Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter Twenty-Five

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

Buffy was looking back.

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

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

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

"I saved her. Tell me I-"

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

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

Buffy, however, did not.

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

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

"Don't tell me-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was nothing to suggest life behind those eyes.

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

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

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

"You mean blood, don't you?"

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

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

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

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

That shut everyone up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're the Slayer."

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

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

"What do you see?" Buffy asked again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It seemed rather doubtful.

*~*~*

Things grew quiet.

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

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

She did not want this to be her prison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

All a part of vampirehood.

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

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

Nothing for a long minute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I understand-"

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

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

"What?" It was barely a whisper.

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

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

"Yes."

"What happens now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you promise?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence engulfed the space that breath should reside.

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

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

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

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

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

"I know. I'm 'ere."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bollocks."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No. But there's always something."

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

She scoffed. "No. Just-"

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

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

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

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

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

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