Cuore Della Notte
(The Heart of the Night)
by Rabid

BETAS: Binkysab, LostAngel and ElektraWWF from FanForum

SYNOPSIS: This is the story of the Slayer's final destruction, and the part played by her vampire lover, Spike. So, this is how, I would end the series. This story is set 2 years after THE GIFT. Many things have changed in the lives of the characters but do NOT be alarmed. To my knowledge there are NO spoilers in this fic. However, to avoid confusion let me bring you up to speed. In my little corner of the Buffyverse: Willow and Xander have accepted Spike into the Scoobie Gang, Spike was instrumental in bringing Buffy back from the dead in the Season 6 premiere, Xander and Anya have married and have a child, Tara has died, Dawn is, of course, 16 years old, Giles has moved back to England, Oz has moved back to Sunnydale and Buffy has a job as a traffic cop aka meter maid. This is my idea of logical progression. Hey, lots of things can happen in 2 long years.

1.

"You mean they broke up? He just dumped Dawn?" Willow asked, incredulously, as she tossed her trademarked 'ball of sunshine' into a vamp's hands and watched him poof. "With only five more days until the big dance and without any explanation?"

"Oh, there was an explanation all right," Buffy growled, meeting Spike's eyes over the shoulder of her own assailant as she blocked a punch.

"What?!?" Spike said, innocently. "I only had a little talk with the boy."

The blond vampire and Xander Harris were juggling three opponents between them. Xander managed to stake one just before he took a wrong step and went down under the other two. Spike leaped to his assistance as Buffy picked up the conversational ball.

"You told him he could lose a hand!" the Slayer said, whipping a stake around and dusting her vamp before heading over to help Xander.

"Only if he put it somewhere dangerous," Spike assured, as he tossed one of the two remaining vamps to Buffy. He twisted the other vamp's arm up and back until the joint cracked before adding, "That's not a threat or anything ... it's just good advice."

"Yeah, Buffy," Willow said, circling and looking for a way to help without toasting Spike. "I'm sure that Spike didn't mean for the guy to jilt Dawn, right before the Junior Prom. And why do they have a JUNIOR prom, anyway? We didn't get to have the JUNIOR prom. It was Senior or you went without, Missy."

"Kids today! They don't know about the sacrifice and the hardship," Xander said, like a shocked old geezer, as he patted himself over checking for injuries. He had a small cut over one eye but was otherwise fine. "I understand that you don't even have to be genetically altered to be on the varsity swim team these days."

"The point is he has no business talking to Dawn's boyfriends at all," Buffy said as she put the stake to her vampire. "Dawn is my responsibility and I had already cleared this guy."

"Oh, YOU cleared him," Spike sneered, sarcastically. He spun under the final vampire's swing and shoved him toward Buffy's stake. The demon exploded on pointy contact and Spike dusted his hands off as he continued, "He got the Buffy Summers seal of approval, then? May I remind you, Miss Can't Keep Track of Her Own Virginity Past the Age of 15, that your record with the opposite sex is NOT the sort to inspire confidence." He turned to slap Xander in the chest, "Harris, you've got a daughter. Would you let the Slayer pick out her Prom date?"

"You are making the mistake of assuming that Melanie will EVER be allowed to date," Xander said, casually. "My plan is to send her to the Convent of the Eternally Virginal somewhere around the age of 8."

"Well, Dawn isn't 8," Buffy said, as she stormed around the room recovering her weapons. "She's 16 years old and she doesn't need anyone to 'pick out' her dates for her. But if she did, as her big sister and legal guardian, I would certainly be more qualified to do the job than a vampire with more Victorian sensibility than sense."

The Slayer stopped slamming weapons into her shoulder bag, straightened up and addressed Spike directly as she added, "And I was 17 when I spent the night with Angel, not 15."

"Shame you didn't have the remarkable control on your thigh muscles back then that you have now," Spike snarled, before turning to stalk toward the warehouse door.

"Well, this has been a real pleasant evening," Xander said, perkily, to Willow. "What with my bleeding head injury and the bickering old married couple, it was almost like being at my parents' house. I feel like such a kid again."

"Yep," Willow agreed, "that's the whole point of the patrolling. It takes you back to those golden days of youth."

"Do you believe him?" Buffy said, looking after Spike as she joined her two buds. "He is out to drive me insane. This thing with Dawn is just the tip of the iceberg. You have no idea ... there is just so much more iceberg there."

Buffy puffed out a breath, shook her hair back and headed off after Spike. Willow and Xander exchanged a meaningful glance.

"So, we are all in agreement, then," Xander said conversationally. "If those two don't get horizontal by this weekend there's going to be apocalyptic-like bloodshed."

"I'll have another talk with Buffy," Willow sighed as she and Xander trailed after the odd couple. "After all, sex with the undead isn't such a sinful indulgence when it's for the public good."

♥ ♥

"Lilith, Mother of Darkness, Night Monster, Defiler of Innocents, may your heart be filled with this sacrifice, may we be nourished by this blood."

The crypt was full of the sound of chanting as at least twenty red-robed figures filed in to it. The strange monks moved in stately progression keeping their heads bowed in supplication.

"We have the hope that one is coming. We have the hope that he will fall and rise again. We have the hope that he is already among us. We have the hope that she will accept his seed. We have the hope that you will be reborn from their union."

The red-robed monks began to gather around an altar on which lay a little girl of about 4 or 5 years of age. The child's eyes were filled with horror but she was too paralyzed with fear to scream. Each of the monks clutched a silver bowl. They circled closer and closer until the child was completely hidden behind a wall of red robes. One of the monks wore an ornate gold medallion with a flickering red jewel in the center. He stepped up on the altar dais and raised a knife on high.

"Let us be one with the Heart of the Night," the assembly chanted together in Italian. "Siamo uno con il Cuore Della Notte".

And then the knife swung in a downward arch. The chanting stopped abruptly as the knifepoint buried itself in the altar and a flow of blood filled every bowl.

♥ ♥

Buffy entered the Magic Box the next morning a little after 10:00 am. Anya was assisting a customer and Willow was hunkered down at the round table with a huge lesson-planning book open in front of her.

"Hello, Teach!" Buffy sang out. "Working on the moulding of the tiny minds?"

"This lesson planning is driving me crazy," Willow groused, tossing down her pen. "I keep wanting to do this magically but I don't think that would be fair to the rest of the class."

"Fair, Schmair," Buffy said, waving one hand, dismissively. "If you can do your homework by twitching your nose, you have a sacred duty to overworked students everywhere to live out that fantasy."

"That's what I keep telling her," Xander said, as he entered the shop through the training room door, holding his baby daughter in his arms. "Plus, there's the whole doing homework over Spring Break which is also wrong."

"Hey, Papa Xander," Buffy greeted. She twiddled her fingers at Melanie as she addressed her father. "And why aren't you working?"

"We're between projects," Xander answered, shifting the baby in his arms. "We start up next Monday on the Stafford Dorm remodeling. We're giving them Spring Break to find alternative shelter. What about you? Shouldn't you be ticketing the jaywalkers or scarfing the jelly donuts with the rest of Sunnydale PD's finest?

"Time off for good behavior." Buffy quipped. "I figured I would take a week's vacation. Do the Prom thing with Dawn, fittings and hair and salon treatments. I am a chaperone for the shindig. We of the Scoobies should do something, too. With the fun and the frolic."

"No frolicking until after the homework is done," Willow, once again with pen in hand, said, indicating her stacks of notes.

"You sound like the teacher already," Buffy smiled. "Okay, so we postpone the fun until tonight. Shall we hit the Bronze? Are they even open on Tuesdays?"

"The Bronze is always open," Willow replied, "except ... you know ... for the times when they close ... like at closing time."

"I can do a quick patrol and meet you guys there," Buffy said, "Come on ... it will be just like old times."

"I really have to stay with the baby," Anya said, appearing as if by magic, next to Xander and leaning over to check on their child.

"Dawn could sit for us, Sweetie," Xander urged, hopefully. "It would be a nice change from diapers."

"No, I would rather stay with Melanie but you go ahead if you want to," Anya said, giving him an encouraging smile. The bell on the shop door jangled and she went back to work. Xander frowned after her.

"I don't know," he said, softly, leaning in to address his best friends. "Ever since Melanie was born, I can barely budge Anya away from her. But the last few weeks it's been unbelievable. I don't think she would come to work if there wasn't a place for the baby to sleep in the backroom."

"Aren't all new mothers nervous?" Buffy asked, casting a quick look over her shoulder at Xander's wife. "It's probably just a phase."

"Nervous is one thing," Xander said, "but this is almost an obsession. It's like Anya thinks that Melanie is just going to vanish if she isn't watching over her all the time."

"That reminds me did you guys read about those missing children in the paper?" Willow asked and Xander hissed at her, making a shushing motion with his one free hand. He peered anxiously over to where Anya was explaining love potions to a starry-eyed teenager.

"Will you keep it down?" Xander whispered, harshly. "I've been hiding the newspapers for the last week so that Anya doesn't get wind of that story. I mean all I need is for her to read that some Red Robed weirdoes are making off with baby girls. She wouldn't leave the house again until Melanie was ready for graduate school."

"It's that bad, huh?" Buffy said, her eyes filling with sympathy for her friend.

"You don't know the half," Xander sighed. "I'm thinking maybe we should go to counseling or something."

"Hmmm!" Buffy said looking over at Anya again. She leaned in conspiratorially to whisper, "Still I need to know a little more about these guys. It smells Hellmouth-y to me. Willow, do you think you could do a little research on the sly? We don't want to get Anya upset but we don't want anymore disappearances either."

"Sure," Willow nodded, "I'll just say I'm doing some random studying, I can let you know if I turn anything up when we meet at the Bronze."

"Great, it's a plan," Buffy said. "How's 9:30 sound for you guys?"

They nodded their assent and the Slayer wandered back into the training room to workout on the free bag. She missed working out with Spike but lately that had become an impossible situation. As she shadowboxed and flipped and spun her way through her exercises, Buffy thought back to when things had gone bad.

She knew that her friends were puzzled by the sudden chilliness between her and the blond vampire. They had all been working together like a seamless unit. But she had no idea how to explain what had changed in the last two months. She only knew that having Spike close to her now caused a burning ache in her soul and the only way to stave off the pain was to harden her heart to him completely. She needed to drive him away from her and make him keep his distance.

She had finished her routine and was toweling off when Willow entered and asked her if she wanted to grab some lunch. Grateful for the interruption, Buffy agreed and the two friends set off for the local deli.

"So is Spike coming tonight?" Willow asked, innocently, after they had ordered and settled themselves in a corner booth.

"Spike?" Buffy asked, frowning. "Why would Spike be coming?"

"Oh, no reason," Willow said, quickly forking up a bite of salad. She chewed, swallowed and then added, "I just wondered if ... well ... since you said it would be like old times. I thought maybe Spike would be your date."

"Spike and I don't date." Buffy said, with a touch of sharpness. "There was never any dating. We worked together fighting the evil and sure sometimes he showed up for the inner circle events. But that's because he and Dawn are close. I mean, he and I spent a little time together and maybe there was some level of attraction there but we never dated. I was talking about old times with you and me and Xander. Before there was any Spike involvement."

"Buffy," Willow said, leaning forward to take the other woman's hand. "What is going on with you two. I'm not blind! I know that you and Spike are a lot more than co-workers on Project Hellmouth. You were getting very close. He was practically living at your house and then poof. He's back in the crypt. Nobody's talking and the two of you are both acting half-crazed. What happened? Did Spike do something to upset you?"

Buffy took a slow settling breath. She wanted to tell someone but she didn't know how to begin. How could she explain about Slayers and Vampires and the lines that should never be crossed? How could she explain what it felt like to be forced to hunt the one you love, to strike him down as she had been forced to strike down Angel? Or how the love and the blood and the death and the sex all blended together when a vampire became the object of your desire?

"It's not what Spike did..." Buffy finally said, softly. "It was me."

"You?" Willow blinked, not understanding.

"Do you remember a couple months ago?" Buffy began. "At Dawn's birthday party? When Spike and I were in the kitchen and I cut myself?"

Willow nodded wondering where this was going.

"You were doing the dishes and the knife slipped..." the Wiccan girl, prompted.

"The knife didn't slip," Buffy muttered, looking down at her plate. Her face was red with shame.

"What?" Willow exclaimed. This was not what she had been expecting.

"I cut myself," Buffy clarified, looking up to meet her friend's startled eyes, "...on purpose. For him. So he could drink from me without having any pain."

"Spike asked you to do that?" Willow asked, shocked to the core. Buffy, quickly, shook her head.

"No!" she said, forcefully. "He would never have asked me to..."

Her voice trailed off for a moment when she continued, it was filled with the echo of memory, "It was me. I wanted to know. What it would be like to be with him ... as a vampire. With Angel it was terrifying like a roller coaster ride into oblivion. With Dracula it was almost like a sexual assault ... sickening. Both times the Slayer part of me fought against it, screaming for retaliation. But with Spike...."

Buffy's voice faded again as she searched for the words to explain what it felt like to be consumed by the one you loved. How her instinct for survival had abandoned her. How the Slayer had faded away and only Buffy had remained. She had felt vulnerable and powerfully irresistible at the same time. She recalled the whole scene, vividly.

Spike had teased her as they worked in the kitchen, telling her he was only biding his time until he'd lulled her into a false sense of security. He intimated that he was only interested in her as a potential meal. Buffy had teased him in return, exposing her throat and then laughing when he snapped a towel at her. She had challenged him with her eyes, picking up the knife and letting the sharp blade slide along the fleshy base of her thumb. They had both watched her blood drip into the sink and blossom into red roses.

Becoming aware of Spike's stillness beside, Buffy realized, too late, the magnitude of what she had done. She reached to turn on the faucet, planning to wash off her hand. Spike grabbed her wrist before she could plunge it under the stream of running water. In one swift movement, he brought Buffy's hand to his lips as he snaked his right arm around her waist, pulling her close. His tongue played over her torn flesh, lapping the sticky sweetness off of her, probing the wound, and opening it further. Then he took the base of her thumb completely into his mouth.

Buffy's knees went weak and she leaned back into the vampire as he sucked down her life's blood, drawing it from her body. As he drank, Spike let his right hand explore the Slayer, fondling her breasts, stroking her throat, and sliding across her belly. Feeling the aphrodisiac effect of her blood, he pushed her pelvis back against his own rubbing against her from behind. The cut on the Slayer's hand was superficial and soon ran dry but they were both too drunk with this forbidden exploration to end it.

"I can't get close enough," Spike whispered, hoarsely, as he transferred his attention to Buffy's throat. "I need you to let me inside."

It was the age-old plea of the vampire. "I need you. Unlock your doors, open your windows, abandon your defenses, and let me come closer, invite me inside."

Spike bit down hard under the curve of Buffy's jaw, stopping just short of breaking the skin. He began to suckle against her neck drawing the rich arterial blood to the surface. She moaned softly as he bruised her, caressing his arms where they held her close. Buffy had found it easy, in that moment, to imagine Spike entering her body, his fangs sinking into her throat as she parted her thighs to him. The pain he was inflicting on her increased to a serious level but she couldn't seem to pull away.

It was his chip firing that finally broke the spell. Spike jerked away from her, holding one hand to his temple. He grimaced with the sudden headache. Buffy saw the barest glimpse of fangs and then he stumbled against a pile of dishes sending them crashing to the tile floor. The loud noise brought everyone running from the other room and Buffy, hastily, pulled her hair forward to cover the mark on her throat.

But she had been shaken to her core by the experience and was afraid to meet Spike's eye for the rest of the evening. It was that night that her dreams started, dreams of blood and lust that left her aching in the morning light. Night after night the Slayer dreamed of being devoured by a passion as eternal as the grave. Until finally, just being in the same room with Spike became an agony.

"So you wanted Spike to bite you," Willow said, summing up and drawing Buffy back to the present, "but he couldn't do it because of the chip, right?"

Buffy nodded glad that her friend finally understood, but instead of being shocked, Willow shrugged, dismissively.

"So, it's not really a problem then is it?" the red-haired witch asked. "I mean, it doesn't matter if you want it to happen because it just can't. Not as long as Spike has that chip in his head."

"But what if something happens to the chip?" Buffy countered. "What if it falls out, or short circuits or the batteries go dead?"

"Buffy," Willow sighed, at her friend's lack of technical expertise, "are you forgetting, I've seen those Initiative chips. If Spike's is anything like Riley's, and why wouldn't it be, then it's magnetically shielded and built to last a hundred years. By the time it breaks down you'll be the old and wrinkly Slayer and Spike won't even be interested in biting you."

Buffy grimaced at the idea of being old and wrinkly. She was probably the only woman her age that became wistful at the idea of needing a face-lift. She already held the record as the oldest living Slayer, having earned that distinction by turning 22 this year. The fact was that in her line of work you started early and died young. The average Slayer shelf life was something like 3 years. Buffy, having held the office for 8 years now, was kind of the Michael Jordan, the Wayne Gretsky or even the Secretariat of Slayers. She was a genuine phenomenon having come back from the dead twice to kick the evil boo-tay.

"The point is I shouldn't even think about Spike biting me," Buffy insisted. "I'm the Chosen One. How can I pursue my sacred duty if I'm thinking about vampires in that way?"

"Well, you're not thinking about OTHER vampires are you?" Willow asked, carefully. "I mean this is just happening with Spike, right? It's not like you're going all Riley on us. You haven't started hanging out at Willie's bar making eyes at the local bloodsucking talent, have you?"

"Uhurgh!" Buffy said, with a shudder. She looked like she might retch at the very thought. "No way!"

"Okay, then," Willow sighed, gesturing with her fork. "What I think we are talking about here is a classic case of transference."

"You mean, I want someone else to bite me?" Buffy asked, playing intentionally dumb, but frowning at the direction the conversation appeared to be headed. "And I just think that it's Spike?"

"I mean that you don't want to be bitten at all," Willow corrected, knowing that Buffy wasn't really that slow. "You want something else entirely. Something the biting only represents."

"Yeah!" Buffy said, with false perkiness as she looked over at the dessert case. "Like pumpkin cheesecake!"

Willow gave her a steady no nonsense look. After a long pause, the Slayer met her friend's eyes and sighed.

"Okay, not cheesecake," Buffy said, resignedly. "We're talking about the necrophilia, here."

"It's not that bad, Buffy," Willow said, quickly. "I mean, okay, Spike isn't exactly alive but he's not exactly dead either. He has self-awareness and feelings and he really cares about you. You know that he does."

"I know," Buffy pouted, halfheartedly. "But first Angel and now Spike. What does that say about me, Will? That I can't get no satisfaction without the undead creatures of the night being involved?"

"Well ... maybe that IS what it says," Willow agreed. "But is that such a horrible thing? I mean, let's face it, Buffy, you're REALLY not like the other girls. So, why pretend that you are? Why not seize a little bit of the pleasure to go along with all the big pain of Slayerdom?"

Buffy considered the idea. For the first time outside her dreams she let herself really think about having sex with Spike. It seemed almost too decadent to contemplate.

"I don't know if I can..." she, finally, admitted. "I mean, I don't know if I can just let go ... with Spike."

"You don't have to do it all at once," Willow said, hastily. "You can ease into it. A little dancing, a little dinner, a couple of innocent dates..."

"Assuming he'll go along with this..." Buffy cautioned. "I still can't guarantee that I will be able to ... you know ... let things go that far. Spike may love me but regardless of what's between us, he's still dangerous. That chip doesn't change anything. It only keeps him from physically hurting people, you know?"

"You think that he'll hurt you in some other way?" Willow realized. "You think that he still wants to harm you on some level? Like Angelus did?"

"He's a demon, Willow," Buffy reminded. "It's not like he'll ever be domesticated. Part of him will always want to see me bleed. And I don't know if I can open up my heart in the face of that kind of potential betrayal."

"But haven't you already opened up your heart to Spike?" Willow asked her gently.

"Only in the sense of having lost it completely," Buffy confessed, with a small self-deprecating smile.

2.

A little before 9:00 pm that same night, Xander and Spike were at the Bronze playing Nine Ball. Xander was nursing a beer, leaning against a post, as he watched Spike run the table for the fifth time. The evening had already cost the dark-haired man three day's pay but it hadn't been very productive on the conversational front. He had invited Spike to join him for the express purpose of encouraging vampire/slayer relations. But the vampire wasn't in the mood to discuss his love life.

"Look, Spike, it's not like Buffy hasn't walked the undead road before," Xander tried, again. "Definitely not the scenic route for her, littered with heartbreak and the bodies of her friends but she's been down to the end of the trail if you catch my drift. So she could probably find her way along it again. It's just that she's not real eager to take that first step."

"And the wheels on the bus go round and round," Spike sighed, sighting on the cue ball and firing off a shot to the side pocket. "Do you have some point to make Harris? Or are you just going to keep repeating today's lesson until all the kiddies have turned off the telly and taken up drug use?"

"Oh, yes, with the sterling wit," Xander replied. "Yet, another reason why you never get laid."

"I don't need your help with that, Elmo," Spike said, throwing his pool-cue into the center of the table and starting to walk away.

"YES!" Xander asserted, grabbing the vampire's arm to restrain him. "Yes, you do! Because unlike you I have the regular sex, with the regular woman, regularly. And I have the little tax deduction at home to prove it."

Spike hesitated, considering the merit of this idea.

"And the POINT that I'm making here," Xander continued. "Is that I've known Buffy for a good long time. In that special, we have never tried to kill each other, kind of way. So, I just might know a little more about what puts her in the receptive mood than you do."

"Yeah?" Spike said, intrigued in spite of his irritation. He twisted his arm free of Xander's grip but he sauntered back to the pool table, "Alright then, rack ' em up again and you can tell me what you think the Dutch might fancy."

With a bit of effort, Xander kept himself from saying "tulips and wooden shoes". Thanks to Willow's tutelage on the internet, the carpenter had recently discovered a website that allowed him to translate most of the blond vampire's London slang. Consequently, he was probably the only member of the Scoobie Gang, besides Giles, who knew when Spike should be slapped. He had learned about twenty new terms for assorted sex acts and also, to his astonishment, that "the Dutch" was the British equivalent of "the Old Lady", literally, "the wife". Xander had yet to decide if Spike should be slapped for habitually referring to Buffy that way.

Over the next half hour or so, Xander laid out the plan for Buffy seduction that he and Willow had discussed. Gradually, Spike came around to their way of thinking. The two men had given up on billiards by the time they reached detente. They were seated at a small table near the dance floor, picking at a plate of hot wings, when Willow and Buffy arrived.

"It's going to seem bloody unnatural," Spike said, spotting Buffy at the door and, instinctively, getting up to leave.

"Okay, skipping the part where I point out the irony of that statement." Xander said, pulling the vampire back into a chair. "Are you in or are you out?"

"I ain't said I won't do it."

"Good Man!" Xander encouraged. Nodding toward the pair by the door, he added, "Willow and I will lend a hand with the set decoration but may I suggest that you start things off right now by asking the Buffster to dance."

"Yeah ... okay ... sure," Spike sighed, not sounding like he was overly happy about this part of the plan.

Willow and Buffy hadn't moved from the doorway and Spike noticed that the witch appeared to be talking sternly to her friend. He'd also noticed that the Slayer had turned to go the minute she'd set eyes on him. The vampire felt this was not a good omen for the evening.

But after a brief, if heated, debate Buffy and Willow joined them at the table. The Slayer was wearing a gold sequined tank top and soft black slacks. Her wrists were draped with dozens of tiny golden chains. She reflected the light as she moved. Spike thought she looked good enough to eat. He, immediately, reprimanded himself for the thought.

"Hello, ladies," Xander greeted. "Could we interest you in a malt beverage or a tepid chicken wing?"

"I came here to dance," Buffy said, abruptly, then as Willow nudged her shoulder she softened her tone, "But I wouldn't be turning down the refreshing wine spritzer."

"Right, the Slayer wants a drink with no punch to it," Xander nodded, sagely. Waving toward the waiter, he added, "And what will our Dark Enchantress be having ... buzz-free beer? ... Shirley Temple?"

"I would like a spring water, please, and a dance with Spike," Willow said. Grabbing the vampire's hand, she pulled him out onto the floor before he could think to voice a protest.

A few seconds later Xander and Buffy had joined them and the foursome set about rocking the Bronze. The live musicians were offering up a strange mix of Celtic and modern sound that was more festive than brooding, like Vertical Horizon with bagpipes and electric fiddle. Spike taught the Scoobies a sort of old country dance that went well with the music. The dance had them trading off partners, repeatedly. As the tempo grew feverish, all four of them collapsed into laughter trying to keep up the pace.

After about twenty minutes, Xander and Willow broke formation to sit out a few numbers.

"So any headway on your Red Robed researching?" Xander asked, before taking a long pull on his beer.

"No," Willow sighed, regretfully, shaking her head. "Like I told Buffy on the walk over here, I need something more to go on than robes and missing children. That fits way too many profiles."

"And what does that say about our little town?" Xander asked, rhetorically.

When Spike and Buffy came over to join the pair, Xander and Willow suddenly found their second wind and went back onto the dance floor. The Slayer slouched into her chair, lifting her hair off of her neck. She was glistening slightly with perspiration, not really winded but warm. Spike took the edge off of his oral fixation by popping a handful of peanuts into his mouth and washing them down with a shot of whiskey.

"Having fun, then?" he asked, casually, after swallowing.

"Yep," Buffy smiled. "Who'd a thunk it?"

"What?" Spike asked, innocently, as he looked at the wall clock over the bar, "That we could be civil to each other for nearly an hour?"

"Well, it helps if we don't have any breath for the conversating," Buffy said.

"There's a lot to be said for physical exertion," Spike remarked and then silently cursed himself for the double entendre.

Buffy, however, was nodding her agreement.

"Yes, much better than the talking and the thinking things through," she said. "Both highly over-rated activities in my opinion."

"Have dinner with me tomorrow," Spike said, quickly, before he lost his nerve, "and I promise, we won't do too much of either of those things."

"Dinner?" Buffy squeaked, sitting up in her chair and giving him a variation of the 'deer in headlights' look.

"7:30, my place?" Spike pressed the advantage.

"Uhm ... yeah," the Slayer said, after an interminable pause, "Sure!" She sighed out her pent breath, relaxing back, "Dinner! Why not?"

Spike covered his elation by looking across at Xander and Willow. They were stumbling through the steps of the dance he'd taught them. Xander turned Will under one arm and nearly dislocated her shoulder as he failed to release her hand. The red-haired girl came back around her partner and ended up facing in the same direction that he was.

"If you're rested, Slayer," Spike said, with a nod at Buffy's best friends, "we had better go rescue those two. ' Cause that is positively embarrassing."

Buffy followed his glance and burst out laughing. The unfortunate couple was now tied in a human knot. Xander was struggling to free himself but having little success as he was apparently still unwilling to relinquish his death grip on Willow's right hand. The carpenter was gradually strangling his redheaded companion. Buffy took Spike's offered arm and the two of them went over to untangle her buddies in time for the next dance number.

♥ ♥

The others left the Bronze a little past midnight but Spike lingered over his drink until he was the only customer left in the club. He watched from a corner table as the bartender, Kyle, and the closing waitress, Gracie straightened chairs and polished tabletops. Spike knew that they wanted him to leave. He could sense the impatience in them.

Unlike a human patron, Spike was also aware of the unspoken motivation behind the couple's irritation at his loitering. He knew that Kyle and Gracie weren't simply two tired people ready to go home for a little telly and some zeds. As soon as they dumped the final customer's sorry ass on the street and locked the door, Spike knew that Kyle and Gracie generally shagged like rabbits. And for the past several weeks, now, the vampire had made it his business to torment the couple by nursing his last call for as long as possible.

As Spike watched, Gracie brushed by Kyle and the bartender grimaced as if in pain. "Poor Bastard!" the vampire thought.

Suddenly in total sympathy with the human male, Spike found he wasn't really enjoying the game anymore. He tossed back his drink and got up. Dropping a five on the table, he headed for the door. Gracie hurried after him and as Spike hit the night air he heard the bolt click shut behind him. He stood listening to the sound of the pair inside for a few minutes before turning up his collar and heading down the alleyway.

Spike had only taken a few steps when he sensed another being close by in the shadows.

"Alright, mate," Spike growled. "Come on out of there before I come in after you."

"As wary as ever, William," a voice said, speaking from the long lost past.

"SAUL!" Spike exclaimed in delight. Reaching into the darkest part of the alleyway, he dragged out a red robed vampire, "Why you old reprobate? What are you doing on my patch?"

The newcomer was wearing the Gold Medallion of the High Priest around his neck and a placid smile on his face. He seemed completely non-aggressive and graciously inclined his head at Spike.

"Pursuing the path of the faithful, my brother," Saul, the high priest, replied.

"As I see," Spike laughed, pointing at the flickering red jewel in the medallion on the other vampire's chest. "Father Confessor are you now? Head of the whole bloody troop?"

"Only because you chose to leave the order, old friend," the red robed monk said, graciously. "I have no doubt that, had you stayed, you would be wearing the Heart instead of me."

"I would have made a lousy monk, Saul, and you know it," Spike said. "I didn't last out my first year. Could never give up the hunt ... and the girls ... and the hunting of the girls."

"And yet you have not hunted in sometime?" Saul said, with another small smile. "How long have you fasted, my brother?"

"Hard to say," Spike mumbled, looking away in embarrassment.

"There is no need for shame," Saul said, gently. "This is, truly, a miraculous thing. It is, in fact, a mark of some distinction. Never before have I sensed one of our kind so purified."

"It's not by choice, I'll tell you that much," Spike growled. "So you can keep your sodding distinctions. I got a chip in my head. It's a little hair shirt in the noggin, applying the punishment for my transgressions. I can't hunt. I can't kill. I can't even bite people."

"Is the pain such that you are unable to take blood from a human even if it be dead already?" Saul asked, a little too innocently.

Spike's mind went back to the girl that Dru had killed for him almost two years ago. He had taken blood then without the chip firing. So he could drink the blood of the recently killed. Why hadn't he simply had someone else kill for him? Harmony had even offered. But after the first one or two times, he had stopped going with Harmony. Telling himself that he couldn't stand her blathering, Spike had stayed home with the butcher's blood.

"That's not the point," Spike grimaced, dismissing his conflicted thoughts with a sharp gesture. "The point is I'm not doing this for religious reasons, it's just a side effect of being used as a bloody lab rat."

"And what of your relations with the Slayer?" the monk asked, and this time there was very little innocence in the question.

"You lot stay away from the Slayer," Spike said, stepping forward aggressively and grabbing the monk's arm. "I mean it Saul, I know your games. You touch one hair on her aggravating little head and I'll..."

"So protective," Saul purred, as Spike left the threat hanging in the air. "So devoted! You are truly an inspiration to us all, my brother."

"Fine," Spike snarled, releasing his old friend and stepping away. "You cop off and be inspired, then, but mark my words. If you mess with this Slayer, you won't live to regret it. She and I will wipe out your merry little monastery," he pointed his finger for emphasis, "permanently! And then no one will be wearing the pretty costume jewelry 'round their necks, will they?"

Angrily, Spike turned and stalked off into the night without looking back. Several red robed figures melted out of the darkness to stand beside Saul. They watched Spike until he disappeared from view.

"He is very strong willed," one of the newcomers remarked, "full of fire and anger. Are you sure that he is the one?"

"Never have our prayers been closer to being answered, my brothers," Saul said, a fanatical gleam in his eye as he stared after Spike. "All that William needs is a push in the right direction."

♥ ♥

"I should go back home," Buffy said, firmly, starting to turn back, as she and Willow reached the cemetery gates, "and change ... into something ... else." The Slayer brushed, nervously, at her periwinkle colored silky layered skirt.

"You look beautiful," Willow encouraged. "That blouse is so right. The lace! And the cream shade really brings out your coloring."

"Maybe I want my coloring to be left in," Buffy said, biting her bottom lip. She gave a quick shake of her head and turned to leave, again. "Nope, Nope, No ... I can't do this..."

"Buffy!" Willow snapped, stepping into her friend's path. "It's just a date. A simple dinner date with Spike. What is there to be afraid of?"

"Besides the Spike ... and the dinner part?" Buffy queried, lifting her brows. She gestured to indicate their surroundings, "Well, there's the scary mausoleum and me with no pointy wood."

"I'm sure it will be very nice," Willow said and Buffy looked doubtfully back across the cemetery at Spike's place.

"You mean for a crypt?" she asked.

"Buffy, if you would feel more comfortable at my place," Willow offered, instantly. "I could take Dawn to the all night arcade, play some miniature golf, while you and Spike ... uhm..."

"No!" Buffy rejected, sharply, before moderating her tone to add, "No, I'm sure this will be just fine."

"Better a crypt than a Wiccan Love nest," the Slayer thought, "with the bed and the candles and the incense and the ... bed!"

"Okay," Willow agreed, perkily, turning Buffy around and giving her a push in the proper direction, "Off you go then."

The Slayer stood up a little straighter, pulled her shoulders back, put her chin in the air and headed across the grass between the tombstones. Halfway to the crypt she froze and Willow, waiting at the gate, groaned.

Buffy looked right and left. Something was out there. She sensed it. Something undead. She dropped into a fighting stance. Her Slayer instincts were on full alert as she searched the shadows. Quite suddenly, the sensation of being stalked abated leaving Buffy feeling slightly off balance. She hadn't felt the thing leave, whatever it was, but she knew that it was no longer close. It was no longer watching. After a moment more on alert, Buffy came out of her crouch and turned to look back at Willow. The witch gave her a friendly twiddle of the fingers. She waved back.

"Okay, so mental note...", Buffy reminded herself as she hurried up to Spike's door, "When dating someone who lives at the cemetery, always carry the spare stake."

Arriving at the crypt door, she gave it a delicate rap, which produced almost no sound, and she waited. After five minutes, there was still no response to her knock. Hauling back she gave the metal door a solid, if unladylike, thunk with her fist. Then she checked to make sure that she hadn't broken a nail. Within seconds, the door creaked open in an acceptably spooky fashion.

"It really is the little things that set the mood," Buffy thought, sarcastically. Then she stepped over the threshold and thought only, "WOW!"

There were candles. Hundreds of candles. They lined the walls and the window ledges. They graced the tables and overflowed the sconces. They filled the crypt with a golden warming light that turned Spike's white curls to an effulgent champagne. He was breathtakingly handsome, dressed simply in charcoal colored slacks and a deep purple shirt that brought out the midnight blue of his eyes. The top two buttons of the cotton dress shirt were open, exposing his ivory throat. His sleeves were partially rolled up to reveal the sculpted definition of his forearms.

"'ello, Buffy," he said, on a soft breath.

Giving her a small smile, he reached out to take her hand. As his fingers closed around her own, Buffy noticed that his nails were pale and free of polish. She stepped closer to him, drawing in a whiff of his signature scent, a delicate incense of dark amber and rain soaked earth.

"Damn," the Slayer thought, "Candles, incense..."

Her eyes were drawn inexorably toward the darkest corner of the room. Seeking and finding the final piece of the puzzle. It wasn't ostentatious but it was definitely there.

"And BINGO," she thought. "Bed ... and that's my cue ... time to leave ... time to say goodnight ... time to turnaround and walk back out that door ... definitely time for Buffy to go home ...."

"Can I pour you some wine?" Spike was asking her and she realized she was now well inside the crypt. Buffy looked back at the closed door in confusion wondering how she had come so far in without noticing. Then she looked down at the table in front of her and almost burst out laughing.

"This is our dinner?" Buffy asked, not believing her eyes.

The table was a round wheel of the sort that electric companies used when laying new cable. It was covered in a cloth that Buffy recognized as belonging to Willow. The crystal and dinnerware also appeared to be Wiccan in origin. It was the food itself, however, which had caused a surge of delight to wash over Buffy. There must have been a dozen small plates scattered on the tabletop. Each plate was graced with a different bite size delicacy. There were miniature cheesecakes and meat pastries and chocolate dipped berries and delicate flowers made from vegetables.

"Song Lee's Deli and the Fifth Street Bakery," Spike supplied, by way of explanation. "I tried to get things I knew you liked but not too much of anything."

"Well it's a lot better than the microwave popcorn and hot cocoa I was expecting," Buffy admitted, taking a seat in the chair he had pulled out for her.

He poured the wine, a well-aged port, into long-stemmed glasses and handed one across to her. Buffy was not a wine drinker but she took a small sip and was pleasantly surprised by the dark, full flavor. Spike walked over to set the wine bottle on top of his refrigerator. He turned on the portable CD player before heading back to join her at the table. Buffy cringed, internally, waiting for the musical assault of the Ramones or the Sex Pistols to blare out of the player. The first few chords were light and sultry and the male voice that came in shortly was rough but not abrasive. Buffy took another warming sip of her port and felt the tension begin to bleed out of her shoulders.

"Who is this?" she asked, nodding toward the player.

"David Gray," Spike answered. "Fellow Brit, well ... Welshman, album's called 'White Ladder'."

"Very nice," Buffy sighed, as she relaxed back into her chair. Tipping her glass at the spread she added, "All of this is ... very nice."

They ate with their fingers and Buffy began to get rather giddy with the subtle decadence of it. Fifteen minutes into the meal, she bit down on a fudge-tipped strawberry and was forced to lean forward quickly to avoid staining her blouse. She caught the red juice with her thumb before it ran down her chin. Then she had no other choice but to lick the stickiness off of her hand.

"Those famous Slayer reflexes," Spike teased. handing her a damp cloth, "just like lightning."

"That strawberry was unnaturally juicy," Buffy pouted, wiping her fingers on the cloth. "It snuck up on me and I could afford to show it no mercy."

"No," Spike countered, shaking his head, "I'm sorry but that was definitely faulty technique on your part."

He slid his chair over next to Buffy's and reached across her to pick out a berry for himself.

"You need to lean your head further back," he instructed. "Open your mouth wide and take in the whole fruit."

Buffy watched in fascination as Spike acted out his own advice. The pale column of his neck was bared to her as his teeth closed near the stem of the strawberry. Buffy could see the tiny crescent shaped scar on his throat where Dru had originally bitten him. She felt an unexpected hot rush of jealousy. Spike had his eyes closed as he savored the assorted flavors. He chewed once, twice, three times and then he swallowed. Buffy swallowed, too.

"Your turn," Spike challenged, opening his eyes to meet hers. He reached out and selected another chocolate covered fruit, "Tilt your head all the way back."

Just for a second, Buffy hesitated, staring deep into the midnight blue of Spike's gaze. Then she let her head fall back so that her hair formed a golden waterfall in the air. Exposing her own throat, she caught the berry he held up for her on the cradle of her tongue.

Spike watched the Slayer chew and swallow the fruit. Her eyes were closed and she seemed perfectly at ease. She was so vulnerable, so beautiful. The very sight of her filled him with a sanguinary desire. He felt the demon stir in his chest. Felt it conjure up a dark and horrible hunger. A hunger only Buffy's blood could sate. Spike turned away from her, quickly. He concentrated on the flicker of candlelight on the wine glasses and the feelings of devotion in his heart.

"How was that?" Buffy asked, playfully, her voice barely penetrating the fog in his brain.

"Better," Spike whispered, to the tabletop. He was afraid to look at her again. He was afraid of the monster that lurked inside of him.

Sensing his distress, Buffy leaned forward to lay one hand against his arm. Spike glanced down at the touch of her fingers clasping just above his wrist. He was always amazed by how fragile she seemed in light of how capable she was. She had such small delicate hands but the power contained in them nearly charred his skin. His love for her ignited from that point of contact between them and drove his demon back into seclusion.

"Much better," he said, taking a deep breath and meeting her eye.

"I don't know," Buffy mused, "I don't think I quite have the knack. Maybe I need to watch you do it one more time."

She picked up a tiny cheesecake and gave him a challenging look. He grinned and opened his mouth, slightly. Buffy leaned very close. Placing one hand around his shoulders for balance, she fed him the pastry. His teeth closed lightly on her fingers as his tongue worked to free the melting dessert from her grip. He was only partially successful. When he released her fingers there was still a residue of creaminess on her thumb. Spike went very still as he watched Buffy bring her hand to her mouth and lick away the sweetness. She ran her tongue slowly along her skin savoring the decadent taste of his saliva mingled with the richness of cheesecake.

She was watching him, too, with the steady predatory gaze of the Slayer. Spike loved that look. It spoke to him of a passion as untamed as his own. Buffy's eyes were the eyes of a hunter; she was no one's prey. Not his, not anyone's! Spike knew that. Unlike Angel or Angelus, he saw Buffy clearly. He knew better than to toy with her. He saw no need to shelter her from what he was and he took great comfort in her ability to fight him off should he ever lose control.

Drusilla had been vicious and cruel and capricious but Spike had always been her master. His was the stronger personality. He had cared for her, guided her, stabilized her and loved her. He had admired the quicksilver fluidity of her mind and the grace of her body. But Buffy was his equal, his other half, his perfect match and his true love. It seemed to him that he had always known that, from the first moment that they had come together in mutual animosity. He loved the fire, the wit and the passion in her. The way she countered every move he made, the way she struck at him and danced away.

"Do you wanna dance?" Spike asked, not knowing quite how he meant it.

"Very much," Buffy breathed out, responding to him on the same number of levels.

He stood and pulled her roughly up against him. The David Gray CD was on a continuous loop and had just cycled through to the beginning again. The song "Please Forgive Me" started and Spike and Buffy began to sway gently, leaning into one another. The lyrics and the vocalist's smoky tones seemed to speak directly to them.

"Please forgive me," the song played out, "if I act a little strange for I know not what I do. Feels like lightning running through my veins every time I look at you ... every time I look at you. Help me out here all my words are falling short and there is so much that I have to say, want to tell you just how good it feels when you look at me that way."

Buffy reached up to wrap her arms around Spike's neck. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the side of her head. Time seemed to fall away. Song blended into song as they danced. Selected lyrics stood out in bright relief as one or both of them found deeper meaning in the words.

"Like a stone I fall into your eyes, deep into some mystery -- Let go of your heart, let go of your head and feel it now, the love that I was giving you was never in doubt. ---looking back in time, you know it's clear that I've been blind, I've been a fool, I've been afraid to show you how I really feel. -- My oh my you know it just don't stop, I've tried to fight it, tried to turn it off -- and now my hands are shaking but I just can't stop," David Gray sang. He seemed to be telling their story in line after line.

They kissed. Then kissed again, slower and deeper. Sweet kisses that blended together and narrowed their awareness until nothing in the world seemed real but each other's touch. Neither of them noticed the thick mist swirling around them and forming itself into several distinct shapes. Buffy's senses were flooded with Spike, the taste, the feel, the scent of him and the sound of his soft moans on those few occasions when he abandoned her lips. She kept herself in darkness the better to savor those sensations beyond vision.

When she finally opened her eyes, it was to the sight of a vampire, his yellow orbs glaring and fangs bared in a snarl, just inches away from her face. A wash of adrenaline swept over her and she wrenched free of Spike's arms, startling him out of his own reverie. He stumbled back against another foe. They were surrounded by red robed figures. Before Buffy could react, one of the vampires blew a pungent powder in her face. She kicked out sideways snapping her attacker's knee, crippling him with one blow. Spinning she broke another's nose and twisted free of the hands reaching for her as she searched for a weapon.

The red robed figures were everywhere; five of them had grabbed Spike, holding him up off the ground. The blond vampire was cursing and struggling but there were just too many of them. Buffy brought her elbow down on the wooden wheel of the dinner table and broke off a jagged splinter. Flipping back and forth, she dusted two of the red robes in quick succession with her improvised stake. She had just turned to assist Spike when the numbness hit her. Without warning, her legs buckled and she slumped into the waiting arms of the high priest.

"SAUL!" Spike screamed, struggling so fiercely he nearly broke free. "You Bastard! What have you done to her? So, help me ... I am going to rip out your entrails for this! I'm going to slaughter every last one of you."

"Calm yourself, my brother," the vamp holding Buffy said, as he gently leaned her back against a marble column so that she was facing Spike. "The Slayer is merely incapacitated, we have not harmed her. We would not dream of hurting her. She is far too important to our plans."

Good, Buffy thought, they weren't going to kill her, at least not yet. Spike seemed to know them maybe he could stall for time. If only she could break free of the drug they had given her. She tried valiantly to move, to no avail, her body was totally paralyzed. Only her mind was still working but she could feel the first tendrils of numbness entering her consciousness. She watched helplessly as the one called Saul leaned down and took the wooden stake from her nerveless fingers.

"As you are important, old friend," Saul continued, straightening back up and moving toward Spike. "Surely, you will not deny what we all have witnessed here."

"I don't know what you're on about you filthy git," Spike growled. "But I am not going to participate in your plan for world domination so you can just sod off."

"But, my dear child," Saul said, with soft assurance, "you really have no say in this matter." And without further preamble, the high priest plunged Buffy's wooden stake into Spike's heart.

The Slayer felt her own heart twist in agony. The lovers locked eyes. They drank in the sight of each other as if they could somehow freeze time; stop it cold in their minds, never venturing beyond this moment when Spike was whole. The moment before he shattered apart into nothing more than memory and ashes.

Buffy's body could not scream so the sound existed only in her mind. She screamed inside as her true love died and she went on screaming silently even as the high priest caught Spike's chip out of the air. Saul walked over and knelt beside the Slayer. Reverently, he placed the chip in the palm of her unresisting hand and closed her fingers around it.

"A token for you, sweet Slayer," the red-robed high priest purred and Buffy, unable to cope any longer, slipped into unconsciousness.

3.

As the stake entered his heart, Spike's gaze flew to Buffy's face. He devoured every line of her, crystallizing her image in his mind's eye. He held tight to the memory of her as his body was transformed to ashes and bone.

He could hear Vladimir, Count Dracula, speaking from long ago, the voice clear in his mind, as if the ancient vampire was standing next to him in the crypt.

"There is one thing in this world you value," the Romany accented voice was saying. "You must know it ... and hold onto it. Make it more real to you than your own death. Keep the image of that one thing true within you, as your flesh is ripped apart. Let it fill your entire being."

"It can't be that simple," Spike had scoffed.

"It is not simple, my young friend," Dracula corrected. "It is far from simple. It takes more concentration than you can possibly imagine. If you would do this thing then you must practice for many years. I learned of it by accident while studying with the Rossi gli abiti and you would do well to join their number for a time."

"Monks?!?" Spike snorted. "You want me to join a poxy load of hood wearing pillocks."

"You are the one who wants to learn my secrets, young one," Vlad reminded. "I am merely suggesting one route that you could follow. These monks are able to turn themselves into a mist and enter where there is no door or window. It is a similar talent that you seek to master."

"Still, mist is one thing ... but the stake?" Spike said not believing yet, "If that's all there is to it, then why don't more of us come back from the staking? Why don't these Red Robed blighters of yours make a habit of it?"

"Who can say?" the Dark Lord shrugged. "Perhaps many are too afraid to even try, others may simply fail in the attempt. Perhaps they don't believe that it can be done"

He leaned forward and shoved at Spike's shoulder with one elegant finger.

"It is like killing the Slayer, yes?" he said, grinning. "Most of our kind haven't the imagination to conceive of the idea. Therefore most will fail."

Spike laughed then and, after killing the barmaid, they made a toast to the success of the younger vampire's upcoming trip to China. But Spike wasn't ready to give up on the topic. He was fascinated by the idea of reforming after a staking. He returned to the subject several times as the night wore on until the Romany Count grew impatient with the constant questioning.

"We are not this flesh," Drac snarled, at last, holding up one hand between them as illustration. "And wood? What is that to us? Nothing but ancient Druid magic!" He gestured elegantly as if tossing the objection aside. "Certainly it binds us, certainly it scatters us but when the stake is pulled away...

He brought his two hands together, interlacing the long fingers and clasping them tightly.

"It is possible to become whole again," Spike nodded, understanding the concept.

"Find that which is true to your heart and your mind," Vlad said touching Spike's chest and forehead in succession. "Let it anchor you in the world. Then you need only reform around that cherished image."

♥ ♥

"Buffy!" Spike thought, as he felt the pull of eternity. She was his everything; there was nothing else that mattered to him now, he repeated it in his mind, "There is only Buffy."

The monks were still gathered in a loose circle. Saul had removed the stake and leaned forward to catch the falling chip. Dying, Spike let all else fade away until only the Slayer existed for him. It was easier than he had expected and yet at the same time immensely difficult. William's soul was calling from the beyond, urging him to let go of their flesh. A vast gulf had opened up all around him and all sensation, all awareness faded into meaningless shadow. Only Buffy remained. Only Buffy was real. He wrapped his very being around that truth. And slowly Spike felt his body begin to reform around his consciousness.

There was a great rushing sound and an implosion. The door of the crypt slammed open and a swirl of leaves joined with the swirl of Spike's ashes. Several of the monks stepped back in superstitious fear as the blond vampire began to reform. Saul moved away from the unconscious Slayer and walked over to stand near the point of reincarnation. Bone and ash, merged at the high priest's feet creating an outline of a man and then miraculously became flesh. Spike gasped in night air, feeling the chilled bite of it in his throat. He lay on the floor looking up at Saul not really believing ... and yet knowing ... Dracula had been telling him the truth all those years ago.

"What do you know?" Spike said, to himself. "The black-hearted old welsher, finally, made good on that debt."

Gingerly, he turned his head. It was attached to his neck again. He pressed his hands to the floor, enjoying the solid feel of the stone under his fingers. Carefully, he sat up and, instinctively, his eyes sought out the Slayer.

"She is unharmed," Saul assured, noticing the direction of Spike's glance. "Of course, she is also helpless and you are in need of blood, my brother. No one will stand against you if you choose to feed."

The high priest's words were like a trigger for Spike's bloodlust. He realized all at once that he was ravenous. The effort of reforming had left him weak as a kitten. He was shaking with the desire to kill, to drain the life from someone.

Spike was moving toward the Slayer before he had time to consider what he was doing. He caught her up in his arms. Buffy's head lolled against his shoulder as he held her close. He could hear her heart beating; feel the soft warmth of her breath against his skin. He ran his one hand into her hair and tilted her head to expose the pulse at her throat. Buffy's lips were slightly parted. Looking into her face, Spike remembered how her beauty had sustained him in the echoing vastness of eternity.

Growling, the blond vampire dropped Buffy as if she had burned him. She hit her head as she fell and Spike reached out in remorse. But stopped short, afraid to touch her, as his demon cried out for blood again. Spike shrank back and then rose up spinning around to unleash his wrath on the gathered monks. He dragged one of them close and ripped out the red robed vampire's throat. The blood was cold and dead but it sobered Spike, slightly. He tossed the injured monk into the faces of the other faithful, knocking several of them to the ground.

"I won't kill her, Saul," Spike growled, as he dashed for the door, "I won't do it!"

Several of the monks made as if to follow the blond vampire into the night but the High Priest held up one hand to halt them.

"Let him go, my brothers," Saul said. "The work of this night is complete and as you have witnessed he is all that we could have hoped for. We must pray now and prepare ourselves for the wondrous events to come."

"What about the Slayer?" one of the monks asked, looking down at the unconscious Buffy.

"Leave her," Saul said, with a dismissive wave. "William will not return for her this night."

"But ... how can you be sure?" another monk asked.

"I rely on my faith, my brother," Saul smiled, gently. "I rely on my faith!"

He walked to the crypt door and, stepping across the threshold, evaporated into a mist. The other monks faded into an incorporeal state as well, leaving the fallen Slayer alone on the floor.

♥ ♥

Running blindly through the back alleys of Sunnydale, Spike was at a loss about where to go. He wanted to return to the crypt but he didn't trust himself that close to Buffy. More than anything, he wanted to make her his eternally and he was desperate for blood. He needed it to be solidified in his body again. He was straddling two worlds, still half incorporeal. He thought about breaking into the butcher's shop and stealing a pint or two, but he didn't think that goat's blood would do the trick. Human hemoglobin was what Spike really craved. He was headed in the general direction of the hospital when it came to him that he knew just where to find a few pints of the vintage stuff.

Skirting the populated areas, Spike made his way back toward the Summers' place. He had run in the opposite direction at first and it was nearly 11:30 by the time he reached the house. Lightening cracked across the sky as he came up the walk and a few heavy raindrops fell around him. Fishing under the flowerpots, he located the back door key and turned it in the lock.

Spike slipped into the darkened kitchen and stood quietly listening. The sound of slow steady breathing came to him. Dawn Summers was asleep upstairs. Young, tender, innocent Dawn was all alone in her bed. A sharp-toothed smile danced across Spike's lips as he padded toward the staircase.

Dawn stirred in her sleep. Turning on her side, she pulled one fist to her cheek like a tiny child. Spike stood above her still and horrible in his demonic mask. His eyes glowed yellow. Pale moonlight shown through the open curtains, it glistened off of his fangs. His fingers were curled like claws.

Spike's demon was talking to him, filling his mind with dark logic. All he had to do, it told him, was strike and he could have everything he'd ever desired. His hunger would be sated and he could remake Dawn as his true daughter, his daughter in blood. Once he did that Buffy would surely join them. They could be a real family.

Or the demon mused as it savored Dawn's lovely nubile curves; if the Slayer remained stubborn ... there were other possibilities. Spike's stomach roiled in horror as the thought came to him.

"NO!" he screamed, lunging away from the bed.

Dawn jerked awake. She sat up and looked around. After a confused moment, she saw Spike cowering in the far corner of her room. His face was turned to the wall.

"Spike?" she questioned, still drugged with sleep. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"

"It's okay, Bit," Spike said, shakily. He didn't look at her and sounded anything but okay.

Dawn turned away from him to look at her alarm clock. It was 11:47pm. She frowned trying to remember what was wrong with this picture.

"Your date!" she exclaimed, suddenly recalling. "How did your date with Buffy go? Did you just bring her home?"

"It didn't go so well, Niblet," Spike said, giving a hollow laugh as he turned strangely glowing eyes on her.

Dawn wondered if a vampire's eyes always shone like that if the light hit them at just the right angle. Spike looked like a cat in the moonlight. She thought that it was kind of creepy but didn't want to upset her friend by mentioning it, especially, if his date with her sister had gone badly. She started to get out of bed.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE," Spike barked at her, his voice a guttural growl.

She pulled her feet back under the covers and sat up hugging her knees and biting back the tears. Spike was edging toward the door. He was hunched over holding his stomach as if he was in pain.

"Is-is Buffy, okay?" Dawn asked, really worried now. "She's not hurt or anything?"

"Buffy is just ducky," Spike said, a little too quickly. "I just came to get something of hers. Thought I would check on you while I was here. Everything is going to be all right." He paused, took a deep breath and seemed to pull himself together, adding in a nearly normal tone, "You should go back to sleep, Snacksize! You can talk to Buffy about this in the morning."

He yanked the door open and was through it before Dawn could question him further. She lay back down and listened to the sound of Spike taking the stairs to the first floor. She heard him continue his decent, going all the way to the basement. There was a bit of slamming and cursing and he stomped back up to the kitchen. After another 20 minutes, there was a series of beeps and then she heard the outside door open and close behind him. Dawn looked at the clock again. It was 12:24 am. She listened to the rain slow and then stop and wondered what had brought Spike out in such weather. She didn't fall asleep again for almost an hour.

♥ ♥

Buffy awoke to the morning sun shining through the open door, warming her body. She still lay on the crypt floor. The wind had blown dead leaves all around her. She sat up, feeling groggy and confused. The hard plastic of the chip bit into her fingers and she opened her hand. Blissful emptiness pulled away like a curtain in her mind and all of the horrors of the night came back to her. She retched, her body trying to purge itself of pain and loss. When her stomach was empty of bile she simply curled up and wept, sobbing like a forsaken soul until she could not longer even bring forth tears.

And that was how Willow and Dawn finally found her in the early afternoon, laying in a fetal position in the sunlight among the leaves on the floor of Spike's crypt. Buffy was drained of emotion; barely able to move for the stiffness in her joints and almost past caring if she ever left the spot. She wanted to die. She wasn't up to explaining what had happened but Willow and Dawn pieced the story together as they coaxed Buffy out to Willow's waiting car.

Just before they could leave the crypt, however, the Slayer wrenched away from them and ran over to Spike's trunk. She opened it and pulled out his long leather jacket. Buffy hugged the duster close as Dawn's eyes filled up with tears. Then huddling into the coat to stop her shaking, Buffy let her two "sisters" help her leave.

They went to Willow's place first so that Buffy could shower and change. Dawn, her nose stuffy from crying, put the call in for the gang to meet at the Magic Shop and then went to fetch Buffy a change of clothes.

It was nearly 7:00 pm by the time they had all gathered around the research table at the Magic Box. Buffy was pale but no longer shaken and subdued. She was wearing black leather pants, a tan shirt and Spike's duster. She seemed to be filled with the dark light of vengeance.

"I want them all dead before sunrise," she said, simply, turning the chip over and over in her fingers like a meditation stone.

"Okay," Willow said, glancing around at the others, "Let's get started, then. What do we know? Who were they? What did they look like?"

"They were vampires," Buffy said. "They wore red robes. And one of them, this," she hissed out the name, "Saul ... was wearing a gold necklace with a huge garnet or ruby in the center of it."

"Rossi gli abiti," Anya said, entering the room with a cup of tea for Buffy.

"Rosie who?" Xander asked.

"And what's she got to do with anything?" Willow added.

"She's not a she," Anya corrected, setting Buffy's tea on the table. "She's a them! The Red Robes?" she looked around expectantly but the gang continued to stare in stupefaction until she continued, "In Italian that's Rossi gli abiti. This sounds like them to me. They're an ancient progenitor cult. And it would make sense, too, because of all the girl children missing lately. I have been sticking really close to Melanie just in case it was a cult sacrifice thing."

Xander, Willow, Dawn and Buffy exchanged glances and then looked back at Anya. They all began questioning her at once.

"You knew about the abductions? You know these guys? Sacrifices? A ... what kind of cult? How do you know...?"

The babble of voices went on until Buffy put her thumb and index finger to her lips and blew a loud whistle.

"Who are these Red Robes?" Buffy asked, into the sudden silence. "And where can I find them?"

"Like I said," Anya reiterated, "it's a Progenitor Cult made up of vampires. They worship the first ancestor, Lilith, the mother of all the children of the night."

"Wasn't she was supposed to be Adam's first wife?" Willow inserted. "Before Eve and the whole rib thing?"

"Did they name the Faire after her?" Dawn asked, ingenuously.

"Yep, that's the one," Anya nodded, patting Dawnie's hand. "I always thought that concert thing was kind of silly. Them making her a symbol of woman power and all and her not strictly speaking even female."

"Why did they ki..." Buffy began and her voice broke. She took a shuddering breath and tried again, "Why Spike? Why not me? They're vampires, right? So, why leave the Slayer there, all helpless and alive?"

"I don't know about the first part," Anya answered, "but they wouldn't want to kill the Slayer. You are a big part of their end-times mythology. This faction of the cult, Rossi gli abiti, traces back to 11th century Italy but the origins of the faith are pre-historic. They believe that the first Slayer and the first Vampire were created together. When the last of the Old Ones were driven from the earth Lilith refused to leave. She created the first vampire and..."

"Oh, I know this," Willow interrupted, "Giles told us ... a demon, Lilith, I guess, shared its blood with a man and created the first vampire."

"And as long as there's been vampires," Xander put in, snapping his fingers and pointing out his recollection of the tale, "there's been a Slayer to fight them. But nobody really knows where she came from, she just appeared one night."

"Well, that's one version of the story," Anya sighed, frowning at the inept human interpretation. "But according to the Rossi gli abiti, what actually happened was that a council of ancient Shamans used a gem called Cuore Della Notte, the Heart of the Night, a.k.a. Lilith's Heart, to split The Night Monster herself into two separate entities. One half, the first vampire, carried Lilith's blood and would prey on humans. The other half, the Slayer, carried the seed of Lilith's life force, and would prey on demons. The Rossi gli abiti believe that Lilith will be reborn when a vampire mates with the Slayer. And then it's look out world."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Xander reasoned. "I mean, assuming they want all this to happen, why burst in like that and, if you'll pardon the expression, kill the mood?"

"Xander's right," Buffy nodded. "If they wanted me to mate with a vampire all they really had to do was hang around outside for another hour or so. And anyway, been there done that! Can we say Angel? And while it wasn't exactly a party ... the world certainly didn't end, afterward."

"Well, Angel has a soul," Willow said, working it out. "So, maybe he didn't count ... somehow ... because Angelus is the true Vampire. And you never slept with Angelus ... or Dracula either."

"But that doesn't explain about Spike," Anya said, dismissively. "Spike is a vampire." She frowned over the puzzle for a minute and then shrugged, "I have no idea why they wouldn't want you to be with him. That really doesn't make any sense from what I know of their religious beliefs."

"What if they didn't think that Buffy could conceive this Night Monster by mating with Spike." Willow speculated. "And how's that even work? With the conception and all ... I thought vampires were sterile."

"It is a ridiculous superstition, when you really think about it," Anya admitted. "Vampires don't breed by having sex, in any case. So, why should it matter if they mate with the Slayer? But my impression is that they are expecting a divine conception of some kind. In fact, they don't even specify that the vampire be male ... so, maybe it's not a traditional mating at all. Maybe it has nothing to do with sex. There are lots of stories about rituals and invocations and sacrifices. They're big into purification and denial of their natural urges, going with out blood and such. So, maybe they DIDN'T want you to have sex with Spike because that would make you impure or something."

"Maybe it was because of the chip?" Dawn guessed, re-entering the conversation. "Because Spike wasn't like a real vampire. He couldn't hurt anyone with the chip in his head?"

"That's a good thought, Dawnie," Willow nodded, as she powered up her computer to type in the cult name. She hit the search button and waited for results.

"We aren't getting anywhere just randomly guessing," Buffy snapped, impatiently. "And I don't really care what their plans are. I just want to find out where their lair is, so I can kill them."

"Hey!" Xander said, sitting up straight, the two front legs of his chair returning to the floor with a bang. "I wonder if Oz could find them for you? He's gotten really good at the tracking thing since he came back from Outer Mongolia."

"I could call him," Willow said, already reaching for the phone. "You're right about his wolfie senses. Spreading the 'grrr' out over a whole month is really making a difference on the full moon days. I bet if he starts at Spike's crypt he could trace these guys back to their hideout in no time."

"I don't know, Will," Buffy said. "It's worth a try but it has been nearly 24 hours and didn't it rain last night?"

"Yeah, but that was before Spike died," Dawn pointed out, swallowing the sudden lump that came with saying the words.

"No, it wasn't," Buffy corrected, with a quick shake of her head. "Spike died at about nine or nine-thirty and it definitely hadn't rained yet. I was there, remember?"

"Buffy," Dawn sighed, impatient with her know-it-all sister. "You were drugged, remember? You might not be exactly clear on the times. But I saw Spike just before midnight, last night. I checked the clock a couple of times so I'm totally sure.... It must have been closer to one in the morning when he died."

"You SAW Spike?" Buffy exclaimed, sitting forward and grabbing her sister's arm, fiercely. "Last Night? Where?"

"At our house," Dawn answered, her voice trembling as she, suddenly, recalled how strangely Spike had behaved. "H-h-he s-s-said he came to get something of yours and..."

"AND?" Buffy prompted.

"Well," Dawn hesitated, shifting in her chair as everyone focused on her. "He WAS acting kind of funny. When I woke up he was in the corner of my room but I think that h-h-he had been standing over me. It felt sort of like he was watching me sleep or something."

The hair rose up on Buffy's arms as a chill shot through her.

"He couldn't have survived the staking?" she whispered, more to herself than to Dawn.

"Well, Dracula can do it," Anya chirped, helpfully. "So we know it is possible."

"Yeah ... but Drac is like ... Super-Vamp," Xander inserted, with only a minor touch of hero worship. "He could turn into a bat and become a mist and everything."

"These Red Robed vamps could do the mist thing," Buffy recalled. "I am pretty sure that's how they got so close to us without me sensing them. You know ... now that I think about it, Spike acted like he knew them, too. And I heard Saul call him 'my brother'."

"Then maybe Dracula isn't the only vampire with special powers," Dawn yelped, clapping her hands together, happily. "Maybe Spike is still alive!"

But Willow, Xander and Anya were far less enthusiastic in their response to this idea. They were all looking across the table, at Buffy, faces clouded with apprehension, as the Slayer sat studying the chip in her hand through dark haunted eyes.

"A chip-free, unstakeable Spike," Xander said it aloud for all of them to hear.

"Willow," Buffy ordered, her tone chilled and impersonal. "Call Oz. Tell him I want those Martini and Rossi guys scent traced back to their home lair from the crypt but ask him to meet me at our house first. I want to know if Spike has been there in the last 12 hours."

"And if he has?" Dawn asked, picking up on the drastic undercurrent of fear in the room.

But the Slayer didn't answer; she just turned the chip in her fingers, staring at it fixedly. She looked manic and dangerous. The room reached an uncomfortable level of silence. Then, with alarming abruptness, Buffy sprang up out of her chair and stalked toward the Shop's weapon filled backroom. Her body was wound tight with conflicting emotions and Spike's duster flared out behind her as she punched open the training room door, vanishing into the darkness beyond.

"Will," Xander urged, looking after the Slayer, as the door crashed violently closed behind her retreating form, "you better call Giles while you're at it."

The red-haired witch nodded her understanding, flipped open her cell phone and started dialing.

4.

"Oh, yeah," Oz nodded, after completing a circle of the darkened Summers' house, "Spikeage! Very recent!"

"So, he could have been here last night after the rain?" Buffy asked.

"I'd say he was here this evening," Oz clarified. "Just after sunset."

He looked long and hard at the Slayer, studying her in the light of the street lamps. He was wondering if he should mention the other scent that was coming to him.

"What?" Buffy asked, sensing that he was holding back. "What is it? You smell something else?"

"Blood," Oz said, lifting an apologetic brow. "There's a lot of blood. I think it's coming from the basement."

Buffy's body tensed. She felt sick inside. Spike was alive. A chip-free Spike was out there somewhere. He had been in her house. He had stood over her sleeping sister. Then he had come back to the house later and there was blood in her basement. Her hands shook with the thought that she was the only one who could stop him.

Memories of Spike kept coming at the Slayer, assaulting her mind's eye and driving her toward madness. Tender, loving images strobed together with images of dead Slayers, slaughtered families and unspeakable perversion. Spike was Buffy's true north, she turned toward him, yearned for him and she knew, now, that she would have to kill him. She just didn't know how to make herself do it.

"Is he still in the house?" she asked, not really wanting to hear the wolfman's answer.

"I don't think so," Oz said, shaking his head. Then, he amended, "Course, you should definitely check."

Buffy nodded, pulled her shoulders back and walked briskly to the front door. She edged inside and, after checking under the stairs, went into the living room and grabbed a double-edged sword from her weapons chest. She headed for the basement, clutching the hilt of her weapon in a white-knuckled fist. Standing to one side, she opened the basement door. When nothing happened, she peered around the corner and down the steps. There was a steady dripping noise from the dimly lit depths.

Tensed for trouble, Buffy hit the overhead light switch. She, immediately, noticed the freezer standing open. A puddle of defrosted water had spread across the concrete floor of the obviously deserted room. Hit with a sudden inspiration, Buffy stalked down the stairs. Crossing to peer into the freezer, she checked on her stockpile of Bargaining Blood, the high-grade mix of Slayer and Scoobie plasma she traded for premium supernatural information. The concept had been Spike's. "Red Gold", he called it.

All of the pint bags were gone. Buffy, searched and found one of them under the basement stairs. Apparently, Spike had dropped it in his rush to leave the house. The bag had burst open from the fall. As the blood thawed, it became a sticky pool, alerting Oz and probably enticing Spike back to the house. Buffy tried not to think about what would happen when the vampire's stash ran out. It would be her or Dawn that would have to satisfy Spike's appetite for Summers' blood then. Buffy was sure he'd take the easier kill first.

"How's it going?" Oz called, from the top of the stairs, making her jump.

"He's not here," Buffy said. "I'll do a quick check upstairs then we'll head for the crypt."

"Will that stop him?" Oz asked, nodding at Buffy's weapon as she came up the basement steps to his level. "Since, I'm thinking, the stake won't."

"I don't know," Buffy shrugged, looking down at the sword, dispassionately.

"That's what I thought," Oz said, just as coolly.

The werewolf and the Slayer left the Summers' house, heading for the cemetery. Spike watched them leave from his hiding place, beneath the neighbor's porch. He'd spent the day in an elevator shaft at the deserted Stafford Dorm but he had come back home as soon as the sun went down. Home to his girls and the fix he so desperately needed. The last of the bargain blood bags was empty beside him. He'd saved the best one for dessert, intermingled Dawn and Buffy, the straight Summers shot.

He licked their sweetness from his lips, as Buffy and Oz turned the corner a block up the street. Hugging the shadows, the vampire slipped from cover to follow them. They were very close to the cemetery with Spike a few hundred yards behind the Slayer, when a girl about Dawn's age dashed around a corner and careened into the vampire. He fanged up in surprise and she shrank away from him.

"Don't run," he cautioned, barely holding his demon in check in the face of such sweet temptation.

The twit of a girl gave a brilliant shriek and dashed toward the graveyard with the panicky flight of a prey animal. Spike's predatory instincts fired and he gave chase. Alerted by the teen's screaming, Buffy came running from the opposite direction. The young girl saw only an armed woman approaching and, imagining her another enemy, veered away toward the woods. That tangent brought her closer to the vampire than to the Slayer.

Buffy watched in horror as Spike hit the fleeing girl like a cheetah taking down a gazelle. The girl gave another shriek, as the vampire spun her violently around. His talons were buried in her back. Buffy skidded to a halt in front of the pair. She pointed her sword at them like a spear, her eyes searching for an opening. Spike wrapped his right arm around his victim's neck, lifting her bodily off the ground. He held her like a living shield in front of him, his fangs glistening above her jugular. Buffy knew, any further struggle would shut off the teenager's air supply.

"I'll kill her," Spike hissed, glaring at Buffy. "Come one step closer and I'll kill her."

"As opposed to taking her for a nice ice cream soda if I let you walk?" Buffy asked sarcastically. "Let her go and we'll talk."

"You want to talk, Luv?" Spike snarled, before morphing back into his human face. "You want to establish the meaningful dialog? Then you put down the bloody sword."

"Okay, so that's not happening," the Slayer said, casually. "Let's pretend that you are not really a night crawling monster and are still capable of understanding me. You kill the girl and I will lop your head off and scatter your ashes."

"Harsh," Oz declared, coming up on Spike's left hand side and drawing part of the vampire's attention. The werewolf gave a congenial nod as if he and Spike were meeting as friends, "Hey, Spike! Mexican stand-off night?"

"Sod off, Dogboy!" Spike growled, fanging up again at the possible threat. "This is between me and Buffy."

"Buffy? Buffy Summers?" the girl in Spike's arms squeaked. "Dawn's sister?"

All of the major players looked at her in surprise. It was as if the meatloaf had voiced an opinion during a dinner party debate. Oz recovered first and addressed the girl.

"You know Dawn?" he asked, his voice kind and casually interested.

"Sh-sh-She's my chem lab partner," the girl said, shaking with shock. "Fifth period. I'm Alice Peters."

"Don't worry, Alice," Buffy reassured the girl, "I won't let him hurt you."

"I'm not going to hurt you anyway, Alice," Spike said, in exasperation. Going all human again, he addressed the Slayer, "What are we doing here, Pet? You coming after me with a sword, threatening decapitation. I ain't hurt no one. Not you, not Dawn and I'm not going to hurt little Bit's buddy here. What makes you think I would?"

"Oh, I don't know ... The fact that you attacked her in the first place," Buffy answered simply. But she lowered the point of her sword, ever so slightly, as she added, "That and your chip is out."

"Not the chip keeping me on the short lead is it?" Spike commented.

"He's got a point there," Oz injected, in his casually objective manner. "Not like he was obligated to kill us personally."

"He didn't let me know he was alive," Buffy insisted, addressing the wolfman, "And he didn't tell me that he could survive the staking in the first place." She transferred her attention back to Spike, shooting him an accusatory look. "All these years I've been threatening you with the pointy wood and that never comes up?"

"Didn't KNOW I could do it, did I?" Spike shrugged. "Not the sort of thing you get to practice. And I couldn't see you until after I ate. Came back shaky with the low blood pressure." He indicated Alice with a dip of his head to stress his point, as he continued "Didn't want to go all primeval on you."

Buffy kept her sword up and Spike began to lose his temper. Loosening his hold, he dropped Alice to her feet with a bump and glared at the Slayer.

"See her, Buffy," he snarled, "make up your mind. You in love with me or that soddin' chip?"

"Ll-l-love?" Alice said looking back and forth between them in mingled apprehension and surprise, "Ah-Are you his g-g-girlf-friend or something?"

"That all depends on who he is," Buffy responded, meeting the vampire's eye.

"But ... isn't he a..." Dawn's young friend began. She glanced up at Spike and then shrank away, afraid to complete the question.

"Monster?" the vampire said, his voice low and menacing. He leaned in very close to her, delighting in her fear, "Is that what you were going to say, Pet?"

"Spike!" Buffy reprimanded, sharply.

Alice was trembling and tender, the very picture of what Spike had always savored in a kill. He could hear her young heart pounding in her chest. He could sense the blood rushing just under her skin. She made his mouth water. But she wasn't the Slayer and that was all that mattered in the end. Twisting her arm painfully, he yanked Alice into him and gave her an abrupt kiss on the cheek. Then, he spoke into her ear.

"When I let you go ... walk," he said. He gave her a pointed shake for emphasis, and repeated, "WALK! You understand me? Go toward Buffy. No running, no screaming, and no sudden moves."

With those words, Spike released his hold on the girl and stepped back. The Slayer shifted slightly to the left to keep the vampire in her sites as Alice came toward her.

"Keep walking," Buffy encouraged the girl. "Nice and easy. You're doing just fine."'

With maddening slowness, Alice inched toward the Slayer. Oz started to circle behind Spike but Buffy gave him the tiniest negative shake of her head. The werewolf was backing down when a multitude of Red Robed figures erupted from the woods. Alice gave another high-pitched scream and dashed for the trees. Spike morphed into fangs again and sprang after her. He caught hold of the girl by the nape of her neck and dragged her into the woods. Buffy rushed to follow but four monks armed with pikes blocked her way.

"Do not interfere," one of the Rossi gli abiti advised. "Our Brother must face this test alone."

The Slayer slashed through the monk's neck severing his head from his shoulders and reducing him to dust. With equal precision, she dispatched the other three Red Robed brethren in her path. Eager to go after Spike and Alice, Buffy looked toward the woods and impatiently turned away to help Oz. But the werewolf had morphed into his own version of savage and was rending his way through his two attackers. As quick as the attack had occurred, it was over.

"Get back to the Magic Shop," Buffy called, to Oz as she loped toward the woods, "I have to go after Spike."

Not waiting to see if the werewolf obeyed or even heard her, the Slayer disappeared into the trees in pursuit of the blond vampire and his intended victim. Pausing to listen, Buffy picked up on the crash of underbrush off to her right. She adjusted her direction accordingly, moving with extreme caution. Then she heard Alice scream in sudden terror. Spike's despairing voice called out "NO!" and the woods fell silent.

Casting all caution aside, Buffy began running again toward the location of that final scream. She burst out of cover, unexpectedly, just behind a mausoleum. Spike was sitting on the ground, cradling Alice Peters in his arms. His face was demonic and spattered with blood. There was no doubt that the girl was dead, her neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. Her eyes stared sightlessly into the night and a jagged wound had been torn in her jugular. Spike was drenched in her blood, it dripped from his lips and glistened in his hair and clung to both his hands.

"I didn't kill her," he said, holding up one crimson stained palm in supplication, even as Buffy rushed toward him, "I didn't..."

But Buffy's face was more demonic than his own. The primitive Slayer had stirred to life in her and rendered her deaf to his words. Her fury made her incapable of reasoned understanding. Without hesitation, she swung her sword in a powerful arc on a trajectory to pass straight through Spike's neck. At the last possible second, the vampire threw himself to the ground. The Slayer's blade whistled, harmlessly, over him and cut through a stone statue as smoothly as if the marble was candle wax.

"BUFFY!" Spike screamed, taking human form in hopes that his transformation would soften her. "LISTEN TO ME! I DIDN'T KILL HER ... IT WAS SAUL! This is some kind of test.... BUFFY?"

A half second later, the vampire was forced to roll, blindly, to one side as Buffy spun the grip of her weapon. Twirling her blade in the air like a baton, she brought the point down to impale him. Spike skittered sideways but he wasn't fast enough to avoid the Slayer's recovering uppercut. Pain lanced through him as the sword bit into his flesh.

"Bloody Hell," Spike spat, scrambling for the cover of the nearby mausoleum before Buffy took another swing at decapitating him. "I didn't kill her, Buffy, I swear to you I didn't," he called out, clutching his ribs as he leaned against the stonewall of the building.

Spike looked around, desperately, searching for a way to escape the Slayer without harming her. There was nothing, no cover and nowhere to run where she wouldn't be on him in seconds. Buffy came around the corner and Spike raised both hands, palms out, signaling surrender.

"Come on then," he said, "Let's get it over wi..."

The Slayer didn't even acknowledge him as she pulled back her arm for the death stroke. Spike stood very still, waiting for the end, as the blade came whistling toward him. At the last second, Buffy tightened her grip, tilting her wrist so that the tip of the sword swished harmlessly past the vampire's throat. If anything, she looked more shocked than he did by the development. She swung her arm over her head, whipping the weapon around for another strike. Before the Slayer could quite complete her swing, Spike stepped in and leveled her with a punch to the temple.

"Bad habit you got into," he told her, as she hit the ground, "not killing me."

Without another word, he took off for the woods again, leaping over Buffy's fallen form. In a matter of seconds, he disappeared into the trees.

♥ ♥

"Dead?" Dawn said, in a small voice. "But we were going to meet at the prom tomorrow. We were both on the decorating committee. Alice's dad was going to drive us to the Starlight diner afterward for cheeseburgers."

She fell silent as she contemplated the fact that her lab partner would never be eating at the Starlight again. Willow, Oz, Buffy and Dawn were gathered around the dining room table at the Summers' House. Willow had de-invited the place.

"Were you able to track the monks?" Willow asked Oz.

"Nada," he grimaced, with a shake of his head. "That mist is too insubstantial. There were traces everywhere but," he spread his hands out in a show of helplessness, "I wasn't able to focus in on them."

"Did Spike..." Dawn started, and then swallowed. "I me-m-mean are you sure that he was the one who...? I mean it was him and not those other guys that hurt Alice."

"Looks like," Oz replied, when Buffy failed to answer her sister.

The Slayer was holding a bag of ice to her temple. She had followed after Spike as soon as she recovered but his trail vanished in the middle of the U.C. Sunnydale campus. She hadn't told anyone about her failure to kill him. Everyone assumed the vampire had gotten in a lucky blow during the battle and escaped before she could recover her wits.

"Will she come back?" the Slayer's sister asked. "Alice? Will she be a vampire?"

"He doesn't sire them," Buffy sighed, with an impatient shake of her head. "You know he doesn't do that Dawn." The Slayer didn't look at the teenager as she spoke. She was staring into the middle distance, her eyes unfocused and bleak as if she was looking at some horrifying future event.

"That means she won't rise, Dawnie," Willow explained, patiently. "She's just dead."

"This whole prom week has been nothing but a disaster," Dawn said, resting her chin in her hands. "First I get dumped, then Spike turns evil and now Alice is dead. I'm glad I won't be going..."

"You will be going," Buffy said, fiercely, as she turned at last to look at her sister. "If Spike's going to surface I want you somewhere with lots of people."

"But Buffy..." Dawn started to protest.

"And I promised to protect the rest of those kids when I volunteered to chaperon," the Slayer interrupted, with intensity. "Do you want someone else to end up dead?"

"You don't think that he would..." Willow's voice trailed off as she looked over at Dawn.

"It's what he does, Willow," Buffy said, in a cold emotionless voice. "But this time, he's coming after me. I'm going to make sure of that."

♥ ♥

The ballroom of Elizabeth Hall on the U.C. Sunnydale campus was draped with colorful streamers. The vaulted ceiling was sprinkled with tiny glowing points of light, flickering like stars. Buffy and Dawn paused on the threshold surveying the room. Dawn was wearing a dark green, off-the-shoulder gown; her hair was dressed up and held in place with gold ribbons. Her large, black-lashed eyes looked luminous contrasted with skin as pale as cream. She was beautiful in her dignified innocence, a virginal goddess of the night.

Her sister was a marked contrast. Buffy's golden hair was also swept up off her neck but it was pinned and had a bedroom tousle to it. She was casually sexy, almost offhandedly so, in a light slip dress of soft blue silk worked over with a golden mesh. Her shoulders were bare. Her neckline plunged, provocatively, and the semi-sheer fabric clung to her skin. She was eye-catching and bright as a summer day.

The Slayer ran over the plan in her mind, counting the exits. The number of succulent young girls in the crowd was disheartening but Buffy felt sure she was drawing enough adolescent male attention to make her plan feasible. If Spike showed up there was a good chance that he would target her instead of some nearly ripe teen. If he went for Dawn or one of the other girls they could be back to a standoff. Willow, Oz, Xander and Anya were strategically placed around the perimeter. Weapons were stashed in a number of handy places. She was ready for Spike ... in theory.

And, in fact, Buffy was determined not to lose her nerve again. Spike was a vampire; she was the Slayer. They had always known that it would come down to this. Everything else between them was an illusion. Or so she told herself. But, the Slayer lurking in the back of Buffy's mind, was very concerned about her ability to finish Spike off. She had opened her heart to the enemy and she had failed in her duty. An innocent girl had died. Buffy knew that everyone was depending on her but it was becoming harder and harder to maintain the coldness of spirit that this work would require.

♥ ♥

From his place in the mezzanine, Spike watched the Summers' girls enter the ballroom. His attention was, immediately, arrested by Buffy's blatant sex appeal. A slow knowing smile spread across his face as he contemplated her.

"Dressing up for me, Baby?" he whispered, savoring the tantalizing tug of a multitude of appetites.

Spike knew Buffy all too well. She was trying to outmaneuver him. He knew that her goal was to draw his focus and keep him off balance. And she'd played the right card to do that. But he had no intention of letting her control their game. If he was ever going to reason with the Slayer, he needed leverage. And Spike knew just how to gain the advantage.

He wrested his gaze away from the provocatively dressed blond and studied the movements of her little sister. Dawn was beautiful tonight. Gracefully, she glided through the crowd, smiling at friends and stopping for a moment to talk before continuing on. Watching her, Spike felt a momentary rush of almost paternal pride. Angrily, he shook the feeling off.

He tried not to think about his last two years with the Summers' women as he slipped down the stairs to the ground floor. He blocked out his memories of family dinners, training sessions and late night walks along the beach; Dawn's ready laugh and the way blue moonlight lingered in Buffy's eyes. Spike knew he couldn't afford to have any sentimental attachments slowing his reflexes. Buffy would surely kill him if he couldn't get through to her and to get through to Buffy he needed Dawn's help.

Patient as a trapdoor spider, Spike waited for Dawn to come to him. He stood in the shadow of a potted palm, near the rear exit. When she was very close, he shifted, slightly, drawing her attention. Dawn's eyes widened and she looked over her shoulder toward Buffy. Spike, however, had made sure the Slayer was looking elsewhere before he showed himself. The vampire gave Dawn a small nod and an encouraging smile. Hesitantly, the teenager stepped closer but she stopped just out of his reach.

"Buffy will know that you're here," she said. "She knew you were coming and she won't let you hurt anyone."

"Same old song," Spike ground out, between clenched teeth. "What is it with you Summers' women? Can't a man change? Haven't I done enough, given enough for the pair of you? Who is it that's been there for you these past two years, Sweet Bit? Me, that's who!"

"But you had a chip in your head," Dawn argued, over the nag of her own doubt. "And Buffy says now you're just a vampire again. She says you'll kill people ... like you killed Alice."

"I DIDN'T Ki," he raged and then broke off, beginning again in a calmer tone, "I ain't here to kill anyone, Bit, I jus' need to speak to Big Sis. I need to tell her my side of the story."

"Tell me," Dawn pleaded, her eyes filled with a mixture of longing and dread.

Spike shot an apprehensive glance at the last location of the Slayer. She had faded into the crowd. He searched for her in vain, feeling panic rise in his chest.

"The Rossi gli abiti are in town," Spike began, as he cautiously edged back toward the door. "Load of mad monks that get off on child sacrifice. All waiting for the second coming of the First Ancestor or some such rot. Don't know what they're up to with me and Buffy but what I know of them it can't be good. I need to be working with your Sister, not running for my life every five minutes."

"But did you kill Alice?" Dawn asked her voice breaking.

"Like I told Buffy, already, that was Saul," Spike said, with intense exasperation, "The high priest of these Red Robed blighters. He pops out of nowhere and does your friend just as I let her go. Happened so fast I couldn't stop him. There was blood everywhere. I was holding on trying not to feed when the Slayer comes rushing at me. I knew it was wrong to feed on your pal, Niblet."

"That was darn insightful of you," Buffy said, from just behind him. Before Spike could react, she laid cold steel against his throat.

Spike, silently, cursed himself for letting her get the drop on him. He tensed and the blade bit into his flesh in warning. The Slayer twisted his right arm up against his shoulder blade, pulling him back into her body.

"We are going outside," she informed. "You back up nice and slow."

"Buffy," Spike said, turning his head gingerly to address her. "It's the god's truth. Saul killed that girl."

"And you seem to know him really well," Buffy muttered, shifting her weight to push open the outer door. "First name basis and everything. He called you brother and rescued you. Helped you to remove your chip. Why would he feed you? You can hunt. You can kill. The bastard made sure of that, didn't he?"

"I don't know," Spike said, genuinely puzzled. "I think it was a test. The dodgy geezer keeps going on about my destiny, like I'm the bleeding Chosen One instead of you."

"Anya says they want to bring back Lilith," Dawn said, from just inside the Hall door. "She said that you and Buffy would have to..."

"DAWN!" Buffy snapped, interrupting her sister, "I need you to find Willow and Xander for me, right now."

Dawn hesitated as Spike looked at her with imploring eyes. The young girl suddenly realized the vampire was about to die. She knew, in that moment, that her sister had no intention of letting Spike live two minutes longer than it took to get rid of the witness.

"Bu-uffy?" she began, her voice cracking. "Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe he's not evil anymore."

"Now, Dawn," Buffy ordered, her icy tone allowing no further argument. "Go!"

Dawn turned and ran toward the place where Willow was hiding. Buffy had gone mad. Her sister knew it in her bones. It was a dispassionate madness but there was no other explanation for such single-minded insistence on Spike's death. The conflict between love and duty must have become too much for the Slayer. It had drained all of the emotion out of her and blinded her to reason. Dawn's one thought was Willow might somehow stop Buffy from making a horrible mistake.

"Willow?" the Slayer's little sister yelled out, as she rounded the corner of the building.

Something pungent puffed into Dawn's face and she felt herself begin to fall forward. A red robed figure loomed up and the Slayer's baby sister opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out. The monk caught her up in his arms and, lifting her easily, carried her toward Stafford Dorm.

By the time Willow arrived, there was no sign of Dawn. The red-haired witch was sure she had heard someone calling her by name but after a quick check of the area she shrugged off the feeling and settled in again, watching her assigned exit. It was almost two hours before she checked in with Xander. It was then that the others discovered both Buffy and Dawn were missing.

ve you," Spike said, as Dawn disappeared around the corner of the building. "That hasn't changed. Killing me won't change how you feel either."

"I don't feel anything," Buffy said, with complete honesty. She was totally numb.

The Slayer's body was tense against Spike's back. Her breathing was short and shallow. The vampire could sense the battle raging within her soul. He knew Buffy was being torn in two by equally powerful forces. As the Slayer, she wanted him dead and yet she couldn't bring herself to kill him. She longed for the deathblow and still her arm would not make the final stroke.

"You can't deny it, anymore, can you?" Spike asked, his voice a low, sweet urging toward truth. "You love me. You never say it ... but I know you do. I can feel it inside."

"Aawwrrrhhh!" Buffy roared out her frustration. Removing her blade from his throat, she thrust Spike away from her so swiftly and brutally that he staggered to one knee.

He flowed with the forward momentum, dropping his shoulder and rolling out of the fall. Recovering his footing quickly, Spike turned to face the Slayer. She was panting and her eyes were filled with a primitive rage.

"No love, no weakness, and no mercy," the first Slayer snarled, speaking through Buffy. "YOU ... MUST ... DIE!"

Spike stared at his beloved, magnificent in her savagery. For one moment she mesmerized him. She was death incarnate, a force of instinctive fury, more powerful even than the demon that lurked within him. Then, as she charged, he broke and ran. Within a few hundred yards, Spike realized that he couldn't out distance her. He needed to find somewhere to make his stand. Turning on his best speed, he headed toward the deserted Stafford dormitory.

♥ ♥

Arriving at the dorm, seconds behind Spike, Buffy moved cautiously up the front steps. The door was hanging drunkenly from its hinges. She knew her quarry was inside. She'd seen him slip into the darkened interior of the building. Senses on full alert, sword at the ready, she followed him.

The vampire struck at her out of the darkness as she entered the foyer. Her sword went flying and he sprang instantly away. Buffy could hear the drag of metal on stone as Spike appropriated her weapon. She caught his outline against the windows but didn't have time to target on him before he tossed her blade into the open elevator shaft. It clattered into the sub-basement, two stories below.

"Now, maybe we can have a civilized conversation," Spike commented, but the Slayer was in no mood to talk.

She tackled him at the hip level, nearly sending them both after her sword. Spike tottered on the brink of the elevator shaft and shoved Buffy away, thrusting hard against her chest with his knee. He staggered forward; took a blind swing at her and connected. She sailed across the room, landing in the midst of construction materials. Two by Fours, glass panels and tools scattered as she crashed down. The Slayer came out of the mess with a wooden stake in her hand. Spike spotted the weapon and took off for the staircase in no mood to test his ability to survive being staked by his spiritual anchor. Dracula had never mentioned what to do if your "one true thing" was what was trying to kill you.

"You are going to see reason, Buffy," Spike yelled back, as he scampered upward, taking the stairs three at a time. "I'll hurt you if I have to but you are going to listen to me."

"It doesn't matter," Buffy replied, from a few steps below his position. "Nothing you say can change this." Her voice was almost normal as she added, "This is our destiny."

"Bollocks!" Spike snapped, turning to face her across the second story landing. He pointed an accusing finger at her, saying, "This is you hiding from your feelings. Don't you try to fob this off on destiny."

"How can you be so blind?" Buffy returned, insistently. "Vampire and Slayer? It's madness and this is how it ends. Just like it did with Angel."

"Don't you EVER compare me to your undead-ex, Pet!" Spike raged, recklessly stepping toward her. "I ain't some neutered lapdog. And I ain't going to slink off to L.A., no matter how unreasonable you get."

Buffy stared at him. She didn't know what to say. Dangerous emotions were stirring inside her again as she and Spike fell back into their old patterns. The taunting words, the deadly strike of fang or stake, it was comfortingly familiar. But there was always another message lurking just beneath the surface. Their sparring masked a multitude of feelings, heat, desire, and lately even tenderness and love.

Sensing that he was beginning to get to Buffy, the vampire decided to change his tactics and throw her even further off guard.

"Isn't this nice?" he inquired, cheekily. "You and I alone at last." Turning, he sprinted up a few more stairs. Knowing she was close behind, he called back over his shoulder, "You know, I think we have the whole place to ourselves." He whipped around to confront her, again and she nearly ran him over. He bared his teeth, pushing her back as he added, "Feel free to scream if the mood takes you."

"I won't be the one screaming," Buffy growled, kicking out from the hip.

"Funny that," Spike said, easily blocking the Slayer's kick and twisting her foot so that she was forced to back flip away from him down the staircase. "I've always pegged you as a screamer."

"Not that I ever heard a peep out of you," he continued, conversationally, "in all the time I stood outside your window listening to you shag the starched stuffing out of G.I. Joe Finn. But, then, I figure maybe he didn't come with the necessary accessories to get the job done proper. Him lacking the Kung-fu grip and all."

Cartwheeling upward again, Buffy brought her stake around in an arc that would bury it in Spike's chest. Seconds before she imbedded the wood in his flesh, the vampire's demonic personality flooded to the surface, his features roughened and his fangs descended. He struck at the point of her weapon batting it aside and the stake shattered on the wall beyond his right shoulder. The Slayer was carried into Spike's arms by her own momentum. He looked down on Buffy; meeting her hazel eyes with his feral yellow eyes ones.

"Hi, Honey," Spike's demon smirked, in imitation of her. "I'm home!"

Buffy grimaced and slammed a knee up into his groin. At the same time, she threw her weight sideways, over-balancing them. Spike didn't slacken his grip as they fell the four steps back to the landing. Still locked together, they rolled across the six feet of flat surface and smashed into the balcony railing.

The half-constructed supports gave way beneath their combined weight and they plunged into the darkened stairwell. Vampire and Slayer plummeted together toward the tiled lobby floor. As they fell, Buffy squirmed free of her assailant. Twisting in the air like a cat, she pushed off of Spike's body, using that leverage to right herself, so they hit the ground with her on top.

Spike landed hard, cracking his head on the tile, and Buffy thudding into him a nanosecond later left him momentarily dazed. The Slayer, however, recovered instantly. Already targeting on a shaft of shattered wooden railing, she trod on Spike like a rug, digging into his abdomen with her sharp heels as she sprang away. Spike snarled his outrage at this treatment. He lashed out with one hand clawing at her as she dove clear of him. The vampire's nails raked over Buffy's body barely grazing it but lighting tiny fires all along her skin and tearing away the front of her delicate dress.

In another time and place, Spike would have been happy to lay back and admire the savage vision that spun to confront him. Buffy had come up from her forward roll with a stake in hand. She was nearly naked. Her blond hair formed a tangled mane about her shoulders and her eyes were full of fight and fire. The tattered remains of her slip dress fluttered around her like a cape, exposing the admirable craftsmanship of Mother Nature. Only a few threads of blood and the beige of her satin-striped bikinis broke the bare expanse of Buffy's tawny skin.

His girl had apparently abandoned the concept of a bra for the evening, Spike thought, his mouth twisting in wry amusement. He, also, privately conceded that with muscle-tone like the Slayer's a bra wasn't a strict necessity. Quick as that thought came to him, Buffy was swinging the stake at his heart. Unable to gain his feet in time, he rolled under Buffy's strike, hitting her mid-shin and throwing her off balance.

As Buffy stumbled sideways, one of her high heels snapped off and she went to her knees. It was the opening Spike needed. With an inner surge of delight, he came up swinging. He landed one fist hard to the side of Buffy's head spinning her around to face him. As she fell backward, her stake slipped from her fingers. She landed unceremoniously on her back. Spread eagle in front of him, she fumbled blindly for her weapon. Spike stalked toward her, his mouth lolling open in a self-satisfied grin.

"What's the matter, Luv?" he inquired, with feline insolence. "Didn't wear your dancing shoes?"

"Yeah, this outfit was definitely a mistake," Buffy agreed, trying not to grimace as her hand brushed her stake and sent it rolling further away.

In no particular hurry to end things, Spike ran his appreciative gaze over her. Buffy was suddenly aware of her nakedness and of Spike's undeniably masculine presence. A hot tingle of embarrassment, and some other less-easily defined emotion, shot through her igniting her blush. Spike basked in the glow of it. Fighting down the urge to cover herself, Buffy willed her body to relax. She opened herself to his scrutiny, lying back and letting her knees fall apart. Spike swallowed, convulsively.

"High-heels," Buffy continued, her voice low, her eyes never leaving his, as she slid out of her damaged shoe. "What was I thinking? You never take me anyplace nice."

"NICE!" Spike sneered. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He straightened slightly and hissed out the word again, "Nice! You don't want nice, Pet. You've never wanted it ... nice."

And finally, he came into range, leaning over her. With her remaining spiked heel Buffy kicked out connecting with his shoulder sending him flying. Continuing the flow of her movement, the Slayer flipped to her feet and with a twist of her ankle popped her other shoe off. Spike slid to a stop and surged back at her. They circled each other, looking for weaknesses, both wary and weary.

"I know you, Buffy," Spike remarked, as if they were having a civilized conversation. "Maybe you can hide it from yourself but you can't hide it from me. I know what you want."

"Oh, Brother! Here it comes," the Slayer groaned, shaking the hair out of her eyes and favoring him with a 'please end my torment now' look, "Spike the Psychologist is in. Lay down your nickel and he'll lay that Dark Side Wisdom on you." She snorted and continued in mocking sarcasm, "Let me guess ... I want it rough? I want to play the games that draw blood? I want a little leather clad domination?"

She paused, letting her gaze sweep the blond vampire with a frank appraisal, before saying in a deceptively normal tone of voice, "Or to sum up ... I want you!"

Spike had gone still as a statue. He took in a long shuddering breath as if his dead lungs suddenly needed air. After a moment, he gave a quick dip of his head. It was a Victorian gesture of agreement and a gentleman's affirmation of a well placed hit. Buffy bared her teeth in a mirthless grin. She hated him in that moment. Hated his pretense, his mimicking of human feeling. Hated the effect he had on her even now in the midst of a life and death battle.

"You really are pathetic, William," she spat and spun out a kick at his head.

"You unspeakable Bitch," Spike snarled, ducking her unexpected blow. He was suddenly ashamed of his weakness for her and bitterly aware of her ability to hurt him.

Punching wildly, he landed a hard right to the small of Buffy's back. She winced, gasping at the pain but quickly recovered turning to face Spike even as he leaped at her. They exchanged blows, matching each other strike for strike. Bobbing, weaving, fighting, they danced. Their footwork was so intricate and their bodies so in harmony that every move seemed choreographed. They were opposites, yet, forever united, man and woman, living and dead, young and old, silver and gold, the blazing Sun and the cool Moonlight.

An hour later, they clung to each other like amorous drunks at closing time. Recovering from his left to her cheek, Buffy clawed her way up Spike's body. She was holding on to him and simultaneously holding him at bay. She felt sick, dizzy. Her knees were buckling. Spike was no better off he was swaying and had trouble focusing. Buffy levered against him and he cried out as a dislocated rib twisted in his back.

The Slayer used Spike's weight to steady herself as she brought her knee up between them. She missed the vampire's groin by a good margin this time as he suddenly doubled over. Her knee glanced off of Spike's chest and sent him reeling backwards. He held on to her. They staggered together, leaning into one another for support, seeking their center of gravity. After several feet, they stumbled to a stop. Foreheads pressed together, arms braced, bodies begging for relief, Buffy and Spike held their positions in opposition

"Why didn't I kill you years ago?" he asked, as if he really wanted an answer.

"You had a chip in your brain," she reminded.

Spike wanted to backhand her for her bloody-minded insolence, but he knew if he let go of her now he would fold up like a string-less marionette. He needed to buy a little more time. He needed to keep Buffy talking.

"It wasn't the chip," he hissed, through tightly clenched teeth, "...and you know it."

Buffy could feel the familiar cold stirring in her gut, the tightening in her groin. She wondered why Spike made her feel this way. How it was even possible to feel this way. To loathe him and all he stood for, to want to hurt him and at the same time to crave him. She knew she should chew him up, spit him out and walk away. But he still made her mouth water, made her want to swallow.

"All I know is that you betrayed me." Buffy said, softly. "As soon as the chip was out. Just like I always knew you would."

"Yeah," Spike sighed, "always."

"Oh, don't you DARE try to make me feel sorry for you," she berated him. "You are a killer. Merciless and cold-blooded ... a soul-less reptile."

"For the eight-hundredth time," Spike growled, spacing out the words for dramatic effect. "I ... Did ... NOT ... Kill ... THAT ... Girl!"

"Yeah," Buffy agreed, bobbling her head, vacuously. "And you're NOT trying to kill me either. This is all some kind of comical misunderstanding."

"I don't want to kill you, Luv," Spike said, soberly. "You know I don't."

He pulled back slightly to stare at Buffy meeting her gaze steadily until, feeling a physical pain from the intimacy, she broke eye-contact.

"I seem to know a lot," she grumbled, looking down at the floor. "Tell me this ... do I know what it is you DO want?"

Spike stopped pushing her away and instead fell forward into her body. The sudden change in dynamic energy brought Slayer and vampire together. Buffy gasped as Spike slammed into her. The sound she made caused something to clench and twist in his chest. He ran his cheek along her jaw line. Purring, he nuzzled her neck. He breathed in the sweat and sweetness in her hair before responding.

"I want," he whispered, very close to her ear, "...to Sire you."

Buffy tensed. She wrenched back fighting to break away from him but Spike had her now. He was holding her in a vise grip pinning her arms at her sides; keeping her close. His nails were biting into the flesh just above her elbows. He lowered his mouth and began raining small kisses along her bare shoulder working his way back toward her throat.

"I want to make you bleed," he said, punctuating his words with tiny kisses, "And I want to bleed for you. I want to open myself and spill into your mouth. I want to make you mine, to feel you drink me down. Feel you become me."

"You want to make me a vampire?"

Buffy couldn't believe what she was hearing. She couldn't believe what the words were doing to her either. She felt a trembling weakness in her joints and a bloom of wetness between her legs. She could visualize all too well rising out of the ground and falling into his arms.

"I want to give myself to you," Spike corrected, gently, "Eternally! To hunt, to kill, to feed, and to be with you. I love you, Buffy. Together, we could rule the night, you and I."

The Slayer's eyes flashed. She was furious, appalled ... and horribly tempted. She brought her hands up and placed her palms flat against Spike's abdomen. Under his tee shirt, his body felt cool and tight, imminently masculine. His muscles twitched beneath Buffy's fingertips.

She looked up, meeting his eye, squarely, and whispered, "I already rule the night."

The Slayer's claws tore into his flesh and Spike roared his pain and rage, thrusting her away. She tried to take advantage of the opening, scrambling for position, but he was on top of her in seconds. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her into his body and twisting her arm up and back. Buffy gasped at the red-hot pain that lanced through her. Spike was demonic now, his face distorted, his eyes yellow, his teeth sharp. Keeping her hand behind her, he picked Buffy up, swinging her easily into his arms. She was helpless, denied purchase for retaliation. Spike held her like a new bride about to be carried across the threshold.

"No," he corrected, smiling down at her with a mouth full of ragged fangs. "You don't rule anything ... not until you've bested me."

Swift and sure, he was moving toward the staircase, still holding her close. Buffy fought down her panic. She could feel herself grow cold as Spike carried her up the first flight of stairs. The Slayer knew that she had to stay calm, keep her wits about her and search for some escape. She figured there was a slim chance Spike intended to throw her off the roof. Her mind veered away from the other possibilities presented by an abandoned dorm. And veered right back on course as the vampire turned down a hallway. Without pausing, he kicked in the first door they came to. It flew open revealing a single room with a single bed.

"You have GOT to be kidding," Buffy laughed, her fear evaporating as swiftly as it had come over her. "You can't rape the Slayer. Didn't they teach you anything in Vampire School?"

"RAPE?" Spike choked on the word. "Oh, pu-leez! That is just so...." He struggled to find something scathing enough to reply and failing finished lamely, "...typical."

He morphed back into his human face and tossed her into the center of the bed. Buffy bounced a bit and steadied herself, but made no effort to escape. She was, quite frankly, too shocked to react. She was amazed that he'd freed her so easily.

"You think I can't smell the desire on you, Buffy?" Spike asked, bitterly. "You think, I don't know? You want this as much as I do.

"I don't..." Buffy began.

"Save it for the Scoobies," he said, cutting her off. "I don't want to hear you justify this. It doesn't matter to me anymore. I am tired of trying to prove myself to you. Especially, when it's just so much easier for you to see me as a monster. Keeps you on the job, dunnit? Makes sliding a sliver of wood into my chest a bit less of a soddin' tragedy?"

"You're the one who brought all this on," Buffy yelped, stung by the unfairness of his accusations and furious at the truth behind them. "You crossed the line. You killed that girl."

"Say that's true," Spike shrugged. "Say I did kill her. What of it? I'm a vampire remember? A monster, a cold-blooded killing machine, just like you said." He sank into a half-crouch, slinking toward the bed as he continued in a sultry purr, "I'm no better than any other predator. You can't blame me for doing what comes natural. But you, Pet! You should know better ... all full of soul ... and yet here you are ... lusting after the likes of me."

"I ... I d-don't ... lust," Buffy stammered, as he closed in on her.

"No?" Spike asked, with wide-eyed innocence, standing up straighter. Buffy shook her head and to her astonishment he pouted slightly, "Ohhhh." And quietly slipped into the bed beside her, stretching out full length on the bare mattress.

Making no attempt to touch her, Spike watched the Slayer closely, forcing himself to remain still. He tuned into her heartbeat, savoring the rapid pulse of it. He harbored no illusions about Buffy's ability to kill him. She was his anchor and she could so easily cut him free of this existence. He knew that he was as close to being one with the dust bunnies as he had ever been. Mustering every ounce of self-control he possessed, Spike waited for his beloved to make the next move.

6.

Buffy thought seriously about rabbitting, leaping for the door and dashing down the stairs. She had never been as terrified as she was by this new development. She could feel her heart pounding and her gut clenching up. She wondered what game Spike was playing. She could so easily kill him. He was offering no resistance. The Slayer in her cried out for a renewal of the violence between them but the woman in her cried out for something much more dangerous. There was a brief struggle and the woman won.

Buffy reached out, fingers trembling, and placed a tentative hand on his chest. Spike remained still, as if carved from marble. His only reaction was to glance up and meet her eye to eye. His gaze was neutral, not mocking or challenging, and barely even questioning. Buffy leaned forward pressing the issue. She slid her hand down to the bottom of his tee shirt and slowly worked her fingers under the fabric. She savored the rough denim of his jeans, the hard leather band of his belt and finally the silken smoothness of his skin against her fingertips. She traced patterns on his flesh, all the way up to the jagged wounds left by her nails.

Eyelids flickering closed, Spike held on to his stillness as Buffy's hand stroked over him. He could feel the heat increasing in her as she touched him. He took a quick breath and was flooded with the wondrously complex scent of his Slayer. She smelled of lavender, lust and sunlit meadows. She was far too close for comfort. In spite of his resolve not to move, Spike shifted slightly. The sudden tightness in his groin was too much to ignore.

Buffy reveled in his involuntary response. She grinned, mouth open, her tongue pink against her teeth, in unconscious imitation of Spike's frequent wolfish look. She knew the vampire was watching her again, through barely open eyes. Let him, Buffy thought suddenly. Let him know what I can do to him.

Making eye contact, she ran light claws over Spike's body moving in a spiral but going inexorably downward. When she reached his jeans she continued dragging her nails along his thigh, sweeping carelessly over the swell of his desire. Spike writhed, the pleasure so intense it was an agony. He rose up pressing in to Buffy's hand and she pulled away, dropping her feet to the floor. He fell back against the bed, gasping; begging her not to leave. If she did ... if she left him now Spike knew he would hunt her down like an animal, throw her to the ground and, though it was said to be impossible, take her by force.

Buffy, however, had no intention of leaving. She was far too fascinated by this newfound power. She watched as Spike fought for self-mastery. Waiting until he was back in control, Buffy leaned across the bed and let her hair brush over his face. She kissed his mouth, slipping her tongue, soft and slick, over his lips. When he didn't respond, she reached down and unbuttoned his fly with one hand. Spike's eyes were closed again, other than the unconscious tremor in his muscles, the push of his erection under her questing fingers, he gave no sign that he was aware of her.

Slowly, with torturous deliberation, Buffy began undressing him. She tugged roughly, at times, ripping away cloth when it failed to give, but for the most part she worked gently. Spike did nothing to hinder or assist her. When he was naked, Buffy stood back and studied the contours of his body. He was so different from any other man she had known. Not as massive as Riley or Angel but more defined than Parker. And frankly, much better endowed.

"Wow, there's a revelation!" Buffy thought, mocking her inner persona.

It wasn't like she'd never noticed Spike's natural gift before. For the past three years, every time they were in close proximity it had inevitably come up. Fighting with him or holding him close, she had sometimes been aware of nothing else but the size of his erection pressed against her back or stomach. Spike's hormones weren't subtle. At first it had alarmed and disgusted her but later she had been more than a little in love with it.

He wasn't circumcised, of course, but then neither was Angel. Buffy knew what to expect from a vampire lover and in many ways Spike was more appealing than a human male. Like the rest of his kind, he didn't sweat, or urinate, or defecate or harbor smelly bacterial colonies but unlike most vampires, Spike bathed regularly. Standing over him, Buffy could pick up the faint scent of dark amber that fragranced his body soap.

Through barely parted eyelids, Spike watched the Slayer study his body. She stood at the bedside her eyes devouring him, seemingly unable to look away. Then with a tiny sigh, she shrugged out of her dress. He watched the material slide along her skin and heard it puddle on the floor. A half-second later she stepped out of her bikinis, and Spike had to wrestle with a nearly overwhelming desire to attack her.

After what seemed like an eternity to the vampire, the need to touch him overcame all of Buffy's innate caution. She bent forward, bracing one knee on the bed and ran her hand up his inner thigh and down to cradle him intimately in her palm. Spike convulsed under her as she toyed with him, playing her fingers back and forth until he was shuddering helplessly. Then splaying her other hand against his chest, Buffy brought her mouth down over him, sucking and licking. In one continuous movement, she ran her tongue along the length of his shaft savoring the taste of him. Reaching the tip, she slurped up the glistening pearl of wetness that had formed there and gave a soft murmur of appreciation, as if it was the last drop of her favorite ice cream.

"Buffy..." Spike whispered, hoarsely, his voice resonating with his need for her. "Luv ... please..."

She was on him like a lioness springing to the kill. She crouched over him grabbing at his wrists as he reached for her, holding them tight, pressing them back into the pillow on either side of his head. The strength in her was stunning. Spike knew he would have to exert himself fully to break free of her hold but, the truth was, he didn't really want his freedom. He wanted Buffy to win this round, to take him down, like they both knew she could. Like they both knew she had always wanted to.

"Do it, Baby!" Spike thought, meeting the primal intensity of her gaze without blinking. "Take me all the way..."

And she did! Rocking her body back she took him inside. He was a perfect fit, filling her like no one before him ever had. Buffy was as shocked as she was thrilled at this turn of events. She remembered their fight, the reason for it, and the fact that she had sworn never to do what she was currently doing. None of that seemed to matter to her. All that mattered was the satisfaction that Spike alone could give her. No one else understood her, appreciated her, and loved her as completely as he did. No one else could endure the onslaught of her unfettered appetite.

Despite not needing oxygen, the vampire was breathing raggedly now, biting down on his lower lip as Buffy engulfed him. During his time with Dru, Spike had held to the spirit of fidelity rather than the letter, and so he had known a number of women, living and undead, virginal and experienced. In fact, he'd once had a Bangkok whore; he would have sworn was half succubus. Her talent had been so great that it purchased her 6 weeks of additional life. And yet, nothing in the past 125 years had prepared him for the Slayer.

She was a Bloody force of nature; a tsunami, washing over him. He was flooded with sensation, from the play of her muscles around him to the heat of her breath by his ear, to the swell of emotion in his chest. He was drowning in her as she raged around him; heedless of the toll she was taking. He began chanting her name like an incantation, a one-word plea for release. Yet, when the release came, he was totally unprepared for the intensity of it. The French call the moment of climax, le petit mort, the small death, and with Buffy, Spike finally understood why. Nothing short of his own death transcended the experience.

It was over. Shuddering, breathing deeply, Buffy lay against Spike's chest and slowly she became aware of him beneath her. She shifted and froze, not believing her senses. Buffy knew, without a doubt, they had come together. She had felt Spike spill into her like a cool rush of water and heard his helpless mewling cry. But, now, as she moved around him she could feel no change in his rock hardness. She clenched her inner muscles, checking her perceptions before glancing questioningly up at him.

Spike raised his scarred brow slightly and gave her a truly wicked grin before saying, "Wanna have my turn, Pet."

"How...?" she frowned, puzzling out this difference from her earlier experience with Angel.

"It's like breathing," Spike replied to her half-formed question and Buffy understood. It was an involuntary process under his conscious control. Not his complete control, however, she remembered with a wicked grin of her own.

The sauciness of Buffy's unspoken thoughts played out on her face and provoked Spike to action. With a quick twist of his hips, he flipped her onto her back, switching their positions. He buried his hands in her hair and surged against her. Buffy cried out at the violence of it and Spike covered her mouth with his own cutting off the sound of her screams. Once, twice, a half dozen times he lunged into her, going deeper each time, until, desperate for oxygen, Buffy pushed him away. He over-reacted, pulling all the way out of her, kneeling between her legs with one cool hand resting just above her navel.

"No," she pleaded, reaching for him.

"Be still," he said, gently, but with a teasing challenge in his voice. "Try not to move."

"You, Bastard!" Buffy thought, but she forced herself to relax, acknowledging that it was indeed his turn to take charge.

It became a game of bait and switch. Every time Buffy squirmed, twitched or moaned, Spike would let go of her, leaving her shaking as she fought to control her reactions. Using his hands, his teeth, his tongue, he teased out the secrets of her body. He explored her, discovering erogenous zones she'd had no idea she possessed.

Finally, when Buffy felt like she would burn away if he didn't, Spike slipped one hand between her legs. Stroking over her, spreading the mix of their fluids under his palm, he sought out the small hard treasure nestled in her softness. Finding it with his thumb he rubbed over it in tight quick circles, shattering Buffy's pretense of self-control.

"Spike ... Oh, GOD!" she gasped, arching up under his hand.

This time Spike didn't release her but instead moved closer, pressing his body along her left side. Buffy could feel his full length hard against her thigh as his mouth closed on the tip of her left breast. He suckled at her for what seemed like eternity, lapping his tongue over her nipple while his thumb continued its relentless circling below. Buffy began to writhe, her hips rotating in time with his stroking hand, the wetness spreading out of her, filling the room with her scent.

Spike took her nipple firmly between his teeth. Biting down just hard enough that she dare not move for fear of injury, he plunged three fingers into her slick velvet core. The Slayer clamped down on him with bone bruising force and screamed out her despair at this exquisite torture. Her hands clawed at the mattress as Spike kept his thumb in place, stroking her inside and out, driving her to the brink of what she knew would be an earthshaking climax. And then ... he stopped.

Just short of satisfying her, he stopped. Buffy's snarl of frustration, promised him torments not even Drusilla could have envisioned. Pulling up to his knees, he chuckled deep in his throat. The sound drew Buffy's eye and they locked gazes as he held his hand up between them. Slowly, not breaking eye contact for a second, Spike sucked each sticky finger in turn, tonguing the length of them. Buffy could easily imagine his tongue working between her legs the same way. Spike had intended to fulfill her fantasy but the taste, the sight and the scent of her was finally too much for him.

Buffy was bloomed open, wet and more than ready. Spike shifted, until he was kneeling between her thighs, again. Using both hands, he parted her legs, pushing her knees out. Then he reached up, tracing the swell of her breasts, sliding his hands down along the contours of her body, over the slippery mound of her coarse curls and around the full curve of her hips, savoring the power he sensed in them. Cupping his hands under her smooth behind he lifted Buffy, bridging her up. The Slayer locked her fingers around Spike's wrists and held on as he shafted forward. She took him to the hilt, all the way in, and he groaned. They rocked back and forth, pulling apart, surging together. After one or two thrusts, Spike established a cadence, lunging with his lover, sliding out and slamming back into her. This was no tentative exploration. This was a total invasion, demanding total surrender.

The first time, with Buffy on top, they'd simply had sex, deliciously gratifying sex. This time they fucked. There was no other word for it. The harsh, guttural sound was a perfect description of Spike's desperately intense penetration and Buffy's full body participation. The heat and the friction and the fire between them threatened to boil the blood in their veins. The Slayer had never known such raw passion.

Even under the influence of malevolent spirits, Riley had been a gentle, considerate lover. Angel had, of course, taken Buffy's virginity slowly and carefully. He hadn't allowed himself the luxury of passion. And Parker, the weasel, had been a perfect gentleman. Spike was certainly no gentleman. He was a demonic lover, in a position, at long last, to satisfy his dark lust for the Slayer. And he fucked her until the world started spinning around them.

Her senses blunted by Spike's relentless assault, Buffy noticed the change in him a second before he struck at her throat. Quick as he was, she was quicker. She released her hold on Spike's wrists, whipping her hands around. Catching his head between her palms, she halted his forward motion so that his fangs snapped closed on thin air. Spike hissed and snarled and twisted like a serpent in his effort to reach her but Buffy held him off.

She rode out his hunger, wrapping her legs around his hips, torquing against him and meeting his yellow gaze without fear. It was unbelievably erotic, a wild rutting and as savage a battle as they had ever engaged in and they ended it together. Buffy climaxed, her fingers slipping from their hold on Spike, just as he, in the midst of his blood lust, came into her and came back to his humanity. They cried out as one, clinging tight.

He was murmuring into her throat as she returned to awareness, "Buffy ... sweet Buffy ... I love you so much. God help me, I do ... if I'd hurt you ... Buffy ... I swear it would kill me..."

Buffy levered him away and stared, her eyes questioning. She searched his face and saw the truth there. She knew, with complete conviction, Spike would literally die without her. Knew also that he hadn't killed Alice Peters. Not because he had changed, not because it was wrong but simply because his love wouldn't allow it. His beloved was his sovereign. Her will was his law. He was a demon and the instinct to kill was strong in him but Buffy finally understood Spike's love for her was stronger.

"You're mine," she said fiercely, asserting her mastery over him.

Spike melted into her, submitting completely. He gave himself over to the Slayer, acknowledging her possession of him and almost weeping with the joy of it, "Yes," he agreed, between deep kisses, "Yours ... my god, yes."

They were both lost and they knew it. There was no fight left in either of them. No more room for denial of what was, what had always been, their destiny. Their love was a supernatural force in it's own right. Existing outside time and space, it allowed them to span the gulf between good and evil. They moved as one, two halves of a whole, seeking union. They could not seem to get close enough to one another. Legs, bodies, arms, fingers, tongues, their very existence intertwining, Buffy and Spike made love.

And sometime during that last slow dance, Spike opened a vein in his neck and Buffy drank. It was the final act of surrender for both of them, as she accepted his seed in her mouth, took him into her fully and swallowed him down. Spike passed into unconsciousness, giving up his very being to his beloved, letting her drain the strength of his demon from him. Buffy felt him slipping away, his hold on her grew slack and he fell back unto the bed. Fear shot through her and she sat up, wiping blood from her lips with the back of one hand.

"Spike?" she questioned, shakily. He didn't respond and she reached for him, panicking. Gripping her lover's shoulders and shaking him, fiercely, Buffy pleaded, "Come on! You can't die like this, not from blood loss. It's impossible." But quick on the heels of the words came a thought; vampires were supposed to drink first. They drank before the one they were siring fed on them.

One of Spike's hands was under her the other had fallen palm up on the bed, fingers relaxed as in death. His eyes were open but unfocused and deep within them pulsed a garnet redness. Buffy had no way of knowing the same light was glowing in her own eyes. She only knew that Spike needed blood and if he took it from her they wouldn't be able to stop. Wouldn't want to stop until he had drained her completely. If she allowed her lover to drink, Buffy knew, she would become a vampire.

Surprisingly, it wasn't self-preservation that kept her from opening a vein but rather the remembrance of Spike's fear of hurting her. Galvanized into action, Buffy scrambled for clothing. She pulled on Spike's pants, turning up the cuffs and cinching his belt tight around her waist, making them fit. She ripped a long strip from the tattered remains of her ruined dress and wound it around her breasts like a scarf. Then, bare foot, she ran, heading for town where she knew there were two pints of A-negative. In a cold storage safe, in the floor of the Magic Box training room, Giles had a stash of the Slayer's own blood. It was an emergency transfusion supply and only Buffy and her Watcher were aware of its existence.

The crimson robed figures watched the Slayer dash by, her feet thudding on the grass. They waited, patient as saints, until she disappeared into the night, then they entered the dorm. They glided up the stairs and into the room where Spike lay helpless. Surrounding him they chanted, "Siamo uno con il Cuore della Notte."

One of their number came forward with a white sheet and they shifted Spike onto it. Then wrapping the nearly bloodless vampire in the shroud of fabric, they lifted him up and carried him down into the basement of the building.

♥ ♥

Spike sensed the warmth of a body nearby, felt it stir.

Buffy, he thought and wasn't sure if he spoke aloud.

The name had almost no meaning to him but he knew it was the word for what he needed. He was literally starving to death. And now, like mother's home cooking, he could smell the sweetness in the air, the faint whiff of Summers' blood. Blindly, he reached out for the living food source. Desperate for any sustenance, he barely noted the dimensions of the figure he pulled into his arms. The girl's long dark hair cascaded around him as he sank his teeth into her throat and drank.

It shocked him, like expecting fresh water and gulping down rancid milk. Horridly wrong, the taste of Dawn's blood twisted up his gut. Spike retched, breaking the bite and shoving his young friend violently away. He spat her blood out onto the floor, without swallowing, and struggled to focus on Dawn's face. He knew she was alive but he couldn't tell how badly she was injured. He only knew that there was blood. And, now, more blood was trickling from the puncture wounds in her neck. Wrestling with his hunger, Spike struggled to fight free of the fog in his head.

"He won't eat," a voice said, speaking out of the mist. "See how he pushes his food away."

"He MUST eat," another voice insisted. "She can not manifest without the blood."

"Bring the blood of an animal," Saul's voice commanded.

"PIG'S BLOOD!" a shocked chorus cried in protest. "It is sacrilege!"

"We must give HER something to sustain the conception or the process will fail before it starts," Saul snapped, impatiently. "Once he begins to feed he will not be able to stop HER from growing more powerful. Time enough for the blood of the innocent when she is come to the table, my brothers."

Spike wondered what they were talking about and when they would go away and let him die in peace. He could feel a gaping emptiness inside as if an essential part of his being had been carved away. He knew he needed to feed but he couldn't bring himself to drink from Dawn. He wanted to save her and himself but he didn't have the strength to fight or even open his eyes.

He curled up in a ball and waited for Buffy to come or the empty feeling to consume him. Unseen hands lifted his shoulders and held his head. The lip of a silver bowl was pressed against his mouth and a draught of pig's blood washed over his tongue. Convulsively, Spike swallowed the fluid down. Warmth spread into his limbs, strengthening him. The fog began to clear and he grabbed at the bowl to drink deep again.

"There now," Saul's voice spoke close by his ear. "Drink, blessed one, and let HER share in the bounty of this world. You are the vessel of rebirth, give HER your strength as SHE grows in your body."

Deep inside of Spike, the empty place in his gut began to fill with the swirling embryonic consciousness of a new and hideous life.

♥ ♥

At the exact moment that Spike took his first drink, Buffy wrenched open the training room door. The room was full of people. She registered the fact, looking at them in shock, barely recognizing Willow and Giles, before she was hit with an intense swirl of nausea. The world tipped drunkenly around her and she retched, sinking to her knees in the doorway. She felt as if something was sucking the life from her chest. A red mist blinded her and she struggled to focus through it.

"Buffy?" Giles' voice cried out. As she raised her head blinking blindly toward him, he whispered, "Dear Lord ... her eyes..."

"Yes," Quentin Travers' said in grim measured tones. "It is as I feared. We are too late."

"No, I w-won't believe it," Giles said, his voice catching slightly. "How could she ... WHY would she ever..." He hesitated, obviously assessing the evidence of his own eyes, before addressing his Slayer directly, "Have you been with Spike? Accepted him ... his ... seed?"

"She has taken blood," Travers' confirmed, dispassionately, as Buffy retched again. "His demon contagion has passed into the Slayer's body. Nothing we do can save her now."

"Well, well, well B!" Faith commented, somewhere beyond Buffy's line of unfocused sight. "So you finally did the undead deed once too often? From what these Watcher freaks tell me, you got the morning sickness from Hell, Girlfriend." She came around to kneel before the fallen Slayer, adding nonchalantly, "I guess congratulations are in order."

"Okay," Buffy sighed, from her undignified position on the floor. "Vomiting, Travers and the psychotic bitch queen makes a house-call ... this can not be of the good."

7.

Willow, Xander, Anya and Oz sat in a silent circle at the round research table in the Magic Box. Willow was holding onto Oz's hand, plucking nervously at his fingers, as she craned her neck to see past the Watcher's Council guards into the backroom. The remains of the Scoobie Gang had come together at the magic shop, to compare notes on the Summers' girls' movements and possible current location. They had been startled to find the Watcher's Council already in residence.

The news of Dawn and Buffy's disappearance was hardly conveyed when the Slayer herself arrived. Buffy's immediate collapse had set the stage for a shift of power. Quentin Travers and the other Watchers had sent Faith after Spike armed with a Holy Water purified sword. Buffy's friends had been herded out of the training room, told only that the Slayer had disgraced herself and was dying.

"I wish they would let me back in there," Willow said, plaintively. She turned pleading eyes toward Oz, asking, "Why won't they let me see her? Maybe I could help! Do a spell? Brew a potion?"

"They got witches on the Council, Will," Xander reminded, not unkindly. "But I still think they should let us be with her. If she's really going to..." his voice trailed off as he sighed and looked toward the guard. Glancing back at the group, he leaned in to suggest, "Anyone else up for storming the door?"

Oz raised one hand. Anya nodded her agreement.

"How do they know that Buffy's going to die?" Willow exclaimed, with a desperate edge to her voice. "I mean ... how would they ... they can't know that can they?"

"Definitely suspect," Oz assured, in his unflappable drawl. "Seems like faulty forecasting to me."

"It's because they think that the prophecy about Lilith is coming true," Anya explained, patiently to Oz, not appreciating the concept of a comforting lie. "The Night Monster will feed on the Slayer's life force growing ever stronger as her vampire lover feeds on the blood of the innocent."

"But not Dawnie, right?" Willow asked, in horror. She squeezed the fingers of Oz's hand, so hard he nearly flinched. "Spike wouldn't feed on little Dawn?"

"Not Spike," Anya corrected, impatiently. "Lilith! She's growing inside him now, like a baby in the womb and..." Xander nudged Anya and shook his head, slightly. She broke off her commentary, looking over at him and then back at Willow's distraught face before quickly chirping, "It's probably all just a big misunderstanding," she favored the Wiccan woman with a beaming fake smile and added, "I'm sure Buffy isn't really dying even as we speak."

The guards at the door shifted, slightly, and the gang caught a glimpse of their friend's body; limp, seemingly lifeless, on the old training room sofa. Her complexion was ashen and her hair was plastered to her skin in a sweaty tangle.

Buffy tried to shift her position and failed. She felt drained, weak and hopeless. Each new breath took tremendous effort. She had no strength left in her trembling limbs, no fight in her at all. The bond with Spike was like a red tether, binding her to the source of all evil. A being that was dragging the life from her even as it consumed him.

Giles was talking to her, explaining things, as the Council understood them. Her drinking of Spike's blood was ordained in the sacred text of the Rossi gli abiti. It was written, predicted ... foretold in prophecy.

"'And one of this calling (the Slayer) shall die and be remade by the blood of the other,'" Giles quoted and then paused to illuminate for her, "Referring, we now believe, to your resurrection and Spike's part in it," he explained. Buffy gave a small gasp of understanding and Giles shifted on the arm of the sofa glancing worriedly at Travers.

The senior Watcher continued the remorseless translation, "'And they shall set aside their battle and find peace in one another. They shall not find pleasures of flesh, nor sustenance in blood, nor free hunting, nor any other thing which might quench or satisfy until they seek it in each other. But in the bed of conception they will twine together, sated and she will drink and they will open one another in every way imaginable, through body, mind, blood, the seed of the dragon blooming in the pearled damp swell of...'"

"Yes," Giles interrupted Travers, with a nervous cough. "Well, the gist is, Lilith was conceived when you drank from Spike without his drinking from you during your," his voice cracked and he gave his glasses a quick polish before forcing out the words, "Y-your time together. And unless Faith kills him..." he trailed off again.

"...BEFORE sunrise," Travers finished the thought. He cleared his throat, pointedly, and quoted, "'The First One, Blessed of the Night (Lilith) will be reborn and the plague of Humanity will be washed away. When the first glimmer of light from the new day touches the Cuore Della Notte, all that is Holy will be cast out and all that is Unholy remade in the image of the Night Monster.

"Giles," Buffy called, weakly. Her former watcher leaned in, very close, to catch her labored whisper, "Faith ... can't ... kill Spike."

"Buffy," Giles soothed, gently pushing the damp hair from her forehead, "I'm so sorry. I know what he means to you. I know this is all very painful but there really is no other way to stop Lilith from rising."

"No!" the Slayer corrected him with some force as she struggled to sit up. "I mean, Faith isn't capable of killing him," she gasped out, falling back. "She doesn't have the skill."

"Faith is an accomplished Slayer," Travers said, dispassionately. "If she defeats this beast we will arrange for her release from prison. She will have her freedom. If she fails she will die with the rest of us. I think that is enticement enough for her to succeed."

Buffy coughed on her laugh. She took in a couple shuddering breaths and managed a sneer as she said, "Spike has killed two of your 'accomplished Slayers', already." Talking about her love brought a small smile to her face. It seemed to strengthen her and she pushed herself upright, nearly sliding back but bracing against Giles, as she continued, "And he has trained with me for the past three years. I can beat Faith. I'm not sure I can beat him."

"You are hardly in a position to judge other Slayers," Travers' barked. "Your distressing fascination with this particular demon is well documented and has led to this..."

"Yes, Thank You, Quentin!" Giles snapped, glaring at the Council President. "Remarkably sensitive, as usual."

Buffy's former Watcher had a tight grip on her elbow. It was all that was keeping her from sliding bonelessly to the floor. Giles was painfully aware that his dear friend was dying. There was nothing he could do to stop it. The thing Spike incubated in his body was feeding on Buffy's life force, eating away at her like a cancer. Every second ticking by saw Lilith growing stronger and the Slayer growing weaker. Buffy, leaned into him, as she tried to gain her feet. After a bit of scrambling, she dropped back to the sofa, exhausted. Her muscles were shaking uncontrollably but her voice, when she spoke, was as fiery as the red light in her eyes.

"Faith is going to die!" she declared, without a touch of doubt.

"Then we are all dead," Travers' returned, just as certain in his pronouncement as the Slayer was in hers.

"Not if you help me," Buffy reasoned. "I can stop this."

"You?" Travers scoffed. "You can't even stand under your own power. What possible advantage do you think you would have over Faith?"

"I don't know," Buffy replied, with a touch of her usual spunk, "Maybe the 'distressing fascination' runs both ways."

"You think you could get through to Spike?" Giles asked, taking her meaning. "Bring his personality to the surface? Possibly weaken Lilith?"

"Ridiculous," Travers dismissed, with a sharp wave of his hand. "We are talking about a demon, a vampire. It exists only to feed and propagate. It has no 'personality' for her to influence."

"But isn't it worth a try?" Buffy challenged, concentrating her attention on Giles and, silently, urging him to help. "If I could distract him, even for a second, Faith might find an opening."

"And isn't it more likely that you simply want to assist your Demon Lover?" Travers asked, snidely. His cold gaze almost pierced her skin as he lectured, "You have always had a weakness for these creatures. Do you think that the filthy thing feels as you do? That it loves you? It is incapable of love. Incapable of any higher emotion or complex thought. It exists to perpetuate itself and to inflict pain and suffering. A vampire is less self aware than an animal."

"You know nothing about Spike ... about any of them," Buffy said, quietly, her tone more pitying than angry. "You never have. All of your training and watching and researching has left you with so little understanding."

"And what would you have us understand?" Travers inquired. His sweeping look included the other Watchers in his remark.

"That what the soul gives us is the ability to chose our path," Buffy replied, with renewed vigor. "It frees us from Destiny. It gives us remorse and compassion and the promise of eternal bliss. It guides us. A vampire has no guide, but that doesn't mean it can't love. Love isn't good or evil. Love is a separate force and it doesn't discriminate. It can destroy as easily as it creates. I think I'm proof of that. Even the most unworthy creature can love. And be loved in return. Maybe we were given souls so we could guide the soulless one's who love us. Maybe we can free them too."

A bout of coughing wracked the Slayer's body forcing her to stop talking. Only Giles' arm around her shoulders kept her upright. After a time, she wiped a trickle of blood from her mouth and continued her plea.

"Please," she begged, letting go of her pride in her effort to persuade them as she struggled again to stand. "You don't have to help me, just let me go to my friends. Spike loves me. I know he will hear me."

She fell to the floor but started forward on her hands and knees. Travers blocked her way and she ground out her defiance between clenched teeth, "You know ... I could use a little help here but unless you're planning to hold me down, get the Hell out of my way.

"Buffy," Giles began, but the Slayer cut him off.

"I am going to him, Giles. If I have to crawl," she growled. "This thing ... it's killing both of us and all I want to do is make it stop."

Giles was at her side in a second, lifting her up, steadying her as he asked the other Watchers, "What do we have to lose?"

Travers sighed, giving ground. Then, unexpectedly, he stepped around to take Buffy's elbow on the opposite side from Giles.

"Very well," the Senior Watcher said. "You may try to influence this ... SPIKE. But," his voice dropped into a low warning register, "do not interfere with Faith in her duties while you test your theories about," he sighed, again, "soulful love."

The gruff old man gave the Slayer the smallest of smiles as she looked up at him in surprise. Giles put an arm around her waist and offered his shoulder as a crutch. Buffy slid one foot forward and then the other. Slowly, the little group made their way across the training room, through the shop door and out to the waiting Scoobies. Willow was first out of her chair, reciting a quick strengthening spell for her friend. Xander, Oz and Anya rushed to offer their assistance, closing in a protective circle around the Slayer.

♥ ♥

"Wake the girl," Saul commanded, as Spike finished off a third bowl of blood. "When she stirs he will be drawn to her."

One of the acolytes leaned over Dawn and blew a puff of sweet powder into her face. Spike turned to look at the girl as she began to flail about. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face. He was dressed in a ceremonial loincloth and his body had been painted with archaic symbols. His eyes were crimson and his mouth was wet with blood.

Screaming into alertness, the Slayer's baby sister sat up, abruptly.

"Willow," she yelled and without hesitation, Spike sprang at her causing a collective sigh to go up from the half-dozen monks. The blond vampire yanked the teenager into a close embrace and bit into her throat for the second time that night.

"Bring him another meal," Saul ordered. "Quickly! This one won't last long."

8.

At Saul's pronouncement, three of the Rossi gli abiti rushed for the stairs, leaving the Head Priest and three other monks to attend Spike.

Gently removing his fangs, from Dawn's throat, her friend spoke, quietly, into her ear, "When I let go," he whispered, in an unnaturally gruff voice, "run toward the elevator shaft. Get inside; don't let me catch you. There's a sword. I need it. Hand it out, then, quick as you can, scamper for the stairs. It must be almost sunrise, you should be safe once you're out in the light."

"What are you doing?" Saul asked, in exasperation, striding toward them.

Spike pulled back to stare down at Buffy's sister, his demonic visage inches away from her face. His eyes were red and his breath fetid. Dawn tried to concentrate on the tasks he had set her as she watched her own blood drip from his fangs, with a sort of horrid fascination. She felt sick and dizzy from the drugs and the blood loss and her head ached. She fluttered one hand up to her brow and felt a jagged wound just above her left eyebrow.

"You must feed," Saul was explaining, impatiently. "Lilith needs fresh blood."

"Want to hunt," Spike growled up at the High Priest and then he whipped around on Dawn and barked, "RUN!"

The teenager scrambled up, heedless of the spinning sensation in her head and bolted for the elevator shaft. Saul's delighted laughter rang out behind and Spike was after her in a flash. He clawed at her, his ragged nails ripping into her shoulder, and she kicked out connecting with his left leg. He hit her in the back, knocking her down and propelling her into the darkened shaft. Dawn rolled with the fall and made it to her knees just as Spike's fingers closed on her ankle. He yanked hard, jerking her into a belly flop. In blind desperation, Dawn swept her hands over the floor, searching until she hit the sharp blade of Buffy's sword.

Ignoring the cutting pain in her fingers, Dawn held tight to the steel edge as Spike dragged her out into the basement, again. They cleared the shaft with the vampire crawling up the teenager's body hand over hand. Calling on every last bit of faith she possessed, Dawn rolled into her sister's lover and handed him the sword.

As Spike's fingers curled around the hilt of the weapon, he smiled. It wasn't the sweet, loving smile he'd offered Dawn, just four nights ago, when she'd first modeled her green gown. But she knew it was meant to reassure. Spike released her and stood, his movements fluid and precise. Then pivoting, he swung the Slayer's sword in a graceful arc, slicing right through the neck of the nearest red robed figure. As the monk dissolved into ashes, Dawn scurried away, sprinting for the stairs.

"Stop her," Saul yelled. But his followers were already dust.

Spike's blade danced through a series of brilliant and deadly semi-circles. Then, head down and sword hanging loosely in his right hand, he advanced on the High Priest. Saul backed away, one hand raised in consolation.

"You can not prevail, William," the red robed priest said, softly. "The First One is already alive inside you. Can't you feel Her growing stronger."

"I feel peachy," Spike assured, swishing his blade.

"'She will come again'," Saul quoted, from the text of his Bible, as he continued moving, circling back toward the stairs and staying just out of reach, "'and show Her face to the rising sun. Her Children will nourish Her and the gate will open. She will be drenched in the life's blood of Humanity and the sun will set on a world Cleansed of the Holy unbelievers.'"

"'Then the resolve of the Unholy shall be tested'," Spike recited back.

"What?" Saul frowned, taking a slight misstep.

"You left out part of the verse," Spike informed. He ticked of points in the air with the tip of his weapon as he recalled, "Face to sun ... children feeding ... gate opening ... UNHOLY TESTED! I've read the bloody scriptures, too, Saul. Did ya forget or are you just hoping the Hellbitch will skip over that 'testing' part?" He smiled, wickedly, as he asked, "Afraid you might not measure up?"

"I am resolute," Saul said, with pride. "The First One will not find me wanting!"

"Yeah," Spike sneered, totally unimpressed. "You're a regular Unholy Holy Roller. But in case you hadn't noticed ... I'm the one tha's gettin' asked all the tough questions."

"But we are the same, William," Saul purred, his manner as oily as a door-to-door salesman. "We are evil incarnate. Say what you will; you cannot deny what you are? You have killed two slayers and entranced a third. How much innocent blood have you spilled? But this Buffy Summers has taken your essence and given you nothing in return. She opened your veins for her own pleasure. Lilith has chosen you. Why do you persist in fighting the inevitable? Would you be an empty shell for our enemy? When you could be the savior of us all?"

For his answer, Spike rotated his arm so his blade sliced downward into Saul's body. At the last second, the High Priest evaporated into mist, flowing along the floor. Spike whirled about but the mist had already escaped up the elevator shaft. Breathing heavily to offset the growing, twisting pain in his chest, the blond vampire sagged against the nearest wall. There was a sharp scream from somewhere above.

"Dawn," Spike gasped and shaking off his discomfort, he rushed up the basement steps.

He came out on the first floor and charged across the lobby toward the main staircase. Looking up, the vampire saw a group of four or five monks dragging a struggling Dawn out the fire exit to the roof. He didn't stop to consider the coming sunrise as he dashed after them.

Faith entered the building just as Spike reached the first landing. His swift movement caught her eye and, sword at the ready, she raced toward the stairway. With one great spring, she reached the second story, scrambled over the railing and blocked his way.

Skidding to a halt, a half inch from Faith's sword point, Spike crouched low and snarled, "Well, if it isn't the second string Slayer up from the farm leagues."

Faith let her sword do her talking. Spike ducked under her swing. Bobbing and swaying he parried a swift flurry of blows, catching her blade on his own. He weaved and dodged with a limber litheness that reminded Faith of someone else she had fought. The dark-haired Slayer mentally accessed her impressive kill list, struggling to remember what undead soldier this one resembled.

"Hoping for your shot at the big time, sweetheart?" Spike asked, conversationally, as his sword tip flicked under her guard to draw blood. Dropping his shoulder to avoid a vicious slice, he spun his own weapon and punched the hilt into Faith's stomach, doubling her over in pain.

"Just here for a little workout," Faith panted, shrugging off Spike's blow. Slashing upward, she straightened, rushing him and finally broke past his guard. With a twist of her wrist, she engaged Spike's sword and whipped the weapon from his grasp. "I hope you can keep up," she continued, with false sweetness, as the vampire's blade clattered down the stairs. "I hear your local Slayer's been coddling you."

"You mean the REAL Slayer don't ya?" Spike countered. Dancing back to avoid being beheaded, he continued baiting the brunette, "Buffy is the definite article isn't she? You're not really in her class, now, are you, Pet? Just a blip on her heart monitor. The spare tire they keep in the boot for these little roadside emergencies."

As he'd hoped, Faith lost her temper at the insult, bringing her saber around like a battleax. Spike dipped under her wild swing and shoved both hands into her chest. She teetered on the edge of the stairwell, flailed for purchase on the brink of the balcony and overbalanced. Spike was already running upward again, even as Faith began to fall. Heedless of his lack of weaponry, the vampire was desperate to reach Dawn before Saul could have his way with her.

Falling into space, Faith released her hold on her saber and let it spin freely in the air as she fell. Tucking into a tight ball, she relaxed into the fall and rolled out just before she hit the tile floor. Tumbling forward and back flipping to her feet, she reached out her right hand and caught the hilt of her weapon as it came down. With a fierce oath, she spun on one foot and raced up the stairs in pursuit of her quarry. Far above she heard the fire exit door clang open.

Spike broke out onto the roof at a dead run. It was still dark but he could sense the coming dawn. He took in the scene at a glance. On the east side of the roof, facing the rising sun, was an altar laid with flowers and draped with gold cloth. Dawn's living body was trussed up at the center of the dais. Saul was standing over her with his sacrificial knife held high. An acolyte was holding up a red leather bound volume of the sacred text for the High Priest's scrutiny.

"SAUL!" Spike screamed, "Get away from her, you Bastard."

"Welcome to the feast, my brother," the High Priest said, jovially. "Come, let us toast your transformation."

Bringing his knife down, he made a shallow cross cut on Dawn's chest just above her left breast. The teenager screamed in pain and, growling out his challenge, Spike sprang forward to assist her. But before he had taken two steps, Faith kicked open the fire door behind him. Without preamble, the dark-haired Slayer ran her blade straight through his shoulder. Spike ripped free of the weapon, tearing a ragged hole in his flesh as he lunged to one side. In no mood to waste time on another protracted fight, the vampire, spun and struck at Faith with unbelievable speed, swatting the sword out of her grip. Closing on her, he took hold of her throat and squeezed, lifting her feet from the ground.

Faith gritted her teeth and fought with all the blind ferocity of a cornered animal. She brought up both arms to break Spike's grip, simultaneously kicking out at him. Twisting away, she punched into his wounded shoulder. He swept one leg around and tossed her to her back. She flipped into a backbend, somersaulted upright, and landed a blow to his groin in rebuttal. Neither of the combatants noticed the electric roof lights flickering on nor did they note the elevator rumbling to life.

Faith was easily a match for the average vampire. She could out savage the most aggressive bloodsucker. But as the fight went on she began to sense that Spike was toying with her. The vampire was always two or three moves ahead of her. He was biding his time now, learning her fighting style and noting her weaknesses. Even though Spike's attention was divided between her and the monks gathered at the altar, she could find no weakness in his defenses. Just before he moved in for the kill, Faith realized who he reminded her of with the subtle moves, the opportunistic attitude and the playful sense of humor in the face of death.

"Just like Buffy," Faith thought and Spike backhanded her into the edge of the metal door, knocking her unconscious.

Glorying in the violence, Spike lifted Faith's limp body up by one arm. All thoughts of Dawn were wiped from his mind by the victory. His third Slayer dangled from his grasp; she was helpless and limp as a rag doll. He shook her, savagely, bringing his head down close to her throat to inhale the rich tang of Slayer blood, pumping under her skin. Faith was warm and strong and smelled almost as good as his sweet Buffy.

"Slayer-lite," Spike thought and smiled, well pleased with himself. "Only half the sugar of our original recipe," he said, the words slurring through ragged fangs as he morphed into his demonic features.

He bit into Faith's neck, savoring the tang of her on his tongue. Slurping and gulping, he drank down a good pint of Slayer 'hundred-proof.' The elevator arrived with a tinny ding. Spike lifted his head from his meal and looked toward the sound. Xander Harris stepped off the elevator and the vampire addressed him, casually.

"Not too bad," he said, swirling Faith's blood in his mouth like a connoisseur sampling vintage wine. "Once you get used to that bitter aftertaste, it goes down real easy."

A millisecond later, he screamed in despair. Spike lurched to his knees; rocked by gut-twisting agony. His muscles contorted through a hideous metamorphosis and he roared out a primal challenge to the Heavens. For in releasing his own demon, Spike had let the Night Monster take possession of his body. He had opened the door for the Progenitor's return, as he swallowed the first mouthful of Slayer blood.

Spike's grip on his physical form loosened. He felt Lilith rise up and swamp his consciousness. His jaw thrust forward into a muzzle with a hideous under bite. His fangs curved into four-inch, double-edged, interlocking blades. His hands elongated into three-fingered paws that ended in thick black claws. His hair became a crest that cascaded in a ridge down his back. His essential maleness blended into something else entirely. What was Spike slid into oblivion, as Lilith was reborn from his flesh.

Her eyes, like living coals, swept the room assessing the faithful monks, weighing their sacrificial offering and settling at last on a small blond woman standing just a few feet away.

"Spike!"

Buffy's voice reached him, even at the edge of eternity, "SPIKE!"

Swimming upward against an overwhelming current, Spike pushed back into his former body. Peering through a red mist, he fought to bring the world into focus, again. He searched for the source of the voice, knowing somehow that it was important to him. It was the voice of his spiritual anchor.

Buffy stood just outside the elevator door, her feet braced wide for stability. She was far too close to the thing holding Faith for anyone's comfort. The blond Slayer was armed with a crossbow and was flanked by Giles, Travers, Xander, Willow, Anya and Oz. Several monks rushed to engage the newcomers but Saul concentrated his efforts on the newborn Night Monster. He forgot about Dawn and the ceremony surrounding her, in the joy of seeing his Deity returned to flesh.

"Feed beloved," the high priest urged. "You have a Slayer in your grasp. Take her blood and you will be free."

"Is that what you really want?" Buffy asked, casually. "Faith's blood?"

She nodded at Giles. He and Travers released their hold on her. She swayed, slightly, but didn't fall. Nodding reassurance at her friends, Buffy Summers spoke with quiet authority.

"Get to Dawn," she said. "I'll be fine. Just get her out of here. Keep her safe."

Willow cast a spell to loosen Dawn's bindings and she and Anya went to the girl as Xander, Oz, Travers and Giles faced off with the charging monks. Pikes clashed with swords and stakes in a melee of fists and fangs.

Ignoring the fighting between her friends and the remaining Rossi gli abiti, Buffy focused all of her attention on reaching her lover. She wanted the beast to release her Sister Slayer. She didn't know if Faith was even alive but she still wanted to get Lilith away from her. There was nothing about Spike in the hideous monster before her but Buffy had to try to reach him anyway.

"Come on, Luv," Buffy encouraged, warmly. "Come back to me and I'll make it worth your while."

There was the briefest flicker of Spike's high cheek boned face but it was enough to give Buffy hope. Her love was still in the beast, somewhere. She ran her palm across the sharp tip of her crossbow bolt and let her blood run free. The hideous thing that was once her lover turned to face her.

"That's it, Spike," she nodded. "Fight her. Don't let the Bitch beat you!"

"He can not fight her," Saul laughed, striding toward the tableau of Slayers and Demon. "She is the first of our kind. The Progenitor! Feel how she has sapped your strength away. She is drinking down your life force. When the sun rises, your strength and his body shall be united in HER! The Old Ones shall be returned to their rightful place and your kind will be wiped from the Earth. Your power means NOTHING to her, Slayer! You are NOTHING!"

Forgetting that she didn't have the strength to reload the weapon, Buffy fired her crossbow at Saul, sending the wooden shaft straight into the High Priest's heart. Caught totally off guard, he exploded into ashes.

"That makes two of us," Buffy remarked, offhandedly. She watched, dispassionately, as the pulsating red gem of the Cuore Della Notte clattered to the rooftop.

A sudden movement caught her eye and she turned her attention back to Lilith and Faith. The Night Monster was about to feed. Pulling a bolt from her quiver, Buffy dropped the now useless crossbow. She used the tip of the arrowhead to slice into her palm again, increasing the flow of blood from the wound.

"Here you go, baby," Buffy whispered, holding out her crimson coated hand, "This is what you really want isn't it? Our Blood! Yours and mine blended together. Come on then ... drink. Make me yours. You don't want Faith. I know you don't."

The creature loosened its grip on the dark-haired Slayer and let her slide limply to the floor. It seemed mesmerized by the blond vision before it. Buffy tilted her hand so that tiny droplets of blood spattered around her feet. With the suddenness of a freight train and a roar almost as loud the Night Monster came rushing down upon her. There was no time for the Slayer to defend herself or even turn to run. The Progenitor was on top of her in a flash, dragging her toward its maw. Its sulfurous breath stung her skin as jagged fangs pressed toward her throat.

"He's not a monster, anymore," Buffy asserted, with emphatic softness, as she met Lilith's fathomless red eyes, unflinchingly. Deep within them was a flicker of midnight blue as the Slayer continued speaking, "And we are NOT your children. I know him ... and you can't make him do this. He loves me far too much to ever hurt me. And I love him far too much to be afraid of you!"

Willow, Dawn, and Giles all called out Buffy's name at the same time. Freed of her bonds, the Slayer's sister started to run toward the couple but Giles shot out an arm to restrain her. The battle between the Scoobies and the Rossi gli abiti had ground to a halt. Both sides of the conflict were entranced by the tableau between Lilith and the Slayer. Only, in the end, it wasn't the Night Monster that pulled Buffy close. It was Spike. He snapped back into being just seconds before Lilith could rip out his beloved's throat.

They held onto each other, Slayer and Vampire, united in purpose as together they held their Progenitor at bay. A formless darkness swirled around them, searching for a way to break the grip they maintained on one another. It almost obliterated the lovers from view several times but it always cleared to show them again. They were both screaming in agony, as if they were burned by each other's touch. Neither of them broke eye contact, neither of them let go.

The sun rose.

Shafts of gold snaked across the roof, burning down the Red Robed monks until at last a ray touched the gem known as Lilith's Heart. There was a sound like the screeching of a rusty cosmic gate and a great sucking wind seemed to whip over the world. Red light expanded out of the Cuore Della Notte; a red light enveloping all of creation. The unnatural fire, surrounding Buffy and Spike, blazed up like a pyre. It engulfed them, burning into the center of their very being. It tested their resolve ... the depth of their love. And then, with a crackle that echoed in the Earth's bones, the light contracted in on itself and was gone.

Spike was still holding onto Buffy for dear life. His eyes were still locked on hers. He was bathed in sunlight but he didn't seem to be in any pain. His bare shoulders bore no sign of the gapping wound Faith had inflicted.

The monk Xander had been fighting released his hold on the carpenter and stepped back. He was also free of all previous physical damage. His skin had the fresh glow of teenage health. He held out his hands, palms upward, to the sun and began to laugh in delight. He pulled off his robe and let the sunshine play harmlessly over his body. There was one other monk, standing between Travers and Oz, who had not been burned away by the red light. He was doing much the same thing as his brother. Twirling, arms out like a small child; he turned his face up toward the sky and drank in the beauty of the morning light.

"It is a miracle, my friend," Xander's monk said, addressing the carpenter in a joyous voice and slapping him affectionately on the back. The former vampire's eyes filled with tears as he pressed his hand to his heart and declared, "I am alive! I have been cleansed! Oh, Lord of Creation! What wondrous thing is this?"

Giles looked from the two reborn monks to the huddle of Buffy and Spike at the epicenter of this miracle. The lovers were kneeling together, oblivious to all but each other. Spike was stroking Buffy's hair, pulling up strands and letting them fall so that the sunlight reflected from them. They kissed and separated only to gaze deeply into one another's eyes before they embraced again. Buffy had her right hand pressed to Spike's unblemished flesh just over his renewed and beating heart.

"What wondrous thing, indeed?" Rupert Giles whispered, in awe.

Epilogue

The Magic Box was filled to capacity with assorted dignitaries. Buffy, trying to take it all in, spotted assorted Watcher's Council members, Xander, Anya, Willow, Oz, Faith, Angel and Fred and Cordy and Wesley and their friend, what was his name? The demon guy with the horns? Only he didn't have horns now ... he was just a man. Just like Harmony, standing by the door as if she wanted to bolt out into the street, was just a woman. Well, Buffy amended mentally, a totally shallow, self-involved bloodsucker of a woman but still ... not a vampire.

There were no vampires, no demons, and no scary things to go bump in the night. Not in Sunnydale and, if the reports coming in were accurate, not anywhere else on the planet either. Every monstrous thing in the world had been cleansed, in a massive corporal conversion and the dimensional gateway had been slammed shut on demonic influence. The Slayer had fulfilled her destiny. She had eradicated Evil.

"Big time eradication," Buffy thought, studying a chipped nail.

"Only by using the foulest of dark magicks," Quentin Travers' loud exclamation cut through the Buffy zone out. The WC honcho was having trouble adjusting to the new world order. "She WILLINGLY took a demon lover," he pointed out, in exasperation, "a vampire, no less."

"But her instincts were correct," Giles countered, just as forcefully. "Lilith must have designed the ritual as a test of both Human and Demon resolve. To determine which principles were the strongest, the Demonic ones of carnage and terror or the Human ones of compassion and forgiveness. Buffy was the only one that understood that. The Cuore Della Notte was a winnowing device to finally establish which group was worthy of claiming the planet."

Buffy's former Watcher paused and favored his old nemesis with a smile before adding, "And in case you haven't noticed, Quentin, WE won!"

Buffy's eyes cut back across the table to where Spike was sitting. He was dressed in his usual style, wearing his leather duster. His hair was still a tussled mess of peroxided curls and he still had the icy look of someone who had seen way too much of the world. But he wasn't the same at all. He was human. He was a living man. His heart was beating in his chest, which meant, Buffy suddenly realized, that it could stop beating at anytime. A quick chill shot through her at the thought. Spike could die now.

"Spike could've died as a vampire, too," Buffy reminded herself, silently.

And it was definitely better this way. They had a shot at a normal life, now. She frowned, slightly, as she tried to imagine what a normal life might be like for an ex-vampire and a former Chosen One. Anya and Xander might be able to help them with the details. Anya was an ex-demon after all and she'd managed to fit in. But Buffy frowned, remembering how out of place Anya had always seemed and how alien. Would it be that way for Spike? What was the human Spike like, anyway?

Buffy had no doubt of Spike, the vampire. He loved her. It was his love that allowed them to perform the Cleansing. But she didn't even know the human Spike. What if he didn't love her? What if he didn't even like her? What if he was like Angelus was to Angel, a total contradiction. Or what if he hadn't changed at all but couldn't learn to accept the changes in her? It wasn't like she was the Slayer, anymore. She was just ordinary Buffy Summers, twenty-something meter maid. Spike had always reveled in her supernatural strength. Fact is he liked it rough. Fact is, so did she. How could an ordinary human union ever measure up to the glory of Vampire/Slayer intercourse?

Doubts and questions bubbled up out of Buffy's subconscious. Where would they live? What would they do for money? Did Spike have any marketable skills? For that matter, did she? The Slaying Trade was now as obsolete as the horse and buggy. She couldn't fight her way out of this. What kind of police officer would she be without her superpowers? If she was going to be Mrs. William "Spike"....

"Mrs. William "Spike"...WHAT? Oh, my God!" Buffy thought, in quiet desperation. "I don't even know what my last name would be."

And then it hit her that her buggy had gotten way out there in front of her horse. Nobody had mentioned marriage or even cohabitation. In fact, since the Cleansing, everything had been moving so fast, she and Spike hadn't had a minute to talk about the future. They were separated almost immediately. The Watcher's Council had gone into serious study mode, poking and prodding the lovers, putting them through extensive tests, looking for clues about what exactly had happened when the Cuore Della Notte was invoked. Nobody even knew if the effect was permanent. The consensus was it would probably hold up for the next few generations but there were no clear answers.

Buffy sighed and tuned back in to the conversation around her. Giles had the floor and was explaining how the Cleansing differed from the Soul-Restoration Spell used to curse Angel. The Council now believed, he was saying, that the Cleansing had turned the vampires and other demons into humans by remaking them, transforming their very flesh. Somehow, separating the more humane and righteous beings from the truly wicked, it banished true evil into an alternate dimension.

It had not simply restored the souls of those who remained behind; it had "Cleansed" them, remaking their bodies, purifying them. It was as if their souls were newly minted and untouched by evil. They retained their memories but rather than being tormented by guilt for what they had done, they experienced a sort of post-traumatic stress syndrome. It was, Giles explained, as if these former Monsters had merely witnessed unspeakable violence rather than perpetrating it themselves.

"Well, hearing this for the 28th time is all very fascinating," Buffy grumbled inwardly, stifling a yawn.

Spike caught her eye again from across the table. He mouthed the word "bored" at her and lifted a brow. Buffy smiled, giving the smallest of nods. Spike gave an almost imperceptible bob of his chin toward the training room door. Buffy frowned, shaking her head in a slight negative motion. Using just her eyes, she indicated the large crowd around them. She was deeply disappointed when Spike turned away from her to look up the table, apparently losing interest.

Stunned and hurt by this turn of events, Buffy resorted to glaring daggers at her erstwhile lover. He had slid forward to sit on the edge of his chair. Leaning one elbow on the table, Spike rested the first two fingers of his left hand against his lips, looking for all the world like a scholar absorbed in the proceedings. His dark blue eyes flickered over to meet Buffy's hazel ones for just a moment. Then he lightly ran his tongue across his fingertips in a very suggestive manner. Buffy shivered deliciously, as her mind immediately recalled the last time she'd seen Spike lick his fingers. She had a perfect mental image of what he had been doing right before and what they had both done right afterward.

Buffy choked. It was an involuntary reaction rather than a planned distraction but she decided to take advantage of it. She pushed back from the table, coughing loudly and attracting nearly everyone's attention. Several people moved as if to help her but she waved them off.

"Wa-at-water," she sputtered, before noticing the full carafe sitting on the table in front of her and changing her plea, "Air! I mean ... I just need some ... a-air."

With limited difficulty, Buffy extricated herself from the crowd. She moved, with casual ease, toward the back of the shop, nodding at her well wishers but shaking off their assistance. Willow started to follow and was restrained by Oz. The former werewolf was the only one who'd noticed Spike slipping away from the table. He leaned over and whispered something in Willow's ear. The witch's eyes went to the slightly open training room door. As she watched, Buffy disappeared into the blackness beyond and the door closed behind her.

The cool darkness enveloped Buffy, temporarily blinding her, and then there was the sudden flare of a striking match as Spike lit a cigarette. The sight brought back all of her apprehension. Lung Cancer, she thought, heart disease, birth defects and then there's the social stigma...

"Do you have to smoke?" she asked and instantly cursed herself for trying to change him.

"Not really," he replied, dropping the cigarette to the floor.

The red coal of it bounced twice and sprayed up sparks before he ground it out under his boot. There was a sense of movement where he'd been and Buffy strained to locate him again in the darkness. She became aware of him behind her a moment before he caught her in his arms, pulling her hard against his body.

"Do you know what day this is, Slayer?" Spike whispered, harshly, in her ear. He had one arm across her shoulders and one tight around her waist, holding her close.

"Uhm?" Buffy stalled, thinking back and doing the math, "It's ... uhm ... Saturday."

"And what happens on Saturday?"

"Oh, I know this one," she chirped. "The Fifth Street Bakery closes at noon."

Spike's arm tightened on her throat. He didn't seem amused. In fact, he seemed downright deadly.

"What if he was?" Buffy thought, suddenly. A horrible chill of doubt and fear washed over her and she shuddered against him. She knew Spike didn't have to be a vampire to hurt her. She was an ordinary woman now and men could be dangerous, too.

"What happens on Saturday?" Spike repeated, his voice low and menacing. Finally, the words stirred memories in Buffy's brain. At their first meeting ... wasn't that what she had asked him? And he had said ... the coldness gripped her heart as she remembered.

"You kill me," she whispered.

"That's right," Spike breathed out, nuzzling into her hair and running demanding hands down over her body.

"But I have decided," he snarled, turning her violently around and shoving her up against the pommel horse, "to settle for your unconditional surrender."

And then he was pressing his mouth to hers, parting her lips with his tongue, as his hands deftly unfastened her bra through the fabric of her dress. Within seconds he had divested her of all underwear. Pushing up her skirt, he exposed the bare flesh of her thighs and stomach to the rough texture of his jeans. He ground against Buffy and she moaned, arching up into him.

But, as quickly as she had given in, the former Slayer rebelled. She shoved at Spike hard, pushing him away from her. Her eyes finally adjusting to the dark, Buffy found she could see Spike quite well in the dim streetlight glow that came through the training room windows. Gasping for breath, she glared at him as she yanked down her skirt.

"You think that's funny?" she snapped. "You think this is all some kind of game? We don't have time for this sort of thing right now." She stabbed one finger at the door, as she admonished him, "There are a quarter of a million new people in the world that weren't here two days ago. People with no skills, no way of supporting themselves or contributing to society. I know Angel had investments but I'd bet that most of the vampires in this world were a lot more like you. I imagine you never gave one thought to your financial security while you were..."

"Angel?" Spike interrupted, an awful suspicion lancing through his heart.

"Yes, Angel!" Buffy returned, knowing she'd hurt him but needing to get this out. "He already has a job, and a place to live and money to live on. So, what's her face ... Fred doesn't have to worry about any of those things."

Spike was staring at her now silent and still as she continued giving voice to her fears.

"Not that Miss Brainiac Physicist needs to worry about her future," Buffy went on with a hopeless air. "She's not the one who has to write 'Former Chosen One' and 'Handy with the Wooden Stake' on her resume."

"Those aren't your only talents," Spike said, softly reassuring, as the worry behind her words sank in. "You already have a good job and while I may not have a shed-load of the ready, I do have skills."

"Name one," Buffy challenged, trying to keep the desperate edge out of her voice.

"Well," Spike said, with a tiny shrug and grin, "I sing."

Buffy groaned remembering when he'd told her mother the same thing.

"And I can pick a lock," the former vampire continued, ticking his skills off on his fingers, "hotwire a car, distill home-brewed whiskey, forge almost anyone's signature and play the harmonica."

"Oh, great!" Buffy exclaimed, waving one hand emphatically. "We can live at the prison."

"I also speak 23 languages including 4 that just came back into standard usage." Spike continued, his tone turning serious. "And I read another 16. I have a classical Oxford education complete with the Greek and the Latin. I can play 7 instruments besides the harmonica and I have written 12 novels, a few short stories and about 150 poems. Some of which have even been published."

Buffy's mouth dropped open and Spike leaned forward to kiss it. He stroked his tongue along hers. Sucking gently, he licked the sharp edges of her teeth and then began to probe into her more deeply. His hands slid up to cup her bare bottom, making his love purr in delight. After a long time, he broke free of her lips and nuzzled his way along her jaw line.

Conspiratorially, he whispered into her ear, "I am, also, rumored ... to have a certain talent with my tongue."

"At last," Buffy sighed, taking in an unsteady breath, "a vocation this part of America really needs."

Spike laughed against his beloved's silken skin. Seizing her waist in both hands, he lifted her up onto the pommel horse. He pushed up her skirt and dropped to his knees before her. Bracing himself with his hands against her inner thighs, Spike leaned in and put his considerable skill to work. The former Slayer gripped the wooden handles of the horse, holding on tight as wave after wave of ecstasy lapped over her and her hips began to buck and shimmy in response.

Spike's tongue worried at Buffy driving her relentlessly toward orgasm. She spasmed before him but he kept the pressure on, licking, stroking, and probing until, forgetting the crowd outside, she cried out for him, incoherently. Standing, he entered her, in one fluid glide of movement. Sliding her pelvis forward, Buffy braced her hips against the horse. Her legs were wrapped around Spike as he rode up into her. Her toes curled up and her shoes dropped to the floor. He thrust deep, taking her mouth again to stifle her screams, devouring her whole as she came hard around him.

It was just the same as it had always been between them, not as deadly, but just as passionate. Neither of them was as capable of inflicting pain, now, but the intensity, the fire, the lustful power at the core of their union remained. They were two people who had experienced life and death and knew the value of each. They knew how to savor each other and how to make each other burn.

Spike had been cleansed of his demon but he would never be a gentleman in bed. Luckily, Buffy was no lady. Something slippery ignited between her legs as she built toward a second climax. She couldn't get enough of her lover inside her. She took his cock, his tongue, his fingers and the bite of his teeth and still she wanted more. He was hers, her other-half, her lover, her Spike and he was alive inside her, losing his human virginity. His breath was hot and ragged in her ear. Buffy could feel the life energy crackling between them as, gasping, he gushed into her. His seed was warm, vital, and full of living promise. For a few precious seconds, Buffy was aware of nothing else but the blissful heat of him, flowing into her, surrounding her and soaking through her skin.

"I love you," she murmured, her lips kissing against the flickering pulse in his throat.

And then she groaned in agony and dropped her head onto Spike's shoulder, as a horrid realization hit, "Oh, No! Live Sperm ... Condoms ... Birth Control ... What was I thinking?" She lightly bashed her forehead against his collarbone to punctuate her words, "Stupid ... stupid ... thoughtless ... Buffy..."

Spike took hold of her and forced her back until their eyes met. He was frowning and he had pulled out of her body leaving her shaking with the cold. Buffy felt a hard lump growing in her throat as he studied her.

"There's that morning after pill," she squeaked, "I mean, it's not too late to..." Her voice trailed off as, if anything, her lover's eyes grew even colder. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke.

"You don't want children?" he asked, as if shocked to his core.

"Ch-chi-children?" Buffy stammered, blinking as the idea took root for the first time. She and Spike could have children. In fact, he seemed to be expecting them to have children. Why was he expecting that? Unless...! Another thought took root and blossomed delightfully in her mind.

"Well ... I ... think ... of course," Buffy tried to focus, feeling her way on this new ground. "Yes, I mean, when things are settled and ..."

"Settled?" Spike barked, angrily, cutting her off. He stepped away from her so quickly she slid off the pommel horse, bared feet slapping against floor as he gestured broadly, "Things aren't settled for you? Because really, Pet, I thought things were settled all right and tight."

Buffy stepped forward, starting to reach for him but he turned and stalked toward the shop doors. She could hear the harsh sound of his zipper and the leather rustle of his duster as he adjusted his clothing. Spike was leaving. Buffy didn't want him to leave. Her heart hammered in panic. She loved him, so very much. She searched her mind for a way to tell him how much she cared but nothing came to her. Everything was happening too fast.

The room was flooded with sudden brightness as Spike flipped on the overhead lights.

He turned, looking over at his Slayer as she squinted and shielded her eyes from the unexpected glare. Her legs were splayed slightly, her mouth was swollen from his kisses and her hair was a tangled mess. The strap of her dress had slipped down one shoulder, baring the top of her breast. She looked vulnerable and confused and at the same time savagely proud. She was a fluffy little kitten with the soul of a tiger. And she was his, Spike thought passionately. He'd be damned all over again before he'd let some well-invested poof get a crack at her.

"What is it you want then, Dutch?" he sighed, surrendering.

He'd been calling her that a lot lately, or "the Dutch". Buffy knew it was English slang of some kind. Right after she'd returned from the dead, Spike had made Giles bristle by referring to her by the term. "I just stopped by to run an idea past the Dutch." Spike had said and Giles told him never to call her that again. Buffy had thought, at the time, it was something extremely vulgar. Now, she was thinking she should maybe look it up.

"What do I WANT?" Buffy snapped, all of her panic going up in a burst of righteous indignation. Brushing a hand down her dress and pulling up the fallen strap, she glared at him with thinly disguised frustration, "Oh, I don't know! How about a little time to think about what's happened? That's what I want! I want a minute or two of peace and quiet away from all of these people. I want to be alone with you so we can talk about what the hell we are going to do tomorrow and the next day and the day after that." Her voice rose to a crescendo as she finished, "And I want to know your bloody last name!"

"It's Gilford," Spike supplied, immediately. He was laughing, thrilling inside, at the limited scope of her demands. He would have laid the world at Buffy's feet if she'd asked for it, but all she wanted was a little security. With an amused air, he inclined his head slightly as if just meeting her. "William Edward Augustine Gilford of the Yorkshire Gilford's definitely not the Cornwall branch. Very much at your service, my lady."

"And ... Huh?" Buffy returned, confused by his response and losing some of her steam.

"My last name," Spike explained, moving toward her, wanting to feel her in his arms again, "is Gilford. Or at least it was back in the day. I suppose I could change it to anything that suits you. But Buffy Anne Gilford has rather a nice ring to it. Don't ya think?"

"Uhh-uhm," Buffy swallowed, looking up into Spike's eyes as he stopped within inches of her.

He caught at her left hand and pulled it up to rest against his chest. Buffy could feel his heart pounding under her fingers. Though Spike seemed as confident and cocky as ever, the beat of his heart was quick and anxious and Buffy understood, at last, what he was asking her. Understood, also, how important her answer was to him. Meeting his gaze steadily, she took in a deep breath and tried again to make with the speaking.

"Y-yes," she managed, in a soft whisper, just before their lips met, "nice ring."

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