Buffy walked inside the house talking as she went, “The weapons are in the chest by the TV. I'll grab the stuff upstairs.”

 

She continued across the small foyer and started up the stairs, not realizing that Spike had stopped due to the invisible barrier still blocking his way.

 

“Uh, Buffy...”

 

She paused midway up the staircase and turned around to see Spike standing outside on her porch affecting a small wave.  She frowned, wondering why he’d just stopped.  Before she realized his dilemma he told her, “ If you wanna just hand them over the threshold, I'll...”

 

“Come in, Spike.”

 

He seemed oddly surprised, yet pleased by her offhanded invitation. 

 

It may not have seemed like much to her, but to him, those three words were a gift he’d thought never to receive.  After everything that had happened – telling her about Riley, the theft of her personal items, him chaining her in his crypt…demanding she see that he could love her – that she now allowed him inside…

 

“Hmm. Presto. No barrier,” he spoke, trying to gloss over the moment.

 

Buffy just stared at him, unsure what to say.  Spike, sensing her unease, broke eye contact and walked towards the living room.

 

“Um, won't bother with the small stuff. Couple of good axes should hold off Glory's mates while you take on the lady herself,” he called out from the other room, opening the chest and grabbing a few weapons.

 

Buffy walked down the last few steps to watch him as he rummaged about in the weapons chest.

 

“We're not all gonna make it. You know that.”

 

“Yeah,” he told her from his place, kneeling in front of the chest.  Once he’d grabbed all that he could carry, he rose and crossed back to her.

 

“Hey. Always knew I'd go down fightin'.”

 

“I'm counting on you ... to protect her,” she told him.

 

“Till the end of the world…even if that happens to be tonight.”

 

Buffy was at a loss.  After all she’d done to him, after the ways the Scoobies had treated him, he’d still stuck around…taking care of Dawn, her mother, the beating he’d suffered at Glory’s hands.  And still, he’d stayed.

 

“I…I’ll be a minute.”

 

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

 

Buffy turned away and crossed back to the stairs.  She’d taken only three steps when his voice stopped her.

 

“I know you'll never love me,” he began, moving to stand at the base of the stairs.  “I know that I'm a monster. But you treat me like a man. And that's...”

 

She turned and looked at him, descended two steps so that she stood right in front of him.  Her hand lifted and cupped his jaw, her thumb softly sliding back and forth along his cheek.  Overcome with emotion, Spike’s eyes slid shut and he leaned into her touch – yearning to get nearer to her, even when he knew it was impossible.  Mentally shaking himself, he pulled away – blue eyes piercing hers momentarily with the depths of his feelings.

 

He cleared his throat.

 

“Get your stuff…I'll be here,” he told her gruffly.

 

Nodding, she did as he asked and climbed the stairs to gather the things she needed.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Spike, Giles, Xander, and Anya fanned out in four separate directions, using their weapons to take down as many troll-looking minions as possible as they stormed the makeshift tower.  The more they killed, the more appeared to take their place until the four had been forced to seek shelter and regroup, huddling behind a hastily improvised barrier.

 

The blond vampire gazed helplessly up towards the top of the platform at Dawn’s sudden scream.  He watched as Buffy raced to the steps, easily jumping over the humans to land several rungs above them, having apparently heard her sister as well.  She quickly scaled the rickety construction until Glory seemed to recover from the Slayer’s latest attack and started up the steps after her.  He watched helplessly as his love punched and jabbed and used every skill she possessed to beat off the god as she attempted to reach her sister.

 

It was a good thing his heart didn’t beat or it would have stopped as he watched the Slayer fall helplessly to the ground from her perch several stories up on the tower.  He wanted to rush to her side…certain she’d fatally wounded herself.  Actually rose from behind his cover to do just that, ready to brave the certain headache he’d receive as he shoved his way through all those humans just to reach her, when he saw her move.  An unnecessary breath of relief slipped out as he watched Buffy stagger to her feet and proceed to beat the god to a bloody pulp.

 

He glanced once more towards the platform, assured that Buffy would be able to hold Glory off for the next few minutes.  But as his eyes gazed upon the upper landing, he squinted at something…he wasn’t quite sure what.  He vamped, his demon features sliding to the fore to enable him a more enhanced vision – and if he could, he would have paled in shock as he noticed someone up there with the ‘Bit.

 

Spike stood and raced towards the teeming mob even as he prepared his body to withstand the zaps to his brain.  Just as he was about to encounter them, however, they parted like the red sea.  The witch, no doubt. Elated, he raced through the throng and launched himself up the steps.

 

He’d just reached the top, where Dawn stood tied to the platform, when he heard the sound of Doc’s voice announce, “Well, what do you know.  It’s just about that time.”

 

“Spike!” Dawn cried, straining against her hand restraints.

 

“Doesn't a fella’ stay dead when you kill him?” Spike snarked, game face lost, as he made his way towards the two.

 

“Look who's talking.”

 

“Come on, Doc. Let's you and me have a go,” the vampire goaded.

 

“I…have a prior engagement,” he responded, lifting the dagger in his hand to eye level, turning it back and forth in an admiring way.

 

“This won’t take long,” Spike told him, moving forward almost in a blur.

 

“No, I don’t imagine it will.”

 

Spike was so overcome with anger at seeing his ‘Bit tied he made a costly mistake…he got careless.   As he lunged towards the demon, he could have kicked himself when it easily sidestepped him, grabbing him by the neck and plunging the dagger into his back.  He vamped, crying out in pain, but wasn’t deterred.  As long as the demon was fighting him, he wasn’t cutting into his ‘Bit.  If he could just hold him off for a little while longer…

 

He didn’t know where he pulled the strength from, he’d been stabbed repeatedly now.  The rapid blood loss making his defensive maneuvers all but useless until he became nothing more than a pincushion for the other demon as he stood in front of Dawn.  He could hear the ‘Bit behind him, sucking in her breath as she watched the dagger shoved into him over and over again…

 

As time quickly ran out on his window of opportunity, Doc’s mind had snapped, his knife literally turning Spike’s torso to Swiss cheese as he’d raged against the vampire.

 

“Get out of my way, you damn vampire…” he’d yelled as he’d continued to hack away.  “You’re ruining everything!”

 

“No,” he gasped out as he held firm his position.  And, in a final show of vampiric strength, as the other demon rushed him, dagger held high, he twisted to the side, pushing Doc in the back.  The forward momentum kept him sailing right over the edge – his high-pitched scream could be heard as he fell to his death.

 

Breathing a sigh of relief that Dawn was safe, he collapsed at her feet as his borrowed life’s blood seeped out of the numerous holes in his abdomen. Blessed numbness stole across his body.  Vaguely he heard the ‘Bit shouting his name, the blurred vision of her straining against her bonds the last image he saw as his world faded to black.

 

“Buffy,” he whispered.  “I did it…love…you…”

 

Then he saw nothing.

 

“Buffy,” Dawn screeched, dragging out the second syllable in a sure-fire way to get her sister racing to her side immediately.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Spike was ready and waiting at the bottom of the steps, weapons in hand, as Buffy descended.

 

“Right, well, let’s get this show movin’.”  He turned and opened the door, stepping over the threshold and into the night.  When he didn’t hear her behind him, he paused at the bottom of the porch and glanced over his shoulder.

 

She stood where he’d left her, her face a mask of abject misery.

 

Weapons fell heedlessly from his hands as he turned and raced back inside.

 

“Buffy!  Buffy, what is it?”

 

Spike ground to a halt in front of her and watched helplessly as her eyes filled with tears.  She was just staring off into space, completely ignoring him, and his attempts to get her to tell him what was wrong.  Finally, when he could stand it no longer, he gripped her shoulders and tried to shake her out of whatever seemed to have hold of her.

 

“Dammit, Buffy!  Talk to me!  I can’t help you…I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

 

“I’m not ready to die, Spike.”

 

The Slayer burst into tears after her whispered confession, and Spike was left with no choice but to sweep her into his arms and carry her into the living room.  That she even allowed his familiarity, let alone burrowed herself closer, spoke volumes as to her mental state.

 

“Oh, pet, you’re not gonna die,” he murmured against her hair as he settled them on the couch.

 

Buffy talked on as if he’d not spoken.

 

“Poor Dawnie…who’s going to look after her—”

 

“Look at me!” he commanded as he lifted her away from his chest.  “I said you’re not gonna die. Now enough of that kinda talk.  Come on…we’ve got a hell god to dispense with.”

 

~*~

 

The beckoning dawn pulled him from unconsciousness as his demon clamored to get to safety.  Too weak to even open his eyes, Spike lay there as the borrowed blood continued to seep out of the numerous holes in his body.  Muffled conversation drifted past his ears, but his senses were too muddled to make out words.

 

Suddenly he was floating, his body leaving the ground in a soft ascent to the sky.

 

He was going to heaven.  Maybe the voices had been angels, come down to help him on his way.

 

Spike smiled to himself, pleased that his sacrifice had garnered him so exalted a resting place.  Not that he’d done it for that reason.  No, it had been for her.  For Buffy.

 

But the joke was on him, for a moment later, he could make out his body’s downward track – the devil wasn’t giving up one of his own.  Spike tried to fight it.  The brief joy he’d felt in knowing that he’d be seeing the Slayer again giving him a burst of energy…and for a moment, he’d stopped.  It was short-lived, however, because those invisible hands just tightened about him, preventing his escape.  His descent began again, each downward step into the fiery pits of hell accentuated by a jab to his stomach.

 

It didn’t matter, though.  Nothing mattered.  After being so close what he’d wanted, had thought he’d been granted…only to have it ripped away.

 

Hell didn’t have anything on his pain.

 

~*~

 

Spike moved to get up off the couch, but one look at the Slayer’s forlorn face halted his movements.

 

“Death is my gift.”

 

“’Course it is, luv.  You’re the Slayer.  It’s what you do.  Night after night…takin’ out the baddies,” he told her.

 

“No…she told me. ‘Death is my gift.’”

 

“Whassat?  Who told you?”

 

“The first Slayer. I went on a quest…Giles…he said sometimes slayers go off and well…Anyway…I wanted to find out about myself.  Why I was becoming so hard…detached.  He took me out into the desert.  That’s when she told me.”

 

“‘Death is your gift’?”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“So, lemme get this straight.  Some apparition comes up to you tellin’ you that ‘death is your gift’ and all of a sudden you think you’re gonna die?  Slayer, you’re off your gourd.”

 

“What?”

 

“Buffy, you’re one of the strongest people I know.  Damned strongest slayer I’ve come across.  And, you don’t get that way by becoming detached.  Your family…your friends…they give you a reason to live.  That’s why you’re so strong.”

 

“I…”  Buffy didn’t know what to say.

 

“Now it’s getting late.  The others will wonder what’s keeping us.”

 

Spike nudged her to her feet then stood as well.  A hand to the small of her back guided her towards the front door where he retrieved her bag of supplies.

 

“Spike?”

 

“Yeah, pet?”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You don’t have to thank me, Buffy.”

 

“Yes, I do.  You could have left at any time…but you didn’t.  Even when…even when—”

 

“It’s ok, Buffy.  Wasn’t exactly my most shining moment.  Don’t blame ya a bit.”

 

“Yeah, but—”

 

“Enough, Slayer!  Let’s get this done.  Later, if you still feel like apologizin’, I’ll be all ears, yeah?”

 

“Ok.”

 

~*~

 

When next he heard the faint buzzing of conversation, he was lying on a bed of feathers.  Or what passed for the downy softness beneath his back.  Heck, even the scent was pleasing to his nostrils, a light floral aroma that reminded him of her.  If this was the worst hell had to offer…

 

He regretted the thought a second later when it seemed like a vat of holy water was dumped on his chest.  It was her voice he heard over and over, soothing him as the torture continued.  Oh, the devil was good – the sadistic bastard had found his one weakness and was using it to break him.  The ministrations to his chest finally let up and he steeled himself for the next round.

 

The flavorful scent of warmed pig’s blood wafted beneath his nostrils.  As much as he wanted to drink the restorative fluid, he rebelled, spitting out the contents after being forced to take a mouthful – they’d not prolong his death this way.

 

Buffy stared in consternation at the spilt blood on her bedspread.  Not because he’d managed to make a mess of her things and the stains would be a bitch to get out, but because his refusal to drink was undermining all the attempts she’d made to save him.  She didn’t know why he wasn’t drinking; he wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t open his mouth.  Heck, she’d even warmed it up in the microwave!

 

Near tears, exhaustion almost overwhelming her, Buffy set the mug aside; maybe after a few hours sleep – for him and her – she could try again and hopefully get him to feed.  Trying to force him now was only going to result in a bigger mess, and her increasing frustration.  She climbed into bed next to him, fully dressed, wanting to be close by in case he got worse, her bedroom floor so not even an option for her to lay her head. Besides, it was just she and Dawn in the house.  Buffy had told the others to go home and rest, that she could take care of Spike herself.  (And, it wasn’t like they were tripping over each other to help him out, even after saving Dawn’s life.) 

 

Dawn had been dead on her feet by the time they’d arrived home via the sewers.  Their ordeal of the past few days had finally caught up with her sister, and she’d collapsed face first on her bed, asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.  Which, in all actuality, had been a good thing.  Buffy really hadn’t needed a hysterical teen on her hands as she tended to the battered vampire.

 

The slayer closed her eyes and was asleep moments later.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Buffy woke with a start, unsure what it was that had pulled her from sleep.  She lay there on her side for a moment, eyes closed, body unmoving, as her brain tried to process where she was.

 

It came back in a rush.

 

Their headlong flight out of Sunnydale.  The Knights.  Ben being Glory.  The confrontation at the tower.

 

Spike keeping his promise.

 

Her eyes opened and there he was.  He’d not moved from where she’d laid him on his back, his body unnaturally still.  Her gaze raked his body from head to toe and back again, staring intently at his face.  He was paler than before, like he was wasting away before her very eyes….

 

Not if she could help it.

 

Determination etched into her features, the slayer got out of bed and walked over to her weapons chest.  The lid creaked as she opened it, and she hazarded a glance at the immobile vampire – he’d not even flinched at the noise.  Buffy rummaged through the wooden stakes, holy water, crossbows and long swords until she came across a small dagger.  It would do.

 

She paused for a moment to slip out of her boots, before returning to her place beside Spike.  Testing the blade for its sharpness, the slayer winced slightly when a small line of blood appeared on her thumb.  Instinct caused her to lift to her mouth to suck away the stray drops and the sting, but a slight twitch from the vampire beside her stayed her actions.

 

Instead, she lowered it to his lips.  Watched intently as a small droplet fell to land on the corner of his mouth.

 

Buffy was never so happy as to see that tongue of his dart out and lap at her blood.  It meant there wasn’t something wrong with him.  He was just…finicky. 

 

Typical.

 

But shoving some of her blood down his throat had been a last ditch effort by her to save him, and she’d not begrudge him some now.  She teased his lips with her cut thumb and a smile creased her own when they parted to take it in his mouth.  Oh, the picture they made!  A half-naked vampire lying atop her bed, sucking on her thumb as she lay stretched out on her side next to him, her arm bent to prop her up so that she could gaze down upon him.

 

Not once in the entire time that his mouth sucked at her cut did his features change.  He seemed content to just worry the tiny prick.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to get him better.

 

She sat up and that action pried her thumb from his mouth.  His lips made a little mew of protest, just like that of a baby having a bottle wrenched from its mouth causing her to laughingly comment, “Oh, hold on.  You big baby.”

 

“No!” he gasped out, his hand gripping her wrist to prevent her from cutting herself.  “Buffy…what….no…”

 

Buffy turned her head and looked at him.  He was awake, but his eyes clouded with confusion and fatigue.  Although, his grip on her arm remained.

 

“It’s alright, Spike.  You need to regain your strength—

 

“No….NO!  Get me some pig’s blood…I’ll be fine.”

 

“I tried that.  You threw it up everywhere.  Heck, I didn’t even think this was going to work, but when I nicked myself, well…it was the first time I got a reaction out of you since I dragged you off that tower.”

 

“That was you?”

 

“Huh?  Oh…yeah…couldn’t very well let you spontaneously combust on me, now could I?”

 

“Thought I was goin’ to hell,” he mumbled too low for her to hear.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Nothin’, pet.  Pig’s blood?” he asked, changing the subject.

 

“Are you sure?  ‘Cause I could—

 

“No.”

 

“I really don’t mind…”

 

“Bloody hell, Slayer.  I said no!”

 

“Well, fine then!  Go ahead and die!  See if care!” she yelled at him, jerking her hand out of his grasp and flouncing off towards the door before he had a chance to say anything. 

 

Outside in the hallway, she leaned against the wall and wiped hastily at her tears.  ‘Stupid vampire!’  When she finally had her emotions back under control, she hurried downstairs to get his pig’s blood. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“Here.”  She thrust the mug at him.

 

Spike took the cup, leaning up on an elbow to drink it down, wisely not saying a word about either the taste or the luke-warm temperature.  After having sampled the Slayer’s blood, the thought of drinking anything else just left a bad taste in his mouth.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Buffy snagged the empty cup and moved to leave the room and let him sleep.

 

“Slayer?”

 

“Get some rest, Spike,” she told him, not bothering to turn around.

 

“Buffy, ‘m sorry.”  He closed his eyes and flopped back against the pillows.  “It’s just…”

 

She paused at the door. 

 

“It’s just what?” she asked.

 

“C’mere, pet….please?” he added when she continued to stand there.

 

Buffy didn’t handle rejection well.  Never had.  When he’d refused her blood, for whatever twisted reason, she felt that he’d not wanted her.  Strange…but true. Now he appeared ready to offer her an explanation.  Did she want to hear it?  Be told ‘thanks for the offer, but no thanks’?  Could she handle that?  From him?

 

“Buffy?”

 

Again with the calling her name.  Why not Slayer?  A slayer she could resist.  But her name coming from his lips was just….

 

Buffy turned around and looked at Spike.

 

Yeah, she was going to cave.  There was no getting around that beseeching look.  That, or her feet had a mind of their own, since she found herself standing by the side of the bed moments later.

 

Spike reached out and grabbed her hand, tugging her down to sit beside him on the bed.

 

“Buffy…look at me.”  He waited for what seemed like days for her to stop staring at their hands and lift her head to look at him.  “What you did…what you were gonna do…’m not worth it, pet.”

 

“But I wanted to,” she cut in.

 

“And that means more to me than you’ll ever know.  Doesn’t change the fact—”

 

“That you’re not worth it?” she asked incredulous.  “Spike, do you have any idea what you did?  You saved her!”

 

“Made you a promise,” he mumbled.

 

“I know!  And you kept it.  You didn’t have to.  Heck, you didn’t have to do any of the things you’ve done these past weeks…”

 

“I don’t want your gratitude.”

 

“Tough.  You’ve got it.  But that’s not why I did what I did.”

 

“It isn’t?”

 

“No…”

 

Buffy noted the confusion in his eyes and rushed to explain.  “‘Death is my gift.’  You were my gift.  Only, I was almost too late in realizing it.  When I got to the top of the tower and saw you….” She broke off as her eyes clouded with tears.  “And then you wouldn’t drink, and I was so scared I was going to lose you…just when I’d found you.”

 

“Buffy….”

 

Spike tugged her down to lie beside him, wrapping his arms around her body to hold her close.  For the first time in what seemed like forever, Spike was truly happy.  Here he was, lying on the Slayer’s bed, her petite frame nestled along his side.  No spell kept her in place, just her own desire to be there.  Her head pillowed on his chest.  After a time, he felt her body lay more heavily against him as she drifted off to sleep.  That she’d done so with him present, spoke volumes.

 

She trusted him.  Enough to fall asleep, curled up against his side.

 

Spike brushed the Slayer’s hair away from her face.  He wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring.  But he’d been given this chance with her, and he was taking it.