Severed Ties

In his hundred plus years of existence, Spike had often heard the cliché of time standing still; that an event was so moving that any cognizant thought of temporal passage was rendered null and void. And as much bravado as the Cockney held, he'd experienced that feeling several times in his existence, the most recent occurrences directly or indirectly caused by his Slayer: the first time he saw her fight outside the Bronze. When she kissed him after saving him from Glory; staring at her broken body as the sun peaked over the horizon, every time he sunk into her core and every time she looked at him with all the love in his heart. There would be other moments, too, for when his daughter was born in a future that had yet to occur, Spike knew with a certainty that bordered in the prophetic that not even Buffy's love would compare to the joy of holding Faith Joyce Summers for the very first time.

If only they were here now.

The vampire in front of him jumped off the sarcophagus and sauntered towards the dazed blonde. The painful erection was beyond his control and the closer she came, the more his lust grew. Her hips swayed hypnotically and her breasts jingled. Spike licked his lips, wanting nothing more than to devour her. She was more than sex; she was everything erotic, everything carnal and Spike knew that if he didn’t have her soon he'd burn from the inside out.

When her delicate fingers raked down his chest, Spike hissed. Morrigann laughed and the sound left him weak. It was like nothing else he'd ever heard. He stood motionless as her hands roamed the plains of his chest, grimacing with need when she cupped the bulge between his legs.

"Looks like somebody missed me. Isn't that right, William?" She squeezed enough for it to be uncomfortable to most men but Spike groaned in anticipation. "Oh, you do, don’t you? I bet there's plenty of wicked thoughts in that little blonde head of yours."

How joyful it would be to bash her into the concrete floor, he thought. Her assuredness tore at him and he wanted to wipe the smile from her lips. But a larger part of him wanted to take her against the sarcophagus. But his tongue refused to comply with either demand and he settled for "What are you doing here?"

Morrigann laughed and circled him, her hand following a path along his thigh and across his lower back. "I could ask you the same question. Of course," she added and nipped at his earlobe. "I know why you're here."

"What…what did you do to me?"

She was facing him now and batted her eyes but there was no mistaking her to be innocent. "Why would I do something to you, William?" she asked and slid her nails down the side of his face, drawing blood. Temporarily knocked from his daze, Spike grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand from his face.

"I am going to ask you again. What. Did. You. Do. To. Me?" He bit out through clenched teeth and squeezed her wrist with all his unnatural strength. He felt the bone give and Morrigann's face contorted--not in the pain that he'd hoped for--but in annoyance. Her eyes were no longer playful, however, and when he stared into them, he saw the cunning and malice hidden underneath her supple exterior.

"Take your hand off me." Spike grunted but immediately complied. The alluring smile was back on her face but there was a coldness in her eyes that unnerved the bleached blonde. "That's better. So, William…"

"Stop calling me that…"

"Has it felt as long for you as it has for me?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Not bloody long enough if you ask me."

Morrigann chuckled and ice slivered down his back. "Take off your coat." She turned her back, knowing that he would follow her orders and that confidence brassed him off more than anything, aside from his own capitulation. "You have surprised me, William. Two weeks and from what I can tell, you haven't had any sort of…gratification. Not your Slayer, not even a vamp whore…"

Spike raised his eyebrow. "Like yourself?"

Again that laugh that grated on his patience and sanity. "Oh, I am so much more than a whore, my sweet boy, as you will soon find out."

"You wish."

"As much as you try with the bravado, Spike, we both know that you want to fuck me silly. Am I right?"

Though she voiced the question, there was no mistaking her certainty of Spike's answer. Regardless of what he told her, the truth of the matter was that she was right and all the grandstanding in the world wasn’t going to change that.

"Well," she said and Spike's mouth dropped open as she stood before him, the barest of negligee covering her more intimate parts but nothing else. How she had changed without his notice disturbed Spike but not as much as his nearly quivering desire to touch her. Even as Buffy's face swam through his consciousness, the pulsating body in front of him was all that was important.

"Did you hear me?" Morrigann whispered and this time Spike didn’t flinch when her hands roamed his body. "I asked if you know why you're here."

Not trusting his voice, Spike shook his head.

"Well, lover," she said and grabbed his hand, pulling him further into the crypt. "It's about time you found out."

For the first time since arriving Spike realized that the door leading to the lower level was open. Candlelight flickered from the underground cavern and when Morrigann descended the ladder, Spike had no doubt about where she was leading him. Worse, he knew he'd follow and that, after tonight, he and Buffy were done. He hated himself for not being strong enough to reject the bitch's advancements and what this would do to Buffy. He cursed himself and this bitch the entire time she undressed him, refused her kisses as she laid him on the bed, but when she sunk onto him for the first time, all thoughts turned from his self-loathing to the undeniable pleasure her body gave him.

"Fuck me," Morrigann purred and Spike felt her walls close around him. Her body trembled and she fell on his chest, though her lower body continued its ministrations. Only during this brief hiatus could he focus on anything outside of the two of them and when he did, traces of vanilla prickled his nostrils and he had the distinct feeling that he was being watched.

"Ready for round two, lover?" Morrigann said and started more insistent undulations. Spike fell into rhythm and everything else fell away.

Even the silent sobs that sounded in the shadows.

*****

It had been almost an hour since they left and Dawn was becoming antsy. She glanced around the empty room; Xander and Faith were in the kitchen, 'guarding' the back door, leaving the front to her. She wanted to call someone, well, a certain someone but it was too late; CJ was probably sleeping. Or at least he should be, she thought and stared at the phone in her hand.

"What's going on, baby?" she whispered to the empty room as her thoughts focused on the young man. Though the two of them had spent a few hours a day with one another since the incident with Jay, Dawn couldn’t help but think that CJ was keeping something from her. He'd doze off in the middle of conversations and she was able to startle him without trying. The bags under his eyes hinted that he wasn’t sleeping but whenever she asked him about it, not to mention the far away look he had anytime Jay's name was brought up. Whenever she asked him about it, he answered her with a kiss and she'd forget everything but his lips and the way his body felt under her fingertips…

"Get a grip, Dawn," she said and started to pace the room. There was too much going on for her to be lost in the wonderful world of fantasy and teenage hormones. So what her boyfriend's body was like a Michelangelo sculpture or that his kisses sent delicious shivers of need through her veins. So what that when he was with her, when he held her, she felt more complete than she had after the Enjoining. Or that she thought about taking their relationship to the next level and the accompanying visuals didn’t make her gag. She was growing up and the prospect of it all was more than a little scary. Almost as scary as the upcoming war.

Dawn rubbed her eyes; this was no everyday event. From what everyone was saying, what she felt, this was worse than anything they'd ever faced--even Glory.

The dark-haired teen walked to the mirror in the hallway and rubbed her sleep-deprived eyes. Faith and Xander were still in the kitchen, comforting one another. Although Faith's laugh was strained, at least the slayer had someone there with her. If only CJ could be here and Dawn wouldn't feel so alone.

A sharp knock followed by the chime of the doorbell broke the teen's wandering thoughts. Before she could think, she rushed to the foyer, calling Xander's name on the way. Although her instincts told her that this was something positive for them, she still waited until Xander and Faith's footsteps sounded behind her.

"Wait a minute, Dawnie," Xander said and drew a curved blade from somewhere behind him. "We don’t know who it is."

"Well," Faith said and grabbed the door handle. "Only one way to find out." Xander tried to stop her but the door was open before he could do anything.

Dawn flinched when the door banged open but when her eyes fell onto the figure on the steps, her heart jumped and her first instinct was to rush into his arms. But when her attention feel to the second figure he held in his arms, she frowned.

"CJ," Dawn whispered. "What's going on?"

The young man gave her a crooked smile and nodded towards the woman next to him. "Guys, meet Fred." When Xander started to say something, CJ waved his hand to silence the other man. "Just help me get her inside. I have a feeling you'll want to hear just what the hell's going on."

*****

Angel stared out the window, his mind lost to the whirring of emotions inside him. Cordelia had drifted off to sleep about an hour ago. She had held him for as long as she could, his rock, until the strain had been too much and the tears had broken through her stoic veneer. Her tears had been of things never said, a love for her friends never shared to the extent of what she felt for them. Regret for not making things right with Wes. She'd spilled it all, everything she was feeling…everything Angel couldn’t say. Oh, he could say it, he had the ability but not the courage. Admitting aloud the loss would take something away from him. He would risk losing the edge he maintained as Champion.

"Sounds like the coward's way out, if you ask me," the Cockney voice sounded in his head. "Of course, you were never what I'd call brave, Angelus." His first instinct was to deny the accusation but how could he? As much as he hated to admit it, Spike was right. Angelus had always been the 'selfish git', out for himself and himself only. How was what Angel did any different? Yeah, he may not have killed and tortured but he was that same selfish creature underneath it all. Distancing himself from others emotionally, kicking Spike when he was down, always feeling as if he knew best--it was the mark of someone that didn’t want to get close, didn’t want to accept what he was.

He'd had the soul for a hundred years and never in that time had he felt like he belonged. Oh, he was never alone; the faces that visited him nearly every night assured that. But he was never close to anyone. Even when he and Buffy were together, he always kept his distance and this had been before he knew he could lose the soul. But why? Why did he keep the young girl so in love with him away from his heart? Why did he make sure his friends never got too close? Why did he resent Spike so much? So many possibilities but, in truth, the answer was simple: he was scared.

Angel tried to rationalize it, tried to give himself an excuse, but he couldn’t. He was afraid of opening up because he didn’t know how. He knew the pain others went through when someone they loved hurt them. Even after all these years, the look in Buffy's eyes when he told her he was leaving haunted him, warned him, in fact, that getting close could only get you hurt.

"You're right," he whispered to the night, "I am a bloody coward."

"Do we really have to go over this again?" Angel jumped and turned to see Cordelia staring at him through tired, bloodshot eyes.

"Cordy," he said and closed the distance between them. He kneeled beside the bed and brushed his fingers across her tear-stained face. "How are you feeling?"

She chuckled humorlessly. "Like I've been crying for the past two hours." She waved him off when he started to say something. "But it doesn’t matter. What does is you're starting that bullshit again."

"Cordy, you don’t understand…"

"No, Angel, you don’t understand," she yelled. When he leaned away from her, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that."

"Well, then how did you mean it?" he asked, unable to conceal the bitterness clogging his throat.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Angel?" She took his hands in hers. "Why do you always think the worst of yourself?"

Her eyes implored him for an answer and, when he couldn’t find one Angel did what he did best. He turned away.

"No," she said and grabbed his chin, "you look at me. You're always trying to run away, always trying to play the stoic hero who can't get to close and then end up blaming yourself when shit hits the fan. I already told you, baby, you're a good man. Just like everyone, you make mistakes, you get hurt. That shouldn’t stop you from taking chances."

They stared at each other for several minutes, words measured by inhalations and blinking eyelids. The longer he looked into her eyes, the more he wanted--no--needed her. Not just to hold, not just to kiss but to consume her, to fall into her and be lost in the sweet scent of her love…

Before he could think, Angel was upon her. His lips assaulted hers with a renewed vigor as his hands roamed the plains of her willing body. His shirt was gone within seconds and hers soon followed. He groaned at the warmth of her flesh against him and he didn’t fight when her eager hands pried his pants from his hips. His senses returned only when the heat of her core thrummed against his erection.

"Cordy," he started but she silenced him with a kiss.

"It will be okay, baby, trust me."

"But the soul…"

She smiled and something arose inside of him and Angel knew that, somehow it would be all right.

Buzz…

"What was that?" she whispered and the vampire shook his head.

"Doesn’t matter…"

Buzz…

Cordelia groaned as Angel's hands slid along the inside of her thigh. "It's…it's the phone," she murmured. "It might be important."

He was so close, so close to finding home within her only to be interrupted. If the circumstances were different, he would've ignored it, but she was right. There was too much going on to get lost in the pleasures of one another and forget the events playing out in front of them.

Angel rolled over to the other side of the bed, disregarding the ache that the absence of her touch caused. He fumbled with the phone for several seconds before clicking it open.

"Hello?" he said and glanced over at Cordelia. She giggled at his annoyance and her fingers slid up and down his arm. Her ministrations lasted only a few seconds before he forgot about her touch. He listened to the voice on the other end and his jaw dropped.

"Angel?" Cordelia asked and scooted over to him.

"Yeah," he said into the phone, "we'll be right there." Turning the phone off, the brunette pulled his woman into his arms and kissed her on the forehead before gathering his clothes.

"What is it?" Cordelia asked and slid into her clothes as well. He didn’t answer her for several minutes. Grabbing the keys from the nightstand, Angel glanced at Cordy, his eyes watery, and gave her a tremulous smile.

"That was Faith. It's Fred…they found her."

*****

She had no idea how long she stood there, watching. Every part of his body she'd memorized in the past year was traced with her fingertips. Buffy watched as his hands slid along her thighs, how his lips closed over the nipple of her ample breast. She called his name over and over, spewing a litany of vulgar words that increased his tempo. The slapping of flesh muted the harsh sounds of breathing that echoed through the lower level.

"Fuck me, baby, fuck me," the woman growled and sliced open Spike's chest with her nails. Buffy's stomach lurched when the woman's tongue lapped up the blood. God how she wanted to look away but her eyes refused to comply. She took in every detail; the way they moved as one, the transitions they made between positions, though she always finished on top. It was as if they were made for one another and that thought was enough to topple her shock.

Buffy let out a choked sob, biting her fist to remain silent. The tears burned a path down her face and the Slayer fell into the corner, crying into the cool wall of the crypt. She was vaguely aware of the continued resonance of sex not ten feet from her. Spike's breathing had intensified, grunts accompanying each thrust. He was close. She beat him, however and Buffy tried to shut out the sounds of the other woman screaming his name. He wasn’t far behind--his animalistic growl preceded the name of a woman by mere seconds. She didn’t know how long she sat there, face buried in her hands, before she gathered the strength to stand. Her legs shook but she maintained her balance. In the distance, she thought she heard him call her name but refused to turn around.

Buffy climbed the steps with mechanical torpor. Her heels clicked against the crypt floor and when she closed the door behind her, Buffy shivered. The ensuing click was like the final trumpet's call in a life she thought was going to be hers.

"No more," she whispered to the night. The words she spoke held conviction but what her pledge was against, she wasn’t even sure. But one thing she did know what that the future she'd seen herself having with Spike had shriveled into nothing. She was no longer concerned with the love and companionship he had provided her. She couldn’t be. If she didn’t move ahead immediately, she never would, the pain was that sharp.

"Mum!" Jay shouted and appeared in front of Buffy. The Slayer smiled at her daughter. "Are you okay? Did you find Daddy?"

Buffy's smile faded but she drew her daughter in her arms. "Nothing's wrong, sweetie," she said. "Nothing at all."

The two women disengaged from the embrace and Jay's eyes studied Buffy with an intensity held by only one other person. "What about Daddy?"

"Yeah," Buffy said, "he's in there. But he's…resting now. We can come back later."

They walked away from the crypt though Jay looked back several times before glancing at her mother. "Are you sure everything's okay with you guys?"

"It's fine, baby," she replied. "Everything's just fine." Inside Buffy was screaming despite the effort to remain numb. Nothing was fine about it. And she doubted anything ever would be.

TBC in After Shock

He's been running for two days. He'd tried to sleep that night, tried to listen to the comforting words of the elders, of the other women, but it didn’t work. Their words--no, poison--sickened him and he'd left but not before he raised his fist to those that burned her. Only by God's will did he not kill the bitches that had accused his sweet Sarah.

The single name escapes his lips and he collapses to the ground, exhausted and in pain that defies description. But it isn't a pain of the body but one of the heart. He had watched as they tied her (and several others) to the posts. Watched as her own father condemned her to burn in the flames of sin. He had felt nothing at first; he watched her screaming for him, begging him to save her. He calmly stated his position on the matter, how he was disappointed and appalled by her divinations into the dark arts. She heard nothing over her own wails of agony, wails that seemed to go on for hours before there was silence…and the still crackling fires.

He, along with the others, had justified their actions as God's will and as he lay in his bed that night, saying nightly prayers, he knew he'd done the right thing.

That was when the nightmares came.

It started much like the judgment, with the flames slowly made their way to her body. Only when they touched her, the orange and red element caressed her like an insistent lover. He had watched as the fire slowly took human shape. Her clothes were burned away but her flesh remained unmarked. Her fearful pleas became terrified whimpers as the hands slid across her naked form.

"Help me, my love," she cried. He moved towards her only to find himself frozen in place. Invisible chains rattled as he attempted to break free…it was all in vain, however. He could only watch as his Sarah was violated, inside and out, before her body turned to ash.

He witnessed her death and defilement dozens--perhaps hundreds--of times that night. When he awoke, his stomach rebelled at the images burned into his mind. He stumbled out towards the back, falling to his knees before expelling the contents of his stomach. He cried for hours. It had been just past dawn when he'd awakened, well past noon before he stopped as elder Stevens had appeared.

Can't…think of that now, he thinks and raises himself from the ground to start running again. His lungs pled for air, his legs are tortured from his flight, but he refuses to stop. He can never outdistance the memories of Sarah's death--she appears to him even when he faints from weariness--but he leaves behind the only life he'd known. The life that he had once embraced.

A life that had died with the woman he'd loved. He never wanted to…

…believe that it would ever happen. Oh, there had been times where death had been on their heels, times where Xander Harris knew the Scoobies were doomed. Yet each time death had them within its grasp, they escaped.

But not this time.

Not Anya.

Xander gripped the steering wheel with all his strength. He would not cry, he would not fucking cry. He had shed enough tears during the past week, every night since he watched her die in his arms. No one else was there for him--Willow was at the hospital day and night, constantly by Tara or Buffy's side--but he didn’t mind. The one person he needed was buried six feet underground now, never to tell him she loved him or make love to him or irritate him or to make him so happy he…

Arms no longer holding strength, Xander swerved off the road. The tires slid across the sand, the ting of pebbles slapping up against the car like bullets shot off into the night sky. After several seconds skating across the desert floor, the car ground to a halt. Putting it in Park, Xander buried his hands in his face and…

…cries. He cries at the full moon, howls at the earth, ripping handfuls of it from the ground. His wails last until his throat is hoarse and raw, until his ears ring from his cacophonous pleas. His body, malnourished and exhausted, gives up on him and he crashes face first into the dirt he had so recently dug up.

He doesn’t know how long he lays there but when he finally gathers the fortitude to rise, he notes the presence of some…thing--someone?--hovering over him. Unsure of the visitor's motives, he feigns unconsciousness. He remains still for several minutes, aware of the stranger circling him.

Finally, the stranger says, "You know, if I was borne yesterday, your ruse may have been enough to confuse me." The humor in its tone is unmistakable. "But since I wasn't, I suggest that you get up."

Something in the stranger's words angers him and the young man rises to his feet, hands clenched into tight fists. He starts to speak but when his eyes take in the being before him, any coherence of thought is lost. He…

… gaped at the diminutive figure in front of him. A dozen sarcastic remarks filtered through his mind but for once Xander remained quiet.

Crystalline eyes stared at him, unblinking. In them, Xander saw the last few days of his life. The 'wrong' turn that led him to this place, the funeral, the sorrow in Jay's eyes when he cast a lone accusatory glance at her. Anya's final breath in his arms…

Xander coughed, and his hand gripped at his chest. The pain of losing Anya manifested in the physical. He hadn't been able to keep food down, hadn't been able to sleep since that night. In truth, he had no idea how he'd lasted this long, the exhaustion was that complete. But he had and now he was here. Something told the former carpenter that 'here' was exactly where he was supposed to be.

"You've got that right," the small figure said and pulled out a cigar. It was no more than five feet (on a good day) though most of its body was draped in a purple silk robe. Its face, uncovered as it was, reminded the brunette of a blunt nosed Splinter, whiskers and all…

"Careful who you liken me to, boy," the figure replied. It was clearly irritated. "And it would do me just fine if you'd refrain from thinking of me as an 'it'."

Finally, Xander found his voice. "Ex…excuse me?"

"As I suspected," the figure muttered and paced for several seconds. "You must have a difficulty in hearing, do you not?"

"Where the hell did you get an idea like that?"

The figure chuckled. "Certainly not Hell, that I know." On Xander's perplexed look, the figure's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Geez Louise, what happened to the Xander Harris that Buffy and Willow have come to know and love?"

Xander took a step forward, his fists instinctively tightening into fists. "How…how did you know my name? My friends names?"

The figure cast an annoyed sighed and lifted his head up to the sky. "Do I always get the slow ones with broken hearts?"

"Look, short, dark and mysterious," Xander moves forward, feeling not quite as confident as his actions suggested. "I don’t know who you think you are but I…"

"Oh, I know who I am, Xander," the figure said. "The question, dear boy, is do you know who you are?"

Xander began to reply but the figure's words started to twist in his head. The answer, though hidden underneath the pain of Anya's loss and before that, the sarcastic veneer he'd used as his shield for so long, was clear. In fact, he didn’t know how he didn’t see it sooner.

"Your silence speaks volumes, Xander Harris."

"What do you want from me?" Xander's voice held nothing but the weariness of pain and suffering.

"What do you want from yourself?" The figure asked then swore. "Bastard's gonna use that line in a movie." The figure pondered within himself and, finally realizing Xander was still there, smiled. "Sorry, got a tap into the future."

"Is that so?"

"Don’t look so glum, chap. Things will be looking up soon enough."

Xander's laugh held all the cynicism of a boy who'd witnessed too much heartache and not enough love in his young life. "What are you gonna do? Turn back time? Make sure I was never born?"

"I'm gonna go one better," the figure said. As he approached, Xander attempted to step back but was rooted to the spot. There was something disconcerting about this creature's passion. It radiated from his small frame and from (what he now saw) crimson and black eyes.

"What I'm gonna do, Alexander, is give you the chance to become what you've always wanted."

"And what's that?"

There was no mistaking the satisfactory gleam in the figure's eyes. And when he spoke, a chill harped its way down the brunette's spine. "Simple: I'm gonna make you into a hero…"

"A hero?" he shouts and swipes at Diohbin-Zi’s legs. The Elwvenian leaps over the strike and slashes towards his opponent's neck, stopping two inches from decapitating him. He glances at the gleaming sword then to his teacher's mirth-filled eyes. "Would a hero get bested again by an elf?"

"I see your humor has not yet been defeated," Diohbin-Zi says and lowers his sword. "I thought that the last few years had withered it away."

He follows the Elwvenian, taking a seat next to the aging Master. "Forgive me, Master but my spirit has not felt the levity since…" His shoulders slumped. There are times when the memory of Sarah's death is an anchor, weighting his soul against the possibility of moving on. Now is one of those times and his entire body engulfs the melancholy that will always visit him.

"Your sorrow, while understandable, my apprentice, accomplishes nothing." His small hand touches the man's shoulder and warmth suffuses through him. It is as if his flesh is beset by a thousand suns, but he does not burn nor does he feel pain. Instead, it is a balm to his pained soul. Soul…just as the word flickers across his mind, he senses changes that begin to occur beyond the physical. His dear Sarah's face at death, once at the forefront of his mind, slowly dissipates, leaving in its wake her beautiful face but only a passing memory of her hideous fate. He does not question this, but accepts it and as he does, he knows--understands--that he will be different, that he will a force like no other. And all it takes is…

"…removal of his memories."

Xander sat, cross-legged, chewing on--well, he didn’t exactly know what it was--but he listened to Diohbin-Zi's tale with rapt attention. It had been one of the more grueling training sessions with the small Elwvenian drilling Xander on the use of the trident. When he pressed his Master about the relevancy of that particular weapon, the Elwvenian grew silent for several minutes before he wearily sat on the log and relayed the tale of his last pupil, the hybrid that had taken the name Frost as his own.

"So, why didn’t you do that with me?" Xander asked. "I mean, yeah, the grief isn't so bad now but if this Frost guy was feelin' it as bad as me…"

When he next spoke, Diohbin-Zi's irritation was clear. "Were you not listening to a word I said? Is your insight so dulled that you do not understand?" Xander lowered his head but looked up when the demon sighed. "Forgive me, Alexander, but the subject of Frost's transformation is a bitter subject for me--still."

"No, Master, I should be the one to apologize. Though I still am not certain what went wrong."

"It's simple, really. I have been around for countless ages, Alexander, training hundreds, perhaps thousands, of beings in the way of the warrior. The majority of my disciples have been demons, though I have only instructed the noblest and benign of the races." Xander opened his mouth to speak but Diohbin-Zi silenced him with a wave of his hand. "Despite what you have come to believe, Alexander, the purpose of most demons is not much different than that of mankind."

"Is that so? Forgive me if I'm cynical but five plus years on the Hellmouth has taught me a little bit about demons' purposes. And if it's not bringing hell to earth, then it's tormenting us as best they can."

"Is not the Hellmouth an malevolent construct?" Xander nodded. "The Hellmouth is a beacon for evil and does it not make sense that it would draw the most hostile of beings to it?"
Xander frowned. "Well, I never really thought of it that way, but…"

"How many demon species do you think you have come across in your time living on the Hellmouth? Fifty? A hundred? Alexander, even if you have come across two hundred demonic species in your time, you have not even scratched the surface of the expanse of demon kind. My point is that, like humans, there are demons who wish nothing more than to reign destruction and pain on those around them for no other reason than to do so. Other demons may do seemingly evil things out of a misguided sense that it will make things better for them."

"Sounds an awful lot like an excuse to me."

The Elwvenian gave Xander the patient smile that the latter despised. It was one that a parent would present to humor a petulant child. "It may sound like that to you, but I only speak fact.

"The last type of demon is like most humans; they want nothing more than to peacefully coexist. The latter of the three want nothing to do with hotspots such as the Hellmouth as they abhor evil just as you and your friends." On Xander's doubtful glance, Diohbin-Zi shook his head. "It does not matter what I say for you shall harbor your own opinion. And no one will be able to change that but you. But we are off track, you had asked me about Frost and why what I did to him affected him so."

"It just doesn’t make sense, I mean…"

"Yes, it does, Alexander. Save for you, Frost was the only human to merge with the essence of my kind." He thought for a minute and smiled grimly. "Actually, that is not true, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that both you and Frost felt grief's sharp claws in your heart. Whereas you continue to work through yours, with Frost I allowed him a shortcut of sorts…"

"A shortcut?" Dawn asked and slid her hand into CJ's.

Xander smiled at her subconscious gesture and mimicked her by entwining his fingers with his brunette slayer. "When Diohbin-Zi infused Frost with the demon's essence, his grief hardened his soul and he sort of latched onto the one thing that Diohbin-Zi had introduced to Frost; the thrill of combat."

"It sounds like the fight became his new mistress," CJ said and Xander caught the underlying tinge of excitement in the young man's voice. A quick look around and he noticed that Buffy and Angel had as well.

"Well, for lack of a better term, that's exactly what happened. Anything Frost had felt for Sarah was transferred to the glory of the fight. At first, it hadn't become a problem but as Frost become more proficient in the art, Diohbin-Zi saw the slow degradation of Frost's soul."

"That can't be right," Fred interjected vehemently. "I looked into his eyes, I felt his warmth with he carried me. He's not evil…"

"Evil is as evil does," Cordelia whispered and the strength Fred had gained withered.

"I think Fred is right," Buffy said. "Yeah, Frost may never win a hero of the year award but even when I fought with him in the cemetery…it's like he doesn’t care about power or destruction, just the fight."

"Not too wrong about that, Buff," Xander agreed. "From what my Master told me, Frost is all about the fight. He's all about honor and fealty."

"So he lives by a code, like the samurai?" Angel asked.

Xander chuckled. "Pretty much, Dead Boy."

"I thought I told you to stop calling me that."

"Sorry," Xander said, though his tone said otherwise. "Angel's right. Unlike most beings, Frost is all about the honor and the thrill of the fight. I think that's why he stepped in when the gruesome twosome had Fred; it's totally not his style to watch someone be taken like that."

"Do you think that he could be persuaded to our side then?" Buffy asked.

Xander shook his head. "Doubtful."

"Probably 'cause it's too predictable," Dawn muttered sarcastically.

"That," CJ agreed dryly, "or the whole samurai/fealty thing."

"You're right, CJ. Once Frost swears allegiance to someone, it's unlikely he'll jump ship. Besides," Xander shrugged, "Why do you think Diohbin-Zi groomed me?"

No one answered at first though he saw the reluctant understanding in Buffy and Angel's eyes.

"You can't win," Angel whispered. "You know that, don’t you?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Angel," Faith replied snidely and turned her attention to Xander. "Don’t worry, baby, you won't have to do it alone, I'll be right there with you."

"No," Buffy said, her voice flat. "You can't."

"The hell I can't," Faith snapped.

Xander grabbed his lover by the shoulders and kissed her forehead. "B's right, Faith. It's not a Scoobie fight." She tried to speak but Xander's fingers on her lips quieted the brunette slayer. "Look, baby, when everything goes down, you all are gonna have your hands full with the others; Frost is mine to deal with."

Faith jerked away. Though anger sang from her every pore, the fear was just as clear as it bled from her eyes in the form of unshed tears. "So, you're gonna get yourself killed over what? Some macho bullshit?"

Xander took Faith's resistant hands into his own. As their eyes connected, everything else in the room faded to a dull gray, but his girl was in full color. "That's how the cards were laid down, baby. Diohbin-Zi told me that much. From the time he unknowingly gave birth to Frost, he knew that I would be the only one that could make his mistake right. Somehow, this has been my destiny all along. And not because my Master said it, but because I can feel it, Faith. I can feel it. It's what I'm supposed to do."

"But we can't lose you, Xan," Buffy said, her voice hoarse. "We've lost enough as it is."

"Buff, you more than anyone here knows about doing what you have to do, regardless of the price you have to pay. This is what I have to do, and I'll see it through to the end, cost be damned."

No words were said from there. Xander led a despondent Faith into their temporary residence in the Summers basement where he made quiet love to her. Her tears stung his lips and her whispers of love tore at his heart.

When she finally fell into an exhaustive slumber, Xander held her tight and murmured promises of a life after all this was over. He had no doubt that Frost was better than him but he also knew that if he didn’t think he at least had a chance to win, he wouldn’t. And to go into battle as such--the walking dead--was not the way of a warrior. Although he would never admit it aloud, Xander wished that Spike were there. If the bleached blonde was anything, it was confident. Oh, there was a certain helping of cocky to go along with that but Spike never went into a fight, knowing he would lose. He'd find a way to get it done and if not, he was sure to go down in a blaze of glory.

Xander smiled as his mind calmed and he felt the pull of sleep. No, he wouldn’t worry about what was to come, not now at least. But when it did come, he would meet it head on, no quarter given, none asked. He and Frost would fight one another and the better man would walk away alive and in tact. Glancing down at the petite woman in his arms, Alexander Harris swore that, somehow, he'd make sure that that person would be him.

"You've gotta have faith," he whispered.

"You have me," the brunette at his side mumbled before falling back to sleep.

That I do, he thought. "That I do."

TBC in Intuition…

It was an unseasonably cool night in California, as the temperature dipped into the mid-forties. The petite blonde on the back porch didn't care. The windbreaker she had left the house with lay next to her on the back porch. The wind sliced and prodded her, painting goose bumps across her flesh. Still, she did not mind. Hazel eyes stared into the blackish gray sky and her ears perked at the distant rumbling of thunder. It would rain again, just like it had five of the last seven days.

It had been a week since they had been made aware of the events in LA, the murder of all but one of Angel and Cordelia's friends. One week since a traumatized Winifred Burkle had been delivered to Buffy's doorstep by a demonic warrior whose motives had yet to be discovered, though his allegiance remained with the bad guys. Angel and Cordy had left three days ago to take care of their deceased comrades' affairs. Fred had wanted to go but admitted that it was too soon, and she would say her final goodbyes to Gunn and the others as soon as the coming battle was over.

"If it ever begins," the Slayer muttered to the empty backyard. Buffy had never been good at waiting and recent circumstances--i.e. a certain blonde vampire switching sides--had made the wait even more unendurable. If only she could find something to hurt…and bad. Starting with the skank hoe that was Spike's new companion.

Anger and pain fought for supremacy within Buffy's mind as she thought of her lover--former lover--in the arms of another woman. The one person who had stayed through her bullshit, who'd thought she was more than good enough for a second go had done the same thing every other man in her life had done; he'd left.

"Mind if I join ya?" Willow's fluttery voice asked from behind her and Buffy was thankful for the distraction.

"Why not?" she replied and slid over towards the banister.

Willow took a seat and was quiet for several minutes but her nervous energy was palpable and Buffy knew she had something to say. She'd known Willow long enough to steel herself for the stuttering, rapid-fire 'no-I'm-not-trying-to-get-at-something' spiel before the Wicca finally got to the point. Even after all this time Willow could never skip the preliminaries.

"You're hurting, Buffy, I know it. And I want to help." Okay, so maybe she could. Willow turned towards her and Buffy saw the concern hidden in the redhead's emerald eyes. "Just tell me where to start."

Buffy started to deny it. She was okay, hell, this little Slayer had laid the smack down on a god while all watched. She thought of shooing Willow back into the house with the whole peachy-side 'o keen assurances she had given when they'd resurrected her. But one look at Willow's pleading yet resolute face destroyed any attempts at false optimism.

"Wow, you sure did get to the point," the Slayer remarked. Okay, so Avoidy Buffy wasn't gonna go down without a fight."
"Well," Willow said and couldn't fight the blush that crept up her neck. "That Fourth of July Wicca Weekend me and Tara went to, a big part of it was being assertive and not going so much with the tentative prying and…hey! No fair changing the subject."

Willow's comical objection brought a smile to the Slayer's lips, lips that hadn't had many reasons to smile. "Sorry, Will. Guess my old habits don't die quiet as easy as yours."

"It's okay, Buffy, really…"

"No it's not," she interrupted vehemently. "It's nowhere near okay. We're about six counties away from it being okay, Wills." Buffy sighed and bit her lip to hold back the tears that had constantly wanted to fall for the past two weeks. "It hurts, Will, it hurts so bad. It's like when Angel went Manson on us but crank up the shocked and surprised factor by about ten. Yeah, I know he doesn't have a soul and you all can say what you want about how I should've known better. The fact is, I already did know better. I knew better to doubt him after all he'd done, after all he'd put up with just for me."

Buffy glanced down at the steps underneath her. She focused on the uneven texture of the concrete, how the coolness bled through her shorts--anything to stave off the monster cry-fest she was sure was bubbling to the surface. "I'm not a kid anymore, Willow. I didn't think that he wouldn't hurt me. That stuff about someone worth your tears won't make you cry is a load of crap. The more you love someone, the easier it is for them to make you cry. Spike was going to make me cry, that I know, but I never thought he'd do it purposely. I never thought he'd cheat on me…I never thought…"

Words couldn't express the pain she felt and the Slayer acknowledged that there was only one way to transmit to her best friend just how torn up inside she was.

The tears rushed from her soul like a shattering dam and she buried her face in the crook of Willow's neck. Her arms drew Buffy in and the Slayer returned the favor. She cried out everything she'd kept from the others, the things she discussed with Dawn, the reassurances she gave to Jay though she didn't believe. She cried for having to be strong in front of everyone when she felt the weakest of the group. She cried for the frustration of still wanting him despite how he'd crushed her. And finally, she cried because at that moment, tears were the only thing she knew.

Willow held Buffy as the latter released the torrent of fear and doubt that had been bombarding Tara for the past week. Though she knew Buffy was putting on a brave face, without Tara's sensitivity to the Slayer's emotions, Willow would have never understood the depth of her best friend's pain.

Several minutes after it had started, the Slayer's tears trickled out and Buffy's sobs dwindled to whimpers and, finally, nothing but sniffles.

"I think I snotted your shirt," the Slayer said, reluctantly pulling away. Willow huffed.

"Well, someone's just gonna have to get up off her tuckus later and wash it." That earned a thin smile from the blonde. "And if that doesn't work, well, you'll just have to go searching for a replacement at Old Navy."

"But you hate Old Navy. You told me."

Willow shrugged. "I have a right to change my mind if I want. Wronged party here."

The two women shared a rueful laugh but all to soon the levity evaporated and Willow was looking into a face that had experienced too much heartbreak in her short twenty-one years. And just like that, the speech Willow had been planning for the last six hours vanished into the ether. But, unlike most times, she wasn't scared that she would say the wrong thing or that Buffy would dismiss her words with a 'you don't understand'. Still, she wasn't sure how to broach what was on everyone's mind now that Spike was playing for the other team. Namely, that…

"Are you gonna kill him?" Okay, so maybe she could've been a little more sensitive. She cringed, expecting a look of resentment and disgust, but all she saw in Buffy's hazel eyes was weariness and the fraying of hope.

"Wow," the Slayer said and ran a hand through her blond locks. She gave the witch a bemused look. "So, are you Willow or some body snatcher alien."

"I'm serious, Buffy. Look, maybe I should've employed just a bit of tact with that instead of exploring my inner Anya…" she faltered at the mention of Xander's deceased fiancee but shook it off. "But I need to know."

That was when the resentment did come. "What do you want me to say, Wills? I don't fucking know! I don't know if I can, don't know if I should. You're asking me to kill a man I love…"

"You killed Angel." Buffy jumped from the steps and glared at Willow with a fury that threatened to burn through the redhead.

"You don't think I know that? You think I don't fucking remember that?!?! Jesus, Wills, what the hell?!"

"I'm sorry, Buff. I know you did and I know it probably still hurts and I couldn't imagine what you went through…"

She chuckled. "No, you can't."

"But the point is, Spike's not playing for us anymore and while he's not gonna be directly responsible for the Apocalypse in the way Angelus was, he's still gonna be an obstacle. All I meant was that…"

"If he's in my way, will I have the courage to cut him down."

Willow walked over to Buffy and held the Slayer's hands. "Something's coming Buffy. You can feel it, I can feel it. But Tara, Tara feels something else besides the upcoming fight. You're gonna have to make a choice."

"What do you mean?"

"When the time comes, you're gonna have to make a choice about Spike. Tara doesn't know what that choice will be, she just knows that when it comes, you'll know."

"And what happens if I make the wrong choice?" Willow avoided Buffy's eyes and the latter knew exactly what the silence meant. It meant that Buffy's choice could very well be the difference between them winning and losing.

Buffy sighed and disengaged from Willow. The redhead watched her best friend wander into the backyard, her shoulders slumped with another boulder placed upon her back. It wasn't fair for a young woman to have such responsibility for, not only herself and her friends, but the world as well. In high school, Willow had envied Buffy's take charge, carefree attitude but now…now there was only sympathy. She would fight right by Buffy's side but Willow Rosenberg would never know what it meant to be charged with such a burden.

Selfish as it may have been, she prayed to the Goddess that she never would.

Fred sat opposite Tara as the Wicca divvied out the cards. They'd lost themselves in a handful of card games, unwilling, for a few hours at least, to dwell on things they could not change. At least not yet.

"So, 'War' it is?" Fred asked.

Tara shrugged. "At least for now. I'd rather not have to think to much right now." She tossed down her first card, a six of clubs.

"Me neither," the slender brunette replied. She won the duel with a nine of diamonds. "But…"

"But what?"

"I don't know." Tara won the round--ten of hearts to a four of clubs. "It's just that…" Fred shook her head and threw down a Queen of spades. "It's nothing." She glanced up when Tara's warm hand covered her own.

"Don't say that." Tara sat her stack of cards to the side. "Winifred, something's weighing on you, I can feel it. And it's more than just the death of your friends."

The young scientist flinched but didn't turn away. She saw the empathy in the other woman's eyes and though she wasn't sure she could get it all out, Fred knew that she had to be honest, had to tell someone.

"It's been a little over a week, Tara, that I watched the man I love killed. Two of my other good friends were killed and I was almost…you know, by those demons. Yet here I am, sitting on a bed playing cards. It doesn't seem fair."

"People deal with grief in their own ways," Tara said and laid a hand on Fred's knee.

"But that's the thing. I…I don't feel like I'm dealing with it at all. It's like my emotions are on hold and I'm pushing my friends who died out of sight." Fred sighed harshly and stood, spilling the cards across the mattress. "The worst thing of it is that all I can think about is Frost and why he saved me. And that makes me push Gunn further out of my mind because…because…"

"Because you feel as if you're betraying him."

"Just because he saved me from--just because he saved me doesn't give me the right do the hero worship thing." She chuckled and removed her glasses and pinched her nose. "I already did that with Angel."

Tara's bemused smirk lightened the load threatening to crush Fred's thin shoulders. Ever since the night of her rescue, her thoughts had continually fallen to the hybrid. Her gratefulness had only intensified as Xander told them his story. She didn't know why but something whispered to her about Frost though it was not his tale that had been told. It was as if they'd had a connection that spanned centuries which, if she thought about it was nothing short of ridiculous. They'd spent maybe twenty minutes together and the majority of that time she'd been unconscious. So why was it that he came to her at night, both figuratively and literally? Oh, she knew he was there, outside her window, though she never saw him. She may not have been a fighter but she remembered being in his arms and the promise of his name tickled her spine each night that he came. Her dreams after she felt his presence were…well, they just were.

She confessed all but Frost's visits to Revello and the nature of the dreams to Tara. The Wicca glanced into her eyes and Fred had to look away. There was no accusation in Tara's stare but one look had Fred wanting to tell the truth. And that was something she did not want to do.

"Fred." The sound of her name from Tara weakened her knees and she sat back on the bed. The sincerity and concern in the witch's voice was beyond description. She allowed Tara to draw her hands into her lap and sighed as warmth cascaded through to her bones. It was a direct opposite to Frost's touch but was no more pleasant.

"Something's coming, I can feel it." Tara took a deep breath. "I don't know what it is but I do know that it's a very real possibility that all of us won't make it. Just as I told Willow, Buffy and Spike's situation will greatly weigh in on the outcome, so will Frost."

"What do you mean?"

"I know that he visits you." Fred couldn't mask her surprise and Tara smiled. "I can feel him, too. I don't think the others can because he has a cloak of stealth he pulls over him---figuratively speaking--but his aura shines so bright to me. You were right when you said he wasn't evil but he's not good, either. Xander may be right and that Frost will not change sides, but that doesn't mean he won't make a choice that walks the line of betrayal."

The pressure that swam in Fred's chest dissipated and she slid her glasses back into place. "So, feelin a bit dangerous, lil lady?" she asked in her best western accent. Tara laughed and replied with the same accent.

"Yes, I am, ma'am. Is poker tha game?"

"That it is, ma'am, that it is." They held each other's eyes for several seconds before bursting into giggles. This was good, Fred thought as they regained their composure. She'd needed someone to talk to and Tara had been the only one she'd felt comfortable letting things go with. She was still frightened and though she kept some of her deeper fears in check, she knew that Tara had an intrinsic knowledge of them. And though Tara had gave her hope that Frost would do good--Fred still didn't understand the unexpected connection with him--part of her was still terrified that Tara's intuition wouldn't be enough. If it wasn't, Fred hoped that praying to a God that her science never really allowed her to contemplate would make Himself know.

After all, she wasn't asking for much, was she?