Forgiveness

DISCLAIMER:All of the characters appearing in this story belong to the WB.
RATING:A deep R. Some Buffy/Spike action
BACKGROUND: Season 4 story. Continues the line set in 'Confessional.' The first part is a basic lead-in with some comedy thrown in the batch so make sure to read the next part,s disclaimer.

It was full dark the next week, and Spike was heading home after his patrol with Xander. The boy had a few useful skills, Spike admitted, but not many. Still, Spike had to tolerate him for the sake of the Slayer.

The Slayer. Spike didn't have any idea what was going on with her; it was that confusing. Ever since her visit to the church that past Saturday, she had been, well, off. It hadn't affected their sex life; she'd snuck to his house between classes for a quickie today in fact. It was great as usual, only there was some new element he couldn't pinpoint. Buffy had to be hiding something from him. Not precisely hiding, but avoiding thinking about something. She was guarding herself from his most subtle mental probes. While he had no qualms about peeking into people's heads, he was reluctant to do so to Buffy.

*You're a vampire, dammit,* he thought at himself. *Since when did you get ethics? Why does the thought of seeing in her mind give you the wiles? Are you scared?* No, he decided, he wasn't scared. It was the pain he did not want to feel. If he searched her mind and found she still loved Angel or loved that Riley bloke, he didn't know what he would do. Probably kill someone, or at least break something, preferably something huge, expensive, and heavy.

Abruptly his contemplation was invaded by approaching trouble. Out there in the dark, he observed with no small amount of amusement, there were two hunters on the trail of some prey. How little did they know that their intended prey was stalking them. The stalker wasn't a vampire for sure, but it was a demon. If it was a demon, then the logical conclusion would be that the 'hunters' were members of the Initiative.

His instincts told him to do nothing at all, except his promises to his newfound allies forced him to act. He was not allowed to stand around and let the idolt marines get toasted. So what if the Initiative had screwed up his plans, his obligations were different now. Also, he could enjoy the opportunity to kick some demon ass.

Heading across the campus at a fast clip, Spike sensed the battle begin without him. Undoubtedly the demon had gotten a jump on the stormtroopers. Spike arrived at the conflict in time to watch a large polgara demon throw a trooper over the edge of a gully. Before Spike could stop it, the demon used one of its bone skewers to slice and dice the torso of the other marine.

The marine hit the ground already dead, and Spike mentally dismissed the corpse. Dead bodies were nothing new to him; it was no big deal. His objective was the polgara who had caught site of Spike. It hesitated, shaking its strangely shaped head, for it recognized him as a vampire. Spike grinned, reflecting that this was almost as much fun as pretending to be human. Since he looked so human, the victims would let him get too close for them to have any chance of escape. Most demons tended to treat him like a fellow evil creature of the night, unaware of which side he was on.

Again, Spike had no scruples about using his powers to read that the polgara had labeled him as a friend. Approaching it with a casual swagger, Spike put on his vampiric features. "Hullo, mate. Seems to be an infestation of humans here."

The polgara nodded, and Spike recalled that they did not have enough intelligence to speak more than a few words. His powers gave him the impression the brain space was taken up by primal urges for violence. Touching its anger was very tempting, but he knew he could easily lose control if he let it penetrate to far into his head. It was bad enough to surrender control when he was with Buffy, he had no idea what could happen if he was trapped by the polgara. He set up a slight shield in over his emotions and used his tongue for the tool instead.

"You left one alive down there," Spike jerked a thumb at the gully. The other marine was certainly alive. Alive, in pain, and very scared, even shielded Spike 'heard' it clearly. "Do you mind if I . . ." Spike drew a knife from his duster. To the casual observer, the knife appeared relatively normal. He had been told different. Red had said she cast some of her strongest anti-demon spells on it. However, she had also mentioned, if he tried to use it on a human, the results of what the magic would do to him would not be pretty.

For a second the polgara tried to understand what Spike meant. It didn't get the concept.

"I want to gut him," Spike said savagely.

The word 'gut' was familiar to the demon because it nodded and shook its bone skewers enthusiastically. It spread its arms to let Spike walk by.

Which left it totally open for his next move. Spike inclined his head and made to walk past the demon. As he crossed by the polgara, without any warning, he turned and buried his knife in its left eye. It died quickly in shock, not comprehending his betrayal.

Spike pocketed his knife and drug the dead commando to the demon. Flipping through the combat fatigues, he found a knife and planted it in the demon's punctured eye. That was all he could do to cover his tracks at this point.

In the case of the commando down in the gully, Spike was keenly aware of the painful injures caused by the commando's tumble to the bottom. He briefly debated doing nothing. He'd killed the demon; wasn't his job done then? The muscles in his temples tightened warningly to remind him he was, of all things, the 'Voice.' And Buffy would be pretty pissed if he didn't help.

Though it was against his better judgment, Spike descended down into the wooded gully. He recognized the injured marine as one of Riley's little pals, Forrest.

Forrest had seen better days because it seemed that he had at least a broken leg and a dislocated shoulder. All the heavy army gear he had been carrying was strewn across the landscape. He had also been attempting to radio for aid from down there, but the radio was so dented it was worthless.

Hearing Spike approach, Forrest's head snapped up in relief. It was rather short-lived when he saw what greeted him. Forrest tried to scoot away as he frantically searched for a weapon.

Spike favored him a toothy grin, for he still wore his game face. "My, my, and what have we here?" He licked his chops evilly. "A soldier boy all broken." He got closer to the prone Forrest.

"My partner will be here any minute," Forrest raised his chin.

"I don't think so, mate," Spike corrected him. "If you are referring to the wanker who got shish-kabobbedd up there, he won't be joining us. Bad luck for him, killing the polgara as it killed him." Spike decided to get a rise from Forrest, "Lucky for the polgara though. A computer chip in the head would have cramped its style."

Forrest inhaled quickly, finally recognizing exactly who he was talking to from all the Initiative's files, "Hostile 17!"

"The one and only," Spike struck a 'diabolical' pose he picked up from a soap opera. "Now what do I do with you? More like, what should I do with you in the evilness of my heart?"

The commando positively shook in pain and tension. "My friends are coming." Forrest was lying, Spike sensed.

"I don't think so. If fact, I think they won't even mount a search for you until tomorrow morning." His comments ere confirmed by the flash of fear in Forrest. "So, let's see, that leg's not looking too good. Neither does that shoulder. You should really see a doctor about that. What to do? What to do?" Spike pretended to do some serious thinking. "I know. How about I wait for you to die and then eat you."

"The sun'll come up first," Forrest said.

"True. Since I can't do this the old fashioned biting way, I guess I'll just have to kill you quickly."

"The chip won't let you!" Forrest exclaimed without fear as Spike picked up a straight stick from the ground.

"Even if I can't kill you, I can cause you extreme pain," Spike pulled on Forrest's broken leg.

Breaking into a cold sweat and swearing loudly, Forrest struggled to remain conscious. "What did they put in my head?" Spike's demanding voice penetrated the haze, and the pain lessened.

"I can't tell you," Forrest wheezed.

"Suit yourself,' Spike redoubled his efforts.

An agonized screech erupted from Forrest, "Fine!" Spike paused and listened. "It's a neurological chip to stop hostile subterrestrials from performing any action intend to cause pain to a living human."

"No kidding," Spike said dryly. "So how do you turn it off?"

"Classified," Forrest answered automatically.

"Wrong answer," Spike pushed on the leg.

"Stop!" Forrest yelled. "Okay," He took a deep breath when the pain ceased. "The chips are controlled by the Initiative central computer, but I don't know the password."

Well aware Forrest was telling the truth, Spike asked, "So what happens if the chips stop working?" He needed to know this to plan his future, or more likely, the future of him and Buffy. If they had a chance of lasting past the life of the Initiative, he had to find out.

Forrest was silent. Annoyed, Spike raised his hand over the leg warningly.

Forrest relented and said, "I don't know. Everything would probably go back to normal."

Also the truth. However, Spike could sense that Forrest was worried about the direction of the conversation. Not because he wouldn't spill the Initiative control chip secrets, but because he didn't know anymore about the chips. And if Spike wanted more, Forrest was in trouble.

Watching Forrest squirm was fun, but Spike needed more questions for the marine. It was just Spike's luck to get a medium level grunt at his mercy. If he had Riley or that Professor, things would have been different, though they may have required more persuasion. Still he had to make up some line of questions soon because his thoughts kept drifting to the Slayer. He knew she would probably not be particularly pleased with his treatment of Forrest.

"All right, I see. Based on your mental abilities and tiny IQ, you are not likely to know a whole bunch more." That should please her. Spike tapped the pocket of his duster, trying to banish her from his head. "I don't suppose you have any smokes?" And Spike hadn't wanted some since he quit for Eve. Did the Slayer have any idea she was driving him crazy, thinking about her all the time.

"Don't smoke," Forrest replied through clenched teeth.

"Pity. See what she does to me?" Spike plopped down, removing some cloth from his pocket. He gave the commando a discriminating once-over. "Oh, why the Hell not? It's not like you're going to be able to tell anyone. What do human girls want in romance?"

"What?" Forrest exclaimed, confused by the turn of the conversation.

"What do girls find romantic? You're in the marines, army, her Majesty's Secret Service or what not. You have to have something in that bald head of yours."

"Umm . . . flowers?" Forrest suggested uneasily.

"Come on, bloke," Spike said in exasperation, "I'm not asking for things I already know. Try to be a bit deeper than that." He clutched Forrest's leg and straightened it with a quick motion.

Through the pain, Forest coughed, "Chocolate."

"Chocolate? There's a possibility. Supposed to be an aphrodisiac, something in the taste. Not that I would know. Anything else?"

"Poetry. As long as you don't write it yourself."

"I'm not that dumb," Spike rolled his eyes. "I must be making this too difficult for you. We'll try again. I'll make it easier. What is the most romantic date you ever took her on?"

This must have been comfortable ground for Forrest since he answered without hesitation. "Prom."

"Prom?" Spike was vaguely mystified. He understood what Prom was in a general sense, thanks to Harmony's endless rambling. It was a high school get together that required dressing up and dancing. "Why is dancing in the gym so romantic?"

"Not that part. You wear a tux, and she gets the world's most expensive dress. You get her flowers for her wrist and take her to a candle lit dinner."

"That's all?" He had been out of the serious dating scene for a little too long. Dru had been crazy so her idea of romantic had been pretty strange, and Harmony had been so dense she thought shopping was romantic.

"Then after dinner at the dance, you have to dance to your special song. If you do all that, later sometimes, you get lucky. "

"Nice to see some things don't change much. Basically in Prom and like my good old days in Victorian England. You dress up like a ninny, treat her like God, and she'll be ready for shagging. How does that make any bloody sense?"

Forrest shrugged with difficulty, "Don't ask me. I only know how it works."

"All that time I spent watching soaps and movies isn't wasted after all. And here I was thinking it only worked because it was on the telly. Thanks for the help, mate."

"Don't mention it," Forrest said, almost amused at the Sub-T's behavior. He'd never seen one act like this in the lab.

"You've been down-right accommodating. Almost makes me sorry how much this is going to hurt." With brutal efficiency, Spike slapped the leg and the stick together, wrapping them with the cloth. Forrest practically fainted, and Spike whistled as he wrapped.

Returning to a semi-awake state, Forrest gazed in disbelief at his splinted leg. "You . . . you-"

"Yeah, not quite ER, I know," Spike replied, sucking a fang.

"But you . . ." Forrest realized where all of Spike's actions had been going. "You tricked me! You were moving my leg till you could help me. That's why you could hurt me."

"I guess there is a brain in there. As you said, hostiles must 'intend to cause pain.' I was helping."

"Why?" Forrest was very surprised.

"Tough. Can't tell you. Classified." He arched a brow, "Or maybe bigots like you need to take another minute to recheck your secret agent code. 'Sides, you can't tell anyone about this meeting," Spike pointed out. "It's called fraternizing with the enemy."

Forrest couldn't deny it, "So what happens now?"

"I drag you up the hill, drop you by the body, and disappear You use his radio to call for help. Tell the higher ups your mate killed it, and you splinted yourself. Don't mention the part where you owe your life to a vampire. Probably wouldn't look good on the report, the possible repercussions of receiving help from me and all."

"So, I'm in debt then. I owe you one?" Forrest sounded very suspicious.

"Assuming you army fellows operate on the honor system. Someday I may have to collect." Spike brought his face close to Forrest's, so the marine could see the whites of his yellow eyes. "Try to hand me over tonight, and you'll pay in blood."

"I may have to catch you someday."

"Then you catch me. Or I catch you. But if it never comes up, you owe me." That was the last thing Forrest heard because Spike popped Forrest's shoulder back into place, pushing him into unconsciousness.

Forrest woke alone by the polgara and Cole. True to his word, the vampire was long gone.

After he radioed for help, Forrest had a chance to wonder at the Sub-T's behavior. Why had the vampire aided him? Despite all his questions and threats, Hostile 17 had been trying to help him the entire time. Maybe there was more depth to the creatures than he had been giving them credit for. That vampire had some type of ethical code to rely on. Even more, it was conceivable to infer the vampire was in a serious relationship with a human girl. Perverted as it may have been, that had to mean there was emotion that would be related peacefully to humans.

Seeing his thoughts were bordering on treasonous, Forrest stopped thinking about it and decided to forgo telling them about his meeting with Hostile 17.

The next Wednesday another delivery arrived for Buffy during Psych. Instead of roses though, it was a box of chocolates with a note attached.

Willow could hardly contain her excitement when she caught Buffy. "Okay, what is it this time? Special occasion?"

"I don't know," Buffy admitted. She and Spike had been getting along fine. It hadn't taken her much time to figure out that he had no idea she could see in his head when they made love. No, she made love; he had sex. At least, she thought that, since she had to take care not to fall too far into his mind. Waking up once in touch with his inner demon had warned her off being too close, and she didn't want to find out he didn't love her, even if she suspected it was true.

"Did he send a note?" Willow asked impatiently.

"Yeah," Buffy unfolded it and laughed.

I am Fortune's Fool.'

Then it says, My place, Friday 8:00, come to Prom.' Is this another English lesson?"

"That was Alexander Pope and William Shakespeare," Willow confirmed. "I'm beginning to think maybe you should keep him. This mystery man speaks English real good."

"Really well," Buffy corrected absently and froze. "Will, did I actually fix your English?"

"Looks like it," Willow smiled, "And having sex with him must make you smarter."

"No, if I was smarter, I would understand a message like this one."

"It is a little cryptic," Willow mentioned. "I think he is doing something on a whim."

"Okay, a whim. Like?"

"He's doing something rash."

"Now that sounds like a skin disease. No, I know what rash means. He's getting all daring."

"It could be. Buffy, this is killing me. I wish you could tell me who he is."

"If I could I would cause I really want to talk about-" Buffy stopped.

"Not again," Willow cried. "Tell me! I won't pry, even though I really, really, really want to."

Buffy wavered for a few minutes, biting her lip before giving in. "You reach the point with Oz where you were not sure what you wanted next? I mean after you got the whole having sex part out of the way."

"Sure," Willow's brow furrowed, "He turned into a wolf, did the nasty with Veruca, and left me. Maybe I'm not a good example."

"Neither am I. Angel and I never got past the sex, and Parker was happy with just the sex. It's that I finally get that I want to keep him. You know, exclusively mine, no sharing with the other kids."

"And he feels the same way?"

"That's it; I don't know. He has always been protective of me with other guys. Only I want us to last, and I'm not clear on whether he wants the same thing."

"Buffy, run while you still can," Willow said half-jokingly. "The guy wants you to be only his, he asked you to some type of Prom, and you still wonder if he plans on a long time?"

"Most fish have longer lives than my relationships. I'm afraid we won't make it."

"You're getting all depressed, which isn't bad since you've been through alot, but, like you are always telling me, lighten up."

"I guess you are right," Buffy agreed reluctantly. "Broody Buffy is not a fun person. Okay, think happy thoughts."

Willow encouraged, "You can do it."

"Oh, he asked me to Prom! That means dress shopage!" Buffy's face fell. "Oh, no. Depressing thought."

"What?" Willow asked, wary of what pratfall Buffy had thought up.

"I only have two days to shop for the dress."

Two nights later Buffy placed the finishing touches on her hair. It was wrapped all around her head with a various assortment of shiny pins, which allowed extra pieces to fall around her face, curled in ringlets. She was wearing what Willow referred to as The Dress.

The Dress was a deep blue that had a purple shimmer buried in the fabric. It was in two pieces, the bottom a straight satin skirt, and the top a matching satin bodice with small silver flowers woven into its front. There were small off-the-shoulder sleeves, leaving the golden skin of her shoulders open to the touch. The top had boning and didn't need anything under it. In fact she wasn't wearing any underwear except a thong and the Prom required garter.

She didn't have a clue what Spike had planned. All he would say was to be sure to come on time, not early or late. Dropping her cell phone in her minuscule purse, Buffy began to exit the room and ran straight into yet another delivery man.

This one handed her a wrist corsage and a small slip of paper. He rushed off, and Buffy went back to her room.

Mystified, Buffy took the old note off the pile of Willow's textbooks on the desk. "Turn off the light?"

"What?" Willow had been watching her from the bed.

"He says turn off the light." Buffy shrugged and turned off the light. She saw the glowing letters on the page and noticed the message had changed significantly. It now said;

Come to me. Nice blue dress. Now put on the bloody corsage!'

"So?" Willow asked as Buffy turned the light back on.

*Where Angel fears to tread?* Buffy thought. Then she caught something. Spike knew the color of her dress. She hadn't told him about her dress, and he hadn't told her about the vision he must have had to know her dress color. He would have to explain that, but she needed to placate Willow. "It says, 'Come to me, put on the corsage.'"

Buffy complied with the written request, noting how the white roses and silver ribbon matched her dress, and tucked both notes in her purse. "I guess I'm going."

"Have fun," Willow called from her bed. "See you tomorrow." The witch actually winked at her.

It wasn't hard to pick out Spike's house from the others. Usually, like this past morning when she'd snuck into his house between classes to see him and get some, it blended in with all the neighbors. Tonight, however, the place was ablaze with lights.

She entered the yard, mouth open in wonder, because someone had strung strands of white lights on the house, the bushes, and every other object in the lawn. It must have taken hours to cover all of that, and she knew none of those lights had been up when she visited. The white light gave the yard an ethereal type of beauty, standing out against the darkness of the night.

Stepping up to the front door, she picked up the single white rose that was laying there and read the tag, "Come in."

Buffy reached for the door, but it opened before she had the chance to do it herself. The door swung open revealing a softly lit room. She walked in and turned to see Spike closing the door behind her.

One glance at him nearly stopped her heart in shock, with him returning the glance with equal surprise. Spike, the vampire she had been dating for almost two months and had fallen for, was wearing a tux. He had on a black tux, white shirt, black tie, and everything. It fit him perfectly, making his chiseled features and blue eyes appear more handsome and sexy than she had ever seen him before. He had such an intense look in his eyes that she could feel herself being drawn to him.

Blinking rapidly, Spike lowered his eyes and took her left hand. He kissed the inside of her wrist and quoted in a bare whisper:

Join me for dinner." He held out an arm.

Still staring at him, she put her arm in his. He escorted her to his kitchen where there was one table set with covered fine china, red wine, and a lit candle. After helping her with her chair, Spike removed the covers from their plates. As he looked up, their eyes caught and held.

Ducking her head from the burning gaze she was receiving, Buffy saw a perfectly prepared steak on her plate, garnished with red sauce and tastefully displayed near a sprig of parsley. She swallowed heavily, "Whoa."

"I thought you'd like this," Spike suddenly sounded unsure.

"I love it," she assured him quickly and waved a hand to encompass the entire house, "But this is just, wow."

"Glad you think so, Slay-Buffy. Is this what Prom was really like?"

"This is how Prom is supposed to be like, unless you're me and you have to slay some hellhounds. I didn't even have a date until-" She stopped seeing the unhappiness in his expression.

Spike pushed the hurt back, "Don't say it. I know who showed up." He took a needless calming breath. "Eat your steak. I spent alot of time cooking this."

"You cook? Wait, you don't need to eat."

"So I can't cook?" He sliced a piece of his own steak, dipped it in the red sauce, and ate it. "It's edible."

"Don't tell me what that red stuff was." She lifted her knife and fork, but Spike stopped her. He rose and walked behind her. Pressing his chest to her back, he leaned over her, taking the knife and fork away. He began to cut her steak into small portions.

Trembling at his nearness, Buffy protested half-heartedly, "I can do it."

He licked her ear, and she held her breath. "Pet, it's Prom. I'm supposed to do this." He stabbed a piece of meat with the fork and commanded, "Open wide."

Obediently, Buffy opened her mouth, and he used it as an excuse to kiss her. It was a kiss full of longing and a desire that couldn't be controlled. Spike pulled back quickly before it got out of hand. "Now eat your dinner."

He resumed his seat, and Buffy was left aching for his touch. They ate in silence for some time, neither tasting their food so absorbed in each other. The air practically hummed with the electricity they were sending back and forth.

When she finished her meal, Spike went to the refrigerator and took out two crystal chalices of chocolate mousse, complete with cherry on top. Setting one at his place, he put the other in front of Buffy. He watched her bite the red berry wither her crimson mouth. She saw him chew his lip with his sharp white teeth. She lifted one brow, smiling welcomingly.

Reaching across the table, he took her spoon and stepped close to her. While he stared into her wide eyes, he stood her up and sat down in her chair, sitting her back down on his lap.

Spike twined one arm around her waist and used his other trembling hand to get a spoonful of the mousse. Not breaking eye contact, he tried to guide the spoon to her mouth. Buffy opened her mouth again, loving the closeness she was experiencing. It was so intimate, him feeding her, and she was conscious of every shiver of his body.

So intent on her, the spoon missed her mouth to leave chocolate on one side. Spike was not deterred at all; he traced her lips with his tongue, cleaning the mousse off.

Unable to contain herself any longer, Buffy kissed him with all the love and passion she had recently discovered for him. Before she could stop it, she felt the smallest tendril of his mind come in contact with hers. The pleasure spiraled up her spine, and she gasped.

Gazing at her with a dazzled expression, Spike choked out, "So much for dessert." He dragged her into the living room and left her standing in the middle of it.

She wanted to cry at his unforeseen abandonment, but he returned after picking up a remote form his entertainment center. Before he came any closer, Spike clenched and unclenched his hands a few times like he was collecting his willpower.

He took her in his arms and stared directly into her eyes, turning on the stereo with the remote. Buffy smiled in recognition at the opening strains of a song drifted in.

" It must have been cold there in my shadow, to never have sunlight on your face.
You were content to let me shine, that's your way. You always walked a step behind. . .

"You remembered!" She exclaimed, laying her head on his shoulder.

"Course I did, Buffy," He replied into her ear as they began to sway to the music. "How could I forget? I was bloody ready to marry you."

She raised her head and faced him seriously, "Do you think it would have been that bad?"

Locking eyes with her, he answered truthfully, "I don't know." Buffy stretched out her mind to find his already doing the same. His eyes widened at the impact of their minds meeting. "You can feel that?"

"Yes," Buffy said, breathlessly in tune with him.

The music died out. Spike changed the CD with the remote and threw the remote away. The song that started to play was eerily familiar in a way that Buffy could only vaguely understand. Listening to the lyrics and sad melody, a new significance for the song came to her as she perceived the words and their meaning through Spike.

When it is quiet and still, I can feel older here.
Change what I can and pray the hope will not disappear.
When we are not denying anything, nothing is an enemy,
Delicately balancing the perfect world.

Arms tightening, they danced closer and closer together. Their foreheads touched as they tried to get even nearer. All Buffy could feel was the touch of his mind on hers. His joy, his happiness, his pain. Everything he was seemed to melt into everything that made her. Inhaling softly, she attempted to shift further into his sense.

"Why is this happening?" Spike whispered in wonder, his mouth a mere inch from hers.

"I don't know." She said sincerely, "And I don't care."

As one their lips met in a slow kiss. While it was not the most arousing or passionate one they had ever shared, it communicated a message of desperate yearning, a cry for a joy they could only find as one.

In one motion, both pulled back. Still moving in unison, they placed their hands together and strode to the bedroom. Without breaking their eyes, they quickly removed their clothing, wrapped in the amazement of each other. They fell into the bed.

What happened next went beyond everything they had ever done. Every motion was felt by two minds and seen with two pairs of eyes. They worshipped each other: kissing, touching, caressing every curve and plane with new discovery. With their minds sharing the sensations, it was like standing in the other's skin. Still in perfect synch, linked, he entered her.

All they had been experiencing could not compare to this. The passion in both of them fed off the other, building into a raging inferno. Every stroke brought them further inside each other until neither could tell where Buffy ended and Spike started. There was no Buffy or Spike; in the maelstrom they simply were. Buffy could sense the tenderness and hope Spike saw in her, and he could finally see the unspoken love that bound her to him. Bodies embracing, mouths kissing, tongues dueling, connected in the most physical way possible, and their minds twined together seamlessly, the pleasure went past intense. They peaked at the exact same second.

Tearing their mouths apart, Spike called, "Buffy!" as she shrieked, "Spike!" They went off like a supernova, slingshoting into unknown territory. The tidal wave of ecstasy washed over them, momentarily clearing away all the agony and fear they had ever felt. It took their anger, their hate, their confusion. All that remained was the two of them attached in heart and mind. Buffy's heart opened, and through her love, Spike met, for the first time, the beauty of her soul. Welcomed by the love, the vampire and the slayer touched a little bit of heaven together.

Still on the high of the endless climax, they stared at each other. Not a word passed between them, it wasn't needed. For the first time, they belonged completely to each other. There were no barriers, nothing in heaven or hell could separate them. There was no way to deny the immutable truth, the heaven they had been searching for had always been there. It had only taken them longer to find it.

Knowing he would never see a more perfect sight, Spike cupped her check, "Buffy- I-"

"No," She leaned against him, burying her head in his chest, "Don't say it. No words." She couldn't hear him now, she didn't want to.

"No words," He agreed, tightening her warm body to his cool one. He kissed her hair, whispering, "Not a one."

He felt the hot tears fall on his skin and sensed the sudden despair crowding her head. There was nothing to say that could possibly console an angel who loved a demon. And no comfort for the demon who had brushed heaven on the wings of the angel.

Ride these waves of doubt,
Bitter in your mouth
You will exhale cinnamon clouds.
(Little heaven, Little heaven.)
(Little heaven, Little heaven)

As Spike woke early the next morning, he immediately faced his angel. She lay on him, trustingly curled up to his side, blonde hair sticking to him. The gold of her skin contrasted sharply with the unnatural paleness of his own. Gently stroking her face, he was content to watch her sleep.

It was moments like this that he sometimes enjoyed the most. He loved seeing her sleep. He loved watching her breathe, chest rising and falling. He loved her softness in the morning. He loved her-

He froze and repeated the phrase in his head, shaking with astonishment. He loved her. It wasn't possible; it was wrong. He could not love the Slayer. Vampires were not supposed to love the Slayer. Except he did. It was the unavoidable truth that he had fallen for her.

Remembering the pain in her eyes before they had slept, he began to understand. She loved him too, and it had to be worse for her because when they were one, she could see down to his core. She could see the emptiness where his soul should have been. And he knew the knowledge was ripping her apart. Even though she loved him, and he loved her, it could not be. No amount of wishing could ever erase the facts. He may have been chosen by God to be the Voice, but he would always be a demon, and she would always be the Slayer.

Spike examined his hands in disgust, loathing what he was. Buffy had let him brush the barest edge of heaven, her soul. That was forbidden to a demon like him; it had stripped his sire of his soul once, that mere taste of perfection. Spike had no soul to lose, but he would have given anything to have been able to let her touch the same place in him.

Entirely unexpected, a vision hit him.

He fell off the bed, banging his head painfully on the floor. *No. No!* he yelled. *I won't do it! No! You can't make me! I can't destroy her.*

Buffy was pure in heart and mind. Everything a slayer should have been, she was. The strength, the determination, the fire, the love, it was all wasted on him. For all he loved her, he now knew that he would be the one to end her life. It would be him who did the deed, for he was a demon through and through. The scent he left on her stained her innocence, dimmed the light she shone so freely. In spite of his love, he would end up destroying her, body and soul.

He could see the Buffy he had called a truce with two years back, the one with the angry face who could not forgive herself for what happened. She had walked out of the mansion a gaping wound. Finding Angel again had closed the cuts, but Spike wasn't limited to viewing the surface. The scars were there, he had a matching set given to him when Dru had turned from him. If he betrayed her as he did in the vision, he would be stealing her soul, damning her to Hell.

She didn't deserve that fate. It was his final destination. She belonged in heaven, away from him. And in a sense far too clear, he did not deserve the love she gave him.

Spike went to his closet, dressing quietly. He couldn't stay, not now. Without a doubt, he was his father's childe, and like his father before him, he loved a slayer he should have never touched. So he had to run, flee the strength of the love before he killed her. Every instinct told him to climb back in bed and stay. For once he found the power to do a truly unselfish act, he left the house and her, the angel in his bed.

A phone rang, waking Buffy. She rolled onto the floor, finding the ringing in her purse. Becoming acutely aware of Spike's absence from the room, Buffy said, "Hello?"

"Buffy," Willow said, "Sorry, if interrupted you and whatever you're doing. Have you been drawing on my text books?"

"It's okay, and no," Buffy looked around for Spike. His tux was still on the floor, but his closet was open.

"Have you seen Spike lately?"

Buffy put on some of the clothes she kept at his place in case of an emergency. "No, haven't seen him today."

"Has he ever been in our room?"

"Well, a few times . . . after patrolling with me," Buffy said slowly. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Someone drew a big church on one of my book covers. It's not like we have a whole lot of visitors here. If you didn't draw it, and I know I didn't draw it, then who else could have?"

"Church? Church, church, church," Buffy repeated. "What kind of church?"

"I think it's actually the big Catholic Church near campus."

Buffy dropped the phone. She'd been to that church recently, the night she figured out she loved Spike. That was the last time he had been in her room, except she'd left him asleep. But to have drawn the church on Willow's book, he had to have been awake. If he'd been awake then he had to have known she had left.

Her eyes dropped to her dress on the floor. He had seen her dress in a vision, so he could have seen the church too. Grabbing the phone, Buffy talked rapidly, "I know the church. I'm gonna go check it out."

"Be careful," Willow was saying as Buffy hung up.

As Cordelia had told her, the visions Spike got were messages from the Powers That Be. That meant there were no little visions and that this one had a purpose. When it came to visions, Spike was the Voice, and Buffy was the Tool. If he went to the church himself, he would be in danger. She raced up the stairs to the practice room and strapped on the nearest weapon, a crossbow. Her worry grew, for she feared what she would find at the church.

Father Paul entered his darkened confessional box rubbing his arm. He must have bumped it on something. Inside the chamber, he paused, sensing he was not alone. Hearing nothing, he began to practice the Latin portion of Mass.

"Forgive me, Father," A voice said near his ear.

Jumping back in surprise, Father Paul saw he was not alone. In the dim light he could see a young blonde man who had invaded his chamber. "My son, you are not supposed to be here."

"Tell me about it. I shouldn't even be in this bloody building," the man replied, stretching his legs against the wall. "It has been an eternity since my last confessional. I'm here to ask for forgiveness."

"What have you done?"

"I'm the devil, the great corrupter of the innocent."

"You are not. He could not enter here," Father Paul clutched his crucifix tightly. "How did you corrupt the innocent?"

"I seduced an angel." The statement fell like a stone.

"But if you believe you are the devil, why do you need forgiveness?" Father Paul asked.

"I never wanted to hurt her, but she is sharing in my sins."

"Do you regret these sins?"

"Not a one. It's what I am. I am all I was made to me. My sire taught me, built me to do this."

"So you are not repenting your sins, but you regret hurting her."

"I haven't hurt her yet!" The man slammed a fist into the wall, splintering the wood.

Uncomfortably aware of the man's strength, Father Paul pushed on, "Then why do you need forgiveness if you haven't done it yet?"

"Because I will. I know I will." The man faced the priest with glowing yellow eyes. Lips curled back to reveal long sharp teeth. "Look at me. I have the blood of hundreds, thousands on my hands. There is nothing I haven't done to hurt a human."

"You- you. . ." The priest regained his compsure, " If you are what you seem, why do you care what happens to her?" Father Paul frantically tried to remember what he was supposed to do about vampires.

"I love her, even if I don't have a soul."

"Love? If you don't have a soul, how can you know love?"

"How do you know God, Father, if you can't see Him? I know love because she makes me want to be different." The man pulled his face into more human features.

"And how does she feel about this?"

"I don't know. You would though. She left me to come here last week. Do you remember her, sad little thing, probably all upset about her boyfriend?"

Father Paul certainly recalled that girl. She had at least stayed on the proper side of the confessional, though she had severely dented the mesh separator. So that made the 'man' before him the boyfriend she had fallen in love with against her better judgment. "I did see a girl fitting that description, but I have heard many girls with bad boyfriends."

"I am not a bad boyfriend. I'm just evil," The man said hotly. "This is all His fault. I wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for Him."

"Him?" The priest asked.

"I would have been fine. I could have gone on my merry way, murdering, maiming, torturing. Could He leave me to do my job? No. I'll give Him one thing. He does have a bloody sense of humor."

"Who is 'He?'"

"You're the priest. Who the Hell do you think He is? The Easter Bunny? Santa Claus? He does keep the scales balanced, that's for sure. Put me on the long-term payment plan."

"God works in mysterious ways," Father Paul unconsciously repeated the words he said to the girlfriend.

"Not very mysterious to me. First I'm forced to fight evil. Then He drops a perfect daughter in my lap, so He could punish me by taking her away. I finally shag the Slayer, and what happens? I turn all psychic. If it wasn't bad enough, He lets me fall in love with the Slayer, and what do I get? Screwed, that's what. Pops a vision on me where I kill her!" The fangs were out again, and the man raised a pair of haunted golden eyes. "I am the one who needs to pay, not her."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"Forgive me, and God will forgive her for loving me by sparing her life. Then kill me so I can take the punishment for both of us."

Not clear on the logic, Father Paul nodded slowly and hefted his crucifix. The man blanched, yet managed to hold still. "I forgive you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost." The priest pushed the cross toward the man's chest.

A hand burst though the back of the box, intercepting the cross before it reached its mark. Ripping a bigger hole, the hand grabbed the man and hauled him out the way it came in.

Buffy threw Spike across the sanctuary on the strength of her rage alone. Seeing him crash into a pew did nothing to alleviate the pain and hurt she had running through her. "It's me, isn't it?"

He didn't get a chance to answer because she lifted him up by his leather jacked and tossed him back to the confessional.

"What is it God?" She addressed the altar. "Every single time things look good for Buffy; it has to go wrong. Like today, Buffy falls in love with demon guy, demon guy gets with Buffy. Things seem fine, but then, demon guy tries to commit suicide Father Dowling style?" She pushed him against the wall and began to pummel him.

"I-" Spike attempted between blows, "was doing it. . . for your own good-"

"You-" A left to the jaw; a tear formed in her eye. "-were doing it-" A right to his cheekbone; the tear was joined by several more. "-for my-" Another left hit his forehead; she started to cry. "-own good?" She paused, crying, but ready to start over, "Why?"

Spike captured her fists and stared at the tears falling down her cheeks. "Cause I love you, you stupid sod." He stood-stock still as he felt the ripple of shock course through her head.

He was crushed against the wall again by an enthusiastic Buffy, kissing him with all her might, not caring that he still wore the demon. Their minds touched again, joining together with incredible ease. The shared joy of discovery rushed over them, and Buffy prayed she didn't melt into a happy puddle on the floor right there. Spike rejoiced in her and the love she was sending him.

Father Paul hissed as the pain in his arm increased tenfold.

The two broke apart. "I love you," they said simultaneously, minds still connected.

A blood curdling scream interrupted their moment of enchantment. They turned to see the spot where the priest had been standing.

Only the priest was gone. In his place stood something else. Splitting the outer layer of human skin like a butterfly shedding a cocoon, a large, very red Inferno demon sprouted up. It was literally breathing fire through its nostrils while it shrugged its massive spiked shoulders. Being well above seven feet tall, it pointed a claw at the Slayer and the vampire. "You defile the sanctuary of the Lord." The demon shook off the remains of Father Paul's skin. "You have broken your vows with that demon!" It ran at Spike, who nimbly hopped to the top of the confessional box, carrying Buffy.

Not to be denied, the demon climbed the box by shoving its fists through the already abused structure. Spike set Buffy down and tried to shove her off the box in the direction of the door. "Run!"

Ignoring him, she drew her crossbow and shot the demon in the hand as it reached the top, pinning its hand down. The demon roared and tried to work free of the dart. She said sweetly, "No, you run."

"Slayer, I don't want to lose you."

"So, let me get this straight, killing yourself was a way to keep me?"

"Oh, bugger off. I was trying not to hurt you."

"Have you ever thought that maybe I could handle it?" For emphasis, she came closer, getting right up in her face. He took in her heaving chest and flashing hazel eyes, which painted a very pretty picture.

He licked her lips, "I ever tell you how gorgeous you are when you're mad?"

Losing her anger at the love she was seeing in his eyes, she stammered, "Well-no."

Furious at their lack of attention, the demon bellowed and pulled its hand free.

A tingle in the back of his neck warned Spike barely in time. Grabbing the Slayer, he leapt off the box, narrowly avoiding the jet of flame that shot from the demon's snout.

They landed with an ungraceful thud; Buffy gave him an annoyed grumble, "'Look out' would have worked."

"If I'd spent my time saying 'look out-'" He started, but Buffy dragged him forward a second ahead of the next gout of flame.

"Who needs to 'look out?'" Buffy said as she and Spike retreated to the center aisle of the church. "Okay, Mr. Wizard, how do we kill it? A vision would be cool here." The demon launched itself off the confessional and landed on one of the pews.

"Come on. Use your head, Slayer. It's an inferno demon. What do you think kills it?" He rolled his eyes.

"Duh goes here. Water. I guess that means the nail polish trick is a definite no-no." She handed him her crossbow. "Here, you keep it busy."

"Why can't I get the water? You're leaving me to fight the demon."

"More like distract it. Besides, Spike. Use your head. You're in a church. You probably can't touch most of the doors." She pressed a quick kiss on his cheek and said over her shoulder as she headed out. "Be careful."

"No problem, ducks." He examined the demon warily. "Okay. I've been needing a new lighter."

Noticing its prey had dwindled down to one, the demon came toward Spike with deliberate steps. Spike barred his fangs a little farther in defiance. The inferno demon threatened, "I'll kill you first, demon, before I kill the little oath-breaker." It spat fire from its nose at Spike, who dived down and rolled beneath one of the pews on the same side of the aisle the demon was on.

Standing up several pews away, Spike laughed, "I hate to break it to you, but I don't think your exactly giving the human part 110 percent."

It attempted to charge him but was tripped up by the pews. Crashing down heavily, it smashed one to smithereens. While the demon righted itself, Spike used the time to crawl back under the pews. By the time the demon got to where it had seen him last, he was long gone. It demolished some of the pews in its frustration.

Still on his hands and knees, Spike scrambled across the floor, searching for a more effective weapon than a crossbow. At the rate the inferno demon was destroying his cover, Spike would run out of places to hide long before Buffy arrived with the water. Problem was, as she had pointed out, he was in a church. His options for weapons were sorely limited.

He scooted on his stomach as silently as possible, crossbow ready. When he saw one of the demon's feet, he fired the first of his three bolts. The demon howled, and the bolt ignited, burning to ash. Spike fired the other two arrows in rapid succession into the demon's other leg.

Slowed, but not stopped by any stretch of imagination, the monster used its arms to trash the nearest pews. Spike rose to his feet and chucked the empty crossbow at the demon's face. The projectile hit its target squarely in the face, only to be consumed by flame.

His cover broken, Spike sprinted across the center aisle and dove under an unbroken set of pews. This side, opposite the confessional, was basically untouched.

There was a few seconds of silence, for the demon had not continued its pursuit. Spike could plainly sense that it had not given up; it was changing tactics. Though his empathic powers did not tell him what would happen, the prickle in the back of his neck warned him to get moving. His head popped above the seats to witness the inferno demon inhale a huge gulp of air.

Understanding that it was a prelude to a very hot finale, Spike ran quickly through his options. There weren't many; he was a vampire that was in no way immune to fire. If he stayed where he was, he fried. If he ran away, he fried. He didn't have any water to put the fire out with so the second the demon spewed its fire, he was in trouble.

Without any other choices, Spike did the most logical thing he could. He charged the demon and tackled it with all his energy. The heat he encountered as they hit the floor was immense, singeing his hair and burning his skin. Still he couldn't pause for a second, or he would be a crispy blood-sucker for certain. The demon choked back the fire it had been readying. Not waiting for it to attack, Spike punched the fallen demon in the face. The skin on his hand sizzled, so he used the other one.

The demon lifted a hand and swatted him onto the raised altar without any effort. Spike crumpled when he hit the wall above the collection plates. While Spike scrambled to his feet, it stood, having decided he was not a threat anymore. It advanced on him, not bothering to draw its breath for more fire. Watching it close in on him, Spike looked about desperately for a weapon among the holy objects surrounding him.

"I'll kill you first," the demon roared at him, starting to climb the altar's flight of steps.

"You said that once," Spike shrugged and kicked the Bible stand on the demon. The stand slowed the demon's advance but didn't stop it.

"Is that all?" The demon laughed when the Bible caught on fire.

"No," Spike replied and threw the collection plates at its head like Frisbees. They distracted it long enough for Spike to use one of the candelabras as a bat, hitting the demon's exposed side. The candles melted instantly, and the inferno demon fell back a step. On the next swing, it caught the descending candelabra and pulled it out of Spike's hands. Grinning contemptuously, it tossed the rod behind it into the sanctuary.

All Spike had left was a cross he couldn't use, and the demon knew it too. Spike briefly considered making another run for it. That was narrowed out as an option because the demon blew some warning shots on both edges of the altar, setting up a wall of flame on either side. Its smile grew, and it inhaled, saying, "Now it's time-"

"To prevent forest fires," Buffy said from her place on the bottom of the stairs. The demon turned to see her holding a high pressure garden hose on it. She raised one brow at it, "You shouldn't smoke in church. It's not very priestly, but neither are you." Her hand tightened on the grip, firing a straight stream of water at the demon.

The water hit the inferno demon directly in the center of its chest. It bawled when the steam began to rise from it. Spike eyed it speculatively because it seemed to be shrinking. It was shrinking; in fact; it had to be half its original size. Then it was a quarter, an eighth, a sixteenth, and then nothing except a pile of wet ash.

Buffy blew off the end of the hose gun-fighter style, "New career, Slayer firefighter."

"What took you so long?"

"Why are you complaining? I got here in time to pull your fat out of the fire." Buffy set down the hose and checked her watch as a smoke detector went off. "Let's see, one fire put out, and now we have the smoke detector start working. Based on the speedy work of the Sunnydale police, we have, I don't know, like an hour before you need to leave."

"And you're not leaving with me because?"

"Duh, again, I'm the one who has to stay here and explain what happened here." She shrugged, "You know, the usual story, some gang members on PCP were vandalizing the church. I came for early confessional, scared off the vandals, and put out the fire they set."

"Conveniently 'forgetting' the priestly inferno demon and the earlier part where you beat up your vampire boyfriend," He commented dryly.

"That too," she agreed, and her eyes flashed when she remembered what they had been arguing about. "Back to that, is it me?"

"I told you already. It was for your own good."

"Bull. I'm missing the whole 'Spike kills himself for me' part, but I think I was pretty clear on the 'I love you' part."

He stomped off the altar and grabbed her wrist. "Come with me." He tugged her into the near demolished confessional box as he shifted back into his human face. They squeezed together to fit in one side.

She giggled, "I thought vampires were supposed to hate churches and all this stuff."

"We do, but it's a good spot for this." Clutching her hand in both of his, he said solemnly, "Buffy Anne Summers, I love you."

A wave of joy shot through her, only to have a bolt of doubt smash it down. "How do I believe you? It seems to me you were pretty ready to split faster than Cher's hair. Even though you knew I was in love with you!" She accused.

Spike took a purposeless deep breath and prepared his defense. He'd been through this once with Dru, the first time he caught her leaving. His reason to leave was not the same as Dru's, but he knew his leaving would tear out Buffy's heart and shove it down her throat. "I don't want you to hurt you, and I would do anything for you." He couldn't tell her about the vision, she would dismiss it as something they could work through.

"Really? Don't try the 'I would die for you' line. We were ready to do that way before there was an 'us.'"

"Fine, then," He held her hand dramatically over his heart. "For you, I would kill. I would maim. I would torture."

She pulled her hand back, "Been watching the Addam's family, I see." She pretended to consider his words, "Hmmm. Those sound like a few of your favorite things. Do I get mittens next, or brown paper packages tied up with string?"

"For you, I would give up biting people."

"No way, already happened, and not my fault," She wagged a finger at him.

"For you, I would stake other vampires."

She whacked him on the side of his head, "Still doesn't count."

Eyes suddenly stormy, he brought his mouth near hers. "For you, I would spare a commando, decorate my house outside in the middle of the day, and listen to some bloody terrible Bette Midler music." Her stunned expression was so cute he had to kiss her.

Her response was so spirited he had to pry her hands off his shoulders. "You stupid git. I love you with every beat my heart doesn't make and every breath I don't take."

She had to hold on for a second as she translated his message in her head. Then she almost decked him with her mind and body. Locked in a kiss, their minds were caught up in a lazy spiral to the sky.

Eventually stopping herself, Buffy sat back and stared at her vampire, slightly awed. "I found that oddly romantic." Her nose wrinkled, "And now I realize that I am making out in a church confessional with a vampire." She broke into a huge grin and reached for him. "I'll blame it on the Hellmouth."

"Don't I get to make you prove you love me, too?" She glared at him. "Never mind." He held back for a second, gazing into her eyes. The light she was shining for only him made Spike finally understand his sire. He could see why Angel had been so fixated on her, and why he had left her. She gave of herself so completely it practically burned. The potential to hurt this perfect girl and her perfect love was too great to chance. The only way to guarantee that it would not happen was to leave.

It was what he should do now. Stand up. Walk away. The ghostly image of his earlier vision surfaced: himself, Buffy, the betrayal, her blood in his mouth . . . But the brilliant luminescence of her passion dissolved the shadows cast by his vision of the future.

*Last chance,* he told himself. *Move now. Don't be a selfish wanker. Let her go. Do the right thing.* He almost pulled away.

But he was no Angel, he had no soul to stop him. So he was a right selfish bastard. He just wasn't strong enough to turn his back on the one truly untainted thing in his life. He couldn't let go of her or the love he had found with her. She owned his heart, and he had hers. There was no past, no future. Everything was in this moment, this girl, and this unquenchable love. He knew he was damned, and perhaps she was too, but he was beyond caring. Whether this earned them hell, together they could touch heaven on earth, and he would not leave.

That was his final coherent thought, for he ended his internal battle. Their lips touched, and they was lost together.