Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter Forty-Three

Pain was a funny thing. For over a century, he had enjoyed inflicting it on every being to cross his path. He bathed in it. Cherished it. Welcomed every sting that came with an initial punch. Pain was another way to make love. A ballet only his demon could enjoy.

He remembered distinctly feeling an aching rush like none other attack his weary muscles when he awoke that first day, so long ago. A sensation he had long taken for granted, as though every beating his body had ever endured was coming to a luminous light with a thousand times the impact. Something he had tolerated time and time again but never felt.

He certainly felt it now. Porphyria's strong backhand consigned him against a harsh slab of cold rock, jagged edges biting through layers of skin. Not a break. It would not do well to snap his limbs in two. That would rob her of hours of fun before the ultimate slam.

Where the demon had disappeared, he did not know. It was suddenly inconsequential.

William sat up slowly, hand going to his eyes, blackened with forceful brunt. A long scar, freshly bleeding, etched a highway down his cheek. Wearily, he clamored to his feet, wrought determination blazing through battered muscles. And she was advancing. By the gleam in her burning pupils, he understood that the game was only beginning and he had already lost.

It was her words that bit with unbearable venom. Words spoken in the voice he loved so much. Words constructed to deride every strain of purity the world had to offer. "'I'll do it for you, luv,'" she drawled in a mocking imitation of an empty promise. "'Even 'f I 'ave to tear you to pieces to do it.' Sweet, Spike. Really. I'm touched. Had no idea you cared so much." She ran for him, leaping in a cat-like lunge, tackling him victoriously to the ground. "And here you are. You have to kill the woman you love to win a soul for her. Not sure what good a soul will do to a pile of dust." Furiously, she yanked Angel's cross from her neck, not reacting to the sizzle in her hand. The mark against her skin screamed in pain without making a single utterance. It was difficult to look at. "Of course," she continued coldly, lowering the pendant to his skin, skating it across his forehead and offering a smile as he started to wriggle. "We can always find out."

William's teeth clamped tightly on the inside of his cheek to wan the pain away, but a mangled cry defiantly fought its way through his throat.

"You know," Porphyria continued, dipping the cross into the front of his shirt and pressing down with inhuman force. The reaction came slowly, a smile spreading across her face as he released his resolve and screamed in glorious agony. "About this humanity thing... I've decided one taste is enough to keep me full for an eternity. So, thanks for the thought, sweetie pie, but I think I'm happier with things as they are."

He gasped to find his voice against the searing throbbing at his chest. "'Course you are," he hissed bitterly. "'S all free livin' from where you're sittin'. You aren't her, pet. No matter how you try."

At that, she balked, using the cross chain to tear his shirt down the middle. The pain was gone the next instant, and William battled for a breath of air. Porphyria did not look pleased. "Gee, you don't say? Why would I want to be Buffy? Buffy is miserable. Buffy is whiny. Buffy is too busy feeling sorry for herself to take a look at the world around her. Get it, Spikey? I'm the real deal. I know how to live and enjoy it. I'm happier now than ever. And all thanks to you, lover boy. You wanted to make me happy, and by gum, you succeeded."

With desperation, he tried to sit up once more and was punched back to the ground. She grinned wickedly and took a seat astride him, clinching him tightly between her thighs.

"I'll rip your bloody head off," he rasped without conviction.

"Don't lie to me, you worthless prick. Useless..." She licked her lips and reached between them, exploring her favorite method of torture. The platinum blond strengthened his resolve, refusing to gratify the reaction she sought. It was the first strain of control he had touched all night. When her advances were ignored, she frowned and released him. "Useless and limp. Not much of a combination. What are you gonna do? Tell me. I dare you. Gonna kill Buffy and win us a soul, are we? Manly William to save the day!"

He growled in respite and attempted once more to sit up. Porphyria tsked and pinned his wrists to the rock ground, nipping at his mouth with cold, contemptuous affection.

"Admit it," she implored. "You like me like this. The full of demonhood. Everything you wanted finally at your fingertips. No hesitation." With that, she smiled saucily and sat up, running her hands down the expanse of his chest. When she received no reaction, she leaned forward and lapped at the mark she had engraved with the sacred emblem and earned a very reluctant moan. William instantly clamped down and went completely impassive. She pouted. "Of course, I could try to do the good girl thing, if that's what'll get a rise. How's this? 'Ooohh, I'm Buffy. Ooohh, I have a soul. I loooooovvee you William. Won't you kiss me, William? Want me to ride your big thick cock, William?"

Another roar tore from his throat, and with menacing reprieve; he forced her upward at last. "Stay the bloody hell away from me."

Porphyria shrugged and took a defiant step forward, arching her brows in challenge. "Can't the fuck your brains out from a distance," she observed before allowing her eyes to drift downward. "Can't either if you don't get it up."

A faint smile played across his lips. "Sorry, baby. You jus' don' do it for me." He ran for her, driving her to the ground with a series of powerful blows and strings of incomprehensible profanity. The assault didn't last long; she kicked him against the cavern wall once more, grumbling as she rose to her feet.

"Okay, you're beginning to get on my nerves," she said, dusting herself off. "I told Faith that she couldn't take me before, and you know how that turned out. What on earth makes you think you're man enough to kill me now, whereas you couldn't, oh let's say, every single time we fought?"

"This time, I want to," William replied. "Sure, it woulda been fun in the past, but fightin' the Slayer 's a pleasure I wouldn't give up for the world. Not a problem now. You're not 'er. You I wouldn't cry over."

"But you would for her?" Porphyria retorted, placing her hands over her heart with sardonic sentimentality. "That's sweet. You know... in a pathetic kind of way."

"You bloody bitter bitch."

"But you forget, lover..." With a strain of ferocity, she shoved him against a particularly jagged rock, nostrils flaring when the skin pierced. "You can't kill me. And even so, lose me and lose her, too. Then you will have nothing but that old, rotten spontaneous-combustion-waiting-to-happen library to your worthless name. And you'll have an eternity to know that you destroyed the only being on this planet dope enough to love you."

"Blind-aimin'," William growled. "Say what you like. I don' care."

She domed a brow. "You should. Think about it, Spikey. It only took me - oops, sorry, Buffy - what, five years to give you any? And four years later to admit it meant anything to her. The first time hurts, doesn't it? You were with Dru for a century and she never-"

"Finish that sentence an'-"

"You'll what? Get knocked down again?" Porphyria smiled maliciously. "What are you afraid of? The truth? And now you're threatening to destroy the one person aside from your mommy who ever had it in her to feel something... at all. I mean, sure... Dru was as amorous as she could be when she wasn't drooling over Angel, or fucking him right under your nose. But she never loved you, you whelp. I'm it, babe. Are you seriously prepared to destroy Buffy any more than you already have? Ready to gut me?"

The words stung with more malice than any wound she could inflict. It was devastation at its finest. A wealth of pain beleaguered oversensitive bearings, and he felt himself expel a pitiful whimper at the blatant truth. Her eyes beheld conquering success, and she took a sip of his pain and found it exquisite.

"There, there," she continued after a minute. "It doesn't have to be that way. It really doesn't. We could have it all. Think about it. Every fucking joy in the world - nothing to hold us back. All the tasty people out there. Happy meals, remember? A nice-"

"Nothin' to hold me back?" William gasped. "Luv, you really are thick. You stupid bint. Even 'f I wanted to, even 'f I was slightly tempted, there is that annoyin' soul of mine. You can't cheat me out of-"

"Right. You're not Angel. Whatev." Porphyria batted her eyes and crossed her arms behind her back. "But we could ask the demon here... real nice. I'm sure he'd take care of your little... problem right away."

"To get the old Spike in action?" He couldn't help it. He laughed. He laughed a cold, hard chuckle. "I already told you once, you aren't her. Neither myself or my demon side would-"

"Yeah. I heard you the first time." She rolled her eyes, evidently disinterested. "And, I gotta tell yah, what a crock of bull. It was Spike that kept reminding me that I was a part of the darkness. To try on his world and see how good it feels. I did and I must say: baby, it feels like coming home after a long trip. Fucking good. You can think and say what you want; we all know the truth. You wanted me here, and here I am."

William shook his head and drew an arm back, unexpectedly sending her to the ground with a blunt, powerful blow. "I loved the good in her," he spat. "Me. The whole me. The demon an' the man. That was what I fell in love with. Buffy. Try as you might, you're not 'er, an' you never can be. You're jus' another bloody bot, but not 'alf as interestin'."

Something red flashed across her eyes, and he knew understood that he had finally hit a mark. A deep, personal mark. Something that went beyond surface insults and remarks she could blow off with ease. It was something that hurt, and it felt terrific.

Victory at long last.

The platinum vampire understood that he had to act while the ball was in his court. Her recovery would be speedy and painful in the reimbursement. Acting quickly, he slammed her to the ground again, then ran like hell.

A spider-web highway of mazelike tunnels led him deep into the cave, further than he had ever been, had ever dared to venture. And she was hot on his heels, roaring in fury. Vamping before the lunge.

There was a flash of red, and he went down.

*~*~*

It had been years in the implanted figments of her artificial memory since she last saw the glow of Los Angeles at night. However, the sensation was lost on her. There was no time for sightseeing. Xander had caught Giles on his cell phone when they were halfway to their destination, reporting that Willow had called back and was awaiting their arrival. From there it was a matter of reaching Angel's place of business and preparing everything for the curse.

There were people she didn't know. Names to apply to faces and Cordelia to become reacquainted with. She looked nothing like Dawn remembered, but there was no doubt that she was Cordelia. Cordy. She met Conner, though the introduction was brief. Their respective references surpassed 'Angel's ex-girlfriend's little sister' and 'Buffy's ex-boyfriend's miracle child.' They didn't have much to say.

Fred and Gunn seemed nice, but didn't say much to her. It was more of a mutual nod, a friendly greeting, then discussion for the big kids.

"I have to go over this again," Cordelia said as Willow and Giles prepared to retry the spell. "Buffy's a vampire. A seriously desouled 'I'm out for blood' vampire. And she's..."

"We told you as much when we got back," Angel said softly.

"I know, I know. The thought is just creepy. I can't picture her like that." Emphatically, her eyes widened. "But definitely not as disturbing as the entire 'she's been sleeping with Spike' thing. I can't imagine. I don't want to imagine."

"If we could skip four years ahead, that'd be super," the Witch said dryly. "As I tried to explain, Spike left town, got a soul, and has been working with Giles ever since. Buffy got vamped, got souled, got unsouled, got souled again, and was trying to get permanently souled when Will gave her true happiness."

Conner snickered and glanced to Dawn. "Say that five times fast." His only answer was a menacing glare.

"That's another thing I don't get. Buffy was never happy, at least to my memory. How'd he manage that?" Cordelia asked.

"Told her he loved her," Giles replied softly. "Poor Will."

"Guys... if it's not too much... the curse, please." Willow nodded to the Watcher. "I'm not sure how well this is going to work. I can't... I can't feel her. At all."

"Well, she is on the other side of the planet," Gunn offered unhelpfully. "Call me crazy, but that might have something to do with it."

The Witch's eyes narrowed and she shook her head. "I felt everyone when I was in England four years ago. Distance has nothing to do with it. It's all about the connection. Wherever she and Spike are now, they're at a place where I can't feel them."

Fred bit her lip. "What does that mean?" she asked, though no one needed a drawn out conclusion.

"It means that the curse might not work. If I can't reach them, magic might not be able to, either." Willow met Giles's gaze with communal concern. Neither wanted to say what they were thinking. "But we gotta try."

There was a brief, foreboding silence. The Watcher nodded in comprehension. "Very well then. Let's try and hope for the best." Without waiting for a response, he turned his attention to the indicated text and began to read. "Quod perditum est, invenietur."

The Witch drew in a breath and began. "Not dead... nor not of the living. Spirits of the interregnum, I call." Something fluttered in the air above her, fleeting and light, but something nonetheless. Dawn's eyes widened in immediate premonition. That wasn't right.

If anyone else noticed, they did not mention it. "Gods, bind her. Cast her heart from the evil realm. Return. I call-"

It happened in a blur - too quick to stop, too random to anticipate. Willow gasped loudly, her hands clutching at the desk to hold herself in place with futile effort. She was forced violently to the other side of the room by a pair of unseen hands; smashed into the wall and collapsed wantonly to the ground.

Several people shouted her name in alarm, but they were far away. Too far to speak to. She panted again and saw. Saw William running through a series of dark tunnels. Saw the creature behind him. The creature she had only seen twice. The creature carrying her best friend's face. The foundation they relied on quaked in affect, but the curse was useless. Barren to the demon's home.

They were castrated from civilization.

"Too late!" she cried, vaguely aware that Angel was pulling her to her feet. "It's too late. The demon... wherever they are, has some sort of protection spell around the... place. Something that blocks curses from, well, me. And others." Willow looked dangerously to the Watcher, stumbling out of the vampire's reach. "He's in trouble, Giles," she said. "Big trouble. I'm afraid she's... she might kill him."

*~*~*

It was very dark.

That was all he knew. All he felt. Darkness. A big swell of nothing that engulfed him thoroughly. Every imaginable nerve in his body seared with endless pain. He sat up, fatigued. When he had fallen asleep, he did not know. It took several seconds to realize the particulars of his surroundings. The foundation he relied on was a wedge of cold stone. A vast nothing lay beyond the gloom.

He remembered then, and blinked with extended assessment. There was nothing to see. A frighteningly literal nothing: blackness that stretched forever. As if the stars themselves had winked out of existence.

Though he couldn't possibly know that.

Then there was Porphyria. Porphyria. Where was she? Waiting, undoubtedly. Lurking. William strained his eyes and ears, desperate for some sign to reassure himself that he was alone.

He was still in existence. She had had the chance to dust him and ignored it.

Why?

Then she was there. Not there one minute and right beside him the next. William balked and started to scramble to his feet, but the aches searing up his legs rendered him coldly to the ground. There was no escape.

Slowly, she reached for his shoulder. The touch was soft and reassuring, and without saying a word, he warmed up to her immediately. Relief coursed through every pained nerve. With desperation, he turned and grasped her shoulders. It was Buffy. The Buffy he knew and adored. He wanted nothing more than to see her. The darkest part of his soul told him it would be the last time.

Her eyes were heavy and burdened. Never before had he seen her so stressed. So remorseful. So...

William drew in a breath. "Am I dreaming?"

The Slayer smiled movingly and placed a finger to his lips. "Shhh. Don't talk." Her eyes were strained and concerned, sad and terrified. However, that didn't stop her from leaning in and claiming his mouth with ardent fervor. It was swift and unpredictable, and frankly rendered all chance of comprehensible thought to complete nonexistence. She pulled away shortly. The light of lasting penance shown brightly in her eyes. "I can't do this. I just can't. William... you have to..." She waited until she was sure he understood. "You know what you have to do."

A plea for ignorance. He didn't want the weight of such responsibility. The thought made him sick. "What is it, luv? What do I hafta do?"

Buffy smiled at him, and his heart fell to pieces. "You know. And you know that you must do it before I lose control. It's slipping, Will. You have to do it now."

Desperately, he shook his head, trying to break away. "No. I promised you. I'm not goin' back on that now. I told-"

"William..."

"Go away. Get outta 'ere now. Go."

But she wasn't going anywhere. Instead, she moved closer. He felt her against him but the sensation was dimming. Their time was limited, and she faded further and further out of reach. "William, I must tell you. No matter what happens... you got to know... I do..." Buffy looked to the ground and took a deep breath. "I don't believe you know how much I love you. I don't know half the time. You need to. You need to know before you do it."

It nearly broke him, but he stood his ground. "Stop. Don'-"

"It's almost over," she whispered. "When it comes down to it, you know what you're going to have to do. And when it's over, you mustn't doubt yourself. No matter what happens."

"Buff-"

"Do it." The Slayer glanced up, features overwhelming with anxiety. "Okay, Will. This is it. She's coming. You got to get up. Get up now. Get up!"

William's eyes flew open and the apparition vanished.

Porphyria was nearing.

Cold realization swept through every aching muscle. With a muffled grunt, he sat up, too weary to continue running. He was where he had fallen; the scent of his own blood tackled somnolent senses. It must have only been seconds.

"It's time to stop, sweetheart," the Buffy-creature drawled. There was eerie and oddly peaceful serenity about her features. A similar knowledge that this was it. That the battle was nearing its end. Her eyes were blank yet fiery at the same time - every visage of her former self dissolved forever. Her hands were bare; the handle of a long blade exposed from its hiding place in her leggings. When she noticed that he saw, she smiled ominously and drew it into view. "Great thing about demons," she said. "Lots of warriors come by and leave nice surprises."

As if to accentuate her point, William's foot collided with something that rattled with wooden construction as he paced stealthily backward. He didn't even glance to it; whatever it was would do. Without breaking their locked gazes, he leaned forward and enclosed his fist around the object at his disposal. A spear. A wooden spear. Something deep fell in his stomach. He wondered if it was a part of the demon's twisted sense of humor.

Porphyria's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "Intimidating," she observed. "Are you actually gonna use it?"

A muscle in his face ticked. "Try me, bitch."

She pretended to consider, shrugged, and grinned. "Oh, all right. But only because you asked nicely."

That was it. The all and final it. There was no going back. William tightened his grip on the spear, wearing sawdust off the dilapidated surface. He charged bluntly and was answered with a kick to the chin. Porphyria remained unmoved though highly amused, her eyes doing all the talking needed to interpret her victorious chuckle.

It had grown frighteningly simplistic to consider her the enemy.

The crazed vampire roared, flashing her incisors, and ran for him. William took a blind swing at her midsection that lacked effort. Porphyria dropped to the ground and rolled to a safe proximity, whirling to her feet in a second and lunging her blade-arm at his head. The teeth caught a chunk of shoulder, erasing old forgotten battle scars that were to remain embedded in his skin forever in a swipe of red. He felt nothing - his body absorbed pain as fuel. There was no other place for it now. He turned wildly, knocking the blade from her grasp as he pivoted the other end and sliced a bloody streak down the image of his lover's face. He screamed and she screamed, biting his inner cheek to keep tears away.

Porphyria came at him again, black blood dribbling down her chin. She caught him off guard, allowing him one swift smack across the face, buying time to reclaim her dagger. William charged again, spear raised, target aimed. The Buffy-creature was ready. In a hasty movement, she forced the knife upon her opponent's defense, drawing in brute strength and reveling in the victorious sound of wood popping before breaking altogether. Two pieces of cypress fell away, and he was vulnerable.

She seized the opportunity and lashed the blade at the first skin she saw: the cut at his shirt, blackened with the impression of a cross that mirrored her own. The other vampire fell back, hand immediately seeking the dampness at his midsection. At once, he felt nauseous - prime to fall over and simply concede. But that wasn't an option anymore, and he understood. The realization from which he could not turn back. His eyes fell on one of the stray ends of the broken spear, and he reached for it, empowered by conviction.

It was time.

In a flash, he faced Porphyria, who frowned to see him still pliable. She began to advance once more until catching sight of the weapon ready in his hand. Tears streamed down William's face, and he knew he had to do this before he backed out. A wave of dizziness struck; the pain in his gut was becoming unbearable. With a face distorted in agony, he managed to choke, "Buffy..."

She looked at him strangely as the name was mentioned, eyes clearing as a familiar face came into view. It was a trick played by fatigue and weariness, he had no doubt. For a split second, the countenance of humanity seemed to bear resemblance in the depths beyond reason.

Then the moment was over, and Porphyria was back.

It was now or never. If only someone else were here to make the decision.

With lasting thrall, William lunged the elongated stake forward. A gasp sounded through the air as she fell, bone and blood gushing a river over his hand. She rested forward, the point millimeters from her heart, and she had passed out before he could see her eyes.

The platinum vampire released a heavy breath and withdrew the stake from her chest carefully. Bubbles of blackness oozed from the opening, but he could not bear to look at it. Shaking his head, he positioned his weapon above her heart and held.

"All right, then!" he shouted, voice echoing through endless tunnels. "To the bloody death. She's as good as dead. One second more, an'-"

The demon was there without further prompt, showering him in the green glow of his eyes. How long he had been watching, William didn't know or care. All he understood was that it was over, and he had to be granted this final leave.

"The Slayer is not yet dead."

A painful, humorless chuckle rumbled through his body. "Tha's where you're wrong. She's as dead as a doornail. Several times over." He strained forward. "'S over then. 'F I stake 'er, she's dead. To the death. I came 'ere to save 'er. You'll give me what I want."

"You were informed," the demon retorted, "that the creature must desire a soul before one is granted."

A void of desperation engulfed him. Desperation, strained fatigue, and more fury than he ever imagined. "I did what you wanted!" the vampire roared. "I did everythin' you wanted! Please..." He hoisted her into his arms. "Jus' give her back to me."

The sprite was unyielding in its decision, and loss of hope like he had never felt flushed through his system. "Only one of you entered with a soul," came the retort. "Only one may leave with one."

William blinked, grip tightening on the lifeless being in his arms. "Do you hold your word to that?"

"We are unmoved in our conclusion."

Then he had to be, too. In those few, precious seconds before he lost control on rational thought, it finally occurred to him what love was. The basic. The fundamental stages. He knew. He was consumed and driven to the pivotal edge of his stamina, body threatening to collapse with each beat. Love was standing at the beginning and knowing it was the end. Love was endurance and faith. Love was overcoming all obstacles, no matter how great. Love was seeing beyond prejudices. Love was realization of fault, and how right it could feel to be wrong just for a second. But most of all, love was knowing when to say goodbye.

But not to her. To himself.

"Fine," the platinum vampire said. "Take mine, then. Take mine, an' give hers back. 'F tha's the way it is, take the sodding thing back. Take it an' give 'er back to me!"

There was a stunned pause, and he felt a rush of hope. The demon - despite appearances - had not seen the barter coming. He was contracted, now. There was nothing to do but comply.

"You understand," he said, "if your quest is granted, our business is done."

"Yeah. Whatever. She needs it more than I do." William ducked his head before he could start crying again. Once more, the words came to him, pleading this time. "Please... please give 'er back to me."

There was no answer. Nothing beyond a growl of consensual agreement. He felt the touch on his scarred chest and had doubled over before the creature in his arms could scream her release.

The world tumbled around him. All went black.

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