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

~Chapter Four: Confrontations~

She shook her head vigorously, shoving the book away. "It's not true. There has to be something you missed."

"I have examined it several times, Buffy," Giles insisted gently. "From what you have told me, it appears this Spike is not who you think he is. And according to that prophecy, he has come to Sunnydale for the sole purpose of killing you."

Buffy closed her eyes tightly, commanding herself to wake up from this nightmare. She couldn't believe that Spike would want to kill her...not after what had happened. How could he turn out to be her enemy now?

"Buffy?"

Her eyes snapped open. What if everything that had happened was part of it? The prophecy said she would fall in love with him. It made sense that he would seduce her in order for that to happen. She hardly knew him in the first place. She had no idea what he was capable of, or what lengths he would go to in order to fulfill the prophecy.

God, she was so stupid! How could she let her guard down like that? How could she allow him to get that close?

"Why didn't I know it, Giles?" she asked through clenched teeth. "How could I not sense what he was?"

Giles took a seat beside her again. He picked up the book and reread the prophecy, trying to make sense of the obscure message. "As it is written, so shall it be." He turned to look at her and regarded her with compassion. "It was...inevitable. The prophecy states that you wouldn't recognize him until it was too late. You were to fall in love with him and then discover what he came here to do."

"And then I'm supposed to die," Buffy snapped. She sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. It's just...I thought being the Slayer meant being ahead of all this. Aren't I supposed to know about this stuff in advance? Shouldn't there have been a memo or something?"

He chuckled and canted his head at her. "It would certainly help right about now, wouldn't it?"

She nodded. "Guess it's too late now."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "We'll find a way to avert it, Buffy."

She frowned. "Can we do that? I mean, can we stop a prophecy from coming true? Aren't they supposed to be like the future?"

"In a way," he replied carefully. "They are warnings, telling us of what is to be if we can find no way to prevent it. Not all prophecies come to pass."

Heartened slightly, Buffy gave him a small smile. "Thanks, Giles. You did a nice job being Comfort Guy." She got up from the couch and stretched. It had been a long night. She was mentally and physically exhausted, in grave need of a full night of rest, and scared to death that they wouldn't be able to find a loophole to this prophecy.

"Are you going to notify Willow and Xander, or shall I?" Giles asked her.

"I hadn't even thought about that," Buffy mumbled. "I guess it would be better coming from me, huh? Maybe I'll tell them in the morning." She walked to the door, stopping as Giles called her name.

"I hope you're going home to get some rest," he said, his voice more of a command than a request.

She gave him a slightly embarrassed grin. "Actually...I was going to see if I could find Spike." Seeing the disapproval on his face she added quickly, "It's not what you think. I need to find out what he's supposed to do that will make this prophecy come true. The more I know, the easier it'll be for us to stop it, right? Well, the best way to get information is to go to the source, and the source is Spike."

Giles nodded slowly, still unsure whether her decision was wise. "Very true. Under normal circumstances I would be most encouraging of your initiative. However, these are not normal circumstances." He paused and looked at her, taking in the haggard expression on her face and the weary look in her eyes. "Look at you, Buffy. You're exhausted. I highly doubt Spike will be willing to tell you anything without a fight, and you're in no sort of state to be fighting."

"I can fight just fine," Buffy huffed. "Besides, I've got the whole anger thing going for me. Added fuel to my fire."

He wasn't appeased. He came off the couch and headed towards her, a stern look of resolve on his face. "Buffy, the wound in your shoulder needs time to heal, and your body needs sleep to replenish its strength."

"But I got some sleep after..." She trailed off as heat filled her cheeks. Her eyes dropped to the floor and she shuffled her boots on the carpet nervously.

He cleared his throat, blocking out that mental image, and continued. "There's no need to rush into anything yet. Get home and rest up. Tomorrow morning we'll begin work on researching this prophecy. Then you can locate Spike and beat out any useful information he may be withholding from you."

Placated and extremely tired, Buffy nodded. She thanked Giles for understanding and left.

Her walk home was full of remorse and tears. She realized numbly that she hadn't cried since she'd found out what Spike had been sent here to do. She commended her strong self-control and willed herself to stop crying when she reached her house. The last thing she needed right now was for her mother to go all maternal on her.

Luckily when she arrived home, Joyce had already gone to bed. She had left Buffy a note that told her dinner was in the freezer and asked for her to please remember to call when she wouldn't be home to eat. Buffy smiled at the thought of calling her mother from Spike's. ("Hi, Mom. I'm at this guy Spike's crypt. No, I won't be home for dinner. I love you, too. Bye.")

She heated the plate of food and sat at the island, distractedly spooning it into her mouth despite the absence of hunger. She barely paid attention to what she was doing, her mind clouded with confusion and hurt.
Afterward she stumbled up the stairs and into her room, collapsing on the bed. Her body was drenched in sweat, but she was shivering and pulled her blanket up to her chin. She closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come.

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

He had been hunting all night. Blood had dried on the corners of his mouth and felt thick on his tongue. Yet he could still taste her. Her flavor lingered in his mouth, clinging desperately to it as if its sole purpose was to drive him mad. And it was certainly doing a damn fine job of that.

Dawn was fast approaching, the rays of the sun beginning to turn the sky stunning shades of orange, purple, and pink. Spike quickened his pace, afraid to be caught outside when the sun rose. He passed by her street and gave it a quick glance, wondering absently if she was safely tucked away in her warm, safe bed. He moved on, ducking into the shadows for cover as the sun peeked shyly over the horizon. He stopped under the sheltering branches of an oak tree and watched the sun spill over the ground.

Cursing himself for getting so drunk he had passed out, Spike made a run for it, wincing as he felt sunlight touch his arm. He reached the cemetery and again stopped in the shade, slapping at his arm to put out the tiny flame. Then he was off again, running at break-neck speed. His crypt came into sight and he flew to it, slamming his body into the heavy door twice before it banged open. He dove inside and kicked the door shut, sprawling on the cold floor. Welcoming blackness engulfed him and he laid still, his black leather duster smoldering silently.

An hour later he awoke to a sharp pain in his head. He rolled over and pressed a hand to his forehead, groaning as the pain worsened. "Bloody hell," he mumbled, "I think I'm sobering up."

With great effort, he pushed himself to his feet and teetered precariously. Regaining his balance, he staggered to the armchair and plopped down onto it heavily. He searched underneath the cushion for the remote and clicked on the TV, switching to one of his favorite soaps. The picture came in black and white with a terribly fuzzy reception, but Spike was too hammered and distracted to take much notice. He stared blankly at the set, the Slayer's face floating in front of him.

She was all around him. Everywhere he turned, she was there. She smiled invitingly at him in his mind's eye, but he could never reach out to her before the vision faded. Her voice whispered inside his head, drowning out everything else so that all he could hear was her. All he could see was her. All he *wanted* was her.

He shifted uneasily as he sensed another presence in the room. Without turning around he knew who was there.

"Have I interrupted something?" the voice asked him pleasantly.

Spike shook his head, his eyes still firmly fixed on the television. He waited silently, tensing as he felt the being move beside the armchair. He still did not look up.

"The Young and the Restless," commented the creature, "that's one of my favorites." It moved forward a bit, snatching the remote from Spike's hand and clicked off the set. Clucking its tongue, the creature admonished softly, "Television can be very distracting, son. I hope you're not allowing it to interfere with your work."

Shivering at the word "son," Spike shook his head again. Agitation welled rapidly inside him.

"Good." The being stepped directly in front of him, drawing Spike's eyes to its face. Slitted yellow eyes peered back at him from a lumpy face that could only belong to a vampire. Baring its pointed fangs in the semblance of a smile, the demon continued, "I've come for a status report. You haven't tried to contact me since you arrived. I was beginning to worry."

Spike snorted. "Been busy. What can I say? Sunnyhell's got a bit more to offer than meets the eye."

Waving a dismissive hand, the vampire said impatiently, "Your report, Spike? How has the plan been proceeding?"

Unsure exactly how to answer that, Spike paused and shrugged. Nonchalantly he said, "Well, according to your soddin' prophecy, the bint shouldn't have a clue."

"Prophecies are tricky things," the vampire replied, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at his childe. "That is why we must take extra caution. We must be certain she does not know."

"You think I'd be here if she did?" Spike asked incredulously. "Bloody bitch would've staked me in two seconds if she'd found out."

Chuckling at that, the elder vampire relaxed and said, "Good. Let us keep it that way." He turned to leave but spun on his heel and asked curiously, "Did she prove a match for you?"

Puffing out his chest, Spike scoffed. "Soddin' Slayer bout passed out in me chair. Didn't put up much of a fight either."

"That isn't *exactly* what I meant," the elder said with a smirk.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Right...*that*." He contemplated this for a second, digging through the budding warm fuzzies to find a hateful emotion he could share with his sire. "She was...wait just a bloody minute! That's none of your goddamn business!"

His sire became serious again, staring at him resolutely with glowing yellow eyes. "I hope I needn't remind you of the dangers in mixing pleasure and business. You've already cost me precious time dallying with the Slayer. Unfortunately, you're the best I've got. Make me proud, son." He grinned wickedly, knowing full well how much his childe hated being called "son," and left the crypt.

Spike glowered at the door, irate at the audacity of his sire. "Who the bloody hell does he think he is anyway?" he grumbled, still glaring daggers at the door. "This is *my* bloody house. What gives him the right to traipse in here like he owns the place? Stupid git."

He gave the door one final withering look before turning back to the black screen of the television. He clicked it on, settling more snugly into the chair and throwing his left leg over the armrest lazily. The Young and the Restless was over, he noticed with annoyance. A show he had never seen before had taken its place. He shrugged and tossed the remote on the floor, content to be simply alone watching his telly. At least his sire hadn't interrupted Passions. That probably would've gotten the old vampire killed.

For a total of ten minutes he sat in silence, watching the images on the screen go through the typical drama he expected daily. The anger had dissipated but was quick to return as a loud banging issued from his door. He growled furiously and stomped over to it, flinging it open and momentarily forgetting the sun. As light flooded into his crypt, he yelped and jumped behind the door, slamming it closed just as Buffy stepped inside.

"So you really do live here," she said in disgust as she looked around. The place looked worse than it had that night he'd brought her here. Dust covered everything, and she wondered how he was able to breathe without gagging. Then she remembered he *didn't* breathe.

"Yeah," he replied with a shrug, "home sweet home." He studied her curiously. He hadn't expected to see her again, although he couldn't honestly say he wasn't thrilled she'd stopped by. Those damn fuzzy feelings were fluttering around in his chest like bleeding butterflies-- very uncharacteristic of the Big Bad. He hoped he was coming down with something.

"It must be nice for you," she commented softly. Her eyes swung to his, piercing them as she accused loudly, "Then again, vampires don't need much to be comfortable."

His jaw dropped and words failed him.

She grinned smugly. "Yeah, that's right. A vampire. You've got all the telltale signs: cold skin, no heartbeat, no need for oxygen, or comfort for that matter. And living in a crypt in the middle of a cemetery?" She looked at him as if he'd just told her he was a purple elephant with polka- dotted wings. "Who in their right mind would believe all that crap? I mean, you must think I'm really stupid or something." She flashed him another grin. "Guess I showed you."

It took him a second to absorb all she'd said. Bleedin' Christ, now who's the stupid git? Why the hell did he think even for a *second* that she wouldn't figure it out? She was the goddamn Slayer for crying out loud! Wasn't it her job to destroy evil? Just because a prophecy said she wouldn't know it didn't actually mean she couldn't figure it out. Now what was he supposed to do?

He reacted out of instinct, the bones in his face slanting so that his demon form shifted into place. Anger spurred him and he lunged for her, catching her about the waist and knocking her to the floor with the weight of his body. He landed on top of her, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. He gave her an evil grin, licking his lips as she thrashed about beneath him. The Big Bad was back. No more fluffy bunny feelings for *this* vamp. Prophecy be damned; she was too close to knowing everything. Hell, she could *already* know everything.

"I could suck you dry right now, Slayer," he hissed. "'S what we vampires do, you know."

She ceased her struggling and her eyes grew wide. "How do you know I'm the Slayer?" she asked fearfully. His knowledge of her destiny was unnerving, and she wondered how much more he knew about her that he wasn't telling. She shivered at the thought.

He chuckled. "Got all the telltale signs, ducks: incredible strength and stamina, plus all that staking I've seen you do. Normal girls don't carry sharp, wooden objects with them when they walk alone in cemeteries at night. They carry guns and things. Stakes have been out for centuries, luv. 'Cept to your kind, o' course."

He was playing games again, she realized with agitation. Great. This was just what she needed. Gritting her teeth, Buffy said slowly, "Get off me."

Spike grinned wickedly. "Don't seem to remember you complaining 'bout it yesterday."

She bucked unexpectedly, throwing him off balance just enough so he let go of her wrists. She slammed her fist into his face, sending him sprawling backward on the floor. As she got to her feet, his hand snaked around her ankle and pulled. She hopped on one foot for a few seconds, trying to regain balance. His hand slithered further up to her calf, lightly stroking it.

She squealed in surprise and fell to the ground beside him, grunting in pain as her elbow smacked against the hard floor. With a grimace of pain, she sat up, rubbing her elbow and throwing him a murderous glance before concentrating on the purplish bruise appearing on her skin.

Spike too pulled himself into a sitting position, watching her with amusement. The demon retreated for the moment, his anger sated by the humorous expression of pain on her face. She looked like a tiny child that had just scraped her knee and was searching for her mother.

Buffy sensed him watching her and turned her gaze to him. "What?" she asked indignantly. "Stop staring at me like that."

"Can't help it, luv. You look cute when you're in pain." He flashed her a charming smile, his azure eyes sparkling with mirth. All recent thoughts of killing her flew out the window. To hell with his sire. He had more appealing ideas taking root in his head. He could kill her later.

She rolled her eyes at him, attempting to cover up the flush his words had caused. "Let's skip the chitchat, okay? I came here for a reason, and I'm not leaving until I find out what I need to know. Got it?"

"Sure you came here looking for information, pet?" he asked, his eyes on her mouth. "We don't get along so well with the talking. But there is that one thing we do *quite* well together."

She felt a familiar heat flow through her and struggled to ignore it. "Just tell me what I want to know, and I won't stake you. How's that for a deal?"

He inched closer to her, his eyes flickering up to meet hers. "I like my idea better."

Buffy raised a hand and pushed against his chest. "Spike, this isn't negotiable. Don't think you can just squirm your way out of it with a kiss. It'll take more than that to shut me up."

He wrapped his fingers around hers, his gaze still fixed on her eyes. "I bloody well hope so, Slayer," he said huskily and dove in to kiss her.

She was expecting this but her reflexes were still too slow to stop it. As her lips parted, an image of the prophecy flashed across her memory. She wrenched away and scowled at him.

Spike blinked in confusion. What was she playing at? He knew for a fact she wanted him. He could still hear her heartbeat hammering in her chest; could still smell the blood rapidly flowing through her veins. Setting his jaw in determination, he leaned into her again.

"What don't you understand about no?" Buffy snapped, backing away from him.

Spike was incredulous. She was really going to deny him! He could hear the humming of her body singing from his touch, and she was going to ignore it just to spite him. He eyed her with a mixture of annoyance and pride. She was strong-willed, this one. And she hadn't been lying when she said a kiss wouldn't make her succumb to him. He smiled suddenly. "All right then, pet. What is it you want to know?"

Skeptically she eyed him, debating whether he was being genuine or simply setting her up for a good laugh. With a shrug she decided she couldn't risk not trusting him. If she passed up this opportunity, she might never know the details of the prophecy. He might not tell her right away but she was confident that eventually he wouldn't be able to resist Mr. Pointy. She frowned as the thought of staking him sent an unpleasant splinter through her heart. She pushed the feeling away, not wanting Spike to change his mind.

"There's a prophecy that tells of the seasons changing and a vampire who makes the Slayer fall in love. It says that she won't recognize what he is until it's too late. She will already be in love with him." She blushed a little at that. As the last of the prophecy came to mind, she swallowed hard and the color drained from her face. "She won't be able to kill him and because of this, chaos will reign on the earth. Before long the Slayer will die and the demons will rule the earth again."

Her voice had become a whisper at the last part, and her eyes had taken on a faraway look. It was almost as if she longed for it to happen but at the same time feared it. She blinked and the trance was gone. "Know anything about it, Spike?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Three unmixing thoughts were running through the vampire's head, making it difficult for him to answer her. First was the shock and the accompanying fear that came with her knowledge of the prophecy. (That definitely had the makings for his dusty end.) Second was the strange fluttery butterfly feeling at the blush in her cheeks. (So, the prophecy wasn't completely rubbish after all. She really was in love with him.) Lastly came the odd urge to tell her everything. This one he couldn't understand at all. *She* was in love with *him*, not the other way around. He wasn't even sure he *could* fall in love with her. The whole soulless demon thing had a tendency to get in the way of that. But all those fluffy feelings for her had to mean *something*.

Without realizing it, Spike opened his mouth and said quietly, "I'll tell you, Slayer."

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

TBC.....

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

~Chapter Five: Truth and Love~

Buffy's jaw dropped a little. She had been anticipating more of a struggle from the blonde vampire. He had seemed quite reluctant at first to tell her *anything*. Now all of a sudden, he was offering her a step-by- step instruction manual? It didn't seem right. Still, she thought with a proud little smile, she *did* have amazing powers of persuasion. That wonderful Slayer package was equipped with all sorts of nifty things!

Spike was staring at the floor, oblivious to her presence beside him. "The Master sent me here to watch you," he said quietly.

"The Master?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah. Bit like a king I guess," Spike explained. "Oldest of the vampires and sire of yours truly. He's the brains in this outfit. Bloody tired of you buggering up his plans. Wanted you done with right quick, he did."

"What stopped him from killing me himself?"

Spike shrugged and reached across her to where his duster lay draped over his favorite armchair. He dug through the pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. As he slapped it a few times on his open palm, he said, "Decided on a more cryptic kind of death for you after he found that prophecy. Didn't want you to figure it out too soon."

Buffy grinned at him. "Guess he didn't count on you."

The vampire shrugged again. "Don't much think it'll matter. Prophecy's already begun coming true."

"What do you mean it's already begun coming true?"

He glanced at her briefly and pulled out a cigarette. "You're already in love with me."

He had said it with such certainty that all Buffy could do was sit and watch him inhale the cigarette, paralyzed with fear. Her body began to shake, as much with fear as with anger. In an instant she was on him. She knocked him back on the floor, smacking his head hard on the ground. The cigarette fell from his fingers and smoldered dimly beside them. She sat on his stomach, squeezing his ribs tightly with her thighs and using her hands to pin his wrists on either side of his head.

"I am *not* in love with you!" she screamed in his face.

Spike couldn't help but chuckle. She *really* didn't understand how prophecies worked, and she was in for a rude awakening.

Buffy scowled at him, her eyes blazing green and gold fire. "What's so funny?"

"You are, pet," Spike replied with a lopsided grin. He shook his head, marveling at her naiveté. "You don't understand, do you?"

"Understand what?" Buffy snapped. "Spare me the cryptic, okay, Spike? I've had about as much of it as I can take."

"'S what prophecies are, luv. Can't expect them to just come out and tell you how it all works. 'S why you're the Slayer. Your job is to figure out how to stop them." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Didn't think they'd make it easy for you, did you?"

Her patience was waning thin. She gave his ribs a hard squeeze and glowered down at him. "I think you'd better explain how this prophecy is supposed to work, and I think you'd better explain it fast."

"Wanna give me a bit of air?" he wheezed.

She arched a brow at him in doubt but loosened her vice-like grip on his ribs anyway.

He took in a deep, unneeded breath. "Right then. You wanna learn how this prophecy works, and you wanna learn quick. Here goes then: you fall in love with me and everything else-- all your little Slayer duties, all your little Scooby friends, *everything* else--just falls away. All you can see is me. While you're preoccupied, the uglies of Sunnyhell come out to play. They feed on the innocent, knowing that you're too wrapped up in me to bother with the likes of them. They gather all their friends and family, ready for a party. Soon your poor town will be overrun with demons. That's where the Master comes in. He finds you, he kills you, and the world belongs to the big nasties again. No more Slayer, no more good versus evil. We win...end of story."

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

The Master opened his eyes slowly and dropped his hands to his sides. The eerie vibrations around him ceased, and a heavy silence settled in its place. He stared ahead for several seconds, the malicious twist of a smile curving his lips. He turned to face the small gathering of vampires behind him, his eyes slowly melting from black to yellow as the effects of the spell faded.

"It has begun," he informed them. "Spike has learned much more than I had expected. He is clever, my son." A touch of pride appeared in his voice. "He has figured out much of the prophecy and has shared that knowledge with the Slayer."

Gasps of astonishment and snarls of disapproval stopped him mid- speech. The gathering of vampires was not pleased to hear that its mortal enemy knew of the plan.

The Master continued, quelling their fears with the assurance of his voice. "Now comes the fun, my children. She has fallen in love with my Spike, as preordained by the prophecy. Before long she will lose sight of her goals. All that will matter to her will be him. When her duties slip, we will make our move. We will rule Sunnydale and soon spread outward, wiping out the race of man like a plague. Our day is soon at hand."

"But she knows, Master," one vampire called out. "How will your plan work if she knows everything? Surely she won't allow it to happen."

"Prophecies are tricky things," the Master said, quoting his previous statement to Spike. "Have some faith, my childe. I can assure you that this is not the end. The Slayer is strong, yes, but love is stronger. She loves more deeply than any human I have seen in all my long years. It's going to get her into trouble some day." He grinned, the points of his teeth glinting in the glow of the candles around him.

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

"How do I stop it?" Buffy asked, her mouth set in a grim line.

Spike snorted. "Damned if I know."

Her hands left his wrists and gripped his shoulders firmly. She shook him hard, banging his head against the ground a few times. "How do I stop it, Spike?" she asked again.

"Bloody hell!" Spike growled, pushing at her uselessly. "This the thanks I get, Slayer? I give you all that information and you just slap me around for more? How do you like that? Not even a thank you."

"Tell me how to stop it or you'll be able to fit in an ashtray," she warned.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're bluffing."

Reaching into her waistband, Buffy pulled out her stake. She laid the tip against his chest and grinned wickedly. "Try me."

Spike lifted his hands in resignation. He watched her warily place the stake back where it belonged and then cried, "Bugger this!"

Buffy blinked and felt the air leave her body. She gasped for breath and found her air supply was being cut off. Spike had somehow managed to flip them over and was now lying half across her stomach, one hand clutching her throat.

"See what happens when you mess with the Big Bad?" Spike taunted as he leered at her.

She struggled to remain calm, knowing that he would let her up if she didn't fight. Instead, she glared daggers at him, wishing she had dusted him when she'd had the chance.

Apparently, he was having too much fun. His grip on her throat loosened a bit, but his hand didn't move away. He continued to sneer at her, proud that he'd gained the upper hand.

"What was it you wanted to know, pet?" he asked, his eyes wide and innocent.

"Stop," Buffy croaked.

"Stop what?"

She rolled her eyes. He was enjoying this way too much. "Prophecy," she managed to squeak.

"Yeah, that's it." He thought for a few moments before grinning down at her again. "Don't know a thing."

Buffy let out a strangled cry and thrashed back and forth underneath him. She succeeded in working one of her arms free and used her superior strength to push him off of her. She quickly rolled away, pulling her stake out and gripping it tightly in her hand. As she got to her feet and whipped around to face him, she saw him leaning against the wall, an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips. He moved about as quick as she did, she noted.

"Don't you know those things are bad for your health?" she asked with a sigh, relaxing her grip and walking towards him.

Spike chuckled and lit the cigarette. "Been dead for a couple hundred years, luv. Not much need for shiny lungs."

She considered this with a nod. "Look, I know you can help me. I need to know how to stop this prophecy from coming true."

He stared blankly at her. "And what? I'm supposed to help you out of the goodness of my heart? Does the word 'vampire' mean anything to you? I am evil! I'm a big, evil, soulless thing! What don't you get 'bout that?"

Buffy giggled. "You? Evil? I'm sorry, Spike, but lurking in dark corners and spying on me doesn't exactly qualify as evil. Plus, if you're so big and bad, why did you tell me about the prophecy?"

Spike opened his mouth to retaliate but found that he had nothing to say. The bird was right. Why the hell had he told her all that? And why the hell didn't he want to kill her? His vampiric nature should be kicking in about now...

She moved closer, tucking the stake away. Her eyes met his, and sparks of electricity shot between them. Her hand rose and pushed gently against his chest, backing him fully against the wall. She smiled and her eyes drifted down to his mouth. She leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

Spike groaned and grasped her hips, pulling her against his body quickly. This was *exactly* why he didn't want to kill her.

He felt the heat radiating from her body slowly begin to spread throughout his limbs. He reveled in the feel of her in his arms, completely forgetting his recent predicament. He liked how she could make him forget, how she made everything else fall away until it was just the two of them.

Buffy pulled away slightly, tipping her head back to look him in the eyes. "Spike?"

She uttered his name like a feathery caress, and his eyes opened languidly to gaze into her soft hazel eyes. He smiled slowly, a genuine smile filled with happiness and contentment.

"Spike, do you know how to stop it?" Buffy prodded softly, tracing the outline of his chest with her fingertip. She felt guilty prying for information like this, but she had to know. Honestly, she didn't care at the moment what his answer was; she just needed to know.

He stared into her eyes. They were glazed with passion, much like his own, and shimmered with her love. He felt it pouring out of her, and he drank it in greedily, savoring the sweet nectar. "Don't know, Buffy," he told her and brushed the hair away from her face. "Don't much care right now."

Buffy nodded lamely, her tongue flicking out to swipe across her suddenly dry lips. Her finger trailed slowly down from his chest to the hem of his shirt. She grasped it tightly and yanked it over his head with one hand, the other snaking up his stomach to trace the hard muscles of his abdomen. She peered up at him through her lashes, and he captured her mouth in a thoroughly claiming kiss that left her breathless and yearning for more.

Spike leaned back a bit, slowly allowing his mouth to leave hers. He smiled at her tiny whimper of protest and cupped her cheek gently. "There's more to tell, luv."

She smiled impishly and cocked her head to the side. "How long will it take?"

Spike grinned and slid his hand to the back of her head. "Not long, pet. Think we'd have time for a little rough and tumble?"

Buffy frowned slightly. "You want to patrol *now*?"

Chuckling, Spike pressed his lips to hers. His right hand at the back of her head tangled in her hair, forcing her mouth to be helplessly crushed by his. His other hand moved from her hip to the small of her back, bringing her more fully against his body. When he finally pulled back, he was breathing hard, something he only did when she was in his embrace.

Buffy opened her eyes gradually and blinked several times. She tilted her head back and locked eyes with him, pouting prettily. "You never answered my question," she said playfully.

"Trollop," he returned, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She didn't want to ruin the moment by speaking, but she wasn't sure how much time she'd have later. If he was right then the prophecy had already begun, and it wouldn't be long before all hell broke loose in Sunnydale. She laid her head on his chest and asked softly, "What else do you have to tell me?"

"The knife," Spike replied gravely, the playfulness in his tone lost.

Buffy pulled away, staring up at him in distress. She'd seen the look in his eyes that night. Like he'd seen the knife before. Until now, she'd completely forgotten about it. Now that he'd brought it up, she found herself wondering if he'd somehow been involved in the attack on her.

"I didn't have anything to do with it," he assured her as if reading her mind. "But I have seen that knife before." He sighed and looked away, not wanting to see the accusing glint in her eyes. "It was mine."

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

Giles flipped the cover of the musty book closed, sighing heavily. He tossed it carelessly across the table into the accumulating pile he and the Scoobies had searched through. He was beginning to lose heart. They had been searching all day and had found practically nothing on Spike or anything remotely related to the prophecy. He pulled out a cloth and began cleaning his glasses, wondering if Buffy was having any luck interrogating the elusive vampire.

Willow plopped down onto a seat beside him. She forced a tired smile and reported, "So far there's been nothing useful on the net. There were a couple sites that talked about some Master guy who sired Spike but..."

"Master?" Giles asked. He placed his glasses back on his nose and cocked his head. "I've heard that before."

"Yeah, supposedly he's this big...uh...master vampire," Willow offered lamely. "He's the oldest of their kind, sort of like their leader."

Giles stood, nodding his head and mumbling, "Yes, yes, I'm *certain* I've heard that somewhere." He wandered off into the book stacks, leaving a confused Willow sitting alone at the table.

Xander ambled toward her, a jelly doughnut in his mouth and a book in his hand. He set the book in front of her and pointed to a passage.

Willow glanced down to where he indicated and began to read. The passage he'd found was about the dagger Buffy had described to Giles. It told how the knife was created, hand carved by the Master himself out of the bones of a tiny village girl named Samona. She was the first Slayer he had killed. He went on to kill three more, the last with his childe.

Willow's eyes rounded. His childe. Spike! She flipped the page quickly and peered closely at the drawing that covered the entire backside. It was a sketch of two identical daggers, one belonging to the Master and the other to Spike, both carved out of the bones of Slayers. They were created specifically to symbolize the greatest of warriors, those few who had the strength and cunning to kill the Slayers. The knives were thereafter only used to kill the chosen girl.

"Judging by the intense bug-look on your face, I'm gonna say that's pretty important," Xander said between bites.

"Giles!" Willow called, ignoring him. "I think we've found something!"

The Watcher poked his head out from behind the book stacks. "You're certain?" he asked skeptically, not willing to be lead on another wild goose chase.

Willow stared down at the drawing again. "Oh yeah."

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

"Yours?" Buffy echoed, fear and anger hitching her voice up an octave.

Spike winced inwardly at her tone. He knew revealing everything to her wouldn't be easy. Strangely, the words just kept tumbling out of his mouth. "Yeah, mine. Given to me as a present after me first kill. Highly prized by our kind. Symbols of power they are. Only created for the greatest of warriors. To my knowledge, there are only two of them in the entire world. Mine and..."

"The Master's," Buffy finished for him.

He nodded and swallowed hard. "Last time I saw that knife was round 'bout the time you were called."

"You killed a Slayer with it," Buffy said numbly. Pain welled up in her chest to mix with the fear and anger already residing there. She clenched her hands into fists and felt tears trickle down her cheeks. Her lungs burned as she struggled to breathe.

Spike reached out a hand to her, but she jerked away. He let his arm hang in the air for a second, then dropped it to his side. He felt an uncomfortable constricting in his chest. "Buffy," he whispered, "'M sorry, luv. I never wanted to hurt you."

"You never wanted to hurt me?" she screeched furiously. "Your *job* was to hurt me, Spike!"

He winced as her words cut into him like a knife slicing through bone. Tears began spilling down his cheeks. "Buffy, I can't do it anymore. I can't."

Her anger ebbed, dulled by the pain in his voice and the tears glistening on his face. She hated this, hated loving him. She wanted to hate him for what he'd done, for what he was sent here to finish. But she couldn't. Something about him had changed. The way he looked at her now was different.

She stepped closer, canting her head and studying him curiously. Reaching out a hand, she cupped his cheek and ran her thumb across the indent of his cheekbone. Salty tears clung to her finger, wet and cold.

Spike leaned into her hand, closing his eyes as comfort flowed through him. He kissed her palm and peeked down at her shyly. Something inside his chest fluttered as he caught her smile. "Buffy, there's something else I need to tell you."

"Shhh," she soothed, pressing her index finger over his lips. "I understand why you did what you did. I know you didn't mean to hurt me." She rose up on tiptoes and placed a tender kiss on his mouth. "I love you, Spike," she whispered.

"I love you," he replied.

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

Willow pointed to the sketch of the daggers. "That's the nasty little thing that dislocated poor Buffy's shoulder."

Giles took the book, examining the drawing carefully. The knife appeared to be the exact one Buffy had described. "Strange markings, ivory hilt..."

"Actually, the handle's carved out of bone," Willow corrected.

"Yep, the shiny white bones of a Slayer, to be exact," Xander put in.

"This was...a trophy...of some kind?" Giles asked.

"Like the prize in the bottom of a Cracker Jack box," Xander supplied.

Willow shot him a look and turned back to Giles. "It was created by the Master himself from the bones of the first Slayer he ever killed." She hesitated and gave him a worried look. "The knife has only been used to kill Slayers."

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

TBC....

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