Her Sire

By Kallysten

Chapter 31 - Betrayal…

Buffy was distracted all day long, still thinking about her dream that wasn’t a dream. She was convinced that it had been Drusilla’s idea of an invitation. But an invitation to what? A tea party with her dolls? A talk between the ex and the current girlfriend? A fight?

Several times, she thought about telling Spike about it. But after their talk of the previous night, she was almost certain of his reaction. He’d use any means necessary to keep her from the mansion and probably go himself. But, again, to do what?

As evening approached, Buffy made up her mind. She had missed her writing class the week before, and she told Manon and Spike that she would leave patrolling to them to go to school and catch up on her class. The two eyed each other, Manon still a bit suspicious of the vampire, Spike curious at her reaction. She wasn’t on her guard as much around him as she had been at first, but her Watcher certainly was. It was finally agreed that Andrea would accompany them, as she adamantly refused to leave her Slayer alone with the Slayer of Slayers.

At nightfall, Spike drove her to the college. She entered the building, waited a couple of minutes until she was sure he was gone, and then was striding purposefully toward the mansion. Just a little talk, she told herself on the way. She just needed to make it clear to the crazy one that Spike was hers now. No thoughts of hurting Drusilla. She had told Spike she wouldn’t hunt her, and truly she wasn’t hunting. Just a talk. Just an overdue explanation between two reasonable adults. Well, at least she could be reasonable. She could only hope that she would find Drusilla in one of her moments of semi-sanity.

When she pushed the door open, its sinister creaking echoed in the large entry room. Angel hadn’t resided here for several years, since she had been turned, actually. Why he hadn’t sold the building, she had no idea. It wasn’t like there was anything waiting for him in Sunnydale anymore. Or anyone.

She stepped in carefully, focused on her senses. It didn’t take her long to spot Drusilla in the dimly lit room. The brunette approached her, smiling brightly.

“My William’s Childe has arrived,” she said in a singsong voice. “How nice of you to come to my party!”

“He is not yours,” Buffy said firmly, her hand clutching the stake in her duster’s pocket.

Drusilla eyes glowed yellow as she came closer to Buffy.

“My Mate,” she growled. “You stole his heart, you are taking his mind, but you can’t have that. Mine.”

Her gaze softened, her eyes returning to light brown, and she smiled dreamily.

“He’s mine, but I will share,” she chuckled. “If you’re a good girl we can be a nice family. We’ll get Daddy’s boy also. Then maybe Daddy will come to us too. A big family, you will see. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Buffy was about to answer to that, protest, deny, claim her Sire, threaten the mad woman. But she suddenly realized she had made a mistake. A very dire mistake. Just the night before, she had warned Manon against doing this very thing. And her anger at the woman had made her forget about it. She had looked into her eyes. She still was looking in them. Now she was following her fingers waving in front of her face. And couldn’t make herself look away. Couldn’t even… think… any…

* * * * *

After dropping Buffy off at school, Spike drove to the Magic Box to join the young Slayer and her Watcher. When he entered the shop however, only Anya was there.

“Hey, demon girl. Where’s the European crew?”

Never stopping her dusting of the shelves, she glanced at him before gesturing toward the training room.

“Practicing, as usual. Except for Giles, he said he was going home. He mentioned something about being tired and not getting much sleep since he’s been here. And I don’t think he meant he is too worried to sleep.”

Spike stifled a laugh at the questioning eyebrow Anya was raising at him.

“It’s not that hard, you know,” she added after a second, more serious now.

“What isn’t?” he replied absently.

There was something off about her, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Something had changed. She was the same, and yet, different.

“Being human,” she explained, stopping her cleaning to turn to him. “It’s weird in the beginning, but you’ll get used to it. I was scared senseless at first too when I...”

“Hey!” he interrupted her, offended. “You’re forgetting who you’re talking to! I am not scared!”

She watched him for a moment, before shrugging and getting back to her shelves.

“I know who I’m talking to. The same guy who was all upset a few days ago because he thought he had been given a soul.”

Before Spike could find an answer to that, Manon and her Watcher were coming out of the back room, laughing together. They became very serious when they saw him, almost grim, and he was tempted to walk away and let them patrol by themselves. They didn’t want him with them anyway. And they most certainly could take a few vamps by themselves. It wasn’t like he had nothing better to do than play babysitter to a new Slayer. For one thing, he needed to find Dru and make sure she was going to leave town quickly. An ironic thought hit him, then. Insane Drusilla would soon be the oldest vampire of the Aurelius line. Bloody hilarious, that.

Yes, he had to make her leave Sunnyhell. But that would have to wait. Right now, he had to act as bodyguard to the French girl, even if she wasn’t even talking to him tonight as they patrolled, preferring to chat quietly with her Watcher. Grinding his teeth, he followed the pair through three cemeteries, giving a hand only once when they stumbled on four fledglings, and earning for his trouble identical glares from both girls. That was the last straw.

“Bloody hell! What’s wrong with you women?” he spat out angrily. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help?”

“I’m sure you were trying to help when you killed Faith, too,” the Watcher replied icily.

“As a matter of fact, I was,” he replied just as coldly. “With you bloody Watchers ready to kill her, at least now she’s free.”

“How dare you!” she shouted back. “You’re the one who kills Slayers! The Council does all it can to protect them!”

Throwing his hands in the air, Spike turned away, giving up. After a few steps however, he glanced back at the glowering woman.

“We owed the Council a favor. That’s what they asked from us. To give them a new Slayer. Only way to do that was to kill the old one. I may be guilty for doing it, but they are as guilty for asking it. How well do you know your father and his methods, Travers?”

For a brief instant, there was a flash of doubt on the Watcher’s face, then it was gone. Manon herself seemed puzzled, and a little thoughtful. He did leave them, then, striding away and out of the cemetery. He had no proof to offer them, and they certainly weren’t going to take his word for it. He shouldn’t even have tried. After all, he was just a killer. Of course they were wary of him. As well they should be.

Within a few minutes, he had returned to his car and was driving toward the college. He was there a bit too early, but he didn’t mind waiting. That would give him a chance to cool down before his Slayer joined him. Leaning against the car in the parking lot, he had the time to smoke a couple of cigarettes before students started coming out of the building. He had managed to steal back the packet and lighter from Buffy’s pocket as he drove her to school earlier. It was strange that she had been wearing her duster, now that he thought of it. She never wore it to class.

The stream of students was thinning out now, and still no Buffy. He noticed a couple of girls he knew Buffy was friends with, and approached them, asking if they had seen her. They hadn’t. She hadn’t been to class. As he heard this, he knew immediately where she had gone. And he cursed himself for not seeing it coming. Now, he really had to find Dru, fast, and just hope nothing had happened to his Childe.

If Drusilla hadn’t changed, she had certainly made her lair in a place she was familiar with. She liked staying in places she already knew. Or at least, she used to like it. His first try was the old factory. Nothing there but charred remains and old memories. Wasn’t anyone ever going to clean the damn place? Or destroy it?

Next, he tried his crypt. If she had come to Sunnyhell to meet him, it made sense that she would look for him in the last place where she had seen him, and maybe even stay there. He left skid marks on the road as he sped his way to the cemetery, but again, he found nothing. Except for a very faint scent. Dru had been there. She hadn’t stayed, but she had been in the crypt, not long ago.

There was just one last possibility he could think of, one he hated with his whole being. Cursing, he drove to the mansion. As soon as he got out of the car, he could tell that he had been right. Drusilla was there. And so was his Slayer.

Chapter 32 - …and Trust

It was his voice that she was aware of first. Spike was cooing into her ear, inviting her to open her eyes. She did just that, though more as a reflex than from her own will. She felt very strange, as if she was wrapped in cotton, all her senses dimmed. She couldn’t even feel him, though she could see his face. Why couldn’t she feel her Sire while he was sitting on the bed next to her? Why was he looking at her so maliciously? Why was she bound to the bed? She tugged at her restraints, but they didn’t move. She felt so weak, as if all her energy had been drained from her. Not only her energy, she realized. Her blood. There was blood on his lips, and she was sure it was hers. As if confirming her thoughts, he leaned over her and fastened his mouth to her neck. She could feel the pull as he drank from her, and for the first time ever she didn’t like it, wanted him to stop. She tried to wiggle away from his touch, but without success. Finally, he let go.

“You taste like him,” he said softly.

Buffy frowned, trying to understand who it was she supposedly tasted like. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Spike was being so strange. So unlike himself. Why? What was happening? Her still cloudy mind remembered coming to the mansion, talking to Drusilla… Then nothing until waking in this bed. She thought she was still in the mansion. Why was Spike here? He was supposed to be on patrol with Manon. Had he joined Drusilla before she arrived? How had he known where she was? Why was he so different?

“Spike?” she managed to say despite her dry throat. “What’s going on? Untie me, please.”

He chuckled lightly as she pleaded for her release.

“Later, you will be free, and we will hunt together. But we will play a little before that. Don’t you want to play with me, Princess?”

The voice was his, so was the face, but the words? What did he mean, hunt together? Why was he calling her Princess? That was his pet name for Drusilla, not for her, never for her. And what game…

Excruciating pain snapped Buffy out of her thoughts and she screamed. When the burning subsided a little, her eyes focused again on her Sire as he dropped more liquid on her bare front. It felt like molten lava being poured on her, and despite her efforts she could not escape it. She couldn’t even manage to talk, could only watch him and beg with her eyes as he smirked at her.

“Are we having fun yet, Princess?” he murmured in her ear. “We’ll have even more fun later, you will see. We will bathe in blood and dance under the stars…”

The stars? Why did that word sound so significant suddenly?

Before Buffy could think about it any more, the pain started again. Drop by drop, sizzling on her skin, until her mind went almost blank, only filled with the image of these eyes above her, usually so loving when they looked at her, now so cold, so cruel…

The pain stopped again. It took her a few seconds to shake herself out of her torpor, and when she did she could see that he had moved. He was almost by the door now. And Drusilla was in his arms.

That image hurt even more than the torture had. She shut her eyes tight, freeing two tears as she did so. Something had happened to Spike, something had changed him. She had lost him.

When she opened her eyes again, he was untying the ropes that bound her to the bed. Drusilla had disappeared from the room. She didn’t know what he was planning now, but she couldn’t let it happen. The man she had loved was gone. It was a beast who was now murmuring sweet nothings to her.

Gathering what little force she had left, she pushed him as hard as she could and he fell to the floor. Before he could get back to his feet, she scrambled off the bed and pinned him down. There was a stake near her, she grabbed it, raised it above her head, and plunged it down thoughtlessly. At the instant her arm started moving, time slowed. Her eyes found his, and she was startled at seeing that all the hardness from before was gone. Instead, there was only love in the deep blue. Love and trust.

A question of trust.

Her arm faltered, then fell down limply at her side. She had just realized that she could feel his presence again, unlike before. He was still unmoving under her, despite the way she had threatened him. As if he had known she wouldn’t go through it. He trusted her.

Just remember everything.

His face was so serious. His eyes seemed to be looking straight into her soul. When had he last looked at her like this? Not very long ago…

“What am I to you?” she murmured, remembering at last.

“Everything.”

The quiet voice was all she needed to understand. Not him. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t been him. She was everything to him, and he would never hurt her.

Losing control over herself, she started sobbing as she buried her face against his chest. Instantly, his arms were holding her tightly, and he was whispering comforting words she didn’t even try to understand.

* * * * *

As Spike made his way into the dark and silent house, a sudden shout startled him. Despite the pain distorting the voice, he would have recognized it anywhere. Buffy’s. He ran in the direction of the cry. The master bedroom. Of course, it had to be that room. As he pushed the door open, he froze at the scene in front of him. His Childe was bound to the bed, her blouse ripped open, moaning in pain. His Mate was sprinkling water on her exposed skin. By the sizzling and burning, holy water. One of Dru’s favorite toys, as he well knew.

The brunette, who was sitting on the bed beside Buffy, got to her feet as he entered the room, smiling at him, her lips stained with blood.

“She’ll be one of ours soon,” she said gleefully. “When her soul is broken, we can be sisters. And we can all go hunting together. Be a family again.”

She opened her arms as she approached him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Numbly, he let her do it, and allowed his own arms to close around her. His eyes were still on Buffy, and he felt like screaming at seeing her helpless and hurt. Yet no words were coming out of his tight throat. Trying to explain to Drusilla was useless. He shifted his gaze to her, and she was still smiling, content with herself. She didn’t even realize…

He didn’t have to think about it, and some part of him was happy about that. If he had hesitated, he would never have forgiven himself. Drusilla looked up at him when the stake pierced her back, utter incomprehension filling her face. He understood then, that in her damaged mind, she had done this for him. That didn’t stop his hand, but when her ashes fell down at his feet, his eyes were full of tears. Tears for the beautiful young girl whose mind had been shattered so long ago and who thought torture was a way to make people love you. Tears for his Slayer, harmed because he had been too blind to admit that Dru was a danger to her. Tears for himself, as one more person he had cared for walked out of his life.

As if in a dream, he watched himself go to the bed and free Buffy’s legs. Moving to the side, he untied one of her arms, and then the other, wincing as his gaze trailed over the blistered burns on her skin, the still bloody puncture marks on the side of her neck, the glazed look in her eyes. When she was free at last, he murmured sweet words to break her out of the thrall, reaching to stroke her cheek. He didn’t have time to touch her however, as she surprised him by grabbing his hand and pushing him off the bed. He fell backward, banging his head hard on the wooden floor, stunned for an instant. Before he could understand what had happened, Buffy was sitting across his stomach, and he could only watch as she thrust the stake he had used only instants before toward his chest. She stopped suddenly, and her gaze didn’t seem as cloudy as before. Her arm fell to her side, and still she was looking at him, as if searching for something.

“What am I to you?” she whispered.

He had heard the question before, and the answer was still the same.

“Everything.”

The reply seemed to break the last of the thrall, and she fell against him, crying. He hugged her for a long time, letting her sob for the physical pain as much as the mental agony he could only guess she had endured. Still trying to soothe her with words and tender caresses, he managed to sit down, leaning against the bed, cradling her on his lap. When her tears had dried finally, he guided her face gently to his neck and pressed it there. She accepted the offer, biting with less care than she usually showed and drinking greedily until he hissed that she was taking too much. She stopped then, giving a last lick at the closing marks. Soon, she was asleep in his arms.

He managed to get to his feet without waking her, and carried her out of the bedroom, away from that place of torture and death. He found a couch that wasn’t too dusty and sat down on it, still holding her close, still caressing her golden locks. In her sleep, she looked peaceful again, and he could almost forget what she had gone through. Almost. Hopefully, she had been deep enough under Drusilla’s influence not to remember too clearly what had happened. Maybe even not at all if she was lucky.

When he felt that the sun would soon be rising, he didn’t have the heart to wake her to take her back home. It wouldn’t be the first time they had spent a night and the following day away from Revello, and he knew Dawn wouldn’t worry about it. Shifting his body and his Slayer’s to a more comfortable position, he tried to join her in sleep. He wasn’t able to, however. When Buffy woke, almost twenty hours later, he was still holding her, still watching her.

Chapter 33 - Ashes and Blood

Buffy’s rest was quiet and peaceful, no dreams or nightmares disturbing her mind. Even while asleep, some part of her was aware of the strong arms protecting her, making her feel safe. She woke slowly, purring at the comforting presence against her. The purrs stopped when she shifted slightly and the blisters on her chest and stomach made their painful reminders to her. Her eyes fluttered open, finding the worried face of her Sire only inches from hers. He smiled, very faintly, uncertainly. She wondered why he was so hesitant, then remembered that she had almost killed him. Of its own will, her hand rose to his face, and he leaned into her touch.

“Hey, you,” he whispered. “How do you feel?”

She gave him a half smile. “Better. Hungry.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I know, luv. Ready to go home?”

She nodded, then frowned. “What time is it?”

“Sun set a couple of hours ago,” he replied as he brushed a strand of hair off her face.

Sunset? Already? That meant she had slept almost for a full day and night.

“You should have woken me,” she protested weakly.

“You needed to rest.”

He sounded apologetic as he said this, but she knew it wasn’t about letting her sleep the day away. He confirmed her thoughts by saying:

“I’m sorry, Buffy. I should have…”

She placed a finger across his lips to silence him, and he kissed it lightly.

“Don’t. I rushed to her, knowing she was dangerous.”

His face was suddenly expressionless. “Do you remember what happened?”

Again, she frowned, and rubbed her cheek against him, breathing in that comforting scent that was purely him.

“I just came to talk,” she said, her voice muffled. “She did her mojo on me…made me see…made me believe…”

Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to know that it was him she had seen torturing her. But he didn’t give her a choice.

“Made you see what, luv?” he insisted. “Let it all out. Tell me.”

“You,” she whispered at last. “She had your face when she…that’s why I tried to…”

She let out a dry sob and he hugged her tighter.

“Oh Buffy…pet…”

He rocked her lightly, and she was almost falling asleep again, when a question invaded her mind.

“Where is she?” she asked uncertainly. “Did she run away?”

“Shh… Don’t worry about her. She can’t hurt you anymore. She won’t come back.”

The words alone could have let her believe that Drusilla had simply left once and for all. But the tone of Spike’s voice added a precision to his reassurance. She wouldn’t come back because she was dust. He had killed someone he had loved for a century. For her. She didn’t know what to say. She was happy that the insane vampiress was out of the picture, but she could imagine only too well what it had been like for him to kill her. She knew, because she had been in his place. Except that she hadn’t dusted her ex-lover, she had sent him to hell. In this same house.

As if summoned by her grim thoughts, Angel chose that moment to enter the mansion, a travel bag in each hand. He didn’t look very surprised at seeing them in his home, but rather somewhere between annoyed and amused.

“If I had known you two use the mansion as a love nest, I would have asked for…”

His half smile disappeared and his eyes widened as he walked in front of the couch and looked at the huddled couple. Buffy was suddenly very conscious that her top was in shreds, exposing the many burns that marred her skin. Spike seemed to realize the same thing, because he shifted her in his arms so that she was facing him, her chest pressed to his, his arms tight on her back.

“What the hell happened?” Angel asked harshly.

From where she was lying by his side, Buffy could only see half Spike’s face. She realized he looked tired, so very tired… Had she taken too much of his blood the night before? She hadn’t been very lucid at the time, and could hardly remember. She could also see the anger slowly taking him. That didn’t surprise her. More and more often, when he and Angel were in the same room, it ended with shouting and murderous glares. But she wasn’t in the mood for another round of their games.

“Spike, let’s go home now, please,” she requested softly.

His eyes left Angel, and he brushed his lips on her cheek. “Yes, luv.”

Cautiously, he rose from the couch, holding her in his arms still. He let her feet down to the floor, making sure that her back was still to Angel. Apparently, the older vampire was getting angry at not receiving an answer to his question, because he growled:

“Spike! Tell me what is going on!”

Spike was still silent, though he was scowling. Buffy watched him shrug out of his duster and take off his shirt, exposing pale and perfect skin. He helped her slip it on over her ripped top, and carefully buttoned it for her. Only then did he look at Angel over her shoulder, and said blandly:

“Drusilla. Remember her? Your other non-Childe? The one you didn’t torture into insanity?”

Buffy shook her head, catching Spike’s attention, and pleaded silently with her eyes for him to stop. He seemed to understand and took a deep calming breath.

“Do you want my duster too, luv?” he proposed softly, once again ignoring Angel.

She was about to accept, more to be surrounded by his scent than for the protection of the leather, but she suddenly remembered her own duster was somewhere around. She voiced the thought, and saw Spike wince.

“I’ll find it, just give me a minute.”

He placed a quick kiss on her lips and walked by her, toward the bedroom. Feeling a bit weak, Buffy sat down on the couch, finding Angel right in front of her. He looked very upset, even anguished.

“Buffy…are you alright?”

She nodded, though she could tell he didn’t believe her. He seemed to hesitate for a second, then turned his back on her and walked the way Spike had gone. She gave a deep sigh, and made the mental wish that they wouldn’t jump at each other’s throat once more, because she really didn’t feel up to stepping between them.

* * * * *

With the conscious effort of not looking at a certain part of the floor, Spike’s gaze swept over the bedroom, quickly finding Buffy’s duster in the corner behind the bed. Carefully walking around the spot he still wasn’t looking at, he crossed the room to retrieve the piece of leather.

Torture her until she likes me again.

When he turned back, his eyes were finally drawn to Drusilla’s ashes, and he froze. He had staked countless vampires, both before and after meeting his Slayer, but these few ounces of ashes were painful to look at. A century, reduced to dust. Had he not insisted so stubbornly that they become Mates, all those years ago, would she have come back for this?

Kill her for princess?

Shaking himself out of his torpor, he took a step toward the door, and only then noticed Angel standing by the doorway. His gaze was on the same dusty spot on the floor, and slowly moved up to meet Spike’s.

“Did Buffy…?”

He made a small gesture toward the floor, completing the question silently.

“No. I did.”

Despite Spike’s wish to appear impassive, there was a hint of his pain in the words. He had killed Dru. Him. He had killed his own Mate, choosing his Childe over her. And he would again, a million times if necessary. But it would never stop hurting.

Right person. Person I loved. I'd do it.

“I am sorry,” Angel said softly, and there were tears in his eyes.

“Sorry for what?” Spike replied, and this time he managed to make his voice expressionless.

Angel surprised the younger vampire by his answer.

“Sorry for not knowing what you expect from me.”

Spike gave a short laugh that was anything but joyful.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” he said with a shrug. “Nothing good, that is.”

Angel shook his head, but did not comment. His eyes were back to the floor, and Spike had the clear feeling that he would grieve for Drusilla, despite whatever she might have done to Buffy, despite the fact that he would have staked her too, had he been in Spike’s place.

I'm gonna prove something. I love you.

Trying not to think about either vampire anymore, Spike walked past him and out of the room. Forcing a kind smile to his lips, he helped his Slayer slide her duster on, before putting on his own to cover his bare back. Then he led her out of the mansion, aware that Angel watched them leave. The ride home was done in silence, with Buffy resting against his shoulder. Spike still felt too numb to think, both from what he had seen and what he had done, and was grateful for the quiet.

I'm nothing without her.

When they reached Revello Drive, the Watcher practically pounced on them, blabbering excitedly. Spike left his Slayer in the living room to deal with the small talk with him, Dawn, and Steven (the latter two in a comfortable teen tangle on the couch), and busied himself in the kitchen with warming blood. Two bags each, to begin with. From what he overheard, no one commented on their absence the night before. Spike being shirtless might have given them an idea of why they hadn’t come home earlier. Instead, the frenzied conversation involved Giles prattling on about finishing the translation, the Nibblet talking about the Witches coming back early from their trip, and Steven talking about “Daddy” coming from LA so he could hear about the prophecy along with everyone else. Which, apparently, would be the next day. General Scoobies meeting, nightfall at the Magic box. Bloody wonderful.

You're all covered with her. I look at you...all I see is the Slayer.

Buffy was mostly quiet during the assault, only mentioning, briefly, that Angel was already in town. When Spike came in to give her the first mug of blood, she smiled at him gratefully before drinking it in one long gulp, and suddenly the Watcher was very quiet. He still hadn’t gotten over the idea of her being a vamp, apparently. Which, of course, explained why he had been so excited ever since he had heard she would soon be human again. Spike couldn’t blame him, really. He knew the man loved his Slayer like his own daughter, and wanted the best for her. In the Watcher’s mind, of course, the best didn’t involve drinking blood, having fangs and being undead.

I’ll dance with you, pet. On the Slayer’s grave.

Once Buffy had emptied her cup, Spike replaced it with another full one, which she drank more slowly. That, at last, brought some comments.

“Are you OK Buffy?” Dawn asked, a bit worried. “You never drink that much unless you’re hurt.”

His courageous little Slayer gave her sister a large smile.

I knew ...before you did. I knew you loved the Slayer.

“I’m fine, Dawnie. Just hungry.”

“And tired,” Spike added for her.

Buffy frowned slightly, but confirmed his words. “Yes, tired too. I’ll just go rest now.”

It was just one more clue that she wasn’t well that she hadn’t protested about not patrolling. Spike had seen the after effects of the thrall often enough to know that they varied every time. Sometimes, people shrugged off the experience as if nothing had happened to them, and sometimes they felt like they had run three marathons in a row. No way to predict beforehand which it would be.

We can love quite well. If not wisely.

He helped her up the steps as inconspicuously as possible, wrapping an arm around her waist as if flirting. Once in their bedroom, he undressed her. She protested that she could do it alone, but he didn’t let that stop him. Next he prepared a nice hot bath, full of vanilla scented bubbles, just as she liked it. He stepped in the tub with her, cradling her against him, massaging her skin gently until she was purring. He coaxed her into taking some blood from him, with the idea that nothing would make her feel better faster than her Sire’s blood. She fell asleep with her mouth to his shoulder, still in game face.

Effulgent.

Chapter 34 - The Gang’s All Here

Despite Buffy’s assurances, Dawn could tell that something was going on. The two cups of blood in a row the night before had been a hint – she had lived with two vampires for three years, she knew how often and how much they needed to feed. Buffy remaining in her room all day, with Spike bringing her food, was another clue. If she hadn’t known better, Dawn would have thought her sister was ill. But vampires couldn’t get ill, could they?

Steven had gone to the mansion to see his father, which had presented Dawn with a cruel dilemma. Go with him, and see the big poof, or stay home and be separated from her honey for a few hours. In the end, she had let him go alone. She figured he could use some one on one time with his father. And if she managed to corner Spike, she could have a little conversation with him. About Buffy’s health, and other things too.

After spending almost two weeks with Steven practically 24/7, it was a bit weird not to have him by her side for even a little while. They had been doing all sorts of things together, going to movies, to the beach, picnicking, just walking around together, as well as other activities Dawn couldn’t think of without heat rising in her cheeks. All of this, except for the last, they had done before, but always with a chaperone, and it was nice to be able to be alone with him at last. It gave them time to talk. And talked they had, a lot. About what they expected from each other. What they wanted from life. How they saw their future. Supposing, of course, that they would have a future. After living on the Hellmouth for a while, one learned to be careful about long-term projects.

The future post-apocalypse, as Dawn saw it, involved her going to college while continuing her not so long distance relationship with Steven. He needed to stay in LA, since he was an employee of Angels Investigations, and there wasn’t really any other job he had any qualifications for. Or that he wanted to do. That was one thing about him Dawn wasn’t sure whether she liked or disliked. Probably both. She was proud that he was fighting the good fight, of course, just like she was proud of Buffy. But she was more afraid for him than she had ever been for her sister. Buffy was the Slayer, and graced with super strength and super healing abilities. Steven wasn’t defenseless, far from it, but his wounds healed no faster than any human’s.

With Dawn in Sunnydale and Steven in LA, one of them would need to borrow a car every now and then so that they could see each other more often. Steven was supposedly going to start talking Angel into it, and Dawn would need to do the same thing with Spike. Not quite yet, though. Before she could do that, she had to smooth things over between them. And not just for the car.

Ever since he and Buffy had come back from LA with Steven, ever since that heated conversation in the staircase and the half-assed making up that had followed, he had been kind of cold to her, and to Steven too. Or rather, not cold. He couldn’t be cold when he wasn’t talking to them any more than absolutely necessary.

Sometime around 3 pm, she walked into the kitchen and found Spike there. He was cleaning mugs, Dawn having long ago made the point that, while she didn’t mind washing dishes, touching anything that had held blood would never be part of her chores.

“How is Buffy?” she asked as she sat on a stool behind him.

“Better. She just needed rest.”

So, something had indeed happened. If she was better now, it implied she hadn’t been so well before.

“What happened?”

The stiffening of Spike’s back let her guess his answer even before he spoke.

“Nothing of interest to you.”

“Is this my punishment?” she asked as he was silent again, still busy with his washing. “I ask you to give me space so you shut me out?”

He turned to her then, and he looked so tired that she wondered when he had last slept.

“Not everything is about you,” he said, mildly annoyed. “And you don’t need to know everything.”

He leaned back against the sink and crossed his arms. He wasn’t finished yet, Dawn was sure of it, and she waited for the rest. He watched her pensively for a short moment before finally saying:

“You didn’t ask for space. You threw me out of your life.”

“I did no such thing,” she protested, frowning.

“Not your brother, not your father,” he quoted to her, his voice bitter. “In other words, nothing.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said truthfully. “I’m sorry if that’s what it sounded like to you. But try to see things from my point of view. You’ve been on our backs for months! How would you have reacted to someone putting themselves between you and Buffy like that?”

As she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, Dawn scolded herself mentally. She had wanted to make up with him, and here she was, speaking angrily again.

“It was different,” Spike replied matter of factly. “We were older than…”

“Oh, come on!” she interrupted him. “Maybe you were born more than a hundred years ago, but where Buffy is concerned you act like a teenager!”

“I bloody well do not!”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

Buffy’s laugh stopped their bickering. She walked into the kitchen, looking much better than the last time Dawn had seen her. She was wearing tight brown leather pants and a red shirt that suspiciously looked like one of Spike’s.

“What are you children arguing about?” she asked playfully.

“We are not arguing,” they replied at the same time, and Spike gave Dawn one of these half smiles she had missed so much the past few days.

Shaking her head and still chuckling, Buffy walked to Spike. He opened his arms to her and she slipped into his embrace, nuzzling his neck. Dawn suddenly wondered whether she and Steven looked so sickeningly sweet when they cuddled. Or maybe she found it sickening because he had been gone for four hours already. In any case, that proved her point about Spike acting like a teen, and put Buffy in the same age category. She didn’t expect that they would agree with her, however, so she kept the thought to herself, and instead said:

“I didn’t want to argue with you. I guess what I wanted to say is, I apologize for having been so harsh. I was annoyed by your behavior, more pissed off than annoyed actually, and I should have told you that instead of pushing you away. I really didn’t mean to hurt you, and I’m sorry I did. You’re not my brother or my father, but you’re the closest thing to them I have. As well as one of my best friends.”

The words had come out in a rush, and now Dawn was waiting for a reaction. Yet Spike remained impassive for a moment that seemed to last forever. With her cheek against his shoulder, Buffy was smiling slightly. She had questioned Dawn the day after her confrontation with Spike, and had given her the first clue that he had taken her words very much at heart. She poked Spike in the side, presumably signaling to him that it was time to meet Dawn halfway.

“Maybe I was a little overprotective,” Spike said at last. “Maybe I should have seen you’ve grown up.”

He gave her a tentative smile, and she understood it was his way to accept her apology as well as to offer his.

* * * * *

Willow and Tara’s plane had landed a little after 5 pm, and Dawn had been volunteered by Buffy to go pick them up in Spike’s car. Steven, of course, went along. Even before going to their apartment, Dawn drove the Witches to Revello, and Buffy welcomed them with hugs and a bright smile. They had been gone since the beginning of the summer, on a tour in the British islands. They had kept in contact through emails, but Buffy still wanted to hear everything about their trip. They complied eagerly, completing their story with pictures. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and before long Buffy was saying out loud that she wished she could have gone with them. The statement brought a frown to Spike’s face. He had been listening to the Witches, mostly quietly but with a few comments or questions every now and then. He didn’t say a word as he frowned, but Buffy understood the message very clearly. He had been asking her for months to go on a trip with him, anywhere she wanted, just a few days away from Sunnydale. But there was always something to stop her. Dawn, their work, slaying, school. What if they had accompanied Willow and Tara overseas? No call from the Council. No dealing with Faith. No Drusilla…

Spike hadn’t said a word about her since the previous night, and Buffy couldn’t help but wonder how he felt about having killed her. If he was hurting, he was hiding it very well. All he had done since he had staked her was take care of Buffy. Nothing else. He was hovering around her like a protective mother hen, making sure she fed, cleaning her wounds even though they just needed time to heal. He had even placed a band-aid on her neck, over Drusilla’s marks, something he had never done for his own marks. Buffy let him do as he pleased without complaining, a little amused by his fussing, but mostly comforted by it. He was taking such good care of her that the images Drusilla had placed in her mind were already fading away.

The afternoon passed quickly, friends and family enjoying each other without thinking of the future. All too soon, however, night came, and they all made their way to the Magic Box. It was time to talk apocalypse.

Chapter 35 - The Prophecy (1)

Quietly sitting at the research table next to Willow, Tara was letting her eyes drift over the improbable collection of people that were assembled in the Magic Box. Her family. Here in this strange little shop, she had learned that she wasn’t a demon as she had believed, she had severed all links with her blood kin, and she had found a new family. It consisted of a Witch, a girl made of mystic energy, a former vengeance demon, a Watcher, two vampires, including one who was also a vampire Slayer, and…well, Xander. Not your typical American family, but she wouldn’t have wanted another one for anything.

For a little while, her gaze rested on the two new women who were leaning against the shelves and talking quietly in French. They weren’t Scoobies. Not yet. But if they stayed in Sunnydale, they would be, sooner or later. It was impossible not to become part of the group when you faced death, demons and all sorts of supernatural things on a regular basis.

Next to her, Willow yawned. Tara couldn’t help yawning too, and they shared an amused glance and a quiet chuckle. They were both still on Greenwich time and badly jet-lagged, and could have used some sleep. Tara couldn’t wait for the meeting to start. Though she wasn’t really in a hurry to hear about what they would be fighting this time and how. She knew, in her heart and soul, that whatever it was, they could take it. They always could. That was what they did. The Scoobies saved people, without anyone ever hearing about it. It didn’t matter. They knew, and it was enough.

“What are we waiting for?” she asked Willow, sotto voce, as she squeezed her hand a little.

* * * * *

“For Angel to arrive,” Willow replied quietly.

The vampire had always had a sense for drama, but right now Willow thought it was pretty annoying. It was almost a struggle for her to remain awake, and the later the meeting started, the longer it would take for her to get to her bed. Jet lag was only part of the problem. Ever since their stay with a coven a couple of weeks before and their meeting with a seer, Willow had found new powers within herself. She had had flashes, and also dreams, that she believed showed the future. That was why she and Tara had come home early. Even before she heard it from Giles, she had known something nasty was brewing on the Hellmouth.

Big surprise, that. Why couldn’t all the bad stuff happen somewhere else? It wasn’t like Sunnydale had anything really interesting to offer to the armies of hell…

Willow tried to stifle another yawn, unsuccessfully, and giggled as Tara imitated her again. She leaned against her girlfriend’s shoulder, not daring to close her eyes for fear of falling asleep. Buffy, across the table, didn’t have the same scruples, and had seemingly dozed off. Her head was tucked under Spike’s chin as he straddled the bench, one arm curled almost protectively around her. At seeing them so comfortable with each other, Spike’s thumb drawing small circles where his hand rested on Buffy’s waist, Willow couldn’t believe she had ever doubted they were genuinely in love. Well, she had doubted Buffy’s feelings, but never Spike’s, not since she had seen him weeping over the dead Slayer at the base of Glory’s tower, right after their last averted apocalypse. Hopefully, this time, no tears would need to be shed, except maybe ones of relief.

* * * * *

Anya was annoyed. Very, very annoyed. Almost enough to cry from frustration. They had made her close the shop early, and now they weren’t even starting the damn meeting. Of course, since Giles wasn’t the co-owner of the shop anymore, he didn’t care about missed sales. But she cared. Cared enough to be frustrated to the point of tears. Which was weird, really. Being that upset about missing sales? She hadn’t been in years. She just felt all funny. Funny in a non-funny way. She had even cried over burnt pancakes this morning. Maybe this apocalypse stuff was finally getting to her. But then, why would it? She had seen some pretty nasty things in her millennium as a demon, why should the prospect of a new fight bother her so? She had grown soft, that was the only reason she could think of. The demon shell was completely broken now, and all that was left was a human Anya, who was afraid about this new prophecy, who didn’t want her husband or any of her friends to be hurt, who quite honestly just didn’t want to die.

Having finished tallying the day’s sales, she closed the cash register irritably, letting out a small sigh. That caught the attention of Xander, who was looking at construction blueprints a little farther down the counter.

“Something wrong, sweetie?” he asked.

She shook her head. Nothing was wrong. But everything was. She didn’t know how to explain what she didn’t even understand.

“Getting impatient, that’s all,” she grumbled.

* * * * *

“Yeah, me too,” Xander replied with a smile.

The thought was quite disturbing, but he couldn’t wait for Broodboy to get to the shop. Him. Waiting expectantly for Angel. Of course, that wasn’t any worse than being friends with the evil undead. The one that didn’t have a soul. But who soon would.

Xander was happy about Buffy becoming human again, very happy. Angel getting a pulse was OK too, it would just be the final proof that Angelus wouldn’t show up in Sunnydale, ever again. But Spike…the bleached blonde, un-chipped, not so evil anymore, utterly in love vampire he had learned to see as a friend, turning into a regular guy? That was weird. That was more than weird. That was plain scary. Not that Xander minded him losing his fangs, really, he still had no particular affection for anything fangy. But what made Spike Spike was that he was a vamp. A very uncommon one, true, but a vamp just the same. It would be majorly weird to see him in the sun. Probably just as much as it had been to see a vampire Buffy.

The doorbell chimed, and Xander glanced up, muttering “Finally” under his breath. He folded away his work plans and followed Anya to the research table, the central point of Scoobie Central, sitting between her and Willow.

“Sorry for being late,” Angel mumbled to no one in particular.

The brunette vampire eyed the table and the three couples around it before settling by the counter, leaning back against it. Xander, like everybody else, looked at Giles, who cleared his throat as he glanced at the other Watcher.

* * * * *

“Well, since everybody’s finally here, let’s start,” Giles said calmly, trying very hard not to glare at the tardy vampire.

Andrea nodded at him, inviting him to go on. Since he was familiar with the Scoobies, she had agreed that it was best for him to do the talking, but he fully expected her to be prompt at correcting him or giving summaries, if needed. Not that he planned to leave anything for her to correct.

He cleared his throat again, and looked at the fighters gathered in front of him. Xander and Anya, both showing a mix of expectation and wariness. Willow, Tara and Buffy all looked tired, and from the Slayer that was surprising. But they were all watching him, waiting. So were Dawn and Steven, from their perch on the edge of the mezzanine. The boy had an excited gleam in his eyes, while Dawn seemed more cautious. Angel and Spike, for once, shared the same blank expression, totally devoid of emotions, and Giles wondered for an instant what they were thinking. Andrea knew all about the prophecy, and she just seemed impatient to see the meeting on its way. The youngest member of the group was returning his gaze as he looked at her, and she gave him an encouraging smile. In many ways, Manon reminded him of Buffy, and yet she was so different. One common thing between them at least was that they knew they had great responsibilities, and did not run from them.

“In eleven days, the Hellmouth will open,” he started. “But this time, we will be confronted not only by our usual hellish demons, but also by some from another dimension. I believe its name is Quortoth.”

* * * * *

Giles eyes settled on Steven as he said the name, and the teen shivered unconsciously. It had to be a mistake. He couldn’t mean… Steven glanced at his father, who had the same puzzled look on his face that Steven was sure he had on his. Before he could voice his questions though, Buffy was talking.

“When we came back from LA, you said we had a good five weeks in front of us. Why the change of timeline?”

Giles threw a quick glance toward the woman Watcher, and replied, a bit flustered:

“Well, it appears I had wrongly translated a word, and Miss Travers was kind enough to point out my mistake to me.”

From the smug smile on the woman’s lips, it looked like it had been more than one word.

“Quortoth?” Angel said quietly, the question clear in his voice.

“Yes, there is no possible mistake on that.”

Giles took off his glasses, rubbing them clean as he continued.

“That’s why I questioned you about this portal you opened to get Steven back. It appears that it was never sealed completely. The entry point was only partly closed, and it has been opening randomly for short periods of time for the last three years.”

“The portal was in the middle of my lobby,” Angel objected. “I would have noticed…”

“It travels,” Giles interrupted him. “The portal has been moving around, letting out a few creatures that mostly ended up being drawn to Sunnydale, to the Hellmouth, where Buffy and Spike have been taking care of them.”

So… That explained why, a few times, as he patrolled with the two vampires, Steven had thought he recognized the demons they slaughtered. He had never mentioned it, thinking they were just coincidences, but now it made sense. He had thought he was free of Quortoth, but Quortoth had found him again. Slowly, a twisted grin came to his lips. He still had a few scores to settle with some demons of the hell dimension, and soon he would have his chance.

* * * * *

“The next time the portal opens, it will be right over the Hellmouth,” Giles said grimly. “Not only will it open a door to another dimension, but it will also open the Hellmouth itself. And both doors will be permanent. Unless we manage to close them within twelve hours.”

Dawn’s blood was chilling in her veins as she listened to Giles. She didn’t like at all that smile creeping up on Steven’s face. She liked even less this talk of portals and doors to other dimensions. Not one bit. Bad memories. Instinctively, she placed a hand over her stomach. The scar there was very faint, almost nonexistent. But it was the testimony of another portal opening. Or more precisely, of her blood having opened another portal.

“The prophecy tells us how to close both doors,” Giles carried on, then hesitated.

Dawn had started chanting in her head, repeating over and over again “Not me please, not me please”. The Watcher’s eyes rose to the mezzanine again, not on Steven this time, but on her.

“Oh crap!”

Her exclamation brought everybody’s attention to Dawn, and she could see that they all had the same thought as her.

“I’m afraid you guessed at least partly right, Dawn,” Giles said gently. “Yes, we will need you to close these portals. But this time your blood didn’t open them, so it won’t be your blood we will use to close them.”

Dawn let out a deep sigh, then frowned and asked: “What then?”

“Your energy. You were made out of energy, we will use it to close the portals.”

That didn’t sound too dire, Dawn mused. But still she wasn’t too happy that again she was nothing but a key. Steven’s hand sneaked onto her lap, grabbing her fingers and bringing them to his mouth for a kiss. She leaned against him, seeking the comfort of his warmth.

“Who is ‘we’?” Buffy asked suddenly. “And what exactly do you plan to do to my sister? Because I’m not sure I like the sound of it.”

As she said so, she glanced up at Dawn and gave her an affectionate smile. Instantly, Dawn was reassured, knowing that Buffy wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.

“When I say ‘we’, I mean Willow, Tara and myself,” Giles said as he looked at the Witches then back to Buffy. “We will use magic to reach through Dawn’s energy and patch up the holes between dimensions. A bit tricky, but harmless to Dawn.”

“I will be part of that circle too,” Andrea added firmly.

“We talked about that,” Giles replied with a sigh. “You have no magic training and…”

“I will learn,” the woman insisted. “I can learn. There is enough time…”

“You Watchers can argue about that all you want later,” Spike interrupted suddenly. “The portal and the bloody Hellmouth open, the Witches close it with Nibblet’s help, then why in hell do we have to become humans?”

“Well, if I wasn’t interrupted every two words, maybe I could get to that part,” Giles replied, annoyed.

Chapter 36 - The Prophecy (2)

We?

“Wait a minute. Who is becoming human exactly?”

Giles glowered at Angel, which the vampire interpreted as scolding for interrupting just after he had asked them all to let him finish. However, the Watcher answered his question.

“You, Buffy and Spike. I thought you knew about it?”

“I knew about myself,” Angel replied, frowning a little.

Spike laughed, and Angel couldn’t help glaring at him. He was still kind of bothered by the way Spike had reacted when he had told him.

“Surprised, soulboy?” he asked with a smirk. “Jealous that you won’t be so special after all?”

Angel was about to reply and put his Childe – because he was still his Childe, whatever he said – back in his place, but Buffy cut him off, while very obviously elbowing her Sire.

“Cordy was in my dreams too,” she explained. “She said all three of us would turn human so that we can fight during the day.”

Angel nodded, still a bit shocked, but genuinely happy for Buffy. She was humanity and life incarnated, and for her to be a vampire was just an abomination. He really wasn’t sure what to think about a human Spike. And, as much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, the annoying blonde had seen right through him about his feelings. Yes, he was jealous. He had been fighting for the Powers That Be for years for his reward, and now his Childe, who didn’t even have a soul, was going to get the same thing.

“It’s great,” he managed to say with a smile.

Buffy smiled back at him, but Spike snorted.

“Well, if that matter is cleared up, perhaps you will let me continue?”

Giles gave a chastising glance around the room, daring anyone else to talk out of turn. When no one said anything, the Watcher carried on:

“The portals will open at noon, so, yes, we will need our resident vampires to be protected against the sun, and Cordelia or whoever she works for was kind enough to think of that. Now the prophecy…”

The Watcher sighed as he noticed Dawn’s raised hand and took off his glasses.

“You have a question Dawn?”

“Actually, I do. Sorry. Not that I mind the fanged club turning human, but does anyone remember where the Hellmouth is exactly? Under Sunnydale High. And I’d know, ‘cause hey, I was there every day not that long ago, and it sure was hell, but my point is, building, no sun?”

“As the portal collides with the Hellmouth, there will be an explosion,” the woman Angel supposed was a Watcher chimed in before Giles could reply. “We expect the school to be destroyed entirely in the process.”

A small smile crept on Dawn’s face, and a word escaped her lips. “Cool.”

“No, it’s not cool,” Xander protested. “I built that school! It’s a very fine building!”

He looked around him, finding nothing but blank stares.

“And I will just shut up now,” he finished.

“Good idea,” Giles mumbled, before adding, louder: “As I was saying, Buffy will become human, and according to the Prophecy, fight whatever is coming out of the two doors with her sisters.”

* * * * *

If Giles’ eyes had been stakes…, Buffy mused as she raised her hand, just like Dawn had a minute ago. He nodded tiredly at her, and she asked:

“First, newsflash, I just have one sister. Not sisters, plural. Second, there’s no way Dawnie gets to fight hellish stuff.”

“Hey, if that’s what the Prophecy says, then I will…”

“No, you won’t.”

With one voice, Buffy, Spike and Steven interrupted the teenager, who started sulking.

“None of us will be able to fight properly if we think you’re going to be in danger,” Buffy explained, and both men confirmed her words with a nod.

“She won’t have to fight literally,” Giles explained. “She will, however, need to be there, as will we, to be able to close the doors. As for your other sister, it is meant as a metaphor, to designate your sister in slaying.”

Oh. OK. Slayer sister. Got that. And at least she can fight.

Buffy glanced at Manon, who hadn’t said a word since the beginning of the meeting. The girl gave her a shy smile, a little uncertain, to which Buffy replied sincerely. She truly wouldn’t have minded having her as a sister.

Taking advantage of the lull in the conversation, Giles started talking again.

“That’s only part of the fighters, the Slayer and her sisters. The other part, in the text, was referred as ‘father, son and brother’. We didn’t quite know what to do with that one, but with Cordelia telling Buffy that Angel, Steven and Spike are to fight this battle, it seems it can fit.”

Spike’s body stiffened against Buffy, and she glanced at him just as he flashed a smirk up at Steven. Angel, he very blatantly ignored.

“So, that’s it,” Giles said with a sigh. “At noon in eleven days, Sunnydale High will blow up and hell will literally pour out of it. We have fighters to kill anything that gets out while our magically inclined crew tries to close the doors before midnight.”

Said like this, it sure didn’t seem that hard. It never did, before the day of the actual fight. But on the battleground, things had a nasty way of turning out much differently than they were supposed to.

* * * * *

There was maybe a minute of silence after the Watcher was done talking, while everyone was absorbing what he had said, when Glinda spoke up, though she was still shy about talking in front of the assembled Scoobies, despite all they had been through together.

“What if a demon manages to get away? I mean, if they all come out at once, one might escape, and end up running around loose in Sunnydale.”

“We could find a protective spell,” Red proposed excitedly. “Like, a big bubble around the high school, so nothing can get out. Or in. We don’t need anyone looking over our shoulder while we’re in the newly destroyed school fighting demons.”

That was a good idea, and there were nods of agreement all around for Willow. And that made Spike wonder why they couldn’t just have a sun proof bubble and forget the whole human thing. He let out a quiet sigh, and Buffy looked at him, an eyebrow arched questioningly. He shook his head and smiled at her. His hesitancy was nothing he wanted her concerned about.

The ‘magically inclined’, as the Watcher had called them, discussed the bubble thing for a moment, until Xander’s insistent coughing brought their attention back to him.

“OK, a job for everyone and everyone doing their job, so what do Anya and I do? No little bit of Prophecy about us?”

Anya was nodding next to him, agreeing that she wanted to participate too. There was still something odd about her…

“I guess you can help with the slaying,” Giles suggested.

“No they can’t,” Spike interjected suddenly.

There, he had it. He knew what was different with Anya, and he wanted to slap himself for not understanding sooner. He would have realized earlier if he had been paying closer attention.

“And why not, evil soon-not-so-undead?”

Xander’s teasing was partly surprised, partly irritated. The boy wanted to fight, he truly did. He wanted to be useful, even if his talent at fighting was, well, not pathetic, but not very far from it either.

“You want to tell him, Anya?” Spike said softly. “It’s not my place to.”

“Say what?” she replied with a frown.

Spike rolled his eyes. Just great. The bint didn’t even know.

“You’re pregnant,” he said bluntly, earning stares from all persons present.

“I am what?”

“She’s what?”

Surprise, panic, and a hint of hope, in both Harrises’ voices.

“Pregnant,” Spike repeated without adding anything.

They looked at each other, still looking incredulous, but it was starting to sink in at last. Anya placed a hand on her belly, and one of Xander’s covered it.

“How do you know?” Buffy asked him with a frown.

“Just listen, luv. When there’s no noise, you can hear his heartbeat. It’s quiet but it beats very fast, easy to recognize.”

As he finished talking, silence fell on the room, and Spike was sure they were all trying to hear, though only vampires’ ears would catch it. He watched the wonder flutter over his Slayer’s face, then she was grinning madly and he kissed the side of her head, pleased at her evident delight.

“I can hear it too,” she said excitedly. “Congratulation guys!”

There was a general group hug, which Spike didn’t manage to escape despite his desperate attempts. Everybody quickly agreed with him that the expectant mother was not to fight under any circumstances, and that Xander should be kept out of the battle if possible. No one wanted the new member of the Scooby gang to be orphaned even before he was born.

* * * * *

The soon to be parents agreed to stay out of the battle, but they admitted feeling a bit guilty at being on the side line while their friends fought. Manon made a suggestion then. It was the first time she had talked tonight. She was a bit intimidated at being in the middle of all these people, some of whom she was meeting for the first time. Also, her Slayer sense was all jumpy, with the two vampires she had gotten used to plus the new one, which no one had warned her about. How these people could be so used to having vampires among them was still a wonder to her. She didn’t mind them so much, it just felt weird. Of course, from what she understood, they wouldn’t remain vampires for very long.

“We’ll probably need first aid at some point or another,” she said hesitantly, very conscious suddenly of her accent with so many people listening to her. “Maybe Xander and Anya can stay outside the bubble thing and we can go to them if we’re wounded. If we have to fight for twelve hours, we’ll need to rest and eat or drink sometimes too.”

“That’s a good point, Manon,” Giles said immediately.

She glanced at Buffy, happy to see her smile. She liked the older Slayer, and she thought the feeling was mutual. She was actually starting to like the other vampire too, to her own surprise. Still, she wouldn’t mind at all once they all became humans and stopped playing with her senses.

There was some more talking, a lot more, details being cleared and plans drawn. She quickly stopped paying much attention to all of it. Her own role was clear. Slay every demon in sight. Knowing that she wouldn’t be alone for that battle, she wasn’t afraid. Not particularly impatient for the day to come, but not afraid either. When Andrea had first explained to her about being the Slayer, the job had sounded awfully solitary. Now that she had met Buffy and her friends, she realized it would only be lonely if she decided to let it be. And she certainly wouldn’t.

* * * * *

Andrea’s orders had been clear when she had been sent to Sunnydale with the new Slayer. Prevent the apocalypse, and limit to the minimum the contacts with the locals. And yet, there she was, in the middle of their HQ, where she had spent the last few days helping the ex-Watcher translate the prophecy, and where Manon had been training with vampires. If her father knew, he would disown her instantly, she had no doubt about it. And she didn’t care in the least. In a few days, she had found out for herself that the information that had been given to her about the so-called Scoobies had been very much tainted to fit the Council’s view of the world. She understood now how they had survived so much, and why Buffy was still around, even if she was a demon. If she could help it, Andrea had every intention to see Manon live even longer that the Summers girl. And if that meant working with rebels and demons, oh well, so be it. Just as long as someone else took care of informing the Head Watcher.

* * * * *

Sitting on the counter, right next to Angel, Cordelia looked at her army with a satisfied smile. A pity she couldn’t talk to them, really, she almost felt like a general on the morning of a big battle and could have given a magnificent speech.

She liked the way they were planning their fight. She had written the Prophecy, true, but they were the ones deciding on how the actual events would happen. She winced at the thought. Three times, Skip had made her rewrite the damn thing, complaining that she couldn’t make the text too easy. Another one of these stupid rules. What was the point of warning them with a Prophecy if they couldn’t even understand the warning? If she hadn’t let slip a few things to Buffy, Giles and his Watcher friend would still have been wondering who the other fighters were supposed to be. Of course, if they had just mentioned it to any of the three men, they would have had their answer. Well, maybe not. Spike might have kept his mouth shut. He was a serious pain in her immaterial bottom. And he would be even more before it ended, she just knew it.

Shaking her head, she pulled her eyes away from the bleached blonde vampire, letting them slide over the happy Harris couple. She couldn’t help smiling at them. What she had ever seen in Xander, she didn’t know, but she was glad for him and Anya. Cute couples abounded, now that she thought of it. Xander and Anya, Tara and Willow, Dawn and Steven, Buffy and Spike, even the Watchers, though they weren’t quite there yet. But they would be, in time. She had plans for the Watchers Council. All she needed was a little time.

Which left two people, both alone in the middle of so many others. One was sixteen, the other two hundred and a lot of change.

Cordelia glanced at Angel, next to her. He looked a bit lonely. A bit sad, too. She knew he had been affected by the death of Drusilla. She had also seen how he had reacted at the announcement of Buffy and Spike’s return to the living. Happy for her, but not so much for him. Jealous. Still jealous of his Childe, who had taken the love of his unlife, and would now get the reward that Angel felt he had worked so hard for. If she hadn’t been called to another plane of existence, she knew she could have made him forget about the blonde Slayer. As things were, it wasn’t an option. Not now, at least. Probably not ever, if Skip had his way.

Her gaze moved to the young Slayer, and Cordelia pondered her options. It wouldn’t be very hard, really, to push them together. Not hard at all. And it could make them both happy. For a long moment, she considered it. In the end, she did nothing, and just placed her hand over Angel’s shoulder, wishing he could feel her presence, smiling when he glanced, puzzled, at the exact place where her hand rested.

Chapter 37 - Patrols and Conflicts

Immobilizing the Slayer against the wall of a mausoleum, Spike shifted into game face just inches from her widening eyes. The furious beating of her heart, her shallow breathing, the faint scent of fear that emanated from her was intoxicating. And, weirdly enough, almost sickening.

“Lesson the first,” he growled, flashing his fangs. “Never get so familiar with a demon that you forget what he is.”

* * * * *

Right after the meeting, Spike drove the residents and guests of 1630 Revello Drive back home. In the car, his Slayer mentioned she wanted to patrol, but by the time they had arrived home he had managed to convince her otherwise, though it wasn’t that easily done with all the passengers of the car politely pretending not to eavesdrop on the exchange. For some reason, he didn’t want them to know about Drusilla, and Buffy seemed to share his wish. She still looked tired, and he wanted her to have at least one more full night of rest before getting back to slaying. She finally agreed, on the condition that he would do a quick sweep, which suited him just fine. That never-ending meeting had made him antsy, and he would gladly kill something, anything at all, to get rid of his excess of energy. He wasn’t one for detailed planning, never had been, for the simple reason that his plans had the slight tendency of turning out for the worse, especially if he spent too much time on them.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who needed some exercise before bed. As he walked through his first cemetery of the night, he stumbled upon Manon. They frowned at each other, both surprised by the unexpected encounter.

“Trying to get yourself killed by patrolling alone, gamine?”

She shrugged before walking away, her eyes darting around, obviously in search of prey. Automatically, he fell into step with her, as he used to do when meeting the patrolling Slayer, before she became his.

“I’ve been doing it almost since the first night,” she replied with a hint of pride. “And as you can see I’m still alive, vieillard. Just doing my job.”

He let the name pass without comment. Old man. That was just payback for him calling her kid.

“If you see it as a job, you won’t stay alive long.”

“Well, my chances of getting as old as Buffy are not that good to begin with, are they?” she commented almost casually. “Andrea said she was one of the oldest Slayers ever. Until you killed her.”

He should have been used to it by now, but it was always a blow to be reminded that he had killed his Slayer. He didn’t mind hearing that he had turned her, but ‘killed’ was just so cold. So far from the point, too.

He realized something suddenly. There had been no anger, no wariness in her voice. And she wasn’t paying much attention to him at all as they walked, not keeping an eye on him anymore as she had done so far every night they patrolled. He should have been happy about it, after all he and Buffy had been repeatedly telling the girl that she risked nothing from him. But for some reason, it bothered him.

“You’re not afraid of me any longer,” he stated, puzzled.

A faintly smug smile came to her lips.

“Well, you’re not dangerous to humans, are you? Just to demons.”

Maybe it was the smile. Maybe it was the frustration of not having found one single vamp to dust yet. Maybe it was the tone of her voice, too confident, that screamed ‘tamed animal’. Maybe it was the sadness turned into anger he had repressed since Drusilla’s death, finally coming to the surface. Whatever the reason, something in him snapped.

Before she had a chance to react, he had grabbed her, pinned her to a wall and shifted into game face.

“Lesson the first. Never get so familiar with a demon that you forget what he is.”

Having made his point, he abruptly let go of her and took a step back, slipping into his human visage again.

“Buffy made that mistake twice,” he said coldly. “First time, she unleashed a demon that tortured and killed her friends before trying to end the world. Second time, she was turned. If you want to live, remember that even a seemingly tamed wolf can bite, for no other reason than that he wants to.”

Very slowly, she nodded, and the caution was back in her eyes. She wouldn’t forget.

“I don’t see why you care,” she said almost defiantly. “But since you do, anything else I should know?”

Spike grinned at how fast she had put aside her fear. He thought about her question for an instant. Who was he, to give advice to a Slayer? But he might as well continue what he had started.

“Friends, family,” he said more calmly. “You were commenting on how long Buffy has been a Slayer. They are the explanation. Not just because they help her, but also because they are her reason to keep fighting. If you have nothing, no one connecting you to the world you’re supposed to protect, sooner or later you find yourself with a death wish. And there will never be a lack of candidates to grant that wish to you.”

Again, she nodded.

“You should go home,” he added, a bit tiredly. “Watcher-girl will worry.”

And he cared because..? God, he was growing soft in his old age. First giving hints to the girl about surviving, now worrying that she might get in trouble. What next?

“She never knows,” Manon replied with a grin.

Quiet now, they started walking toward the cemetery’s exit. Now, though, there was a sense of readiness coming from the kid, and Spike guessed that if he tried to attack her again she would be able to defend herself, or at least she would try. It was a good thing, but, at the same time, he was a bit sad. He had been enjoying their growing comfortable companionship.

“It’s going to sound strange right after I warned you about trusting any demon, but I wouldn’t hurt you.”

They had reached the street at last. She paused, looked up at him, and smiled, an almost childlike smile.

“Je sais,” she said simply as she turned and left him standing there.

He shook his head and sighed as he watched her go, chastising himself for feeling better that a kid – a Slayer - told him she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Growing soft? He was already a bleeding nancy boy, yes.

* * * * *

Funny how quickly one could fall back into old habits. For Angel, being in Sunnydale seemed to bring out two. Patrolling, and brooding.

The first he did without thinking, letting his instincts take over. Hunt vamps, sneak up on them, dust with minimal fight, and move on to find the next.

The second was just the opposite. Too much thinking. All he should have been thinking about was that he would soon be human. That should have made him happy enough to forget everything else. Forget this stupid jealousy that Spike would share his reward. Forget this heart wrenching certitude that a human-again Buffy would not return to him. Forget the day that had never happened, both of them together and human. Forget that, if he survived this apocalypse, he would go home to LA human, yes, but alone.

Lost in his thoughts as he was, Angel was mildly surprised to walk up on his Childe. Surprised, also, that he was alone.

“What are you doing here?” he asked the blonde.

“Same thing as you, I suppose.”

He watched Spike light a cigarette and take a long drag. The last member of his vampire family. Except for his Grand Childe. They both would be human with him. And neither wanted to have much to do with him anymore.

“Where is Buffy?”

A hint of gold, gone as quickly as it had appeared, in these midnight blue eyes that were scrutinizing him while trying to pretend they weren’t.

“Home. Resting.”

Angel nodded, wincing inwardly. He had had an all too clear view of Buffy’s scarred front. He remembered having been in her place under Drusilla’s ministrations. He also had memories of inflicting the same kind of torture. Drusilla was a quick study. Had been. He also remembered having been in Spike’s place, or almost. He had killed his Sire. Killed the woman who had offered him eternity. For Buffy.

Just a woman, barely more than a girl, not even a quarter of a century old. Certainly, there were women more beautiful than her. Smarter. Sexier. So how had she made two Master vampires that between them had seen almost 400 years pass throw everything away for her, forget that she was the natural enemy of their kind, become her allies in her fight? Just a woman. Just a Slayer. And so much more. Which was why it was so hard to let go of her. And yet he was aware he would have to, eventually.

“You’re brooding, Peaches,” Spike snickered, pulling Angel out of his thoughts.

They were still facing each other, but the youngest of the pair had already finished his cigarette. He flicked it to the ground, stepping on it before turning away and resuming his patrol. Angel caught up with him easily, though he couldn’t have explained why. For a long while, they were silent, dusting a few vamps, each acting as if the other wasn’t there. It was Angel who finally broke the silence.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked quietly.

“Does what hurt?” Spike replied, his voice carrying annoyance.

“Drusilla.”

The sharp intake of breath taken by the blonde was answer enough, and Angel, for a reason he couldn’t have explained, wished Spike had not needed to go through that. No one deserved to go through such a thing.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” Spike hissed. “At least I didn’t torture her or set her on fire.”

Angel flinched at the words as much as he would have at a physical blow. Point taken. Again, for a little while, the silence, so unusual from Spike. And, just as uncharacteristically, it was Angel who tried to initiate another conversation.

“So, what are your plans when you become human again?”

There was a slight hesitation in Spike’s stride, and if Angel hadn’t been looking for it, he might not have noticed.

“Survive an apocalypse,” Spike growled. “And keep Buffy away from you. That’s the extent of my planning so far.”

“I wouldn’t…” Angel started, then immediately stopped.

Yes, he would, and Spike knew it. He would try to get her back if he thought he had half a chance. And trying to deny it would only antagonize Spike, because he would never believe otherwise. So he changed the subject.

“You’re lucky,” he said. “You won’t be torn before your soul and your demon. It shouldn’t be too…”

He stopped again, this time because Spike wasn’t walking by his side anymore. He turned around, wondering what he could have said this time to anger his glowering Childe.

“You think I’m lucky?” Spike spat. “You think I want to be human? Are you completely daft? You’re the one who dreams of it. I don’t. Vampire. That’s what I am. That’s all I want to be. For you it has become a shame, for me it was always a gift. Can’t you understand that?”

The proverbial light bulb was suddenly turned on in Angel’s mind. That was it. The missing piece of the puzzle that was Spike. A gift. That was the reason for his hostility. Did he really think Angel regretted giving that life to him? Did he believe himself an unwanted child? An unwanted Childe?

Angel wanted to tell him that, no, he didn’t regret. Had never regretted. Despite everything. But already Spike was striding away, angrily, once again. Angel just let him go, watching his proud and stiff back, wondering if any words would ever be enough to fix whatever was broken between them. Everything that concerned Spike was just so complicated. Truthfully, he didn’t regret having sired him. Even if the blonde was insufferable. Even if he had always been as much a nuisance as a help. Even if he had turned Buffy and taken her from him. Even if Angel had been on the brink of staking him more times than he cared to remember. Even if he was insanely jealous of his Childe, for all the wrong reasons. Even if he hated him with all his heart, just as he knew Spike hated him. He didn’t regret, because, from both sides, it wasn’t just hate, however hard they tried to pretend.

Chapter 38 - A Thousand Times Yes

When he returned home, merely an hour before sunrise, Spike was still furious. Prowling around the town’s places that were most frequented by demons had been of little comfort, but had at least allowed him to get rid of his surplus of energy. The bloody Poof just didn’t understand anything. Lucky?! The only thing he considered himself lucky for was that Buffy was his. The one and only thing that made his life worth continuing, with or without a heartbeat.

Despite the lingering anger, he opened the bedroom door as quietly as he could and slipped in silently, careful not to wake his beautiful Slayer. She had left a couple of floating candles lit in a round vase, for him, undoubtedly, and the wavering flames cast shadows on her sleeping form. As his eyes drifted over her, he couldn’t help smiling lovingly. Yes, lucky.

Still quiet, he undressed quickly and walked into the bathroom, stepping under a very hot shower. Dust and blood disappeared down the drain, and, with them, slowly, his anger. He was rinsing the shampoo from his hair when a cool body pressing against his back startled him. Elegant arms encircled him, slender fingers drawing patterns on his chest, one hand coming up to tease his flat nipples, the other sliding down to his hardening shaft. Blunt teeth were scraping the back of his neck softly, sending shivers down his body. For a couple of minutes, he just let himself enjoy the ministrations of his lady, stifling the delighted groans that were rising in his throat.

Intertwining his fingers with hers, he finally stopped her caresses and turned around to face Buffy. Her head was tilted up, requesting a kiss that he was all too happy to give. Chaste and tender at first, just lips brushing together. Quickly, tenderness evolved into fiery lust, and their tongues were dancing against each other, as were their bodies and hands, wet skin sliding against wet skin, soft against hard.

They broke the kiss, both panting needlessly. Spike fumbled to turn the water off, then scooped his Slayer into his arms, eliciting a quiet laugh. He carried her back to the bedroom, stopping just as he crossed the threshold, looking around him in appreciation. All around the room, candles were burning, throwing dancing shadows on the walls and ceiling, creating the illusion that the clouds of their sky were moving, floating on the wind.

“Spike…”

She glided to the floor, standing right in front of him, her arms around his neck, smiling up at him a bit shyly.

“Spike,” she repeated, ever so softly, “can I … I mean… do you want…”

She took a deep breath – she was so cute when she did that – and said in a whisper:

“Will you be my Mate, as well as my Sire?”

He blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected it, not so soon after her torture, and not when they were going to become humans. But he was also surprised at the hesitation in her tone, as if she wasn’t sure he would accept.

His answer was to claim her mouth again, and to try to tell her with his lips and tongue how much he loved her, desired her, admired her, worshipped her. As they kissed, he guided her gently to the bed and they lay down, limbs tangling, stroking, pulling bodies closer.

“Was that a yes?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yes, it was a yes. A thousand times yes.”

As they rested on their sides, chest to chest, Buffy slid her leg over Spike‘s, opening herself to him. Easily, he slid inside her, rocking himself deeper progressively, with no haste.

His fingers trailed along her face, down the side of her neck that was free of scars. Four times, as a human, she had been bitten and scarred. Four times on the same side. Even Drusilla had chosen that side. He had bitten her on the other side before, but the marks had faded, always. Her skin was so smooth. Precious silk. Cool and white alabaster. A blank canvas for him to sign, to leave a permanent mark.

“Where will you mark me?” he whispered.

She turned her head, reaching to kiss the hand that was caressing her, her lips brushing on his wrist.

“Right there,” she replied. “Where I drank first. Where you can see it and remember that you are mine.”

He smiled gently, repressing the urge to tell her that he would never need reminders about that. Then his smile faded as he realized that, maybe, he would need such a proof. Would the claim stand once they became humans? A human claimed by a vampire couldn’t tell the difference from a drinking bite. For vampires, on the other hand, the claim became part of them, part of what they were, as if a piece of their Mate existed in them. Until the Mate died, and the foreign piece vanished with them. It wasn’t painful, it was just a sudden void where before there was wholeness.

Buffy moving on top of him pulled Spike away from his worry. They would know what would happen when it happened, and until then, they would be vampires, Sire and Childe, Mates.

She sat astride him before helping him to a sitting position, her legs sliding around him. He rested a hand on her lower back, pressing her closer to him, and presented his other hand to her. She tilted her head, offering him the unscarred skin he had been admiring earlier. He brushed his lips softly on her flesh, rediscovering familiar territory, trying to find the perfect spot. She had already found her place, and he could feel her fangs grazing against his skin, scratching lightly, not hard enough yet to draw blood.

“Just bite, luv,” he murmured. “Your demon will do the claim part.”

Following his own advice, he shifted into game face and easily pierced her skin. The sweet ambrosia of her blood hit his tongue just as she bit his wrist. At first, it was only a double bite, like they had often shared, delightful and powerful enough to make them both quake as blood passed from one to the other and back. But suddenly, it wasn’t just a bite anymore. It was not about blood. It was about reaching out to the other’s essence, to the very core of what they were, and grabbing a part of that. A thousand suns exploding in the same second and setting the universe on fire.

Light.

Power.

Warmth.

Energy.

And pleasure.

A shout pierced through the overflowing sensations to reach Spike’s conscience, and he couldn’t have said to save his own life if it was Buffy’s or his. Or theirs.

* * * * *

It was so much all at once that Buffy thought for a second that she was falling through Glory’s portal, again. So much energy going through her…

But no pain this time. Just pleasure that seemed to have no boundaries. Her whole body shook with a sudden, violent, orgasm, and she screamed. She was aware of Spike shuddering, around and inside her. She could also feel him deeper, almost as if he was nestled in her soul, a bright fire that lit her whole being, and she understood what it was to have a Mate.

Still quivering, out of breath, she rested her head on his shoulder. He was babbling into her hair, repeating over and over that he loved her, that she was beautiful, that he was hers. She wanted to say the same thing to him, but words refused to leave her mouth. So she did the next best thing. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, slowly, tenderly, trying to give him back just a fraction of what he had given her.

Gently, he lowered her back to the bed, leaning above her, resting on his forearms. Awe was plain on his face, and adoration. So much. All for her. With strong and long thrusts, he made love to her, rekindling in her the inferno their claiming had started. An eternity passed in one batting of his eyelashes. Lost in his rhythm, she didn’t realize his eyes were clouded until a burning tear fell on the corner of her mouth. She couldn’t have said if she came first and brought him over the edge with her or if it was the sudden rush of warmth in her middle that triggered her climax.

Quaking, he laid over her body for a moment, his ragged breathing tickling her neck, and she felt closer to him than ever. He rolled them over then, until she was resting against his chest, his arms tight around her. She drifted into sleep, her cheek pressed to his slowly stirring chest, lulled by the rhythm of his heart.

Chapter 39 - William

One by one, the flames of the candles wavered and died, until only a pale frame of light seeping around the curtains broke the darkness. William’s eyes were wide open, but he didn’t notice the last flame disappearing. He didn’t realize night was gone and morning well on its way.

At first, all he was aware of was Buffy’s regular breathing, her warmth against his skin. It took him back to their relationship – was it even a relationship? – before he had turned her, when she ran away from him with the first rays of the sun, if not before, and he almost expected her to wake up and leave. It wouldn’t be surprising if she did, after all he was just a monster.

After a while, it came almost as a shock when he realized that he was breathing too. Habit, he told himself forcefully. Mimicry of his lover. But when he tried to stop, his lungs rapidly started burning, and he had to start inhaling again.

And then it began, as if they had just been waiting for him to realize he was back among the living to remind him that they were dead because of him. In the beginning, they came one at a time to confront him. For some of them, it was just a face, or not even that. For others, he could see clearly up to the last button of their fancy attire, up to the smallest tear in their too old jackets. One after another, they accused him, sometimes with only a date, a place, and sometimes with all the grim details of their deaths. Their deaths at his hands or fangs. He tried to close his eyes and shut them out, but it only increased their numbers. He tried to plead that it was the demon, not him, but they didn’t listen. They couldn’t listen. They were dead. Because of him.

For an eternity, he endured the litany of the accusations, while trying not to hear it, not to let it affect him. Over and over, he repeated to himself that he had to be strong. For Buffy, he had to. For the heavenly creature that trusted him enough to sleep in his arms, he would be. In ten days, the apocalypse was coming, and he needed to be strong to help her. Help them. Too much was at stake for him to allow the voices to touch him. They were dead. He had to be strong for the living.

“Spike…”

Buffy’s quiet and still sleepy voice startled him out of his thoughts, and for a blessed second the voices were quiet. He almost corrected her, but caught himself just in time. Yes, he was Spike. He had to be Spike.

She half rose from her lying position and leaned on her elbow, her other hand pressed flat against his chest.

“You’re warm…” she whispered, now fully awake, her eyes widening in surprise. “You’re alive.”

“Not just me,” he said through a tight throat. “We are.”

She let out a delighted laugh and again she was against him, on him, pressing kisses all over his face and giggling softly. He managed to smile, because her joy was such a beautiful thing to witness, almost beautiful enough to make him ignore the horrible words that were still ringing in his head.

“God I am famished!” she said between two laughs. “Breakfast?”

Without waiting for an answer, she was out of his arms and out of the bed, gathering clothes before stepping into the bathroom. Yes, he was hungry, too; if his stomach making weird noises did indeed mean that he was hungry. Still trying to ignore the voices, he got up and opened his closet. Paying only half a mind to what he was doing, he pulled out tan trousers and a light blue shirt. Nibblet had given these to him for Christmas the year before, and he had worn them only once, to please her. Spike had worn them just once. Spike didn’t wear these kinds of things. Frowning at the garments in his hands, he shoved them back into the closet, grabbing instead jeans, a t-shirt and a shirt, all of them black. Black suited him. Black for all his victims. Black for a murderer. A costume. Spike’s costume.

He was buttoning his shirt when Buffy called him to the bathroom. He joined her, wondering what was wrong, and she pulled him to stand next to her by the sink. Then she pointed at the mirror. A shockingly blonde man stared at him through bloodshot blue eyes, raising a scared eyebrow. Next to him, a laughing Buffy was making all sorts of funny faces. He half smiled at her, and so did the man in the mirror. With a different hair color and glasses in front of these too blue eyes… No, it didn’t just look like him, of course. It was Spike. It was him.

* * * * *

Buffy couldn’t help grinning at the look of amazement on Spike’s face as he ran a hand through his mussed curls, then touched his scar, his features, almost as if not believing it was his reflection he was staring at. He hadn’t seen himself in a mirror for quite a while, true, but he had seen pictures, so he shouldn’t have been that surprised.

She remembered she had something else to show him, and touched his arm lightly to get his attention.

“Look,” she said as she rolled her shirt halfway up her chest, exposing her skin. “The burns are all gone.”

Again, as if not believing his own eyes, he let his fingers confirm what he was seeing, trailing them lightly on the unscarred skin of her front, and the caress sent shivers down her spine. Just the night before, she had been covered in angry red marks. They didn’t hurt anymore, but they should have taken days to disappear so completely, if not weeks, even with accelerated healing.

Spike’s gaze and fingers traveled up to her neck, first where Drusilla had bitten her, and the punctures were completely gone too, as if they had never existed. Then he was checking the other side, and the barest smile touched his lips as he caressed ever so softly the two healed marks he had left just a few hours before. It seemed that Cordy, or whoever, had decided to heal her, but had understood the distinction between scars that were painful to see and welcome ones.

She looked down at Spike’s wrist as he rolled up his sleeve a little, and lightly traced the two clear pink puncture marks she had made.

“The marks are there,” he said softly, “but I can’t feel you.”

There was sadness in his voice, too much of it, and Buffy hugged him impulsively.

“I’m still yours,” she replied firmly.

His body was shaking in her embrace, and Buffy looked at his face, almost expecting to see him crying. He wasn’t, but his eyes were tightly shut.

“Spike, love, are you OK?” she asked worriedly. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

The shaking stopped then, and he took a couple of deep breaths.

“Nothing wrong,” he replied, his voice rasping. “Just feeling weird.”

A question was burning Buffy’s lips, but she wasn’t sure how he would react to it. She knew when Angel had first been cursed the guilt had basically broken his mind. There was just no good way to ask Spike if his soul was torturing him. And if it was, he would tell her, right?

“You would tell me if anything was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

He tilted his head slightly, and a frown barred his forehead, gone as quickly as it had appeared. He gave her a lopsided smile.

“Of course, luv. But there’s nothing to tell.”

She studied his expression for an instant, but all she could read on his face was love as she caressed his cheek lightly.

Buffy’s empty stomach protested loudly, and she felt half embarrassed, half amused by the rumbling. Giving a quick kiss to Spike, she took his hand and pulled him out of the bathroom and toward the kitchen. He had to be ravenous too.

“What do you want for breakfast?” she asked as she took out various things from the fridge and cupboards.

“Anything,” he replied absently. “Anything you make for yourself will be fine for me.”

In a few minutes, Buffy had cooked pancakes and omelets, and made coffee. Usually her improved cooking skills benefited Dawn or their guests, but this time at last she could truly taste what she had made. Covering a pancake with Nutella, she looked at Spike who was sitting on a stool opposite her. He was munching absentmindedly on what she had put on the plate in front of him, very obviously not caring what it was. He had talked so little since they had awoken, and she wished she knew what he was thinking. He had said before that he didn’t want to be human, and she could only wonder whether he was changing his mind or still feared he might not be himself anymore. Except for the unusual quiet and the slight broodiness, she could see no difference.

She followed his gaze, noticing that he was looking through the window, and a huge grin made its way onto her face. Quickly washing down the pancakes with some juice – apple and raspberries did taste better than she would have ever thought - she grabbed Spike’s hand and pulled him with her out of the house through the back door. He resisted, a look of pure panic crossing his face as she tried to get down the steps and into the sun.

“It’s OK, love,” she reminded him kindly. “We can go in the sun now. Come? Please?”

To prove her words, she walked a few steps away from him, tilting her head toward the sky, enjoying the warmth and light that bathed her. Laughing, she raised her arms above her head, turning so that she could feel the sun all over her.

Remembering her lover, she extended a hand to him, inviting him again to join her. He frowned a little but took a couple of steps, just enough to be able to touch her hand, not coming fully out of the shadows of the house yet. As he held on to her fingers, he was looking at his own, now in the sun. Gently, Buffy pulled him to her, for the first time admiring him under direct sunlight. She’d seen him during the day before, but she really hadn’t just been admiring him at the time. Not much, at least. She was pleased at the tentative smile that slowly bloomed on his lips.

“You are beautiful,” he said quietly, toying with a strand of her hair.

She felt a sudden rush of warmth in her body, and it had nothing to do with the sun.

* * * * *

How could he have ever said, let alone believed, that she belonged in the darkness with him, William wondered a little bitterly. She was a child of the sun, and seeing her glowing in the light only proved it once and for all.

He wished he could have felt her presence within him, felt the light and warmth of his Mate, but that comfort had been taken from him almost as soon as he had found it. And now he was alone, in the dark and cold, with the voices, even if he knew he was in her arms, in the sun, and listening to her laugh.

A shrieking Dawn suddenly jumped on him and Buffy, trying to hug them both at the same time.

“I saw you through the window,” she said excitedly. “It’s so great! So wonderful!”

Oh yeah, bloody wonderful.

The two sisters laughed and talked for a while, and William just looked at them, barely understanding what they were saying, their happy voices almost drowned out by harsh, accusing ones. He had failed them both. Didn’t protect Dawn when it counted, and let Buffy die. Two more voices to add to the cacophony.

A hand touched his shoulder and startled him. He turned toward Steven, who, despite his grin, looked a little concerned.

“You OK, Spike?” he asked.

“Will...” the blonde started, then stopped abruptly.

Spike Spike Spike I am Spike murderer yes but strong Spike need strong need Spike.

“I will be,” he said with a forced smile. “Feels a bit strange, that’s all.”

“You should get inside,” Dawn said suddenly, a bit worried. “You two are going to get sunburn if you stay out too long too soon.”

Sunburn. Yes, the sun burnt. The sun burnt bad men. He was a bad man. He was burning inside, the soul burnt. But the sun wasn’t burning his skin. Why wasn’t he burning?

* * * * *

The backyard was empty again, and Giles turned his back to the window, leaning against the sill. He took off his glasses, drying with the back of his hand the tears that had rolled down his cheeks. Buffy’s laughter had awoken him, and seeing her in the sun, alive, was even better than her last return to the living, because this time he wasn’t worried.

Or not much. She had been gravely, terminally, ill before being turned. What if the illness came back, now that she was human once more? His smile disappeared slowly at the thought.

He dressed quickly and joined the joyous impromptu breakfast party in the kitchen. Joyous, that is, except for Spike, who seemed strangely subdued. After the required hugs and congratulations, Giles managed to convince Buffy to go to the hospital for a check up. Actually, he convinced Spike, who didn’t leave much choice to Buffy. She was still protesting in the car, claiming that all her wounds had been healed – when had she been wounded? – and that it would have been stupid of whoever had made her human again to leave the tumor in her brain in the process. Five hours later, she was half sulking, half gloating, as the doctors pronounced her in perfect health.

From the hospital they went to the Magic Box, where the Scoobies, warned by Dawn, were all assembled. Angel was also there, beaming and breathing. He and Buffy hugged and laughed together, and Giles expected Spike to scowl at the display, or make it clear to the brunette that the changes didn’t affect his relationship with Buffy. But Spike said nothing. He just watched Buffy hug all of the Scoobies in turn, remained silent among the general laughter and excitement, as if none of it concerned him. The only explanation Giles could find to his detached behavior was that facing his human side – his soul – for the first time in more than a hundred years wasn’t that easy for the ex-vampire. But when he had tried to talk to him about it at the hospital while they were waiting for Buffy, Spike had just shrugged, never answering the question.

Buffy had been told in her dream that all three vampires would keep their strength when they became humans, but again some confirmation was needed about that, and Giles talked them into doing a bit of sparring. It was quickly clear that they were indeed as fast and as strong as they had been before, the two men having conserved their vampiric abilities, and Buffy her combined Slayer/Vampire strength. They all needed to work on their breathing, though. To Giles’ insistence, they did just that for the rest of the afternoon, joined by Steven and later Manon. Willow, Tara, Dawn and Andrea were in the Magic Box, researching the spells they would need for the big day, and Xander, who had taken two weeks off work, was busy sharpening and oiling the many weapons stored all around the shop. The joined armies of hell and Quortoth could come, Sunnydale was ready.

* * * * *

Patrol. William could do patrol. Find vamps, stake them. Easy. Easy because he could still sense the vampires, feel them. Yet he wasn’t one anymore, was he? So how could he sense them? Interesting problem to think about. Think about it and nothing else. He couldn’t let himself listen to them, or he wouldn’t be able to patrol. He wouldn’t be able to help his Buffy. He wouldn’t be able to do anything. If he listened to them, he would just curl up and wait for sunrise. Wait. The sun didn’t burn him anymore. So sunrise would do nothing to help. Nothing could help. Nothing but Buffy. When she slipped her small hand into his, the voices faltered for a second. When she smiled at him. When she called him ‘love’. When she kissed him. When she cuddled against him to go to sleep. So tired, she was, after a long and exciting day. So tired, he was, trying to shut the voices out. But they never faltered more than a second. Never. So he clung to his lover, his only protection against them all.

Chapter 40 - Beneath You

After a few hours, even Buffy’s presence wasn’t enough to lessen the voices, and William slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her. He had to find something to do, anything at all to occupy his mind, and give himself the opportunity not to hear them so clearly.

He tried to watch the telly, but there wasn’t anything on at that late hour that could capture his attention enough to distract him. He went into the kitchen and made himself some hot chocolate. If morning hadn’t been so long off, he would have busied himself making a nice breakfast for his lady. But anything he made now would be cold long before she woke. Later, maybe. But what to do until then? Aimlessly, he wandered into the dining room, his gaze falling on the laptops on the table. When he couldn’t sleep, before, he would sometimes go online and play games with other insomniacs. But killing monstrous creatures on the screen of his computer, killing anything actually, didn’t sound so appealing now. He still turned the machine on, launching the word processing program instead of Netscape. For a while, he stared at the blinking marker on the virgin page. It was beating steadily, just like his heart, inviting him to let the words out. In another time, he had used ink and paper. But, strangely enough, it was just as rewarding to hear the soft noises of the keys he pressed as it had been to hear the faint scratching on the paper. The voices didn’t stop, and in truth he would have been surprised if they had, but as he concentrated on his writing he could push them to the back of his mind, and at last pretend he couldn’t hear. He let the words flow out, line after line. He paid no real attention to rhyme or meter and knew better than to think they were any good. But they were a way out, the only one he could find.

Morning came and found him still glued to the computer, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Some time later, there was noise in the kitchen, and eventually his love came to him, her arms encircling his neck from behind as she looked over his shoulder at what he was doing. He was back to the Internet, not even paying attention to the game he played. He had closed the word processor at the instant she came in the room, his document saved and protected with a password. He wasn’t afraid she would mock his lack of skills if she read what he had written, not really, she was too kind for that. He just couldn’t let her see how much it burnt, how much it hurt. She was happy, and he would be damned again before he did anything to spoil her happiness.

* * * * *

We sleep against each other
We live with each other
We caress, we cajole
We understand, we comfort
But in the end we realize
We are always alone in the world

We dance with each other
We run after each other
We hate, we hurt
We destroy, we desire
But in the end we realize
We are always alone in the world

* * * * *

Again, the day passed in a flash for Buffy. She was a little amused that it had gone just like any other day had gone when she was a vampire. She had awoken alone in bed and found Spike in front of the computer. Ate breakfast and chatted with Dawnie and Giles. Checked her email for new orders for the shop and printed what she found. Tried to coax Spike into showing her what he was writing, because, yes, she had noticed that he was only pretending to play and was using the word processor. He stubbornly refused, she pretended to sulk, he made it up to her by rubbing her shoulders as she liked. After lunch, they went to the Magic Box, walking there through the streets and not the sewers, enjoying the sunlight. Training and research. Steven was describing to them the demons he had fought in the hell dimension where he had grown up, remembering their strengths and weaknesses, as well as the most efficient ways to kill each of them. Giles insisted on them doing more breathing exercises and more sparring. Soon, almost too soon, it was dark, and time for patrol.

Spike’s behavior was a bit off, though she couldn’t have said in what exactly. The most obvious difference so far was that he hadn’t lit one single cigarette since they had awoken alive. She had confiscated all his stock, even the packet she wasn’t supposed to know he kept in the back of the living room’s cupboard, and stolen his lighter from his duster’s pocket. She had been prepared for the fight and had her arguments ready, the main one being that now smoking would kill him. But there had been no fight. No protests. He hadn’t even mentioned wanting to smoke. Yet that was not why she was a little worried about him. She had managed to talk to Angel out of the blonde’s earshot, and the brunette had confirmed that he, too, had noticed Spike didn’t look as well as he wanted them to think he was. He thought that being confronted by his soul was probably affecting him far more than he let on. But when she tried to make Spike talk about it, he just smiled and told her she was worrying too much.

They were patrolling through the park with Manon. Somewhere out there, Steven and Angel were doing the same thing. The night was quiet and slow, few vamps or demons were around. It seemed that the word had gotten out that Sunnydale was a bad place to hunt now, with two Slayers and their surprisingly strong male help patrolling every night.

Tingles down her spine. Vampire close. On a bench, by the pond, a couple nuzzling.

Before Buffy or Manon could make a move, Spike was by the bench, stake out. Buffy realized his mistake; she shouted and tried to warn him. Manon, on the other hand, was quiet as she ran to him, and she managed to change the course of his arm as it plunged down, so that the stake pierced the man’s shoulder, and not his heart. The man screamed in pain, then again in fear when Manon staked the woman who had vamped out by his side, and finally he fainted. As Buffy approached, Spike was frozen, his wide eyes, staring at the human he had almost killed.

* * * * *

The man’s mouth had been at the girl’s neck. So he had to be the one. No time to wait or check or make sure or lose time. He had to be. But she was dust now. And the man’s breathing was laborious, the stake still stuck in his shoulder. The young Slayer was looking at him, talking to him, but he didn’t hear her words, because suddenly the voices were screaming louder than they ever had. The older Slayer was quickly at the unconscious man’s side, applying pressure on his wound with one hand, dialing 911 on her cell phone with the other. Then she was talking to him, too, but he wouldn’t let himself hear her. Once more, he had failed her. Once more, he had proven he was nothing but a killer. He didn’t want to know if it was contempt or disgust on her face. So he ran. Away from the bleeding man, away from her, away from the voices. But they all followed.

* * * * *

Buffy gave the phone to Manon, instructed her to press on the man’s wound to slow down the bleeding and to wait for help, and only then ran after Spike. It was dark, and she was afraid she’d lose sight of him, but thankfully she did not, though he had quite a lead on her. At last, he stopped running and entered a building. Buffy could only frown, perplexed, when she realized it was a church.

She slipped in through the half open door, her eyes adjusting slowly to a darkness that was only broken by a few candles scattered around the room. She couldn’t see him and was wondering whether he had found a way out when he stepped in front of her from the shadows, startling her.

“What the hell are you doing?” she gasped, surprised.

“It didn’t work,” he murmured, his voice emotionless. “I tried, but it didn’t work.”

“You tried what?” she asked, puzzled.

He remained silent, his head slightly tilted, his eyes fixed on something past her shoulder. She turned to see what he was looking at, but there was nothing there.

“It was an accident,” she said softly. “Accidents happen.”

She raised her hand to rest it on his chest, but he flinched and took a step back, his arms drawn protectively in front of him, as if afraid she was going to hurt him.

“Spike…” she started, but she didn’t really know what to say.

“Yes, Spike,” he said blandly. “Thought it was William, but still I hurt, still I kill, so it must be Spike.”

“You didn’t kill him,” Buffy protested. “And it was an accident.”

She tried again to get closer to him, and again he avoided her, walking along the wall, staying in the shadows, until she wasn’t sure where he was anymore, except for his voice, so quiet, babbling about Spike and being weak and killing and burning.

“What is burning?” she asked, trying to get his attention back.

“Angel should have warned me,” he continued, seemingly ignoring her question. “It’s here. With me. All the time. The spark. They made us human and put the spark in me, and now all it does is burn.”

And suddenly the ramblings made sense.

“Your soul?” she whispered. “Is it your soul?”

He gave a quiet laugh, and that startled her because he was now behind her and she hadn’t noticed him getting there. She turned to him, confused and sad.

“I asked you,” she pleaded. “You said you were fine. I could have helped. Done something.”

He shook his head, walking past her, ignoring her again as he resumed his ramblings.

“Nothing to do. Now everybody is in here. Talking. Everything I did. Everyone I... And him…it…the other…the thing…beneath…beneath you…it’s here too. The demon is gone. But Spike is still here. Everybody. They all just tell me…go. Go to hell.”

Buffy felt chilled, and it had little to do with the cold inside the stone church. For two days, he had hurt this much and let so little of it show? For two days, she had lived by his side without realizing what hell he was going through? She had asked him. She had tried to make sure he was OK. How could she have known he was lying? Could she have done anything differently and found a way to help him?

“Why… Why didn’t you…” she started, but again he interrupted her.

“I do shame on you. I did before. I still do now. Even human I am beneath you. I just wanted to be yours. All I ever wanted. All. Just love. Be loved…”

Slowly, he was approaching the large cross by the end of the church, never looking back at her again, his voice pained and so quiet that she had to strain her ears to understand. She wanted to go to him, but she was frozen in place, hypnotized by the soft words of her lover. Tears started streaming down her face, but she never noticed them.

* * * * *

“My mother, my sister, they loved me. But then I became a monster. Not good enough. Never again… Cecily. Beneath her. Nothing but death... Drusilla loved me. I thought she did. Really believed. So long, I believed. But in the end, not good enough... Not bad enough. Even when she came back, she wanted more. More than me. And I killed her. Angelus... He hated me, I think. And loved me. Don’t know which one more. Thought I had a father to love me at last... But Angel doesn’t care. One way or the other. Doesn’t care about a Childe. Has a son now… Thought Nibblet loved me. Needed me. But found someone better, she did too… Someone who won’t fail her. Won’t leave her alone and scared to cry and bleed… And you. Don’t deserve you. Don’t deserve your love… Broke my promise and you died for it. Betrayed you with Adam. Left you to fight Angelus alone. Killed you. Hunted and broke your trust. Let Dru go and hurt you… Tried so hard to be the kind of man you deserve. Any kind of man. So hard. But even when I try to do good, I hurt you. Always end up hurting you… Always. Don’t deserve your love. Some day you will realize that… Remember that I’m beneath you… And I’ll be alone. Alone with all of them. Those who shout at me. Those who scream. Those who hate me… Those I killed... So many. So much hate. Too much… I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know. I want to forget again. Can I forget..? Can we all forget? Can we rest, Buffy..? Please, can we rest?”

William’s voice broke – or was it Spike’s? Did it matter anyway? – on the last words. He was touching the cross now, and still was surprised that it didn’t hurt. It should have hurt. He was a killer, a monster, and crosses hurt his kind. Why didn’t it hurt? He wanted it to hurt. Maybe if his flesh hurt then the burning of his soul wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he wouldn’t hear them then and he could rest a little. And still, his skin wasn’t burning.

He fell to his knees, choking on dry sobs. He didn’t know how long he remained there, staring at that piece of wood and metal that so stubbornly refused to give him an escape. The escape came from behind him. An angel of light wove her arms around him, pulling him, turning him, until his face was against her shoulder. At last the tears could flow. They trickled onto her skin as she stroked his hair softly and held him close to her comforting warmth.

“I love you,” she said quietly, and he only cried harder.

 

Continue