CHAPTER 31

She awoke to the silence of the room. Blinking back the fatigue of the night's earlier exploits, Jennifer craned her neck to look at the figure whose arm was wrapped so protectively around her waist. Though she could not make out his face, she smiled at the coolness of his body against her warm flesh. She felt so protected that, for an instant, she forgot about whom she was and what she was here to do.

Jennifer closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the scent of sex still in the air. After she had explained her motives to him, they had participated in even more carnal acts of desire. Were it not for her limitations and need for rest, she didn’t doubt that they would still be at it even now. As it was--she glanced at the green digits of the clock across the room--they had about eighteen hours before show time. Good, she thought as she wiggled her rear into the groin of the fast asleep vampire.

The simple motion of her hips quickly erased all traces of sleep from Seth as he growled into the back of her neck while his own hips ground against her firm ass. She moaned in pleasure and reached a hand behind her, cupping the back of Seth's head as he trailed kisses up and down her spine.

"Seth," she murmured as she felt his cool shaft slide between her slick thighs. Raising her leg, she cried out louder when he entered her in one violent stroke. As he plunged into her, forgotten was her true nature. Forgotten were the slayer and her friends. Forgotten was the Key. Forgotten was the Enjoining. All that she knew what the feel of her lover inside her and the way he made her feel, both inside and out.

As she screamed into the air and collapsed against him, spent, Jennifer couldn’t help but beam at it all. Everything had fallen into place nicely. Twenty-four hours ago, she had expected to do this alone, but now…now she had a partner. Someone whose desires ran almost parallel to her own and the human part of her couldn’t help but wonder why the fates had been so kind to her. It didn’t matter, she had all that she wanted and in--seventeen hours, she would be on her way to becoming the One. It never crossed her mind that things would not work out. It never occurred to her that the slayer (or slayers) would be able to stop her and Seth.

Her thoughts were interrupted and chills ran through her when she heard Seth whisper three small words into her ear before he drifted off to the land of the undead. She melted even further into his embrace, her arms sliding along his as tears clouding her vision. This was almost too good to be true.

"I love you, too," she returned his declaration and though he was asleep, Seth's body relaxed even further, tightening his hold on her minutely. Everything had been taken care of the night before, so there was no need for an all-day planning session, thus they could afford a few more hours of sleep. Hell, they needed it.

Jennifer's final thought before she followed her lover back into the realm of dreams was that this day couldn’t pass soon enough. After the Enjoining, she would be truly immortal but maintain her current form and she was quite eager to begin the rest of eternity at the side of her lover.

No, this day couldn’t be over soon enough…

This day can't go slow enough, the blond thought as she studied the marred features of her husband-to-be. Anya had been told the whole story of Dawn's kidnapping and, though the Scoobies didn’t quite know why the teen had been taken, in all probability, it meant only one thing: Apocalypse.

She absently traced the contours of Xander's face with a single finger, as if trying to memorize it by touch. His nose was swollen, though not as bad as it could have been. She supposed she had Faith to thank for that--of course not the "crazy, psycho slayer Faith that just so happened to usher her lover into his manhood" Faith--but "the daughter of Buffy and Angel" Faith. Either way, the swelling would be gone in time for the wedding next week.

I can't believe we'll be married this time next week, the ex-demon marveled. Had it been that long ago that, as Anyanka, she was called upon to bring retribution against this brunette that now shared her bed and her heart with? Now, as she watched him sleep, she couldn’t express what she felt for him. He was her lover, her friend, her companion and confidant. Of course, he wasn’t perfect but neither was she, though she had an excuse really. Not for her flaws, but for her indistinguishable nature of saying the right thing at exactly the wrong time. A thousand years as a demon did not prepare one for the tact that needed to be elicited with dealing with humans. Two years could never make up for millennia of vengeance. Hell, not even twenty years could.

Which presented the question of why was he with her.

She knew she was the perfect orgasm buddy (and at one time she thought that was the only reason he had stayed) and a capitalist of potentially epic proportions but aside from that, what did she have to offer? She wasn’t the most beautiful woman--though she had to admit that her cheekbones were quite ravishing--and her social skills were tenuous at best. She never understood his jokes and, more often than not, the Scoobie humor. It also seemed that they only tolerated her because of Xander (and the fact that the Magic Box was the premier spot for Scoobie Central). But what did she have to offer?

At the realization that the answer to her question was 'nothing', Anya closed her eyes and cried silently. She didn’t know how long the tears fell, but her eyes opened when a warm hand caressed her cheek. Leaning into the gesture, Anya opened her eyes and stared into the chocolate pools of her fiancé.

Concern was etched in Anya's features and he fought through the sleep to figure out what it was that hurt her. It didn’t take long since it was the same look he often wore when she wasn’t looking. That far away, helpless look of insecurity; the not knowing or understanding of why you were loved by someone you thought to be above you. It was strange to see it on her face, however--this brave and beautiful young woman (well, relatively speaking) exuded confidence even at the most desperate times, even when she was worried out of her mind. But now, that confidence was stripped away and the pain he was in had faded only to be replaced by a deeper ache of his soul at seeing her like this--eyes bloodshot and her cheeks stained with tears. He wanted so much to be able to wipe her fears away with a few well placed words but he knew that would not be enough. Instead, he did the only thing he could think of--he kissed her.

Anya was surprised to say the least when she felt Xander's lips engulf hers. It was a kiss filled with passion but tenderness as well. And the slight hesitation alerted her to something else, something that she never expected to feel from Xander.

Reassurance.

At that moment, she knew that he felt the same way she did about him. She wanted to scream at him for that, doubting that he was good enough for her. She wanted to slap him silly for not thinking that she was content with him, no matter how unfunny his jokes were. She wanted to tell him that she would love him for the rest of their short, mortal lives until they were old and gray and raisin wrinkled.

In the end, however, she decided that her actions would speak for her. Yeah, no words. For as powerful as they were, words never seemed to be enough.

Words had always been their plaything. A sultry tone here, a well-placed innuendo there was what they did. But there were times when all they wanted to do was stare into each other's eyes, green on green, at the love that was reflected in both of them.

When Tara had awakened to the light chirps of birds outside, she had been surprised that she and her ex-lover were nestled in a familiar embrace, their faces only inches apart. She smiled shyly and, as if she had called Willow's name, the red head had opened her eyes sluggishly.

It took Willow a minute for her eyes to adjust to her surroundings and before she did, she thought she was dreaming. She had to be if the angel before her was any indication. But as everything swam into focus, she made out the familiar contours of her love. She moved to say something as she noticed that had maneuvered into a lover's embrace sometime during the night. Before she could form words, however, she felt Tara's gentle lips brush across her own lips. To say that Willow was surprised was an understatement and she surmised that it showed when Tara giggled. Willow's frown only made Tara giggle more. Willow soon found the musical laughter contagious and couldn’t help herself from joining in.

With Willow here, laughing with her, Tara felt as happy as she had been since--well, since before the breakup. The few months with Willow out of her life had been so hard that she had spent more than a few nights crying herself to sleep while other nights were spent willing herself not to cry until she fell asleep. Of course, some days were okay but she had found the mornings to be harder than even the nights. Waking up to an empty, loveless bed had sometimes overwhelmed her but she stayed strong knowing that Willow was fighting an even tougher battle.

As the laughter died down, Tara could only gaze upon this sweet creature in front of her and marvel at how the red head had captured her heart. They had been through so much in the time they had known each other, some bad, but most of it good. When Tara had found out that Willow had altered her memory twice, she had for a time thought it was over. They were oceans away and the blond didn’t know how they would be able to cross it. It hadn't been easy but they had graduated from the Atlantic separating them to just a simple turn between them and greener pastures. As Tara dove in for a second, more passionate kiss, she had made up her mind. They had come so far that it seemed like a waste not to take advantage of the situation at hand.

When Willow saw Tara move in for a second kiss, she couldn’t help but be amazed at how they had come so far. When Tara had left her, she had felt they were half a world away and would never be able to reconnect. As their tongues danced their familiar rhythm, Willow thanked whatever deities were listening for their flight across the distance, back into one another's arms.

It was, after all, where they belonged.

He was almost home.

The polite announcement from the stewardess roused him from his dozing. He removed his glasses and sleepily rubbed his eyes, all the while trying to process what she had just said. Oh, right. They would be landing at JFK International within the hour. Excellent. Despite the fact that he was lounged in business class, a transatlantic flight wasn’t the most joyous of activities.

Replacing his glasses, he twisted his neck from side to side, painfully delighted as the kinks were forced out. Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, Rupert Giles flipped his notebook back to the beginning. He needed to go over everything once more, just to get everything straight because once he landed, the flight out to LAX would depart a scant thirty minutes later. He had decided that the flight out to California would be best used resting up as well as figuring out a way to explain it all to his children.

My children, he thought tenderly as the faces of Buffy, Willow, Xander and the gang flitted through his mind’s eye. As funny as it sounded, Giles had, however unintentionally, adopted every last one of them as his own. He was quite sure he would never have any progeny of his own blood, resigned to make the sacrifices necessary of a Watcher. It had been genuine happenstance that his affection for Buffy turned into more than just the adoration of a teacher admiring his pupil. Of course, it had taken Quentin Travers-bloody pillock-to make him realize consciously something that his heart and soul had already known.

Buffy was as much of a daughter to him as if she had been born from his own seed.

He pinched his nose to staunch the tears that threatened to spill as he thought of her. She had been through so much, never truly getting the opportunity to grow up, to be a teen. She had been thrust into the charge of saving the world at the tender age of sixteen and he couldn’t help but feel responsible for her current lot. If only he had chosen differently, then maybe she could have had a normal life.

But it doesn’t work that way, Rupert, the rational side of him reminded. And that was the problem. Feeling so helpless at times, not able to help her gain the life she deserved gnawed at him more than anyone would ever know.

And what did you do when she needed you? Scurried back to merry-old England for a cuppa tea. The guilt he felt over leaving that second time was, at times, unbearable. When he had read the texts that foretold what was to happen-- it had almost brought him to tears. Now, here he was, on his way home, to where he belonged. He just prayed that he would get there in time. If anything happened to Dawn or Buffy--or any of the Scoobies for that matter--he didn’t know what he would do.

They were, after all, his only family.

Faith stared at the ceiling, her hands clasped comfortably behind her head. She was still tired, managing only three hours of sleep after Spike had carried her to bed. It wasn’t as if lack of sleep was a new thing for her--it was a pretty common to say the least. She hadn't slept through a night since she had seen Buffy ram that stake through Spike's chest…

The blond shivered at the memory and forced it down as she flipped to her side, facing the window. She couldn’t see the sunrise from here but she could see the crawl of its rays over the trees and houses across the street. It wouldn’t be long before the King of Day's loyal subjects flooded the streets.

A giggle escaped her lips and she covered her mouth to stifle the sound. Spike--no, Daddy--had told her that when she was only five and the memory still stood. She had asked him why he never really played with her much outside.

See that, luv? He had said, pointing at the Sun. That's the King of the Day. And the little rays of light are its loyal subjects. Now Kings like discipline and being the rebel that I am, your Da isn't welcomed too much in the King's court. She had gotten so mad that she had told him that she would never walk out into the sun again. And she stuck to her word. For all of twenty minutes.

Faith wiped at her eyes, her vision flooded by tears and memories of happier times. Times when she had nothing to worry about except if her Mum and Dad would catch her practicing spells Willow and Tara taught her or if she did bad on a test. The only strategy she had to employ were tactics that dealt with extra dessert or staying up a little later. Things were so innocent then. She lived in a bubble where the monsters were slayed at night by Mummy and Daddy who always came to give her goodnight kisses no matter what time they got in. And her Aunts--Willow, Tara, and Dawn--were always there if she needed them. They were all family.

Even when she started patrolling, she never really thought about one day not having her family with her. It had been so hard when Dawn disappeared, but there was still the five of them left. It never occurred to her that, one day she would be fighting alone. She couldn’t help but wonder if her dependence on someone always being there was the reason that she had been beaten. No, she wouldn’t go down that path--it invariably led to thinking about him and the things he had done to her…

But it didn’t matter anymore, did it? She wasn’t alone now. Not only did she have her parents plus Willow and Tara, but Dawn also, not to mention Xander and Anya, two people she had never met. No, things would be different this time. She would see to it. She would not lose again and she vowed that, no matter what, Dawn would be returned safely and Seth would receive the punishment he deserved.

Fingering the locket around her neck, Faith swore that she would get the job done, even if it cost her her last breath…

It was a distant murmur, barely audible in her coma-like state. Reflexively, she tightened her hold on the cool body nestled in her arms, intent on reconnecting with the peaceful realm of her dreams.

She moaned and jerked in irritation at the continued blitz of vocals that permeated the air. The cool body beside her moved slightly, adjusting its position before bringing her closer to it. She smiled into the body's chest before snuggling closer, the distraction temporarily forgotten.

…now that it's over

Her eyes shot open at their own volition as everything slowly started to come back to her. Temporarily disoriented, she couldn’t place where the clock was. After a few seconds of eye rubbing, she caught the familiar red tint of the digital numbers just over the body next to her. It took her another second to realize just who the cool body next to her was.

Spike.

Buffy was a tad shocked at waking up with Spike beside her, let alone nuzzled deeply in his embrace. The shock wore off, however, and was replaced with an almost childlike jubilance. She had all but told him those three words, though she was still too scared to actually go on the record and say them. She wondered if the things she said and the way they kissed gave him…

Dawn! Her sister's name crashed into her head, laying waste to the giddy emotions of her and Spike's heart felt talk. Instantly, the guilt of sitting on her laurels while her sister was out there with some lunatic began to gnaw at her and she needed to get out of his arms.

Spike had been partially awake since Buffy's first irritated grunt. Though he heard the clock radio sound off with music, it was her change in breathing that was his trigger, as if he was in tune to her every tick. Her struggling to get away had wakened him fully and he was instantly on guard. His first thought, of course (and why wouldn’t it be?) was that she had seen last night as a mistake and was more than ready to rebuild the barriers of Ft. Buffy. Though he was afraid of this and wanted nothing more than to leave her be, he had to see her eyes. He had to know what she was feeling. If she was going to crush him, he wanted proof in her eyes--proof that said the love of his unlife was a coward.

One look, however, was all it took for him to know that this wasn’t about him but something else. Her green eyes were filled with pain and glazed over with a haunted look. Her features had twisted into a pain-laced frown and it took him a second to register the emotion most prevalent within her.

Guilt.

Taking an unnecessary breath, Spike pulled Buffy closer to him. At first she fought it, and he thought she would use her slayer strength to pry herself free. But after a token struggle, Buffy melted into his arms, allowing the grief to overtake her.

Their roles now reversed, Buffy cried into the strong arms of her Protector. Though she didn’t know if she would ever admit it aloud, that's what he was. He was her partner, her confidant and her lover. As Protector, he watched her blindside, listened to her rants, tolerated her attitudes and watched over Dawn and the others. But more than that, he protected her from the one enemy she didn’t have an answer for.

Herself.

She cried with no shame and the comforting words he spoke, his accent still husky from sleep, touched her in a way that she wouldn’t understand until much later. But when she did--when she did, she would tell him.

Tell him that she was sorry.

Tell him thank you

But most of all tell him that she loved him.

The devilishly potent kink in her neck was what woke Dawn up. She had fallen asleep, rather awkwardly, on the couch in the office she had been locked in. Using her right hand to push herself up, she used her left to massage the painful throb. It took several minutes of focused treatment before the discomfort retreated into something more attractive--though a dull ache was not too far from where she had started out, it would do.

The teen stood and stretched her arms to the ceiling, noting several decidedly less irritating kinks spread across her lithe frame. She went through a gamut of stretches until the sluggishness had dissipated.

All but the shroud that covered her thoughts.

She still couldn’t get over what had happened when she grabbed the Spike wannabe. The power that coursed through her was a little--no--majorly intense. For a brief moment, she was in sync with every fiber of her being. Not only that, but her conscious mind danced across every cell of the three individuals that were in the room. Though the vampire was dangerous, at that moment, Dawn could see that the woman, Ms. Calendar, was more than dangerous. She was something old, something beyond time, almost like Dawn. In that instant, she had known what the woman was planning and it frightened her to the core. Not because the woman was stronger (Dawn knew they were even) but that the woman obviously knew what she was doing while the whole light show and singe had been reflex for Dawn--a reflex she didn’t even know she had, never mind being able to duplicate it.

Of course, just like any moment, it was fleeting. And all the knowledge and power that filled her senses disappeared with only a silhouette's trace now in her mind's eye.

She paced the room in agitation, unaware of her demeanor as it related to a certain bleached British vampire. She was thinking of Spike, however, and not in the post-crush 'I'm totally over you but really not' way. She was thinking about him hard as if she could will him here and barge in the door. Hell, it had worked before, when Buffy was…gone.

Dawn gave herself a respite and briefly thought back to the time this summer, before he had started keeping a nightly vigil outside her window, she had sneaked out to see him. Stupid move. Not even five minutes later, she found herself flung over the shoulder of a very unpleasant looking (and smelling) demon. It had carried her to its lair and chained her up as three other of the giant beasts rounded on her, smiling at her (she guessed that's what they were doing) with several rows of decidedly sharp teeth. Though she was terrified, a part of her was relieved that the pain inside her would be over and she would get to see Buffy and her mom again. She had stared up, defiantly, at the beasts, fighting back the remaining tears.

As they moved on her she heard the dangerously low voice telling her to close her eyes and she complied. She winced, as her ears were audience to the brutal fighting that raged around her. She knew it was Spike and though he was tough, she didn’t think there was any way in the world that he could beat four of the giant demons. Several minutes later, Dawn felt his cool hands brush against her arm as he freed her of the shackles. When she opened her eyes, she gasped at the gaping wounds on his face and chest but the look in his eyes would forever stay with her.

The anger there was tangible and she had steeled herself for his reprimand. No sooner than he got her nickname out, William the Bloody broke down into tears. His words were intelligible as he sobbed against her shoulder; save for his constant refrain of I can't lose you, too. As she cradled the emotionally broken vampire in her arms, she couldn’t help but to cry along side him and it was there that she whispered for the first and last time that she loved him. It had only made him cry harder and Dawn knew that he had probably never heard those three words said to him.

Bringing herself back to the present, Dawn wiped a stray tear away. She couldn’t keep the guilt at bay and slumped back in the couch. She had seen the way everyone treated him when Buffy came back and yet she said nothing about it. She didn’t admonish the Scoobies nor did she soothe him. True, he didn’t make too much of an effort and from what Buffy had explained to her in the kitchen earlier; he had been keeping the company of a certain someone's older sister. Still, that did not alleviate them--her--of responsibility for casting him off. How neglected he must have felt. They had all been so caught up in their own lives; no one had even given him a thank you for his summer exploits with the gang.

That's gonna change, Dawn thought as her face contorted from one of fear and pain to a scowl of determination. Things would be different once she got out of here. She never doubted for a second that they--Spike and Buffy--would get her out of here. After tonight, everything was going to change.

And as she lay back on the couch to rest, Dawn had no idea how right she was.

Severed Ties

"Daddy?"

No sooner than the word left her mouth, distantly familiar arms engulfed Buffy.

"How's my Pumpkin?" Hank whispered in her ear and she nodded dumbly. The seconds ticked away and Buffy remained frozen in Hank Summers arms. How many times over the years, despite her anger and resentment, had she imagined this moment? Her Daddy, holding her like he used to when she was little. When he was so proud of her that she was crushed to his chest or when her little heart was broken from pain or the nasty words of her playmates and she would cry on his shoulder, all the while him wiping away her tears, stroking her hair, and telling her it would be all right.

Bits and pieces of her childhood danced through her near-catatonic mind and Buffy felt her arms loosen and slide around his waist.

"That's my girl," Hank said, and the first hint of tears appeared, stinging her eyes.

"Daddy…"

"Shhh, now, darling, Daddy's here. Everything's gonna be fine."

Buffy wanted to scream. She wanted to ask him where he had been all these years. How could he leave his two baby girls in the cold with no calls, no letters? How could you do that, Daddy, how could you? We needed you, more than you'll ever know and you left us. Left us without turning back.

Buffy wanted to yell that from the rafters but something held her back. It wasn't until she tasted her tears did she know why.

Despite all his lies and broken promises, the little girl still trapped in Buffy Summers wanted so bad to believe her father; she wanted so bad for everything to be all right.

Even if she knew it was a lie.

~~~

He surveyed the room, his four remaining lieutenants before him, eyes hard, postures stiff. They were ready for battle. Frost, whose entire wardrobe was the purest white, just as the blade of the sword strapped to his back. His eyes, usually cool and emotionless burned crimson, telling a tale that Gabriel had no idea how it ended.

The two Zidiahni, M'ul Aut and D'bahn, did not bother to hide the glee at what awaited beyond the portal. The emerald light from the doorway slid across their razor fangs, highlighting the killing tools in some dire reverence. But their teeth wouldn't take lives; they were strapped with dozens of blades and several firearms, as if they were going into the teeth of hell, itself. And they were, for the mini-army they would face was more deadly than anything this world had to offer.

And then there was Morrigann. His sweet succubus. Her supple curves peeked out from under the translucent violet of her long skirt and matching blouse. Only her lower half was hidden away by a dark purple thong that matched her thigh high boots. Her multi-colored mane draped across her right shoulder, his most recent teeth marks hidden under the purple choker around her neck.

"You look wonderful," he said and cut the distance between them although he dared not touch her, lest his concentration was shattered.

"And I feel even better," she whispered, trailing her fingernails underneath the globes that were her breasts. Her tongue dashed out and traced her purple lips. "Of course, you know all about that, don't you?"

Gabriel forced himself to breathe but gave her a wane smile. "All in due time, my child, all in due time." Mind focused on the task at hand, he turned away from them and raised his hands, shouting words only heard in the hellish playground that was his home. Energy crackled from his raised palms and the vampire nearly toppled at the backlash. Steadying himself, he spoke louder, challenging the energies to defy him. After an initial surge against him, it acquiesced and the portal expanded until it took up the entire wall.

"Go," he shouted, "I cannot hold it much longer." He heard the quartet move past him, his narrowed eyes catching a glimpse of them as they passed. Frost stepped through first, swallowed by the green and black tempest of energy. M'ul Aut and D'bahn followed close behind. Last was Morrigann, and before she stepped through, she turned towards him.

"It will all be ready for you, lover." She smiled, her fangs elongating further than any vampire, before she too was gone.

He held on as much as he could, unfamiliar with the forces to bend time, until his body refused to go further. As soon as he collapsed, his face hitting the ground, the portal shimmered. The green faded, replaced by the blackness of a void like no other, before it exploded into nothingness.

But Gabriel saw none of this as the darkness had already claimed him.

~~~

He'd expected her to come gallivanting back into the kitchen, those sweet hips of hers sashaying back and forth, and tell him that it was no one important and that they could get back to the unfinished business of buggering his lady lover.

Doubt she'd appreciate that particular line of thinking, Spike mused. He surveyed the kitchen and the half-ass job he'd done, fulfilling his promise of tidying up. Oh yeah, he could've done a lot more than wipe off the table and countertops but aside from the throbbing pulse of his libido holding him back, there was that tiny comment Buffy let slip about domestication.

"I'm no bloody house vamp," he protested aloud, flinging the damp dishrag into the sink. True, he may have been a bleedin heart where she and the 'bit were concerned--well, and Bitlet, of course. He shrugged; might as well throw the two Wiccas in there as well. Okay, he was a complete sop when it came to the women in his life. But it wasn’t as if he could help it. Quite the romantic pre and post un-life, he'd always taken it upon himself to see to the women in his heart. He doted on them to no end and never felt the pansy for it. And Buffy was the pinnacle of that train of thought. Oh, he was her willing slave, all right, but that did not mean that he was her, well, slave. There was no way in this world that he was gonna…

Spike stopped and took in the task he was doing. He hadn't even paid attention to unloading the dishwasher, placing the mugs and bowls in their respective cabinets. But it wasn't a big deal, the vampire argued. He'd done it that painful summer when he and Dawn spent days on end together, when he and the witches often made dinner. And while Buffy was in the hospital, he and Giles often cooked for the other house residents, cleaning up afterwards, discussing Merry Old England with the fervor only two Brits could achieve. So, this here thing he was doing had nothing to do with being…

Oh sod a dog, he was buggered. No doubt that looking in the dictionary, the 'D' word (which he vowed never to use again) had the handsome, yet panicked and resigned portrait of a certain bleached blonde vampire illustrated as its prime example.

Muttering to himself the entire time, Spike managed to clear away the dishes. He glanced at the clock and frowned. Buffy had been gone fifteen minutes now without so much as a peep from her. Maybe she was upstairs, planning the stages for his ultimate seduction or maybe she was trying to…

Spike sniffed the air and growled. Something was wrong. Buffy was still in the living room but she wasn't alone. The other scent was bloody familiar in a way but it was his slayer's fear that made his hackles rise. Without another thought, the vampire barreled through the door and into the living room. Two heads turned towards him but he only saw the tracks of tears down Buffy's cheeks.

"Buffy, what's wrong?" He asked and rushed to her side. He frowned when she shook her head and plastered a genuine, one hundred percent fake smile on, teeth and all.

"Nothing, William," she said, emphasizing his given name. She laid a hand on his arm, squeezing unnecessarily tight before glancing at the man before them and back to Spike. "I just was talking with my Dad and…"

"This blighter is your Da?" No wonder the scent was familiar; it was part of Buffy and Dawn. Spike eyes grew cold and he bit back the urge to tear the man in the charcoal suit apart.

"I am," said the man and he stood. "Hank Summers. And who might you be?" He didn’t bother to hide the contempt in his voice and Spike was so close to flashing a bit o' fang but he caught Buffy's pleading look out the corner of his eye.

"Who am I?" Spike reiterated and glanced towards Buffy. Her eyes shone with something he couldn’t quite identify but decided it was shame. She didn’t want dear old dad to know that he and Buffy were an item and the sickening feel of being thrust into the closet again had obliterated the anger he'd felt toward Mr. Hank Summers. Well, he was used to this game; thought they were over playing musical chairs but what did he expect?

"Not too tough a question, William, is it?" Hank asked.

"Actually," Buffy said, and Spike heard the stirrings of anger in her voice, "Spike is my boyfriend." The vampire stared at Buffy in shock and when her lips curled into a shy smile, his love for her grew exponentially.

"Spike? I thought you said his name was William."

"Well, Spike's kinda sorta a nickname, right, sweetie?" Buffy said, pulling the stunned (and quite amused) blonde down to sit next to her.

"What kind of a nickname is 'Spike'?"

The vampire smirked, confidence boosted by Buffy's admission. Cocking his head to the side, his gaze hardened and he stared through Joyce's former husband. Spike's ears prickled when the other man's heartbeat accelerated and his throat bobbed. Still got it, Spike thought and his fingers entwined with Buffy's. He gave his lover a quick smile before leaning over the table and licking his lips. "Do you really wanna know, mate?"

"So, Daddy," Buffy said and not too subtly yanked Spike closer to her. "What was that you were saying about Dawn?"

At the mention of his girl, Spike's ears perked and he barely contained the growl that awoke inside his chest. Hank may have been Dawn's biological father--well, truthfully, he wasn't even that--still, Buffy and Dawn's memories said the opposite. The point was that he hadn't been a father to them since they had come to Sunnydale. To show up out of the blue like this was cruel and more than a little suspicious and if he was a betting vampire…well, let's just say that papa Summers wouldn’t like to meet the real William the Bloody.

"Oh, yeah, Dawn," Hank said and his face slid into the ultra chipper mode. Now I see where the Slayer got that from. "Well, it's been awhile since I've seen Dawnie and I just thought that she'd like to visit LA for the summer."

Buffy's hand tightened and Spike leaned towards her until she relaxed. "That's…nice of you Dad but I don’t know about that. I mean, we already have plans for the summer."

"What kind of plans?"

"Well, uh, sisterly type things."

"Like…?"

Spike snorted. "Don’t you get it, mate? They're doin' sisterly things. Don’t matter what it is, just that it doesn’t involve a Daddy that can't even attend his wife's sodding funeral." As soon as the words left his mouth, Spike was instantly remorseful. Not for the guilty shroud that covered Hank's previously stoic features but the painful reminder he had given Buffy. Spike grimaced apologetically at Buffy and nearly gasped at the pain etched across her face.

"Buffy, I…"

"Spike," she said, her voice oddly detached, "do you mind if me and my father talk? Alone."

Spike started to protest but saw the warning in her eyes and nodded. He stood and, giving a withering glance to the man in the chair, exited the room.

He closed the door, allowing the night to swallow him. It was dark now and that was all right. It matched his somber mood perfectly. His hands slid into his pockets and Spike sighed. His duster and fags were still in the house and there was no way in hell he was gonna go back in there. He'd muddle through the night, dust a few vamps, break a few necks, throw back a few shots at Willy's and call it a night. He'd take care of the Buffy situation later.

"Soddin big mouth you have, Spike," he muttered, kicking at the grass on the sidewalk. Yeah, he did put the size eleven Docs down his throat but everything would be fine. Buffy loved him and even if she was rightly pissed at him right about now, she had to accept the apology he was going to give her. There was no doubt there would be--in Buffy speak--major Spike grovelage later tonight.

The thought of Buffy looking down on him as he asked forgiveness produced a smirk from the sullen vampire. And then, seeing her break into a grin, begging to be pounced upon lifted the vampire's spirits even more. Spike had no doubts Buffy would make him pay but, in the end, it would be all worth it. It always was.

~~~

It was a little after three by the time Spike stumbled back into Casa de Summers, his blood singing from alcohol and the violence of the kill. His left leg was on fire from the serious gash from where that damn Melzic demon's horn had cut into his thigh. Several ribs were bruised quite healthily and the bleached blonde swore never to jump into the mix with seven recently fed vamps. Well, at least not until the next time the opportunity presented itself. All the light--save for the living room--were off and Spike peeked in smiling at the sight before him.

Xander and Faith lay together on the couch, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. His Bitlet was on the opposite end with a blanket haphazardly covering her legs, curled into a shell. Watcher man lay snoring in the recliner; a book open in his lap while the telly continued its incessant chatter. Buffy and Dawn were nowhere to be found and neither were the witches. Shrugging at their absence, Spike quietly made his way through the sleep-fest, sliding the blanket over his daughter's petite form before shutting off the telly.

"Daddy don't go," he heard someone whimper before he walked out the room. He was by his little girl's side in an instant, kneeling in front of her. Faith Joyce's features were bundled in that frown that reminded him so much of her mother's. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and stroked the tender flesh of her jaw.

"She didn’t mean it…" she murmured and Spike whispered soothing words into her ear until the tension died from her limbs. He dropped a kiss onto her forehead and smiled at the jewel that was he and Buffy's miracle.

"Sleep, Bitlet," he said, and stood up, "Daddy's going nowhere."

Spike crept back out of the room and when he got to the steps, noticed that the front door was slightly ajar.

"What the bloody…" He trailed off when the familiar scent of vanilla and crème wafted through the air. "Buffy." She must have heard him come in and gone outside so she could grill him without waking up the others. Well, Willie boy, let's go out and face it like a man.

Her back was to him when he exited, closing the door behind her. Her white camisole clung to her tighter than usual and he smiled at his girl picking up weight. A glance down at her striped boxers sent shivers of anticipation through his veins. He knew exactly what was under there and wanted nothing more than to--

The fragrance of fresh tears broke through Spike's inebriated lust and the vampire immediately sobered. He took a step towards her and slid shaky fingers through his tousled locks.

"Buffy, I…"

He saw the minute shake of her head. "Don’t, Spike." His concern grew at the deadness in her voice. He knew he'd been out of line and she was pissed but her tone was anything but. Yeah, there was resentment in it but she also sounded so…defeated.

"Baby, look, I know I was out of line…"

"Don’t make me say something we'll both regret, Spike."

Something in her tone chilled Spike like nothing he'd ever felt. His heart dropped and the insecurities he thought dead years ago, ones more powerful than the doubts about he and Buffy, were resurrected and beat on his chest with sadistic pleasure. His throat tightened in fear and Spike reached a tentative hand out to his lover's bare shoulder.

"Please don’t touch me."

"Then what do you want me to do?" He yelled, frustration clawing through him. He stalked across the porch and in front of her. He nearly faltered when her hazel eyes glared at him with such loathing and fear, marred by the tears that streaked down her beautiful face. But he refused to be quiet. He couldn’t. If he did, he would explode.

"I fucked up, Slayer, I know that. What I said to that tosser was justifiable but not with you there. I'm sorry, okay. I'm a soddin souless demon. What did you expect from me? That, that bastard hurt all three of my girls, he's lucky I only said…"

"He wants to take Dawn away." The steam he'd been building up was sucked from Spike's undead lungs and his mouth was agape, staring in horror at Buffy.

"He what?"

"He…he showed me the papers. Everything's legal. He wanted to have Dawn there for the summer to get her accustomed to living there. He hoped--" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "He hoped that she would like it enough to stay with him and he wouldn’t have to go through all the legalities. Dawnie's really upset. Wills and Tara finally got her to sleep."

"Buffy, I…"

"He said that he didn’t want to involve the authorities, if at all possible, so he's giving us to the tenth to decide and, if necessary, he would do everything in his considerable power to get her. He thinks that being around someone like you is a bad influence and that this environment is stifling Dawnie's growth."

Spike's stomach churned but he refused to retreat. "What environment? A place where nearly a dozen bloody people'll give their soddin lives to protect her? Where she's loved more than the soddin world itself. Does that fuck think he can give her all that? Does he?"

Their eyes locked and for several minutes no words were exchanged. Spike tried to decipher the meaning behind Buffy's clouded gaze but couldn’t fathom what he saw. It wasn’t until she lowered her gaze that Spike understood.

"That's okay, Slayer. I understand. It's always me, openin my big mouth, makin promises…promises I can't keep. Good old Spike; he'll never disappoint cause he always does disappoint."

Buffy's features instantly softened and, for some reason that made it worse. "Spike I…"

He shook his head. "Save it, Summers. You know, you're probably right. I did fuck up tonight and it probably is my fault that Bit's gonna get taken away."

Buffy's arms dropped to her sides. "It's not over yet. Giles is--"

"I let you die, didn’t I?" The slayer's shoulders slumped and all the residual anger disappeared from her eyes, replaced with an innate sadness.

"Spike, I told you that wasn't…"

"My fault? Bloody 'ell, Summers, I was there! While you were taken care of the hell bitch, my arse was getting kicked by an old, wrinkle-skinned demon, preparin' to be thrown off the soddin' tower while Dawn begged me with her eyes to help her. I let you down. So why should this be any different."

"Spike I--"

"Just answer me one question, and for God sakes, Summers, be honest with me." Her throat convulsed but she nodded. "Do you blame me for this, for Nibblet getting hijacked by Pa Summers?" She turned her head and the answer slammed into Spike's chest with the force of mahogany wood. His eyes swam from the unshed tears that accumulated in seconds. Yet they would not fall, so long as he breathed. No, she would not see him cry. Never again.

"Don’t bother to answer, luv," he said and turned his back, "your eyes said it all." He took two steps off the porch and stopped. Every fiber in his miserable being wanted to beg her, plead with her to take him back but the sliver of pride that he still possessed refused to give in. "I'm gonna sleep at the crypt tonight. I need some time to myself. I'll be back in a day or so." And, as if it truly mattered, he added, "I promise."

He forced his legs to carry him to the sidewalk and he consciously ignored the hushed sobs that followed him from the porch. It wasn’t until he was halfway down the street that her cries were lost to him. When he reached the corner of Revello and Patterson, Spike's strength gave way and he collapsed to his knees. As his cries rang out into the night, a silent, yet just as loud voice screamed from within, telling him what he'd known since he took that first step away from 1630.

He was making the biggest mistake of his life. But it had to be done, cause if he didn’t walk away now, he never would. And he couldn’t bear to be there when Dawn was taken away and Buffy looked at him with hate once more. He just wasn’t that strong.

As the tears finally diminished and Spike was able to stand, he made his way towards what had been his home for the last two years. It would be hell after spending the last few weeks wrapped in Buffy's embrace but it was better than the alternative. Even if Buffy never wanted to see him again, he would never leave this place. That would destroy him just as much as her hatred would.

He snickered bitterly. Can't stay, can't go. Just buggered to the core. Ain't life grand.

Oh, life was grand all right. It was grand, indeed.

TBC in Castaway…

"Four days!" Buffy shouted and connected against the orange and gray demon's jaw with a roundhouse kick, sending it to the ground. Before it had a chance to rise, Buffy pounced, her thighs squeezing its ribcage and petite fists, strong as steel, slamming into the dazed creature's sponge-like face.

"I mean, what the hell is his problem?" She shifted to her feet and, grabbing the helpless creature by the collar, hurled it into a tombstone. The shattering concrete blasted through the air and Buffy flinched. She walked towards the groaning demon and, studying the broken shards, whispered an apologetic "Sorry Mrs. Anderton," before finishing off the demon with a jab to the heart with her dagger.

Cleaning the violet blood off the blade, Buffy re-sheathed the dagger and trounced off towards the crypt that had been in her thoughts the last week.

During her thoughts of Daddy Dearest and his less than loving terms he'd set out for Dawn extradition (and he would be back over tomorrow; shit) Buffy had found solace in thoughts of her undead lover. But thoughts weren't enough. She'd needed the comfort of Spike, his arms wrapped around her waist, calming her nerves in the way that only he could do. Her wishes had gone unanswered though. It wasn't that Spike had completely avoided her or anything. True to his word, he'd taken a day to collect his thoughts and returned the night after with only a hint of sadness touching his azure gaze. She saw it right away. So did Jay and Tara. Buffy had no doubt that Dawn would have, too but she was too busy being comforted; first by Spike then by her pseudo-boyfriend, CJ who, by now, if he knew what was good for him, had vamoosed from 1630 Revello.

"Stop trying to be distracto-Buffy," the slayer admonished aloud. In fact, she'd done a bang-up job not avoiding the issue. On three separate occasions she tried to talk to Spike--to apologize, to tell him how she was feeling--to no avail. Okay, so the first two attempts, with flaying arms and rising voice didn’t constitute 'talking' but the third time, well, that had come off all civil-like. Except for the fact that a certain bleached blonde bonehead was giving her that tolerant smirk that said 'you can say whateva, toots, I'm still right and you know it.'

So maybe I was a bit blame-it-on Spike for a second, she groused inwardly. But it was only a second. "And he just had to pay attention at that moment, didn’t he? He is such a jerk sometimes." She knew she was being unfair, that this entire cock-up was her fault; she had the uncanny ability to place the blame on him for virtually any crime known to man. In fact, he was probably responsible for her working at that Double Meat hellhole months ago. Don’t you mean that he wanted to take you away from that?

Buffy screamed at the logical reasoning of her inner voice and kicked a headstone, satisfied at the crunch of destroyed property before her emotions settled and she winced at yet another damaged marker, courtesy of the slayer.

"Sorry Mr. Bennington," she said and strolled a few more yards until the crypt came into view. Buffy's nails dug into her palms and she held her breath, a part of her hoping to see Spike gallivanting towards her, spewing apologies before kissing her senseless. The vision was so real that Buffy licked her lips and reflexively clutched her thighs together. Oh, the feel of him, the way he moved, the coolness of his flesh as it…

"I will not ogle at the thought of that…that butthead," she shouted and stomped off towards the cemetery's exit.

Her heels clicked violently against the street and she was vaguely aware of several people that moved out of the way as she passed. How could she let herself stoop to that level again? So what Spike was hot and knew her body better than she did, she was mad at him and that automatically posted a no-marveling-at-Spike's-tongue ("Oh God right there") whatever he may do with it. Besides, there was so much more to them than just the physical. Buffy stopped as her mind wrapped around that fact. It was the unvarnished truth; she loved Spike and he loved her. He was the only person on the planet that had seen how bad she could truly get yet he never strayed. Spike could go into any club in town and take a different girl home each night if he wanted to, but he never had. Instead, he took her words, accepted her fists and did nothing. Sure his tongue sometimes struck back, cutting her to the quick, but he never disrespected her like she did him. The thought of Spike's loyalty always warmed Buffy, even during those cold nights during winter when she wanted nothing more than to return to the warm light of Heaven. He saved her; he was her salvation. And that's why it hurt so much.

"Ow," the slayer murmured and squeezed her temples. A headache was settling in, blindsiding her from the corners of her mind. That meant only one thing. "Too much thinking Buffy for one night." Glancing up at her surroundings, Buffy saw that the Bronze was only a block away. It took her a handful of seconds to decide and, shrugging her shoulders, the petite woman headed for the club. Maybe a few sips of fruity nectar: the alcoholic version, could cure her woes. Okay, so she didn’t do the drinking thing much but, hell, she was twenty-one now, complete with proof of age--might as well make good use of it.

~~~

"Bottoms up," Spike said and downed his twelfth shot of the night. Slamming the empty glass on the table, he turned bleary eyes towards the band playing some God awful teeny pop song that grated on his already frayed and infuriated nerves and he was halfway tempted to say sod the headache and bathe in the band's probably oversugar-fied blood.

"Bloody slayer," he muttered, pouring himself another shot of Yaeger. The little bint always had a way with twistin' his bleedin' insides till they were wrapped around her petite little fingers. Just like she had the last five days. "Can't bloody leave me alone, can ya, Goldilocks?" he whispered to the amber liquid that sloshed in the glass. Yep, she'd been at her best the last two days, confronting him not once but twice, demanding a talk. Her first two attempts had been classic Buffy; demand, yell and chastise. Spike had been well within his right to tell her to sod off, but did he? Nope, he just gave her the trademark smirk, which, he knew, hurled that quick temper of her through the steel mesh that protected the roof. Her tantrum had the vampire in stitches (though he dared not laugh in her face) and he'd expected the same results on her third attempt last night.

That's my girl, he thought, drowning himself in the sting of alcohol. Always surprisin' me. And last night, with her quiet words and honest eyes, Spike had been thrown off that unmoving horse of his, toppling to the ground with the force of a troll punting a midget. She'd seen his dishevelment and had gone on the attack, spewing apologies for her behavior the week before. Spike had wanted to believe her, to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless but something stopped him. That blasted, infernal pride--the one that gotten him in countless (and unnecessary) brawls--was the cause. Even now, he was kicking himself, wishing he'd discarded the armor and met her halfway. Instead he'd run.

"Like the bloody coward you are, mate." He had asked himself for the past twenty-four hours why he'd avoided the conversation that Buffy had obviously wanted to have but had received no answer. How many times had he taunted Buffy and her inability to talk? Now the tables were turned and he was playing Mr. Runaway.

Spike ran a hand through his gel-less hair, his eyes studying the small remains in the bottle. He shrugged and downed the rest of the contents, frowning in satisfaction as the liquid burned a trail down his gullet. As if lightning, the alcohol restarted something within him, something that had been dormant for nearly a week. It stirred and bubbled, festering through his mind and across his skin with an unquenchable thirst to consume him, drown him. Grasping the sides of the table, Spike shuddered as the phantom energy ran its course until his mind reeled at the blinding simplicity of what had just occurred.

"What a fuckin' wanker I've been," he groaned. How could he have treated Buffy like that? With all the crap she'd been dealing with the past few days. He'd seen the wear around her eyes, the taint of her kinetic energy that she exhibited even in the direst circumstances. He'd left her side at the exact time when she needed him most. And he was mad at her? He had to set everything straight.

Throwing a wad of bills on the table, Spike stood on shaky legs, as his focus was singular in its pursuits of finding Buffy. He turned to exit the booth and ran into the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"Going somewhere, sexy?" She whispered and pressed her ample breasts against him. Spike lost all train of thought as the woman--decked in the skimpiest purple number imaginable--invaded his personal space. Her hands slithered across his hips and up his sides until the stroked his ass possessively. Spike's first instinct was to push her out the way--no, that wasn’t true. His first (and continual) instinct was the through her to the ground and shag her into oblivion. His cock was rock hard, threatening to puncture the fabric of his jeans and the mystery woman ground herself into his erection.

"Do…do I know you?" he asked, ashamed that his voice came out as a choked whisper.

"No," she said, and with uncanny speed, slid her hand into his pants, "but I'm sure you will." Spike gasped as her heated hands stroked his manhood and he fumbled for clarity. His body refused to respond to anything but her ministrations and his tongue was thick and dry.

"I…I have a…a someone," he moaned, his breaths coming in razor gasps.

"Don’t worry about Buffy," the woman whispered. She stood on her toes and slid her tongue across his lips. Her twin steel studs were cool against his mouth and Spike parted his lips. "We'll take good care of your lover," she said and plunged her tongue into his mouth.

So lost in the kiss, Spike never questioned how the woman knew Buffy's name.

~~~

"I can't believe him. I mean its not like he deserves her anyway; and then he goes and does this."

"Xan," Faith snapped, "calm down. You know how those two are; bottled blondes full of stubbornness and hormones. But most of all, they're ga-ga over each other. They'll work it out."

The young brunette rolled his eyes and took a long sip from his glass and his expression soured. Draft never was as good as the bottled stuff.

"But he could've at least heard her out, couldn’t he?" Xander leaned forward when he saw the resignation in his lover's eyes. An opening. "You've known the Buffster long enough to know how hard it is for her to apologize."

"Ain't that the truth."

"And with Spike, she's tried three times." He held up three fingers to solidify his point and, quite unnecessarily repeated, "Three. And what does he do? Turn his back and walk away."

"Well," Faith said and her gaze skirted the crowd, landing on the vampire in question. "I wouldn't call those first attempts apologies, shuga bear."

Xander flushed at the endearment and tried not to show his reluctant agreement. "So she was a bit wound up."

"Xander, it was supposed to be a private apology and we heard nearly every word after she opened her big mouth." She took a sip of her Corona and, after a thoughtful second, added, "You know, for such a little runt that girl has a set of lungs on her."

"Faith, baby, focus, here."

"I am trying to focus," she said and Xander gasp when her hand found the not so dormant bulge in his pants. "That's what I wanted to focus on all night," she whispered, giving him a not so gentle squeeze, "but you wanted to take a girl out, sweep her off her feet."

"I wanna do more than sweep you, girl," he murmured and leaned over the table. Faith met him halfway and their tongues dueled for supremacy. Xander bit back a moan as Faith magically appeared in his lap, grinding her hips against him, heedless of the throng of people that danced and laughed around them.

It had been some of the best weeks of Xander's life. Over the past month or so, he and the former rogue slayer had gotten acquainted on several levels. Their physical chemistry was incredible and when they went patrolling, could scarcely keep their hands off each other. It had taken a bit more work to connect mentally and emotionally but he had finally started chipping away the mammoth wall that she had hid behind for so long. Already she'd confessed some of her less than noble deeds during her tenure as the Mayor's secret weapon and had skimmed over the details of her childhood. Twice she had tried to tell him the rest of her history but she hadn't been able to get past the first tears and Xander had spent those nights holding her, promising her he'd be there for her.

Confessionals hadn't been one-sided, either. Despite going over it earlier, Xander had admitted how hurt he had been at her callous treatment of him that first time years ago. He'd told her about Anya and his time with D'ohbin-Zi in Neverworld (as he called it) and his mountain of insecurities, courtesy of his dysfunctional family.

"We are two screwed up people, Xand," she had said and he'd agreed. Of course, now his only thoughts were of the best place to go for a quickie.

"Hey," he moaned when she pulled away. "The lips went away."

"Didn’t you feel it?" She asked, cocking her head to the side.

"Oh, I do," he quipped, "and from your location on my lap, I'm sure you feel it, too."

"Not your dick, bozo, the major mojo that just belly flopped in here. It felt like…" Faith grew still and Xander frowned when her eyes widened.

"Baby, what?"

"I think I changed my opinion of Spike." Anger roiled in her brown eyes and Xander turned his head, wondering what could have changed her mood so fast.

"That bastard!" Xander growled when he saw Spike and some woman locked in a feverish kiss. "I'm gonna kick that scrawny ass of his when I…"

"Oh, God, no. B." The anger was gone from Faith's voice, replaced by heartbreaking sympathy. Xander turned to his girlfriend and followed her eyes to the balcony.

Face flooded with tears, Buffy stood, staring in shock at the scene below. Even from his vantagepoint, Xander saw his best friend's small frame shaking in grief. "Buffy!" he called out and as if she heard his call, Buffy jumped off the balcony, landing with the grace only a slayer could. She ignored the incredulous stares, pushing past the onlookers and disappearing through the exit.

~~~

She couldn’t breathe and the downpour of grief that bled from her eyes blurred her vision. It was as if a giant hand had ripped a part of her out and she was powerless to do anything about it. Unable to cope, to fathom what she should do, Buffy did what she had always done best. She ran.

She wasn’t concerned where she was going, so long as it was away from him. How could he? Just because they had a fight, he turned to the first piece of ass? And what a tramp. And the way he was letting her kiss him, his hands to the side like some statue while Buffy watched from the rafters.

When she first saw the skank approach Spike, Buffy had instantly gone on the defensive. Something about the ho just wasn’t right but she had stayed, expecting to see Spike turn the bitch down. She had frowned when he didn’t, though she caught the slight tinge of confusion in his eyes. But before she could extrapolate his thoughts, the fuck slut had kissed him, groped him and the bastard hadn't stopped her.

You sure can pick 'em, B, a voice chided. She tried to block it out, tearing through the street, her eyes blurry. But the voice refused to go away. Guess you just weren't good enough, ey? What did Angel say--that you weren't worth a second go. No, that was Spike. Guess he's had his fill, huh? You were never woman enough for him, were you. Hope you see that now.

Overwhelmed by grief and the cruel words of her own conscious mind, Buffy was unaware that she had returned to Spike's cemetery. She was completely unprepared for the fist that crashed into her chest, sending her pin wheeling to the ground in a flurry of limbs. She gasped for air, the pain in her chest an unpleasantly physical reminder of the emotional scar across her soul.

"She's a pretty lil thing, eh, 'Bahn?" Buffy's eyes widened as she took in the three figures that towered over her. Two hideous demons (one with no eyes) dressed in trench coats, armed as if they were storming Normandy were to her right. The smaller one leered at her, rubbing its groin with a taloned hand. "Think Gabes'll mind if I give 'er a taste o' my Magic Stick?"

The taller one shook his head and when he spoke his voice was thunder. "Keep it in your pants, brother, or I shall cut it off. We are not to violate or kill the slayer or her friends. Not yet. And could you please refrain from you infantile fascination with hip-hop."

Properly chastised, the smaller demon straightened, halting his ministrations and muttered, "It's not like it won't grow back anyway."

"Silence." The word traveled on a cold wind and Buffy shuddered. Her gaze turned to the third figure. He stood, arms crossed over his chest, adorned in the whitest material she'd ever seen. His entire face, save for his eyes, was cover in a hard, white mask whose sharp lines mimicked his voice. Something attached to his back glowed with an effervescent light and Buffy covered her eyes when he reached behind his back and pulled it out.

"We are not to kill or violate her," that cold voice whispered, "but we have three months till he arrives. Slayers heal quickly…" he trailed off, his crimson eyes burning into Buffy's soul. Her head swiveled to the other two demons as their grotesque laughs sounded in the night air.

"We're not to kill her," the little demon reiterated.

"--but there are a lot of things we can do; send her friends a message, ey?"

The frost warrior stepped forward. Raising the blade of his sword high overhead. Buffy froze, her mind tumbling through the incident at the Bronze and these strange creatures before her.

"We shall send her, and them, a message. Stand against Gabriel and suffer the consequences."

The blade of the sword arched through the air, merciless in its decent and, for the first time since her initial fight as a slayer, Buffy screamed.

TBC in Cold…