with his heritage. The bloodline of those before him.” He glanced upward with resolution. “The one you killed—and the one before him…all have had similar opportunities that they discarded for one reason or another.”

“I explained this all a long time ago,” William interjected with an empty smile as he brushed strands of hair slick with tears away from her eyes. “Vamps talk big, luv. Those really interested in death an’ destruction. Peaches ‘ere wanted the world to end.” He tossed a sideways glance in the implicated direction just in time to see Angel flinch in affect. Even now, that held some gratification—no matter how close they might have to be. “’Course, ‘e wasn’t the only one. Dru was ‘alf-mad to end all civilization. She—”

“Half mad?” Xander retorted cynically. “So where’d the other half come from?”

The peroxide vampire leered at him for a second before continuing. “But, as you know, not all of us are that way. I never was—with or without a soul. Anythin’ I did…helpin’ the Judge, fo’ starters…that was jus’ to entertain the lady. I was happy ‘s long as she was.” At that, he chuckled bitterly at himself and rolled his eyes. “Bloody wanker…”

“Glad I’m not the only one thinking that,” Harris quipped. Willow tossed him a glance stationed between amusement and disapproval before thwapping his shoulder and motioning to shush.

“But the Master…the one before this git an’ all…all of ‘em that came first…I doubt they wanted the world to end anymore than I did. Sure, what’s-‘is-face attempted to release the sodding Hellmouth. Who ‘asn’t tried that in the past century at leas’ once?”

Blank stares gathered around the room. William bit his lip and frowned. “Jus’ me then? Oh well. Point’s still there.”

“You tried to unleash the Hellmouth?” Willow asked, brows perked.

“Yeah. Well, not really. Din’t give it ‘alf an effort. Right after I left L.A…or was that New York? Bloody hell, I can’t remember. I was drinkin’ a lot then. Anyway, I came ‘ere an’ decided the world wasn’t worth livin’ in without Dru.” He shook his head in self-disgust. “Got myself really drunk, ‘f you can imagine. Went to the rubble an’ did my damndest…to get drunker. Din’t work, o’course—the Hellmouth part, anyway. After I came to, I went out to find Buffy an’ pick a right fight. Initiative found me instead.” William shrugged. “S’pose the rest is history.”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he looked into the Slayer’s eyes, but it wasn’t what he found. A new light of shared amusement cackled behind the otherwise gray shell. A bright spark rimmed in the red bruises of aching despair. It was bright and refreshing, and a taste he loved. Never before had he prompted such a reaction by talking about his past dirties. And even after all they had shared since his return, he was so unaccustomed to fondness on her part that receiving any such response was warm and welcome.

Then he knew why. He had referred to himself in the first person. He acknowledged the real Spike in his existence, discarding all previous attempts to hide it. Why it should make her smile, he did not know, but anything was better than grief. Hell, he’d tell her a million of his former self’s tales if only to see that twinkle in her eyes again and again.

“They weren’t kidding when they’d said you’d been around,” Xander muttered, earning another sharp elbow.

“’Ey—I was a git, sure. I’ve done a lot of bloody things that I’m not proud of. Things that would make the lot of you ‘ave bad dreams for the rest of your lives. Things I can barely…” Dear god, now he was crying. With a pathetic sniff, he glanced to Angel and was surprised to find understanding. Why he was surprised, he did not know. It was simply another new flavor that required adjusting. “But tha’s over an’ done with. The point is, this bloke’s really got a yen to destroy all civilization, an’ tha’s not something you get from many vamps. Not genuinely, anyway.”

“So now that we’re all thoroughly reminded why it is we hate soulless Spike,” Xander said quickly, “could we get back to the matter at hand? What now? How do we stop this?”

“It’s very simple, really,” Giles replied, adjusting himself. “Once the Master is dead, all chances of him opening up this…gate are lost as well.”

“And we do that how?”

“Just like the rest of them,” the Slayer said softly. “The old fashioned way.”

Willow’s eyes widened. “A stake? That’s it?”

Buffy shrugged and bit her lip. “A really big stake?”

“’E’ll dust jus’ as easily as any of ‘em,” William said confidently. “I mean, girl ‘as wicked powerful strength now, not to mention a decade of advanced experience an’ a crowd of brassed Scoobies who’d love to get a piece of this bloke.”

“I hate to be the pessimist,” Angel ventured with delicate undertone. “But I suppose someone must be rational. Buffy can beat him. We all know she can. Still, we must face facts…that doesn’t mean that he still can’t beat her.” At that, the Slayer drew in an unnecessary breath and cast her eyes downward in silent acknowledgement. William felt a rush of agitation for his grand-sire but did not voice it for seeing the truth behind words no one wanted to hear. “He has once, and I think we all learned from that not to underestimate what lengths he is willing to go to.” A long silence followed once his share was voiced, and the vampire grew exasperated in affect. “Well, someone had to say it! Do you think I like the idea? It kills me. But we have to be prepared. We have to. Giles…how do we stop the Gate of Abraxas from opening should the Master get his hands on her?”

The Watcher heaved a sigh and cleared his throat. “The text is not specific,” he reported. “There are more inconsistencies here than…well, you can imagine. From what I gather, the Gate will only close with a sacrifice of pure psyche, or spirit, if you will.” If possible, the air grew even more silent. “Abraxas seems to think that justifies the means. It would, of course, kill the carrier—but that is the material point. Something horrible retracted in exchange for something good. Should it come down to that…you—”

“Yeah.” There was no emotion behind Buffy’s voice, and the gaze behind her eyes was long distant and dead. It held a certain dry acceptance: the knowledge of fate before she consigned herself to it. “Sure. I know what it means. Right. Sacred calling and all that bullshit. I know. I know. My death. Again. I know.”

“No,” Giles said solidly. “I don’t believe so. You are dead, Buffy. You have already crossed that threshold. More besides, impurity resides within you now. Impurity in its darkest form. No…making a martyr of yourself would do little good to anyone.” With another sigh, he glanced at the remaining contestants, face weary and grave. “It would have to be…one of us.”

The Slayer’s breath hitched in her throat, and for a wild second, it sounded her heart was pounding. Her eyes widened like saucers before her body collapsed in trembles of fervent denial. Every strand of her core shook with negation. “No. It won’t happen,” she said sharply. “I won’t let it happen. No, no, no.” Frantically, she turned back to William. “We’re on it. Now. You, me, and Angel. I’m willing to sit here and let the world end, but I am sure as hell not willing to let my friends sacrifice themselves for its sake. Not for all the bullshit it does to pay us back. That’s my fucking job. Let’s go. Now. He wants a fight? Sure. We’ll bring one right to him.”

The new resolution grasping her features was so counterpoint to the sheered frustration of only moments ago that Angel and William both lent pause and glanced at each other worriedly. Undoubtedly, this was the same Buffy they had known for years—rushing headfirst into danger’s grasp when it threatened the face of her kin. The same Buffy that would allow the world to end for lack of conviction but refused to see her friends suffer. Somewhere in her conscious, the planes of reality and ideology had landed on separate crossways. They had all seen it before when Glory nearly stole Dawn’s existence. All for the sake of family was she willing to go that extra mile, whether or not it meant her death.

“I know what I’m doing,” the Slayer said firmly when she saw their troubled expressions. “For God’s sake, if I don’t after all this time, then who the hell signed me up for this gig? Let’s go now. Let’s get this goddamned thing over with.”

“You are unprepared,” Giles said with gravity, taking a step forward. “You have no idea what the Master will throw at you. He has been arranging this for a long while now, and—”

“Well, fuck that!” she spat. “I’m not going to sit here while he makes all his plans to destroy the world. Nuh uh. Not without me. You got the wrong girl. He wants me; he can have me. But don’t even think about touching my friends. That’s why I’m here, right? To help destroy it? Well, let’s get to destroying, then.” A firm lack of conviction scratched her vocals, her voice still flooded with the tears of just a few minutes ago. Yet that girl was gone. Buffy the Pacifist died in committee, and it was the Slayer’s turn to emerge. She turned to William, eyes flashing with intent. “He’ll just have to fight us all off, first.”

The platinum vampire thought the clog in his throat was large enough to choke a killer whale, but he swallowed and nodded, offering a vague smile. “Tha’s right, pet,” he assured her. “’E isn’t takin’ you away without a good brawl, an’ I aim to give ‘im one.” He eyed Angel with indifference. “Same fo’ Peaches, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” the other agreed. “We’re here for you, Buffy. Just tell us what you want to do.”

“I want to go. Now.” She turned back to William. “Could you get back to the Initiative? Back to the pathway you took?”

A look of warning caught his eye, and he saw the Watcher shaking his head in fervent suggestion. However, he could not lie to her. Not now. Not with all that had passed, even if it was for her own good. Buffy would not sit around and wait under these conditions, and he would much rather be there with her than have her wandering the town alone. “Yeah, luv. I can get us there.”

Giles released an exasperated sigh, but there was no contesting the resolution set in his Slayer’s face. The look was not particularly unique to Buffy, but her determination was not something that merited trifling. With a weary nod, he gave his otherwise unneeded consent, and William grasped his love’s hand and marched wearily to the door.

“Tell Dawn…” The Slayer said as she turned to secure the house behind her, demeanor softening. It was strange the way that worked. One minute she was all business, and the next she was a little girl again. A little girl carrying the burden of the world for the sake of responsibility and not choice. The soft side of her persona that only those closest to her were allowed a glimpse at. At that moment, he felt proud and mutually unworthy to be among those select few. “Tell Dawn that I…she means more to me than—”

The Watcher held up a hand of understanding, and a small, faint smile tickled his lips. “She knows, Buffy. And despite her otherwise unmovable disposition, she understands. All too well, in fact.”

She nodded. “And…should something happen…”

“Somethin’ won’t,” William snarled. “I won’ let it.”

“But if something should happen…you will…”

“We’ll take care of her, Buff,” Xander said softly. “You know we will.”

A soft, complacent grin shadowed her mouth. “Yeah. I suppose I do.” The platinum vampire rested his arm around her shoulder, prompting her outdoors. “Goodbye.”

Why is it, he thought glumly, that goodbyes seem so final when ya know you’re prolly not comin’ back?

And like that, they were off. Held together by honor and duty. William felt Buffy grasp his hand tightly for reassurance, and though he reciprocated the touch with a dose of goodwill, the hope burning inside was already beginning to wither. The stroke of usual stamina and courage flashed behind her eyes whenever he looked at her, and it killed him to read the message ablaze in her hidden abyss. She did not want to die. Not really. Not again. That was it. There was nothing behind that knowledge. It was a reason for fighting. A reason for living. A reason for dying if it meant she didn’t have to. All he knew was he was standing beside the woman he loved, and he would fight the forces of hell to keep her in the world. Even if it meant sacrificing everything that constructed his humanity.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Without any subliminal indication, conversation was entirely essential at this point. The ground crackled under their feet as they walked, the gaps around them spanning into holes of deep silence. Even the nightly creatures that usually chirped their mournful song were not heard. As if life itself had dwindled to a slow-paced tedium of predictability. Silence was not appreciated nor, by any means, guiltless. It struck a powerful nerve and resonated out a melody of warning.

"Where is this place?" Angel asked, voice bland against the strain of nothingness it competed with.

"Nibblet an' I took one of many tunnels. We came out somewhere in..." The cemetery was dark, but not one had difficulty seeing his gesture. "There."

"Somewhere?" his grand-sire replied irritably. "You told us-"

"...that I could get you there, right," William retorted. "An' I 'ave. We're there aren't we? We jus' gotta find which 'there' to get to."

Buffy nodded, a small smirk on her face. "Yeah. You just love skipping around those technicalities, don't you?"

"'Ey, luv. Don' you start-"

"You know where it is. I believe you." With a sigh, she turned to Angel. "There's every possibility that tonight may be...well, the fourth and hopefully final 'it' for me. Reservations? Hell yeah. Regrets...no regrets. I know. It's my sacred calling and I have to do what I have to do. But excuse me if I'm not altogether eager to reach my death."
A small sound of protest escaped his throat and was quickly overpowered as he nodded in infinite understanding. "And you need time."

The Slayer chuckled humorlessly. "I need about a year and a half, but ten minutes'll do."

While he was not in support of leaving her, even if it was briefly, William nodded and took purchase beside Angel. He was stopped before he could calculate what had occurred, Buffy's hand curled tightly around his forearm.

"No, you stay. I...there are some things..." She looked to her former thoughtfully, and both were amazed when the grand-sire nodded again in comprehension, took a breath, and left.

Then it was just the two of them. Alone on the cemetery - such a familiar setting. William looked at her for long seconds, but she did not say anything. He wondered if his presence was simply for comfort. These past days had opened his eyes to wonders of silence, and how it, above all things, could cure the most substantial abrasions. But then, the graveyard had more than enough to offer. No, she wanted something. Something more than reassurance or company.

"Will..." she said softly, perturbing the stillness with her angelic voice. Even in darkest of times, the tenor of her mood reflected the night with skillful harmony. "You know I wasn't lying."

"'Bout what, luv?"

"Tonight...might be..."

"No. It won'." Tentatively, William took her hands in his and placed feather light kisses over her skin. "Not 's long 's I'm standin', pet. I came 'alfway across the world for you, an' I aim to keep you around."

A small, somber grin tickled her face. "Not just for the frequent flyer miles?"

The peroxide vampire smirked in turn, gently drawing loose strands of hair from her eyes. "'ll admit, that was a perk."

"Sp...Will..."

He rumbled against her in mirth, a note of resigning acceptance coursing through his long dead veins. "'S all right, pet. I give. It was stupid to ask you...don' think I'm used to it by now? After all, I was Spike a lot longer than I was William. Can't hardly teach anyone new tricks these days."

"We have something serious to talk about."

"Now? During your ten minutes of free-time?"

"We needed privacy for this." Buffy heaved a breath of composure, pulling away from his reach and neared a tombstone that towered her in height, resting against it solemnly. "Angel...he...he says he understands, right? And he...he comes really close to getting it. Scarily close. But he never will. We're not the same. We used to be, but we're not anymore. You know that, don't you?"

William blinked his surprise, taken aback more than he would have admitted. Surges of scorned pride and residual hurt flooded his insides without suggestion. It was the sort of understanding that had to be pointed out rather than realized. Her insight was astonishing at times, and he had never fully credited the potency behind her power. Somewhere, his subconscious fixed Angel alongside the girl that would always be the love of his life. The king of the pedestal on which she judged the men she welcomed into her bed. And it had always been that way, because she had always said so. Not now, of course, but plenty back then. In the Before-Time. When he was nothing but a monster.

His silence was all the answer she required. Pursing her lips in poignant reflection, Buffy nodded and crossed her arms, eyes flittering shut in a moment of self-shame. "No, you probably wouldn't know that. After all I've told you, you still don't believe what I say? That I-"

The words were coming again and he could not stop them. That didn't mean he would not try. "Don't."

Buffy blinked in frustrated astonishment, and even without central provocation, it pushed her over the edge. "Don't. Don't? What? Did you go deaf the first thousand times I told you? Or have you mystically forgotten that I'm sorry, and that, for reasons beyond me, I love you. You big fucking dope, I love you. I love you so much that it got me killed. So much that I was looking the other way while the Master decided to play with my lifespan. Decided to kidnap my little sister. This isn't fun for me, Spike. You have no idea how much I want not to love you. But if I'm going to meet my death...AGAIN...you have to know. I have to know."

He could not look at her. Could barely speak, so many words leaping into his throat and getting the better of him. "Know what?"

"Everything! What is there anymore? Huh? After this, I'm done. It's over." The finality in her tone persuaded his eyes upward. "And it'll be hard as hell. I can't...be here...and not help. Not when there's a goddamn apocalypse every five minutes. Once...when this is over, I'm gone. I decided...well, I've been thinking about it ever since we talked that first night." He made a move to speak but she held up her hand in quest for silence. "And I decided tonight, I guess. After what happened back at the house. I just realized that this is it. This is Hell. It doesn't matter if the Master opens the Gate, because I'm already here. Not like before...when they tore me out of...it's so much worse. To know I can't touch that ever again. That it's...not there waiting for me..."

"It is, luv," William said softly.

"Do you really believe that? Impurity gets rewarded?"

At that, he sneered. "Bollocks. You're not impure. 'S the thing that killed you, livin' in you tha's all impure-like. What counts, darlin'..." He took a step forward and placed a hand over her nonbeating heart. "Tha's 'ere. An' tha's all you need. Oh, Sweet...the world'll end sooner or later. You can't always stop it. One day, it'll jus' up an' not be 'ere anymore. Then you'll get your rest."

"Even if that happens to be tonight?"

"It won' be."

"But what if it is?"

William rolled his eyes and tore away. "Don' you think I've thought 'bout that? Tha's why I'm 'ere, pet. For you. All for you. It always is. I can't bloody stand the thought of you...I've lost you too many times, Buffy. Not again. Not tonight. We're show that rotten sod, an' things'll be right again."

She bit back a snicker. "Things will be right? Wow! Good God, Spike, when have things ever been right? You can't honestly believe that. So the Master goes down. Bye bye Geryon. Then what? I'll tell you..." The Slayer stepped forward and roughly seized him by the jaw, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "The next one...the one after me has been called. Twice now, actually. They get it. I'm officially handing it over. I tried with Kendra, I tried with Faith...I'll succeed with these next two. Then I'm taking Dawn and we're leaving. Leaving Sunnydale. Leaving California. Hell, maybe even the good ole USA. And I won't come back. I'll go stay with Giles, or...something. But-"

"Giles?" The peroxide vampire retorted, arching his scarred eyebrow. "Ripper? Luv, you gotta-"

"There's nothing, Spike. Nothing to keep me here. Xander and Willow, sure. I love them more than I can...but you..." Tears began cascading down her cheeks, resolute and final. With expressive tenderness, she released the hold on his chin and arched her touch to caress his cheek. William involuntarily closed his eyes and leaned into her hand, purring softly. "Assuming this...assuming we beat this thing...I have an eternity to spend on this goddamn planet, and I want it to be with you."

His inward declaration collapsed along with the last threads of stamina. With ceremony, he released a throaty growl and sank to his knees, wrapping his arms around her middle and drawing her as close to him as possible. She was right, after all. There was nothing left. Nothing left for her here, nothing to tie her down except her sister. Nothing that would enable her to live the only way she could anymore. Damn Giles for making sense. Damn Buffy for listening. Damn himself for waiting so long to hold that love as it was meant to be held; cautiously, amorously, stroked and coddled until it blossomed into a garden of wealth and meaningfulness.

Reality tore him back from the heavenly fields of perfection. Angel's voice, stern and fearful, echoed resoundingly in his ears, and he knew it could never be. A cry scratched at his throat and he pushed her away, stumbling to his feet as he angrily wiped his face for the instinctual fear of tears. The hurt that overwhelmed her eyes nearly killed him, but he had to be strong. Had to continue for her sake, and for his. He loved her, but he had not said it. He could not. Even if she knew it. Even if the world knew it, he could not say it.

He could not give her that hope. It was too cruel.

Anger replaced the grief that pumped his dead veins. Nonspecific anger, directed to no one and everyone at once. Anger that demanded compensation for many wrongs. Anger that had provided him a thousand reasons to commit the terrible deeds of his past. Anger for the world - anger at himself. Damn fate and its pitiless irony. Damn it all for smacking him down the moment the shadow of plausible joy had peeked into his otherwise gloomy existence. She could not see. She would never see as long as he was there. Unable to stop himself, he jumped to his feet, roaring and bursting into game face, advancing to her with lightening speed until she was pinned against the gravestone.

"Is this what you want, Buffy?" William snarled, yellow eyes flashing. "Is this it? The monster? The dark? The big, evil bad? Right 'ere, baby, whaddya say? Right now? With the stone against your back an' Peaches wanderin' uselessly through the graveyard? Right when the world's gonna end by some portal-happy wanker? God knows I'd love to. Love to jus' forget it all. To give in. To lose myself in you. To let myself be loved by you." He slammed disdainful fists against the stone. "But I can't. I won' ever. Understand that? Not when I see what it does to you. What you do to yourself. Look at you. We're out 'ere to save the bloody world, an' you use your ten minutes to-"

The hurt in her gaze had vanished, replaced with stony determination. In the next instant, her own demon emerged with a terrific growl, and the fire behind his storm died. It was so easy to forget...so easy...

"Look at me?" the Slayer repeated incredulously. "Look at me?! Yes, Will, why don't you look at me? Here I am. Vampire Buffy. Killer of the bad. Lover of the bad. Don't you see it doesn't matter anymore? What I want or what you think I want. And yeah - I screwed up. I'm still screwing up, and I'll continue screwing up until you give me the answer you're just dying to give. I've looked the other way every minute since you came back into my life because it was important to me. More so than the sake of the world, of all humanity. You are important to me. And I can't do this without knowing that in the end, there's something to fight for." The tears were back again, and he could not stand that. With desperation, William attempted to look away but she again grabbed his chin and forced him to her eyes. "I need a reason to live out this stupid sentence. I can't pull off forever by myself."

Then she kissed him - hot, fiery, and completely unexpected. Her fangs clashed with his, tearing at his tongue, tasting his ardor without reaching its poetic root. When he moaned, he knew he was lost. There was nothing left. With desperation, he pressed into her, returning everything she gave with a thousand times the strength. It was gone, all of it. Anything he had tried to reserve, any reason for staying away. The coldness of her skin affected him in a way he never thought possible, and the implications only prompted him onward. He tasted the coppery tang of his own blood as she gashed a cut in his lip, and didn't care. His hands were lost in her hair, his mouth insistent in its attentions as the heat radiating from two cold bodies brought his southern parts to sudden awareness.

Buffy broke away with a gasp when she felt his arousal brushing the sensitivity between her legs, and the gasp melted into a whimper as she pushed herself into him. Slowly, she slid from game face, hands clasping around his neck as his mouth found her throat, teasing skin with the pointed ends of her incisors. He cupped a breast and played with it gently - too gently - and she emitted another groan before she reached for him, stroking the notable bulge desperate to burst through persistent denim.

William gasped and drew away, the blood on his lips tasting of both his and her essence. "Stop," he pleaded, not at all convincingly. His hand was still occupied with a mound of clothed flesh that he couldn't stop stroking. It was painful recognition of useless ebbing that finally persuaded him to pull away. After all, if he couldn't stop, why should she?

It was impossible to fight for words when there was no conceivable reason to fight for air. "Why?"

And at that moment, her inquiry struck his attention as a rather noteworthy objection. Yes, why? He couldn't think of any grand reason. Not then. Right at that time, there was not a care in the world. Not when she was grounding herself against him. Not after waiting this long. Not after what she had lost, what he had inadvertently gained, and what they had to face before the night was over.

So William shrugged and lowered his mouth to hers, pressing against her in renewed spirit, no longer willing to fight. His hand went back to her breast, clutching possessively, pulling at her nipple through her shirt. Their hips rocked together in a frenzied dry-hump, and before he knew what was happening, she had reached between them and fumbled his zipper open. No time for extensive foreplay. Whatever they did had to be now. He returned the favor with zealous insistence, spreading her as she allowed him to slip between her legs. With the tip of him brushing against familiar wetness, it was then that the reason returned. The one reason. Angel's voice and instruction. The curse. The curse. The horrible, awful, bloody curse!

With a frantic cry, he pulled away, and his body suffered the physical repercussions. A pain stretched every sexual nerve with throbbing perseverance, but he denied himself gratification.

Buffy was breathing harshly and tears were falling down her cheeks once more.

"Oh luv," William gasped. "'m sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't. We can't. It's..."

"What? WHAT WHAT WHAT?!"

"The curse, Sweetness," he replied somberly. "No chances. I dunno what did it for Peaches besides the obvious, but I can't risk it. Not if..." He couldn't talk. Couldn't bear it. She was crying.

With restraint, he approached her again, touching her face even as she scorned and pulled away. It was not out of anger, he recognized; rather shame at her own shortcoming. The intolerable hurt of physical negligence. He wanted to make it better but didn't know how.

Wearily, he rested his forehead against hers. "What can I do, luv?"

Again, she shied from him, reacting to his touch as one would react to fire. It was not like the Slayer to get embarrassed about such things. After all they had shared, this was only another stone to move. Another obstacle to face. When he finally earned her eyes, and she saw the candor behind his passion, her body softened like warm candle wax. Her answer formed reluctantly, barely above a whisper. "Touch me."

"Buffy-"

"I'll warn you if I feel myself getting too happy, okay?" she spat, though her tone lacked conviction. William frowned expressively and caressed her face with curled fingers. "But I can't...fight like this..."

"I know." And he did. Gently, he lowered his free hand between her thighs, skin on skin, and slipped one finger inside.

Buffy moaned and arched against the tombstone. "Oh...God..."

He pressed against her tightly, brushing a kiss against her temple. With steady rhythm, he pumped her, slowly but earnestly, another finger sliding into her warmth. And another. And another. Warmth. Hard to believe she could still be warm, but she was, whether by willpower or his overly active imagination.

There was no heartbeat, no racing pulse, but by George, she felt alive.

In a few steady minutes, she came softly. Bucking, her back arched and when her mouth opened to cry out, he covered her lips with his, swallowing it whole. And she released that rapture. There in his hand. He shushed her with tender attention, nipping at her mouth as he withdrew from her, eliciting a small sound of complaint. The world didn't spun, but he hadn't thought it would. Watching her affectionately, he neared and kissed her again, the final calming of a weathered storm. Buffy pulled away with a satisfied hum of fresh air, adjusted herself, and took a minute to watch in fascination as he licked his hand clean.

"An' yet another similarity between myself an' my former," William jested, voice clouded with emotion. "I still love that taste."

She smiled, then frowned and glanced down. "Ummm...Spike?"

"Don' worry 'bout it, luv. I got two hands. You got a world to save."

"Don't you mean 'we'? Stupid Master can't start the damn ceremony without me. At least let me return the favor."

She reached for him, but he pulled away, caressing the back of her hands with his thumbs.

"You'll make it up to me. Really, luv, 's rude to keep 'im waitin'. Not that I particularly care or..." When she offered a suggestive smile, he couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, don'. 'Sides, I think your ten minutes are up."

At that, Buffy chuckled, grasping his hand with renewed conviction. "Well, fine. Let's go kill this thing so I can make it up to you."

"Luv-"

"I know. Happy Buffy equals Homicidal Buffy. I was there, I remember the drill. You, on the other hand, don't have that clause."

He perked a brow and spoke before thinking. He couldn't help it. "You wish I did at times, I'll bet."

"Good God! You infuriating prick. Get over it. I love you."

William smiled, but his heart wasn't in it. "I know."

The atmosphere on Revello Drive had not alleviated beyond a state of continuous apprehension since the three vampires departed. Dawn had planted herself in front of the television upstairs, refusing to answer anyone's inquiry and shunning the few attempts at communication made by concerned friends. She turned the volume up to drown out the sound of her crying.

Giles, Willow, and Xander remained downstairs, not speaking and busying themselves with idle activities. Anticipation hung over the roof as a cloud waiting for the right moment to release its storm. The clock above the mantle ticked with aggravating persistence, announcing the new hour so sharply that every chime, no matter how foreseeable, made everyone in convenient proximity jump.

An hour and a half into the endless wait the doorbell rang. It was one of those cruelly normal moments suspended to the degree that the sound was hardly recognizable. Only when Dawn's thundering down the stairs reverberated through the walls did Willow jump to her feet to beat her there. They nearly collided in the foyer, struggling over each other in a series of grunts before the Witch gained possession of the doorknob.

It was Anya.

She blinked in surprise, scrutinizing the crest-fallen slump of the young Summers girl's shoulders. "I didn't think anyone knew I was coming."

"They don't," Willow replied, ushering her inward.

"Will!" Xander called from the living room. "Who is it?"

The vengeance demon flashed a sweet smile as she entered, mechanically drawing off her coat and placing it over the nearest hanger. "Hello, sweetie," she greeted, voice dripping with disdain. "And Giles. Hello Giles."

Neither answered her. Everyone was aiming questioning glances in Willow's direction.

"She wants to help," the Witch said with a shrug. "I called her right after Buffy left."

"And she's just now getting here?"

Anya shrugged simply. "I was in Cambodia, punishing this guy who cheated on his wife. Turned him into an artichoke." She made a face. "Then watched the wife eat him. Willow caught me on my cell." Proudly, she held up her new toy in a shows-man-like demonstration. "It's very handy when you're constantly traveling about the world." At the sea of unimpressed expressions that answered her, she pursed her lips and put the phone away. "Well, that's not really important. So what can I do?"

Willow heaved a breath and grabbed her jacket off the coat rack. "You can stay here, as the only other magically inclined person I know, other than Amy." She took a minute to shudder her discontent.

"Technically, I'm not magically inclined. If you'd like me to reek vengeance-"

There was a grumble. "I mean...if something happened that required...argh." She sighed heavily and shook her head. "You know what I mean."

"Wait, wait, wait," Xander said, stepping forward. "In so many ways, I'm not loving where this is going. You have the appearance of someone who is about to leave. Are my eyes deceiving me?"

"I'm going to find them," the Witch replied simply. "I did a locater spell about a half hour ago."

"No!" Dawn cried. "You can't! You'll get yourself hurt, or-"

Giles frowned and intervened. "When did you do a spell? You've been in here all-"

"When I went to the bathroom." She took a minute to look sheepish. "What? It's not like either of you are really comfortable with the idea that 'Oh, Willow's using magic. Here comes the apocalypse.' All the more to go out there."

"Damn straight," Xander practically yelped. "Will, they know what they're doing out there. You could get yourself killed."

A shadow crossed her face. "Or I could really help. Ever think about that? Here I am - all magicky, and everyone's on eggshells thinking of all the harm I could do. Let's not forget the good. Tara..." She paused with difficulty. "Tara once told me that magic used for good...well, it's not harmful. I don't do it all the time now. I hardly do it at all. The entire 'not noticing' of you guys these past four years should be evidence enough. I. Need. To. Do. This. We're sitting ducks here. Well, I'm a sitting duck with a warhead, and I intend to use it."

A pained look crossed Harris's face, and all intent fell from his features as the demand in his voice averted to plead. "Willow, you're my best friend. You and Buffy...I can't stand the thought of both of you out there."

At that, she softened. "I know. I know. But...think, Xander. What if the Master is able to open the gate? What if..." A sigh of resolution. "Buffy's lost interest in saving the world. I get that. After doing it so many times, that would be a hazard. But that's no reason for the rest of us to get that way. I have to...I have to be there-"

"No!" he returned sharply. "Don't even finish that sentence, because I know where it's going. No. You can't. Not..."

"Are you volunteering, then?"

Anya's brows perked and she glanced to Giles in confusion. "Did I miss something?"

"The Master...this, vampire Buffy is facing intends to open the Gate of Abraxas," the Watcher replied tiredly. Disapproval was written across his face, but he seemed too fatigued to contest Willow's decision.

"The Gate of Abraxas?" she repeated, stunned. Everyone looked to her sharply. "Not good. Not good. Definitely not good."

Xander stepped forward and grasped her arm. "You've heard of it?...all right, dumb question. But...you've heard of it?"

Anya glanced down. "It was opened once before. Only for a few minutes. Someone managed to throw themselves into the opening and seal it before too many demons could escape."

The Witch blinked in astonishment. "You were there?"

"Business."

"As always," Xander murmured.

"It was a long time ago," the vengeance demon continued. "Before the last Ascension, if memory serves."

Giles released a long breath. "Then it was by the first Master. Why wouldn't the Watcher's Diaries have-"

"Because everyone who was there to see it kinda went mad," Anya replied. "I mean, every human. Everyone who wasn't used to seeing something so horrible. A lot of the Watchers were there, anyway. Eliminated by the Gate. Those who weren't either lost memory of it or went completely loopy."

"If it opens..." Willow said softly. "Will everyone there...Spike and Angel...will they go mad, too?"

"Not likely. They're demons. They're used to seeing...demonic things." Anya heaved a breath. "Just like me. I saw it and I'm remarkably stable."

Xander coughed loudly.

Dawn hadn't spoken for several minutes, and her eyes were carefully trained on the carpet design. "What about Buffy?" she asked softly, not looking up. "Will she go mad, too?"

No one knew exactly what to say for a long minute.

Willow took the first shot, clearing her throat sympathetically as she stepped forward, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Hon," she replied gently. "If the Gate opens, it's because she..."

Irritation surged through the girl's voice, and her muscles tightened with fury when she moved out of reach. "I know. Because she was used. I was down here when the entire 'I'm going to die...again' speech was given. But...Buffy never just...dies. Sure, she did once. But she's here now. There'd be something to bring her back."

"No, Dawnie," the Witch said gently. "If your sister goes now, she won't come back. She shouldn't have come back at all." The weight of guilty burden wore heavily in her voice. "And if the Gate opens, someone has to be there to close it."

It grew so deathly quiet that a plane could have crashed outside and no one would have noticed.

"No!" Xander finally erupted. "Willow, no. I can't...not you. Not both of you! I won't let you. No, let me go."

"No. I'm going. End of story." A powerfully pathetic look overwhelmed his features, and she felt her heart go out to him with all its infuriating predictability. "Listen, I can help. Really help. I can use all sorts of magic tricks that this guy'll never see coming. And if he does, he better watch out for Hurricane Willow. We all know how pretty that scene is. I'll give the Master a run for his money, but someone has to be there in case. Just in case." She heaved a breath of lasting conviction. "And I'm that someone."

"You shouldn't go by yourself," Giles said. There was no want of objection in his tone - rather a lasting grasp of the ever-painful conclusion.

"Buffy's going to be pissed enough to see me," Willow observed. "Imagine what would happen if everyone turned up. She'd get distracted. Really distracted. With me...Spike's there. He-"

"And again with Spike," Xander murmured.

"Listen." It was Anya, holding up her hands as if to initiate a peace treaty in the midst of an unmentioned battleground. "Everyone needs to calm down. She's right, Xander. Someone needs to be there in case the worst happens." She turned to Willow. "This is not saying I'm in support of you going psycho on us again, but I do know that you're the best shot to stop this thing. Buffy was turned. She was beaten. She's stronger now, but she could be beaten again. You need to be there."

The Witch nodded, fastening her jacket and moving for the door. "I will be. I know where to go." She looked to Xander for a sign of further objection, but he had none to offer. "I'll be careful."

"Yes. We'll stay here and play Scrabble until you get back." Anya turned back to the group. "Dawn, want to go get the board?"

No one was paying attention. Just as the Witch was nearly out of sight, Harris jumped forward and lurched the door open. "Will?" he said meekly.

She turned to him from the walkway, immersed in shadows. She looked so far away. "Yeah?"

"I love you."

A poignant smile crossed her face. Why was it that saying had such a finale to it? Her insides engulfed in sadness and the feeling of loss yet to be recognized. All at once she was lost. This was the end and there would be no return. And unaware that only a mile away their words were being echoed by two of the people she cared for most in the world, Willow nodded. "I know."

Chapter Thirty

Angel was familiar enough with the scent to recognize it when it wafted in his direction. For the slightest instant, he furrowed with irritation and the same lackluster feeling of disappointment. Within the next few seconds, his childe and the Slayer appeared, side-by-side, hands linked. The expression on Buffy's face was distant but not at all unreadable. It was only minimally comforting to see William looking somewhat sheepish. Hiding things, especially personal matters, was rather difficult when one possessed elevated sensors. Every vampire in convenient propinquity would know that someone got at least somewhat lucky tonight.

Pointedly, he arched his brows when they reached him. "It's amazing what you can accomplish in ten minutes, isn't it?"

Buffy smiled lightly. "Well, I'm feeling... mostly better."

"About dying?"

"No. Living." She glanced at the platinum vampire at her side, whose gaze was studiously trained on the earth. "This eternity thing... it sucks royally, but I think I'll manage."

William told a different story simply with his reluctance to meet anyone's inquiring eyes. Even without a century of foreknowledge, Angel could have identified those mannerisms anywhere. Comfort, cold but needed comfort had tied her confidence with a semblance of normality. The thought occurred to him that if he wanted to ask, now would be the time, but for all his contempt, the older vampire could not lower himself to a plane of such bitter resentment.

She was not his anymore, and she never would be again.

Whatever had passed had fueled her adequately to fight the next battle. To brave the next confrontation. Angel consigned with disinclined appreciation that while he could easily fit Spike's protocol on the back of a postage stamp, William was a surprisingly collected individual. Thoughtful and always acting only after giving the specified matter serious consideration. Their conversation several nights ago only proved that unique quality. At that moment, he envied Giles in having had the privilege of getting to know his childe so thoroughly. The momentous surprises delivered through everyday transaction would be notably easier to tolerate had one had several years experience. Yet, the evidence compiled still to let no one forget the demon aspect of William's true persona. Spike without being Spike. William while acting the parts of both. William by being both.

This was not the time for such reflection.

Angel cleared his throat. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," the Slayer replied.

"We're 'ere, luv," the platinum vampire assured her.

"I know," she replied. There was new resolution behind her voice. Strength and raw determination. The elder vampire glanced again at the couple's clasped hands. It was as if she drew power simply from him being there. The promise - however empty - that the fight had meaning. That there was a reason to see the dawn of a new day.

It was wise that William did not meet her eyes. His sullied expression told a much different story.

"Did that break give your mind time to clear?" Angel asked the platinum blond, trying without succeeding to bite back any remnants of lingering derision. "Want to point us in the right direction?"

"Uhh... right." He glanced upward and gestured to the right with a nod. "Over there. There oughta be a tunnel behind one of 'em headstones. Looks deceiving, but 's really not concealed all that well. Bit an' I climbed outta it. I 'ad to wait, o'course. It was all sunny out."

Buffy drew in a tight breath and squeezed his hand so fiercely that any normal man would suffer from lack of circulation. "Then let's go. Get this over with."

"You'll do fine, pet."

A vague shadow of a smile flitted across her face. "We don't know that. I-"

Something was running for them, and the atmosphere automatically tensed. It was an odd moment - one of recognition beyond three vampires who could detect such a factor from substantial distances. Angel concluded within the next instant that it was no one to fear, and was about to speak up when William announced, "'S Red. She's-"

"Here." The Witch turned the bend around a patch of bushes, then keeled forward and rested her palms on her knees. Her body looked asymmetrical due to a heavy package on her back. "Thank God I caught you. I was going to write a complaint to the Magic Box if the herbs I used were too old. Of course, Anya-"

"Will!" Buffy hissed with an emphatic step forward. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"For one thing, giving you this." She slid the abandoned crossbow off her shoulder and practically thrust it into the Slayer's hands. "You're slipping, girl. Forgetting valuable toys." She paused and cracked before anyone could rouse, as though stressed under heavy interrogation. "Oh fine! I forgot it, too. But hey! My job is not weaponry girl. I figured you could use it. That, and I'm... ummm..." She coughed. "Coming with you."

"Says who?"

"Says me. I decided about two seconds after you left." The Witch heaved a breath and avoided the Slayer's accusing eyes. "What? You get to save the world all the time; let the other Scoobies have a chance once in a while."

Buffy was not amused. A cold draft shuddered through her body - arctic to the scale of giving Sunnydale its second snowfall in recorded history. "Go home, Willow. I don't have time for this. I can't just... fight this guy and worry about-"

"Then why the hell are these guys coming?" her friend snapped, gesturing demonstratively with her left arm. "Do I really need to spell it out for you? I'm pretty damn powerful, here. I can help. I really can. Just as much if not more than Angel and Spike. Besides..." At that, her tone dropped in degrees. "Someone should be there... in case..."

"NO!" The Slayer and William yelled simultaneously. Then they started barking reason after reason to counter her logic until realizing they were screaming the same points.

Angel stared at them, having not caught a word but knew enough to decipher the meaning. All Willow could do was grin.

"Red," the platinum vampire continued before the silence became too distracting. "Shame on you. You oughta know 'f it comes down to that, the last thing I'll let you do is jump through the bloody Gate." When her eyes narrowed at him, he shrugged sheepishly at his own manifest concern and cleared his throat. "Peaches'll go firs', naturally. Then me. Then, 'f that doesn' work... so long world. You can't jus' give up your life like that."

"What? And it's fine for her to?" the Witch retorted bitterly. "Come on, you guys! It's the truth, and you know it. Someone should be there in preparation for the big 'what if'. I'm that someone. Live and let live. You can't talk me out of this."

Buffy shrugged and drew an arm back. "No, but I can knock you out of it."

The reaction was instantaneous. Willow's hand shot forward, cracking with small bolts of electricity as her eyes flared in warning. "I don't think so. You can use me, and you know it."

The Slayer froze, nodded, and relaxed. Concern was mapped in her gaze. "That's what I'm afraid of," she confessed. "Well, that and the other. We spent so much time trying to... what if you can't come back from it? Again?"

The Witch rolled her eyes. "I never came back from it, Buffy," she retorted. "Get it? You just thought I did. Everyone just thought I did. Hell, even Giles just thought I did. But I didn't. I didn't practice actively or anything, but the person I talked to in London told me it would be dangerous as hell for me to give it all up. I need magic the way vamps need blood. Believe me, I worried about that for a long time, too. A really long time. I worried so you wouldn't have to. I have control over myself."

"I promised 'er, too," William said softly. "Promised 'er I wouldn't let 'er fall. Don' aim to spoil that." He didn't look at the Slayer, even as she trained her wide eyes on him. "You understand, Red, that I'll fight to the bloody end. Us 'ere are dead. Don' particularly fancy dyin' again, but I will 'f you try to do somethin' stupid an' heroic like sacrifice yourself. Understand?"

Willow smiled a half-smile. "You sentimental fool."

"'Ey. I watch out for my women."

Angel grinned. "That's why all of them end up either crazy or dead."

Everyone frowned and glanced at him irritably.

"What? I was joking! Someone had to say it."

"You right bastard," his childe snarled. "It was you who screwed up Dru's bloody mind. And don' you dare-"

"Spike. Down boy." Buffy stepped between them before the verbal stings turned physical. "It's fine. He was just kidding."

It was absolutely adorable to see that vampire pout. Even the lesbian couldn't help but swoon. "Bloody prat," he growled. "I swear, Peaches. You get more annoyin' each day. One sec you're tellin' me how we're gonna be best pals, the next you're makin' me wanna rip your soddin' head off."

"All right, Mr. Sensitive," Willow said, taking his arm with a chuckle. "Enough. Don't we have a world to save? Where is this place?"

The Slayer started to object, but Angel held up a hand. "She's coming. We're just wasting time out here. Personally, I'd think having a witch on our side isn't a bad idea."

"Fine." A note of finality struck in Buffy's speech. "Fine. Let's just go. We can't afford to sit here all night." She used her grip on William's other hand to pull him in the indicated direction, inadvertently dragging Willow along with her.

"Human chain, luv," the peroxide vampire gasped as he stumbled at her side.

"Not as much human," Angel corrected, walking calmly behind them, "as it is a chain."

"Still... pet! Pet! 'S over there. You might wanna slow down a bit."

Buffy stopped without ceremony, nearly initiating a domino reaction. "There's no point in being quiet about this," she decided. "He knows we're coming. He knows I'm here."

Willow went rigid. "How can you tell?"

"Sire thing, luv," William answered.

"Are you guys ready?"

"Ready's not a strong enough word," Angel replied. A stake was coiled firmly in his grasp.

The Slayer released her hold and loaded an arrow into the crossbow. "Listen... you guys are just here to help. Don't do something stupid like try to interfere. Don't distract me. This is between me and him." Her gaze centered on the peroxide vampire. "You got me?"

He shrugged. "No can do. You know what I told you."

There was no want of negotiation in her eyes. "Will, you're going to stay out of my way, or so help me, I will dust you." It was an empty threat, of course, and while he knew it, a shudder still ran in affect. She had not so much as voiced such a disposition since he first returned.

Even still, his expression hardened. "You might be stubborn as a mule, Slayer, but you're in there with the champ. Nothin's gonna harm you 'f I can help it."

"Fight later!" Willow growled. "Come on. Let's go kick some vampire booty."

All three paused and shot her a pointed look.

"...evil vampire booty."

The journey through the tunnels William had used in his escape days earlier was longer than before. Anticipation clouded every minute. While nerves were on edge and everyone had an opinion just aching to be voiced, not a word was shared. At times, the peroxide vampire felt compelled to warn his colleagues that the expedition had consumed a good chunk of day, but knew such confirmation was unneeded. They would get there when they got there. No verbal trade could shorten or lengthen the trek.

Hours could pass and they would not know the difference.

Light, weak as it was, but light nonetheless, shone vaguely at the end of the passageway. Buffy quickened her quest, pressing forward with haste. By the time he and the rest could catch her, she had already fired three arrows into the pit where she lost her life. A look of grim declaration possessed her features. A finale that knew no fear.

"So much for a surprise attack," Willow murmured.

"This wasn't about surprise," Angel whispered back. The statement was obvious but hearing it spoken was oddly comforting.

The Slayer disappeared over the alcove, skidding to a stand in the main holding area. From there, the frame of the Gate of Abraxas was visible. Aligned in pig entrails that seemingly stood on their own accord. Behind it was the cavern wall, creating a deceptively innocent optical illusion. A flash of magic burst from behind, seizing three vamps that were running for her. Soon Willow had joined her. Then William. Then Angel. The number of vampire cronies wasn't vast but considerable enough to keep them occupied for a few minutes.

But only minutes.

Three arrows soared toward her waiting frame. With fluent ease, she dropped to the ground, eying one of the assailants and firing. To her left, Willow had strained several under her influence, and used that period to draw the enemy through. Heaving in a breath, the Slayer raced forward, dropping in mid-stride and rolling toward a cluster of the Master's followers. While on the ground, she withdrew two arrows and, without lodging them into the crossbow, dug one into the first's back. The vampire exploded in a whirl of dust before she got to see his face. Jumping up, she produced a stake from seemingly nowhere and slashed across the second's face, blinding him as she fastened it in his chest.

Sensing movement behind her, Buffy back-flipped, reaching for another stake lodged in the safety of her duster. Another detonation of dust. Three others raced for her. The Slayer swung her crossbow into grasp and shot two down with no difficulty. The third knocked the weapon to the ground and lunged forward, spear pointed at her stomach. She dropped to all fours, bringing her adversary with her, claiming the staff in the fall.

Suddenly, there was silence. Buffy found herself very much alone - in the centerfold of the Initiative's former cavity. The allies fighting beside her only moments before had disappeared. Panic shot up her spine, but her spider-sense was fast to react. They were all right. They were near. They were...

The Slayer turned around.

William, Angel, and Willow were befuddled - trapped behind an unseen barrier. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. What had happened was beyond understanding. Buffy stood at the mouth of the Gate. Anyone unrelated was barred from participation.

"Luv!" the platinum vampire cried desperately.

"I'll be fine." The words were barely above a whisper. She had no thought if he had heard her. She had barely heard herself. And yet she did not repeat her sentiments. This was it, and she was to face the shadows alone.

"Be just and fear not," she murmured to herself.

Nothing about this was just and there was everything to fear. But Buffy was not afraid.

There had never been darkness like this. The sort of menacing black that wasn't black at all. Beams of light burst from every turn, every corner, every angle of free air, and yet that was not enough. Piles of dust scratched at her feet, the lost weapons of the would-be warriors that had stood there just seconds before rattled across the metallic floor. It was then she realized, in the heat of battle, she had vamped uncontrollably. Her ridges were sharp and still unfamiliar, and yet in a calling so like herself that she could not deny her nature any more than she could deny her family.

The Slayer did not live here anymore.

The Gate was there. In the midst of the carnage, it remained unaffected. Sealed and devastatingly innocent in common appearance. A most formidable foe: that which looked harmless. Pig entrails outlined the entry, repulsively fresh, though the scent did little to make her flinch. And from behind the dormant portal door stood the object of her search. The Master - Geryon - watching her with his menacingly red eyes. Red eyes that were cold, still. Red eyes that defeated the fire. He, too, was surrounded in darkness.

It wasn't the falling vampiric dust that encouraged her. No, Buffy had seen more than enough of that. Giles had taught her long ago that no matter how powerful the girl was; there was always a final battle. A lifetime ago, on his knees outside the Bronze, Spike had told her the same. And she had feared it. She feared it in pushing the sword through Angel's abdomen, sending him to his debatably deserved sentence. She feared it in leaping into Glory's portal. Feared it a thousand times over when trusting herself in the arms of a vampire that could not love. Feared what it would do to her when she became that vampire.

But she feared none of that now. Now when there was nothing to lose and everything to gain. Not with William standing behind her. Not with Dawn at home. Not with Willow, cackling with energy, just waiting for a chance to strike. No, she feared nothing. There was her and there was him. Slayer versus vampire, as it was supposed to be. Fear had no place here.

She was lost in darkness while standing in a pool of light.

As he came forward, the darkness formed a protective veil around broad, aged shoulders. Then he began to talk - that voice so eerily confident, drawn and soft-spoken that it was almost easy to forget in whose company she currently found herself. Almost... but not quite. "Very impressive," Geryon hissed. "I'm sure you had no illusions that avarice could become so enticingly addictive."

"And I'm sure you gave no thought to the consequences of siring a slayer with friends," Buffy retorted, stepping forward on her own accord. And yet, she felt alone. Felt those with her slipping beyond her reach. She still refused to be afraid. "It pisses people off."

"Don't worry," the Master crooned. "They cannot reach us now." He stepped aside and motioned at the Gate of Abraxas, and she felt the validity of his threat course through her system without any further provocation. The Gate was quiescent but that didn't mean its power had not already begun to exercise authority. She was within its circle, now. Its territory. No, Abraxas would not allow any foreigners into the loop.

She only hoped the others knew enough to stay back.

"I'll admit," Geryon said, minutes later, circling her as though sizing her up. His prey. His sacrifice. "I had not considered the possibility of your redemption so quickly. Your ties to this world are strong. Annoyingly supported on a structure of fortitude. But that is behind you now, Ms. Summers. There is only one exit from the Gate."

Buffy's brows perked. "Killing you?"

"Foolish sentiment." The Master offered a long, throaty chuckle. "And despite outstanding evidence, still unseeingly confident."

"As fun as it is trading jives back and forth, I'd rather get to the part where I gut you." Her face was stony and resolute, incisors bared in some form of vampiric instinct. The return of new strength flushed through stealthy muscles. Distantly, she heard Willow scream out to her and immediately closed her mind off. There could be no interference. Despite trepidations, the Witch knew that.

Spreading his hands to show he was unarmed, Geryon flashed a patronizing smile. "Very well. Then let's get on with it."

The crossbow she had fired with such reliability was lost on the other side of the border. Beyond reach, unlike the spear at her feet. A small - the smallest - part of her nagged that it was unsportsmanlike to fight with a weapon if her opponent carried none. Damn lingering ethics, rational or not. Without drawing her gaze from his, she kicked the staff into her hands, gripping the wood with ferocious potency. Her eyes flashed dangerously in warning, but it only humored him.

"You are feistier than I remember," the Master quipped.

"Short-term memory?" Buffy retorted, nearing. The staff ached to be twirled, used in a dance, to bring the monster to his end.

Geryon adapted a vestige of stillness, waiting, calm. With presumed innocence, the gleam in his eyes flickered in disdainful courtesy. It occurred to her then that he truly did not believe she intended to fight. That she would forfeit for the nature of her extreme and throw herself to the Gate. Bring about the end on her own terms. The thought was preposterous, but his demeanor did not betray a wilful inkling of error. Buffy supposed in the years of his personal studies, he had never experienced a good-to-honest shock. Perhaps that was because, similarly, never had he faced an opponent of equal or superior strength. The residual power connecting them, as sire and childe, drew a bond tight and constrictive. Indeed, she did feel the link, but it was not constructed on fidelity. There was no time like the present to shock the hell out of your maker. As he ensued their endless stare down, the Slayer wavered and shattered her role in etiquette. She curled the staff in grasp and lunged for him, skillful arch of the bow slicing in perfection at his midsection.

Ah. Blessed disclosure. The ball bounced free of any court, and she was determined to call dibs.

The Master, reeling in surprise, was thrown on his back, though he did not remain immobile long. Just as quickly, he flipped back to self-awareness, eyes imploring her with wondrous, even impressed stamina.

"That took nerve, Ms. Summers."

"Really? I could've sworn it took two hands."

The second attack was as swift as it was physical. Geryon found himself kicked to the ground again, and recovered quicker than before. By now, he was beyond prepared. The bemused tenor had vacated his expression. Blackness. He was furious. Anger coursed through every fiber, empowering her almost immediately to a frighteningly unexplored level. Buffy felt it stretch through their connection, but refused to shy. Rather than intimidate her, it fueled her with the promise of power. Yes, she had the power now. It was beyond the stretches of her control, and she felt the last strand of etiquette within her snap.

The animal root of his coming finally emerged. A side she felt more than familiar with, even if they had never been acquainted. In an instant, she twirled the spear up once more, blocking the downward ambush of the Master's empowered forearms. She kicked a leg out and locked her ankle behind his, bringing him once more to the ground with an earth-shattering thud. It rang sweet melody to worn ears.

"Oh, what's wrong?" Buffy snickered, foot pinning him to the ground. "You see: this is why you shouldn't sire slayers. Tends to piss them off. And a sired-pissed-off-slayer definitely has the advantage over-"

The Master growled and kicked upward, sending her across the room to the unseen barrier guarding her from escape, or assistance. Distantly, she heard the shouts of her loved ones scream direction, but it was fruitless trying to listen. Though it was impossible for a vampire to become winded, she gasped for air, an ache harboring in dead lungs.

"Note to self," she murmured irately. "Less talk, more kill."

Before she could manage to her feet, Geryon was above her, a snicker firm on his face. Her staff - lost while airborne - was now in his possession. With a sorrowful tsk, he pressed the pointed end teasingly over her heart, but they both knew he would not strike. Not while he needed her.

"You see where that avarice has led you, Ms. Summers?" he spat bitingly, pressuring the skin above her heart and eliciting what he desired - a long moan of agony. "Yes. Know the feel, Slayer. You do it so well. It brought you here, didn't it? The skillful art of slaying."

She heard William roaring his outrage, struggling ineffectually to push the invisible barrier aside. Her inner will begged to call out to him, but she could not find her voice.

And the Master was still talking. "Ah, ah. There. You see? Even now, when faced with eternity, with death, with the weight of the world riding on your pathetic shoulders, you reach to the source of your avarice. Your hanging and self-destruction. Such silly attributes, these emotions are. Candor is a backstabbing fiend. It fills you with bliss but turns on you when you need it the most. When the Gate is opened, perhaps you will understand that. Perhaps when you lose that conscience, comprehension will fill you instead. Perhaps when you are biting into those you love, you'll feel the surge of truth that has been void throughout your existence. Perhaps when you rip your dear little sister's throat out, and taste the essence of your precious Slayer bloodline, you will know what blunt authority means."

That was it. That was all the prompt she required. With a fantastic roar, Buffy grasped the end of the spear and thrust it back at him, striking his chest mere centimeters away from the heart. And then it wasn't the heart she was aiming for. Her nature demanded blood. Her fire-worn nerves: a pit of endless rage growing within an otherwise small structure that could not possibly control such an overload. Brief panic fluttered at such an honest loss of control, but she released it along with every fleeting principle ever instructed on a hot summers day. There was simply nothing.

Nothing.

The Slayer roared and charged, yanking the staff away. It was consigned to the ground with a tremulous clatter, and her fangs snapped with malevolent intent. And she lunged, growling her fury, teeth digging into the aging flesh at the Master's throat. She tore. She pulled. She bit off more than she could chew. Black blood sprayed her face, but she didn't care. The monster within her released at last - released to its full, horrible potential. At once, the worn cries of her friends ceased in place of unabridged horror. But she could not pause. Could not reflect. She dug and strained, not caring if it was giving him what he wanted, not caring of what it made her.

Not caring, not caring.

Finally, Buffy pulled back with a gasp, the taste of dead blood running dry in her mouth. Her nerves screamed and raged for more, but she restrained, forcing herself to regain some strain of dignity. It lasted only a second, and everything crashed. Outrage flooded and poured, and her stamina dissolved. She didn't know that she was crying until she gasped for a taste of unneeded air. The hands of a monster throttled the Master. He was not dead, but he was not moving. Not smirking. Not jesting. Not laughing. Not doing anything.

But he was not dead. And she was the monster in his place. Never had she felt so powerless.

So powerful.

So terrified. Darkness had finally claimed her, and she was terrified.

Something stirred beneath her. She felt blood on her mouth and had to fight the disgusting impulse to lick it up.

"There she is." Geryon's eyes had opened, fading in power but dancing as vividly as ever. The dance of victory. "There's the Slayer I created."

It snapped, and it wasn't coming back. Buffy bid a discreet farewell to everything that had made her anything and lunged again. And then she was a mixture of bites and scratches, tasting blood on her tongue. Lapping enthusiastically. Her nails dug into a sea of soft skin. Tearing him limb from limb, and even that wasn't enough. With an animalesque roar that couldn't have possibly torn from her throat, she stood and pulled him upward alongside her. His body was as light as a feather. She did not know whether he was alive or dead, and she didn't care.

It was over. That was all that mattered. She would consider the consequences later. The trials to suffer for her own brutality. The cost of penance.

But for now, she had to dispose the Master. With a thrifty heave, Buffy thrust him through the Gate and watched it swallow him whole.

There was no reaction at first. Nothing except the silence from which she was birthed. Drying blood crusted around her mouth, her chest heaving needless gulps of sin-stained air. Realization inevitably swept over her, but she had no idea how long she had been standing there. The Master was gone. The Gate was closed.

And she was a monster.

"BUFFY!"

She was what he had wanted. Beyond the Gate. Beyond the hurt. In destroying him, she had destroyed herself. She had become the thing. The demon. The vampire.

"BUFFY!"

It was over.

Two strong arms tugged at her from behind, pulling her sharply to a protective chest, cradling her like a lost child. How she wanted to collapse. To fall. To let him coddle her for the next millennia. The Slayer closed her eyes tightly, tears still passing sturdy barriers. William held her against him, hushing her, whispering that all would be all right now. The fight was over. The Master was dead.

Terrible power flourished within her cavity. But what was left in his place?

It was then that the Gate of Abraxas hummed to life.

Buffy stopped dead in her tracks and felt the chest of her loved one shudder against her back. Drying blood caked her lip, and she felt every nerve in her body scream in anguish in one glorious whim. Without waiting for him to guide her, she turned to face her undoing.

It wasn't about making decisions. It was never about decisions. Grim reality struck at its finest hour. Realization of what she was. Realization of what she had become. Realization of what there was to do. No tempting fate. No screaming her frustration. There was nothing left.

How quickly revelations could change. How much had to be sacrificed for the sake of well-being? When would she be allowed rest?

Never. She knew well enough to understand that. After all that, the Master had been correct. Avarice had brought her here. Avarice that led to self-destruction. The cause and finish for everything that occurred on this silly little planet. A beginning and an end.

It certainly was over.

"It's... no... it's..." Willow stuttered, eyes filling with tears. "How?"

That answer was there as well. An understanding she grasped, even if others could not. "The Master," Buffy replied dispassionately. "He fed off me. His blood and mine combined. That opened the Gate." She pulled free of William's hold and began the pace forward. "I made a gibbet of my own lintel." With assent, she turned and looked at them over her shoulder. "I have to go now."

"No!" the Witch screamed. "Giles said... no, Buffy. It's me! It's my turn! I-"

It was William who got the final say - incongruously without speaking at all. He was already halfway there by the time the Slayer gauged his actions. That alone snapped her out of any pivotal state of near-catatonia and flushed her muscles with warning and frustration. "SPIKE!" she shrieked. "NO! You can't!" Then she was running, faster of the two, and met him just as the Gate fell into reach.

By the time Willow had plundered to join, it was too late. Angel seized her by the shoulders and whirled her around, forcing her to the floor as a wave of blinding light stretched through the cavern. It was impossible to know who reached the portal first; both were gone when the quakes finally subsided. A crackle of pallid electricity seared through the entry of the Gate, closing in conclusiveness. The Witch wrenched herself free of the vampire's hold and fell to her knees, sobs commanding her body. Her companion collapsed beside her, aching to console but having nothing but grief to offer.

And that was it. The grotto fell still all for the sounds of their mingled sorrow. Static cracked and soared, fading in potency as the last was drawn into a mocking breed of calm.
Neither were looking when she came back through.

Silent footsteps carried her across the coarse ground, her eyes flickering once before fading to nothingness. The body in her arms was limp and unconscious. When Willow glanced up, she swore that Buffy was floating. Pangs of relieved joy consumed her in the second before she caught the look on her face. A bland nonexistence, concocted of ruthless empathy. Completely void of humanity in any form.

"Angel," her trembling voice managed to croak. She did not look at him as astonishment clouded his features. The Witch could not tear her eyes away.

The Slayer did not react. Did not look at them. Did nothing but walk away at the same slow pace with William cradled protectively in her arms.

Self-destruction.

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