*************

The beauty of the grotto was lost to them. From his vantage point in the entrance, Spike watched as the two remaining Summers women clung to each other, their backs to him as they sat on the stone bench, Dawn's wracking sobs echoing throughout the underground cavern. He could see Buffy's stolid face, and knew without having to try that she was already walling herself away, turning off her emotions while she blanked out the memory of Joyce's lifeless body in her family home, willing herself to forget even as she encouraged her sister to let it go. No way was he going to intrude on this, even as much as he thought she was wrong. There would be time enough alone with her later, and then, perhaps, the young woman would be able to face her grief, to allow some of the pain within her tiny frame to escape through the tears that he knew would lessen the pressure that was swelling within her heart. Just as he would.

Though he heard him approaching, Spike ignored the Watcher's presence until he heard the clearing of his throat behind him, rolling his eyes at Rupert's still ever-so-present British civility. "S'pose you want me to leave 'em alone," he grumbled, not bothering to turn around.

"Actually, I was hoping that we might…talk."

The vampire glanced back over his shoulder, eyebrow lifted. "You think this is such a good time to give me hell?" he questioned. "'Cause gotta tell you, I'm not really in the mood for listenin' to lectures from---."

"It's not a lecture," Giles interrupted. "I want to discuss this new threat to Buffy."

"That's a chat that should include your Slayer, don't you think?"

"She's already told me about her dream. Now, I want to know what it was you sensed back at her house." He paused, the narrow line between his brows deepening. "We both know she needs this time to…grieve. Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

The unspoken words hung between them---not if you truly love her---until Spike shrugged. "Not much to tell," he started, only to be cut off by Giles' upheld hand.

"Not here," he said, glancing over the other man's shoulders at the two young women by the water.

Spike's mouth was a tight line. "Right." Shoving his hands into his pockets, he sauntered after the Watcher, looking back only once before disappearing into the system of the caves.

*************

Willow's head lifted from her book as the two men entered, eyes tired, and offered a sad, half-smile in greeting before burying herself back in its text. Reason told her it wasn't her mom who had died, but feelings dictated otherwise, and the young witch was doing her best not to let her emotions take the better of her, distracting from her task.

Spike picked up one of the books from the desk, scanning its spine before sweeping over the others. "Research, huh?"

She nodded. "A Scooby's work is never done."

"What about Elvis?" He glanced back at Giles. "We're not forgettin' Cort, are we?"

"I've already sent him out," Willow explained. "If she's still in the area, he'll find her."

"So, what do you want from me?" Spike asked, sprawling into one of the free chair. "What details are you hoping pickin' my brain is goin' to provide?"

"Actually, I know very little, outside of what Buffy told me about her dream," Giles said, stepping forth and joining them at the melee of books. "Although, to be honest, I'm not completely certain that the dream really has anything to do with it."

"It does." He ducked his head at the direct stares the other two proffered. How did he go about this without revealing just how much he knew? Buffy wanted to be the one to explain everything to her Watcher, so he was going to have to tread carefully if he didn't want to tip his hand too much.

"What makes you so sure?"

"The storm, for starters. The only time the Hellmouth gets anything but a friendly call from Mother Nature, it's because somethin's brewing. And the storm in Buffy's dream had all the makings of bein' a doozy." His blue eyes narrowed as he hastened to add, "So she said."

"That could just be coincidence," but even as he said it, Giles knew that he doubted very much that it was so. Spike had a point. Storms in Sunnydale almost always predicated the supernatural. Or a very bad weather forecaster.

"And then there's the whole wind thing," the vampire added.

"The…wind thing?"

"Yeah. That's what it felt like back at the house. Like wind."

"What makes you so certain it wasn't just poor insulation?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "You think I don't know the difference between a draft and something that's actually livin'?" He snorted. "Thanks, Rupes. Glad to know my powers of observation are so highly valued around here."

"It was living?" Giles leaned forward, his face intent. "How do you know that?"

"'Cause it had a mind of its own, it had a purpose. The thing was wrapping itself around Buffy like some kind of snake. If I hadn't noticed what it was doin', it would've kept on goin' until she couldn't breathe."

"And you couldn't see it?" At the shake of the vampire's head, he settled against the back of the chair, brow furrowed. "So, sentient wind. Interesting."

"Is that what I'm looking for then?" Willow asked. "Stuff on wind that thinks and has connections to storms?"

"Yes, I believe that's as good a place to start as any."

Spike rose from his seat. "Well, if that's done, I'll just---."

"Actually…" Giles countered the other man's move, blocking the path to the door. "How are your translation skills?"

The blond's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

The Watcher blushed. "Although we have quite a few texts at our disposal here, I'm afraid that a good number of them are in demon dialects that I'm not…familiar with." He glanced back at the stacks. "I was hoping you might be willing to take a look at them. Perhaps there might be something in one of them that we might normally miss."

As he followed Giles back into the rows of books, Spike muttered, "How in hell you guys ever managed so long without me I'll never know."

*************

She watched as Dawn rinsed her face in the water, her shoulder still damp from where the teenager had cried for so long. The tears weren't over, but she knew that the young girl was exhausted, her eyes so swollen that if it wasn't for the tragic circumstances, Buffy would've been teasing her unmercifully about an unfortunate case of the mumps. But with everything the way it was…better to just leave well enough alone.

Her own tears went unshed, weighing behind her eyes with an ache that felt like it was going to pull her whole face off her skull, but they were a luxury she didn't feel ready to afford. Too much yet to do, too much yet to say. There would be time enough for her own grief later.

"Dawn…" Buffy watched as the younger Summers lifted her head, sitting back on her heels to gaze with sadness at her sister.

"I don't know how you do it," Dawn whispered, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. "You're so strong, and I know I give you a hard time about the whole Slayer thing, and I'm sorry. But it's times like these when I wish I could be like you, that I could as brave as you are and not blubber like a baby."

"You think I don't feel like crying?" She couldn't keep the incredulity out of her voice. "Don't you think this hurts me as much as it's hurting you?"

"I didn't say it didn't---."

"You didn't have to walk in on her," Buffy said, her eyes wild from the memory. "You didn't have to see her lying there. You didn't have to feel completely powerless because you knew you were too late."

"Too late for what?" Dawn's breath caught in her chest. "Is there something you're not telling me? Don't be holding back on me now, Buffy. Not when it comes to Mom."

"Come here." She patted the seat beside her and waited for the younger girl to settle down before continuing. "I didn't say anything yet because I didn't want to spring it on you all at once. But, you should know."

"Know…what?" It was the voice of a little girl waiting to hear what her punishment was going to be for her latest misdeed, scared, tremulous, with just a hint of curiosity as to what was going to come next.

"I think…well, Spike and I both think…Mom didn't die from natural causes. We think she…might've been killed."

"What?" Dawn's muscles tensed to jump to her feet, with only Buffy's grip keeping her in her seat. "By what? You said there weren't any marks on her. Were you lying to me? How could you…?"

"No, no, I wasn't lying," Buffy rushed. "It didn't look like anything had touched her. But…there was…something in the house, something…bad. It tried killing me, too, but Spike managed to get me out of there before it could."

"Then why are we here?" she demanded. "Shouldn't we be trying to find it? We have to kill it. It killed Mom. We can't just let it---." The teenager jerked her arm away, rising to her feet, only to be held from running off by her sister's firm grasp on her elbow as she joined her standing.

"That's what we're doing," the Slayer assured. "We don't know what it is, or how to kill it, or even what it might want with me. Willow and Giles are doing research right now trying to get some answers that we can use."

"Then that's where we should be." Dawn's blue eyes were suddenly clear as she gazed levelly at Buffy. "I know you don't like me mixing with your Scooby stuff, but you can't honestly think I'm just going to sit here and do nothing while you go off and try to do this on your own? I want…I need to help with this. I can read just as well as any one of you, better probably than Xander even, and if research is what we need to do right now, then I want to be a part of it." Her face softened. "Please, Buffy? She was my mom, too. Don't make me just sit back and feel useless. Let me help."

The two sisters regarded each other and finally Buffy sighed. "You're right. And we can use the extra set of eyes. We'll find what we're looking for faster that way."

Dawn threw her arms around her, hugging her tight. "Thank you," she whispered.

As the two girls walked away from the stream, arms around each other's waist, Buffy felt her inner voice reaching out, searching for her other half that had so graciously allowed her the few moments of privacy. Spike…

His response was immediate. Right here, luv.

Where are you guys?

Cort's library. Know where it is?

Nope.

Turn left here, he instructed as he let himself watch the caves through her eyes. When he saw the direction her feet chose, he inwardly sighed. Your other left…

*************

The words swam before her eyes, blending into a sea of big words she only half understood and little words that weren't helping anyway. Time seemed to stop in the bowels of Cortina's caves, and Buffy found herself wondering exactly how long they'd been at it. How come she doesn't have any clocks? she thought irritably.

'Cause Vroleks don't really care too much about time, Spike replied.

Glancing up, she saw the platinum head bowed over his latest book, seemingly intent on the text before him. To all outward appearances, he was engrossed in his reading, and she wondered not for the first time how he managed to keep so much hidden from the others.

The master of disguise, that's me, he chuckled. Her gaze returned to the pages of her own book, and she felt him softly reach out to her. How're you hangin' in there?

By my fingernails and there's a bitch with stiletto heels stomping on my hands.

You don't have to be here. Rupert would understand if you wanted to slip away.

No. Her denial was adamant. I have to do this. There'll be time for that…later.

He hesitated and then thought, to hell with it. As long as it's not too much later. You need to get it out, pet, before it eats you up from the inside.

She almost laughed out loud. Words of advice on how to deal with grief coming from a vampire? Now that's not something you hear every day. She instantly regretted thinking it, as the image of his very real tears crystallized for her, the sensation of his crying as he watched them in the grotto causing her own eyes to well up. I'm sorry, she apologized hastily. I didn't mean…

Yeah, you did. He couldn't hide his bitterness from her. You're not the only Summers woman I love, you know. Your mum was the most decent bird I'd ever met in Sunny D. You think I didn't see that? And I would've thought you'd know by now that bein' a vamp doesn't mean you stop feelin'.

She couldn't help but look up, seeing the muscles twitching in his jaw as it tensed, his barely contained anger rising through his thoughts to the surface where the others would soon be able to see it for themselves. His pain cut through the barrier she'd erected, stabbing at her gut in innocence, and the air compressed in her lungs. This officially counts as the worst day ever in my entire life, she thought, as the first tear fell down her cheek.

The others looked up as Spike rose, taking Buffy's hand in his and leading her toward the door in silence, her head bent as the tears cascaded, tiny drops spilling from the end of her nose to the floor. No one questioned the pair, and when the door closed quietly behind them, they each resumed their reading.

*************

The storm did not help in his pursuit, tossing the scents about on the wind like dust motes, only to occasionally lessen so that the Hound could resume his hunt. There was to be no fetching of this prey, though. His instructions were explicit…to locate the white one and then let them know. He did not understand why, but there was no mistaking his caretaker's concern for his safety and that was enough for him to push onward, to fight the dizzying waves that coursed through his black fur as if to push him back, daring him to fail.

The trail had not been difficult to find, the mingling of the human and demon scents slightly confusing but nonetheless distinctive enough. It had taken him down roads he hadn't travelled previously, and though the storm did its damage in misdirecting him more than once, it also offered him camouflage from those who might stay his path. And now here he was, a search around the perimeter confirming for him that his quarry had not traversed farther than this building, ready to return to the redheaded witch and lead her back. The scent was within, deep within, cloaked by layers of earth and metal, but the truth was indisputable.

The white one was here.

*************

Although she was now sitting, the tape was still over her mouth, her hands still bound behind her, only now of course, on the other side of the chair back. They must've moved me in my sleep, Cortina reasoned, and would've laughed out loud if the gag hadn't prevented it. That's what I get for staying up all night with Rupert. I should know better by now to let my hormones get the best of me.

There were no clues as to her whereabouts in the meager furnishings of the room. It looked, for all intents and purposes, that it had been thrown together at the last minute, and she quickly realized that it probably had. Grey walls, the metal door…it could really be anywhere…

Her pale blue eyes lit on the entrance as it swung open, and a group of four humans walked in. Two of them she recognized from her fight at Rupert's, and noted with satisfaction the scratches that raked one of the pair's cheek. A third, female, was carrying electronic equipment, settling at the nearby table to set it up.

It was the fourth who captured Cortina's full attention, an elderly man still in robust health, grey hair receding from his round face, impeccably dressed in a dark suit complete with coordinating waistcoat. His air of command was unmistakable, and she watched as he waited for a chair to be placed opposite her, nodding with authority at the man who placed it, before sitting himself down to smile at her.

"My apologies for taking so long in seeing you," he said, his British accent wrapping a cold hand around her gut. "I realize we've never had the opportunity to meet and I do find it unfortunate it has to be under such…surreptitious circumstances." He paused as a fifth person appeared in the doorway, some device on a tall stand in his arms, and nodded to the space just off to the demon's right before turning back to gaze at her. "My name is Quentin Travers, and you, my dear Cortina, have been hiding from us for far too long…"

*************
 

Her pale eyes were cold as she stared at Travers, her face immobile. He wasn't sure what he'd expected---fear, apology, boastful pride even---but this hostile passivity was unnerving, diverting his train of thought sufficiently enough so that he just sat there and stared at her for a full minute after his introduction. When he heard the newest arrival quietly cough into his hand, Quentin straightened, pulling down his coat as he quickly composed himself.

"I'm certain you're aware that in spite of the fact that the Council has not had direct contact with you in more than a hundred years, we haven't forgotten about your latent abilities. However, I would very much like to speak with you, yet I know that as soon as we remove the gag, you will scream." He gestured to the equipment off to her right. "Technology has come a long way since you last encountered us, Cortina. No longer are we forced to deal with you on your terms, but on ours. That device will simulate the effects of sunlight and should I instruct my colleague to turn it on, we would be treated to the show of watching you boil before our eyes."

For the first time, she showed some emotion, her eyes widening just ever so slightly as they darted between the apparatus and her interrogator. Quentin allowed himself a small smile. "I'm not saying I will, of course," he continued. "What I would like to do is remove your gag so that we might have a civilized conversation. The device is merely an incentive not to attempt to incapacitate us. Do you understand?" He waited until he was met with a single nod. "Good."

The first thing she did after the tape was gone was suck in her cheeks, exercising the muscles in her face as their inactivity had left her feeling palsied. "You're not as nice as the last Council head I knew," Cortina said, her gaze locked on Travers' face. "Of course, he didn't last very long."

He nodded. "I assume you're referring to Cabot," he said. "Yes, our records indicate he was rather a soft touch, which, inevitably, cost him his life."

"Is this going to be about old times?" she queried. "Because if you just wanted to wax nostalgic, a letter would've probably sufficed, or a phone call. I think the kidnapping thing is going just a tad far, don't you?"

"Does Rupert know?"

"No!" Her denial was vehement, and the sparks flashed from her eyes. "And if you in any way hurt him, or drag him into this, I will personally see to it that maggots chew out your eyeballs before I cut out your heart with my bare hands. Understand?"

Quentin chuckled. "It's nice to know our dossier on you is accurate. My predecessors were quite vociferous regarding your…colorful speech."

"I'm glad to know I don't disappoint."

"No, in fact, I must admit to being quite impressed in your ability to stay hidden from us for so long. How many years has it been now? One hundred? One hundred and ten?"

"One hundred and thirty-seven." Her lips twisted into a cruel smile. "Give or take."

"And have you been here on the Hellmouth that entire time?" She nodded. "As I said. Very impressive."

"You're not here to talk about my phenomenal hiding abilities," Cortina said. "And I'm not chained up like some animal because you want to appreciate my beauty. So why don't you just lay your cards out on the table, Mr. Travers? I'm sure it'll make you feel better."

"I only have one card, and I'm afraid it's not nearly as interesting as you might think."

"Try me."

"Circumstances have arisen where your talents would be most appreciated." Quentin smiled. "In fact, the Council believes that you may very well be our only hope."

She rolled her eyes. "You Watchers never change. Always going for the melodrama. How Rupert ever got involved with you, I'll never know."

"Now, now, Cortina. Lying does not become you." His smile vanished, eyes growing serious again. "We are perfectly aware that you have been breaking into our libraries over the last century, pilfering texts, rummaging through our resources. How, we have no idea, unless teleportation is a Vrolek skill we're unfamiliar with?" He waited for an answer, but her lips only thinned as she pressed them together. "Rupert may have been taken in by your charm, but only because he doesn't know of your true history. Do you think he would've been so quick to share his bed if he knew you'd slaughtered half the Council before your disappearance? Or that your reputation as the Destroyer was renowned throughout the Vrolek species? That even your own kind feared you, and in fact, attempted to turn you over to us themselves?"

"There were extenuating circumstances, and that was a long time ago." Her voice was frigid with barely controlled anger. "Rupert doesn't know that Cortina, because she doesn't exist anymore."

"Oh, but we believe she does. You are still a demon, with demon instincts, and hiding from the world for decades does not constitute a reformation." He frowned as he saw her eyes dart to the apparatus. "Don't make me hurt you, Cortina," he warned. "I think we would both very much regret that."

"Somehow I doubt that." Her pale gaze flickered over him in disgust. "Although watching you squirm from being boiled from the inside out might be kind of fun."

"Are you not even remotely curious as to why we would go to all this effort to locate you?" Travers asked. "Your existence was such an embarrassment for the Council, we've even eliminated all references to Vroleks from our texts. Convinced dozens of our members around the world that you don't even exist as a species anymore. Yet, here I am, on the Hellmouth, ready to offer to clear your record with our organization, to promise never to bring you to justice for the crimes you perpetrated against us, and ask only for your help in one specific matter."

"Council promises are worthless to me," Cortina replied. "There is absolutely no reason for me to trust you."

"This doesn't have to be ugly, but if you prefer, we can always resort to threats. I'm sure there is something out there you value highly enough to grant us this small favor. Or someone, perhaps."

He didn't have to say the name; she could see it in the watery depths of his eyes, and fought to suppress the urge to open her mouth and let out the scream that she knew would shatter his eardrums, maybe even cause a cerebral hemorrhage. "You. Will not. Touch him," she finally said through gritted teeth.

"And we don't want to," Travers said. "I am not fond of hurting those within my own organization, but if that's what it will take, then I am prepared to make the order, regardless of my feelings for Rupert."

"And you wonder why I don't like you."

"You don't have to like me to do this for us. We shall just consider it a business transaction, a simple trade. I'm certain once you've heard the particulars of our request, you will be more than happy to comply."

She snorted in derision. "Really? And why's that?"

"Because it involves two people we suspect may mean something to you." His smile returned. "Spike…and Buffy Summers."

*************

Finding their old room had been the easy part. Separating himself from his own grief so that Buffy could have space to let hers go was not.

Everything was as they had left it…the tasteful decoration, elegant armchairs angled to each other in the corner, the enormous bed that took up the center of the room. It was there that they sat, she curled up in his arms, the sobs wracking her thin frame as memory after memory insisted on presenting itself. Some of them were hers---the smile on Joyce's face when she'd given Buffy her first set of skates…the feel of her mother's shoulder on her cheek as they had one of their marathon video sessions---but some of them were Spike's…the image of an axe-wielding Joyce, sensations of hot chocolate coursing down her throat as her mother talked about the gallery. She'd never quite realized how much time he'd really spent at her house without her, how many secrets Joyce had shared with the vampire that had never made it to Buffy's ears. In a way, it almost made her angry, knowing that her own mom didn't trust her enough to ask her opinions…

"It's not what you think," Spike murmured, the gentle caress of his hand over her hair almost automatic as he struggled to be the strong one. "You were her daughter. She needed someone from the outside. Someone unbiased. A friend."

"I c-c-could've helped," Buffy stuttered through her tears. "I've g-g-got life experience, too, you know."

"Not the same thing, luv. Besides, she felt she couldn't protect you from the beasties of the night, least she could do was protect you from the beasties of her own life."

For a few, long minutes, the only sounds in the room came from Buffy's sobs and Spike's occasional shush as he began to rock her within his embrace, unconsciously hoping the soft movement would lull her into slumber, rest he knew she would need in order to incorporate her grief into something manageable. He could feel her pain as a tangible blade in his gut, twisting in red-hot fury as it burrowed its way inside, scraping out everything that lived within them like a hide being cleaned, leaving behind a gnawing void that threatened to swallow what light remained. He didn't know how she managed it, dealing with this depth of feeling on a day-to-day basis. Sure, he knew love, he knew hate, and the offshoots that either produced---vengeance, frustration, anger. It was the remorse he was having problems fathoming, almost a sense of guilt for still being able to walk the earth while Joyce would soon be committed to a cold and dark grave. These were new sensations, and though he didn't voice the thought so that Buffy could hear, Spike knew---at least, suspected---when they had started. The day of the cleansing. More specifically, those moments when he had shared the Slayer's soul.

"How am I going to do this without her?" Buffy whispered, her tears momentarily slowing as she leaned back to look up into his face. "I don't know how to take care of a teenager, or how to balance the checkbook, or even cook." Her eyes widened. "I'm never going to have her hot chocolate again. I can't believe I never bothered to find out how she makes it. I'm a bad daughter---."

"You're not." His hands gripped her upper arms, holding her steady as he stared into her face, blue eyes just daring her to look away. "And we'll suss it out together." The corner of his mouth lifted. "And just ask your sister about the hot chocolate recipe. I think it's about the only thing I ever saw her do in that kitchen that didn't require a fire extinguisher. That cooking gene of Joyce's must've skipped over both of her kids."

Through her tears, Buffy smiled, leaning forward to brush her lips against his. "Thank you," she murmured. "How would I be able to get through this without you?"

"You'd find a way. You're the strongest person I know, luv. You'll get through this." He felt a flutter of surprise when her mouth trailed across his cheek, her hands coming up to press against his chest as she used them to support her weight. For a second, Spike felt the instinct to pull away, to chastise Buffy about a time and place for everything, only…

Please…don't…

Slowly, he let his arms wrap around her torso, pulling her close so that her heartbeat vibrated against his own skin, closing his eyes as she rained kisses down the side of his neck. The need wafted from her flesh, the hair on the back of her neck prickling as she nuzzled into his shoulder, and Spike felt her sigh against him, her lashes wet as her eyes fluttered closed. Words were unnecessary; both felt the emptiness in each of their spirits lessen as they clung to the other, the needs of their bodies temporarily offering refuge from the pain. Hesitatingly, their lips met, stumbling as if it was their first, too tender, too gentle, frightened of causing even more ache.

It wasn't about the act. It wasn't about want. It sure as hell wasn't about numbing themselves from feeling. As he gently leaned Buffy back against the bed, hands never daring to leave her, afraid almost that if he let go she would somehow disappear, Spike knew the why of it, accepted it, understood how it was necessary. It was about being thankful…about relishing the fact that they were still alive…

And it was about coming together and proving to the other that they would get through it together…

*************

The knock at the door startled them, causing Giles to fumble with the stack of books he was carrying back to the desk, Willow to drop the pencil she'd been playing with as she read, and Dawn to jerk her head up from where she'd fallen asleep. Their eyes swept to the entrance as it was pushed open, one of Cortina's men hovering just outside as he barked out a short sentence.

"Thank you," Willow replied, and the others looked at her with a frown. She shrugged. "Since I've been coming out to feed Elvis and stuff, I've picked up on some of their language," she explained. "It helps a lot, you know, no misunderstandings when we're trying to communicate."

"Do you know how to ask for ice cream?" Dawn asked.

"Uh, no. Surprisingly, that topic of conversation hasn't come up."

"What did he say?" questioned Giles.

Willow's mouth settled into a thin line. "Elvis is back. Which means I should probably go see if he found Cortina." Closing the book in front of her, she stood and was halfway to the door when Dawn spoke up.

"Should I go get Spike and Buffy?"

The redhead hesitated, unsure of what to say, but Giles beat her to the punch. "We'll let them be for now," he said softly. "They…need this time together, and we're not even certain the Hound has found anything useful."

Willow nodded. "I'll be back as soon as I have some answers."

The return of silence to the library was enough to spur the Watcher to resume his searching, but Dawn just sat there, watching as he settled in the chair opposite her. "Giles?" she asked, her voice tremulous, almost as if she was afraid of disturbing him from his work. She bit her lip when he looked up. "Can I…ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"What happens now?"

"Well, if Elvis has found Cortina---."

"No." She leaned forward. "What happens now…with me? When they find out Mom is…am I…" Her face wrinkled as she struggled to get the words out of her mouth, fighting back the tears that threatened to start spilling again. "I don't want to leave Sunnydale," she finally managed.

Giles' eyes softened, and he pushed aside the book in front of him to lean forward and rest his hand over hers. "You're not going anywhere," he assured the young girl. "Your family is here, and we're going to make sure everything turns out all right."

"They can't make me go, right? I mean, if I don't want to?"

"They won't. Buffy won't allow it."

The mention of her sister's name seemed enough to comfort Dawn for now, and she slouched back against her chair, a tiny smile on her lips that didn't quite meet her eyes. "Thanks."

*************

They rested. Not because their appetites were sated, for that in essence never truly happened. No, the children of the wind slumbered in the trees of the Hellmouth in order to regain their strength, recoup the penalties for having pushed themselves so assiduously in their search to answer the calls of the feast. Even the consumption of the other was not enough to fortify them, though the elixir of her purity had been momentarily intoxicating. For a brief moment, they had touched upon the dark when it had stumbled amidst them, and the heady taste it had offered was enough to convince even the most voluble dissenter to stand down.

They would continue…

They would find them…the dark…the light…

And they would dine…

…until they were all…
 

*************
 

In spite of the thickness of the cave walls, he could hear them debating outside their door, their voices subdued in worry. He knew that by all rights he should make it easier for them, go to the door and let them know they'd be right out, but with Buffy finally asleep, her soft breath fanning across his chest as she curled up against him, the last thing he wanted to do was disturb her.

"We need Buffy," Giles said.

"Why can't you just let her be?" Dawn hissed. "Doesn't it mean anything to you about Mom? Didn't you see how she was when Spike pulled her out of the library. Buffy never cries. How big a deal is that? And besides, you've got Willow. Can't she just do some abracadabra to get you guys in and out of there?"

"Normally, I'd say, woo hoo, I get to be magic girl," the witch said. "But that doesn't work around Cortina. She just kind of sucks up the magic vibe from around her, so my brand of rescuing ain't going to cut it this time."

"What about Spike then? Can't we just use him and leave Buffy out of it?"

"This is the Council we're dealing with here," Giles explained. "They're human. Spike will be useless in a battle against them."

The vampire grimaced. He hated it when Rupert was right. If they stood any chance of getting Cort back, he wasn't going to be of any use to them. What had happened to those hordes he could defend against? Too many enemies recently had been human. Celie, Daymon for a bit, and now the bloody Council. What he wouldn't do for a good old-fashioned demon hunt right about now.

"Trust me, Dawn," the Watcher was saying. "Cortina did too much for Buffy for her not to want to do this in return. And we have no idea how long she'll be at her current location. If we stand any chance at all at rescuing her, we have to do it quickly."

In his arms, the young blonde stirred, moaning slightly as she shifted her weight, lifting her knee to drape it over his. She was dreaming; he could see her eyes moving beneath her lids, but because of his own wakefulness, he had no idea who or what occupied those dreams, whether they were painful memories or a pleasant escape. Either way, her time within them was limited.

"Buffy, pet," he murmured, reaching up to push the hair from her face, exposing the fragile line of her temple as the strands clung tenaciously to her skin from the drying sweat. "Time to wake up."

The faintest of frowns flickered across her brow, and Spike watched as her bottom lip jutted out. "Five more minutes," she replied, her voice a husky whisper.
The soft knock at the door caused her to groan, and her frown deepened, lids lifting to reveal the soft hazel of her eyes. "Please tell me that wasn't what I thought it was," she said.

"Elvis found Cort."

That woke her up, and she propped herself up on her elbow to gaze at the entrance. "Come in," she called.

There was a hesitation, and then the doorknob turned, but before anyone could show, Willow's voice came through the crack. "Everyone decent?"

Spike chuckled. "What a thing to ask a vampire," he drawled. "I am deeply shamed that I actually have to answer yes to that."

"Come on in, Will." Her eyes were down as her head poked around, and Buffy laughed. "It's OK. We're not naked." She glanced down at Spike's bare chest. "Well, not completely anyway."

"We know where Cortina is," the redhead said. "Giles wants to get moving ASAP."

"Right. He doesn't happen to know where she keeps her weapons stashed, does he? 'Cause I'm thinking, they're going to be prettily heavily armed, so we're going to need every advantage we can get."

"Yes, I do." Although he didn't show his face, her Watcher's voice filtered from outside the room as he responded to her query. "Dawn and I will go get them. We'll meet you three back at the stream."

She waited until she heard the sound of their footsteps disappear down the hall. "I don't want Dawn going," Buffy said. "Things might get crazy. I don't want to have to worry about protecting her if I don't have to."

"We can drop her off with Tara," Willow volunteered.

"So that will make two stops," the Slayer mused, and met Spike's blue gaze. "I was hoping…"

His eyes immediately crinkled as he frowned. "Oh," he said. "Right. S'pose that'd be the proper thing to do and all."

"You don't mind?"

"Stupid question, pet. Of course not. At least it makes me useful."

Willow bit at her lip. Giles had warned her about this new…development in her friend's relationship, but watching it firsthand, hearing them have a conversation where only half of it was spoken out loud was a little weird. "Not to be nosy or anything," she ventured. "But would you care to enlighten those of us in the room who aren't all ESP-ing right now?"

"Told you we had to stop doin' that," Spike murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement.

Buffy turned to address her friend. "I want Spike to stop by my house and make the arrangements for them to come pick up my Mom's body," she explained, a hint of her sadness tingeing her words. "Obviously, if something's trying to kill me, I can't go around in case it's still hanging around, and no way do I want Dawn to have to deal with it."

"And since I can't help with the Council wankers," the vampire continued, "it might as well be me." He watched as Buffy pushed back the blankets and stood, stretching like a lazy cat, the fine muscles in her shoulders standing out in bas relief. The pain was still there, but with a job to do, with something concrete for her to focus on, it was manageable, temporarily shelved to a corner of her consciousness where she could come back later and dust it off. He would be there for that, help her bear some of the burden of what being left without a parent could do. His experience wasn't exactly the same, but…

Spike blinked. It had never occurred to him before now. In light of the flood of memories each had shared, the thoughts that jumped between them even now as they went about their daily business, Buffy had to know. It wasn't possible that she couldn't, not when it was so much a part of him, part of who he was today and who he had been. Yet…she walked as if in ignorance, treated him as if it didn't matter, when he knew---somewhere, deep down---that it did.

Even now…He heard the water running in the bathroom, could feel the cool tingle on her cheeks as she splashed it over her face, and knew that she was completely unaware of even this most recent realization. She didn't know. It wasn't getting through to her, although why, he had no idea. Part of him wanted to test his theory, force the memories forward to see if she would see them, but an even larger part didn't. She loved him---he knew that---and even having experienced through his memories what he'd been like prior to coming to Sunnydale hadn't managed to curtail her feelings for him. But this was different. And in light of what had just happened with Joyce…He would wait. No reason for Buffy to know all his secrets, especially ones that might make her leave him…

*************

She regarded her Watcher with a steady gaze, her lips thin, jaw tight. "You don't have to do this," Buffy said.

"I'm not about to let you go in and face them on your own," he replied. "We don't know if they'll be expecting us, or even what we'll discover." He paused, shifting the weight of the crossbow in his arms as his gaze darted to the building beside them. "And, yes. I do have to do this."

She didn't want to ask, not seeing the steely determination in Giles' face. That was a look he reserved for apocalypses, not something she'd ever witnessed in regard to anything personal. The white demon was really getting to him.

"Too bad we don't have a way to disguise Elvis," Willow joked. "Then at least I could come in and help, let you know when Cortina was close by how much my magic got sucked up."

"Somehow, I don't think a rubber nose and a fake moustache will work on six foot demon dogs," Buffy said dryly. Inhaling deeply, she squared off with the back entrance of the building the Hound had led them to, the daggers she had borrowed tucked safely into her boots. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." He walked behind her as she stepped up to the steel door, watching as she tested the knob before breaking it off in her grip. "I don't suppose you've got a plan on how to locate Cortina," he murmured as he followed her inside the dark corridor.

"Yep." She grinned and glanced back at him over her shoulder. "Open every door we see until we find her."

*************

It didn't take nearly as long as she anticipated. The building was almost deserted, long since left vacant by whatever company had owned it previously, and in fact showed little to no sign of being disturbed in years. A thick layer of dust was settled over the furniture that resided in the rooms she exposed, opening door after door as they slowly descended the levels. Only once had they actually witnessed the presence of others, and the pair had easily avoided detection by ducking into a nearby closet, waiting until they had passed before venturing onward.

When they reached the heavy door, Buffy knew almost immediately that it was the right one, the fact that it was the first she'd encountered that had been locked being a dead giveaway. Motioning for Giles to stand back, she shattered the bolt in her grasp, pushing the door open as quickly as she could, hoping that by doing so she could surprise any guards that may be inside.

The room was pitch black, a sooty darkness that seemed to swallow the sounds of their feet on the floor. She stopped, ears straining as she sought to detect other presences. One moment…two…and there, just a few feet in front of her, a soft exhalation of someone breathing. Her first instinct was to attack, but Buffy held back, waiting as she continued to listen, quickly realizing that the gentle resonance came from a position lower than her own head, which meant that whoever it was…wasn't standing up.

The sudden illumination from overheard blinded her, and the Slayer blinked as she tried to adjust her eyes to the new light level. "Sorry," she heard Giles mumble behind her, and then caught the white form on the bed that lay before her.

She was sleeping, or at least, Buffy hoped that Cortina was asleep and not unconscious from some torture that the Council might've inflicted. But…and her eyes darkened, her brows knitted. The demon certainly didn't look like she'd been tortured. There wasn't a mark on her, and if it weren't for the tape over her mouth or the fact that her hands were bound behind her, the young woman would never have thought anything was remiss. Well, except for the dried blood stains on the sheets. That was most definitely not good.

When he saw no one else was in the room, Giles rushed forward, his weapon almost forgotten as he dropped it on the edge of the bed, leaning over to press a gentle hand to her face. "She's alive," he murmured, eyes searching over her skin for any signs that she might be hurt.

"Well, duh, she's breathing." Buffy glanced around with a small frown. "Question is, why isn't she being guarded?"

"That's a question we can worry about later," Giles replied, and set about loosening the cords that bound Cortina's hands, allowing them to fall to the bed before scooping her up into his arms.

The demon stirred as soon as she was lifted, pale lashes fluttering open in alarm that quickly softened. He could see her mouth working underneath the tape and with as little pain as he could manage, he wrested it from her face.

Cortina gasped as the cool air struck her reddened skin. "Knew I should've polished that set of armor of yours," she murmured.

"OK, time for flirting later," Buffy warned. "Right now, we've got to get out of here before they realized what we've done."

The demon frowned. "Travers…" she started, only to quiet when Giles shushed her.

"Later," he promised. "Outside."

Buffy's hand stole to the wall and the light switch that her Watcher had found earlier, slipping the room back into the blackness that wrapped around them like a velvet cloak. This time, it wasn't as oppressive, her eyes adjusting more rapidly to the change, and, with catlike stealth, edged her way to the open door and back to freedom.

*************

His face was impassive as he stared at the screen, the dim outlines of the trio barely discernible in the dark hallway. They had found her much sooner than he had anticipated, and he couldn't help but wonder as to their means. Perhaps Willow Rosenberg's magic had increased to such a degree that it could overwhelm the Vrolek's natural defenses. Even as he thought it, though, Quentin knew it wasn't the case. Cortina's capabilities were renowned among her species; it would take a much stronger witch than Willow to supersede them.

"Sir, I really think---."

The simple lift of Travers' hand was enough to silence the young man who stood behind him. "You were given an order. I expect you to obey it."

"But they're getting away!"

The older man sighed. "Next time, do try harder not to state the obvious," he reprimanded, and reached for a nearby telephone. As he held the receiver to his ear, he leaned over to flip a switch on the monitor before him, changing the perspective so that the forms of Buffy, Giles, and Cortina were now approaching the camera instead of hurrying away from it. His face was tight, and it was only when he heard the familiar click on the other end of the line, did he speak again. "I want them followed." There was a slight pause. "You heard me. Followed. They must not know and if they find out…" The threat hung in the air, and there was no hesitation as he replaced the phone on its cradle.

*************

At least the bloody storm had stopped. Evidence of its destruction lay everywhere…broken branches scattered across the roads…gutters overflowing from the rain that had been incessant since it started…garbage cans overturned with the debris littering the sidewalks. Spike shook his head as he surveyed the mess that was the Summers' front lawn. We're goin' to have a bugger of a time cleanin' this up once this whole thing is over with, he thought irritably.

So lost in thought was he that he didn't even notice the stars twinkling through the break in the clouds, or the way the individual shafts of moonlight struck the puddles and skipped across the cement. The beauty of the squall's aftermath went overlooked by the vampire as he climbed the stairs of the porch, fingers trailing over the railing as his feet seemed to grow heavier and heavier with each approaching step. He knew he had to do this; with the threat to Buffy still unknown, there were no other options, not if he wanted her to be safe. Yet, the prospect of seeing Joyce's dead body, of having to handle the details of her…removal, left an acrid aftertaste in his mouth, his gut churning for some unknown reason, and he found himself fighting the unfamiliar feelings of grief that suddenly threatened to crush him. Buck up, ol' boy, he said to himself. Vampire, remember? Creature of the night. Lover of all things evil and violent. Certainly seen enough corpses in your lifetime. Hell, you are a corpse.

But it wasn't working; he didn't really believe it. And as his hand stretched out to turn the knob, Spike noticed for the first time the almost imperceptible tremor in his fingers.

The scent wafted to his nostrils as he stepped across the threshold, and he frowned, pausing as he tried to discern where it was coming from. It seemed to be everywhere, a tangible presence in the air that stroked his skin, flittered across his lips, inviting him to taste when they both knew that it wasn't really there. But it had to come from somewhere. Like everything else in this world, it had to have a starting point.

Suss it out later, he chastised himself. You've got Joyce to take care of, remember? As if it was even possible he could've forgotten. Slowly, deliberately, his booted feet moved forward, placing him in the entrance to the living room, positioning him almost in exactly the same spot Buffy had been just a few hours earlier.

The curtains were still open, the moonlight streaming in through the glass, brightening the room in shades of silver. It was brightest on the couch, and Spike's azure gaze turned to settle on the exact spot he'd seen through Buffy's eyes, his body freezing as the truth of what lay before him slowly sank in.

They had both seen her. She had been dead. No rise of her chest to indicate breathing, her skin ashen in the pallor of death. But now…it wasn't possible…

The couch was empty. Joyce's body wasn't there.


 

*************

Her feet pounded silently against the pavement as they ran for the car, the quiet echo of Giles' steps behind her, the awkward gait of Willow in front. It had been easy, too easy she knew, but that was a thought for later, when they had put some distance between them and the Council, when they…

…not there…can't…not possible…

Buffy's muscles locked, riveting her in a rigor mortis that sent fingers of ice to clench around her heart. Her gaze turned inward, seeing what he was seeing…how?…the questions already piling up as her Watcher halted before her.

"What is it?" he hissed, eyes darting between his charge and the car.

"Mom…" she murmured, and her head jerked up, hazel blazing. "Get in the car. We have to get Spike."

…He was stumbling backwards, fingers gripping the doorframe, nails clawing at the wood, and she could smell it then, all around him…

With what will she could muster, Buffy forced her body forward, lungs not sucking in the clean night air but drowning in the sickly sweet that permeated her house, and when she felt Spike trip over his own feet, landing on his bottom with his duster tangled around his legs, her own limbs collapsed to send her sprawling to the ground, the heels of her hands scraping roughly against the concrete. The tears were right there, blinding her, threatening to spill as they welled, and she began gulping, unable to breathe.

Luv, don't…

I…can't…what…why…And the gulps evolved into hyperventilating swallows, where nothing could get in, nothing could get out, the black spots starting to dance before her eyes as air suddenly seemed like a precious commodity…

And he was back on his feet, out the door, slamming it behind him as his boots tore down the sidewalk…away from the house…the panic that had gripped him in its thrall dissipating with each step…his strength returning only to feel Buffy locked in a fight for breath…

She felt his arms under her shoulders, lifting, carrying her to the car, and the irrational thought of when did Giles get so strong flitted across her brain, causing Spike to chuckle somewhere deep within the recesses of her head. "Breathe, Buffy," Giles said, the comfortable familiarity of his voice a brace to which she could cling, and the echoing, breathe, luv, bolstering her will as she reached out, combining his tenacity with her own to consciously regain control.

Willow's face was a mask of fear as the Watcher slid Buffy into the back seat with Cortina. "What's wrong?" she asked, and watched as the white demon extended a slim hand to press gently against her friend's chest, her pale eyes sad.

"Can Dawn…stay with you…and Tara tonight?" Buffy asked, her voice barely audible as the air still burned in her lungs with a palpable stickiness.

"Sure, no problem." Her worried gaze flicked to Giles as he climbed behind the wheel. "I sent Elvis back to the caves. If you could just…"

"Of course." The car roared to life in his hands. "Where to, Buffy?"

"Your place," she murmured, lids flickering closed. "He'll be waiting…"

*************

The water stung as they washed out the grit that had ground into her palms, and Buffy winced, shoulders slumped, head bent. She had insisted Cortina be seen to first, in spite of Spike's arguments, but now the two Englishmen were bustling around her like mother hens, bumping into the other as they fought to be the first to get the bandages, or the first to hold her hands still.

"You must think I'm a big old Slayer baby," she murmured, giving Giles a small smile of gratitude as he rinsed out the washcloth in the nearby sink.

"I think…you've had an incredibly difficult day," he replied. "And you are coping remarkably well."

Her laughter was a sharp bark, punctuated with the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes, and her mouth twisted into a grimace as she brushed them away. "I'd hate to see what your idea of not coping looks like."

"Now that Cort's taken care of, you can get some good solid sleep," Spike said, pushing back the hair that had slipped over her brow. "Thing's'll be better in the mornin'."

Liar, she thought at him, and was rewarded with a crooked smile.

"Spike, can I…speak with you alone for a moment?" Drying his hands on the towel, Giles turned to see two bemused sets of eyes watching him. "What?" he asked.

"The talking alone thing doesn't work so well when we're in each other's head," Buffy replied. "I mean, sometimes, if we're busy or distracted or something, it's easy to not pay attention, you know, to give the other one some privacy. But if you think I've got the strength right now to stick my fingers in my ears and go 'la la la' while you talk about me behind my back, maybe I'm actually looking better than I feel, 'cause it's not going to happen."

"Oh." The Watcher frowned, dropping the towel to the side as he leaned back against the sink. "Well, I wanted to talk about…Joyce, actually."

"What about her?" Spike's eyes narrowed.

"I know this might be…painful, but are you certain she was dead when you saw her the first time?"

"Yes." Their answer was simultaneous, unfaltering, and Giles took a mental step back at the unanimity of the response.

"And you didn't search the house? Is it possible she could've been moved to a different room?" He didn't even want to think by what.

Spike shook his head. "I didn't search, but I'd stake everything I've got she wasn't there. The place didn't smell like death. It smelled like…" He stopped, searching for the right words.

"Like a hundred cotton candy booths all bunched up together," Buffy put forward. "That kind of sickly sugary smell that gets stuck in the back of your throat. And not in a good way."

Removing his glasses, the Watcher began chewing on the end, musing out loud as the thoughts tried to arrange themselves in his brain. "If Joyce wasn't there, that only leaves two viable options. Either she walked out on her own---somehow---or someone took her out of there." Actually, there was a third choice, but somehow he thought that suggesting something could've eaten Joyce might be just a little too much for the young woman to hear right now.

"Why would they do that? What could they possibly gain from stealing my Mom's body?"

Giles shrugged. "I have no idea. Perhaps we'll uncover something we've missed when we return to Cortina's. This might narrow our search slightly."

Spike stood. "Rupert's right. We should probably get outta here before what's after Buffy susses out she's back in town."

"Make sure we let Will know not to say anything to Dawn when she gets back. She doesn't need to be thinking there's anything wrong. This is tough enough for her as it is."

"It's tough for you as well, Buffy."

She smiled at the gentle tone in her Watcher's voice. "Yeah, but I've got years more experience dealing with death than she does."

"Not this kind."

Her mouth opened to argue, but the firm pressure of Spike's hand on her shoulder stayed her tongue. Don't do this, he thought. Not now. Instead, she rose to her feet. "So, research party at Cortina's?"

*************

When she heard the movement on the other side of the door, the white demon scurried away, resuming her seat on the couch so that they wouldn't know she'd been standing outside the bathroom door. I've really got to stop eavesdropping, Cortina thought. I so rarely like what I hear anyway.

She hadn't even meant to, but when the young redhead had left, the apartment had seemed too big, too empty, and she had really gone in search of company more than anything else. Her hand had been halfway to the doorknob when she'd heard Spike start talking about the smell, and when Buffy only confirmed what she had feared in the first place, there was no way she could complete the path, her fingers falling back to her side as the thoughts tumbled about in her head. Damn Travers for being right.

When Giles appeared in the doorway, Cortina automatically lifted her head, spreading a smile across her face that didn't quite meet the sorrow in her pale blue eyes. "Willow left," she offered before he could say a word. "She said now that the storm was past, she could just walk. She didn't want us to have to waste time by taking her home."

"I'll call her," Buffy said, and crossed to the phone.

The cushions sagged slightly as he sat down at Cortina's side, his gaze searching her face before picking up her hands to examine the damage to her fingertips and wrists. "How are you feeling?" Giles murmured.

"Just fine," she responded, but was glad he wasn't looking at her eyes when she said it. If he had, there would've been no way he could've missed the pain that was reflected in their depths, or not heard the silent apology that flitted across her mind. I'm so sorry, Rupert…

*************

Buffy stood in the doorway of the library, eyes fixed on the stacks of books that littered the desk and floor, and felt her stomach sink, the knot in her throat tighten as the prospect of hours of research began to sound way too much like not fun. "I hate to sound too much like a spoil sport," she said, "'cause I realize that yes, this is all about saving my life here, but would you two mind if I…didn't…do this right away?" She gestured weakly toward the piles of literature, unable to tear her gaze away from it.

"Of course not," Giles replied. "We hardly expect you to be pushing yourself so hard as it is."

"Just go back to the room and try to sleep, luv," came from Spike as he dropped himself into one of the chairs, reaching to pick up the nearest book. "We'll take care of the brain work."

"Never would've pegged you for someone who likes research," she teased, letting her mouth lift into a half-smile.

His eyes were serious. "It's not about the research," he said solemnly. "It's about the answers. Now go sleep."

She left Cortina's library, allowing her feet to automatically lead her off in the direction of their room, but couldn't help the sense of closeness around her head, the walls suddenly too near, her skin itching as if she was being eaten alive by millions of microscopic bugs desperate for a meal. Gotta get out of here, she thought desperately. Just need some fresh air. I've spent too much time these past few weeks locked away in caves.

It took no time at all to escape into the cool night, and Buffy felt her heart pounding as she gazed up into the sky. Hard to believe it was storming so badly just earlier today, she mused. Even when…

She swallowed hard. No. Not going there. Can't think about that. Don't think period.

Her shoes crunched quietly on the loose soil of the desert, hands stuffed deep inside her pockets, inhaling the crisp chill so that it spread like a frost inside her lungs, watching her breath become visible as she blew it out, only to repeat the process, enjoying the simplicity of such a simple act. Don't take it for granted, not ever. Even Spike could appreciate it now. For those few minutes during the cleansing when he'd been human, he'd had to breathe, had felt the fragility of the whole thing, and given it back to her intact. It still amazed her how he could've done it…given up the gift of a normal life just so that she wouldn't be robbed of hers. He chose that, and if ever she had had any doubt about the depth of his ability to love, they were banished with that clear-cut knowledge.

As she rounded the curve of the hill, Buffy's senses immediately picked up on the presence of another, and unconsciously she straightened, hazel eyes darting around to inspect the shadows, search for some sign of…

And there it was, a man's form, slinking away into the distance. Whether he saw her or not was irrelevant. Here, in the privacy of Cortina's caves, anyone visiting could not be good.

Buffy broke into a run, arms pumping as her steps grew louder in the clear air, carrying to the other's ears so that he straightened to look back. His own pace quickened, but his speed was no match for hers, and she launched herself to tackle him, rolling with his dark form until they ended with her perched on top of his chest, knees pinning him down beneath her.

"You know, it's very rude to just show up unannounced," she said lightly, watching him struggle to free himself from her grasp. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to call first?"

"I was just…out for a walk," he said, striving for nonchalance.

"And how lame an alibi is that?" She shook her head in mock dismay. "At least if you're going to lie, you could make it a good one." Her face hardened. "So, let's just skip the usual quippage, OK? Who are you and what do you want?"

His mouth was a grim line, and Buffy knew right away that he wasn't going to talk. "Look," she went on, "you don't want to piss me off right now. I've had a really bad day." When he remained silent, she felt the anger begin to boil in her gut, fingers of flame licking their way outward to surge to her skin, tightening around her nerve endings. Before she could think, her fist shot, connecting with her captive's nose, and she felt it crumble beneath her force, the blood spurting so that he gasped, only to be cut off with a gurgle as she placed her hand around his throat.

"I'm only going to ask one more time," she hissed, and let her grip start to squeeze…

*************

Stupid bloody G'trowen historians, Spike thought irritably, and tossed the book onto the table, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision. Can't just come out and call an apocalypse, an apocalypse. Have to spend six hundred fuckin' pages to say absolutely shit.

He felt his stomach rumble as he reached for another tome, and realized it had been twenty-fours since he'd had anything to eat. Should've stopped by the crypt before coming back. Don't think Cort's got any blood on supply on the off-chance a vampire stops by.

The sudden watering of his mouth took him by surprise, though, and he frowned, sniffing at the air. 'Cept maybe I'm wrong, he thought. 'Cause that sure as hell smells like blood to me.

If he hadn't been so absorbed in his reading, Spike might've sensed it sooner, heard what was going on outside the caves before the assault on his senses brought his demon to the front, his fangs elongating as the snarl rumbled from his throat, eyes blinking golden in the dim light of the library. As it was, the unsolicited shift jerked him to his feet, causing him to stumble over the books stacked around his chair.

He saw it then, heard her…ask one more time…and felt the pressure on his own fingers as Buffy strangled the life out of the intruder underneath her. The demon within trumpeted her on, but as Spike focused on the battle outside…good girl, catch the beastie…he picked up on what she was missing, and his vampire visage promptly disappeared.

Buffy! he called, desperate to get her attention.

I'm working here, Spike. Can we do this later?

Working? You're killing him!

I know.

And he felt the steely determination in her strength, tasted the bloodlust coursing through her veins…and panicked.

You can't do this, luv. He's not a demon. He's human.

…I don't care…

He had no choice. The fear that she would really do it, that she was about to cross that line Slayers weren't supposed to cross, was all too real in his mind, and Spike pushed his thoughts forward as he bolted from the room, his feet moving as fast as he could manage, careening through the corridors of the cave as he fought to reach her in time.

*************

It felt good, the life seeping from his skin as he panted and gasped for air, soaking into her flesh as it hungered for the taste of death. Why had they never told her it could feel like this…? The power…the crimson tide that swelled around her, carrying her in its heady embrace to…

And then it wasn't the man she was seeing, her own breath stopping as her mother's eyes looked back at her, blinking in sadness, a small smile on her lips as if she forgave her eldest daughter for the murder she was about to commit…

Buffy leapt off, flying backward as she scrambled to put as much distance as possible between her and her…She blinked. No. Not Mom. The man. The intruder. The one who wouldn't speak. Only he was making plenty of noises now, gurgling as he rolled onto his hands and knees, trying to breathe again, the blood dripping from his broken nose. She'd been about to…no…she didn't do that…not Buffy…not the Slayer…not her…

"Bitch," he muttered.

She wasn't meant to have heard it. It had been low, under his breath, more of an autonomic response than anything directed specifically at her. Still…she had, and the cold slap of reality it gave her dragged her back to her feet, staring down at his hunched form, eyes like ice as she stepped toward him.

"Told you, you didn't want to piss me off," she said.

"Buffy…luv…"

Only then did she stop, swiveling her head to stare at him outlined in the moonlight, platinum hair gleaming as he tentatively neared her. "Wanna share?" she whispered. "I kill him, and you get to eat."

"Not like this, luv." His approach was methodical, like she was some rabid animal he needed to catch, and he kept his eyes locked on hers, the night creating two matching pools of ebony as the lovers regarded each other. "It's not worth it."

"Yes. It is."

Spike stepped again, once…twice. "It's the grief. Joyce wouldn't want…"

Buffy blinked. "That was you," she said, suddenly making the connection. "You made me think…"

"Had to. You were killin' him." She was within arm's reach now, and the vampire slowly extended his hand, pushing back the hair that curled against her cheek.

"Why would you do that?" Her voice was a blend of incredulity, anger, and, most of all, pain, the words tripping from her tongue as her tears returned.

"'Cause I love you," he murmured, and pulled her into his arms, brushing his lips over the salt that spilled down her cheeks. His gaze flickered to the man on the ground, who watched them in amazement, and his tone was low and angry. "Run, you stupid git."

He didn't need to be told twice, scrambling to his feet to lurch into the darkness. Behind him, the Slayer crumpled against the vampire, and Spike lifted her trembling body, turning away from the rising moon to carry her back into the cave.

*************

When he emerged from the stacks, it took him a moment to realize Spike was no longer in the room, the book he'd been reading shoved dispiritedly aside, the piles around his chair knocked askew. Giles frowned, glancing at the door. It had to have been urgent for the vampire to leave in such a hurry, which meant it had to be about Buffy. The question of whether he should investigate further flitted across his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. Right now, she needed the type of comfort Spike could offer, and, for whatever reason, the Watcher knew that she would get it.

Research so far had been slow, the answers few. Twice now, possibilities had arisen that had excited him, only to be tossed aside when further reading rendered them out of the question, but his greatest surprise had come from Spike. He knew the vampire was intelligent, had suspicions about his education prior to being turned, but his diligence in searching through the texts, the questions he had posed, hinted at an insight Giles suspected ran deeper than anyone had ever realized. Well, except for Buffy, he hastily amended. And perhaps Willow. And Cortina had certainly sung Spike's praises strongly enough. He hesitated, almost physically shaking his head in self-reprimand. Perhaps estrogen was a requirement to appreciate the blond vampire right away.

He was lost in the words before him when he heard the door open and then softly close, the quiet click only momentarily diverting him from his reading. Everything must be better, he thought, and waited for the steps to come join him at the desk, one hand absently pushing his glasses further back onto his nose.

"Rupert…"

Her voice was hauntingly low, an airy melody that never ceased to surprise him, and he felt the familiar tightening across his thighs at the sound of it. Although he'd never been truly fond of his first name, somehow, Cortina's lips almost made it sound sensual, and it was with a slight smile that he turned to look back at her.

"You should be…" The next word was supposed to be "resting," but it got caught in his throat, disappearing as he drank in the sight of her, caught yet again in her web.

Her hair was down, flowing around her bare shoulders in a silken white sheath, forcing the eye to follow it downward, to trace over the exposed ivory flesh. The gown she wore---if it could even be called that---was a gossamer wing that left little to the imagination, her dark nipples shadowed only slightly as they stood erect beneath the translucence, the sharp curve of her hips offering the promise of lush pleasures, while even the pale mound of her pubic hair became a sultry hint behind the diaphanous fabric. The effect was startling…and quite literally took Giles' breath away.

She didn't say a word, merely lifted her arm to hold out her hand to him, standing there waiting, as if there was no doubt in her mind that he would come. The smile that curled her lips when he stood didn't quite meet the pale blue of her eyes, but the Watcher didn't even notice, taking her invitation with care, gently curling his fingers around hers so as not to disturb her bandages, and in silence, was led from the room.

*************

Her bedroom was in near darkness, the only illumination a single candle flickering on the nightstand, and Giles felt himself swallowed up by the closeness of the air, the heat within belying the cold he knew was outside. As he closed the door behind them, he felt Cortina's hands slip around his waist, sliding up the front of his shirt as she pressed herself into his back, deftly beginning to undo the buttons even with the hindrance of her recent wounds. His arousal stiffened, and his own fingers met hers to hasten her movements.

"No," she said, batting him away. "Don't help. I want to do this."

He turned in her embrace then, gazing down at the downcast eyes so intent on their work. With one hand, he pushed back the hair that had tumbled over her shoulder, baring the deceptively fragile-looking flesh, and traced the fine line of her clavicle. "This does not constitute resting," Giles murmured.

"It will when we're done," she teased, glancing up at him through her pale lashes.

He chuckled, and felt her palms meet his chest as she slid the shirt from his torso, suddenly rapt with circling his skin with her own. She seemed to be everywhere, hands dancing…fingers sliding…massaging the muscles of his upper arms…outlining his nipples with a single nail…each touch sending a cascade of tremors through his body, all of them converging on his cock. The moan escaped his throat, and this time he couldn't stop, scooping her face between his hands to tilt her head back, leaning in to brush his lips over hers.

For such a feather touch, the electrical charge that leapt between them was staggering, sucking at both of them to draw them closer, mouths pressing harder as they parted, allowing the other one entrance to the fire within. Giles' eyes fluttered shut, the unceasing sensations of Cortina's fingers combined with the sweet tang of her kiss creating a kaleidoscope behind his lids that seared as well as surged. He wanted to just grab her, to throw her back on the bed and plunge inside---kissing her always seemed to draw out the beast in him---but he knew, could tell from the way she let her hands slide over him, that that wasn't what she wanted. And if nothing else, the thing that got Rupert Giles off harder than anything was giving a woman what she wanted.

She was guiding him backwards, towards the bed, steering him from obstacles in the path without breaking the contact between them. When he felt the edge of the mattress press into his knees, he started to turn, only to be stopped yet again by the white demon as she tore herself away from his lips to stare up at him. Her face was half in shadow, one side brightened by the nearby candlelight, the other veiled in black, and Giles just stood there frozen, mesmerized by the pale blue irises, his very breath hanging on the path of her delicate fingers as they dropped to the waistband of his trousers.

"Cortina…" he murmured, but was silenced from speaking further by the return of her lips to his.

"Sshhhh…" she whispered into his mouth, breath both hot and cold.

It was the only cloud in the pleasure that suffused his body and he felt it flit in and out of his mind as she continued disrobing him. Regardless of the mood---playful, violent, tender---Cortina was a very vocal lover, sometimes chatting, often spurring him on with words either dirty or dainty, always allowing her enjoyment to escape through sounds or screams. For her now to ask him to be quiet, to be so silent herself, meant something…although, with the headiness of his own response to her expert touch, Giles was in no position currently to analyze it.

He gasped as she wrapped her hand around his erection, reminded yet again of the demon strength housed within her frame, sliding up its length in languor before letting her thumb graze over the head, catching the drop of pre-cum before sliding back down. The muscles in his legs quivered, tightening as she pumped him, and it felt distinctly as if the floor was pitching beneath his feet.

Cortina's face was solemn as she separated from him, using one hand to push him gently back onto the bed, freeing his trousers from his ankles as she did so. This was about Rupert…this was for Rupert…but just the sight of him lying sprawled there…one arm behind his head, the other at his side…the long, lean lines of his torso joining into his narrow hips…made her mouth water, to forget her purpose and want to fuck him senseless, to hear him scream her name…

He watched as she pulled the straps from her shoulders, allowing the fragile fabric to fall to the ground, and Giles' eyes darkened to black pinpoints as she stepped out of it, pale flesh gleaming in the dancing orange of the light. Her breathing was labored, breasts rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm, and he found his own lungs straining to work properly, especially when she leaned forward and stretched her body over the length of his. All of a sudden, the slickness of her pussy as it slid over his cock seemed the only thing in the world, and his arms came down, fingers sinking into the curve of her hips, mouth opening to welcome hers.

They were both hungry, tearing into the kiss like it was their last, or their first, and everything slipped away, the two lovers wrapped in the moment of black velvet as their bodies strained to complete each other. As Cortina lifted her pelvis, positioning herself over the tip of his arousal, Giles curled one arm around her waist to hold her closer, forcing her to work for the penetration, tightening his grip as she found him…swallowed him…burying his hardness deep within her until she felt the bones of their hips grinding into each other.

She was the one who regulated their movement, riding up…and down…in…and out…so slowly at first that he thought he'd scream from the intensity…then picking up speed, barely even noticeable…the slickness of her channel squeezing around him, drawing him deeper…and all the while, her lips on his, as if by breaking the kiss…kisses, really…she'd be letting loose some lifeline…and not once did either of them make a sound.

Cortina came first, letting herself go, knowing that he would purposely hold back until he knew she was satisfied, and rode the waves of her orgasm clinging to his shoulders, legs wrapped around his, inner muscles clenching around him as he quickened his thrusts, plunging and driving until his own excitement peaked, his cock shooting in long bursts deep inside her as his body shuddered from ecstasy. Giles buried his face in her neck, using her flesh to muffle his cries, remembering her inexplicable desire for quiet in spite of his own need to scream out, and she smiled, rubbing her cheek against his hair.

"I do adore you, Rupert," she murmured, uncertain if he could actually hear her, but at the moment, not really caring, her need to just say the words stronger than knowing he was aware of them.

As his body slowly stopped tremoring, Giles slid his lips up the side of her neck, meeting her cheek before pulling back to gaze into her pale eyes. "And here I thought I was just your boy toy," he teased. "You couldn't have left me that one little fantasy?"

Cortina laughed, pressing her forehead against his, unwilling to break the contact of their bodies just yet. "I just want you to know how much you mean to me," she said. "You do know that…right?"

He smiled, holding her as he rolled onto his side, letting her settle in the circle of his arms. "It's quite surprising, actually," he commented, brushing back a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "For two people as obsessed with words as we are, we seem to do our best communicating without them."

She couldn't help matching his smile with one of her own. "Is that a yes, then?"

His reply was a gentle kiss.

*************

She sat on the bed, arms hugging her knees to her chest, swaying back and forth as the tears slowly lessened. "What's happening?" Buffy asked, her voice a tremulous whisper. "Why does it feel like I'm falling and falling and everything around me is turning black?"

"That's grief, luv." He sat opposite her, as close as he could while still not touching, eyes fixed on her swollen face.

She lifted her head to stare at him. "No," she said. "It's not. It's something else. And it's scaring me."

"Do you want to talk 'bout what happened out there?"

"Honestly? No. Do I think I should? Probably yeah. But you can ask all the questions you want. I don't think I know any of the answers."

Spike chose his next words carefully. "You…wanted…to kill that bloke."

Her laughter was almost hysterical. "And you know what really bites?" she said. "I can't even lie about it because you'll know." He watched as she rubbed furiously at the dampness of her cheeks. "I don't know why. I just felt…I had to. I needed to. I wanted him dead. And it didn't make a difference to me that he wasn't even a demon. He was just some guy who was wandering around in the desert, although why I have no idea, and I wanted to tear his head off and feed it to Elvis."

This was the time to bring it up. He knew it. He could see what was happening to her, and in a sick way, it explained what was happening to him. But was she ready to hear it? What difference could it possibly make if she understood? But he knew the answer to that, and knew he really didn't have a choice.

"Stop thinking so much," Buffy scolded. "You're giving me a headache."

Slowly, Spike slid over so that he was sitting next to her, taking her nearest hand in his and tracing the lines of her palm. "We need to talk about the cleansing, pet."

"The cleansing?" Her voice was cloudy with confusion. "Why? What does that have to do with anything?"

"'Cause that's when all this started. 'Cause it's not just you." He tilted his head to look up into her bloodshot eyes. "There's stuff goin' on inside me, too. Stuff I wasn't payin' too much attention to at first, but it's snowballing, just like you are. And if we don't suss it out, and suss it out soon, it's goin' to eat us alive. And any wind demon thing is goin' to seem like cake in comparison."

Her face suddenly seemed old, and tired, and scared, and she looked at him with fear. "What is it? What's going on with us?"

"I think…pieces of us got…left in the other," Spike said slowly. "Like, you're not just Buffy anymore, and I'm not just Spike."

He watched as her lips curved into a smile. "Well, duh," she commented. "Welcome to the world of obvious."

"No," he argued. "It's more than that. You don't think I don't know what bloodthirst tastes like? 'Cause that's what it was, luv, whether you want to admit it or not."

She sobered then, and he felt like an ass for having to say it out loud, to make her feel like such a child when they both knew that the feelings were overwhelming to handle. "So…" Buffy started, "you think it's turning me into a demon or something? One day, I'm going to wake up and you and I will be Mr. and Mrs. Bumpy Forehead?"

Spike shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "But something's makin' you want to kill. Just like something's makin' me…" The vampire stopped, unable to find the words that he thought would be able to describe the feelings he'd been experiencing, the unresolved fear that seemed to grip him out of nowhere. He tried again. "Like tonight. When I went to your house. I was…it made me…" Letting her loose, he dropped his head into his hands. "Fuck," he muttered. "And I thought love was hard."

It came off him in waves, and Buffy rested her hand on leg, desperate to help. "You were scared," she said softly.

"Wrong," he said into his hands, and then looked up. "I was fuckin' terrified. So shit-faced scared that my bloody hands were shakin'. And of what? Seein' a dead body?" He snorted. "I used to bathe in blood, walked through fields of corpses, didn't faze me one iota. Now, all of a sudden, I've gone soft, turned into a regular nancy boy 'til I don't even recognize myself anymore." Flecks of gold danced in the depths of blue as he stared at the woman next to him. "And I hate it."

She took a deep breath. "We need to tell Giles."

"I hate it when you're right, too."

Picking up his hand, Buffy laced her fingers through his, pulling him against her in an embrace that was both needing and giving. "You said it this afternoon," she murmured. "And it's true. Whatever happens, we're in this together. You and me. And nothing's going to change that."

Spike lost himself in the golden length of her hair, biting back the tears. There was more she needed to know---so much more---but there would be time enough for that later. Now…it was time for rest.

*************

The library door seemed too loud in the hushed slumber of the caves, and she slipped inside as quickly as she could, leaving it ajar so that her exit could be more silent. She didn't even bother with the light; the book she wanted had stayed in exactly the same place for the last hundred years, its placement etched in her memory like a recurring nightmare, and Cortina knew she could find it with her eyes closed and both hands tied behind her back. Though she knew they would have questions in the morning, and undoubtedly some rather strong reactions, she also knew that this would give them some answers, and in light of what she was about to do, that was the least she could offer them…even if it didn't do them any good.

It was there. A single thin volume, bound in black, no title on its spine. They would never have found it. It was designed specifically to be overlooked, for its oblations to remain hidden from casual eyes, and no amount of searching by Giles, or Willow, or Buffy would've brought it to light.

Sliding it from the shelf, decades of dust settled around her, and Cortina sneezed, covering her mouth and nose in an attempt to stifle the noise. She didn't want to wake them; they would never understand. She could only hope that this might ease some of their confusion.

She returned to the desk, glancing around at the piles of books already there. It had to look casual, like one of them had already pulled it out, yet she had to place it so that it would be easily and quickly found and, more importantly, read. She decided on a stack in the center, easing the top tome aside to rest the black book underneath it, replacing the first slightly askew so that it looked more disorderly before stepping back to examine her handiwork. There, she thought. That'll work, and quickly turned around to leave the room.

Even without the library light on, she saw him in the doorway, clad only in his trousers, chest bare as he leaned against the door jamb. The illumination from the hall behind him did nothing to reveal his face, but she didn't need it. Cortina could feel his blue eyes boring into her.

"What are you doing?" Giles asked, his voice a mere murmur.

"I couldn't sleep," she replied, affecting a bright smile. "Thought I might do some reading." She edged herself sideways, trying to hide the desk behind her.

"You're a terrible liar." There was no mistaking the edge in his voice. "So I'm going to ask you again, and this time, I'd appreciate the truth. What are you doing?"

Her smile vanished. "Why couldn't you have stayed asleep?" she said, stepping forward, closing the distance between them. "This would've been so much simpler if you'd just stayed asleep."

"That sounds strangely like good bye," Giles said. "In fact, this whole night…that's what you've been doing ever since we left Sunnydale. Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I don't notice these things? If Quentin Travers threatened you in some way, we'll deal with it. It doesn't give you carte blanche to just run away."

"You can't stop me." There was no point in denying it; he was right.

"I hate to think I'd have to."

"You don't understand---."

"Because you haven't given me a chance!" His frustration erupted and he straightened, gripping her shoulders, his knuckles white. "I bloody well love you, Cortina. I refuse to allow you to walk out of my life just as casually as you walked into it."

If he hadn't said the words, she could've done it. She'd been ready, prepared to leave without getting a proper farewell, knowing that facing them would've just made it harder. It would've been like pretending it was all just one great game, no feelings getting hurt---well, not too hurt anyway---but that wasn't going to be possible now. Not after hearing it. And now it was going to hurt even more…for all of them…