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 Thirty-Six

Xander was standing outside when the car pulled up. In all the years of their acquaintance, none had seen him so anxious. He looked to have worn his nails to a fine point from continual gnawing. "It's almost two in the goddamn morning! What happened?!"

"Buffy happened," Willow replied. She nearly knocked over with the impact of Dawn's swift evacuation. The girl didn't look to anyone; merely rushed into the house where she would presumably lock herself in her room for the rest of the week. "We were about to go home and... well, she was there."

"Oh." Anya stepped onto the portico, features fashioned with apprehension. "And Angel? And Spike? I suppose they're... doing something. Fighting her."

"Faith," Giles gasped, still trying to catch his breath. "Lord, I've never run so fast in my life."

"She'd been following us," the Witch said softly, a look of dumbstruck horror filling her eyes. "She had to have been. All night. Just waiting for a time to strike."

"Yeah," Xander agreed. "I'd say so. And Dawnie was just betting on it, wasn't she?"

The phone rang inside the house. No one paid attention for a long minute. When the person refused to take the hint, Anya rolled her eyes and retreated indoors.

"They won't kill her... they can't." Giles was staring at a crack in the driveway. "But... God, if something happens to one of them, I don't... William... I don't know what I'll do. What he'll do. He's going to feel... awful. He had the chance to-"

Willow shook her head, tears brimming her eyes. She had never cried so much in her life as she had this past month. "He did what he thought was right. That's all that matters. Buffy wasn't able to kill Angel when he went all... all bad before, either. It happens."

"This isn't like that," Xander noted hoarsely. "This isn't Angel. This is Buffy. This is..."

"I know that," she said. "I just don't know what the right thing is anymore."

A line crossed formerly against the Watcher's mouth. "None of us do. It's-"

"Wesley!" The impact of Anya's shriek was enough to have every dog in Sunnydale answering her aptly time exclamation. Then she was thundering through the house (something crashed that sounded remarkably like one of Joyce Summers's prized lamps, but no one thought to comment), panting for breath in the doorway.

"It's Wesley," she gasped needlessly. "He's on the plane. Says he's landing in a half hour."

It was not uncommon for all sorts of hell to be raised on the streets of Sunnydale long into the hours of night. The town wrote off such occurrences as others might drive-bys and muggings of the elderly. That wasn't to say the Hellmouth didn't receive its share of the norm, but for any such crime to transpire was reflected with more bewilderment than the occasional midget in a bikini who reportedly died after being attacked by a pack of angry demonic pygmies.

To a tourist, the streets would appear barren. A couple of kids entangled in some brawl, perhaps. Probably over money, drugs - likely both.

Then again, Sunnydale didn't get many tourists.

In the still of the night, in accordance with the laws of nature as they applied to the town, Porphyria crashed to the ground with a callous thump. She was on her feet in an instant, grinning maniacally and drawing the back of her wrist against her split lip.

"You've sharpened that punch," she observed.

Faith advanced, twirling a stake idly between her fingers. Her eyes were dead and menacing. There was simply nothing left. "I've sharpened a thing or two more. Wanna see?"

"Your wit obviously not being one of them." The vampire lunged, lashing viciously without any true intention of aim. They flipped to opposite sides of the street, uncharacteristically patient in motive. Porphyria smiled in cold scrutiny. "Where'd your cheerleaders run off to?"

"Dunno, don't care." Faith ran for her in a swift jump kick. The connection was blissful though brief. In the next instant, she found herself on the ground, jaw aching in stern result.

"Oh, is that so?" The crazed vampire leaned over her forebodingly, taking a handful of hair and forcing her head upward. "Then I suppose this is going to be all the more easy."

"Yeah, that avidity thing never left, did it?" Fiercely, the Slayer freed herself with a quick backward head bunt, rolling to her feet with alarming haste. She assumed her stance and flickered an eyebrow in assurance. "You're getting slow there, girl," she commented. "Had the perfect chance to snap my neck in two."

"But we're having so much fun." Porphyria broke for her, delivering a harsh kick to her midsection. Faith huffed with the impact of the blow and sailed directly into the office store behind her. Debris cracked and fell, but not enough to account any severe damage. Nothing beyond what the townspeople were used to. "I didn't think you'd want it over so soon."

"And you don't?" Faith climbed up. "Thought you wanted to play with the boys."

"What girl wouldn't?" the vampire retorted skeptically. "Hell, even Willow has the hots for Spike. It's disturbing, actually. But they're not here, hon - mmm... suspicious much? - and you are."

"Lucky me."

"I was really hoping you'd say that."

Things were going in accordance with their carefully planned arrangement. In honesty, Faith had no idea where William and Angel had disappeared to, but she was glad they had. She knew they were near, watching likely - her spider sense allotted that much recognition. It had been a while, of course, but that was not the sort of thing a slayer simply forgot. She had felt Buffy's proximity all night and had not spoken up. It was one of those tricks she learned during incarceration - the magic of patience. Of waiting for the hunter to come to you.

Of course, she hadn't listened all that well.

A roar pierced through the otherwise soundless night, and she knew that playtime was over.

Porphyria came for her in a mix of blows and low kicks. All hell unleashed, merciless and vindictive. It seemed she was everywhere at once, scratching chunks of skin through layers of black fabric. Flesh tore and nails dug, and Faith denied herself a cry of pain. The vampire kneed her viciously, then swung and kicked her back. Again, she found herself consigned against the pavement, the taste of blood filling her mouth.

And yet she was unmoved.

"Oh come on, Faith!" the demon bantered. "You asked for a fight. Give me one!"

A stake slid out of the slayer's sleeve. The other was lost somewhere down a drainage pipe. She wasn't even aware that had she released it until her hand fumbled for something to grasp. Wearily, she rose once more.

She wondered if Angel could see her.

Porphyria arched a brow. "Again with the stake? That's getting a little old."

"It's your death warrant, bitch."

"Oh. Real threatening." A smile cracked across her lips. "Everyone's doing the same number. I know they're not going to do squat. You big bad group of frauds!" In amusement, she turned around, willfully allowing Faith the time and opportunity to strike from behind. It was a chance taken, and once again she was kicked to the ground. "You're losing it, girl," the vampire informed her. "I think prison made you a little soft. In the old days, I'd be hurting at least a little."

Again, she raised the stake, surprisingly not deigning herself to attempt a legitimate comment. "I'll do it," Faith said warningly, the pinnacle of seriousness. "Believe me, I've wanted an excuse for a long fucking time. Don't try to give me one now."


"Hon, I am the excuse. If you don't know that, you never knew anything about being the Slayer." The stake was thrown with deadly accuracy in the vampire's direction - an easy block with the right maneuvers. Porphyria dropped to the ground and rolled toward her, on her feet again before she could react. "I can see why they brought me back from the dead, if you were the alternative."

Faith swung blindly and connected with a moment of brilliant victory. It wasn't about winning then; it was about retribution. The punch was powerful enough to knock the Buffy-creature off balance, but otherwise left her unmoved. Before she could rise to her feet, the Slayer charged, pinning her to the ground with a series of blows. Each clout did little to wave the tide in her favor, but it felt nice to seize control for one blessed second.

Then she sailed across the street once more when Porphyria kicked her off, climbing irately to a firm stand.

"Well," the vampire drawled, dusting herself off. "That was brash."

Faith pushed herself off the asphalt meekly, and found the wind knocked out of her the next minute. The vampire grasped her by the shirt collar and forced through the glass door of some nameless shop. Alarms sounded needlessly, filling the night with forlorn cries of impending foreshadow.

Porphyria grasped a piece of jagged glass and drew a deep gash into the Slayer's side. The scent of fresh blood engulfed the air - enticingly thick. She slurped hungrily, kicking the girl away with fluent simplicity. Then she was advancing; watching her opponent struggle against the deluges of injury and fatigue.

The power was unimaginable.

Sounds echoed in the distance. The cavalry was coming. Time ran short.

But there was no reason to rush this...

The vampire grasped her victim by the scruff of the neck, heaving her to her feet. Faith gasped in the first exhibition of pain. It was a delicious sound. Porphyria grinned tightly in self-constructed satisfaction before throwing her to the ground once more. That was fun - playtime with the rag doll. The poor girl wasn't even putting up a fight anymore.

How very disappointing.

This was the last. She grasped Faith by her injured side and dug her fingers into soft throes of broken flesh. Faith screamed her pain and attempted to writhe, but her efforts only tunneled the vampire's hand further inward. Porphyria withdrew in her own good time, licking her bloodstained skin clean and smacking in satisfaction.

"Mmm, mmm good."

She arched her foot at the back of the Slayer's neck and waited.

"I always knew you couldn't handle it."

Twist. Crunch. Stillness.

A war cry sounded through air, pained and infuriated. Alas, the endorsement ran a few seconds too late. Porphyria shrugged simply before Angel pinned her to the ground in lasting strain of all remaining patience.

She cackled against the pavement. "So sweet, really. So sad. You really oughta work on your timing, lover."

William appeared from behind with a terrific roar as he burst into game face. The elder vampire hoisted her to her feet and allowed him his reprisal. It was minimal, but enough. Glibly, Porphyria strained herself forward, kicking him to the other side of the street and grabbing Angel by the upper arm, flipping him over and forcing him to the ground.

"I'm beginning to think the three of you should have tried me at the same time," she said thoughtfully. "Too bad you under-estimated just how well I can fend. And now look what you've gone and done to poor Faith."

The elder growled, vamping uncontrollably. In a flash of blind outrage, he lunged in firm attack, knocking her backward with full affects of consequential sting. The Cockney was next - leaping forward and back-fisting her before she could climb to her feet.

It was a moment of well-timed proportion, but nothing more. Porphyria bounded to a stance again, the full of her demon coming out in blazing consequence. She roared and charged, ducking Angel's furious swing with a backward kick that rendered him immediately to the ground.

She turned her attention to William, eyes gleaming spitefully. There was nothing to reflect behind his gaze. Nothing but stern, unabated hatred. "Oh, don't be like that," she berated. "Just because I've joined your stupid 'Slayer of Slayers' club. I wasn't aware the membership was limited to one."

"I'll rip your bloody throat out."

"Oh. More death threats? I told Faith as much, but she didn't listen: those are getting really old." She licked her lips suggestively. "How about a bit more show rather than the tell. I'm not much for men who are all talk and no action."

"You want action, bitch? 'Ere it comes."

Porphyria's eyes flickered. And he lunged.

It was a moment of delayed brilliance. A spark of sudden divinity that only occurs to those in the heart of decent battle. Her eyes lit up with enthusiasm, and with haste, she ducked and moved away, dropping with predatory instinct and tripping him with a quick swing of intuition. From behind, she heard Angel rustling to his feet, but that could not be allowed. Without taking her eyes away from the peroxide vampire, she moved backward and issued a powerful kick to the back of the elder's skull.

Then it was just the two of them.

Porphyria roared and ran for him, slashing claws at his throat, her other hand shooting between his legs. How he did it she would never know, but somehow William managed to grasp both wrists within a hair of contact, twisting her until she was on the ground, his kneecaps fitting grooves into her back. He reached to grasp her jaw, but she wrenched herself free with a sudden outburst of unprecedented power. Her hands enclosed around his arms and she flipped him over her head with cold harshness. Then he was cradled mockingly between her thighs, and she ran her hands through bleached locks of hair.

"After all this time," she cooed, "still a lover, not a fighter."

"Shootin' blindly, pet? Not losin' your ever-blessed confidence, are we?"

"Oh no, baby. I'm just getting started."

William tore out her reach viciously, pivoted and backhanded her, though there was little feeling behind it. Resolve was weakening, and she knew it. It was the worst form of power. The mocking hold one had over the other's affection, no matter how much of that spurned from hate.

In the next instant, she was on her feet as well, diving forward in a well-versed handstand, her ankles enclosing around his throat. She tossed him over once more with a joyous strain of authority. He grunted but made no sound of notable pain. With a dissatisfied rumble, she bent to her feet, turned and kicked him down again.

"I get the feeling you're not giving me your all, Spike," she hissed.

"Get bent." His voice lacked conviction.

"Oh, did I forget to mention how much you pissed me off the other day?" Porphyria circled him, arms folded pretentiously, jerking a sharp punt to his abdomen whenever he tried to sit up. "That entire crossbow stunt... what nerve! You know, you could have really done some damage, and then where would we be? You miss me the way I was, pet, and yet you came within a hair of losing your precious Buffy forever."

"I don' miss when I don' mean to." Again he tried to sit up. Again she made it impossible.

"And coming to Angel's rescue... talk about a shocker. I was about to do what you've always lacked the nerve to, anyway. He wasn't fun anymore. No playtime for Mr. Tall Dark And Boring. Or is that Brooding? I can never remember. I was gonna get rid of him for you, nice and quick." She leaned down, breathing a long, cold string of air into his ear. "There was a time you would have paid to see that."

William's obstinacy hardened. "Like I said, luv... tha's my job. Always 'as been. I 'ad this entire thing worked out with Dru from the very beginnin'. An' I tell yeah, 'f you 'ad wanted to kill bloody Peaches, you 'ad plenty of chances."

"Such stunning impracticality." Without warning, she reached and found the object of her previous intention, squeezing him tightly and eliciting a groan of both pain and pleasure. It was a wondrous feeling. "To think, Spike," she murmured thoughtfully. "I offered you everything."

"You said a few fancy words in a voice that doesn' belong to you." He coughed and attempted failingly to wan her away. "'Sides, 'f you go to such lows for the sake of Peaches, I wouldn't want to touch you with a... how's that song go? Thirty-nine an' a half foot pole? You're a bloody a two-buck whore. Better places for my two bucks."

Wrong thing to say when someone literally had you by the balls. Porphyria's fist clinched restrictively, her eyes flashing in a spark of fury. William couldn't hold it in; a long scream tore from his lips. It sounded through the empty streets with mocking regularity. There was no one to hear. All residents knew enough to stay indoors. Even the police wouldn't deign to show.

The alarm from the shop was still sounding in all its annoying shrillness. And still no one answered.

"And you," she hissed finally, her grip tightening once before she released him, "are the sorriest excuse of a vamp who didn't have it in him to please me. Only when I didn't want your filthy fucking hands on me would you give me half the good battle I was looking for. I'm sorry, how deaf are you? You can only scream, 'No please!' in so many languages." Once more she leaned down beside his ear, punctuating each last word with a sharpened breath of derisive emphasis. "You. Filthy. Rapist."

That was it. The pinnacle of all offense. William screamed and flipped over, the last remnants strength returning to worn muscles. In an affront of all enduring energy, he growled and attempted to leap forward, but was held in tight deference to the ground by the force of her leather-clad foot.

"I knew that would raise a response," she quipped. A stake was in her hand; a stake purloined from Faith's unmoving body. When... he didn't know. It no longer seemed to matter. The reminder of the Slayer's death propelled wafting miscellany scents of residual blood in his direction. He shuddered in spite himself, growled, and attempted to fight to his feet once more.

There would be no missing this time. Porphyria's eyes flashed meaningfully and she arched to meet him halfway, weapon vaulted for its target with expert marksmanship. His eyes widened in a sudden rush of realism, and in a hurry, he turned in the fruitless effort to battle his way to safety.

He was not quick enough...

Death is at your heels, baby...

...and yet the strike never came. Where there should have been a quick implosion of dusty vampiric bits, a loud gasp strained instead. A throaty cry for help, bred in any language. Under any regime - he would know that call and act just as naturally. The reaction was immediate; he didn't give himself time to reconsider. It was as natural as breathing was to humans, a motion etched in the very spirit of humanism. With surprisingly velocity, he turned and lurched forward, grasping her in his arms as the stake dropped anticlimactically to the ground. A flash of knowledge and understanding... then it was over.

She was panting heavily, clutching to him like the world would tear her away. No want of feeling coursed through him; he dared not exhibit an inkling of relief. And despite his better senses, he cradled her to him, calming her; aware at any minute the rage could burn again.

But he knew. He knew deep down it was not so.

The strength behind her grip wavered as realization set in. The authenticity of her surroundings. The body that cradled her with such protective fervor, despite the heat of battle only a few minutes before.

She spoke. Hesitant. Fearful. Tired.

"Sp... Wi... Will?"

It was the sweetest thing he had ever heard, and it filled every inch of his aching soul with more than liberation. There were no words to describe such blissful sensationalism. The world was void of poetry. Nothing touched the brink ecstasy. Nothing could hope to touch him ever again. His eyes watered, and he rocked her gently, unable to stop himself. "Shhhh, luv," he said disarmingly. "'S all right now. 'S all right."

Buffy shuddered and clutched him tightly, burying her face in the warmth of his shirt.

"'S over, my love. 'S all over now."

Then she burst into tears. There was nothing beyond that. The bittersweet taste of sorrow and penance that drown away the blood in her throat. She held onto him with aching desperation, craving the reassurance he could not offer.

And for the life of everything good and pure in the world, for the sobs wracking her body into a thousand tremors of painful resistance, she couldn't stop crying.

Chapter Thirty-Seven 

He laid her on the stone tenderly, brushing locks of hair from her face. Dried tears crusted against paling skin, and while she tried to hold it inward, her lungs couldn’t help but pump for air. In all the long years of his life, he couldn’t imagine beholding an image more beautiful.

She was shivering, but there was not much anyone could offer a shivering vampire, especially in accommodations such as these. The duster she wore even in darkness was wound tightly to her body. William sat beside her, watching with heavy eyes. It would take time, he understood. Lord knows it had taken him long enough.

She was still crying.

William drew in a breath and neared precariously. There was no sure one way to advance, but he wouldn’t allow her to weep all night. Revelations forbade such cruelty. He knew well her torment, and the need for whatever reparation the world had to offer. But no. He loved her too much to sit aside and watch.

Hesitantly, he reached for her, hand soft against her shoulder. “Buffy?”

Her withdraw was sharp and aggressive; a swift jerk that pulled beyond his reach. The blue of her eyes flashed dangerously. “Don’t touch me! Keep away!”

An immediate though reluctant extract. He nodded and reeled his arm back ritualistically to his side. “Whatever you want. I’m ‘ere, luv. Talk to me when you feel like it.”

It was so hard watching her cry and not being in the position to comfort. For long minutes, all he could do was observe in the midst of gut-wrenching grief. He schooled himself to stillness, hands forming tight fists in the will not to break his restraint and take her into his arms. There were no words that would make the world go away. There were no reassurances that all would be well. It was him and her: there together for as long as time allowed. As long as she needed before the inevitable release.

Every sob wore down his last strains of resolve.

When tremors began seizing possession of her body beyond the brink of control, he could stand it no longer. By instinct, he pulled her into his embrace amidst her struggles and cries of protest. It didn’t take much; once her head found his shoulder, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug so firm any normal man would have passed out for lack of circulation.

“There,” he said softly. “’S all right. ‘S all right now.”

“No! It’s not!” she retorted, pulling away to see his eyes, wiping the tears from her face in an effort that was determinately fruitless. It killed him a thousand times over to see the anguish her features held. The look of forewarning that bade him from conceivably belonging anywhere else. And she dissolved. Whether by looking at him, or seeing what wasn’t there to reflect in the pits off his eyes, he did not know. Strenuous sobs choked out of her throat, laced with words nearly beyond the threshold of comprehension. “Oh God! I’m so sorry, Will! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

The outburst was so mockingly familiar that he felt like staking himself.

“It wasn’ your fault, pet.”

“Then whose was it? I’ve killed, Spike. I’ve been feeding on humans for days!” Another onslaught of tears washed down her swollen cheeks. “You should have killed me. Run me through with that crossbow when you had the chance.”

William shook his head, thumb flickering strains of moisture from her face. “I couldn’t do that,” he said softly. “Not while there was any measure of hope that I could get you back.”

“This isn’t about you!” Buffy spat. “Or you…having me in any form. This is…how can I live with myself? What is there for me now?”

“There’s you,” he replied with breathtaking simplicity. The sort of conception that one arrives at and is never told. “Luv, you ‘ad no way of knowin’ what would ‘appen, else you woulda let yours truly through the bloody Gate. You did it out of love…for everyone.”

“It’s not that easy, Will,” the Slayer retorted bitterly, shaking her head. “I never pretended to make it that easy for you, or for Angel, or anyone. I’ll never…I could have killed them! The things I did…what I said. Faith. Oh God…Faith. I—”

“You can’t blame yourself for any of it. This isn’t like before.” William heaved a sigh. “’F there ‘aden’t been an inklin’ of hope, I woulda done you in. Real good, too. I wouldn’t let that thing ‘urt the Nibblet, or Red, or hell, even Peaches. Couldn’t.” Delicately, he placed his hand over her unbeating heart. “I know you. That Porphyria, or whatever we called ‘er…it wasn’ you. Not in any form.” He released a long breath. This was simply too much for even him to endure. The night was endless and he prayed only to wake and find this all not a dream. She looked and felt real, but the mind was a cruel, mocking device. It willed one to see what was desired—not what was actually there.

This he knew from devastatingly catastrophic experience.

Buffy shook her head again in fierce denial. “The same way you’re not Spike? Get over yourself, Will! I said some very wrong things…too many…but that wasn’t one of them.” She wiped her eyes irately. “Don’t give me that. I know…a part of it…I’ve been watching you ever since you got back. And yeah, I admit, in many ways, you’re not him. You’re not him enough not to be him. You got that part, sure. You’re the poet, he’s the demon…but you need each other to survive. You…don’t look at me like that! You know it’s true!” A choke stifled her throat. “And now look what I’ve done! God, Will! Look at what I’ve done!”

“What you did. Yeh. Bad stuff. All the way ‘round. Horrible. Nasty. Pet: It Wasn’t You. That thing…I’d’ve known. You should, too. The same way you can love Peaches but not Angelus. You know the bloody difference. One is a killer, the other is an annoyin’ git. There’s one an’ the other, baby.” He grasped her roughly by the shoulders and allotting her already-trembling form one good shake. “Sure, luv. Yeh got me. I’m bleeding William the Bloody Awful Poet an’ that stupid git who din’t know when to stop. One vamp outta a thousand. What I got doesn’ apply to you. You never woulda done the things you did. Never. You don’ have the stones, remember? I’d know it. By God, I’d know it.”

“I…” But there was nothing to say. Nothing to do but nod in dismal acceptance. Her eyes were drained of all tears. A rasping choke clogged her throat, demanding to be bypassed. “Everything,” she said hoarsely, a note having fallen in bland realization, “that I ever said to you. You as Spike. About being pure evil…and…”

“Don’ even finish that thought, luv,” he growled. “’S not fair to judge yourself based on wha’s ‘appened.”

“Oh, fuck what’s fair!” Buffy cried. “I was never fair. Never. Even when I admitted I was wrong, even when I apologized. I knew it but I never understood. Never. Not like…” She trailed off, as though first taking account of their surroundings. “Where are we?”

He brushed clumps of falling hair from her face. “After the street…what ‘appened…I woke Peaches up ‘an told ‘im to buzz off. To tell the others how it all went down. I brought you back to…that night, that firs’ night. Remember? The night we ‘ad?”

“When I was hurt and you recited your poetry?” If she could have, despite context, she would have flushed. “Or the other night we had?”

At that, he grinned. A small, sad grin. “Right the first time. I brought you ‘ere to fix you up. Granted, you weren’t cut up too bad, but a lil help couldn’t hurt. I din’t think you’d…be ready.”

“To see them?”

“Yeh.” William looked down, hand sliding down her cheek to rest peacefully at her shoulder. “Did I do right?”

Buffy nodded, expelling a long twine of air. “How will I face them?” she asked softly. “After everything…how can I?”

“You din’t ‘urt a one of ‘em. I saw to that.”

“But the things I said! All the horrible things…” Her face blanked with ghastly recognition. “Oh…Dawn. Dawnie. I almost…I…”

“She’ll understand. They all will.”

“It’s not a matter of understanding, Spike. They love me and I know they always will. I know that in the end…but…”

A poignant comprehension settled over him, and with a sigh of reasoning, he admitted the truth into acceptance. “’S about you forgivin’ you, innit, pet? ‘S not about them at all.”

Her eyes glossed over with tears once more, though she thought there was no motivation for extended sorrow. “The people I…and Faith. I killed Faith. She was here to help and I—”

“Again…we’ve danced this dance before. It wasn’ you, pet.”

“But—”

“In any regard, she was attackin’ you. ‘F you aden’t killed ‘er, she woulda you in a heartbeat.” It was a long shot, but he felt compelled to try. The look he received was unfeeling, almost cold, and he immediately regretted releasing the words. However, that didn’t prevent him from constructing an ill-conceived justification. “Think about it, pet. She woulda done it. I knew the minute I laid eyes on ‘er. Sod redemption an’ gettin’ you back an’ the like…she said she wouldn’t but I knew. That bird was out for blood.”

“It’s her job, Spike!” she spat. “She’s…she’s a slayer. I’m a vampire. I was an out of control vampire. And I killed her.”

“Tha’s jus’ somethin’…you’re stronger than this, Buffy. You’ve been around it too long…but ‘s a part of the soul-‘avin’ gig. ‘F things ‘ad gone differently, y’wouldn’t ‘ave ever considered what ‘appened ‘ere. You know that, an’ I know that—”

The Slayer shook her head vehemently. “God, you’re such a hypocrite. Listen to yourself! What have I been telling you since you came back? You had no concept of difference! You wouldn’t hear a word of what I had to say. And now that it’s the other way around…you can’t expect so much of me, Will. I speak it, but hell, I can’t take it.” That much was true, and a flash of burdened guilt shimmied up his spine in result. It wasn’t fair to put such pressure on her. “And you know what kills me…what really kills me? You! Let me…I was…I never was fair. Never. To feel such blackness and reject it. Why is it you got the entire ‘right and wrong’ thing? Why did you care?” Tears were coming again. They both thought they were beyond crying, but the sight of one’s grief did the other in. “And…all I could feel was hate! And the want to destroy everything good. And…how could you get love from that? How could you fight beyond what…how did you do it, Will? How? It’s not fair!”

William grasped one of her flailing arms and jerked her to him roughly, forcing her eyes to his. “You ‘ave any idea how many years I spent killin’ an’ feedin’ an’ doin’ things jus’ because it sounded like good ole fun? Don’ ever think I was different from any of the others. Not a one of ‘em. Even when…even when I was with you, I wanted to go out there an’ be reekin’ some havoc. I—”

“That’s just it!” she screamed back. “You wanted to. You wanted to, but you never did. Don’t you see? I felt nothing like that. Nothing. Ever. Not for one second. I had you tied up and my thoughts were fuck or kill. I…I tried to…Angel. I tried to make him lose his soul. I did awful things…just in a couple of days. My own sister…and it’s not like you had no want of emotion! There was Dru! Perverse, yeah, but you loved her. You loved her enough to…to not…”

“Buffy, please—”

“I felt nothing but darkness. It consumed me.” Her words were becoming distorted again, and she leaned her head wearily on his shoulder. “I can’t take that, Will. Not again. Oh God, how I envy you. You and Angel. You…you’re so collected and…you know…but I…”

“Listen to me, you halfwit,” he said, fighting the instinctual urge to pull away to see her eyes. It was comfortable like this. They both needed that sense of closeness. “Peaches was a prat who got ‘imself sired because of his bloody drunkenness. I was a prat who got myself sired because some bitch din’t like my poetry. You got sired to save your sister. You sacrificed yourself to save the world…again. There ‘s nothin’ in there to…you weren’t ‘er, luv. That thing…I knew. I knew the minute you walked in. The minute I saw you when you firs’ came in an’ I ‘ad to…I knew. It wasn’ you. Not one part of it. It wasn’ you.” At that, he offered a sheepish smile. “I mean, come’n, luv, we told you enough times. All of us did.”

Buffy looked down, shaking her head in characteristic refutation. “I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered. “An eternity of pain? An eternity of…of everything. I don’t know how you’ve lasted this long…with or without a soul. I don’t get it, Spike. And I never will.” Tears welled in her eyes again. “And…it could happen again. All of it. Any of it. One goddamned moment of true happiness and I…” She looked up. “I’m assuming you guys found another Orb of Thesulah. Thank God. Where’d you get it?”

“Watcher Boy brought it with ‘im,” he replied. “’m guessin’ they got a call from ‘im once they got back to the house.”

“Wes came?”

“’E sent Faith ‘ere first.”

The mention of the name made her twitch. He decided not to linger. “Tell me what to do, then,” he whispered. “Honestly, luv, I’m at a bloody loss.”

“How…how long can we stay here?”

“As long as you need.”

She nodded. “There are some things…we need to discuss.”

“I’d say so.”

Buffy drew in a breath and closed her eyes tightly. “And this is the way it’ll be…us dancing at arm’s length. Me, trying but never getting over what’s happened. Watching my friends and family grow old and die. And you…here for me but never here for me. You’re right, Will. You were right about every single reservation you ever had. About staying…especially now.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine what…watching them die. My friends. The people closer to me than anything on the face of this planet. And you’ve been careful. I’ve been so insensitive and you’ve been careful. You’ve tried to do the right thing…stay away. And I knew it! I knew every minute that I was being a bitch and, fuck it, I didn’t care. You haven’t said it once since you’ve been back, but I know. I guess I know. And now…now I have to do this. I’m here…and I’ll be alone, and my GOD what have I turned myself into? I won’t become a monster again. I won’t let it happen! That means you have to leave. That means—”

“No.” William surprised her with his sharp straightforwardness, earning a blink and a double take, as though both leaping for joy and despair at the same time.

“What?”

It was nothing he had conjured spontaneously, though at the moment, there had never been a more preposterous proposal. Four years ago he would have said differently. Four years ago, anything seemed possible. But now, sitting with her in this dreary environment with reality hovering of their heads, the notion was outlandish. Far out there. Practically beyond reach.

But nevertheless, plausible.

The look on her face was enough to convince him of anything.

“Luv…I can…you don’ deserve that.” A long breath fought out of his body. “I told Ripper a few…well, it seems like a long time ago, but I guess it wasn’. Prolly days. Huh. Jus’ days. I told ‘im one of the reasons I was leavin’ was because it was in your best interest. ‘E made some pretty bloody good points.” There was no way to discuss the matter without being incredibly blunt and seemingly insensitive, but it was a discussion that needed to be had. Now more than ever. “Luv, do you ‘ave any idea jus’ how long forever is?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Be honest. How long is forever where you’re standin’?”

All possible reaction drained from her face. It was a difficult calculation to conjure on a second’s demand. When it was obvious she had not an answer to supply, he nodded in understanding and waved his disclosure.

“Tha’s what I thought. I’ve been ‘ere…well, not forever but it damn well feels like it. I loved Dru for a good part of that. She’s been gone a while now, but I always feel she’s ‘round, still.” Understanding washed into her eyes; not the sort of resentment one might expect when an old lover finds their way into the conversation. “An’, ‘ad things not changed, ‘ad I never come to this town an’ met the lot of you, I’d still be with ‘er. She was out of ‘er bloody mind, but I loved ‘er. Enough to be with ‘er forever.” William looked at her seriously. “Luv, I have no clue how long forever is. It din’t matter to me. I ‘ad everythin’ a bloke could ever want. If…if I can…would you be able…I won’ pretend we come from the same generation. Despite my…well, everythin’, things like divorce an’ splits were pretty much unheard of back in the day. Do you think you could stand bein’ ‘round me forever?”

The look he received was one of grim astonishment. “Of cour—erm—Spi…there’s no reason to talk about this. I—”

“’F the answer is yes, then I know we can work somethin’ out.” The wheels in his head began churning. “Luv, I lost you. I’ve lost you before, but I really lost you this time. It was the worst feelin’ I’ve ever ‘ad. Ever. An’ now…things won’ be easy. They’ll never be easy. I can’t promise you much, but…’f we do this…’f you can, then I gotta know. I don’ think I could stand to lose you again. What ‘f there came the day when you decided jus’ to up an’ move on?”

At that, she grew hostile and defensive. “Move on? To who? Or what? I have no one in this world left! And…why are we even having this conversation? Happiness, remember? Nix the happiness for me. It’s not worth that. I…I don’t want my love to kill you. You or anyone. And that’s what it would do, ultimately. That’s—”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’ve got you back now, and damn it all ‘f I let it all slip away from me again. Buffy…do you love me?”

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

A frown depressed her face. “Will…argh…despite the fact that I just said…bah. If you don’t know the answer to that by now, then…well…you’re just really stupid. But that doesn’t matter anymore, don’t you get it? None of it matters. I—”

He went on without lending her time to voice an argument. “Will you stay with me forever? No matter how long it turns out to be?”

“Will—”

“Jus’ answer the question, luv.”

She sighed, hand combing through her hair. “Well…yes. Yes. I don’t think…I can’t see anyone… Will, what’s the point?”

“Stay with me…” A look of contentment the world itself had never before acknowledged lit his face like a bonfire of safe-haven. “You would? Forever?”

“YES! Forever. Until the world ends. Whatever it is that you need to hear. I—”

“It’ll get rough, pet.”

Aggravation flooded her features. “Everything does. Don’t talk like—”

“You’ll wanna stake me ‘alf the time.”

“Like now?”

He didn’t pause to arch a cynical look in her direction. Thoughts were racing through his head far too quickly for any meager interruption to stop the flow. “I’ll go to the end of the world for you. I did already, an’ I’m willin’ to do it again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Buffy…” He took her hands tenderly in his, caressing the backs with his thumbs. “Africa. We’ll go to Africa an’ get you a permanent soul. Like mine. One that one sodding moment of true happiness can never take away. Whaddya say, luv? Forever? ‘S a long ruddy time an’ it’ll be hard as hell, but I think we can make it. I—”

The sheer assurance of the plot was enough to fill anyone’s heart with joy. It was with the greatest relief that he watched comprehension settle in her eyes. “A permanent…”

“Yeah, luv. I won’ let you fall again. Made the bloody promise to Red, an’ I’ve made it to you. Don’ aim to go back on it. I—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Fire blazed behind her eyes alongside a sense of old-school humor. All want of denial and objection abandoned her without suggestion. “This is only if I said yes?”

At that, he managed to look sheepish. “Well, no. I jus’ wanted to know.”

A grin, faint but tangible, spread across her lips. She walloped his arm with more force than she intended. “Jerk.”

“’Ey, a bloke has a right to know. ‘F we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it all the way. I’m takin’ you to Africa…an’ we’ll make a deal with a demon.” He smiled and toyed with a lock of fallen hair. “We’ll do it, luv. An’ I’ll spend the rest of eternity tryin’ to make you happy. As happy as possible. Happier than—”

“Will it be hard?”

“What? Makin’ you happy?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, nimrod, passing the…whatever it takes to get permanent restoration.”

A note of resignation washed through him. “As hell. But ‘f I could do it—”

That was all the encouragement she required. The grin on her face elevated to the esteem of a bona-fide smile. “Point taken. All right. Africa. We’ll go to Africa.”

“That we will.”

“When?”

“Whenever you want, pet.”

She sighed. “I…I’ll need to see them before we leave.”

“’Course.”

“How long will it take…this…thing…to get over? I know…but I don’t…I just…”

William pursed his lips. “I won’ lie to you, pet…it’ll take a long time. You’ll likely carry it around forever. But we’ll work through it. I’m ‘ere…every step of the way.”

Buffy nodded and took his hand, and while she trembled, her grip was backed with resolve. “Every step,” she repeated.

There was nothing more to say. And while neglected concerns occupied the air around them, there was plenty of time to tend to every inquiry. Every wonder. Every miniscule anxiety of substantial consequence.

As of that minute, they had forever.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The approach to 1630 Revello Drive was slow-paced and bittersweet. Every step crackled with electric tension, and as she fought for comfort, William grasped her hand and offered a reassuring squeeze.

The confession to cross her lips was by no means the first admittance. A same old song that danced time and time again, never altering in tune despite how furiously the symphony prepared. A grave but valid understanding; one that would potentially take her years to overcome. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it, pet.”

“What if…” She looked at him in silent plea for comfort, however empty. “I know they love me, Will. I told you, and I do know it. But…” Her teeth found her lower lip and gnawed wearily.

“What if they don’, you mean? Luv, tha’s a big ‘what if.’”

She nodded, tears clouding her eyes. The past evening had given her hope and time. Together, they had cried enough to last an eternity. It seemed futile to revert to square one now.

“Not even a possibility,” William said confidently. “’Sides, ‘s not like you’re the firs’ to fall into darkness. Imagine how Red felt, comin’ back ‘ere all alone. She has stones, an’ so do you.” Delicately, he planted a feather-light kiss on her hand. “You ‘ave me, too. Whatever consolation that brings. You’ll get through this, pet. We both will.”

Buffy smiled faintly. “It’s guided hope, but I guess it’s all we got.”

He nodded, caressing her face with curled fingers. “More than that. ‘S all we need.”

The door opened after what felt like an eternity, swinging with stillness that suggested empty temperament. Xander stood on the opposite side; his eyes telling tales of the hours lost to worry. Both vampires detected the near-audible rush in pulse and virtually saw a frog leap in his throat.

There was nothing on his face for a long minute. Nothing but their mingled breaths hanging suspended in the air before the full gravity of Harris’s relief swept into his eyes. “Oh God!” he gasped at last, stepping forward and pulling her into his arms. The boundary protecting the house quivered as she neared the territorial mark. William pursed his lips as a flash of undying sadness drew across her face, but she courageously pushed her reservation aside.

“I’m so glad to see you,” he said perceptively; hold constricting in a firm refusal to let go. “We didn’t…we couldn’t know what happened until Angel came back.” His gaze traveled to the platinum vampire. “He said you got her out. We’ve just been…waiting here since.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Xan,” Buffy replied, pulling back to wipe her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I—”

“Don’t even,” he said immediately. “Angel…he spent a good part of…well, the entire time talking to us. Telling us what to expect. More importantly, what not to expect.” He released a long-winded sigh. “Buff, I know you. I’ve known you for ten years. And I know what happened wasn’t your fault.”

William’s eyes narrowed in spite of himself. “Since when did you become a picketer for us no-pulsers?”

“Since my best friend sacrificed herself to—”

“Don’t,” the Slayer said, holding up a hand. “Please don’t.”

“No problem,” Xander replied immediately.

“Where’s Dawn?”

He motioned inward and her sister appeared on the stairs, masterfully timing her apt cue. The air between them flickered with immediate response; Buffy read the pain in her eyes and felt something climactic within her crash. Without realizing it, her gaze had blurred with tears. “Oh God,” she whispered. “Dawnie…” The reaction was instantaneous—she tried to go forward and met the barrier in result. That only prompted further strings of heartache.

The look she received was unreadable, almost cold. William felt compelled to say something but dared not for the world. It was not his place to decide. The Nibblet had made her feelings concerning her sister’s return abundantly clear, but despite the façade of appearance, he knew she was jumping for joy inside. With deliberate slowness, Dawn took a few steps down the stairs, gaze never wavering. When she was close enough to touch, to reach just inside the entry, she stopped and peered.

Then respite like no other filled her eyes with warmth, and an incomparable smile broke across her face as two tears skated down her cheeks. “Come in,” she whispered, and no sooner had she leapt beyond the periphery and thrown her arms around her sister’s quaking frame. “Buffy. Oh God.” They hugged forever; inseparable by any force, clung to one another by blood and love in a way no one else could hope to ever touch.

“Dawn,” she choked, clutching her sister with more strength than any person should be made to tolerate. There was no want of objection; the encouragement fueled by ardor only persuaded her to make the hold all the more restrictive. “I’m so sorry. Please…I’m so sorry…”

“I know.” Reluctantly, the girl pulled away, a sad smile fashioned on her face. “Believe me, you don’t go through this three times without learning something in the…well…at all. With you and Angel…and him…” She nodded discreetly to William. “Don’t feel sad. Please don’t feel sad. I—”

At that, the peroxide vampire stepped forward, taking Buffy’s hand in his. It was nothing of a possessive display; rather precisely what she needed now more than ever. “Don’ worry ‘bout that, Bit,” he said. “We’ll take care of everythin’.”

The majority of the first few hours consisted of the trades, the shared tears, countless apologies and a thousand pardons. Angel held her in a tight embrace for what seemed like hours—a raw exhibit of his tightly clad emotions. Aside from Dawn, from whom she needed the most forgiveness, Buffy begged her first love’s pardon for her ill-conceived actions. For the blatant strain on his durability and other things she couldn’t possibly be held responsible for.

A time was reserved privately between Watcher and Slayer.

There was Wesley as well. Wesley to thank with all her heart. She crushed him with superior strength. “I don’t think thank you’s a big enough…well, thank you,” she whispered. “I’m just glad you were here. And I…” Hesitantly, she glanced to the elder vampire. “Ummm…Faith. I…”

Xander stepped forward and braced her shoulder supportively. “That wasn’t your…well, okay…I’m going to sound like the king of all hypocrites, seeing as I’ve been the residing President of ‘Stake ‘Em Vamps’ ever since you started on with Angel. And even more so with…” He looked to William, cleared his throat, and directed his attention away again. “But…you’re…you’re Buffy. Buff. The Buffster. Lady of Buffdom, Duchess of Buffonia.” His voice was becoming hoarse. “And it wasn’t your fault.”

“You can’t carry the burden,” Angel agreed, solitary in his corner. “I know that’s easier said than done. Believe me, I know. You’ll always have the memory. Feel the sensation. Endure the pain. That never goes away.”

“Sure, Peaches,” William snickered, crossing his arms and tossing a wry glance to the black night. “Bloody brilliant angle. When you get to the point of ‘can’t hardly get up without breakin’ down,’ lemme jump in. Gotta few pointers on ‘ow to—”

The reaction was instantaneous. Angel and Xander shot him identical looks of raw annoyance and muttered, “Shut up, Spike,” in perfect unanimity.

Buffy grinned. “Thanks,” she said softly. “Believe it or not, in a really weird way, that does help.”

The elder vampire flashed his childe a cocky, however brief glance.

Willow stepped forward. “So…what now? The Master’s dead, you’re all normal-like…” She looked hopefully to William. “Is…have you…decided…?”

“It isn’t over yet, Red,” he replied dismally. “But we’re gettin’ there. The Slayer an’ me ‘ave decided to get ourselves ‘round to Africa. The bloke who gave me this permanent soul thing ‘s over there somewhere. ‘S been a few years, but I can find my way again.”

Giles looked up with sharp interest. “What are you saying?”

“Come on, Ripper. Even you aren’t that daft.” The platinum vampire grinned. “We’re gonna go get ‘er one, too. No more of that sodding ‘one more of true happiness’ crap. Sorry, Peaches.” He tossed the grand sire a brief, obviously disinterested glance. “What works for you an’ all. I s’pose you could tag along an’ see if the Great An’ Powerful Oz feels givin’ enough to jus’ hand ‘em out. I—”

“Stop talking,” Angel said desperately. “Just…stop. Are you sure this…demon that restored your soul would be just…willing to perfect her condition? Wouldn’t there be consequences? Wouldn’t—”

“Yeh. An’ for those who ‘ave been listenin’, this chap’ll put ‘er through some right powerful trials.” He smiled at her. “But she can do it. I know ‘er enough to know that.”

For a long minute, Angel appeared thoroughly tempted. Buffy knew for certain; she had seen that look flash across his face only days before. However, in the end, he shook his head and heaved a sigh. “The more people to go, the more time and hassle it’ll cost. If all goes well, I might find myself over there someday. You never can know. Besides…Cordy called last night. She—”

“Cordelia?” Xander asked, as if the planet was overpopulated with ‘Cordy’s’, and they, by chance, were affiliated with every single one. “Wow. I haven’t seen her in forever.”

“They’re somewhat desperate to see you home,” Wesley agreed. “Things have been rather hectic. The demon populace apparently got wind of the entire ‘new Master rises’ and has since been wreaking havoc in various parts of the city. I don’t suppose news has spread that the danger is over. It’s been hell trying to keep everything quiet.”

“I can imagine,” the elder vampire said softly. “Wolfram and Hart must have wasted thousands in funding supporting the…” He paused when he realized everyone was staring at him. “I suppose now is not the time to talk shop.”

The conversation proceeded without further encouragement. Giles crossed his arms and paced forward slowly. “And after this is over,” he said. “After you obtain a permanent restoration rite for Buffy…what are your plans from there, Will? Have you made any move to contact the library administration?” A glint of poignant hope tickled his tone—the type that said I’ll miss you and move on in the same beat. Despite everything they had been through, everything that had happened over the past few years, the past few days, it was still somewhat bizarre to receive the old man’s blessing.

But only somewhat.

“I’m thinkin’ we’ll stop in London before goin’ as far as Africa,” the platinum vampire replied. “I ‘ave a few things to settle there, an’ I’d like to go over what she’ll be expectin’ come the trials.”

“But after that. When—”

“That depends on the Slayer,” William replied simply. “I made ‘er a promise last night an’ I don’ aim to go back on it. ‘S whatever she decides.”

At that, all eyes fell on Buffy. She huffed a long breath and shrugged. “We still have some things to figure out,” she said. “But he’s…we’ve pretty much decided that whatever it is that we have to face, it’d be easier to do it together. Especially after…what happened.”

Dawn smiled softly, though everyone could tell she was simply bursting with positive energy. It was such a thoroughly welcome transition. Warmth filled the atmosphere despite alternative suggestion, despite what they had faced these past few days. Despite everything. “So, you two are together? I mean, really, really together? As in a couple? As in ‘until apocalypse do you part’?”

William smiled. “I’m guessin’ you don’ completely hate the idea, do you, Nibblet?”

The Witch practically bounded forward before Dawn could reply, leaping into the peroxide vampire’s arms and pulling him into a large, heartfelt bear-hug. “I knew it,” she whispered. “I knew you couldn’t stay away. I—”

“Will,” Buffy intervened, an edge, however minimal, to her voice. “We haven’t…ummm…decided anything yet. There are other things to decide. Like…where we’re going to live. What we’re going to do. I hesitate to think how many slayers have been called into action with…” She looked to Angel with a deeper root of understanding. “I’m…not sure of anything right now.”

The look of subliminal bliss washed coldly off her sister’s face. “What do you mean…where you’re going to live? Has here been completely ruled out? You’re not going to leave us, are you?”

“Dawnie, I didn’t say that—”

“It sure sounded like it. You’re going to leave us?”

William paced forward and took hold of her arm. “Nibblet, we ‘aven’t the slightest idea what we’re doin’ jus’ yet. But all things gotta be taken into account. Your sis couldn’t well stay ‘ere forever an’ watch the lot of you grow old an’ leave ‘er…no more than I could.”

“And the Mayor,” Angel added, capturing everyone’s attention. “Mayor Wilkins. I know that was a long time ago, but he had some good points. Points so true that it inspired me to leave. It’s hard watching those you love grow old. There would come the day when you would resent Buffy so much for her youth that…” He glanced to Dawn empathetically. “You should—”

“Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do!” the girl cried. “Don’t expect me to understand or…be happy…or…” Menacingly, she turned to William. “What was the point of bringing her back if you’re just going to take her away from me again? You—”

“Dawn!” Buffy seized her flailing arms. “Calm down. We haven’t decided anything yet. We can’t—”

“No!” She yanked herself out of reach. “I don’t want to hear how it’s in yours and my best interest, or how…I just don’t want to hear it!”

William thundered forward. “Now, look ‘ere, Nibblet. Mind your sis. We’re—”

The previous manifest support harbored so delicately in her adolescent subconscious had all but dissolved. “Oh, now you’re giving me orders?” Tears streaked roadways down her cheeks. “You, the vamp who doesn’t—”

“Don’t even think of finishing that sentence, young lady!” Buffy snapped. A look of unguided pain flashed across the platinum vampire’s face, and with subtle withdraw he retreated to the corner beside Giles.

“You’re always thinking of yourself!” the girl cried. “How dare you even consider leaving me…again! Won’t you—”

“That’s enough,” Harris said sharply. “Back off, Short Stuff. She hasn’t said she’s leaving you or anything. Honestly, Dawn, grow up…” At that, he paused. “Says me. Anyway, you’re a high school graduate and probably the luckiest kid on the face of the planet. You have a sister who has and would sacrifice everything to make sure you get every opportunity in life. So you could live. Don’t ever call her selfish again. I—”

“Xander,” Buffy intervened softly. “Don’t yell at her. That’s okay. Thanks anyway.”

The fire in Dawn’s eyes had withered, but her face remained hardened and unresolved. “You can’t do this to me,” she said, voice saturated in obduracy. “I told you not to take the jump for me, and you did. I told you not to let the Master sire you, and you did. I told you—” She motioned to Willow, “not to do the curse again. To just let Faith take care of it so she wouldn’t feel horrible about what happened, but you did. And now…now you give her back to me…again…and she’s what? Going away? Leaving me for the thousandth time? What’s the point anymore? What—”

“I’ve had enough,” Giles said with a dramatic though predictable fierce removal of his glasses. “Dawn, you cannot possibly know how hard this has been for her. No one here except Angel and William have any feasible idea what she is going through. I know you’ve had it rough. I know you’ve suffered, but you cannot hope to ask of her what you’re…asking of her. You yourself said you didn’t want her in pain to—”

“You guys are making a whole lot of assumptions on what I intend to do with my never-ending life,” the Slayer snickered. “For the last time, I haven’t decided anything yet! We have to get around the Africa thing first. I don’t want to leave you guys…at all. But…you can’t…” She shook her head. “You can’t expect me to…like Angel said. And Giles. You have no idea how hard this is. There’s no way you could.”

“And you have the right to presume what I’m going through is a piece of cake?”

At that, the last strain of patience dissolved. “Please. Continue talking about things you have no feasible conception of. God knows I love you, Dawnie, but you’re making this harder on me. Do you think I want to leave and never come back? You’re my world. What more do I have to do to prove that to you?”

There was nothing to rebuttal on that note. The look on the girl’s face fell with deeper recognition, and a sigh burdened her small frame. She shook her head as her eyes welled again with tears. “Nothing. Buffy, I’m sorry. This is just…it’s too much, you know? All of this. It’s just too much.”

The two were drawn together like magnets, seeking comfort in the other’s embrace while crying a wealth of grief that could never be eased. “I’m sorry,” Dawn muttered again. “I just don’t want you to go away. Not after everything.”

“I don’t want to go, either, sweetie.” Buffy pulled away and met William’s gaze. The look he depicted was mournful and engaging. A conversation could pass between their eyes and no one would notice. If there was one consistency to bank on, it was his devotedness to maintaining any vow that crossed his lips. He had promised to make her happy. After everything was over, he promised to make her happy.

And yet she couldn’t look down that road. She wouldn’t allow herself to become that selfish. There was a life in London that he adored. A life that he wouldn’t leave without serious reservations, even if he never outwardly exhibited regret. Through everything that had occurred, he had remained singularly altruistic. She owed it to him to repay some of the same.

It all depended on where they decided to go from there. Where there was to go when the path forked in two directions.

At that minute, she hadn’t the faintest inkling of what lay around the bend.

What felt like weeks of vampirehood and she wasn’t accustomed yet to smelling the sun before it crossed the horizon. Angel had told her as much years ago, and even then, the concept had been difficult to grasp. How could any one creature smell the approach of daylight? It seemed like an additive to melodramatics.

She had been naïve. There was no denying that.

Buffy leaned over the back porch railing, sipping every now and then at a mug of cooling blood. The night provided little to see beyond the sketches of paling stars and promise of imminent sunrise. William stood inside; she could feel his eyes burning into her back, but she understood that he would not join her unless she extended the invitation.

The feeling of extensive deadness spanned miles within her. What she was supposed to think, she did not know. How she was supposed to react, she had no reasonable grasp. The world seemed tiny yet enormous at the same time. There was so much to explore.

She had no idea where to begin.

Buffy assumed she and William would leave the country as early as the next day—the end of the week at the very latest. She wanted it over. All of it.

No one should suffer this much pain.

What they—Angel and the others—had told her remained true, of course. Somewhere deep within her cavity, she understood that what had happened was not at her blame. That didn’t stop the images from coming. Every time she closed her eyes, Faith’s neck twisted a little tighter, crunched a little louder. She died a little more.

The darkness she had touched terrified her beyond reproach in a way that could not be conveyed to anyone—even those who had the slightest chance of comprehending her pain. It was more than the fire to kill her enemy. More than everything. She had lashed out with the same violence toward the Master before mistakenly feeding him to the Gate of Abraxas. That outrage. That fiery, passionate fury. She had never felt anything so black before in her life.

The thought was beyond terrifying. She feared for her sister. For Xander, Willow, and Giles. For Angel and William. But mostly for herself. A sort of animalesque barbarity had bred her into something that required nothing but adequate prompt to be pushed into gear. It would be easy to blame that on the demon, but she knew. She knew it was birthed somewhere within her. The soul within the monster.

It was prophetic, sadly. Spike had told her time and time again that she belonged in the shadows, and she was only now beginning to agree with him.

Tears rolled down her cheeks without feeling. Numbness stretched every inch of her cold skin. She couldn’t cry forever, but she might as well die trying.

The back door slammed closed. She flinched but didn’t bother to turn.

“You know,” Giles said softly. She could smell the coffee he held with acute awareness. The thought almost made her chuckle. He had not slept a wink, but that was not without assistance. “It is getting rather late.”

“Don’t you mean early?”

“Hmmm. Touché.” He took a long sip and sighed. “If you’re planning on greeting the sunlight when it comes up, I’d advise against it. Will tried the same thing a few years ago. He thinks that I don’t know about it, but I do.” A rumble of humorless mirth shook the Watcher’s body. “I was ready to drag him off that rooftop kicking and screaming if I had to.”

“I know,” she replied. “He told me.”

“Buffy, do not be upset with him for bringing you back. He thought he was doing the right thing.” He huffed. “That’s the thing about him; he has the most insufferable loyalty of anyone I’ve ever met—outside Xander, of course.”

“I’m not upset with him.” She sighed. “Well, I was of course. I mean—sure—who wouldn’t be? But he did do the right thing. I need to do this…face up to what I’ve done. Accept the consequences.”

“You cannot be held accountable for anything,” Giles replied. “I know you’ll tire of hearing that, but it is the truth. You did what you though was right. What your blood commanded of you.”

Buffy snickered. “Funny. When Angel went wacky everyone still blamed him for what happened to Ms. Calendar. Don’t play favorites on me.”

There was a brief pause. “I realize that,” he replied a second later. “It was terribly unfair. We didn’t know…or understand. I suppose you really don’t comprehend the layers of souled vampires until you work with one for several years. It was through that that I was able to see the distinction between Will and his demon counterpart. Granted, they are very much the same, but there are notable differences. He is not like you. For whatever reason, he can be both. You are not.”

Another audible scoff tittered through her body. “Don’t try to make me feel better. You didn’t see me before I jumped through the Gate. I went completely postal on the Master.”

“That sounds natural.”

“No, I mean seriously, I was two seconds from ripping his head off with my teeth.” Buffy shook her head heavily. “I’ve never felt anything that black. It was as if the transition from Slayer to ‘no souly, look at me!’ was already in motion. I turned into something…terrible.”

“You were provoked, though, correct? Willow was able to relate some of what Geryon said before he died.”

At that, her eyes darkened. “I’ll say I was provoked. Can’t even remember what the hell he said, but it was enough to get me going. But that’s not the point, Giles. I was…I was a monster. I’ve never felt like that before.”

He sighed and moved directly beside her. The scent of coffee became thick and almost intolerable. She wondered how it would taste intermingled with blood. “Well, Buffy,” he said, “you are a vampire now. Violent outbursts are embedded in your nature. It is to be expected. You have strength beyond strength. I’d wager you’ve only sampled what power now lies at your fingertips.”

“Great. More chaos.”

“I don’t believe so.”

She was crying before she realized it. That was another annoying side effect to rekindled humanity; tears came naturally. Without warning or forethought she would find herself sobbing into a deluge. It was a miracle she had not drowned in her own tears. “I…the things I did—”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

“Stop saying that!” At once, she jumped away, wiping the moistness at her face with frustration. “God, why does everyone insist on telling me the obvious? I realize that it wasn’t me. That Faith and everyone else I killed wasn’t…it wasn’t my fault. I get that, okay? But I feel it, Giles. Every time I close my eyes, every time I pause to take a breath—God, isn’t that an annoying habit to kick?—every time I…it wasn’t me. Sure. But I was there. I was there and I didn’t stop it.” Buffy choked a sob and shook her head with sudden fury. “And now…everything’s so…Dawn hates me. Will’s going to give up everything he loves for me. That’s not fair…after all I’ve put him through. I finally got what I want and I’m miserable! I can’t do shit about it. I’m stuck here in a—”

“Dawn does not hate you,” the Watcher assured her, tone neutral and soft. “She loves you very much. She has been put through far more than anyone can really take into account. I think we underestimate that at times.”

She sniffed. “It’s not like my life has been a bed of roses, either.”

“Yes, but you didn’t have a choice. You were born to stop evil. She was created to be hidden from evil.” Giles sighed. “I think we expect too much of her at times. Despite…memories and all sense of understanding, she is only six years old when it boils down to the final all.” He paused. “And I guarantee you, if his leaving the library meant half as much to Will as you do, he wouldn’t budge for the world.”

The sky was beginning to brighten with streaks of daylight. “He hasn’t said as much to me,” she whispered. “I mean, it’s implied. And I know he loves me…but he still…he hasn’t said it.”

The Watcher chuckled unsmilingly. “Oh? Is that all? Honestly, Buffy, if you’ve ever had any doubt in the sincerity of his feelings—”

“I haven’t.” A brief pause. “I just…I don’t want him to feel obligated to be with me. He says he’s going to spend the rest of his unlife trying to make me happy. It all sounds very wine and roses, but I…if there’s someplace he’d rather be…something he’d—”

“If there was someplace William would rather be, trust me, he would be there. You’re his whole world.” Giles smiled softly. “If he neglects to bluntly relate his affection, it might be for subconscious fear of lingering rejection. He memorized the taste of your dismissal well enough to copy the recipe. I’m not saying he does it intentionally. You must be patient with him.”

A brief want of fierce refutation flared within her, but there was nothing to say to justify her former actions. Cold understanding settled in. They took simultaneous drinks of their respective beverages and stilled once more.

“If nothing else,” the Watcher continued, dumping the rest of his coffee over the side of the railing, “look no further than the extents to which he is willing to go for you. Words are cheap, Buffy. Actions display one’s love with much more reality than anyone else could possibly offer.”

“I feel so…shitty.” She sighed and finished off the blood with a large mouthful. “Out of everything that’s happened, and I worry about the most selfish—”

“It’s not selfish. It’s human. A human reaction in the need of love.” Giles stepped backward. “If you didn’t worry about it, you would be truly dead.”

She snickered cynically. “With my track record, I’ll never be truly dead.”

They shared a mutually unfunny chuckle.

“The sun is coming up,” he observed. “And he’s waiting for you.”

“I know,” Buffy replied. “He’s been watching me ever since I came out here.”

“Yes, and he is willing to wait forever.” Finally, she turned to meet the Watcher’s eyes. Wisdom beyond comprehension soared with stunning magnitude. “It’s displays like that that scream I love you. You oughtn’t need any further reassurance.” He paused, looked down, then up again, gaze fixed on the graying sky. “You better get indoors. You both deserve your rest.”

Then he was gone, retreated inward to get some sleep before the sun decided to show its face. Buffy sighed and set her cup on the ground beside her.

“It helps to hear it, though,” she whispered. “However unneeded it might be.”

She went in shortly thereafter, meeting William by his post. They shared few words—conversation was suddenly unnecessary. He kissed her chastely and they retired upstairs. Another sleepless interval of guilt-stricken reflection. Another day to curl in his arms and forget the world lies waiting outside her bedroom door.

Another day passed. Another day to face.

Another day in which she could start again.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Home is where the heart is.

Buffy bit her lip and attempted to kick the thought out of her head with little success. There was nothing to suggest a forlorn displacement on William's face as they stepped off the plane. Nothing but bland acceptance, perhaps a flicker of his eyebrows in recognition of something he had missed over the past month or so.

The first light of dawn was creeping past the horizon. She had smelled its intensity while in the air, but shivers ran up her spine now with grim forewarning. A long time ago, Angel had told her that flying was not in the best interest of vampires, and she had accepted it. William, however, had more experience when it came to the art of skipping the country in a blink. They had spent the better of the previous night working out a timetable that would allot them to miss the sun completely on their venture.

"Had to do the same thing with Ripper," he had explained, cigarette puckered between his lips. "Right before we came over 'gain. Gave 'im a right lesson on how to deal with delays, cancellations, an' the like. It was fun, knowin' stuff 'e din't."

She had smiled and patted his hand in an almost condescending matter. "I'll bet."

They had beaten daylight by a hair. It was beginning to crinkle into perspective, and she suddenly felt stripped and barren. Cold and alone. Without thinking, she grasped William's arm and held tight for reassurance.

"'S all right," he said. "Trust me, luv. That coat you're wearin' 'll swallow you whole. 'S gotten me through many a sticky situation."

At that, Buffy grinned. She couldn't help it. "I remember."

He arched a brow and granted her his eyes. "You do?"

"Well, I'm guessing you went through a thousand blankets at the very least." She tugged at the leather lapels of her duster. "This has its marks, but is otherwise unscathed."

"Made to last forever, baby," he agreed with a grin.

"What about you?"

"Me? Pet, I know every street in this ruddy town back an' front. I know exactly where the sun hits at what time. I can dodge the bullet pretty well, 'f I don' say so myself."

Her eyes narrowed. "You can't be serious. I'm not going to leave until I know that-"

William smiled gently and removed the single carry-on they had taken aboard the plane. "Peaches an' I used these to see the Nibblet graduate. 'S a pain in the arse, but I figure, better safe then a pile of dust."

Inside the bag were an overly large poncho, an umbrella, and a pair of sunglasses in manner of Men In Black. She couldn't help it; Buffy dissolved into giggles.

"Got you an' umbrella an' specks, too," he announced, grinning at her reaction but making no note of it. "Nicked 'em from Peaches." When she narrowed her eyes, he shrugged sheepishly and conceded. "Fine, I asked 'im nicely an' he handed 'em over. 'S not like 'e had any great use for 'em, anyway."

"I always knew you two could become very best friends if you put your mind to it," she teased.

"'Ey there. Tha's not-"

"Shhh." She leaned supportively on him; drawing in the scent of long-extinguished cigarettes and the remnants of the brandy they had shared the night before. "Your secret's safe with me."

The platinum vampire smirked at her, steering her down one of the darker hallways. There was no need to visit baggage claim - neither had brought anything. A stop by the library and his curator's suite would provide more than enough clothing to supply him for the next few days, and she, despite all reasoning and logicality, had exhibited no desire to pack a shred of fabric. She had assurances that there would be plenty to wear.

"Once the lights go out, I'll give yeh a tour of the town," he said, taking her hand. "Oughta be a kick."

"I'm just itching to see this library Giles has told me about," Buffy replied in earnest. "Will we be meeting the administrators that hold you in such high esteem?"

"Likely not. I'll need to phone 'em an' let 'em know of the situation."

"What situation?"

"That they'll be needin' to find a new keeper."

The slightest hint of tang tickled his tone. A frown creased her face, and while she ran her hand supportively down the length of his arm, the will to keep closely guarded by a short-trained leash was slowly leaving. Realization was a funny thing; it struck only after she had what she wanted. What she has lost everything trying to gain.

It was time to stop being selfish.

"Will," she said softly. "You don't have leave the library if you don't want to. I mean, you don't want to. I know that well enough. Just... looking at you confirms that. You shouldn't have to give all this up for me."

He paused shortly, grip on her tightening with protective animality. "I want to, luv," he said. There was every hope of authenticity in his voice, in the way he looked at her as though her words formed the stake that pierced his nonbeating heart. "Thought I'd made that clear."

"No. What you made clear was that you wanted me to be happy, despite what that costs you." She shook her head with a heavy breath. "What... what happened has opened my eyes up to more than one... I've been so self-involved. And I knew it. I knew that I knew it... I've told you time and time again, but I couldn't stop. Even when I knew it was destroying me. I won't let it destroy you, too."

William arched a brow and grasped her chin fiercely, jerking her eyes to meet eyes. "Do I look destroyed?" he demanded. "Li'l scarred, sure. You got a mean right hook, luv. I won' kid 'round with you. But it takes more than that to destroy me, an' it sure takes a hella lot more to destroy you. All what 'appened did was open my eyes."

"Yeah, and what a sight that must've been," Buffy retorted bitterly, pulling out of his reach. "I can't do this to you. Make you give up everything you started here just because I have issues. Because I-"

"Everythin' I started 'ere?" The platinum vampire was only minimally aware that his voice had elevated, and didn't care for the inquisitive glances it earned from bystanders. "Luv, you 'ave no idea what I started 'ere. I came 'ere to get away from myself. Myself an' every bloody thing I'd ever done wrong by you or the rest of the sodding Scoobies. It was blind luck that I ran into Ripper that night an' said all the wrong things. 'S always been about you. Always. 'S why I got up every... well, yeh, every mornin'. 'S why I came halfway across the world to see you, even when I knew I..." He trailed off, eyes darting in a thousand directions. "I wanted to do what was right by you. 'F that Master 'adn't sunk his teeth in yeh, things woulda been different. You woulda had your life ahead of you. Now you 'ave more than that: you 'ave a thousand lives. God-willin'... Unless you right tell me to, I don' aim to go anywhere."

Tears of an unknown target clouded her eyes. She had cried so much these past few days. It was amazing there was still anything to give. There they stood for several minutes, encompassed in each other's soothing company. Standing in the heart of consolidation.

It was time to go.

There wasn't need for further discussion. William took her hand and guided her through the airport, and they were outside before she knew it. Shivers of radiated warmth shimmied down her spine. Even in the shadows, the sunlight could reach her. Chill her. Much to her surprise, her companion neglected to withdraw the supplementary deterrent wear he had been so insightful to pack. Instead, he nodded her down a labyrinth of various alleyways, hailed a cab, and had all but managed to beat daybreak altogether until she felt a fiery sensation spring across her back.

"'Ere," he said hurriedly, producing an umbrella. "Use your coat, luv. We're nearly there."

"What about you?"

William flashed her a patronizingly cocky grin. "Don' worry. I've been 'ere a time or two."

It wasn't much for reassurance. The sleeve of his shirt had burst into flames.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled, extinguishing it the spark with panicked rapidity. "Hate it when that 'appens."

"Ummm... indoors? Anytime soon?" She yanked the bag of goodies into grasp and threw a poncho over his head. At his incredulous glance, she rolled her eyes. "Humor me. Let's go."

The library was larger than she had imagined. In the years that Giles had been her Watcher, she and the gang had kidded him endlessly about his life in England. It was odd to have at least a part of their well-founded theories validated by fact. However, interior wasn't dark and musky as she would have expected. Skylights beamed arches of sunbeams through empty aisles of endless books. It was truly a Watcher's haven.

"Home sweet home," he drawled appreciatively.

Skeptically, she arched a brow and pointed to the rather problematic situation of the ceiling.

William grinned. "Told Ripper when I firs' came 'ere that I understood why 'e wanted me in the job. It was a nice easy way to get a quick dustin'. 'S really not that bad, pet. You jus' gotta get that rhythm to it."

"Rhythm?"

If his smile grew any wider, it would qualify for its own zip code. There were parts of him simply bursting with ecstasy at the promise of being back, despite how he tried to hide it.

"Jus' watch an' learn."

Like a trained dancer, he moved gracefully (but in a very manly way, of course) across the library floor. Every motion was made in an elegant arch away from any potential beams of light. He completed the routine with a stylish skid across one of the mahogany tables, miraculously without knocking over any books.

A rumble of mirth was captured before it could erupt from her throat. "What? No jazz hands?"

He turned back to her with a swaggering flex of his brows. It was such a natural characteristic. "There, now, luv," he said. "Easy as can be. Jus' gotta develop your own rhythm. Want a lil help across? Might take some time."

Buffy laughed in spite of herself. "Dear God," she replied, shaking her head. "I really, really hope that dance number was some residual thing from Sweet that you never got over."

He scoffed jokingly, pride hurt. "Dance number?"

"Oh, come on, Will."

"Let's see you do any better."

"Oohhh, a challenge." She dropped their bag full of sun-protector goodies to the floor beside her feet. "I love a good challenge. Prepare to be astonished. Even inspired."

"I'm all eyes, Slayer."

Granted, he had experience on her, but she was a quick learner. With several improvisational steps and more than one mocking routine, she managed to navigate herself to the table unscathed. When she looked up, he was grinning madly at her, and she realized she was smiling back. How easy it was to fall into old patterns. How easy it was to have fun...

A shudder of regret claimed her before the thought could progress. It was not right to have fun. Not after everything that had happened.

That notion alone threw her balance askew. Before she could make with the grand, overdone finale, she lost her footing and nearly stumbled into a stream of sunlight. William acted quicker than she could have foreseen, catching her with admirable swiftness and pulling her safely to the other side.

"See?" he said, trying without success to mask the concern in his voice. "Tha's what overconfidence does to you, pet."

"Yeah." Heaving a breath, Buffy pulled out of his arms and hugged herself tightly. "Overconfidence. I guess I don't have the rhythm down yet."

Their eyes met with mutual understanding.

"It'll come," William promised. "One of these days, you'll find your own to dance to."

The gravity abandoned her eyes, and releasing a long-winded sigh, the Slayer nodded, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear. "It takes time," she acknowledged. "But that's what I got. Time." She met his gaze with the shadow of a smile tickling her mouth. "Someday, I'll get it down even better than you."

That was all it took. The casual atmosphere returned with much appreciation, and he grinned wickedly at her in silent challenge.

Then she saw the man behind him.

The voice was soft-spoken and metallic, reminiscent of the Master's in an eerie fashion. Its owner was an older, attractive man with piercing eyes. He looked to her at first, accusing, before frowning at the platinum strands in the other vampire's hair. "I do hope I am not interrupting anything highly illegal."

William's brows arched and he pivoted to face him. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

"Dr. Harrison Fell," the man replied. "Provisional curator of this establishment. I'm afraid to inform you that the library is not open for another hour or so. How did you manage to get in?"

The bleached blond produced a key with a decidedly baleful sneer. "Oh, the temp guy. Forgot about you. Well, you can pack your bags an' move the hell out. For now, anyway. I'm the reg 'round 'ere, 'kay, mate? Why don' you jus' sod off?"

"Will," Buffy said warningly. "Maybe if you asked nicely-"

Dr. Fell's eyes narrowed with aching skepticism. "William Ripper II, I presume?"

The vampire grumbled and shot her a look of strangled exasperation. "Tha's right," he replied temperately. "An' I'm gonna be needin' the joint 'ere for a few days. After 's all said an' done, I'll let you 'ave 'er back."

"Is the administration alerted to your return?"

"They will be soon as I phone 'em up. 'S all right, Doc. I can run the place." Demonstratively, he plucked a cigarette between his lips and earned a look of serious skepticism in return. "'F you want confirmation an' all that, call Ellie an' tell 'er I'm back."

"I don't suppose you have any credentials handy?" Dr. Fell's eyes ran him up and down. "You don't exactly strike me as the... curator type."

"Yeah? Hmmm. Innit that strange? Might mention how much I don' care." He huffed a long string of smoke onto the doctor's face. "Be a good lil boy an' run along, now. Shop's closed for the day."

A look of malicious irritation flashed across his face. This was not a man who liked being told what to do. "Do you mind horribly if I make a call first?"

William gestured broadly. "Be my guest."

"Care to point me in the right direction?" There was not one word in the question that did not insinuate challenge.

That was easy for him to say. The phone was in the office down the pathway of several sunbeams. Arching a brow, the vampire scoffed. "What kinda wanker do they got workin' 'ere 'f 'e doesn' even know where the bloody phone's at?" Generally, he waved in the indicated direction. "Want the number, too? 'S-"

"Thank you, Mr. Ripper. I believe I can take it from here."

Dr. Fell was gone the next instant, disappeared through a maze of books and card catalogs. When he was out of earshot, Buffy elbowed William sharply in the ribs. "Hostile much? What was up with that?"

He frowned as if only then catching himself, drawing a long puff of his cigarette. "Dunno," he replied, puzzled. "That chap jus' rubbed me the wrong way."

"And that has nothing to do with the fact that he's running your library?"

"Easy there, luv. Don' start that again."

When Dr. Fell returned, he verified that the management not only confirmed that the normal curator was an ill-mannered Cockney with a smoking problem, but that they were positively ecstatic to have him home.

The look on his face was not a happy one. "I will be stepping out of your way, then," he said. "I believe you will find the curator's apartment is as you left it. At the administration's request, I acquired living quarters a suitable distance away from the library. They were rather... adamant on your return."

"'Course." William finished off his cigarette and consigned it to the floor without looking away, smothering it with the toe of his boot.

Dr. Fell's eyes narrowed even further in scrutiny. "Such charm," he drawled. "I can see why they would be hesitant to let you go."

"What can I say? I'm a keeper. Run along then."

The library was quiet within minutes. He performed the hopscotch routine across the foyer once more to lock the door behind the doctor, and was back in seconds, no longer trying to impress anyone. Through it all, William avoided Buffy's accusatory gaze. "Problem with some poofs," he said, reaching for another cigarette. "Like that prat. 'E 'ad absolutely no rhythm whatever."

"Yes. I'm sure the lack of rhythm was his problem."

"Oh lay off it, pet. I jus' wanted the place to myself. Might as well enjoy wha's 'ere while I can, right?"

At that, she sighed and rolled her eyes. "Spike, listen-"

"No... bah. I'm such a ponce. I din't mean it like that. Not at all." He held up a hand. "Let's head upstairs for the grand tour, eh? 'S got nice digs."

The upper levels of the curator's suite looked relatively unchanged in style. Buffy nearly felt she had stepped through a time transport - everything was of old age and a rustic elegance; something she would never have expected of either William or his demon counterpart. A large dining table greeted the entryway, set with guest books, floral arrangements, and two candelabras. To the left stretched another room, evidently used for storage. The right curved into an immodest though small staircase that led to the upstairs. For an apartment, it was gracious in size but somehow remained unpretentious. There were three housing rooms: a master chamber, a guest room, and the lavatory.

"Looks bigger than it is," William said, gauging her wide-eyed amazement. "There's a big room, but I don' stay in there. Well, maybe once or twice, but it wasn' my style. You can 'ave it 'f you want it, pet. The other is small an'... well, doesn' really match the rest of the joint."

"You stay in there?" she repeated softly, tearing her gaze away from the grandiose atmosphere, somewhat dazed. It completely baffled her that he had lived here comfortably for three, nearly four years. She felt she would break something with every turn.

"Yeh. Like I said, 's not much, but-"

"I'll stay wherever you stay," Buffy decided with finality. "I don't sleep well in... unfamiliar places."

He smiled grimly. "Whatever you want." There was a brief, slightly awkward silence. "You want to change, luv? Sleep a lil? 'S been a long day... night."

"Until tonight, yeah. I'd like to see the town."

"'Course."

The room he inhabited was - without a doubt - smaller and the most out of place in the entire establishment. The walls were a creamy off-white, and the bed, though moderate, was not nearly as grand. However, his conclusions were correct. It was indeed homier, and though a month had passed, the air still smelled of cigarettes and liquor: the full element that constructed him into Spike.

She rested, but he didn't. Couldn't. There was so much to be done.

At one point, William retreated downstairs once more and opened the library to the public. He buried himself in research and old text to keep occupied, but his wandering mind refused to settle. Terrible and continuous cases of premonition tackled his sensory, and try as he might, he could not expel the sensation from conscious.

An hour passed before the bell above the door announced a visitor. So far from the present, he didn't register another presence until a familiar shadow overcast his studies.

"So, William. See you couldn't stay away after all."

He looked up and grinned. "Oy there, Professor Hawkins. Din't 'ear you come in."

"Up to the usual?"

The vampire grinned and shrugged. "Researchin' the Big Bad, what else?"

"Ellie called. Said you were back."

"Oh right." William's eyes twinkled mischievously. "'Ad to get rid of the doc someway. Figure'd a call to the board would do it."

"You have no idea how much we've missed you around here." Hawkins paused thoughtfully. "Not that Fell wasn't an adequate replacement, of course. I believe you were told before you got the job that his records were flawless - almost too good to be true. He was very helpful to all local patrons, but never as popular. We've had several inquires, by phone and email, wondering where you had gone off to."

The smile on his face turned bittersweet. "I s'pose I should tell yeh that I'm only 'ere for a day or so. There's somethin' I gotta do for a friend of mine. It shouldn't take long, but I doubt... honestly, Professor, I doubt I'll be back after."

The previous note of manifest support faded in Hawkins's eyes, and his face fell to tired displacement. "Oh. I see. Any specific reason?"

Buffy's timing was impeccable. That very instant she chose to come down the main corridor, wearing his oversized bathrobe and looking very disheveled. "Will?" she asked sleepily. "I woke up and you weren't..." She stopped when she saw the stranger standing directly in one of the sunbeams. "Oh. Oh God. I didn't know you had opened up. I-"

"Don' worry, luv," the platinum blond excused. "This is Professor Hawkins. 'E's with the administration. Jus' came by to say 'ello an' what all. Professor, this is-"

"The reason you're leaving us, I presume?" Proficiently, he stepped forward and grasped her hand with cold warmth. "Hello. I don't mean to sound bitter. I'm sure-"

"Y'don' understand." William jumped up immediately, protective and fierce. "This is Buffy Summers, Professor. This is Meus Amor. She-"

The grim insipidness in his eyes expired without further provocation, replaced with instantaneous understanding. "Oh. I see. My mistake." His grip on her hand tightened. "It's a real pleasure to meet you, Ms. Summers. Will always told us the inspiration for that poem was a real beauty, but I see his way with words - for once - simply did not do justice." He frowned then and glanced to the peroxide vampire. "I didn't realize it was this cold in here. Is the-"

"She's like me," William explained softly. "That thing that Ri... Giles an' I were workin' on... it went wonky, as things tend to do."

"He knows you're a vampire?" Buffy questioned skeptically.

"'S actually how I got the job, luv." He grinned. "Bloody well almost gave Ripper a heart attack. We 'ad to meet upstairs in the attic an'-"

"Quite an amusing tale," Hawkins agreed with a jovial laugh. "He scared half of the committee, but after a couple weeks, it was clear we had picked the right man for the job. He got along with everyone and was extremely well liked among the college students. The young ladies, I seem to remember-"

At that, William adopted a sheepish visage. "Y'don' 'ave to mention that, mate."

"Oh no," the Slayer countered. "Please do. Go on."

Without shame, the Professor complied. "The girls really fancied him, if I remember properly. Now, I won't lie to you, Ms. Summers... from what I know, he was very... umm... formal with the lot of them. Helpful but unresponsive." When the look on her face fell to dubious respite, he chuckled loudly and shook his head with every strain of conviction. "I'm being very serious. Will is one of the most invaluable curators this library has ever known."

"They let me smoke in 'ere an' everythin'," he confirmed.

"You say you'll only be here a day or so. Where do you plan on going?"

The two vampires exchanged a heady glance. "Bit of everywhere, 'm guessin'," William replied dismissively. "Got somethin' to take care of, then the world's ours for the takin'."

"Well, I won't pretend we won't miss you," Hawkins said regrettably. "But I wish you two the best. And you know, there's always a place here in case you decide-"

"'Preciate it, mate."

The remainder of the conversation was cordial but brief. When they were alone again, the atmosphere settled into thick silence. Buffy busied herself practicing a routine of sunbeam navigation, tiring eventually and stretching with the affects of cabin fever. The platinum blond remained immersed in a number of books, not looking for anything and consequentially finding nothing of interest.

"See, luv," he said when she completed her sixth round. "This is why most vamps sleep through the day."

"I'm on California time here," she countered. "Around two tonight, it'll really catch up with me."

"An' tha's when the real fun starts bein' 'ad," William observed. "You hungry? Got some pig's blood in the fridge upstairs, but 's prolly not much anymore."

An expression of pure distaste flashed through her eyes. "Mmm. Yummy. Month old blood. Sign me right up."

"There's a butcher shop not too far from 'ere." He stealthily rose to his feet. "'F you-"

"I'm good." She didn't want to mention that the transition from human to pig blood was affecting her in the worst of senses. The respect she had for his endurance was on a steady increase. After feasting on people for over a century, he had been forced to adapt to controlled conditions and animal essence. On only a few days running, it was giving her a headache. "How much longer till sunset?"

"Not very."

"So this is how you spent your days with Giles?" Buffy paced across one of the tables, earning a sardonic glance. "You mentioned he had you on his timetable, and I rather doubt he's the type to sleep all day and work all night."

William grinned wryly. "Sometimes, pet, we worked 'round the clock. Took turns dozin' every half hour or so, 'f that. 'F we got on a roll, we din't usually fancy stoppin' to catch any shut-eye. Up till the last when 'e found that thing 'bout the Master... God, I don' think I slept a wink."

She nodded, pursing her lips and flopping cross-legged to the base of the table. "You had some life here," she observed. "I mean... demony you would hate it. I can't quite get passed that... but if I go on Giles's word, and from what that guy... what was his name...?"

"Hawkins."

"Right. It must've been wonderful."

At that, he shrugged, flipping his book closed and hopping to an opposite stance, whirling on the mahogany with a slight grin. "Not wonderful, luv," he replied softly. "I mean... sure. Respected an' all that. I do like the blokes who hired me. I liked workin' with Ripper on everythin'. Bein' treated like a friend an' not... well, I s'pose I 'aven't had any genuine friends in a while. Despite our time together, Dru an' I were never really friends. We shagged like rabbits, of course, an' enjoyed reapin' all kinds of wackiness, but we were never friends. Peaches... 'e annoyed me. At first 'e was all right... I mean in the early days. But after 'e came back... nothin' but a bloody pain." He fidgeted, and she knew immediately he was fighting the impulse to fish for another cigarette. Perhaps it was the London air that had him back smoking with such regularity. She didn't think she had seen him light up so actively since he came back into her life. "An' then the Scoobies. Nibblet an' I were close for a spell, but tha's 'bout it." It was amazing to hear him speak of that period of their acquaintance without reflecting a note of bitterness. "Then I came 'ere, an' everythin' changed."

"Do you regret it?"

"What?"

"Going to Africa. Getting your soul."

William arched his scarred eyebrow and forfeited the battle against will, reaching for his cigarettes. "Tha's a bloody stupid question."

"Yeah. And so was your asking me back home if I loved you. Answer me."

He had to give her that. An obvious inquiry deserved an obvious answer. Releasing a breath of concession, he smiled and shook his head. "No, luv. Wouldn't take it back for the world. I mean, sure, sometimes what I've done catches up with me. Sometimes it hurts so much I..." He trailed off briefly, lost in a sea of collection. When he found his wording, all sense of plausible remorse had driven out of his voice. "But look at what all's 'appened as a result. I mean, I got a right wicked job for a couple years. Got Ripper not hatin' my guts. Got you sittin' 'ere, listenin' to me. Wantin' to listen to me. I-"

"Will you ever forgive yourself?"

William sighed. "For which?"

"What you... what I forgave you for."

There was a briefly cold - not harsh, but reflective silence. He puffed dependently on his fag, eyes lost in a sea of wonderment and inward rejection. "No," he replied at last. "Somethin' like that... forgivin' yourself 's somethin' you never really do, pet. I know... I know tha's not what you want to hear. But I can't, I can't imagine feelin' anythin' but the deepest-"

"I'm not concerned with that I want to hear, Will," Buffy rejoined resolutely. "I already know what I want, and I know that I'll never get it. Just be honest with me. You've never been anything but, even when the truth is at its ugliest."

He snickered. "You'd see right through me."

"Yeah. I would." The look they shared was a midpoint between doting and disdainful. A sort of complex familiarity that could not help but draw them together. "That's why I know I can count on you," she continued. "You're straight with me."

"Would be afraid to be anythin' but. You do 'ave a knack for makin' it difficult, pet."

The Slayer grinned tightly to herself and glanced down. "You will miss it here, won't you? Just a little?"

"A lil? Well... yeh. I'll reckon there'll be missin' every now an' then. But I know I got me the better end of the trade." The look in William's eyes was all the confirmation she would ever require; it did more than wipe away reservation - it assured her that regardless, he would be there. He would hold true to his word and do whatever it took to make her the happiest person on the face of the planet.

And for one blessed diminutive fraction in the whole theory of time continuum, that was all that mattered.

Chapter Forty

The town was positively magical at night. Whether in respect to a first-timer’s impressions or simply in falling with the synchronicity that had somehow brought them together, she was completely enveloped. Not a question went unanswered, not a shortcoming unfinished. For endless hours they walked the streets, arms linked, admiring the sights that he had likely beheld time and time again. He humored her continual questioning, answered every query with thorough account that arose in conversation.

“Ripper firs’ saw me over there,” William observed, pointing to the ever-familiar café. “Bloody good coffee.”

“Coffee?”

“Well…” With a grin, he shook the sack of goodies dangling off their coupled arms. “With the right additives, o’course.”

Buffy’s brows perked. She decided not to mention the meditation she had toyed with that very concept. “Blood flavored coffee?”

“Don’ knock it jus’ yet. ‘S damn good stuff, Slayer.”

There was enough evidence to support the contrary, but still the prospect of willfully consuming the essence of any living creature was a notion categorized infinitely in the ‘yuck’ factor. When she drank, there wasn’t anything in the world that tasted better, but outside the knowledge that it was needed for survival, the thought was one she preferred to ignore.

If William registered her displacement, he wisely refrained from commenting. “Come ‘ere luv,” he said, tugging gently on her arm. “Sit down an’ I’ll fix yeh up.”

He disappeared for briefly and returned with two steaming cups of newly brewed stimulant. The scent of fresh blood also wafted suspiciously in the air.

“Drink up,” he instructed. “You’ll feel better.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “You know, Will…” She tapped the side of her nose informatively.

At that, he grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “Jus’ try it.”

“Well, I have to now,” she replied, raising the cup to her lips. “My tummy’s growling.”

William took a swig of his own, a look of unadulterated bliss overcoming his features. “Mmm…never get tired of that stuff,” he observed. “’S been sorely missed. Go on, Slayer. Nothin’ wrong with a lil taste.”

It was admittedly the best flavor she had ever had the good fortune to sample. Naturally, she would never tell him that.

“I used to sit ‘ere an’ watch people,” he said a few minutes later, stare lost in the swirling mass of crimson-tainted russet infusion settled before him. “All the bloody time. Found the best inspiration for all those ruddy poems I jotted down. Jus’ lookin’ all the sodding emotions that people let rule their lives. The very root of humanity, luv. I’d never seen anythin’ like it before. I’d ripped well enough apart back in the day, but I never stopped just to watch.” When it appeared that was all he had to say, Buffy implored him silently to continue. It was simply riveting listening to him speak—observing the world through newborn eyes of an aged personality with knowing perception. “They din’t know, you see. None of ‘em ever stopped an’ realized that what they were fuckin’ up was the one chance at perfection any of ‘em would ever know. I’ve lived a hundred lifetimes an’ I’ve made some bloody stupid mistakes. Din’t learn a whole lot, o’course, but it wasn’ necessary. Not at first. I could make the same choices over an’ over again an’ it din’t matter, ‘cause I ‘ad forever to get it right, assumin’ a stake never found ‘s way near me.” At that, he glanced up and locked gazes. “An’ tha’s the important thing, luv. Tha’s what you gotta remember to get through every day. You might have mucked things up, but you got forever to make it better.”

The Slayer pursed her lips. “In case I get staked or something. God, I never—”

“I won’ let that ‘appen. ‘Sides, you’re souly girl. You won’ be out there causin’ new the Chosen bird all kinds ‘f hell. Fact, I’d bet you’d be right appreciated in that department. Trainer of the next generation, an’ what all.” At that, he drifted away thoughtfully. “’Ey, ever think of that? I mean, not as in a forever thing, but—”

“Make the transition from Slayer to Watcher?” she replied cynically. “I want out of it all, Will. You don’t get that—”

“Yeh, I do. But you said it yourself, kitten. ‘S not possible for you to turn your back to it. You’re addicted. You need the power like you need blood. Like your friends need air.” He sighed. “You made the decision a long time ago. Ripper told me all ‘bout it. What ‘appened when those wankers in the Council decided to test you based on brains ‘stead of brawn. You couldn’t jus’ be Buffy. You needed to be the Slayer. You are the Slayer. I don’ think any’s faced the rotten load you ‘ave.”

There was menacing truth behind his words, not by intent rather for the simplicity of comprehension. She knew everything he said was accurate—it reflected the root of her fears with stunning practicality. “I can’t let this be it,” she cried emptily. “I can’t—”

“I’m not sayin’ it is,” William said softly. And he was right. It was merely a suggestion. “An’ really, luv, ‘f you know you can’t jus’ watch from the sidelines for the rest of time, I’d say ‘s the best bet.”

She hated that he could be so insightful when she still doubted herself.

Things fell silent for a long, weighty moment.

“Will?”

“Yeh?”

“Were you happy here?”

He arched a brow and placed his coffee cup on the table. “Whaddya aimin’ at?”

“I mean it. Were you happy? Before Xander called about the black blood and the impending apocalypse. You liked it here, didn’t you?”

“I settled. There’s a difference.”

“But you were happy.”

“You mean could I figure sittin’ ‘round here for the rest of my unlife, lookin’ in dusty books, worryin’ my arse off ‘bout the lot of you while knowin’ I’d never see a one of you again?” She nodded, offering no softening quality to his summary. William sighed once more. “I told you already…I was at the library ‘cause I couldn’t be where I really wanted. But…yeh. I was happy, I guess. In my own way. Books an’ the like were what I did back in the pre-sired days.”

Buffy nodded again, combing her hand through her hair. “Answer me honestly then. Please.”

“What?”

“Do…do you want to stay here? After all’s said and done. When we get back from Africa and everything’s taken care of, is this where you want to be?”

A frown beset his face, and he shook his head dismissively, reclaiming his drink and indulging a long drink. “Don’ play that angle, pet. I’ve told you enough; I wanna be where you are.”

“I know that. What if I stayed here, too?”

That prompted the response of a lifetime; William coughed loudly and lurched forward, releasing a mouthful of coffee back into the cup. Reaction immediate; the Slayer burst out laughing, attracting inquiring gazes from all convenient proximities. Recovery time was sufficient and appreciated. Rumbles of mirth shook her small frame for long minutes—she had not had genuine reason to express such amusement in what felt like years.

“Why the bloody hell would you want to stay ‘ere?” the platinum vampire demanded when he regained control of himself. “All your family’s on the other side of the planet. What—”

“Yeah. In Sunnydale. On the Hellmouth. Where I am and always will be the Slayer. Will, what if we just…stayed here? I could go back and get Dawn, and we—”

“Pull the Nibblet outta schoolin’ so she can move to a foreign country, thousands of miles from her friends?”

“Hell-o. She did just graduate.”

“An’ you jus’ figure you’ll pop her by Oxford, is that it?”

Buffy grumbled and rolled her eyes. “Listen, Dawn’s eighteen years old. She’ll be nineteen soon. She has her own life that she needs to take control over. When I was her age, I’d already survived three apocalypses. With everything that she’s been through, I know she can take care of herself. She has Will and Xander there to hold her hand. I love her more than…anything on the face of the planet. But that doesn’t mean I can sit there and watch…she’s mortal…”

“This thing’s gonna force you to make some bloody hard decisions,” William observed understandingly. “I can’t imagine takin’ you away from ‘er.”

“I can’t imagine being away from her. I know she can take care of herself…I just said that, but I know it. And even then, when something bad happens, my first instinct is to make sure she’s all right.”

“You’re her big sis.”

“And I have to make some decisions that she’ll have to respect. I love her. I love Willow, and Xander, and hell, even Anya. But…” She sniffed and looked down. “They’re not going to be here forever. You will. If I have anything to say about it, you will. I can’t expect you to abandon everything you’ve done here, everything you’ve established with your future in mind.”

He rolled his eyes. “How many times to do I ‘ave to tell you, pet? I don’ need this. I don’ need any of it. Everythin’ I want, everythin’ I’ve ever wanted ‘s right ‘ere in front of me.”

At that, she smiled, breaking eye contact in a mixture of heartfelt warmth and aggravation. “But you’d rather be here with me than in Sunnydale. Please just admit that much.”

The hint of unspoken challenge in her tone drew their gazes to a mutual standing once more, and he sighed and conceded. “Sure, luv. ‘F tha’s what you need to hear, fine. Yeh. I like it ‘ere. Feel important an’ respectable. But none of that matters to me ‘f I—”

“Let me make one sacrifice. Please.” All possible counters to logicality immediately drown when he noted the seriousness in her eyes. “Will, you’re doing everything here. I know it’ll be hard, but I think when everything’s considered that it’s for the best. Besides, you have a decent job here, something I can’t vouch for back in Sunnydale. You have connections and…I like it. I really do; I like it here. I don’t really want to…but this could…I could…”

“But Dawn—”

“Yeah. Dawn. I’d want…” Buffy’s vision blurred with the looming knowledge of imminent decision-making. Reasoning settled behind an otherwise unreasonable frontage, and a breath of lackluster acknowledgement hissed through her lips. “But either way…in the long run…I’ll leave her, or she’ll leave me. The longer I stay, the harder it gets. You said the same about me, remember? I didn’t understand that until now.”

William smiled forbiddingly. “Tha’s the way it always is. What’s that sayin’? ‘Never know how someone feels until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes’? You’ve done more than that, luv. You’ve won the bloody marathon.”

“And I get it now,” she agreed. “And Dawn…she won’t. I know she won’t. But that won’t convince her to come with me, and I can’t force her to do something against her will. Not now. She’s not helpless anymore, and at some point, she’s going to have to realize that. I’ve taught her everything I know, and for someone who isn’t a slayer, she comes pretty damn close to meeting the requirements. Up until the recent, she was my most valuable second.” When his eyes narrowed in repose, she settled back to verify. “I didn’t know Willow was still practicing.”

“An’ what ‘f Nibblet decides to come along for the ride?” the peroxide vampire replied.

“Then she does. I’d be thrilled to have her here. You know how much she means to me.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “You won’ be able to do it, pet. You can’t stay away from the girl, or the Hellmouth on that note. You worry too much for her. Sounds fancied up an’ all, but ‘s the soddin’ truth. You love ‘er too much. Vamps aren’t s’posed to go gray with worry, an’ I figure you’d be lookin’ ‘bout Peaches’s age within two weeks.”

“Gee, thanks.” With an indignant huff, Buffy rolled her eyes. “Ye of little faith.”

“’S not a bad thing. Not at all. ‘S what makes you…well, you.”

The Slayer leaned forward meaningfully, and without direct affirmation, he understood they were nearing the brink of no return. “Listen,” she said. “I want you to call that Hawkins guy back. Tomorrow, right after you get up. This is important to you, Will. A part of being in a relationship means making sacrifices for each other. You’ve already made the biggest; I can’t ask anymore than that.”

“I made the biggest?” he repeated skeptically. “When the bloody hell’d I become a sodding paradigm?”

She blinked. “A what?”

“Example. Role model. Whatever.” William paused as though only catching up with his wording. “Bloody Ripper…”

The look of bewilderment melted into triumph, as though having just struck the end all of riches. “See! You see there! You and your Giles-influenced vocab are secretly dancing in dorky joy at the thought of staying. You said you’d rather be here than in Sunnydale—Spike, let me do that for you.”

“Buff—”

“It’d be better. Things have changed. I can’t stay there and save the world all the time. I can’t stay there and watch all my friends grow old…not when… Just think about it. It’s not like I’ll be completely out of reach. I mean, just a phone call and bam! Slayer Central.”

There was ironic reasoning behind her judgment, but the better part of him tugged to turn the corner in rejection. It was the look in her eyes that did him in; that wrought fortitude, so fierce and determined, even with everything she had put herself through. With everything she had endured.

A sigh tugged at William’s throat in weary concession. “Don’ go ‘bout changin’ your mind then, luv,” he warned. “’F I call those prats an’ they gimme my job, I don’ want to ‘ave to quit a third time.”

“What do you mean if they give you the job back?” Buffy replied cynically. “You know these people better than I do and even I could tell that the professor was sad to see you go. Will, you’re not going to have any trouble whatsoever.”

“Well, I know that, don’ I?” He growled and looked down. “I jus’ don’ fancy the idea of takin’ you away from your sis. You’re needed—”

“You’re not taking me away. I’m going. If she comes with, all the better, but she has a life to live, too.” The Slayer expelled a breath. “If Dawnie knows what’s good for her, she’ll go to some boring little town called Springfield—cause let’s face it, they’re everywhere—and go to a boring state college, meet a boring average-joe student, fall madly in love and have dozens of boring yet adorable kids, who will never need to find out that their aunt is a vampire or that the monsters under their beds are actually…well…monsters. She doesn’t want to stay at the Hellmouth anymore than I do.” Conviction was firm and wavered only a little; she knew as well as he did that living at a distance from her sister, whom she had given more than her life to defend on multiple occasions, would be an obstacle not easy to overcome. However, there was sense behind her words. Sense that would come into understanding as time wore on.

Time: the old bald cheater.

William met her eyes with conclusiveness and granted her a nod. “I can’t stop you from stayin’ ‘ere, ‘f that’s what you want,” he acknowledged. “This…’s jus’ so much. I never thought…I lived here a good while, you know. Not so horribly long, but long enough to get attached. When Ripper an’ I left, I…there was no way anyone coulda prepared. Gettin’ back here was all I wanted to do. I never thought you’d come back with me. Never.” He laughed in humorless irony. “I was jus’ thinkin’ it’d be a miracle ‘f you din’t stake me on sight.”

A line formed at the Slayer’s mouth, poignant and laced with discernment. “A lot has changed.”

To that he had no rejoinder. There was nothing to do but agree.

They endured two rounds of refills before the coffee taste ran bitter with familiarity. The night was young by vampiric standards, but Buffy was still exhausted from the trip and in mid-process of adjusting to the time difference. William indulged her for a final hour of touring before suggesting wisely that they retire.

“There are so many places to go,” he said as they paced steadily back to the library. “An’ after all’s said an’ done, we ‘ave forever to explore ‘em, luv. You’ve never been to Paris, ‘ave you? That was a favorite of Dru’s. Granted, a lil artsy fartsy for my taste, but it grows on you. I can’t begin to list all the places I’ve been…you want to see the Great Wall, kitten? We’ll hop on over there an’ call it research.”

She grinned gravely. “I’m sure your management would just love that.”

“Eh, sod ‘em. Like you said: they like me enough to let me come an’ go as I please, ‘s long as I get the job done. And really, pet, what exactly ‘s there to that job?” There was a positively charged air about him. Lively—excited. He would never say it, of course, but she knew the prospect of staying was like receiving an early Christmas. No one could watch his disposition and not see how much he loved it here. The pain consuming her heart was soothed all for the sight of his reaction. Personal sacrifices were the pinnacle of expressing love. She knew she had done the right thing. “Show up every now an’ then, make sure the place’s still there, answer a few frilly questions from the students that pop by, give ‘em a good thesis topic, an’ send ‘em on their merry way.”

The Slayer grinned and took his hand, pleased with herself. It was the empty gratitude that came with the promise of a good solution—the sort that would consequentially not reveal its bearings for years to come. “This is a good plan,” she said solidly. “It won’t be easy.”

His grip on her hand tightened. “We’ve been over this, pet.”

“Yeah, and we’re going to go over it a thousand more times.” A high pitch of strangled sentiment. “You’re being patient with me, I know. And I know you’ve been here, and that the…but… Will, I’m terrified.”

“Of what?”

“What I turned into.” Instinctively, she leaned closer to him, seeking friction and comfort. “Before…I’ve told Giles this already but I don’t think he got it. Before I jumped through the Gate, I attacked the Master with such…hostility. It scared me. I was scared then and then…I turned into that thing. I’m so scared that…I mean, you have told me that…what did you call me? Por…?”

“Porphyria,” William answered hurriedly. “Porphy for Harris. ‘E couldn’t remember ‘alf the time.”

“Yeah. You said she wasn’t me at all. But…she’s in me. The demon’s still there…it’s just shut out. What I did before I jumped was…I tore him apart.”

“’E deserved it, luv.”

“No one deserves that.”

The peroxide vampire’s face hardened resolutely. “That bastard killed you. ‘E made you into what you hate more than anythin’ in the world, an’ ‘e used your sis to do it. ‘E was gonna use you to end civilization as we know it. Trust me, what happened was definitely of the deserved.”

“Spike—”

“No. Listen to me. ‘F that thing ‘ad let me close, I woulda ripped ‘im limb from limb myself. Soul or no soul, ‘e brassed me off in a way…” William stopped suddenly before they reached the foot of the library entrance. Instinctively, his free hand went to caress her face, touch aching with such tenderness that it took her figurative breath away. “I woulda ‘ad a decent party, too. A demon’s a demon, luv. Yours was jus’ achin’ for a good brawl.”

Buffy’s eyes dropped and she attempted futilely to move out of reach. “Yeah, well. It got one.”

“Never again.”

She grew shrill with a note of desperation. “But what if this demon doesn’t make the deal? What if he’s like, ‘Oh, you’re already soul-girl. No more soul for you!’ What if he’s a big soul Nazi?”

He grinned at her analogy in spite of himself. “He won’t. We won’ leave Africa unless you got yours back in full. Right?” The look in his eyes was fashioned with determination: the sort that would never let her down. With a half-smile, she nodded in acceptance, moving to push the door open.

“’S been a helluva ride, ‘asn’t it?” William observed as they stepped inside. It was difficult not to fall directly into habit and hopscotch across the foyer, regardless of the darkness. “You wantin’ to hit it?”

Buffy’s brows domed inquisitively. “Hit it?”

“The sack. Hit the sack.”

“No. Not yet.” She fought off a yawn. “It feels early somehow. I’m tired but I don’t think I could sleep. I suppose, you being you, that there’s a TV around here.”

For the briefest instant, though she had said nothing to indicate such a conclusion, he looked morally affronted at the suggestion that he would inhabit any location that lacked a working telly. “’Course, pet,” he assured her. “Even has cable an’ everythin’. The whole bloody works. Anythin’ particular you fancy watchin’?”

“Let’s just see what’s on.” William wheeled the television out of the curator’s office and positioned it before one of the tables that was indefinitely swept clean for their convenience. “Hopefully some infomercials…it’ll make me sleepy real quick.”

“There’s that music channel,” he suggested, flicking off the lights as the glow of the small screen engulfed the room, despite its rather notable size. “Ripper an’ I’d end the night on it in the way back when. ‘E knew his stuff. Big Stones fan. Loved the Beatles, too.”

“Sure. Who doesn’t?”

He grinned sardonically. “Yeh, luv. But, like yours truly, ‘e actually remembers ‘em.”

Admittedly, it had been a long time since Buffy had simply sat down to watch anything on the television. It was nice and cozy; had an air of familiarity that arrived with the same nurturing reassurance as mother’s milk—a continuity that would always be there to fall back on.

William turned the dial to VH1 just in time to catch Brad Majors and Janet Weiss knocking on the door of a large castle on a notably dark and stormy night. The scene only looked vaguely recognizable, and she was about to request a change of channel when he erupted in amusement.

“Ah, perfect timin’. I’m assumin’ you know how to do the dance, pet.”

“Dance?”

He made a face of sheer horror. “Bloody hell, you’ve never seen this flick? Quite the hype back in the 70s. Still makes a bit of good noise from what I hear…depends on the circles you run in. Dru loved it. I bloody swear it was the only thing in creation wonkier than ‘er. Made me see it a dozen times till I knew the full an’ swore I’d never lay eyes on it again. Blokes dressed like birds ‘s where I draw the line.”

“Then why are we watching it now?”

“Because I like the soddin’ dance. ‘S damn annoyin’, but catchy an’ once you get it stuck in your head for a decade, it tends to grow on you. Come ‘ere, luv.” Without awaiting invitation, he grasped her by the waist and pulled her back to him until she was resting against his chest. “Now, jus’ do this with me. ‘S fun, really. Dawn’d love it.”

“You think Dawn would love a movie about—”

“Quiet. Here it goes.”

The criminologist on screen had pulled down an overhead and was guiding his audience with an object-pointer. When the command was given, William’s grasp on her waist firmed and he all but stumbled over with the enthusiastic jump to the left. He abandoned his post at the juncture of her hips to grasp her wrists, conducting her right leg with influence to take the indicated step. Then he directed her hands to her hips and murmured to bring her knees in tight.

“This ‘ere’s the fun part,” he whispered, tickling her ear with his deep baritone.

The pelvic thrust; sure to drive them insane. Buffy rocked along with him, the focus of his manhood nudging her intimately, though it was not intentional. Their proximity had obviously not gone unnoticed by him, though he was tempered enough to keep the situation under control. A long, neglected moan escaped her lips and it was all she could do to keep her knees from buckling when he released hold.

“Break?” he suggested, perhaps a bit tense. “That bird has a bloody annoyin’ solo comin’ up. Then we’ll give it another go.”

She thought he meant to let her attempt the Time Warp unaided, but once the vocalist completed her number—a verse that sounded oddly like a female chipmunk on helium—he stepped behind her once more and grasped her around the middle. The criminologist shouted the first dance move, and she was irrefutably lost by the time the conclusive step instigated. They were drawn together like magnets—unable to keep apart.

The first was delicate and not beyond exploring. How his lips had neared so quickly, she would never know. All she grasped was that reasonable thought had escaped her and she felt him stir. At her ear at first, whispering her name with some resignation. It sounded like surrender, and rang sweetly through her system until he dipped his head. Then she felt his lips on her, stroking her shoulder with light, feathery touches. Buffy tensed, leaning backward supportively, offering her mouth with little consequence. William’s caresses became firmer, embellishing teeth and tongue, as though no longer unable to stop himself. His arms tautened their embrace, his mouth moving up her neck until he was unable to stand it anymore. Their need was the same, and he whirled her around to capture her lips. Another wave crashed, though the kiss was initially soft and exploratory, it gained zeal at escaping such lengthy suppression. The feel of his mouth against hers swiftly drained her of all fortitude, all resolve, anything that allowed her to do anything but kiss him back. When his tongue invaded her mouth, she swallowed a whimper, wondering distantly how she came to be here in the first place. It all seemed so long ago.

As though this was the first kiss in the bloom of a new relationship.

It was neither’s fault, really. What felt like years had passed since they last touched in any form that would define them as lovers. His mouth swallowed her without waiting permission. A moan of encouragement and she was lost. They stumbled, jerked, and ultimately fell back onto the table. The film played on but neither heard it; too lost were they in the indubitable sensation that was each other. The long denied waves of crimson passion crashed against an otherwise stationary beach, splashing with endless joy as they sought the other out. Searching and exploring as though it was the first time. William poised delicately above her, his hands and mouth everywhere, unable to help himself. Her legs wrapped around his waist and pulled down demandingly, seeking friction in the heat of need.

Then the world came crashing down with all its subliminal realization, and at the same minute, they both paused in attentions, drawing upward to share a look of weary understanding.

She didn’t know she was crying until she sobbed, then tried desperately to spool her emotions in. Pandora’s Box. Safe. Secure. It seemed they sat there forever, looking at each other under the light of the same dismal knowledge. William reached to draw her tears away, leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead, and with notable reluctance, sat up.

“’m sorry,” he choked when he found his voice. “Oh God. I shouldn’t ‘ave…Buffy, I—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Will.” Her voice was as distant as his, sniffing to reel in another wave of tears. “There’s plenty of time for that…I just…” And then she couldn’t help it. Resignedly, surrendered to her tears, leaning forward to rest against his shoulder. Without direction, his arms came around her. The burden of comfortless comfort.

“We’ll fix things, luv,” he promised, cradling her trembling body against him. “Come on. We should prolly get to sleep. Big day tomorrow, you know.”

There was no immediate reply. Within her own good time, Buffy withdrew from his embrace and nodded. “Sleep. Right.”

The upper level was dark and consoling. No words were exchanged as they readied themselves for an evening’s rest. The shadows comfortingly prevented any unchristian glimpses at what they couldn’t have. What was denied until the ordeal was over. What she needed for the sake of reassurance, however empty, now more than ever.

What she could not ask for.

They settled next to each other out of habit; her back spooled against his chest. Perhaps just as absently, he reached for her, nothing of intimate insinuation, rather a method to convince his still-doubtful conscious that she was there beside him. And despite all logistics in reasoning, thoughts of abandonment consumed her. She was so afraid of losing this that she didn’t want to sleep. If there was to be the day when she found herself alone, Buffy wanted her mind full enough of memories to last forever.

It was difficult not to conclude such fears with the past she was trying to put behind her.

I love you, she admitted to the void, where he could not answer. I finally understand. I finally confessed. And now that it’s almost over, I’m terrified. I never get what…just please tell me I won’t lose you for it.

Not when it’s almost over.

William tugged her nearer, silently answering her unspoken request. His teeth nipped at her ear, and he nuzzled her hair amorously. When she was convinced that, at least for the minute, he was not going anywhere—that when she awoke he would be exactly where he was now—she relaxed. He was there. He was always there. Beside her. Comforting her.

Why these idle concerns suddenly manifested into corporeal worries, she did not know. The feeling was tight, constrictive, and uncomfortable. She didn’t like it.

Then out of nowhere, he answered her. He opened his mouth and said it. Releasing a burden of shortcomings, as though the weight of the world was finally relieved of his shoulders. The words she had been longing to hear since that night so long ago in the graveyard when more than one confession was made. When she had revealed the cindered burnings of her broken heart, crumpled into ash and steadfastly fell outside the realm of anything that could ever be considered normal.

“There’s one thing, luv,” he murmured, pulling her close. “I ‘aven’t been fair to you. I’ve been avoidin’ it for so long…tellin’ all the wrong people but never you. Never who needed to… It doesn’ matter now. Not anymore. You’ve…I have to say it. I’ve tried not to, but I…God help me, I love you so much. An’ we’ll get through this. I promise. ‘F it’s the last bloody thing I do, I’ll get you through this.”

There was a profuse difference between knowledge and substantiation. A whole world was built on theory. The understanding that his guilt and grief would forever keep him from expressing anything into materialism. She had known this.

The revelation came so flippantly that she lent pause for a moment, partly convinced the words were nonexistent; materialized from her own concerns and wary convictions. A song she had memorized, practically written. A tune she hummed daily, rehearsing for the single minute in which she might be reimbursed. And her eyes clouded with tears, whether by suggestion or foreknowledge, she was not sure. She was crying without feasible provocation.

He waited as she calmed, holding her tightly to him in a blanket of everlasting warmth. When her vision returned, Buffy forced herself to face it and twisted in his arms to meet his gaze. What she saw nearly took her breath away. Shimmers of compassion, sincerity, kindness and…hope.

And just like that, her resolve crumpled. Her breathing hitched and her already-cold body numbed, her eyes imploring his, peeling away the layers, hoping desperately that she wasn’t seeing just what she wanted to see. The Slayer had never known herself to conjure something simply out of desire, and did not want to start now. Not when the collateral was this robust.

And then every doubt was whisked away. Slowly, William lowered his head to her neck where he nuzzled gently, and the words came again, deliberate, and she knew she was not dreaming. “’m sorry, luv. I tried an’ I…Buffy…I can’t…I love you so bloody much it kills me.”

Those were his words. They were of his origin, his construction, and he was saying them now. To her. He loved her. She had always known it, but now it was certain. Now there was no room to doubt. No need to question the future. He loved her, and that was all that mattered.

The burden of release. Buffy felt herself dissolve into tears. With a sudden surge of energy, she shot forward, forcing him up and clasping him tightly, holding him to her, refusing to let go. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, unsuccessfully trying to muffle her cries, quivering with discharge. Every fiber of her being burst with glorious liberation.

It was the highest state of contentment she had known since he came back into her life. Pure in all its form. A true sign that the future was theirs, really theirs, and that…

The Slayer cried out suddenly in a flash of fresh pain, and her head fell back, hand reaching instantaneously to clutch his arm in support. “Will!” she gasped. “Oh, God, it’s coming. It’s—”

The love in his eyes intensified if possible, battling age-old concern as he leapt forward, grasping her before she lost balance. “Buffy…”

“Will…Spike…” She keeled forward, howling her anguish. “Oh God, oh God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! It’s…here it comes, here it comes—”

William leaned forward in extended panic. A dull awareness had settled behind a knowing gaze, and his vision blurred with tears. “No, luv. Hold on. I…I din’t—”

“Do something!” She fell back in affect, stumbling away from the bed and onto the floor, arms bracing her plummet. Her skin scraped roughly against the nightstand and she hissed in pain. “Angel’s…the—”

When he kneeled beside her, his face was a washboard of sorrow and penance. She broke at the visage and sobbed, unable to do anything but indicate the drawer. Inside was the cross her first love had given her a lifetime ago, cased protectively where she had kept it in her pocket all through the flight. Closed as not to sear her skin. Brought as a good luck charm.

The last was coming. William understood without direction. She pulled her hair out of the way and allowed the clasp to fix behind her neck. The sacred emblem burned with the impact of a thousand flames, and while her will begged a complete collapse in fortitude, she would not allow it. Not now.

“God, Will,” she gasped. “I love you so much. I’m sorry I couldn’t hold on. Forgive me. Forgive me. I’m so—”

She lurched forward and screamed. Words tore from her throat beyond comprehensibility. She couldn’t see or feel—engulfed only in the sensation of being ripped from herself.
It was fortunate that she could not see the smile that broke across her face before her lover could pull away. Before she looked into his eyes again and knew. Before the lasting affect of her one moment of happiness seeped in for all its horrid reality.

The world was an ugly place.

And just like that, she was gone.

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