Her Sire

By Kallysten

Chapter 41 - Lost

If someone had asked her, Buffy couldn’t have explained how she managed to get back home with her reluctant companion. Not only did she have a hard time convincing Spike to leave the church, he also didn’t want to go to Revello, protesting that he was a monster and didn’t belong in a house. Between cajoling him, half threatening him, and simply ignoring his complaints, Buffy was able to lead him home, pulling him gently but forcefully for half the way. After a while, he stopped trying to struggle, stopped talking. His eyes were unfocused, and he held on to her hand so tightly it almost hurt.

Buffy wasn’t sure what to think about what was happening to him. The incident in the park had clearly affected him deeply, and she could only hope it was only temporary. Surely, after getting some rest, he would be calmer, more lucid. He had to be. She didn’t know what she would do if he was not. He had talked about hearing voices. She could do nothing about that. It would have been so much easier if his problem was due to a demon. Demons, she could slay. What could she do about his soul? It wasn’t a curse, and shagging him into perfect bliss, as appealing as it sounded, wasn’t a solution, and would probably only bring on another round of ‘I don’t deserve you’.

When they arrived home, she led him to the kitchen and asked him to wait for her. He looked at her with glassy eyes, and she wasn’t sure he had understood, or even heard her. He didn’t move when she let go of his hand however, so she figured he would be fine for a few minutes.

Glancing back at him a couple of times, she joined the people assembled in the living room. Giles, Dawn, Steven and Angel looked at her with various degrees of expectation and worry as she let herself fall into an armchair, mentally exhausted.

“We found Manon,” Angel said finally, filling the awkward silence. “She told us what happened. The guy will be OK.”

Buffy nodded, feeling a bit numb.

“Spike is losing his mind,” she said slowly. “When he was somewhat coherent he admitted his soul is hurting him. He said he hears voices.”

Her voice broke, and her eyes traveled to the people around her. All seemed concerned, though their relationships with Spike were all completely different.

“We have to help him,” Dawn said firmly, despite the tears in her eyes.

“But how?” Buffy asked tiredly.

She looked up at Angel. He was the one who potentially held the key, because he had been in Spike’s place, or almost. She didn’t voice the question, but Giles did.

“Angel, maybe your experience can help him,” he said slowly, almost reluctantly. “Did you hear voices when you first got your soul back? How did you silence them?”

“I never did silence them,” the ex-vampire replied morosely. “I just learned to live with them.”

“So, how did you learn?” Steven asked, frowning.

Angel passed a hand on his face. Obviously, these weren’t memories he was fond of.

“I had a century to get used to them. And I found…someone.”

There was no need for him to say whom he had found, especially when he was looking at anyone, anything, but her. Spike didn’t have a century; he had barely more than a week until the big battle. But at least he already had Buffy.

There was some noise in the kitchen, and Buffy rushed there in time to see Spike taking a mug out of the microwave. She grimaced as she caught the smell, and berated herself for not having gotten rid of the now useless blood packages immediately. She gently but firmly took the cup away from him before he could sip.

”Love, you can’t drink blood,” she said kindly.

“Why not?” he whined. “I’m hungry.”

“I’ll make you some chocolate. You can even have marshmallows. How is that?”

“I want blood,” he insisted. “I’m a vampire. Vampires drink blood.”

“You are not a vampire anymore,” she reminded him softly, watching for his reaction.

He looked at her for an instant, head tilted, obviously puzzled. Then he frowned, a deep look of concentration on his face. He touched his features lightly, and his frown only deepened.

“I can’t change,” he whispered.

There was such a sense of loss in his voice that Buffy felt her eyes fill with unwanted tears. She fought not to shed them. Spike needed her support, not her tears. Unsure about how to comfort him, she simply hugged her lover, hardly noticing the four people who were watching them from the kitchen’s entrance.

“Spike? Are you…”

Dawn’s quiet concern was interrupted by a deep, mournful moan from the bleached blonde. He extricated himself from Buffy’s arms and crouched on the floor, arms around his knees, rocking back and forth. He was muttering under his breath, bits of sentences that made sense in a painful way.

“Bad man. Bad Spike. Left Bit. Cry. Hurt. Bleed. Blood. Drink blood. Vampire. But no more. Still Spike but no blood. Just burn. Spike burn. Spark burn.”

Buffy knelt by his side, drawing him against her, and rubbed his back soothingly.

“He doesn’t like being called that anymore,” she said to the others, wishing she had thought about telling them before. She had found out the hard way as she was bringing him home. “It just makes him more agitated.”

“Try calling him William,” Angel suggested quietly as he came a bit closer to them.

As the name passed his lips, Spike looked up at the brunette, his muttering stopping instantly. He scrambled back to his feet, a bright smile lightening his features.

* * * * *

William Spike William Spike approached the man. He was the solution. He had the gift. He could give it again. Make him alright again. Fix him. Take the spark away. Stop the burning. Stop the hurting. He implored with his eyes as he pulled on his shirt and bared his neck, but still Angelus was immobile, making no move to take what William Spike William Spike was offering. Oh yes. Angelus liked begging. That was why. And he would do anything. Anything to be right again. Even begging.

“Please,” he murmured, arching his neck a little more. “Make me again. It hurts too much. Please.”

William Spike William Spike expected mocking laughs at his admission of weakness. Or maybe blows. And he hoped for a bite. What he didn’t expect were tears on the brunette’s cheeks, and the embrace he was pulled into. Confusing. Why would his Sire cry? Why wouldn’t he take offered blood? William Spike William Spike tried to focus on the words the other man was saying, but they didn’t make much sense.

“I can’t. I swear I would if I could, but I cannot make it go away. You have to be courageous, Will. I know it hurts but you are stronger than the hurting, aren’t you? I know you can be. You were always so brave. We need you to be.”

He pulled away from his Sire’s arms – no, not his Sire anymore, he wasn’t a vampire anymore – and looked around the room. The Bit was crying softly, cuddled against Steven. Why was she crying? Was she hurt again? The Watcher looked worried, but then, he always did. Angelus – or was it Angel? – seemed so sad. Why was he sad? Oh, right. Dru. He had to be sad about Dru. Dru was gone. Maybe he couldn’t change William Spike William Spike because she had to bite first. Like the first time. Yes, that was why. And Buffy. His Buffy. He didn’t deserve her, but in his mind at least he could call her his. Her eyes were red and she was looking at him with such love – love he wasn’t worthy of. Something was wrong, he didn’t know what, but they were all affected by it. He needed to be strong. Courageous. Angelus had said so. Be strong for them. For Buffy. Because if he let them – her – down again, the burning would just get worse, he was sure of it.

He tried his very best to smile, and said, to them all as well as to the others, inside:

“I’ll be strong. I will.”

He wasn’t too sure which ‘I’ it was, and he wasn’t really quite sure he knew who they needed, but he would try.

* * * * *

Buffy woke with a start. Something was wrong. A noise. Something breaking. Then a whimper. She realized that she was alone in the bed. Shaking off the remains of sleep, she got out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom, where the sounds were coming from. The door wasn’t closed completely, and when she pushed it open she couldn’t repress a gasp. Spike was in front of the sink, his hands clutching it, and staring at the mirror on the wall. Except that the mirror was broken, pieces scattered in the sink and on the floor. His right hand was bleeding heavily, the blood dripping along the white porcelain, mixing in the water from the faucet. He was mumbling, too low for her to catch what he was saying.

Quietly, she walked to him, trying to avoid stepping on the broken glass, hissing when she still nicked her toe. He turned his head toward her then, but did not look at her face, his gaze going down to her feet.

“You’re hurt,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and soft.

“It’s nothing,” she replied just as softly. “You’re hurt more.”

Reaching his side, she carefully pried his right hand off the sink, pulling it under the warm water. She washed away the blood and made sure no glass was embedded in his skin before wrapping it in a towel.

“You’re hurt,” he repeated, mumbling. “My fault again.”

“It’s not even bleeding anymore. But your hand is. Let’s go fix it.”

She turned off the faucet and grabbed the first aid kit under the sink, then coaxed Spike out of the bathroom. She made him sit on the bed, but he refused to let her look at his hand.

“You first,” he said, gesturing at her foot, still avoiding looking at her face.

With a sigh, she made a show of putting a band-aid over the little cut on her toe, then sat down by his side.

“Your turn now,” she said in a decisive tone.

As she pulled antiseptic, cotton and bandages out of the box, he remained immobile, looking at what she was doing, but never returning her gaze.

“Why did you break the mirror, love?”

She was dabbing antiseptic on his cuts, wincing because she knew it had to sting, but he didn’t make a noise, didn’t shiver or give any hint that he felt the burn.

“He was looking at me,” he replied, almost too quietly for her to make out the words.

“Who was?”

“Him. The demon. The killer.”

His voice broke, and then he added, tonelessly:

“Me.”

Carefully wrapping his knuckles in bandages, she hesitated about what to answer to that. She had thought they had managed to reach him downstairs. He had talked sanely for a little while with all of them, had shared some hot chocolate with her, then they had gone to bed and he had spooned against her as he usually did. But obviously nothing was any better. As she was done with his hand, she placed the kit on the floor and moved up the bed until she was leaning against the headboard, pulling him to rest against her.

“You are not a demon,” she said softly as she threaded her fingers through his hair. “You are not a killer. You were once, yes. But not any more. You haven’t been for a long time. You have been helping people and doing good things.”

He started laughing then, his head still against her chest. But soon the laughter turned into tears.

“You have no idea,” he sobbed. “So many of them. I hurt so many…”

She rocked him lightly against her, murmuring comforting words, trying to soothe him.

“I know. I know you have hurt people,” she said after a while. “But it was your nature then. A tiger hunts to feed, so did you. We can blame neither.”

Again, the laugh, almost maniacal, in sharp contrast with his suddenly sane sounding voice.

“You dust vampires, Slayer. For no other reason than that they kill to feed. You should have staked me long ago.”

It was the first time he had called her ‘Slayer’ in a long time, and the word sounded very strange coming from a man who was clutching her shirt, now damp with his tears, as if holding on to it for dear life.

“It’s my job,” she replied quietly. “You can’t blame me either for doing what I was born to do.”

“Not blaming,” he said quickly. “Just love. Love you so much.”

She pressed her lips to the top of his head, sighing softly.

“I love you too. And I don’t blame you. Nobody blames you. We all love you and need you.”

He shook his head slightly, which was strange with his cheek pressed to her.

“Don’t,” he said bitterly. “Not love, just need. Pretend to because I wish... But they see the monster. They always did. And so did you. Hate is all I have. All I deserve.”

“Look at me.”

He did as she requested, his head raising slowly and turning until he was looking at her, almost shyly, as if he didn’t dare meeting her gaze. She pulled on the collar of her nightshirt, and his eyes were drawn to her neck.

“Remember what this means?” she asked softly as his fingers came up to brush on the healed scar, the last one he had given her.

She saw him hesitate, biting on his bottom lip, a habit she knew he had picked up from her.

“Mine?” he whispered, the question clear in his voice.

“Yes, yours.”

Catching his wrist, she drew it to her lips. She placed a soft kiss on her mark and felt her lover shiver at the touch.

“I claimed all of you,” she said softly. “Spike and William. The one who used to kill and the one who is good now. I love all of you. And I need all of you. Are you still mine?”

This time, there was no hesitation. “Always yours.”

“Then never say you don’t deserve my love or that I will stop loving you again. Because neither is true. You are the best thing that happened to me in a longer time than I can remember, and I love you. Promise you won’t say it again?”

* * * * *

William-who-was-also-Spike stared at his Slayer for a long moment. She wanted a promise, but he wasn’t sure he could keep it if he swore. She didn’t know what she was saying. Soon she would see, realize he had been right. Like they all had realized it. But then, she only asked him not to say it. So he was free to think as he pleased as long as he didn’t voice it.

“I promise,” he whispered.

She pulled him tighter to her, holding him as she had earlier, in the church, with his head tucked under her chin. She was whispering sweet reassurances that he wanted very much to believe, but he knew better. He let her words caress him, listening to the tender voice rather than what she was saying, concentrating on her warmth, on her fingers playing in his hair.

Closing his eyes, he allowed her to lull him in to a sleep he had been fighting since he had learned he would be human again.

Chapter 42 - To Greet the Sunrise

It was the same beach Buffy remembered from before. Except that this time, it was night, and there wasn’t even the light of the moon to dance on the waves. And yet she could see around her, clearly enough to recognize the place, to see Spike sitting in the sand a few yards from her, facing the sea. She took a couple of steps toward him, and suddenly she wasn’t alone anymore. Cordelia was at her side, dressed in the same long, flowing white dress as before. She placed a hand on Buffy’s arm, stopping her.

“I didn’t know it would be this bad,” Cordelia said, and there was a twinge of remorse in her voice.

“But you knew it would be bad,” Buffy half questioned.

“Well, duh.”

Apparently, being a – what was Cordy exactly anyway? An angel? – whatever she was didn’t prevent her from doing such a mundane thing as rolling her eyes.

“He was beginning to feel guilt even before,” she added impatiently. “Of course I knew it would be worse with his soul back. But not this much worse. And yes, I am an angel. Kind of.”

Buffy frowned, crossing her arms defensively on her chest.

“You’re reading my mind!” she accused.

Again, eyes rolling.

“If I wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here now. So are you going to help me help him or just argue with me all night?”

Buffy’s eyes returned to the still figure that was Spike. He hadn’t moved at all, hadn’t given a clue that he had heard a word of their conversation.

“I don’t know how to help him,” Buffy whispered sadly, feeling deeply helpless.

“Your presence soothes him a little,” Cordy said softly, squeezing her arm gently. “That’s a start.”

Together, they approached him, and Buffy sat by his side, leaning against him. The only sign he gave that he was aware she was there was a quiet sigh.

“Hey love,” she murmured, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he replied just as quietly. “If I do nothing, if I think of nothing, it’s like they’re not there.”

“Oh, but they are,” Cordelia said from behind them.

There was a bright flash of light, and suddenly the ocean was gone, replaced by an immense crowd of people, all of them glaring at them, at Spike, most of them gesturing and talking, either in screams or whispers, although, somehow, she could hear nothing they were saying. Buffy frowned slightly, wondering what was going on, but Spike’s soft moan and the shudder that ran through him made her realize who all these people were. He had said earlier that she had no idea how many people he had killed, and at this instant she realized he had been right. Spike was shaking now, his eyes were blinking rapidly, traveling over the multitude in front of them. Buffy wrapped an arm around his shoulders and glared back at Cordelia.

“You’re supposed to help,” she hissed. “How is this making things better?”

“He needs to see,” Cordy said slowly. “And so do you.”

“See what?”

Still furious, Buffy let her gaze slide over the many faces, when a few familiar ones caught her eye.

“Hey! You didn’t kill Giles!” she protested. “Or Willow! Or Tara… Xander… Dawn… Why are they all here?”

“I hurt them. All of them,” he replied tonelessly. “Let Watcher be tortured. Kidnapped and scared Red and Xander. Hit Tara. Didn’t protect Nibblet. All hurt because of me. “

“Oh, no, you’re not playing that game,” Buffy growled. “All of them, they consider you a friend now. Friends hurt each other sometimes, and then they forgive. It just happens. If I had to remember all the times I hurt any of them I would quickly go insane.”

(Good choice of words there, Buffy.)

(Get out of my head, Cordy.)

“Make them disappear,” Buffy said out loud to Cordelia. “They don’t belong in there.”

“I can’t do that. Only Spike can.”

He flinched at the name, very slightly. Buffy placed a hand under his chin and gently turned his face toward her.

“Make them go away. You’ve saved them or helped them often enough not to feel bad about anything. They. Are. Your. Friends.”

His eyes flickered to the crowd, and then were back to her. She checked quickly, and was happy to see that the Scoobies were gone. But in their place stood four women, four sisters.

“God, Spike!” she sighed. “How many times do I have to say it…? I don’t belong in there. If not for you, I wouldn’t be alive today. And neither would Faith. So take the both of us out. Now.”

He opened his mouth, obviously to protest, but she glared at him, daring him not to comply.

“Bossy chit,” he said with the ghost of a smirk.

When Buffy looked again, her image and Faith’s had disappeared. The two other Slayers were there still. As Buffy’s eyes swept over them, the Chinese one gave a small bow, and the tall girl in a black duster flashed her a quick smile. And then they were both gone. Glancing at Spike, Buffy was sure he hadn’t made them disappear, because he seemed as puzzled as she felt.

(Cordy… did you do that?)

(No, I didn’t. And neither did he. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Not complaining though.)

Once more, Buffy’s gaze traveled over the assembled crowd. No one else she could recognize there. Except… No, she wouldn’t say a word about her. She didn’t have the right to tell Spike what to think, or feel, about Drusilla.

“Would you two look this way, please?”

In the same movement, Buffy and Spike turned toward the… the angel, might as well call her what she was. On the sand behind them was another group of people. Much smaller and far less grim than the one in the ocean. The Scoobies were there. Angel, Steven, Buffy, Faith. And a bunch of other people, some of them children, that Buffy had never seen.

“The others are the people you killed or hurt,” Cordelia said to Spike, almost lecturing. “Or rather, they are the people you think you hurt. As Buffy showed you, some of them don’t belong there. These people here are the ones you helped. Some of them you saved, like Faith or Buffy. Others, you just helped. In various ways. Proving to someone they aren’t a demon as they feared. Saving someone else’s marriage. Helping a kid and his father find each other, and let me tell you I had given up hope on those two, they’re just as stubborn… OK, not the point here. The point is you didn’t just do bad things in your life. Or unlife. You did good things too. And you started doing them before you had your soul back, which is even more laudable. You’ve been on the good team for a while, Spike. You’ve been making up for your past, slowly but surely, and…”

“I hunted,” he interrupted her abruptly. “Scared people. Bit them. Just a few weeks ago, I did.”

Cordelia let out a small irritated sigh, and gave Buffy a reproachful glare.

“Yes you did. And the families of those people are in front of you. You helped them; even if someone else we won’t name convinced you it was wrong.”

Buffy felt her cheeks burn suddenly, and had to bite back an angry comment.

“Your methods aren’t the ones traditionally used by our side,” Cordy continued. “But they work, and all the Powers care about is your intentions.”

A slight pause, for emphasis mostly, and she said, almost solemnly:

“Now you have a choice. You can keep wailing about your guilt and wallow in self-pity until your past kills you. Or you can live on to be a fighter for the light, and concentrate on the good you can do in the future. Which one will it be?”

As Cordelia talked, Buffy stopped looking at her, and watched Spike instead. Very slowly, his frown disappeared, and his features relaxed slightly, until all that was left on his face was timid hope.

“So I can really make up for…”

He gestured toward the ocean without looking at the people there. Cordelia and Buffy answered in the same breath.

“Yes.”

“That’s a lot to make up for,” he commented thoughtfully.

“Afraid of the challenge, Big Bad?”

For a second, his face closed, and Buffy cursed herself for the teasing name that had rolled so easily off her tongue. But then, he smirked at her, and she breathed more easily.

“I fear nothing, Slayer.”

* * * * *

Of course he was afraid. And afraid was a weak word to describe what he felt. But now there was a little light of hope shining for him. He wasn’t completely lost, after all. The girl had said so. She wouldn’t have lied. Deep inside, he knew she hadn’t lied. Spike was being offered a chance to atone for his mistakes. Not erase them, nothing could erase them. But do some good to compensate a little for the bad. To find the balance between William, who was good but too weak to do anything, and Spike, who had done so much and most of it bad.

“You’ll have to fight that battle alone,” Cordelia said after a short instant. “I can’t make the pain stop. All we did here was show you that your soul can be redeemed. It won’t silence the voices.”

Spike nodded slowly. “I understand. But I’m not alone.”

He glanced quickly at the smaller crowd, the one that proved he was worth something, then gave a warm smile to his Slayer. She covered his lips with hers in a tender kiss and when she pulled away everybody else had disappeared and they were alone on the beach again.

Cuddled against each other, they faced the ocean once more, the water coming close to their feet in quiet waves. The silence was comfortable. Too much had been said in too little time. Slowly, the horizon lightened, the black becoming first dark blue, then increasingly brighter until pinks and oranges were battling and melting together in a symphony of colors. At last the sun appeared, and to Spike it felt like the whole world was coming to life. Except… something was wrong with this picture.

“Luv? Since when does the sun rise in the west?”

Buffy laughed, a clear joyful laugh, the perfect music for a beautiful sight.

“It’s a dream,” she chuckled. “Who cares where it rises as long as it does?”

Then she kissed him again, and he truly couldn’t have cared less about the sun or dreams.

* * * * *

When Buffy woke, Spike’s arms were woven around her, his face resting on the pillow just beside hers. There was the faintest trace of a smile on his lips, and she told herself she had never seen him sleep so peacefully. Afraid to disturb him, she remained perfectly still, letting only her eyes run over his features despite her need to touch him. She was impatient for him to wake, to see whether he would be as sane here as he had been in their dream. She was afraid too. Cordelia had warned him he would still hear the voices, and she could only hope he would be able to…

“Are you watching me?”

The quiet question interrupted her train of thoughts, and she couldn’t help grinning. Spike’s eyes were still closed, but his lips were curling up slightly.

“What makes you think I would?”

“Don’t know. I guess because I’ve watched you sleep so often.”

His eyes fluttered open, the pale blue tinted with just a little gray.

“’Morning Buffy,” he purred, pulling her closer.

“Good morning… William.”

A slight frown crossed his forehead, immediately wiped away.

“Sounds weird when you say it. I think I prefer Spike.”

She caressed his cheek lightly. “So you’re feeling better?”

“Better. Yes.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me again, would you?”

“I didn’t lie,” he pouted.

“Oh yes you did. You said you were OK and you weren’t.”

A mischievous light gleamed in his eyes, and she had no doubt he was much better than the day before.

“You can’t blame an insane man for not knowing what he says.”

So, his ramblings amused him, uh?

“I’ll show you insane,” she grumbled playfully, and launched herself at his ribs.

Before long, they were both giggling and panting, though neither was ready to admit defeat in the tickle war for quite a while.

* * * * *

There are things you can do
And those you mustn’t
All the things you can’t tell
And those you shouldn’t
Lives so inviting, yet burning and hurting
Yes, but nothing is worse than not living
From wisdom to drifting, from regrets to disgust
With you beside me, I fear nothing

When judges decide if I do bad or good
If I'm really truthful, I can’t even tell
When voices slither, when images bleed
There’s only that mystery
That just belongs to me
When I’m close to the light
For one breath I hold it
With you beside me, I fear nothing

There are things you think
You didn’t see quite so
But you just keep quiet
And walk a bit faster
Looks you don’t give, moves you don’t make
Conscience slightly guilty, not so proud of yourself
When it gets too heavy, when the blues goes too far
I still have you beside me, and I fear nothing

Chapter 43 - The Price of a Smile

At first, the worried faces of the Scoobies and Company when they looked at him were strangely heartwarming to Spike. If his well being truly mattered to them, then he could more easily believe they held no grudges for the times he had tried to kill them or those when they had suffered by him or because of him. Even his big Poof of a Sire – damn, not Sire anymore – seemed to genuinely care about him. And if his brain wasn’t completely damaged, Spike thought he remembered the Poof swearing he would have turned William again if he had been able to. The wanker had even cried. Unless that had been another one of the hallucinations. Probably had been a hallucination. Angel would never cry about Spike and his soul, unless it was from laughing too hard.

After a while, the concerned looks became more irritating than anything else. They were treating him like a fragile child. No. They were treating him like an insane child who might throw a destructive tantrum at any moment. Well, he might be close to insane, but he didn’t throw tantrums. What he did instead was close to brooding. Way too close. So maybe throwing tantrums might have been better after all…

For most of the day, he tried very hard and managed to ignore the burning. Since the little trip through dreamland with his Slayer, the pain had become bearable, the guilt balanced by the knowledge that he could good things. But when night came, darkness engulfed him. It was time for patrol, he knew it. Patrols were a way to save people and saving people was his way out of hell, he knew that too. But he couldn’t make himself get up from the bed. He had come upstairs to grab a shirt. In the dark room, so familiar, so comforting, he had let his defenses down. And the voices had come crashing through. Not just voices. They were here, right in front of him. He could just reach out and touch them. Except nothing could ever make him to do that.

When a hand touched his face, when a body pressed against his crouching one, he wasn’t sure whether to recoil from the contact or lean into it. Was it them or was it her? Tender caresses. Hand stroking his hair. Soft voice calling his name, trying to bring him back to the world. Her, definitely. They would have been tearing and bruising and shouting and hurting.

After an eternity, he stopped shaking. A little later, he was ready to talk to Buffy as she was begging him to.

“I don’t trust what I see anymore,” he whispered. “Don’t know how to explain exactly. Like I’ve been seeing things.”

Her hand stroking him was nice. Soothing. An invitation to continue. She was real. They were not.

“Dru used to see things, you know,” he said in an even lower voice. “She’d always be staring at the sky. Watching cherubs burn or the heavens bleed or some nonsense.”

Sometimes, he thought that was cute. And sometimes it just frustrated him beyond words. What was Buffy thinking about his ramblings? Was she getting tired of them? Tired of him?

“She’d see the sky when we were inside,” he continued despite himself. “That’d make her so happy. She’d see the stars.”

Lucky her. He wished he could see stars now. Instead all he could see was death. Death all around him…

He must have said that out loud, because Buffy’s hand under his chin was turning his face toward hers.

“It’s me,” she said softly. “It’s you and it’s me. And we’ll get through this together.”

Slowly, he nodded. Death was around him, but she was life. She was his life.

* * * * *

It had been three days since the incident in the park and the dream. Two since Buffy had found Spike shaking on their bed and had held him for most of the night until he felt better. Two days during which he had had only minor and short periods of relapse, when he completely shut the world out. He was undoubtedly better, yet Buffy felt a bit uncomfortable at the idea of leaving alone, even for just a few hours. Dawn and Manon had pleaded for her to go to the mall with them as a girl’s day out. She could use the distraction, that was for sure. Too much training in the last few days. She had forgotten that Giles was a tyrant. Too much brooding and too little fun, too. Eventually Spike would have to be away from her and survive through it. But it felt like it was still too soon, too fast… He settled the matter by insisting that she go. He said he’d be fine, said he’d stay safely home, said he’d call her on her cell phone if needed. She could see it was a kind of test for him, so she agreed.

She knew what he would do while she was gone. He spent most of his free time now on the computer, typing what he had admitted under tickling torture was poetry. She had extracted from him the promise that he would let her read some of it eventually, but so far she hadn’t seen a word. In any case, he always seemed a bit less broody during and after his writing sessions, so she could only suppose it was good for him. Good for his soul.

So off she went, with her Key sister and her Slayer sister, hoping the strange mix of William and Spike who was her lover would be alright when she came back.

* * * * *

Through the living room’s window, Spike watched the car disappear down the road. Dawn had spent the previous day scraping the black paint from all the windows, and he had a hunch that she would be using it more often now.

It would be good for Buffy to have some time for herself. Between getting ready for their next battle and fighting voices and ghosts with him, for him, she hadn’t had much free time in a while. She hadn’t complained once or showed any sign that she was getting tired of it, but he was certain there were thousands of things she’d rather be doing rather than making sure he wasn’t too broody.

Talking about brooding… Spike had just sat down in front of his computer when he heard the front door open and the master of broodiness’ voice, along with Steven’s. Angel had picked up his son earlier for a sparring session. Weird that they were back so soon. Steps going up the stairs. More steps coming through the kitchen and into the dining room. Spike briefly glanced up from his screen, just long enough to note the flash of distaste on Angel’s face as he looked at the computers on the table. Neither said a word. They hadn’t talked since that night, in the kitchen. What was there to say, anyway? Spike could feel the other man’s gaze on him, and he struggled not to fidget under the stare. It was soon too distracting for him to keep writing, and he looked up at Angel, frowning.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Nothing. How do you feel?”

Spike rolled his eyes at the brunette.

“Nobody is around,” he said harshly, “you don’t need to pretend you care.”

“I’m not pretending, boy,” came the growled reply.

“Don’t you…” Spike started angrily, then stopped and shook his head. He wasn’t in the mood to fight now. “Just don’t,” he finished with a repressed sigh.

He wasn’t too sure what he meant exactly, but Angel didn’t question the plea and just shrugged.

“You spend all your time in front of this damn machine,” the brunette commented after a few seconds. “Do you want to come out with Steven and me? Get some fresh air?”

The thought ran through Spike’s mind that it was a stupid idea, because he didn’t need air. Except that he did, now. Before he could refuse, because an afternoon with Broodboy senior wasn’t exactly his idea of fun, Steven walked in from behind his father, hair still wet and buttoning his shirt.

“Will you come with us please?” the kid asked with a warm smile. “I want to get a present for Dawn. You can help me pick something she’ll like.”

He shook his head, smirking sadly at the boy. He used to know Dawn better than Steven did, but he doubted that was true anymore.

“She’ll love anything you give her,” he said. “Just because it’s from you.”

“Fine. Then you’re gonna come because you’re brooding and the look is even more annoying on you than it is on Dad.”

The comment earned Steven identical glares and muttered protests from both older men, but he didn’t seem to care about that. Instead, he crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently.

“We’re not going to wait all day,” he stated, and the tone of his voice implied that Spike had the choice to get up and accompany them or to be dragged out.

Spike’s gaze left the adolescent to catch his father’s eyes.

“If I ever had any doubt whose kid he was,” the blonde deadpanned, “I don’t have any now. He has your sense of fashion and his mother’s subtlety.”

Both brunettes frowned at his words, apparently unsure what to make of his remark. He didn’t give them time to think about it, but instead turned off the computer and got up. If he was to be tortured, at least he would get there on his own feet.

* * * * *

After some discussion in the car, Angel took Steven and a somewhat reluctant Spike to the finest jewelry store in town, not because it had nicer things but rather because all the other stores were in malls, and they didn’t know which one the girls had gone to. It wouldn’t do at all to meet them there if it was to be a surprise.

While they were there, he bought for his younger son something he had wanted to give him for a long time. Until recently however, he had been sure the present would have meant little to Steven, so he had always waited. But since the kid seemed to have accepted his roots now…

“It's called a Claddagh ring. My people – our people - exchange them as a sign of love.”

After Angel explained the complete meaning of it, Steven nodded his acceptance, and surprised him by saying he would get the same kind of ring for Dawn. Leaving him to make his choice with a salesperson, Angel went over to Spike, who had been browsing while they talked. Looking at the same display Spike was staring at, Angel wondered which piece held his attention.

“If I may make a suggestion,” he said carefully, ”don’t get her a cross pendant.”

Spike didn’t say a word, but he glanced at him, an eyebrow arched questioningly, but Angel didn’t explain himself. If he wanted to know why, the blonde would have to stop pretending to be mute and ask. Pale blue eyes returned to the display of gold and silver, and this time Angel could see what he was looking at. Nice.

“I’m sure she would love it,” he offered quietly, surprised at how neutral his voice sounded.

Startlingly, Spike gave a short laugh.

“What’s funny?” Angel asked, confused.

“You. Giving me advice. About Buffy. That’s bloody hilarious.”

Yet Spike wasn’t laughing anymore. He was now looking at Angel suspiciously, and if he had still been a vampire his eyes would probably have been flashing gold.

“I would be lying if I said I feel nothing for her now,” Angel said, very low. “But that doesn’t mean you have anything to fear from me, William.”

He said the name without thinking, and he watched the blonde’s face carefully, wondering how he would react to it, wondering if he would believe words that were truly sincere. Buffy had made her choice. If he loved her, he had to accept that. And if he loved his Childe, he would be happy for him.

* * * * *

“I would be lying if I said I feel nothing for her now. But that doesn’t mean you have anything to fear from me, William.”

First reaction, pure habit, claim that he feared nothing. Second one, just as automatic, reject the name and reaffirm that he was Spike. Strange, because just a couple of days before, hearing this name on these same lips had been delightful. Third reaction, hold back a grin, because it still was nice, even though he would never admit it, especially not to Angel. Buffy had claimed that he was William as well as Spike, that he had been even before the change, and he was beginning to understand she was right. Fourth reaction, the most surprising, believe Angel. Maybe because he didn’t deny loving her. Maybe just because of the name.

Unable to find words, he simply nodded, and averted his eyes, returning his attention to the glass case. He knew exactly, up to the last penny, how much money he had in his pocket. He knew, because he had counted, surreptitiously, twice. And it wasn’t nearly half enough for that pretty shiny thing that would look even prettier against Buffy’s skin.

“Stop thinking and just buy it.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Angel asked, and this time he sounded exasperated. “If you start saying again that you don’t deserve her, I swear I’ll stake you, it’s becoming really irritating.”

Human or vampire, still the same threat and Spike might have found it funny under other circumstances.

“I can’t afford it, stupid wanker,” Spike muttered through clenched teeth.

Angel didn’t say a word, but placed a shiny rectangle of plastic in front of Spike on top of the display. That was another funny thing. A vampire – ex-vampire – with a credit card. Offering to pay for the jewelry another ex-vampire would offer the woman they both loved. This was just getting weirder every minute.

“Why would you do that?” Spike asked blandly.

“I’m paying for Dawn’s present too,” Angel answered with a shrug.

“But Steven is your son.”

“Just like you.”

* * * * *

There, he couldn’t say it more plainly, could he?

“Like me?”

Apparently, he could. Angel couldn’t help sighing. Why was Spike so perceptive when you wished he would be clueless and so blind when you wished he would finally get the point?

“Yes. You. Are. My. Son. Too.”

OK, he had gone this far, he might just as well go all the way.

“And I love you as much as I love him. Or even her.”

A smile, almost childlike, brightened both lips and eyes of the blonde, before he turned his gaze away, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed. He picked up the credit card from the glass, and ran a finger over the name imprinted on it.

“I’ll repay you,” he said after an instant, his voice thick with untold emotion.

“I expect you to,” Angel replied, though he doubted he would ever see a cent of his money back, from either boy. But he didn’t mind. That smile had been worth more than anything in the store.

Chapter 44 - Promises, Old and New

If Buffy had needed more proof that Spike was better, his behavior after she came back from the mall would have been enough. She returned home to find him in front of his computer, as she had thought she would, but there was that little smile on his lips, a smile that usually meant he was planning something and was quite satisfied with himself. Most of the time she ended up enjoying his ideas, but that didn’t mean she liked the anticipation and not knowing what he was preparing. He denied it, of course, giving her a look of perfect innocence that screamed ‘guilty’ even louder than his smile.

The next day wasn’t any better. Worse, even. There was a conspiracy going on, and she was sure everyone knew something she didn’t. Spike must have let Dawn and Steven know about his plans, because they were grinning every time they laid eyes on Buffy. Of course, the stupid grins might have had something to do with the gold ring on Dawn’s left hand middle finger that she had been admiring ever since coming down for breakfast. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

Or maybe not. She did see Spike and Giles conspiring. While they were at the Magic Box, she saw them talking together, too low for her to eavesdrop, and they immediately stopped when she came closer. Even more telling, Giles allowed them to leave in the middle of the afternoon without any protests or lectures about preparing for the apocalypse. There was definitely something going on. So, when Spike asked her to get ready because they were going out, she wasn’t too surprised. What she didn’t expect, however, was the blindfold.

Oh, they had played with blindfolds before, so that wasn’t the real surprise. The surprise was that he led her to the car, instructing her not to cheat and peek. They’d always stayed in the bedroom when playing this game before. Going out with the length of black silk tied in front of her eyes felt strangely exhilarating and a bit scary too.

The ride didn’t last very long, but at the same time it seemed like forever to Buffy. She tried to make him give her hints about where they were going, but he evaded her questions. When she asked whether they would be back in time for patrol, he told her not to worry, that the others would take care of it. The demonic activity had been so low for the last few nights that for all of them to patrol was certainly overkill, so she wasn’t concerned about it. But now she knew that wherever they were going, whatever Spike had planned, it would last at least until night.

At last the car stopped, and Spike asked her to wait inside for him, repeating again that she was not to peek. A few minutes later, he was opening her door and helping her out. Holding her hand, he led her through soft grass that tickled her legs, left bare to mid-thighs by her short black dress. Finally, he pulled off the blindfold, giving her back her sight, and she blinked several times to adjust to the light.

They were on one of the hills on the edge of town. Down in the valley, she could see Sunnydale, looking so quiet and peaceful from up here that no one would have guessed it was the home of so many unholy creatures. Behind the town, the sun was lazily sliding down toward the horizon, though it wouldn’t disappear for another good two hours. And right at her feet, on a large blanket spread out in the grass and sprinkled with red rose petals, was a picnic basket, a couple of glass votives to be lit later, her mother’s champagne bucket with the top of a bottle peeking out from ice, and Dawn’s portable stereo playing a slow song.

She turned to Spike, a bit stunned, and he was watching her, smiling softly. He was wearing a white shirt and tan trousers. She didn’t even know he owned a white shirt, but God did he look gorgeous standing there in the late afternoon sun.

“Dance with me, luv?” he purred, pulling her close to his body without waiting for her answer.

As they swayed lightly to the music, she looked into his eyes and let herself drown in the most beautiful shade of blue, sparkling with love and happiness.

“Thank you,” he murmured after a moment. “Thank you for putting up with me. For being here for me. For helping me through all this. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Without her, Buffy thought briefly, he wouldn’t have been in that position to begin with, most certainly.

“I love you,” she replied quietly.

“Love you too. So much.”

His lips covered hers, soft and warm, his tongue darting out to trace her mouth before slipping in, dancing languidly against her own tongue as they followed the slow rhythm of the music. After a few seconds, he broke the kiss and, sighing, she rested her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes in contentment. The world could end, she was already in heaven.

After a couple of more songs, they stopped dancing without needing to speak and sat down on the blanket. Spike quickly kicked off his shoes, before gently sliding hers off her feet, unnecessarily but deliciously caressing her calves as he did so. Then he pulled a few containers from the basket, making Buffy very curious. However, he asked her to close her eyes before he opened any of them and she complied, impatient to taste if not see what he had brought.

First she caught the scent of the strawberries, and soon enough a fresh fruit was pressed lightly to her lips. She opened her mouth, taking a bite, and gave a small sound of delight as the sweet savor hit her tongue. He fed her a few more strawberries, his fingers straying sometimes to caress her lips, until she captured one and nibbled on it lightly. Then again, more strawberries, but they were now coated with whipped cream, the soft and fluffy texture contrasting with the slightly rough fruits. His fingers slid in her hair to the nape of her neck, and he pulled her head slightly forward. She shivered when his tongue lazily traced her lips, cleaning the traces of cream that stained them, but to her regret he did not deepen the kiss, and instead let go of her. Then he was back to feeding her, and this time the berries were even sweeter than before, covered in what she quickly recognized was Nutella. She purred her appreciation, and was rewarded by a finger sliding in her mouth, coated in the delicious chocolate treat. She cleaned it slowly, her tongue meticulously and languorously running all over the skin, then suckling on it lightly, and she grinned smugly at Spike’s sharp intake of breath. She opened her eyes then, only to find his burning with desire. Letting go of his now clean finger, she gathered some chocolate on her own, and coated his lips with it. Leaning closer to him, she thoroughly licked his mouth clean, helped in her task by his tongue coming out to play with hers. This time the kiss lingered, the chocolate and berries taste making it even sweeter.

Light fingers ran on her thigh, sending shivers through her body, then traveled up to her hip, grazed her side lightly before caressing her breast with a feather touch. She moaned softly in his mouth, leaning forward a little. He hadn’t touched her so intimately since they had claimed each other as Mates. Since they had become human again. Way too long.

Suddenly both his lips and hand left her, and her eyes snapped open as a whimper escaped her throat. She understood his purpose however, and waited as patiently as she could while he put the rest of the food safely away in the basket. As soon as he was done, her hands were on him, her fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt, revealing pale and soft skin on which she left a trail of burning kisses. As she did so, he was not idle, and fumbled with the zipper that ran down the back of her dress, until he finally could pull it off her. As she knelt in front of him, clad only in black satin underwear, his eyes ran over her hungrily, but nothing more than his eyes. Deciding to help him a little, she reached behind her and unclasped her bra, letting it fall off her shoulders, and the gleam in his eyes turned almost predatory as he crawled to her, pushing her softly until she was laying on her back and he was hovering over her, and she thought that if he didn’t touch her soon she would start screaming.

As if he had heard her, his fingers trailed on her bare skin, raising goose bumps all over her body. She arched her back, trying to increase the contact, and he smiled with something that very much resembled self-satisfaction. But Buffy didn’t care at that moment, because at last his right hand was applying pressure in all the good places, and his mouth was descending on her, first capturing a few moans as they escaped her lips, then gliding down her throat to the faint scars that marked her as his. His tongue caressed them lovingly, and each slow lick sent quivers of delight down to her toes. By the time he nibbled on the mark, she was wriggling under him, trying vainly to pull him down on her body. When he abandoned her neck to kiss his way to her breast, she changed her approach and slid both hands between them, quickly finding the fastenings of his pants and undoing them. She was quite satisfied to discover that at least one thing hadn’t changed in his clothing habits and that he hadn’t bothered with underwear.

His mouth torturing her nipples in turn was maddening, as was his hand tugging her panties down ever so slowly, but somehow she managed to completely remove his pants, using hands and feet in desperate movements until he was gloriously naked and finally pressing his body to hers, flesh to flesh.

His lips left her skin, his eyes coming up to look into hers. There was no need for words. Her legs parted and he slid between them, tantalizingly slow, until he was completely sheathed inside her, and he was home. She locked her hands behind his neck and raised her hips tentatively. He matched her movement, his eyes never leaving hers, and settled in a lazy rhythm, slow but deep strokes that soon had her breathless. One of her legs found its way around his back, changing his angle slightly, encouraging him to increase his pace, which he obligingly did. Quiet words started to escape his lips, light caresses on her soul, more tender than any touch could be. But eventually all that came out of his mouth were panting and moans that matched her own. Her release took Buffy by surprise by its suddenness and pulled a cry, his name, from her lips. Her body still quaking under his, he followed her over the edge with a wordless shout.

* * * * *

Resting by his Slayer’s side, arms and legs still tangled, Spike was watching her closed eyes and smiling lips. Every now and then, she was making these small noises, and he knew if she had still been a vampire she would have been purring. And he would have, too. She shivered lightly, and snuggled closer to him.

“Are you cold, luv?” he whispered.

The sun was rapidly sinking toward the horizon, and the air was getting a bit fresh.

“A little, but you’re all warm and nice and snuggly.”

As if to prove her point, she rubbed her face against his chest, and he chuckled lightly. She protested when he pulled out of her embrace, and again when he sat down and made her sit between his legs, her back to his chest. But when he wrapped the spare blanket around her and she took in the sight they were now facing, her complaints ceased and she snuggled against him contentedly. The setting sun seemed to have lit a fire in the whole sky, and the clouds above the horizon were burning with bright reds and oranges.

“It’s beautiful,” Buffy murmured dreamily. “It looks like the night you turned me.”

He tightened his arms just a bit around her. He hadn’t been able to see her last sunset then, but at least they could share this one.

All too soon, the show was over, but neither moved. The CD had stopped playing long before and now only the sounds of nature surrounded them. A few birds singing the arrival of dusk. Cicadas. The sounds of their breathing.

“What are you thinking?” he asked softly.

She hesitated a second before answering, and turned her face from its place against his shoulder, until she could see his.

“I was thinking,” she said slowly, almost cautiously, “that we are both human now. And when humans do the things we’ve been doing…”

Her voice faltered and he frowned, not understanding what she was saying.

“How would you feel if I became pregnant?” she asked finally.

His eyes widened as realization hit him. He had accepted long ago that he would never father children, and barely ever thought about it after that. Since his humanity had been restored, his mind had been too crowded to even think of that little detail. How would he feel? He had no idea, truthfully. What kind of father would he make? He didn’t want to listen to them, but he heard what they said, that he was a killer and had no business and no right creating life. And a child would make his return to life more real, for some weird reason, more definitive, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Being human still felt like a bad dream at times. Yet it wouldn’t be just his child. It would be hers too.

“It would be nice to have a little Buffy,” he said slowly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “That is, if you wanted a baby. Do you?”

She turned a little more in his embrace, one of her arms sliding around his back, the other hand coming out of the blanket to caress his face.

“Never thought about it before,” she admitted with a smile. “But yes I would enjoy making a child with you.”

His hand glided to her belly and rested there, stroking lightly, and he briefly wondered whether they had created life together already. For a little while they were silent, until she finally asked:

“What about you, what are you thinking?”

That was a difficult question. So many thoughts were cluttering his mind. At least the voices were subdued, and he was grateful for that relative peace.

“I’m thinking this is the first time that I ever was in a position to have a child.”

She tilted her head up a little, and he guessed the raised eyebrow more than he saw it.

“Yes,” he answered with a quiet smile. “William died a virgin. You were the first human I ever shagged as a vampire, and again now as a human.”

Her lips came up to his, pressing softly for a second, and then she said:

“So I was your first twice. I think that calls for a repeat.”

The grin was clear in her voice, and already her fingers were finding places to explore, but he had another idea. This seemed like the perfect time.

“Wait, luv. I had another kind of repeat in mind…”

Reaching out to the picnic basket without letting go of his hold on Buffy’s waist, he fumbled inside until he found the lighter he had stuck in there, and quickly lit the two votive candles, bringing some light to their cocoon of warmth and love. Reaching again to the basket, he pulled out this time a small velvet covered box.

“You never gave me the other one back, so I guess we could pretend we’re still engaged,” he said softly as he opened the box and pulled out a ring. “Or I could ask you again. Buffy, luv, will you marry me?”

For one thing, he wasn’t on one knee in front of her. For another, they were both naked as the day they were born on top of a hill and not in the middle of Giles’ living room. But it was the same surprise and awe on her face. And the same words that she had said then, now with a small smile tugging the corner of her lips.

“It’s so sudden,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just say yes,” he played along, smiling, “and make me the happiest man on earth.”

He slid the ring on her finger, and she breathed a quiet ‘yes’ before throwing her arms around him and kissing him wildly. Repeat, it was.

* * * * *

Lying on her stomach under the blanket, Buffy watched the piece of gold on her ring finger gleam lightly by the flames of the candles. On his side and pressed against her, Spike threaded his fingers with hers, before pulling her hand to his mouth to press a soft kiss to the ring.

“It’s made of three interlocked gold bands,” he whispered. “Pink, yellow, gray. One for the woman, one for my Slayer, one for my Mate.”

She rolled to her side and rested her head against Spike’s arm, her hand pressed right above his heart.

“We can get one just like it for you,” she suggested softly.

The air of the night was fresh on her face, but enclosed in the comfort of his arms and under the blanket she felt warm and contented. His fingers were playing on her back, so soft, so nice.

“Would you have asked me if we had remained vampires?” she asked a bit sleepily.

“’Don’t know, pet. We were Mates. That would have been enough for me. Would you have wanted me to ask you?”

“’F course,” she mumbled. “Pretty dress. Bridesmaids. Not green though. Wind…”

* * * * *

Spike watched his Slayer’s eyes flutter close as she muttered something about songs and cake. Caressing her face lightly, he pulled a strand of hair away from her face, and she moaned at the touch. Quietly, he recited words he had memorized, wondering whether she could hear him still.

“I promise you salt from my kisses
I promise you honey from my hands
I promise you blue skies in your dreams
Flowers and lace, tender nights for you
I promise you my soul and the key to its secrets
I promise you my life, laughter and tears alike
I promise you fire instead of fights
I believe in us like I believe in the sun
I believe in us like a child believes in heaven
I believe in us, in your skin, your arms around me
I just promise you a different story
If you will help me believe again

I promise you days as blue as you veins
I promise you nights as red as your dreams
Burning hours, white minutes
Careless seconds in the rhythm of your hips
I promise you my hands to carry your fears
I promise you my eyes if you cannot see
I promise you happiness if you lose hope
I believe in us like I believe in the sun
I believe in us like a child believes in heaven
I believe in us, in your skin, your arms around me
I just promise you a different story
I so need you to believe again

And even if it’s not meant to last
Even if our fates are sealed
If words are as faint, as light as the wind
Even if our story ends that day
I promise you for a while softness and fever
At least a few hours, if not forever”

Buffy stirred in his embrace and smiled, her eyes still closed but obviously not sleeping.

“Promise?” she whispered.

“I promise.”

Chapter 45 - Sisters

It was the night before the apocalypse, and Sunnydale was quiet. Ignorance was bliss, especially when combined with the local brand of denial. Had they been alerted that the next day might see all hell break loose on the town, would its citizens have believed it? Or would they have ignored the warnings, dismissed them as fairy tales? Or maybe they would have believed, but shrugged the news off. If they had stayed in town after the ascension of the mayor, if they knew enough not to go out after dark, maybe the prospect of more unnatural events taking place a few blocks from their quiet neighborhoods wouldn’t have been all that shocking.

But no warning had been issued. The dozen people who knew what was coming also knew that the panic of crowds or supposed help from the authorities would only prevent them from doing properly what needed to be done. Fight. And win.

These twelve persons were currently gathered in the back yard of a modest house on Revello Drive, and it would have been difficult to guess that they were aware of the pending doom. The night had been declared worry-free, apocalypse-free, demon-free, and all talk about what was to happen at noon the following day was banned. They were ready, as ready as they would ever be, physically and magically. This night was supposed to take care of the mental part, and remind all of them what they were fighting for. It was a celebration of life.

It had started two days before with Willow’s idea that they had to celebrate Buffy and Spike’s engagement, which, she noted, she had not caused in any way. Dawn added that they should also throw a party for the soon-to-be new Scooby and his or her parents. Someone else put in that it might be nice to celebrate the return to life of the three ex-vamps. Before long, plans were made. Everybody was to attend, and everybody was to help decorating or cooking.

And now, with the evening well on it way, here they were, all twelve of them around the dining room table, and why had Buffy never noticed before that so many people could fit around this table? She suspected that something had been done to her furniture as it was moved under the tent the men had set in the backyard, something that involved complicated non-English words and shimmering lights. But she wasn’t allowed to talk of magic tonight; she had made the rule herself, so she didn’t question Willow and Tara, who had been in charge of setting the table.

After initially declining to attend, Andrea had let herself be convinced by the combined efforts of Manon and Giles. The British woman, as well as her charge, had both proved to be quite decent cooks, and the afternoon in the kitchen with them, Anya and Dawn had gone merrily for Buffy. For all of them, time had flown by, and it still was. They were already eating dessert, compliments of the French girl among them, all chatting and laughing happily. The conversations stopped when Giles rose from his chair and cleared his throat, his champagne glass held in front of him for a toast.

“I’m not one for big speeches,” he started, and was interrupted by a couple of giggles, and a sneeze from Xander that sounded suspiciously like ‘liar’.

“Some of us have been fighting side by side through more apocalypses than anyone should ever have to face,” he continued, still composed. “For others, it will be the first fire of what could be many. But I think we are privileged.”

He paused for a second, just long enough for Spike to slip in a quiet ‘we happy few’ that Giles ignored with determination.

“We are privileged to have each other. We are privileged to have among us some of the best fighters on this earth, as well as powerful witches. We are privileged to be friends, a family even, when our links to this world might be all that will save us. So if you please, I propose a toast.”

He raised his glass higher, and eleven more joined it, some filled with champagne, a few with sparkling water.

“To us,” Giles said quietly. “And to life.”

The toast was repeated, glasses were emptied. And in the second of silence that followed, a clear voice rose from the side of the house.

“I was told the festivities are to begin tomorrow, but I see you guys started early.”

Twelve pairs of eyes turned toward the approaching woman, most surprised at seeing the brunette there, but no one as much as Andrea.

“But you’re dead!” the Watcher exclaimed as she jumped up from her chair. “A new one was called so you have to be dead!”

Giles placed a hand on her arm, murmuring calmly that he would explain to her. Glances were exchanged around the table, no one quite sure of what to say, until Buffy got up and held her hand out toward Faith.

“We just finished dinner,” she said with a smile. “But there’s plenty left in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

Faith took a few steps, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, and shook the offered hand, grinning.

“I’m not hungry, I’m starving. Did a quick sweep on my…”

Her eyes came down to their still clasped hands, and Buffy laughed softly.

“A lot happened since we met last.”

“Yeah, I see that. How about you feed me first? Explanations can wait for later.”

The two Slayers walked inside through the kitchen’s door, and before it closed Buffy heard Manon break the silence and ask:

“Uh… Who was that?”

* * * * *

As Buffy warmed food for Faith, all the others came back into the house, carrying their empty plates that they left in the sink. Faith watched the procession, a bit amused by the hesitant glances the original Slayerettes gave her as they passed by her. To their credit, they all spoke to her on their way to the living room, and she returned the greetings sincerely. Maybe there were apologies to be given, but that could wait for later. The woman who had said earlier that she was dead seemed a bit shaken still as she walked through the kitchen, as if she couldn’t quite believe that Faith was there. By her accent, she was British, and probably a Watcher, though she didn’t look like one. Faith could only hope she was a ‘good’ Watcher, but then it was doubtful Buffy would have welcomed the enemy in her home. Angel hugged her briefly, and it was a surprise to realize that he was human, too. They exchanged a few friendly words, but she answered his questions about what she had been up to vaguely, more because there wasn’t much to say than because she had something to hide. Quickly though, Buffy sent him away, telling him to let Faith eat in peace. By then, there were only four people left in the kitchen. A quiet red haired girl was leaning against the door, arms crossed and a thoughtful look on her face, while a blonde vampire was watching Faith with an unreadable expression. Except… he wasn’t a vampire anymore either, was he?

“Hey blondie,” she said between two bites. “What’s with the breathing?”

He shrugged, and his eyes left her to fall on Buffy, who was putting food away in the fridge.

“Supposedly our little sun allergy would have been inconvenient tomorrow,” he said, and he almost sounded unconcerned.

His eyes came back to her, and the faintest smile touched his lips.

“Glad to see you’re fine, ducks,” he said softly before giving a quick kiss to Buffy and leaving the kitchen.

The blonde Slayer watched him go, head cocked slightly, a small frown worrying her forehead. Faith couldn’t help smirking at her.

“Jealous, Buff?”

“Of you?” came the immediate reply, with a short laugh. “Only in your dreams, ‘ducks’.”

With that, she placed a slice of pie in front of Faith, her hand lingering on the kitchen island long enough for the brunette to see the ring on her finger.

“I’d say congratulations,” Faith said, grinning, “but where’s the diamond?”

Buffy rolled her eyes at her, and she laughed, before noticing again the girl by the door. It wasn’t too hard to figure out who she was. Or rather, what she was. If the other woman was a Watcher, this had to be the new Slayer. Poor kid.

“What’s you name, kiddo?”

“Manon. And you are Faith?”

Faith only nodded, her mouth full with deliciously warm apple pie.

“I was told you were dead,” the girl said, looking at Buffy with a reproachful frown.

“Hey, I never told you she was dead,” the blonde replied with a sly grin. “Take that as a lesson. The Council doesn’t know everything, and it’s often best that way.”

“And another lesson might be this,” Faith added glumly. “If you follow their rules, you might get killed because of it. But if you don’t, they might kill you themselves.”

Of course, that didn’t explain how Buffy was still alive – or rather, how she was alive again – after having defied them for so long, Faith mused grimly.

“So, why are you here?” Buffy asked suddenly. “You said you didn’t want to have anything to do with slaying anymore.”

And it had been her intention, truthfully. But it was hard to do nothing when she could feel a vampire was close. It was hard not to get antsy when night fell and she had too much energy to burn. It was hard to dismiss the dreams. And it had been impossible to refuse the offer she had been made. But she couldn’t explain any of this, not to Buffy.

“I dreamed that I was needed here,” she explained slowly, and it was the truth, if only part of it. “You’d never believe who gave me the message though.”

Buffy laughed lightly at that, and arched an eyebrow at her.

“Let me guess. Cordelia?”

“You dreamt of her too, huh?”

Buffy told Faith about Cordelia being an angel, explained that she was the one who had restored the three vamps humanity, and a weight was lifted off Faith’s shoulders. If she had been able to do that, then certainly she would be able to give Faith what she had promised her.

“We weren’t supposed to talk about tomorrow,” Buffy said then, “but I guess we need to fill you in if you’re going to join the fun.”

So she followed the blonde into the living room, to be with these people whom in truth she barely knew. She had fought by their sides once. Then against them, later. And now they were back on the same team. And to her big surprise, they gave no sign of holding anything against her. They didn’t mention it at all. Even when they started reminiscing about the past apocalypses they had averted, even when they reached the mayor’s ascension, they skimmed over the weeks that had preceded it. But then, they had done the same courtesy to Angel, conveniently forgetting his Angelus phase. Not that long ago, it would have made Faith laugh at their hypocrisy. But now she could understand that they had truly put this all behind them. And that simple fact gave her hope for the new life she still wanted for herself.

* * * * *

Sitting on the steps of the deck, Manon could hear the buzz of voices coming from inside, and, every now and then, laughter. Strange people, really. They might not live to see another night, but they acted as if nothing would happen the next day. She could understand why, of course; they had all been focused on the upcoming battle for ten days and needed to breathe. But she couldn’t put her fears out of her mind as easily as them. Or maybe they weren’t afraid at all. Maybe she was the only one whose heart was beating so fast every time she heard the word ‘apocalypse’ that she thought it might burst. Maybe for the others it was just natural to fight not only for their lives but also for the whole world. But for her, it was new. And terrifying. She was sixteen. She didn’t want to die. There were too many things she hadn’t experienced yet. So much to live for. Too much not to be scared about what was coming. She hadn’t been afraid at first, but it had gotten worse every day since the big meeting, as she slowly realize the seriousness of the situation.

She took a sip from the champagne bottle she had snatched from the deserted table. There wasn’t much left in it, and it wasn’t chilled anymore, but the bubbles tickling her palate felt pleasantly distracting. She heard the kitchen door open behind her, and turned to see Spike sit down by her side. He looked at the bottle in her hand and gave her that irritating smirk of his, though surprisingly without a trace of reproof. He gently grabbed the bottle from her and took a swig before returning it to her.

“Whatever’s bugging you,” he said, “getting drunk won’t help. I know what I’m talking about, believe me.”

She chuckled lightly and raised the bottle to his eye level.

“There’s not even two full glasses left in there,” she pointed out. “It would take a lot more for me to get drunk. My country invented the stuff, after all. And I’m not trying to get drunk anyway. Just enjoying the taste.”

To prove her point, she took a sip, and as an afterthought offered the bottle back to him.

“Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas, gamine?”

She liked how he cared about her. She liked the way he talked French to her, sometimes. Andrea did it too, but not enough. She missed speaking her language. Missed her country, her family, her friends.

“J’ai peur,” she whispered, admitting for the first time out loud that she was afraid. But then, he was the first who had asked. Not that the others didn’t care, but she had not let them see something was wrong. She was the youngest of them all, and didn’t want to be seen and treated as the baby of the group.

“It’s normal,” he replied quietly. “We are all afraid.”

“No one looks afraid to me.”

“We don’t show it. Doesn’t mean we’re not.”

They each took another swig in silence, and from the corner of her eye Manon could see that Spike was looking up at the stars. Her own gaze was fixed straight ahead, on nothing in particular.

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t kill her?” she asked suddenly.

“You wouldn’t have believed me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but finally said nothing and nibbled on her bottom lip. He was right. She wouldn’t have believed without proof.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” she said with a shrug. “Everything I was told since I was called was a lie. Faith isn’t dead, I’m just one of several Slayers and not the only one, not all vampires or demons are bad, it doesn’t necessarily have to be a secret that I’m a Slayer. All lies.”

“Not lies,” Spike corrected her. “Just the Council’s version of the truth. Be glad that you’ve been shown the other side of it.”

She shook her head. It was all so complicated. And scary.

“What about the part about slayers dying young? Is that a lie? Or a half truth? Or what?”

“You’ll be fine, pet,” he said gently, finally turning to look at her. “You fight well and you’ll be just fine.”

She finished the remains of the champagne in a long gulp and got to her feet. Walking to the table, she placed the empty bottle on it before turning back to face Spike.

“I don’t fight as well as any of you. And you don’t know any more than me what will happen tomorrow.”

She took a deep breath and blinked several times to get rid of the extra moisture in her eyes.

“I don’t want to die, Spike,” she whispered. “Not so soon. Not so far from home. Not away from the people I love. “

“I don’t want you to die either, kid. You’re the first Slayer I’ve met that I have no plans whatsoever to see dead, even for just a minute. Tell you what. You’re going to get inside, you’ll call you family and your friends for a while, and then you’ll go have a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow you’ll fight the best you can, and I’ll be watching your back. And you will be OK. Like my plan?”

She couldn’t help smiling slightly at the confidence in his voice. It was so tempting to believe him. She doubted it would be that easy, or else why would three Slayers be needed at once? But his assurance that he would keep an eye on her was comforting. And, she realized, it had nothing to do with him being human now, she would have trusted just as much the vampire he had been. She could admit to herself that she could see exactly what Buffy liked in him. Loved. Because she might just like the same things. Or even… No, nothing more than like. Not with her blonde elder standing right behind him.

Chapter 46 - And so it starts…

If she hadn’t known Spike any better, Buffy might have felt threatened by the way Manon looked at him. But as it was, she doubted he even realized the girl had a crush on him. She walked out of the house just as Manon was coming in, and she gave the kid a warm smile, telling her she could use the phone in the dining room where it was quieter. She had been standing by the kitchen door for a little while, long enough to hear Manon’s fear and Spike’s reassurances. She had not intervened simply because she wouldn’t have known what to tell the younger Slayer. She had been in her place, more than once, and she still was now. In her experience, only the beginning of the fight would obliterate all fear. She was glad, though, that Spike seemed to have found the words Manon needed to hear. She sat down next to him, leaning against his shoulder.

“Should I be jealous that you’ll be watching someone else’s back?” she teased gently.

“Didn’t say I wouldn’t watch yours too, luv,” was his cocky reply. “And ‘still have Nibblet to keep an eye on.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist, and she sighed softly when his thumb sneaked under her shirt and started tracing soft circles on her skin.

“You just have two eyes,” she said after an instant, trying not to sound too worried. “And you’ll be busy fighting for yourself. Don’t try to do too much at once, you’re not immortal anymore.”

“Don’t I know it,” he muttered under his breath, before adding, louder: “I’ll be fine, luv. Don’t worry and just take care of yourself for me.”

They remained out there for a while, silent and peaceful, enjoying the comfort of each other’s presence. Eventually, they had to get back in, say goodbye to the departing Scoobies, and transform the couch in a pitiful excuse of a bed for Faith. Then they were back at last in their room, under their very own sky, and Buffy only wished that the intensity of their lovemaking wasn’t giving her the feeling that it might be their last night together.

* * * * *

To his own surprise, Spike had a peaceful, quiet night. Or rather, peaceful and quiet once Buffy and he fell asleep, both of them exhausted. One useful thing he had kept with his vampire strength was his stamina, and his Slayer had never had problems on that side either…

Humans or vampires, the fireworks were still amazing. And yet, he missed the bites, missed that sense of closeness, so intense, so raw, so perfect, of blood flowing between him and his Childe. Missed that little light in his mind that he had felt too briefly, and the comforting knowledge that she was his Mate. Fiancée, soon wife, it was nice, but at the same time so little after what she had been to him.

As she rested, spooned in his arms, her back snuggly against his chest, he could see in the faint light coming from outside his last marks on the side of her neck. A bittersweet vision that reminded him all at once of what they had shared and what they had lost. He wondered whether she missed any of it, whether, at times, she surprised herself wishing she was still a vamp, his Mate, his Childe. But he wouldn’t ask her. He didn’t need to. She hadn’t wanted to be turned in the first place, and her happiness at becoming human again had been complete until he had ruined it. He had tried to make it up to her with their little picnic. For himself, it had been a moment of near perfect bliss, spoiled only by faint whispers in his mind. He thought, he hoped, it had been perfect for her. She had been radiant ever since, almost glowing with an inner light. But then, to his eyes, she always was. Even in her sleep, she wore the contented smile he loved so much to think he had caused.

Very lightly, he brushed his lips against her neck, and she stirred in his embrace, turning around until her head was tucked under his chin, one arm trapped between them, hand resting on his chest, the other at his waist. She was at least partially awake and drawing light patterns on his skin, just like he was doing on her back. Marking each other, maybe, with protection spells known only to lovers. Or imprinting in the other’s flesh words of love in long forgotten languages. They didn’t talk. Didn’t move. They didn’t need to do either. All they needed right now was the other, and the quiet awareness of their love and strength.

And yet, after a short eternity, it was time to leave the warmth of the bed and of each other’s arms. Faint noises from the bathroom and the kitchen, the household was waking up and getting ready for the day. For the fight. For the apocalypse.

They showered together, lathering each other in careful tender touches that were meant to show love, not to arouse. They each dressed without consulting the other, but as they were done they shared a quiet laugh when they realized they both were wearing black jeans, shirts and t-shirts. After all, that was their semi official slaying attire. Black had the advantage not to make bloodstains so obvious. And blood would be shed today.

Spike had slicked his hair back, which he hadn’t been doing very often for the last couple of weeks. He should have had it cut; the curly locks didn’t go well with the fighter’s image. Too late now. Buffy’s blondness was threaded in a thick braid that reminded him a little of another Slayer, long ago. Yet her voice didn’t come and scream at him when he thought of her.

They went down to the kitchen hand in hand like the teenagers they hadn’t been for a long time and joined Giles and Steven at the kitchen island for a solid breakfast. Quickly, Faith then Dawn were there too. The island was a bit crowded, but, at the same time, comfortable. There was little talk. The previous day had been devoted to freeing their minds from the upcoming fight, but now it was all that occupied their thoughts, he guessed. At least, that was all he could think about. Years before, right before a battle of the same importance, Buffy had told him words that retrospectively had been so meaningful.

We're not all gonna make it.

As he watched the people around him, and thought of the ones they would join later, Spike couldn’t help but wonder whether they would all survive the ordeal this time, or if, again, they would have to mourn a fallen fighter. He had promised, long ago, to protect Dawn until the end of the world. He had said, the night before, he would keep Manon safe, a promise in his mind even if he hadn’t actually said the words. And then his lover. He wouldn’t be able to bear losing Buffy again, especially not now that he had her love, that she was the only reason he was still mostly sane. All he could do was pray the Powers he didn’t believe in but who had so much fun messing with his life that they would be alright. All of them, all of the Scoobies and their allies. Yet at no moment did he think of praying for himself.

* * * * *

The Prophecy had said the portal would open at noon, but it appeared someone, somewhere, needed to get a watch, because Sunnydale High imploded at precisely 11:43:59 a.m.

Thankfully, the school had already been deserted by the few people who worked there during the summer. Xander had called them, supposedly on behalf of his construction company, to inform them that gas leaks had been detected and that they needed to leave while a crew worked on the problem. The crew consisted of precisely one worker, but they left before they could realize that. Xander dutifully rolled out yellow construction ribbon all around the building to prevent anyone from accessing it. By that time, it was only 10 am, but all the gang and its associates were there already, waiting in case the portals opened early, weapons and spells ready. Each of them wore around their neck a pendant engraved on both sides with magical symbols. Some of them were part of a protective spell; others were the key to entering or exiting the shield dome. Said dome went up exactly 46 seconds after the school blew up, before anything had come out of the rubble yet, the first magic done on that day by Willow and Tara, but not the last. It prevented anything from getting out, or anyone from getting in without the bewitched pendants. The dome also gave to anyone outside the image of a perfectly normal school building, so that no one would get too curious if they passed by.

All together, they strode in, some carrying axes, swords and daggers, others armed with various herbs and powders. Once inside, they separated in two groups. Giles, Tara, Willow and Andrea found a place by the edge of the dome, since they only needed to be in sight of the portal and Hellmouth, not directly next to them. They sat in a circle around Dawn, two of them touching each of her hands, and immediately started reciting the incantations they had been practicing for the last few days. Halfway between them and the two open entrances, Steven stood, a sword in each hand, ready to slay anything that remotely looked like it was going anywhere near his girl. The other fighters were disseminated all around the gaping holes, one in the ground, one in the air right above it. Buffy was on Steven’s left, then farther were Spike, Manon, Faith and Angel, who was on Steven’s right. They were in place less than a minute after they had entered the bubble, all of them focused, waiting for their opponents to appear. They didn’t have to wait long.

Just outside the shield, Xander and Anya waited anxiously among their provisions of food, water and medical supplies. Because of the illusion of the shield, they couldn’t see what was going on under the dome, and neither of them liked being outside of the fight like this. After waiting for a while, they were ready to rush in and help however they could, except for a little detail. Willow had purposefully given neither of them a pendant, and therefore they couldn’t get in. All they could do was wait for someone to get out and tell them how the battle was turning out. So wait, they did.

Chapter 47 - … and ends

With his back to the Hellmouth and portal, Giles felt very much exposed and vulnerable, yet his position was necessary. Just opposite him, on the other side of Dawn, Willow’s eyes were fixed somewhere over his shoulder, on the two openings to hell they were working on closing. She was doing the actual patching up, the other three members of the circle having the task of reaching to Dawn’s energy and preparing it for Willow’s use. They hadn’t been able to figure out how long it would take them to repair the tear between this dimension and Quortoth. All they knew was that they needed to be done before it had been open for twelve hours. They had worked with a deadline before. No problem.

But if there was no problem, why did he have this bad feeling eating at him? Willow seemed focused, Tara serene, Andrea thoughtful. The only one who actually paid attention to the fight that was going on behind his back was Dawn, and by the changing expressions on her face he couldn’t tell whether they were winning or losing the battle. She was, in turns, wincing, smiling, frowning, sighing, and he would have given a lot to be able to see, make sure that his Slayer – hell, all of them –was OK.

* * * * *

Caught up in the chanting and incantations, Tara was paying very little attention to what was going on around her. She was aware of few things apart from the circle she was a part of. It felt like they had been working on the spell for hours, but for all she knew it had been only minutes. No way to tell. Not that it was important anyway. Her faith in Willow and her talents was immense. Long gone were her fears that her girlfriend might abuse her magical powers.

The other thing she was aware of was the energy that surrounded all of them. It came from Dawn, of course, but not just from her. It also came from the four people around the girl, and from the fighters that she dimly knew were protecting them. In her mind’s eye, she could see all of it intertwining, each of them feeding the others as well as receiving their energy, but all of it centered on Dawn. And there was that line, drawn by Willow, that ran to the portal, that was surrounding it, weaving in and out to make a net that, once completed, would seal the opening, and restore peace on this unholy ground. Unknown to her, a smile bloomed on her lips, testimony of her belief that, this time again, the world would be safe, thanks to her family.

* * * * *

It was the first time Faith was fighting to prevent an apocalypse, and she couldn’t deny that she was excited by it. She had never had such an adrenaline rush, had never felt so alive and needed. And yet, at the same time, she knew it was her last battle, and she was glad of it.

She was armed with a long dagger and an axe, and couldn’t help but be a little surprised at the ease she felt when using them. It was as if she had never stopped training, as if her time in jail had only been a nightmare. A long nightmare. She had returned to the place that was hers. That had been meant to be hers. But she didn’t want it anymore, she couldn’t do this anymore.

A huge demon that looked vaguely insect-like, if insects had been the size of a SUV, jumped out of the vertical portal and advanced through the school’s ruins midway between where she stood and where Angel was busy with a snake-like thing. Without needing to think twice, she intercepted the bug, swinging her axe to cut off its front legs. The thing roared and stopped, still having six legs left. It stood on the four back ones, and took a hit toward her with one of its middle appendages. She jumped high enough to avoid it, but when she was back on her feet another swing caught her in the middle of her thigh. First blood for the day. A savage grin rose to her lips as she ran to her opponent, and it had soon paid both for hurting her and destroying her favorite pair of pants.

* * * * *

At first, Andrea had been trying to keep an eye on the battle that was going on two dozen yards from where she was sitting with the Witches and the ex-Watcher. But it was too much to look at Manon and not be able to do anything to help or protect her, so her eyes were now closed. At regular intervals, she was joining her voice to the others, but she could do that with only part of her mind on the task, leaving her much to think about.

First, there was Faith. Her arrival had been a shock, and she was still mildly annoyed that Rupert hadn’t told her before that the girl was alive. Everything she had known about the woman was that she was a rogue, unworthy of the Council’s protection, and killed by William the Bloody just as she had been released from jail. Except that now, Andrea knew it wasn’t quite so. Faith hadn’t been killed, at least not permanently, and she had come to Sunnydale, knowing something bad was about to happen, because she thought she was needed. Why would a rogue Slayer care enough to do such a thing? Something didn’t quite fit.

Then there was her father, and she had a strong suspicion he was the reason why Faith’s story didn’t make much sense. Quentin Travers, she had realized a few weeks before, had taken a personal dislike to the brunette Slayer, though she doubted anyone but her knew him enough to have noticed that. Of course, he hated Buffy even more, but killing her wouldn’t bring forth a new Slayer. Would he have tried to have the girl killed, as Andrea had been told the night before? She had no doubt that he was capable of it. Would the Council have approved such a thing, or was it just her father’s decision? Watchers were supposed to assist Slayers, not kill them when they didn’t like their ways. She was already planning to go back to England soon, now that she knew she could trust Manon’s life and training to the so-called ‘Scoobies’. The usually so quiet headquarters of the Council might get a bit noisy when she got there.

And finally, there was Rupert. She hoped he would go back to England with her. He seemed to know a lot of disturbing things Watchers had done on her father’s orders, and could be a formidable ally when she asked the Council for answers. And if she was honest with herself, she could admit it wasn’t the only reason why she wanted him to accompany her.

Shaking her head slightly to get rid of the thoughts that were threatening to make her blush, Andrea returned her full attention to what was going on in the magic circle. Waves of energy were still emanating from Dawn and rushing toward the portal, though when she turned to look at it, she could see no sign of it shrinking or closing. She could only hope Willow knew what she was doing.

* * * * *

Wave after wave of demons and monsters were coming out of the two gaping holes, sometimes one at a time, sometimes in groups, and had been doing so for a good two or three hours. At least, that was Steven’s estimation, judging by the sun’s position high above the dome. It didn’t matter anyway. Two hours or three or twenty, he had a duty to accomplish, which would only cease once the portal and Hellmouth were closed and all the creatures that had stepped into this dimension were dead.

As he fought demons he had known and battled literally all his life, he realized how far he was from the kid who had stepped out of a hell dimension to meet his demon of a father. Then, he was fighting to please his other father, with no feelings but hatred for anything non-human. Now, he was fighting for love, for his Dawn, to make sure nothing would happen to her. He still enjoyed a good fight, of course, but he couldn’t help worrying about her. Every now and then, when he had a few seconds to catch his breath, he would look toward her, make sure she was alright. Always, she would smile at him then, and that was enough to replenish his energy.

A hideous creature, maybe half his size but three times that in width, crawled out of the hellmouth on six legs and came toward him, three ranks of fangs visible when it roared. Without warning, it pounced on him with surprising agility and speed, but Steven was ready, both his swords swinging in the air. The thing was soon lying in three separate heaps on the ground, and again, Steven turned to Dawn, again to receive a smile.

* * * * *

When it was all over and she finally could lay her hands on Steven, Dawn was going to slap him senseless. Was he taking risks like that on purpose? Didn’t he realize how frightening it was for her to look at him waiting for the things to attack before he tried to kill them? The others didn’t seem to wait so long before they went for the kill. She watched them too sometimes, Buffy and Spike mostly. But not as much as she watched him. And Steven’s technique seemed awfully dangerous from where she was. So she would slap him senseless. Or maybe even kick him. Or she could kiss him until he was breathless and unsuspecting, then slap and kick him. Yes, that was the idea. That would teach him about taking stupid risks.

Her arms felt tired from being extended as they were toward the others on each side of her. But she didn’t dare move, for Willow had said that contact was essential. She was aware, dimly, of the four people around her chanting and talking in turns, words she didn’t care to try and understand. She was aware also of the flashes of light that came from the circle and flew to the portal, with no result that she could see. No, not light, energy. Her energy. The very core of what she was. Bit after bit, it was taken from her and used to close the portal. Yet she didn’t feel any weaker. Tired of sitting without moving for so long, yes, tired of being afraid every time something approached Steven, but not weak. As if the energy she had been created from was infinite.

A flash of black ran in front of her and out of the dome, and Dawn had to fight herself not to follow Buffy. She had seen, in all that black, on her arm, a long tear in her shirt, and bloodied flesh under it. She could guess her sister was just going out for a quick bandage, and she wouldn’t be the first. Faith had left the dome, earlier, for only a couple of minutes, and so had Angel. She wished Steven would take a break too; he had been fighting for so long he must have been exhausted. But at the same time she dreaded it, for she knew him enough to realize he wouldn’t leave the battlefield unless he was seriously injured. He turned to her then, as if feeling she was thinking of him, and smiled at her, a smile so soft, so strange on a face that otherwise screamed ‘kill’. Despite her anger at his recklessness, she couldn’t help herself, and smiled back.

* * * * *

The gash on her arm wasn’t very deep, but Spike had noticed it, and in the middle of killing a – whatever that had been - he had threatened to carry her outside himself if she didn’t go willingly. She had complied, making sure he heard her grumbles, but aware despite them that he was right. They had been fighting for hours already, and since the portal was giving no sign of closing, they might have a lot more time to go. Bleeding to death because she hadn’t paid attention to a minor injury would have been stupid. But now, carefully bandaged by Xander, her dry throat soothed by an energetic drink of some kind, Buffy was ready to get back in the game. Before rushing in, she rummaged through the pile of spare weapons and grabbed a sword, her own weapon of choice, and an axe for Spike. A while before, they had been working together on a few creatures with very tough hides, and by the end their weapons’ edges had needed a serious sharpening. It wasn’t very easy to cut off the heads of nameless creatures with a blunt sword. Hence, the slash in her arm.

Thanking Xander, she stepped inside the dome again, only to find the scene mostly as she had left it. There were more bloody bodies in the rubble of the school, and the white hats were taking on different monsters than when she had left, but these were the only differences. She flashed a smile and a wink at Dawn as she strode by the magically inclined people, wishing she could interrupt and ask how the spell was going. Then she returned to her spot between Steven and Spike. Catching her fiancé’s attention as he finished a kill, she threw the axe at him and he caught it easily, discarding the blunt edged one. They didn’t have time to talk as a new bunch of demons jumped in from the hell dimension on the other side of the portal and rushed in their direction. Easily, they fell in back to back and battled the four creatures. Fighting together required no thinking, no planning. They knew each other’s technique so well that they could coordinate their moves easily. A dance, truly, which was not much different from fighting against each other instead of together. Quickly, almost too quickly, they were standing in the middle of corpses. They had time for a kiss, just lips brushing together, and off they were again, this time fighting separately.

* * * * *

True to his promise, Spike was keeping an eye on Manon, and had come to fight by her side a few times already. Not that she had been in real danger at any time, she was sure she could have survived without him. Yet it had been nice to receive his help. She had noticed he was doing the same thing for Buffy, rushing to cover her back whenever she fought more than two demons at once. They fought well together, it was almost like a ballet, and if she had had more time Manon would have enjoyed watching them. As it was, she only had handfuls of seconds to catch her breath between killing a demon and having to take care of a new one. Despite herself, she couldn’t help envying Buffy a little, because she had no doubt whom Spike would help if both Slayers needed a hand at the same time.

As she was sliding her sword through the middle of a very toothy creature, she caught sight of the blonde man on her left, and for a change he was the one battling alone against three demons at once. A quick look farther down showed that Buffy was herself busy with two slimy things. Instinctively, Manon rushed in to give a hand to Spike, though she was aware he would probably be fine without her. It just seemed normal to repay him for his help.

She fell in by his side, taking one of the demons’ attention off him, and noticed the quick look of surprise he gave her. Yet he said nothing, and kept on swinging his axe. Because she just had to kill one monster against his two, she was done before him. In the instant she pulled her sword out of her demon’s body, she saw what he obviously didn’t. While he was hacking at one of his creatures, the other one, which had been on the ground, stunned, pounced up and lunged at his side. Without thinking twice, Manon slid between them, her blade neatly slicing the head of the demon off, but not before its clawed arm found a way to her middle. She clutched the wound with her free hand, feeling warm blood on her fingers. A touch on her shoulder made her jump, and she turned around quickly, ready for another kill, but it was only Spike. A very angry Spike.

“What the hell was that fool move?” he barked. “Trying to get yourself killed?”

”It could have killed you,” she protested heatedly. “You watch my back, I watch yours, fair is fair.”

“I was taking care of myself long before your great grandmother was born, girl,” he snapped. “I don’t need a Slayer to die for me.”

Manon remained speechless, both because he seemed so upset that she had been wounded for him, and because she realized she had been aware, in that split second when she chose to block the demon, that she could die from her bold move, but still hadn’t hesitated.

* * * * *

With soft moves that contradicted his flaring anger, Spike pulled Manon’s hand away from her belly, and couldn’t help wincing. Too much blood, though the cut he could see through her ripped t-shirt didn’t look too deep. What had the kid been thinking, flinging herself in front of that demon so carelessly? He was the one who was supposed to protect her, not the other way around. And he would be damned if he let her pull another stunt like this on him again.

Deaf to her protests, he grabbed her sword, threw it to the ground before picking her up and quickly strode toward the edge of the shield, surveying the battlefield. Surely, his Slayer and the Nibblet would be fine for a few minutes. They weren’t alone to face all these demons after all. Nothing so far had come close enough to Dawn for him to worry, as Steven stood, unwavering, between her and the portal. As for Buffy, she was quite simply a fighting goddess. He stepped in to help her when he could, but he had no doubt she didn’t really need his help.

After a couple of seconds, Manon stopped struggling against his grip, instead wrapping an arm around him and resting her other hand on her wound. Moving was probably hurting her, and that only confirmed his intentions. For better or for worse, they would finish this battle without her. He wouldn’t be able to do much if he was constantly worried that she might be careless again, and, without belittling her fighting skills, he was just better at killing things than she was.

“I just wanted to help you,” she mumbled as he stepped through the limit of the dome.

“I know, kid,” he replied, more calmly than before. “But I told you, I have no wish to see you dead. And especially not because of me.”

They had reached the spot where Xander and Anya were waiting. Spike deposited his precious burden in the grass, sharing a few words with Xander about how the battle was going inside and grabbing a bottle of water. As Manon continued saying to anyone who would listen that she just needed a little bandage and would be fine, he bent down, pulled the pendant off her neck, and smashed it under the heel of his boot.

“No more fighting for the kid,” he told the Harris couple, ignoring Manon’s protests yet again. “She’s been bleeding too much. We’ll manage without her.”

He looked down at Manon, his smirk disappearing as he saw the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, pet,” he said softly. “I know you want to fight, but I won’t let you get killed.”

Turning his back to them, he rushed back to the battle, feeling a bit refreshed at having had a couple of minutes to rest, and satisfied with himself for making sure the young Slayer would be alright.

* * * * *

The instant Spike disappeared past the dome’s invisible edge, Manon pushed herself to her feet, and would have fallen flat on her face if Xander had not steadied her with a hand on each of her arms. Standing in front of her, he had his first good look at her exposed injury. It needed tending or she would keep losing blood, but it wasn’t very deep, and Xander couldn’t help frowning as he looked down to the shattered pendant. She could have fought some more after resting a little, and she obviously wanted to. Why had Spike broken her key to the shield? The question could wait for later, however.

“Sit down, kid,” he told her gently. “Let’s patch you up.”

She shook her head, as if to protest, and he noticed then how pale her skin was, that her eyes seemed feverish. Her small movement seemed to have made her dizzy, because she wavered, and he had no trouble carefully pushing her back down in the grass. Anya knelt by her side, first aid supplies ready, and pulled her t-shirt up to uncover her wound. As she did so however, she revealed another gash, parallel to the one they already knew about, a couple of inches below it. The blood soaked t-shirt had hidden it, the torn material clinging to her ripped flesh and concealing it. It was much deeper than the other one, and bleeding very heavily. Anya winced and looked up at Xander.

“She needs real doctors,” she said urgently.

Xander nodded. Quickly, they applied gauze on both wounds to try and slow the bleeding and then he gathered her in his arms and took her to his car, leaving Anya to help the others if needed. By then, the girl was mumbling softly in French, her fevered eyes obviously seeing nothing. He didn’t count how many near accidents he escaped as he speeded to the hospital, keeping an eye on the kid in the backseat, wincing every time his eyes fell on the blood soaked compresses on her middle. She lost conscience before they reached the hospital, and he didn’t dare reach back and check whether she was still alive.

* * * * *

Night had fallen on Sunnydale, and still they were battling. Each of the fighters had gone out two or three times by now, except for Manon and Spike. Angel had seen from the corner of his eye his Childe carry the Slayer outside and come back alone. He had learned later from Anya, as he was taking a much needed though quick food break, that the kid was at the hospital, seriously wounded. That explained why she hadn’t come back. What he didn’t understand, however, was the rage with which Spike was fighting. He hadn’t taken another break, but showed no sign of tiredness as he danced and sliced his way through demons and monstrous creatures. Every time he caught sight of him, Angel was reminded of the young fledgling who had been so eager to cause chaos and mayhem. A hundred years later, and back to being human, it was still the same fire that burnt in him. And Angel couldn’t help feeling slightly worried for Spike’s safety, as he had long before.

But then, he was worried for all his fellow fighters. Steven’s technique was flawless, and he rarely had any trouble with his prey, and yet Angel caught himself frowning at his son a few times, when the kid appeared to play with the demons before killing them. Between two kills, he exchanged a few heated words with him, and was satisfied later to see that Steven was killing faster, without taking so many risks. Faith, on his other side, and Buffy, by Steven’s right, both seemed to economize their moves as they fought, and Angel could only guess that they were getting tired. They certainly weren’t used to such exhausting battles. None of them was. And then there was Spike, and if he hadn’t been so far from him Angel might have talked to him too, and told him to use his energy sparingly. Who knew how long the portal would remain open? There had been absolutely no sign of it closing, or wavering, or even shrinking a little, and demons kept pouring out of it. When the sun had set, balls of light had risen from the magic circle, so that there was enough light to keep fighting. If they could spare a second to think of making light, certainly things were working well for the Witches and Watchers, right? So they would close these damn doors to hell soon, right? They had to, because Angel could feel his moves get sloppy, and he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to fight. A fresh wave of demons came out of the hellmouth, and Angel braced himself for the new confrontation.

* * * * *

For Willow, nothing existed but the open portal and the energy. She was surrounded by energy, she was energy herself, and the gaping hole between the dimensions just needed energy to be closed again. It was like mending fabric, really. First she had consolidated the edges of the portal, so that the tear wouldn’t get bigger. Then she had laid long lines across the hole, horizontal and vertical in her mind, though she realized it was more an image than an actual weaving. Then she had started overlapping the lines, creating an intricate web that slowly covered the opening. It was visible to her, because she was energy herself, but she knew to the others nothing was apparent. She regretted not having thought of telling them, they probably worried and wondered whether she was doing anything at all. But yes, she was. And she was almost done…

She carefully placed the last string of energy, so that the portal was completely wrapped in it. Then came the last part. She gathered energy, as much as she could, until she thought she would burst with it. She was aware now of the four people that were close to her, and realized they understood the end was near. There was expectation in the air. The battle had been long, and… Now it would end. She projected what in her mind was a ball to the web she had woven, and as they connected a bright light flooded the dome, as well as a deafening noise that sounded like a clap of thunder. When the light receded, the portal had disappeared, and Willow just knew that the hellmouth was closed too. There were still a few fights going on, but no one seemed in immediate danger. So Willow gave in to her exhaustion, and allowed herself to faint.

* * * * *

It was past 10 pm, and Anya was cold, tired and worried. No one had come out to get refreshments or first aid in a while, and she was just scared, not knowing what was going on behind the dome’s illusion. She might have felt better with Xander by her side, but he hadn’t returned from the hospital.

Finally, she heard noise coming from the shield, and saw it waver and disappear, as the people that were inside slowly made their way toward her. Tara was helping Willow walk. Giles held Andrea’s arm, though he appeared to need some kind of support himself. Dawn’s and Steven’s arms were wrapped around each other, as were Buffy’s and Spike’s. Side by side, though not holding on to each other, Faith and Angel both seemed a bit unsteady.

“Where’s Manon?” Andrea was the first to ask, breaking the silence.

“She was hurt badly,” Anya explained slowly, as she had told all of those who had come out earlier. “Xander took her to the hospital.”

Spike’s head snapped up, and his eyes bore into Anya’s.

“She wasn’t that hurt,” he said, and it was almost a question.

Anya shook her head sadly. “She had another injury, worse than the one you saw.”

A look of pure grief passed over the blonde’s face, but he said nothing. It was quickly decided that they would leave the demon’s remains right where they were, mostly because they were all just too tired to take care of it now. The authorities could have fun trying to find an explanation for them. The second decision, that didn’t need much discussion either, was for all of them to go to the hospital and check on Manon.

Driving away from what was left of Sunnydale High, Angel in the passenger’s seat next to her, Giles, Andrea, Willow and Tara squeezed in the back, Anya felt quiet tears of relief roll down her cheeks. Once, long ago, she had reveled in chaos, had enjoyed causing it. Now, as she rested a protective hand on her still flat belly, she was happy that this world would be safe a bit longer.

Chapter 48 - His Life

For a little while, the ER was nothing but chaos as a dozen people, half of them bearing numerous bleeding wounds and cuts, rushed in and inquired about Manon. They quickly found Xander, who told them all they needed to know. The girl’s heart had stopped beating when they had arrived at the hospital. She had been revived, and taken into surgery. She was now in the intensive care unit. In a coma. Breathing through a machine. He had remained at the hospital, hoping that she would wake, thinking she would need to see someone she knew when she did.

As they all stood by the glass wall behind which Manon lay, Buffy was aware of a doctor talking to Andrea and Giles, who had identified themselves as the girl’s ‘parents’. Yet she couldn’t make herself listen to him. He didn’t know everything. He didn’t know Manon was a Slayer, didn’t know how well her body could repair itself, didn’t know how wrong he was when he softly said her chances to breathe on her own again and wake up were almost nonexistent.

Spike was behind her, and his grip on her shoulder was almost painful, yet she welcomed it, for it was an undeniable proof that she was alive and well, and so was he. Buffy managed to pry her eyes off Manon, and directed them instead to Faith. Their gazes met, and Buffy knew it wasn’t Manon that Faith saw when she looked at the bed, but herself.

After a while, they all moved across the hall and took possession of a waiting room. The hospital staff had tried to convince them to leave, since standing guard on Manon wouldn’t help her in any way and also since it was so late, but they stayed anyway. For a long moment, no one talked, until Andrea murmured, more to herself than for anyone in the room:

“She’s a Slayer. She’ll heal and wake up. She’ll be just fine. And with the new one that will be four Slayers now so she’ll have time to rest and be well.”

Her voice broke in a dry sob, and Buffy watched with detachment as Giles tried to comfort Andrea, before turning her attention to Spike by her side. He looked sick. And angry. And so sad. She knew him enough to know what was wrong. He had told Manon she would be fine, he had all but promised it. And now he probably felt guilty about not having protected her enough. She had tried to tell him he had done all he could, since he had been the one to take Manon out for medical attention, but she doubted he had heard her. At loss for words, she tried to give him a more physical comfort by just being close to him.

“There won’t be four Slayers,” Faith said suddenly, quietly, answering Andrea’s words.

“Why not?” Giles asked her, with a voice that hinted at overtiredness.

“Because I won’t be one anymore. No more super strength or dreams or tingles for me.”

There was a pause, and she added, still quiet: “That’s my reward. They get to be humans, I get to be normal.”

“Rewards?!” Spike snorted suddenly, moving out of Buffy’s embrace and getting to his feet. “And what’s the kid’s reward? Death?”

He strode out of the room, fury coming off him in almost palpable waves, and Buffy started to get up to go after him. Her eyes met Angel’s, who was already up, and she accepted his silent offer to take care of it. Maybe he would be able to find what Spike needed to hear, because she was too tired to try and guess anymore.

* * * * *

As he walked through the hospital corridors and up the stairs toward the roof, Spike was aware that Angel was following him, but he didn’t turn around or slow down, and the other man didn’t try to catch up with him. When he was finally outside on the roof, he closed his eyes for a minute, trying to control the anger he felt. Or maybe do the opposite. Anger could be good, right now. Better anger than guilt. Better anger than despair. Better give in to his anger than listen to the voices that had been screaming so loudly ever since he had heard that Manon was badly hurt. And to think he had been so happy with himself for getting her out of the fight!

His gaze rose to the sky, not a cloud marring the darkness, all stars out and visible, but he didn’t care at that moment.

“Cordelia!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “We need to talk! Now! Cordelia!”

He heard footsteps behind him, and glanced back to see Angel.

“What are you doing?” the brunette asked softly. “You need to calm down, Will. Let’s get back inside.”

The nickname almost made him laugh. Yes, it was William shouting out in the night. And Spike too. For once, they both agreed.

“Cordelia!” he roared again. “If you don’t get your fashion-victim’s skanky lop-sided ass right here right now, I swear I’ll…”

The words had worked when flung into the face of a goddess, and apparently they also worked for an angel, because suddenly there she was, in that too white dress of hers, hands on her hips in a posture that screamed irritation.

“You will what?” she asked coldly.

Angel moved closer, his eyes wide as he murmured her name, but Spike didn’t let her get distracted.

“You have to heal the kid,” he said bluntly.

She shook her head, and sighed softly. “Can’t do that,” she said quietly. “That’s against the rules.”

“Fuck the rules!” he snapped. “You made the three of us humans, you’re making Faith normal, so just make the girl wake up!”

“You don’t understand, it doesn’t work like that. The Powers That Be don’t let me do all I want. Like, until today I couldn’t even be physically in this world. But since you averted the apocalypse and I helped you a little, my reward is that I can appear on…”

“Your reward?” Spike interrupted her, incredulous. “She dies and you get a reward?”

Her hands left her hips, and she crossed her arms in front of her in what seemed like a defensive gesture.

“I would if I could,” she said quietly. “But it’s not that easy. Life left her, and I cannot create life.”

“You made us human,” Spike pointed out.

“And you don’t know how long it took me to convince the Powers to let me do that. They won’t let me bring her back. She’s too far already.”

Spike’s mind was working at a crazy pace, trying to find the argument, the default in her explanation, which would let him win that battle. Only one thought wove his way to his conscience. She couldn’t create life, she had said. How about transferring life? As forcefully as he could, he shoved the image of Buffy out of his mind. If he didn’t do all that was in his power to save the red-haired girl, the voices would never forgive him, and even Buffy wouldn’t be able to rescue him from insanity. He’d rather be dead than inflict that on her again.

“Take my life,” he told Cordelia, calm at last. “You’re not creating life; you’re just moving it from one person to another.”

She looked shocked by his words, and so did Angel.

“I can’t do that,” she protested. “It’s your recompense for…”

“I never asked for recompense,” he stopped her. “And I certainly never asked to be alive again. Now, the kid downstairs, that’s different. She didn’t want to die. She has a lot to live for. So really, you’ll reward both of us, if we’re supposed to get recompenses.”

“I don’t know…” she started.

Cordelia’s eyes took a faraway glaze, and she didn’t seem to be present with them anymore. Angel stepped in front of Spike, his hand closing almost painfully on his arm.

“What the hell is all of this about?” he said urgently. “I could understand if it was Buffy’s life in the balance, but why for the girl? Think of Buffy, for God’s sake! She needs you, you can’t just give up like that!”

“I won’t be there for Buffy if Manon dies,” he said slowly. “If she dies, I lose myself. She was hurt because of me, Angel, because she was trying to help me. I won’t be responsible for another Slayer’s death. They won’t let me be. In both cases, Buffy loses me. But in only one there’s a purpose to it.”

He didn’t explain who ‘they’ were, and Angel didn’t ask. He let go of his grip on Spike’s arm, and was about to say something when Cordelia blinked, signaling she was back among them.

“Your life for Manon’s,” she said gravely. “You’re sure that’s what you want?”

Spike nodded, unable to push words out of his throat. Cordelia took a step toward him, and as she laid a hand on his chest he screamed, both at the pain from her touch and at the agonizing feeling that he was losing Buffy.

* * * * *

Buffy was half-asleep on that so uncomfortable chair when movement across the hall caught her attention. She got to her feet and came close to the glass wall, soon joined by Giles and Andrea. They had sent the others home a little while before, since everybody had been falling asleep, promising to let them know if Manon’s condition improved. Because it had to improve, it couldn’t get worse; none of them could believe she wouldn’t wake.

And now they were proved right, because her eyes were fluttering open as two doctors and a nurse were at her side, all looking disbelieving. She turned her head toward the glass, and through the clear oxygen mask Buffy could see her smile. It was too much, and she started sobbing, from exhaustion, happiness and relief all at once. Strong arms wrapped around her then, and she turned in the familiar embrace to bury her face against Spike’s chest, crying softly as he stroked her hair in a soothing motion. It was only when she had shed all the tears in her that she noticed.

Refusing to believe, she placed the palm of her hand over his heart, only to have her fears confirmed. Her eyes traveled up to look at his face. He was watching her with a hesitant smile, as if he was afraid of her reaction, and the dark blue of his eyes was unreadable.

“How?” she asked in a choked whisper. “Why?”

“Cordelia,” he answered simply. “Because I couldn’t let the kid die.”

She had thought there were no tears left in her, but apparently she had been wrong because she was sobbing again. There had been so many things she had dreamed of doing with him in the sun. But now, he was back to being confined to the darkness. It was just unfair.

“I’m sorry, luv,” he whispered against her hair.

His voice was heartbreaking, because he sounded like he had lost her. She looked up at him again and could see his pain, so she forced herself to stop crying. Cupping his face in her hands, she answered his fears, bringing a difficult but sincere smile to her lips, letting him know that she was crying more from surprise than from misery.

“It doesn’t change anything for us,” she managed to say. “I still love you. Still want to marry you. If you still want me.”

His arms tightened around her as his mouth found hers, and it truly didn’t matter anymore what they were as long as they were together.

Chapter 49 - Her Life

Insistent ringing woke Dawn. Mumbling indistinct curses under her breath, she grabbed the cordless phone she had placed on her nightstand and fumbled a little until she had turned it on and in the correct position against her ear. The good news delivered by Buffy about Manon made her smile, though her sister sounded a bit upset. She didn’t question her though, and returned to cuddling Steven, who had not even stirred. She could have lost him today, she was still all too aware of that. Despite their tiredness, they had proved to each other before falling asleep that they were still full of life, but Dawn felt like she could use a little more reassurance. Softly, she used her lips and fingers to caress him, and soon she had awoken him and his desire again.

* * * * *

The phone woke Faith, and for a second she felt disoriented, trying to remember whose couch she was sleeping on and why. The ringing stopped, which was good since she had no idea where the phone was. Slowly, her memories came back. Memories of coming back to the Summers house with the two kids while the other kid was left in a hospital bed. Memories of the day spent fighting her last fight. Memories of what had been promised to her, what she would have – or rather, what she wouldn’t have – soon. Or maybe even now. Was she still a Slayer? Or just a normal girl? If she hadn’t been so tired, she might have tried breaking something to check. As it was, it could wait until morning.

* * * * *

Both Tara and Willow awoke as the phone rang, but neither moved from the bed into which they had slipped still clothed, having barely had the energy to take their shoes off. They listened as the answering machine picked up the call, and Buffy’s reassurances about the young Slayer made them both happy. Very soon, they were both asleep again.

* * * * *

Xander and Anya were in bed when the phone rang, but they weren’t sleeping yet. They were just talking, softly, about their child and his or her future, about names, and a dozen other things they had avoided talking about while they didn’t know for sure that this world would have a future. Xander picked up the receiver, and relayed to his wife the good news from the hospital. They kept talking until morning came, and watched the sunrise together from the balcony.

* * * * *

They left Giles, Andrea and Manon at the hospital and went home. Angel had not come back from the roof with him, and Spike had no doubt that he was still with Cordelia. Not that he cared. All he cared about now was right here spooned against him in their bed, under their sky, still not asleep. Not asleep even after that too long day. Even after that nerve-wrecking night. Even after they had spent their last shreds of energy making slow and soft love to each other. Even if sunrise was close, as he was suddenly intimately aware of again. She had said it didn’t change anything, but he couldn’t help feeling still that little twinge of fear that everything would indeed change. She had only accepted him and her love for him when she had become a vampire. She had still loved him while they were both human. What would happen now that they were back to the beginning, him vamp, her human?

“Can you feel me?” she asked suddenly, very quiet.

“What luv?”

“Can you feel me inside?” she repeated. “You know, am I still your Mate?”

He brushed a soft kiss to her neck, to his marks, and she shivered.

“Yes luv. You’re right here in my mind. Warming me.”

She was quiet, but still not sleeping, and he had the urge to tell her, explain her.

“The kid got hurt helping me,” he whispered right behind her ear. “If she had died, nothing would have stopped the voices anymore. No good deeds. Not even you, luv. I would have been an insane lunatic, and my guess is you would have put up with me anyway until my pain destroyed you. Couldn’t do that to you. I need you happy.”

He placed a kiss on her ear, and she sighed softly.

“At least,” she said timidly, “your soul won’t torture you now.”

She paused for a second, and added, almost worriedly: “You don’t have your soul, right?”

He managed not to chuckle as he assured her that he was indeed a soulless creature again.

“The guilt is still there though,” he said thoughtfully after an instant. “Not so bad, but still there.”

“But you know what to do about it,” she reminded him gently.

That was an interesting concept. Could he redeem his soul while he didn’t have one? It might be worth asking Cordelia, if she stuck around long enough.

“Buffy… are you disappointed?”

She turned in his embrace to face him, and pressed a warm kiss to his lips.

“I’m sad we won’t get to picnic in the sun anymore, or just walk outside together during the day, or all these little things that I was getting used to. But my Mate is a wonderful, caring man, so no, I am not disappointed.”

Spike let out an unneeded breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and held his Slayer just a little tighter. Soon, the quiet rhythms of her breath and heartbeat told her she had found sleep at last, and he followed her into a deep slumber.

* * * * *

For the first time, Buffy was not surprised to find herself back on the beach where Faith had died and returned to life. She had fallen asleep thinking that she needed to talk to Cordelia, and there they were. The light around them was strange, and she noticed that the sun, halfway down the horizon, was partially covered by the moon, though they were both moving down toward the ocean together like no eclipse possibly could.

Cordelia smiled at her, and invited her with a gesture to sit down in the sand with her.

“I like your way to call me a lot more than Spike’s,” Cordy said with a small laugh.

Buffy frowned at her, a little puzzled, but didn’t question the remark.

“You made him a vampire again,” she stated quietly.

“His idea, not mine,” Cordelia answered seriously. “Though to be honest, he believed I was just going to kill him, not return him to vamphood.”

Buffy took a second to process the thought. He had been ready to die. He had willingly been ready to give his life for Manon.

“Don’t worry, the Powers noticed,” Cordelia said, proving that she was again reading Buffy’s thoughts. “And yes he can still redeem himself even now. He doesn’t need a soul for that.”

She didn’t complain about the intrusion in her mind, and thought about all of it for a while, glad for Cordelia’s silence. A few weeks back, she had known for a fact that she would spend her unlife with Spike, known that, barring accidents, they had centuries in front of them to love each other. A few hours back, she had believed she would live a normal, or almost, human life with him, and create a family. And now… now he was back to being immortal and ageless, while her days were numbered. And no family. Unless…

“Cordy? Am I pregnant?”

The angel didn’t seem surprised by the question, so she must have still been snooping around Buffy’s mind.

“Will it change anything if I tell you that you are?”

Buffy thought about that for an instant. Yes, a lot would be decided by the answer to that simple question.

“You could be,” Cordelia said softly. ”You would have been pretty soon if Spike had remained human. Maybe even tonight. But at this very second, no, you are not pregnant yet.”

Buffy’s thoughts had been a mess so far, but with the certainty that it was only her life in the balance, the decision was suddenly much easier to make.

“Are you sure?” Cordy asked tiredly. “I’m not going to reverse it if you change your mind later. And the only reason I even consider it is that I didn’t ask your opinion before making you human.”

“I am sure,” Buffy said with a nod, though butterflies were fluttering wildly in her stomach. “Better if you do it. I don’t want Spike to get all moody again because I ask him.”

Cordelia sighed. ”Fine. Whatever. It’s your life.”

The sun and moon were disappearing below the horizon, still together. Buffy closed her eyes, and drifted into more restful dreams.

* * * * *

Before leaving the hospital, Spike had stopped to talk to his doctor friend, who was there by a lucky coincidence, and brought home a few human blood bags. He had sipped one before going to bed, but in his dream he felt hungry, which meant that the demon wasn’t quite sated. His Childe was on her knees, and he was thrusting into her from behind. As his climax approached, he buried his fangs into her shoulder, and as the sweet nectar hit his tongue… he woke up. And discovered that his mouth was fastened to Buffy’s neck. It took him only a second more to realize he couldn’t hear her heart. He jerked away from her flesh, appalled that he had killed her in his sleep without even realizing it. The necessary solution presented itself quickly, and, choking on dry tears, he pushed Buffy to her back, slashed his wrist with a fang and pressed it to her parted lips. Would she forgive him for turning her again? Would she understand that it had been an accident? He had to call Red, and pray that she had…

Soft suckling on his wrist pulled him out of his agitated thoughts. She wasn’t supposed to be able to suckle. Not so soon. It wasn’t possible, unless…

“Buffy?” he questioned softly.

She gave a last slow lap at his wrist, before licking her lips clean and plunging her eyes into his.

“Hey there,” she purred. “Thanks for breakfast in bed. Was hungry. You’re yummy.”

Mumbling softly, she draped herself over him, and despite his shock he managed to close his arms around her. Talking was beyond him, though.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you have immortality while I got old and wrinkly, did you?” she said after a moment, her voice teasing.

He finally managed to form coherent thoughts and words.

“You’re a vampire again,” he said simply.

“Not just a vampire,” she whispered as her face came up to look at him. “Your Childe. And your Mate.”

His face must have betrayed his confusion, because she continued, her right hand coming up to trace his features with a featherlike touch.

“If you are to stay in the shadows, I want to be there with you. If you have to drink blood, I want you to take mine. If you get to live forever, I won’t let you do it alone.”

“But you were human again,” he protested softly. “You were so happy…”

“I was happy because you were by my side,” she replied. “You’re still here, so I’m still happy.”

And then it struck him. When he had turned her, three years before, he had imposed his decision on her, taken her life and given her unlife, without listening to her protests, and only later had she accepted it as his gift. This time, it was her choice, made without his opinion or consent, and he was the one who was being offered the greatest gift.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and she kissed them away softly.

“You’re not gonna get all broody on me again, are you?” she asked with feigned worry.

For an answer, he smiled at her. Rolling his body over hers, he let his mouth and hands prove her that brooding was the farthest thing from his mind.

Chapter 50 - Epilogue

Spike walked across the beach toward Buffy, who was lying on a blanket. She was wearing a light summer dress, obviously enjoying the feel of the sun on her exposed skin, her smiling face and closed eyes turned toward the sky. In contrast, Spike was wearing the same kind of clothes as he had for more than a century. Comfortable. Black. Covered by his eternal duster. He eyed the glaring sun warily. Even knowing that it was harmless here, it was a bit hard, after all this time, not to fear sunlight. Deliberately, he placed himself so that his shadow was falling on Buffy. She opened an eye then, pouting.

“Come on, Big Bad. Let me enjoy it as long as it lasts.”

Shaking his head a little, he sat down next to her.

“She’ll be here soon now,” Buffy commented idly. “What took you so long?”

As unreal as it was, the sun was starting to make him feel hot, and the too faint breeze coming from the ocean wasn’t helping. He shrugged out of the leather and laid down on his side, letting his eyes caress the golden skin on his Childe. She was always tanned here. It was probably the image she had of herself.

“I couldn’t fall asleep,” he finally answered her question.

“After the last couple of days, you couldn’t fall asleep?” she asked, surprised, her eyes opening again to look at him curiously.

Indeed, it had been an exhausting few days. Ends of the world always were, and they both had experienced it enough times to know it for a fact. But still, sleep had eluded him for a long time after his Slayer had fallen asleep cuddled in his arms. He had been thinking about what would happen when he allowed his eyes to close. The dream, again. Cordelia, again. The offer, again.

He knew Buffy had been ready for a while, and only refused because he wasn’t. Hell, she’d been ready the first time. She had never, ever, complained about it. They rarely ever talked of the dream while awake. But he still felt a bit guilty about refusing and having her refuse too, because of him. And a bit afraid, too, that by having her refuse one more time he might rob her of the chance forever.

“If it was just you and I wasn’t in the picture,” he asked out of the blue, “would you accept?”

Her gaze darkened a little, just as her smile faded slightly.

“It’s not just me,” she answered softly. “And what use would I have for humanity if I couldn’t share it with you?”

He looked at her for a while, silent, stunned once more by how lucky he was to be loved so. No words could have told her how she made him feel, so he just leaned in and kissed the beautiful lady who had held his heart through decades he had stopped counting. Before the kiss could evolve into something more, they were interrupted by insistent coughing. The previous time, Cordelia had caught them in a… ‘compromising’ position. Spike had found the incident hilarious – it was just a dream, after all – but both Buffy and Cordelia had been mortified. Apparently, they remembered as he did, because they were both blushing brightly. It was all Spike could do not to laugh.

“Hi guys. If you would cut out the smoochies for a minute...”

Spike threw a glance at Buffy, finding that she was rolling her eyes at the angel in front of them.

“Wow, Cordy, we are so surprised,” his Slayer said sarcastically.

“Yeah,” Spike added in the same tone, “we would never have guessed we would see you again, since last time you said it was our last chance.”

“Of course, since you had said that the five times before that…”

“Six, luv,” Spike corrected gently.

“Yes, true, six. After hearing six times that you wouldn’t propose it to us again, we should have guessed you’d be back.”

By now, the brunette was sulking, arms crossed and lips pinched tight as she glared at them.

“Well, if you weren’t so stubborn,” she declared grumpily, “I wouldn’t have to keep insisting.”

Spike and Buffy exchanged a glance and burst out in laughter. It was just too easy to tease the girl.

“Cordy, why do your bosses want us to be human so much?” Buffy asked when she had calmed down.

“They don’t want it that much,” Cordelia said haughtily. “It’s a reward.”

Still chuckling, Spike shook his head. “If it was just a question of reward,” he smirked, “you wouldn’t be pestering us to accept, and you’d ask us instead what we really would like to get. Myself, I’d like a nice mansion in the south of France.”

Of course, he could have bought half a dozen of these with the money the New Council had been giving him and Buffy monthly ever since Giles and his girl had taken over and changed a few things. With a few careful investments, the money had accumulated over time, and paying cash for a house in which they spent a week every few years wasn’t out of the ordinary to them.

For a long moment, Cordelia was immobile in front of them, silent. But her eyes, unfocused, gave away that she wasn’t really there. At last, she blinked, and said with a sigh:

“OK. So, you got me. Yes, I will offer you humanity as many times as needed until you accept. And yes, the Powers have something in mind for you two once you’re human again...”

Once more, the two vampires looked at each other, not saying a word, but the same thought was going through both their minds. After all they had done for these damn Powers, they still wanted more? Would they ever leave them alone? What could they want from them as humans that they couldn’t do as vampires?

“Children,” Buffy said out loud suddenly, startling him. “You want us to have children. That’s why you want us to be human. Before you changed me back, you said I wasn’t pregnant yet, as if you expected me to be.”

By the blank stare Cordelia gave her, his Slayer was right.

“Not just children,” the angel admitted reluctantly after a second of silence. “Slayers. Like Dawn’s and Steven’s line of descent. And that’s all the information you’ll get from me.”

Spike felt Buffy take his hand, and she gave him the sweetest, most tender smile that had ever graced her lips. He returned it, with all his heart, letting her know that he understood. Even if it was what someone else expected from them, she still wanted it. She had wanted to have children with him years ago, she still wanted it now, and she would wait, as long as needed, until he felt ready. He wanted to tell her that, some day, he would want it too, but before he could she nodded and said, very quietly:

“I know. That’s OK.”

Cordelia gave out a deep sigh, and when they looked at her she was shaking her head, obviously disappointed.

“So, it’s no again, then?” she asked half-heartedly.

“Sorry Cordy,” Buffy said as she leaned against Spike’s shoulder. “See you in a few years.”

A few years… But how many, until he felt like he could be a good father? He had been a good Mate for a long time, or so he hoped. A good husband, too. A good slaying partner. A good Sire. A good friend. A good brother. A good trainer for new Slayers. He had seen his Nibblet’s children grow up, and their own kids, and even now he and Buffy still sometimes visited the scattered family for which they had almost become legends. Would eternity even be enough to prepare him to be a father? Eternity wouldn’t have sufficed to prepare him to be Buffy’s Sire. He had just learned as he went.

The brunette was already fading away when Spike’s hand rose toward her. “Cordelia, wait.”

The girl materialized again. Spike looked at Buffy’s face, finding her eyes wide, full of expectation and hope. And he knew he was making the right decision.

~Fin~

Continue to "Their Soul"