¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Look into my eyes

You will see

What you mean to me

Search your heart

Search your soul

And when you find me there

You’ll search no more

Don’t tell me

It’s not worth trying for

You can’t tell me

It’s not worth dying for

You know it’s true

Everything I do

I do it for you

-Bryan Adams, Everything I Do-

¤

Lesson the Twenty-Sixth

¤

Buffy was shown through half the castle before she arrived at the princess’ private wing. She was brought into a large parlor; candles lit everywhere and a fire burning in the fireplace, in front of which sat Clara. She nodded to Ophelia, who had led the way for the Slayer, and the maid curtseyed and left. Clara gestured for Buffy to approach and have a seat in the armchair placed before her own.

The interior all went in dark blue, dark wood and silver for the furniture, and the entire frame of the fireplace. It was as awe-evoking as the rest of the unbelievable structure, and every detail of even the most lonesome doorpost were delicately crafted.

Buffy sat down before the princess with three hours of sleep in her head, and she was grateful for them. Clara sat back, watching the Slayer’s face intently for a long while. Buffy met her gaze with the questions she had beckoning for attention.

“Didn’t think you needed warmth,” she finally broke the silence. “Didn’t think you needed light,” she added and Clara smiled.

“It is a matter of... enjoying it,” she replied. “Darkness is welcomed company, but those of us who have once seen the light of the sun... the gleam of the moon... would miss it far too greatly if we lived in constant black. It is funny that our society has sought it fit to adopt yet another invention of man,” she finished and Buffy cocked an eyebrow.

“Right. And chairs, sofas, beds and the thousand other human things you have in this place... doesn’t count?” she wondered sarcastically.

“The bed was actually invented by a demon,” Clara commented, then smiled. “But why quarrel over petty things of no consequence, hmh? I believe you to have more important queries. Don’t you?”

Buffy swallowed before she nodded.

“Why am I here?” she asked.

“To prevent war. I was under the assumption that you knew,” Clara replied.

“No,” Buffy stated. “The book said that the dragon was the trigger. The book...”

“Is it my fault if your translation was false?” the princess interrupted, shaking her head. “I think not. You were brought here for negotiations, as is fitting.”

“I can’t speak on behalf of the entire human race!” Buffy exclaimed and Clara smiled a chilled smile.

“The war is not declared against the human race, it is declared against the slayer race,” she said and Buffy felt a heavy clump of tightening nerves land in the middle of her stomach.

“There is still so much that you do not understand,” Clara said. “But you will. I shall allow you free access to any part of my castle you should wish, though there are places in it you are not safe and so I should advice you to never walk alone.”

Ophelia came and got the Slayer ten minutes later, leading her back through the winding corridors and stairs to the latter’s bedroom. Buffy hadn’t gotten much of anything cleared up after Clara’s strange statement, and she didn’t want to push the princess into a state of the impatience which seemed to always rest just beneath her cool surface. However, the Slayer felt she was more puzzled now than when she first entered the vampiress’ domain.

“I’ll stop here,” she told Ophelia when they reached the hallway hosting Spike’s door and the maid gave her a disliking glance before continuing on her way.

Buffy knocked lightly and then opened the door. He had just unbuttoned his shirt and turned toward her with a quizzical expression which had him look slightly vulnerable and simply too adorable. She couldn’t hold back a smile as she closed the door behind her, and he returned it, flipping the shirt out of its tucked in state and let it hang loosely over his shoulders, making her have to turn to the burn of the fire instead of staring at him.

She walked up to the warmth, reaching her hands out. The walk from the other end of the castle had been swift, but not enough to rid her of the coldness she had experienced after leaving the princess.

“This whole thing...” Spike said behind her, trailing off and she nodded slowly.

“Insane, huh?” she asked and he smiled.

“Can’t get over how you fit in that dress, though,” he stated and she smirked, glancing over at him.

“It’s a gown,” she corrected and his smile widened. “Look...”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “So, what’d she say?”

“You’re gonna love this.” He raised his eyebrows. “She said I’m here to negotiate.”

“Negotiate?”

“It’s what she said.”

“And you’re gonna do it?”

“I don’t know what the hell to do anymore,” she murmured. “We’ll take it as it’s dished out, I guess,” she added, her eyes in his for a few more seconds until she turned and walked to the door.

“I’m gonna visit the orchard tomorrow,” he said. “Whenever that is... Notice they don’t have any clocks?”

She nodded, pausing in the doorway.

“I’m supposed to visit the orchard too,” she said. “Maybe we’ll meet there?”

He smiled faintly and she walked out, sliding the door shut behind her.

¤¤¤

Maeve slipped on her robe, bringing her long tresses out from under the hem and shaking her head to make them fall down her back. She was weary in a way she hadn’t been in a very long time, and for once she couldn’t wait to go to sleep. Rest her head so heavy with anxieties and strain, and shut her eyes from the world at least for a few hours. She blew out the candle standing on her dresser and walked up to her bed just as there was a light knock on her door. She wished she could simply stay quiet and have the one bidding for entrance give up the quest and leave her alone. However, she knew him, and knew that he would not move until she acknowledged him. And if he did not move, she could not sleep.

“Come in,” she therefore muttered, facing the door as it opened and Theodore stepped inside.

She despised him, he could sense it like waves about his face and the emotion deepened the color of her grey eyes until they were gleaming silver. He wished with everything in him that he could swipe it away, but nothing was ever so simple.

“You cannot go on hating me forever,” he said, daring a small smile.

“Your statement makes me all the more certain that I will prove you wrong,” she replied and he couldn’t stand the formality in her voice.

“You don’t hate me,” he mumbled.

She wanted ardently not to have noticed the utterly pained expression in his gaze, wanted to be rid of anything even resembling pity for him and understanding of his situation, of his reasons. She fought the tears back and glanced away from him, aggravated at the show of weakness, but not able to hold her eyes in his.

“No,” she then sighed with defeat, “I do not hate you.” There was a spark of hope surrounding him that made her heart soften slightly, looking back at him and seeing it in his eyes as well she bit her jaws together and brought forth the fact of the matter. “If you would have been the one to kill him – that would have given me proper cause to hate you,” she added and Theodore’s face grew blank at the held-back anger in her tone. “Since you merely stepped into another’s shadow and let it take the blame off your own name I suppose I am left only with despair for what has been lost.”

He watched her in expanding stillness until he thought the ache in him would tear him in two.

“You have known me for as long as there have been mountains and streams running down them,” he murmured. “I told you on a cold night once upon a long time ago that I would never let anything destroy our friendship. That your respect meant everything to me. I hold to that vow, Maeve. I beg of you...”

“Stop.”

She closed her eyes, turning from him and walking slowly up to the high French window overlooking the orchard. Wrapping her arms around herself she sent an image of him leaving the room into his head, and soon she heard the low click of her door as it closed behind him.

Not until then did she permit a tear to slip tentatively down her cheek.

So he had come there seeking her forgiveness. She could grant him none of it... but he had shocked her deeply by putting into words what she knew he had never uttered before in his entire existence. He had stood before the gape of the hellgod which dwelled in the secret caves to the north, he had fought goblins and warlocks and trolls, creatures with more magick power than most got to see in a lifetime, and though he had been captured and nearly tortured to death for the location of the Holy City he had never crumbled, and he had never, not ever, begged for any kind of mercy.

Now he had nearly begged for hers.

Another tear escaped her before she swallowed them down bitterly, afraid that if she set them free she wouldn’t be able to stop again.

For a fluty second she wished he would return, wanted him to be relentless and refuse to leave until she promised him they could go back to what had been... But in the next moment she banished the thought from her mind.

Isaiah was dead.

And though it wasn’t at Theodore’s hand it might as well have been.

It might as well have been, she thought, turning and walking back up to the bed.

¤¤¤

Ophelia muttered under her breath as she helped the Slayer dress the following morning.

“One should think that one would not need more than one time the help, and that it then would fall naturally,” she remarked as she picked up the corset.

Buffy raised one hand in objection, telling the maid to put the offensive thing away and Ophelia raised her eyebrows high in dislike before she reluctantly did as ordered.

“You will attract her highness’ anger, and since she refuses to take it out on you she will lash it out on the rest of us,” she stated. “You will need to dress warmly,” she added, choosing a heavier set of undergarments and petticoats.

She continued on in silence, her hands working quickly and Buffy marveled at the pace the castle seemed to constantly keep. It reminded her of the slayer camp and the business it seemed to always be under, and she wanted feverishly to send some sort of message that she was alright and that they needn’t fret.

Ophelia went into the adjoined room of the four room suite which the Slayer had been appointed, the maid returning to the bedroom carrying a beautiful cape made of heavy, green velvet. She hung it over the Slayer’s shoulders and Buffy enjoyed the feel of the cloth, the sound it made sweeping around her body and over the floor. There were two thin slits through which she could slip out her hands, but she kept them inside the fabric as Ophelia began to lead the way down to the entrance hall.

Buffy knew it by now; it seemed her power of coordination was greater when it came to her surroundings than something so demanding as putting on five layers of different dresses and skirts.

The final dress she had put on was one of cool silk, so pale pink it was nearly white. She wondered why she was presented with such finery, why she wasn’t huddled and suborned in the darkest, dankest cellar hole, but put up in the most breathtaking of rooms. The whole suite was lightly decorated in pale yellow and egg-shell white and had every comfort possible. Why?

She was there to negotiate.

Why?

If the vampires wanted war, if they sought it, then why should there be anything to negotiate? The slayers’ surrender, perhaps? Buffy knew she could never, and would never, let it come to that. They should all be killed before they bowed down before these creatures. Was Clara considering the impact a battle of this magnitude would have on the world? Was this why she wanted to negotiate some form of battle plan that would keep the innocents from finding it out?

These thoughts kept moving through the Slayer’s head, but the closer they got to the great hall, the more she shut them down. Clara had pulled back and there had been no attempt at reading Buffy’s mind since after she had left the princess’ abode the night prior. However, there was no cause to relax into forgetting that a new attack could come at any moment. Especially when the Slayer was standing before the other.

Ophelia took her down the last flight of stairs, through the wide and door-less opening which led into the entrance hall and further onto the black marble floor. Buffy turned her head just as Clara stepped through the open doors of the great hall. She was smiling at Spike, who was walking at her side with an ankle-long, black cape on. Buffy stared at them, taken aback.

Jealousy wasn’t even the strongest or foremost emotion; it was a blaring alarm at seeing the princess act so deliberately carefree around the bleached blonde that began to send creeping goose-bumps up the Slayer’s shoulders.

The two joined her and Ophelia; who curtseyed respectfully to Clara before withdrawing.

The princess fastened her gaze in Buffy’s, a small smile tickling the corners of the formers mouth as though she didn’t need to reach into the Slayer’s mind in order to tell it because it was written all over her face. Buffy clenched her jaws together, keeping back a glare and then moving her eyes into Spike’s.

He smiled as well, though it was softly, as though he was happy to see her and glad that their quietly voiced hope of meeting each other on this very spot had proven not in vain. She smiled back and followed the princess as she headed back inside the great hall.

This time the wall behind her throne – which Buffy had thought only to be covered with dark purple velvet purely for decorative purposes – had had the fabric raised thirty feet and it now rested just above the previously hidden French windows running the extent of the wall.

Clara looked over her shoulder at the two, then gestured to the large banners consisting of embroidered and printed fabric which Buffy had noticed the first time she stepped inside the hall. They hung on both sides, stretching their deep and nearly foreboding colors across the massive stones.

“These are the crests of the vampire clans,” Clara stated and Buffy felt her eyes taking them in even more keenly. “They have been carried down through the ages and are as unchanging as the course of the moon...”

She stopped. In front of her across the hall hung a banner with a burgundy backdrop, a slash of silver tore through it and above that rested a black heart.

Clara eyed it for another moment before turning her head to Spike.

“That’s yours,” she simply stated, beginning to walk again and leaving both Slayer and Vamp rather stumped.

They glanced at each other before Buffy started to follow the princess again, while Spike lingered for another short while. He stared at the symbol of the lineage he belonged to. Then he shook himself out of it. He didn’t belong to anyone but Buffy. At the thought he went in her footsteps, coming up at her side. He wished he could touch her. Wished he could show her that no matter what had happened between them he still... But no.

They reached the French windows, of which every other was in actuality a door and Clara pressed the handle of the closest one down, pushing it open and stepping outside. The Slayer and the Vamp stopped behind her, their eyes widening as they took in the splendor of the orchard heaved in its thick winter shroud. There were lampposts of wrought iron standing alongside the winding paths, spreading a soft glow over the waist high bushes bearing their flowers persistently in the cold.

Buffy was surprised they could even try to survive in the bitterness of the air and with the frozen white splayed over their petals, but the roses bloomed furiously, as though they had never been forced to face a winter before and now that it had arrived they proudly and defiantly said they would have none of it.

The princess proceeded with the walk, her skirts dragging lightly through the snow, her cape immediately laced with flakes. Buffy again followed and soon enough Spike did as well.

The place was serene, still and calming. It carried a different light than any other part of the castle or that of the city which they had seen on their way there. It seemed to embrace tranquility, and the flowers struggle against the disbelieving season reminded the Slayer of her own fight, and how she needed to find the peace within herself that would enable her to tap into those deeper reserves of strength and determination that always seemed to become the most apparent when she was in the middle of battle.

She reached out a hand and touched the petals of one of the roses. Their color was blue and their sea of blue and green spread its waves to surround them at all sides. Their rows only broken off by a tree here or there and the areas hosting benches to sit down upon. Buffy didn’t need to be air born to be able to conclude that the rows were made into a detailed pattern and if she was to stand overlooking the orchard from one of the windows of the castle it would surely be an impressive view.

“It was planted by my father,” Clara said. “A gift for my mother. She missed the sun and how it brought life and growth. He told her that he would show her that they needed no sun to do that. He had brought her to this place in order to keep them both safe, and he made it clear that once they had settled here they would never leave... They never did.”

She stopped, gazing out over the orchard and then she sighed. If it was from boredom or reminiscence, Buffy couldn’t tell.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a rose with this color before,” she said and Clara smiled humorlessly.

“Perhaps that would be due to the fact that these roses only grow in this orchard,” she pointed out.

Buffy returned the smile with just as little feeling.

“Is there always snow, too?” she asked.

“No,” Clara replied simply, continuing on the path and stopping under a tree, its branches strong and thick, covered with green foliage.

Clara put her hand against its trunk and as Buffy approached her she could see something was carved into it. Clara stepped back and proceeded with the promenade, signaling for Spike to come join her on the path. He did as she asked, looking at what Buffy was observing and noting the by now familiar letters of the dead language forming words he could not read.

It seemed he had been granted a rare treat when he had deciphered the inscription of the gateway. The gift had obviously left him now, and he wondered if that was the case with Buffy as well. He made a mental note to ask her about that later.

He came up at Clara’s left side and she said:

“The colors of your clan are quite enticing. And that you carry a tie to those of the Holy City merely shows the strong bond your ancestors have to it. The line of silver cutting the blooded background in two... What did you make of it?”

Spike felt a surge ripple through him at her words, at her question. The sensation wasn’t too pleasant, but not all unpleasant either. And suddenly he was frightened. He pushed any emotion and any thought dealing with it far into the back of his head and closed the door tightly around them.

“It’s a symbol of something I’m not,” he replied to Clara’s query. “You said it yourself,” he added. “I’m not a vampire anymore.”

Her face hardened, but something in her gaze unsettled him and he was relieved when Buffy’s presence enveloped him as she came up to walk on the other side of the princess. A thought struck him. Together they could take her out. They could kill her and stop the war...

“My death would merely bring the situation into an escalated conflict and through it you would ensure its arrival,” Clara said with another of her chilling smiles. “But I do wish you would try. I believe it would be quite amusing to observe the attempt.”

Buffy stared at Spike, who stared back and then looked at Clara. The apologetic expression in his gaze seemed to be enough as the princess gave a slight nod.

“Good,” she said just as Patrick came toward them, carrying something in his hands.

She gestured for the Slayer and the Vamp to wait and then she went and met the other, taking what he had brought. He stood where she left him as she walked back to the other two. She was holding a small, silver box and she gave it to Buffy, saying:

“Tomorrow eve there shall be a ball. All the aristocracy of this city shall be there to bear witness to my official declaration of war. Negotiations will follow during the next three days. This is our way and the way things have always been done in this part of the world. Thus I leave you. I shall not see you until you stand before me tomorrow night.”

In the next blink she was gone, and Patrick had left with her. Buffy looked at the box. It was heavy and its metal was smooth and cold against her skin. She opened it carefully. Inside lay a tiny bowl, not larger than a thimble – it was also made of silver and had three lion’s feet to keep its balance. She furrowed her brow. Closing the lid of the first box she turned her head to Spike, who looked as puzzled as she.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” he said and she smiled.

He made a sign for them to have a seat on a nearby bench and she consented, walking with him up to it and sitting down. She put the box down beside her and then looked at him. He seemed more watchful than when she last saw him. Burdened by something, and she thought she knew what it was.

“The banner...” she began, but his gaze silenced her.

She could see the shooting pain in his eyes, the denial. She realized it would break him. He couldn’t shut it in.

“Spike,” she said, so silently she barely heard the word.

“No,” he shook his head and she wanted to reach out and touch his hand, thinking that the feel of her skin against his might persuade him, tell him that she was right; but she didn’t. “No,” he merely repeated and she looked away, agitated at her own uselessness.

He was upsetting her. She was growing rigid and he noted the annoyance in her expression; subtle but there. He smiled, mostly to himself. There were so many things to be said, there were so many things that had already been said between them.

When he looked back on their very first encounter, took in the span of their entire relationship with all its trials and tribulations, slight joys and great victories, he could do nothing but feel gratitude that he was still in her life, and she in his. There was a love in his heart that had refused to be quenched, and it felt as though the mere friendship that had been established between them sustained it even more, validated its existence somehow. Because in friendship lay some sort of love, though it may not have been what he first sought – and by God would always seek – from her, but it was there, tender and true and she cared about him; believed in him still.

Sitting here beside him she was as frail as ever, and also as powerful as always. And his love was real and awesome and it chased away the fears he now harbored in his heart that their end would come much too soon. That it would be irrevocable and final. That one of them would be alone for the rest of time and that that one would be he.

He moved a hand and placed it gently over hers, resting on the bench. She didn’t look at him, but her face softened and her fingers responded to his cautiously. After that they didn’t need to say anything. The other’s presence and the quiet that surrounded them was enough. And he knew that whatever was to come, they would always be with the other.

¤¤¤

Giles opened the front door just as Angel was about to push the doorbell for the second time. He was surprised at the sight of the vampire and Cordelia. He hadn’t gotten word of what had transpired in California simply because the moment Angel and Cordelia got out of the cave they ran to the camp to evade the sun with the marginal of only a few minutes. They packed swiftly, loaded themselves into the car and drove back to Los Angeles. Five hours later they were on a plane to England.

Angel had wanted to deliver the news himself, and knew there were things they had to discuss face to face. Now he met the gaze of the Watcher and understood that Giles already had guessed something was wrong.

“You already know?” the vampire asked.

“Willow sensed it, but she couldn’t pinpoint it... What’s happened?”

Angel came with him into the parlor; Cordelia following, receiving a smile and a pat on the arm from Giles. She smiled back, but it faded as Angel began to speak.

“Buffy’s in the Hellmouth. We have no way of knowing if she’s alive...”

“She’s alive,” Giles stated. “She’s alive,” he repeated when Angel was about to say something to that and Angel nodded.

“But assuming that she is,” he continued, “there is a purpose for her being there.”

“Of course there is a purpose,” Giles muttered. “You must be exhausted. Please, show Cordelia Spike’s guestroom and feel free to use the one you’ve had so far... Dinner’s nearly ready. We’ll talk more later. It’s good seeing you both,” he added with another smile and Cordelia gave him a hug.

Angel had headed into the hall and she followed, about to walk through the doorway when she nearly crashed into someone and when she looked up she stared in pure surprise.

“Xander?!” she exclaimed.

“Why, take me back to high school days, why don’t you?” he replied with a crooked smile.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, glancing over at Angel, who was approaching them.

“Well, the Scooby Gang may be spread with the wind, but sometimes it blows in mysterious ways and we find ourselves back in each others company,” he stated. “I’m visiting,” he added. “What did you think? I was helping?”

She smiled a little.

“Hey,” Angel said and they shook hands.

“All good?” Xander wondered and Angel shrugged.

“Know how it is,” he muttered. “Fights here and there, possible death pretty much every second of every day.”

“Tell me about it,” Xander said. “I live in New York.”

Cordelia’s smile widened.

“I heard something about that... I’m glad things are going good for you,” she said and he looked at her for a moment before he smiled back.

“Feels nice to hear you say that,” he replied.

“What can I say? I’ve evolved,” she murmured and he smirked.

“Don’t think I need the gory details of that one,” he remarked, making her laugh.

She shook her head.

“You haven’t changed,” she said and it was his time to laugh.

“No, that’d be the day.”

“We’re just heading up with our baggage,” Angel said, walking back up to the suitcases.

“Right. Do that. See you in a few,” Xander nodded and before she left Cordelia said:

“I know we haven’t talked in... forever. And that we’ve rarely seen eye to eye on anything. But I want you to know I was really sorry to hear about Anya.”

He smiled weakly, then gave another nod as thanks. When she followed Angel up the stairs Xander called after them:

“Merry Christmas. Not that the term is fitting in any way.”

They both looked at him and smiled before they replied:

“Merry Christmas.”

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

I see a red door and I want to paint it black

No colors anymore

I want them to turn black

I look inside myself and see my heart is black

I see my red door

I just had it painted black

Maybe then I’ll fade away and

Not have to face the facts

It’s not easy facing up when

Your whole world is black

-The Rolling Stones, Paint it Black-

¤

Lesson the Twenty-Seventh

¤

It was nearly four hours since they had parted in the garden. A group of ladies-in-waiting had come down one of the paths and made the Vamp let the Slayer’s hand go hesitantly before they both stood. Buffy had merely smiled at him, and he had smiled back as they started to walk back toward the entrance into the great hall. A guard had stopped them, said that none was to enter that way and then shown them to a side-door of the castle. He hadn’t been very disgruntled with them and had even smiled as he held the door open for them.

Buffy had already begun to learn that no matter how hidden the different groups and opinions were, they were clearly there. A split in the tightness of the society she found herself in. Maeve seemed to be one of its professors, even though this too was obviously concealed. Buffy couldn’t wait until she got a chance to be alone with the vampiress.

For now, though...

She didn’t knock on Spike’s door before she slipped it open and slunk inside.

“We didn’t get a chance to talk,” she said as he faced her.

His suite was as big as hers, but went in silver and green.

“It’s not safe to talk here either,” he pointed out and she wanted to say that she didn’t only want to talk strategy and suspicions; she wanted to hear about his impressions of everything, and of how he felt and what he thought and if he missed her, for some reason.

Or perhaps many reasons.

“I know,” she merely sighed, sinking down on the sofa and turning her head to look at the fire, crackling contentedly in the fireplace.

He came up and had a seat next to her, leaning back and watching the flames lick their way up the stones.

“You know...?” they both said at the same time, trailing off and smiling self-consciously.

“You go ahead,” she encouraged and he smirked.

“Nah, ladies first,” he disagreed and her smile widened.

“Well, I suppose – in this outfit – I could pass for one,” she said and he cocked an eyebrow before his gaze softened.

“You’re the quintessential lady to me,” he stated gently and she felt her heart twirl within her, fearing the glow it sent to her cheeks would show all too well.

“Why, thank you,” she mumbled and he smiled at her humility.

Reaching out a hand he carefully pushed a blonde lock behind one of her ears, making her glance up to meet his eyes again.

“You’re welcome,” he said, voice low and she knew that she would kiss him if she didn’t move, and so she kept the smile on as she rose and moved around the sofa.

“We really do need to talk things over,” she remarked, pretending to admire a large painting hanging on the wall when all she could focus on was the fact that he was standing as well, that he was moving to stand behind her... though not too close.

No, he felt it too. She knew he did. Five feet apart, that should be a rule. If he touched her again...

She blocked the continuance of that thought and turned to face him. He was holding a pen and sheets of paper in either hand and she smirked. His devious little mind sure worked some wonderful ways.

¤¤¤

Buffy stroked the fabric of the gown she was in. The silk was a deep burgundy and she was wearing an incredible necklace of diamonds and rubies that went perfectly with it. When she was first presented with the ornament by Theodore an hour earlier she had shaken her head and said that there had been some mistake made. He had merely smiled and helped her put it on. It glittered and glistened and she had barely been able to tare her eyes off it since she spotted her own reflection in the mirror.

The ball Clara had stated would occur was now a mere half hour from doing so. The Slayer had spent at least two days in the Hellmouth, and over one of those within the castle... At least if she was calculating it right, since there really were no clocks anywhere.

She was a little paranoid too; she had to admit as much. Wondering if time perhaps slowed or sped up. The previous sounding too unbelievable as that would only drag the vampires’ lives out even more and to already be living for eternity... But if it was speeding, then what if she had in actuality been there for...? She was trying not to let the anxieties have too much playing field. It felt as though she might lose her hold on them, and the helplessness of her situation, the strain of not exactly knowing what that really was and would come to mean, only fed the murmuring fear of having her self-control slip out of her hands.

She couldn’t stand all the questions building up with every minute that passed. It was torment. She didn’t trust the princess, not knowing if her intentions were fully exposed. Buffy wanted to go and explore the castle, see what she could find out... but in the presence of these paranormal beings she couldn’t even breathe without them listening attentively to the unfamiliar sound. She was trapped.

She had left Spike’s room the previous night after an hour and a half of them writing a quick-paced exchange on sheets of paper which Spike, once they were filled and they had to switch to a blank page, immediately fed to the fire. They had both admitted to their unease, their distrust and dislike of the dark corner they had been put in ever since the dragon let them pass. They didn’t know anything for sure, and it made them see ghosts where there might be none.

Buffy scribbled eagerly of Maeve and of the dream the Slayer had had that made her so utterly convinced that the vampiress was not to be doubted. Spike wondered how she could be sure, and she merely looked at him in a way that filled him with understanding and he had smiled. She had returned it, watching as his hand with used movements wrote strong, bold letters on the sheet, forming words that she for a moment didn’t pick up on. She was too lost in thinking of all the times he had used that very hand to write the same words somewhere else... well, other words too, of course. It was a beautiful penmanship that reminded her of old letters she had read at school once when she was researching for a project... They had been from the nineteenth century and her eyes had now wandered to his face, taking in the curve of his jaw line, the tip of his nose and his downcast gaze. He was over one hundred years old.

She had smiled again.

Glad to be in his presence, glad that he should want her there. In spite of everything that stood between them, here they sat – plotting and confiding. Trusting... and loving. She felt a familiar ache to simply stay with him, and not leave. But no, she couldn’t. She couldn’t. And so, once they had covered most of their thoughts and queries, they said goodbye and she had left for her room.

She hadn’t seen him since then and now she was suppressing the jitters that occasionally tore through her nerves at the thought of walking into the great hall bursting with beings that would just as soon see her dead as follow some ancient custom. Her muscles tightened at the prospect of possible fighting, but her mind told her that she would live for two seconds if she tried it – and that the outcome would always be the same.

I know, she thought through gritted teeth, straightening her posture as there was a light knock on the door and Theodore came through it.

He bowed stiffly and offered her his arm. As she took it and let him usher her out of the room she wondered what his history was. He seemed so closed off, but when he looked at Maeve there was a slight glow in his gaze that drew life into his beauty. The Slayer had noticed it the night prior as the other vampires twirled in an endless dance, but now he was back to the one who had brought her to her room. The silent, watchful creature that seemed uncomfortably passive to her; as though it didn’t change his day to have her in it, but he would rather have her out of it if it came to a choice.

Yes, Buffy wondered what his history was and the silence he dealt her seemed only to further her curiosity. She wanted to ask him about Maeve, just to see his reaction to the name, but she didn’t want to anger him and so she kept her mouth shut.

“Do I need some sort of preparation?” she asked hesitantly as she knew they were getting closer to the presumed goal of the great hall. “Anything I should or shouldn’t do?” she added as he didn’t even glance at her.

Finally he replied:

“You are reputed never to lose face... I truly hope you shall live up to it.”

They had reached the door leading into the entrance hall and Buffy paused, having Theodore stop beside her. She needed a second to brace herself, to steady herself. This was a trial she couldn’t even fathom. She could feel the anticipation from those on the other side of the door. Knew there had to be hundreds of bodies in there... waiting. She was completely exposed to them, and yet she had to give off an air of strength to mislead them into a respect they didn’t need to feel.

Her reputation... So, it had seeped even through the mountain rocks and down into this godforsaken place? She had no way of telling if it was good or if it was bad... She looked at Theodore, his eyes on the door. His words had carried a sense of foreboding that she hadn’t liked. She wondered what was in store for her.

Then he opened the door and revealed an empty entrance hall. Buffy realized that the sensation of a large crowd came solely from the great hall and she tensed against her own will.

This was it.

¤¤¤

“So what can we do? Camelia was right!” Cordelia exclaimed, settling down as she added: “There’s nothing we can do now.”

“There’s always something,” Willow disagreed.

“There has to be,” Dawn said silently, grabbing a tighter hold on Xander’s arm where he sat next to her on the couch.

He patted hers comfortingly, then turned his head to look at the others in the room. Giles, Willow, Angel, Cordelia. He didn’t think he had missed not seeing Buffy’s face among them this much in a very long time. She had traveled and used her opened up space for a while, and then they had been one head short, but having Cordelia and Angel there made it feel like the first year in Sunnydale. Not having their born leader there was confusing and perhaps a little intimidating and it made them all feel some amount of doubt in themselves – even though they all knew it was the last thing Buffy would have wanted.

“We can start by thinking of what we can have missed,” Giles spoke up. “There has to be some small detail that may have seemed insignificant when we first got into this whole mess, but which now is undeniably dire for us to locate.”

“Might as well fill this room with hay and toss a needle into the middle of it and ask us to find that,” Xander muttered.

“We’d just use a metal detector,” Dawn said matter-of-factly. “Or Willow’s super powers. I mean, she could find that needle in point zero seconds,” she added.

“You know what I mean,” he replied and she sighed, nodding. “And I haven’t even been here that long,” he added.

“A fresh pair of eyes might do the trick,” Giles pointed out.

“One fresh eye is the best I can do, old chap,” Xander reminded and Giles looked slightly apologetic, but the other shook his head that it wasn’t necessary.

“Maybe we should bring out all the material for the research?” Willow asked. “Might help to map it out?”

“Yes,” Giles agreed. “And let’s start with that damned book. I still find it hard to believe our translation was so far off, don’t you?” he added, looking at Dawn, who nodded.

“We’ll do a better job this time,” she stated and he smiled at her determination.

“In my opinion it was flawless the first time,” he remarked and she returned his smile.

“Thanks,” she said, slightly embarrassed, and still very glad at the praise.

“Here it is,” Willow said, coming into the room from the den with her arms carrying a thick stack of papers, upon which lay the book.

“Okay,” Angel said, “let’s get to work.”

¤¤¤

Buffy walked through the entrance hall on legs that felt like steel. In fact her entire being felt like steel. Like she couldn’t feel her heart, her breathing had reduced into something hardly noticeable, and her emotions were laced with led as they rested completely still within her. The only thing she thought she could practically taste was her own blood in her mouth. She thought she could scent it in the air about her. The coppery liquid thick and blunt, standing out with the same color as her gown to tease every single nostril of her age old enemies.

They halted when they reached the doorway into the great hall and every last sound stopped. The silent chatter died away and the rustle of two thousand heads as they turned to the Slayer and her escort was all that was heard until the echo of the movement quieted. Buffy took them all in with a blank look, as though she couldn’t care less what they thought of her. In a way, she couldn’t. But deep down their black gazes sent shivers through her that were impossible to prevent.

Theodore gave her a slight push at the small of her back and she realized that she was supposed to walk through the hall and to the throne where she could see Clara seated, and she was supposed to do this on her own. Then she turned her gaze slightly to the left and noticed that Spike was already there. His eyes met hers and she began to move forward without thinking. Taking her gaze out of his she fastened it on a spot ahead of her and ignored the hatred that surrounded her.

She reached the throne after what felt like an hour, stopping before the princess who had a clearly superior expression on her face. On either side of her stood three chairs, on the ones closest to her sat two vampires, then two vampiress’ and finally two more vampires. The two vampires closest to her – one of them being Mathias – looked serene as they observed the new addition to the room. Behind the throne to Clara’s right stood Gabriella, but Buffy focused away from the disturbing presence and kept it on the princess.

“Welcome,” she said, a touch of irony in her voice that Buffy by now knew well. “Countess Jade Grapery and Duchess Claire Dupont wished to be introduced to you,” she added, signing to a black vampiress and a blonde haired vampiress to approach the Slayer.

Buffy looked from one to the other and then fastened her gaze in the princess’ as the countess and duchess circled her.

“Small,” the countess remarked.

“Thin,” the duchess replied, noticeable dislike in her voice. “Excuse me, milady, but is this scarecrow supposed to strike fear into the hearts of our kin – or sympathy?” she asked in a clear voice which had the room stir with laughter.

“Perhaps she has been hunting our kind for far too long,” the countess picked up. “She may have forgotten the fact of her being in need of food.”

Buffy felt her limbs ache to make the two eat up their words, but pressed it back stubbornly.

“Seems she lost her tongue in the process,” the duchess smirked, stopping before the Slayer and looking down at her as she was nearly a head taller. “Tell me, my dear,” she added, her voice soaked with loathing, “how does it feel to ram that stake through our ribcages?”

“I don’t think you need ME telling you,” the Slayer replied coldly, shooting a glance toward Gabriella, making the vampiress’ eyes harden as well as the duchess’.

The latter’s hand shot up fast as lightening and clutched Buffy’s throat. She met the enraged glare of the vampiress with one cool and calm. The grip tightened, but she refused to show any sign of growing weakness; she wasn’t going to look away. It started to flicker before her eyes and she understood that she was a squeeze away from fainting.

“Enough,” Clara said and the duchess let go in the next moment.

It took all of Buffy’s willpower to keep from stumbling. Drawing a quivering breath she concealed the dizziness and kept staring the vampiress down. The latter withdrew, joined by the countess, back to their abandoned seats, and Buffy looked at Clara again. Ignoring the slightly throbbing pain around her throat and swallowing in order to breathe more easily. Clara watched her for a moment and then she gazed out over the assembled.

“My most honorable,” she said. “You have gathered tonight for this historic event... I know you feel an amount of resentment that these trivial traditions of introduction even have been forced to occur, but I believe that without tradition we have no laws...” She trialed off, her eyes in Buffy’s as she finished: “and without laws – no society. Ladies and gentlemen, I present onto you the vampire slayer and her voice for her race.”

The room erupted in mumbles, whispers and the feeling of two thousand pairs of eyes on the Slayer’s back. She stood tall and her gaze searched for Spike’s. He was to the left of the podium holding the throne and he held her eyes steadily, giving her the knowledge that this was not anything but a staring contest – and that she would not fold.

She turned her gaze in Clara’s and the princess smiled without feeling.

“We have kept ourselves out of the way and out of the mind of our adversaries for far too long,” she stated forcefully. “I bid you war!”

Cries of support grew throughout the assembled and Buffy felt how her gaze was growing harsh in the princess, who merely looked unfazed and whose smile broadened.

“For three days,” she said as the crowd once more settled slightly, “there shall be talks of strategy and meetings with the other side – as has always been done. We have not fought in a grand battle for nearly two centennials... Our time is now! Let the feast begin!”

At that the banners of the vampire crests were raised, pulled into small openings high above the floor by the ceiling and what had been hidden beneath the cloth made the Slayer’s eyes grow painfully wide.

Around the room, chained to the walls, hung her slayer comrades who she had thought killed.

The first one she saw was Jessie and she took a step forward, but was stopped by a mere glance from Mathias, filling her with the knowledge that there was no use.

The slayers hung in groups of five, most of them dazed. Buffy could tell why as blood had trailed down their bodies from where they had suffered puncture wounds from numerous bites and slender cuts. They were half naked and they glistened from a mixture of the dark liquid and sweat.

Buffy felt a rage she had never known and would never know the likeness of. She wanted to kill them all in that moment. Every single hostile vampire around her deserved to die and had she had a stake she would have fought her way through the crowd without a thought of her own certain death. As it was she contained the powerful feeling, though it was impossible for her to keep the tears from rising. The pain she felt ran straight to her core and the utter desperation at how she could do nothing to help her fellow warriors and people she considered nothing less than family was nearly knee-bending.

My God, she thought. I’m gonna have to watch them die.

“I wish to thank you, darling,” Clara said, but Buffy couldn’t make herself look at her, “for providing us with such an exclusive supply of... dinner.”

Snickers broke out again and Buffy’s tears ran over as Jessie slowly raised her head and met the Slayer’s gaze. Buffy remembered when the girl had first arrived to England, battered from years of living and surviving the, at times, cruel streets of Tokyo, and being one of the girls that picked up her slayer inheritance with gratitude and a pride Buffy had scarcely seen. For Jessie it was a calling and in ways she had reminded the Slayer of Kendra.

They had worked effortlessly for months where they had tried to track down the Arderia, and the last time Buffy had seen the girl had been right around Halloween before she left for Hong Kong to help with the searching of the sight of the dragon that they had thought situated outside the city... And then she had been killed, though not in the literal sense. Brought here... for torture, and for feeding the Ancients.

Buffy swirled around, moving forward in the next instant. Before she even had time to react she flew through the air and hit the floor in front of the podium back first so hard she lost her breath. When she looked up Clara leaned over her.

“Fool,” she hissed. “Do not challenge me!” She turned to Patrick. “Take her to her suite. Lock the door.”

Buffy moved her head to look at Jessie just as the vampires began to spread in order to get their share of blood. The Slayer shook her head, tried to rise but was hit in the head so hard she saw glittering stars, and then the black of night took over as she slipped into unconsciousness.

¤¤¤

Seeing the princess move forward in the blink of an eye to meet the Slayer’s sudden attack, Spike was half a second from coming to the latter’s aid; but a hand grabbed his arm and held him back. He turned his head to Maeve, who shook hers slightly. He relaxed, looking back at Buffy just as Theodore lifted her into his arms and began to carry her through the hall, back to the doors through which she had entered a mere half hour earlier.

What was the meaning? Why had fate brought her there? Why did her destiny constantly put her in the middle of struggles she could barely grasp the intention of – let alone he? He could sense the tension and hunger surrounding him. The unbearably clear hatred for this being which he loved with his whole heart. Why did their hatred even have to be? All the time in the world people murdered each other, people struck each other down, and for what? For more tears and need of revenge and starting of wars. It was insane! All he wanted was to protect her from it. Take her and disappear to someplace where it would never reach her ever again. It wouldn’t taint her, couldn’t harm her, and she would find peace. No need to worry about anything anymore. No more responsibilities, no more duties. Her only duty would be to happiness, and keeping it in her heart...

“William,” Clara’s voice broke through and he fastened an icy glare in her eyes which had her smile slightly. “What is this?” she asked. “Anger?”

He looked around at the slayers hanging from the walls with his own kinsmen lapping the dripping blood from their feet, clutching themselves to their bare shoulders while their teeth sunk deeply through flesh and cut new holes in their veins. They sickened him to the brink of wanting to scream it out of him, but the demon in him still wanted to join them in their game. A fact which made the nausea even more apparent and he took his eyes off them, approaching the princess as she signed for him to do so.

“Take your pick,” she tempted with a gesture to the feast, leaning forward slightly and he gritted his teeth.

“No,” he murmured and there was dislike from all around him. “I wanna see her,” he added and Clara cocked an eyebrow barely noticeably. “I wanna bleeding see her NOW!” he screamed and there was dead calm in the room as the drinking stopped and every eye was fastened on him.

“By all means,” Clara said, voice strained as she waved for Gabriella. “Take him up there. Five minutes. Make sure the door is bolted when he leaves.”

Gabriella gave a nod and stepped off the podium, stopping before Spike. Her eyes were burning with a madness he hadn’t even seen on Drusilla; she had been faint, weakened and delirious most of the time and the female before him held a craze which was filled with a force and a slowly moving appetite. For death. She moved passed him with her eyes still in his and soon he followed as she walked through the hall for the doors leading into the entrance hall and the stairs. She moved with an air of prided self-assurance and he could scent the allure he held on her.

As they started up the stairs he asked:

“What is it?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, shadow of a smile on her mouth.

“It is the killer in you,” she said, voice so low he realized it was nearly a whisper in his mind. “It is exhilarating to feel it... stirring within you. All of us can feel it. All of us know what it is capable of.”

She stopped, swirled around and put a hand on his chest to halt him. He blinked, staring at her as she leaned him against the wall behind him.

“You should let it out,” she mumbled, her eyes growing misty with building desire and he pushed her away harshly.

She merely giggled, turning and continuing up the stairs. Though unsettled he once more followed.

Her words ringing through his head.

‘All of us know what it is capable of.’

‘You should let it out.’

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

I know you’ve been going through some things

The pain you hold inside’s written on your face

I know you’ve gotten tired of the rain

So have I, but I know things can change

You can sigh, you can cry

Till you’re midnight blue

But that’s not you

I know that you’re stronger

It’s apparent to me

So are you

If you just hold on

I swear that everything will be okay

I know that you’re nervous

But give it some time

Things will go your way

-BoysIIMen, Just Hold On-

¤

Lesson the Twenty-Eighth

¤

“He is to have a few minutes,” Gabriella said as they stopped outside the closed door of the Slayer’s bedroom, at which Patrick was standing.

He stared at her and then at Spike. Finally he reluctantly brought out a key and unlocked the door.

“She is still unconscious,” he stated, “and so your visit should have little to no impact on her.”

“We’ll see,” Spike murmured, pushing his way passed the vampire and into the room. He stopped dead at the sight of her paleness and it stung his heart. “Would you leave us alone?” he got out and when Patrick hesitated he added a silent: “Please.”

After another few seconds the door closed behind him and he tentatively approached the bed. She looked ill. Feverish and pained, like she was having bad nightmares and her body refused to let her wake up.

“Baby...” he mumbled, sinking down on his knees next to the bed and leaning against the side of it as he reached out a hand and gently brushed her brow, wetted with cold sweat. “Wake up, hon.” She shivered and he clenched his jaws together to keep the tears of worry at bay. “Buffy,” he whispered, leaning closer and nearly brushing his nose against her cheek, one of his hands seeking one of hers. “Baby, wake up,” he implored.

It took another moment, but then she carefully eased her eyes open. They were brimming with tears and he shook his head at the sight of them, telling her they were unnecessary, but she let them run over as she blinked. He pulled back slightly, but she moved her arms and wrapped them tightly around his neck, pulling him close again.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, holding her as well.

A sob escaped her.

“I think I’m losing it,” she said, her shoulders still shaking. “I don’t think I can bear this,” she added and he brought his head back so that he could meet her gaze.

The despair in them shook him badly, and yet he could see the light of her strength behind it and he knew, just as he had known when they first entered the city, that she could face anything – even this.

“You’re wrong,” he said gently, brushing at her tears. “And you know it as well as I,” he added and she calmed, looking into his eyes for the longest moment. He broke it by finishing: “You’re their only hope. You’re my hope. Can’t leave me now, haven’t you heard that hope’s that one thing that’s supposed to endure through anything?”

She smiled at that and he returned it warmly.

“Spike,” she said tenderly. “I...”

The key being put in the lock interrupted her and she couldn’t decide if it was a blessing in disguise that she didn’t have a chance to finish what she had begun to tell him. They let each other go as the door swung open.

“Don’t leave,” she whispered and he looked sorrowful as he slowly rose.

“I have to,” he replied and she glanced at Theodore, then she gave a nod and looked away from them both, turning over on her side with her back to them and pulling the covers up.

Spike resented walking out through that door, but he knew he had no other choice.

She listened to the low click, and then the louder scrape as the key was turned and brought out of the lock once again. She closed her eyes, feeling completely alone and yet still surrounded by the nearness of the man she loved. She put her arms around herself and buried her face in the pillow. Images of the other slayers hanging down there, feeling as alone as her – but without the source of strength that she had filled her head.

She dried her tears and sat up, drawing a breath.

She would not be broken.

As she had said to the slayerettes, as she had lectured them over and over – they did not quit.

Neither would she. She would persevere and this would only spur her on. Another wave of rage rose within her, but this time she controlled it easily. There could be no more of that. No more lashing out, no more letting it get the better of her. Clara was too strong; the Slayer had gotten first hand proof of that. Her chest still ached from where the princess’ palm had connected with it.

She longed for Spike, feeling as though it would be a stretch to get a few hours of good sleep. Then she brought his words into her mind and focused on them. Another smile spread on her lips and she didn’t feel so alone anymore. In another few minutes her body was growing more relaxed and soon she was sound asleep.

¤¤¤

Spike stared out through the painted glass of one of the high windows of his bedroom. The view of the Holy City lay spread out before his gaze, but he had stopped marveling at it. He had stopped taking it in; had stopped seeing it all together.

He wanted to have the power to demand...

Yes, what should he demand?

Another hour with her? Time to make sure she was alright? He knew she was. He knew she would be, even if he wasn’t there with soothing words.

So should he demand peace?

He huffed, closing his eyes in agitation.

He was completely helpless and it was gnawing its way into the very marrow of his being. He couldn’t stand it. The anger came with it like gall in his throat and when he pushed it down it merely gained in force.

Suddenly a memory came to him.

Buffy. Warm, enclosed in his arms, for the second night ever she truly wanted to rest there. Lying on the cot in her basement, her gaze in his, her breath drawing patterns over his face, soft, tender. And then another of those gentle smiles and he had melted before her, had known that everything was right then and there. That this moment was sublime and that all the other moments with her would be nothing less.

‘Not many things in this world should amaze me,’ her voice broke through and he smiled to himself as the finishing line sounded, ‘and you never stopped.’

“We’ll get through this,” he murmured.

“Never faltering optimism.” He turned his head to Clara, standing in the doorway to his room smiling one of her smiles – his fading. “How very human of you.”

“I can tell it’s been a while since you had anything to do with the particular race,” he shot bitterly.

“May I enter?”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Would it stop you if I said hell no?”

Her smile broadened a fraction, then she stepped into the room and he looked away from her – annoyed.

“Obviously it would not,” she said, sarcasm in her tone and he shook his head.

“Better leave,” he grumbled.

“Oh really? And you think...?” she began, but he moved before she had finished, lifting his arm to punch her.

She caught it easily and didn’t budge an inch as she kept a crushing grip on his wrist. He bit his jaws together, trying with every last ounce of his strength to force her arm down – with no success. She was the one who brought his down as she easily moved her own so that she could have his undivided attention as her gaze held his.

“As I was saying: and you think you pose as any sort of threat to me?”

She let him go with a satisfied smirk on her lips and he took a staggering step back as he couldn’t stop himself from grabbing at the throbbing pain of the spot she had clutched. She walked up to the fireplace, back turned to him for a moment, and when she looked at him once more she had put on her vampire exterior. It wasn’t like any he had seen before. Her features were barely distorted, though the fangs showed more clearly as she granted him another emotionless smile. Her eyes were still blue, but with the long pupil of a cat; and the color was enhanced so that it seemed to gleam from a light within.

“She came close to dying tonight,” the princess stated and he tensed. “I should have killed her.”

“Why didn’t you?” he asked and she shrugged.

“It would not do me the world of good that you might think,” she stated.

“She’s a thorn in your side,” he retorted. “Why not just pluck it out? What could possibly be stopping you?”

“A city filled with subjects who need a sense of order to things or everything will fall out of place!” Clara exclaimed, seemingly aggravated that he hadn’t caught onto this on his own. “A strong leader,” she added, “who believes in the laws which are set for them, and who has the fairness in attitude to notice those who follow them, and those who do not.”

Spike huffed with disbelief.

“Fairness? You’ve got her bleeding locked in her room like Cinderella! You’ve given her no reason for her presence here. What the hell is it you want from her?!” he yelled and Clara raised her hands to have him calm down.

“The first law of this land is to not mess with ME,” she shot, tone chilled. She sighed. “I did not come here to argue with you,” she added. “I came here to see if you have had any chance at all to think of what we talked about yesterday.”

He glared at her.

Before Buffy had joined him and Clara they had spoken for not a very long while in the great hall. The princess had told him things he now wished he hadn’t been made to hear and remember. They hovered like ghosts behind clasped windows and he could hear their tapping for entrance into his mind again. He would not let them. Not one more time.

“No,” he grunted. “Now leave.”

“William,” she smiled, coming closer to him before stopping next to him, eyeing his face in the dancing light of the fire’s flames. “Your heritage is part of you. It is an even larger part of you than your soul is, can you not see that? Whatever you think is the right thing for you, in the end there is only one thing that can ever be so. And it is not with her.”

He directed his gaze in the princess’ and she nodded a little.

“Leave,” he murmured.

“Graciously,” she gave a small curtsey, though he caught the ironic smile she wore and he gritted his teeth until he heard the door close behind her.

He brought forth the image of Buffy’s warm gaze, the feeling of her hand on his cheek.

He had to see her.

It had been at least five hours since he left her... what if she was still sick? She had been so distraught, what if he hadn’t eased it after all? He couldn’t let her go through the agony all alone. Or perhaps HE didn’t want to have to face it alone. No matter...

He snuck out through his door and walked quietly through the hallways that led to her room. He paused as he could see the guard posted there. He wondered why. Buffy couldn’t harm Clara – he knew that now. Then he grumbled to himself as he remembered that it was all window-dressing, to make sure that every last vampire knew that Clara would execute her power over her guests at any time and that there should be no doubt who was in control. As he got closer he noticed it was Theodore he was approaching and a slight flame of aspiring hope kindled in his chest. The few times he had spoken to the other there had been an underlying current of understanding between them. He wasn’t sure where Theodore’s loyalties truly lay, but for tonight...?

‘You should not be here.’

Spike heard the voice in his head ten feet from the vampire and he was slightly startled, then relaxed as he could sense no hostility – merely mild irritation.

‘I just wanna make sure she’s okay.’

‘She is fine. She is sleeping. Has been so for the past few hours. You should leave her be and go back to your suite.’

‘Can’t sleep, mate... I just wanna see that everything’s alright. One minute.’

Theodore paused, then he sighed.

‘One – not a second longer than that.’

Spike continued up to the door as Theodore unlocked it, proceeding through it with a nod of thanks.

The room had a fire still burning and the bleached blonde slowly walked up to the bed, eyes on the insipid Slayer in it. She was sleeping, at least, and that was always something. He reached out a hand and placed it on her brow. It felt cool. She looked quite peaceful. He smiled slightly, wondering if he had helped do that after all.

Bending down he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, stroking her hair and when he pulled back she opened her eyes. Sleep was still tainting them, but they took him in with a familiarity that made him think she had just been dreaming about him. Then she smiled and once more he found himself melting.

“Stay,” she whispered, moving a hand and placing it lightly against his cheek, making him close his eyes to the touch.

Opening them again he fastened them in hers and whispered:

“Go back to sleep. I’m here.”

“Yes,” she mumbled as he put one hand over hers and moved his head to kiss her palm. “You’re here.”

She drifted off again and he wished he could take her up on her plea and stay. Only the door opened behind him and he knew he wouldn’t be allowed. And... he probably shouldn’t anyway. Splitting themselves up might after all have been a clever move on her part, and they shouldn’t jeopardize it. Perhaps their bond would be shamelessly exploited by the other side, was it to show too clearly...

If you love me, Buffy... he thought, turning and heading for the door.

Why did the mere inclination of it feel so foreign to him? Just as it always had, he supposed. To deserve her love, to be worthy of her affections and to have her bestow them upon him...

Even so, shouldn’t their friendship be ardently obvious already? Had he blown it this evening by showing just how much he cared for her? Should it be a partnership where they were absolutely ready to sacrifice the other if that decision had to be made?

He recalled her voice that night when they had discussed the dreams in Giles’ garden. How frightened she had sounded at the fact that there might be more sacrifices to be made, and how that fear had stemmed from her being ready to give any one of them up for the sake of the world. He could only pray that this time she wouldn’t have to.

There were just so many question marks.

Perhaps he would do best at locking himself in his own room and throwing away the key until the negotiations were done with.

Reaching his suite he closed the door and walked into his bedroom where he splayed himself on the large bed and looked up into the ceiling, decorated with paintings of fauns and fairies. It was extraordinary. Slowly every face began to look like Buffy’s and as he was taken over by sleep he had a slight smile on.

¤¤¤

“This is useless,” Dawn muttered, laying slumped over the book, which she had tried to decipher for the last three hours. “There has to be another way.”

“Well, magick doesn’t help one bit,” Willow said with an exasperated sigh as she sunk down on the couch of the living room, where they had sought refuge when the dining room chairs became too uncomfortable.

Cordelia looked over at Angel, who had closed his eyes a few minutes earlier and looked as though he was asleep. She smiled. He was cute when he slept, she deduced.

Xander walked up to where Dawn was sitting and she straightened her back to give him a better view of her tormentor, its pages filled with the dead language. He furrowed his brow, taking another bite of the apple he was devouring.

“Wow, that’s a whole new league of mumbo-jumbo,” he nodded thoughtfully.

“No kidding?” Dawn shot and he smirked, patting her head and having her smile in spite of herself.

“Should we stop for a few hours?” Giles asked and at that everybody seemed to focus and next to Cordelia Angel sat up.

There was a pause, and then Dawn said:

“Buffy’s down there. Spike’s with her. If it was anyone of us they’d never stop ‘til we were safe.”

Everybody agreed silently to that and they all brought out the extra reserve of resolve.

“Well, I’m at a total loss as to where we should go from here,” Giles admitted, taking off his glasses and polishing them slowly. “I wish I could point us in the right direction – to another book, another text of some kind...”

“What about the missing page?” Xander asked, still chewing his fruit and everybody stared at him.

“What ‘missing page’?” Angel inquired.

Xander raised his eyebrows, then turned the book still resting on the table around so that they could see what he had discovered and thought they all already knew. A very small remnant of a torn off page could barely be seen, but they all did notice it immediately.

“Alexander, my boy,” Giles smiled, coming up to him and giving his shoulder a squeeze with one hand before he checked where in the book the missing page occurred. “This is spectacular!”

Xander looked confused, and Giles’ smile broadened.

“You hadn’t seen it before?” Xander asked.

“How’s that for ‘one fresh eye’?” Dawn replied and Xander smirked self-consciously.

The page was supposed to follow the one portraying the depicting of the wall and gateway into the Holy City. Giles felt the excitement rise within him. This could be vital.

“It was here, all the time,” he mumbled to himself, almost laughing at the silliness of it.

“So, where do we go from here?” Cordelia asked; she and Angel having joined the others at the table.

Angel met Giles’ gaze and then looked at Cordelia, answering:

“Paris.”

¤¤¤

Buffy woke with effort. There were many reasons that kept her from wanting to open her eyes. She knew she wouldn’t see Spike’s face – that was one. She knew she would have to see Clara’s face – that was another. But most of all she knew she would have to find a way to deal with it all – and that felt too hard at the moment.

Finally she stretched and sat up, her gaze meeting Maeve’s and she jerked with surprise. Relaxing slightly she looked around the room, but they were alone. The vampiress was wearing a blue robe, looking more like a gown as it was made out of billowing waves of velvet fabric. Her hair was let down and its locks nearly reached the middle of her thighs. It was thick and shiny and for a moment Buffy wanted to ask her secret; then remembered – immortality.

“You slept for a long time,” Maeve said.

“Yeah, well, severe chest pains and a few broken ribs ‘ll do that to a girl,” Buffy replied sarcastically and Maeve smiled.

“But you feel better?” she asked.

Buffy nodded, scooting to the edge of the bed and being handed a robe by the other in the same fashion as the vampiress’, only dark green. Buffy pulled it on, rising to her feet. There was a fire burning in the fireplace and she walked closer in order to warm herself.

“Let us sit,” Maeve invited with a gesture to the two armchairs standing before the heat.

The two women sat down and neither knew where to start, thus they were simply quiet for a while.

“Why is she so strong?” Buffy murmured.

“We are all strong,” Maeve replied.

“Yes, but she’s... She’s different, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Maeve admonished. “But before I answer that question I wish you to answer one of mine.” Buffy waited, and Maeve finished: “Is it true that you stopped the coming of the First?”

Buffy swallowed.

“Yes,” she answered, adding: “Why? I mean... it’s not involved in this, is it?”

“Buffy,” Maeve said, leaning forward slightly, “it has always been involved.”

The Slayer blinked, knowing that the vampiress was right, and that she herself had always known that the First had been the evil which had haunted her over the span of eight years. It was in the heart of every man, woman and child. Even in hers. And it was in every single demon. Even in Spike. It would never retreat in full, but would always push forward to achieve its goal, through whatever means.

“It is not actively here, of course,” Maeve said. “But it is long known that a pact was forged between Clara’s parents and this great evil in the dawn of our race. Her power partially stems from ITS power.”

Buffy furrowed her brow.

“That’s the second time I hear of Clara’s ‘parents’. What does that mean, exactly? I thought the term ‘sire’ was used universally by you guys.”

“Oh, it is,” Maeve stated. “But Clara is unique. She was not turned – she was born.”

“Not following,” Buffy shook her head.

Maeve leaned back again, observing the Slayer for a moment before she began speaking.

“In the very beginning,” she said, “a lower demon called Reshiq and one of the higher demons – Bothar, had a dispute and faced each other in a duel. The one that lost would have to get the other a prize. Reshiq was defeated and Bothar demanded the most beautiful human that Reshiq could find. Reshiq searched for nine years until he came upon Lyria – whom he thought beautiful enough to quench even Bothar’s lustful eye. He brought her with him to Bothar who fell instantly in love with her and swore to keep her safe for all eternity if she would only stay with him by her own free will. She refused; scared to death of the place she was in and of what stood before her she tried to flee.

“Bothar was enraged, but also knew he could never let her go. His mind plotted a plan and on the third night of her captivity he went to her chambers and lay down beside her on her bed. She was sleeping. He brought aside her hair from her neck and could not stop himself from placing a kiss on her smooth skin. This, however, woke Lyria who was startled to find Bothar next to her. Only instead of screaming she suddenly grew hypnotized by his gaze, succumbing to his soft whispers, and there was no way she could have stopped him from letting his teeth puncture her throat.

“Bothar had only meant to drink a mouthful of Lyria’s blood, so that a small part of his own essence could make her its abode and thus help change her mind about staying, but the taste was so sweet that he could not break from it and before he knew it he had drained her for all but one single drop. Devastated he could feel her slipping away and so he cut open his wrist, bringing it before her mouth so that she could take back what he had stolen. She did.

“Half of Bothar’s essence, his soul, had transferred into Lyria as he drank her. She was part demon. Some mean that it was the demon now in her which beckoned for rebirth and life, others say that it was her human side and her own choice which brought her to seek the renewal of Bothar’s blood; but no matter.”

Buffy stared at the vampiress – speechless.

“And Clara?”

“Bothar and Lyria were excommunicated from the demonic society. Lyria was an abomination and everyone thought she should be put down, as though she was an animal. Bothar would have none of it, naturally. He knew they did not need the blessing of the demon world. He was a ruthless, powerful being. He gathered the weaker demons without anywhere else to go and brought them here, to this place, to build this city. They slaved for nearly two decades. Many died. Many still lives here. Bothar brought his bride to the castle, vowing to her that she would always be safe – but warning her that she could never leave. She understood perfectly.

“Lyria was frail, but her eyes could give out demands without her lips moving and everyone worshipped her. And on an ominous night thirty years into their reign, they produced a magick power scarcely seen since – and through it Clara was conceived. She was born twelve months later, a perfect little baby girl who resembled her mother even then. However, there was a difference. Lyria’s body was still alive, pumping the hot blood of her husband through her veins – but Clara’s was chilled as ice and instead of milk she almost immediately sunk her teeth into the nursery maid’s finger, suckling on it most contentedly... This is how the first bloodline was started, and how a new race was created,” Maeve finished and Buffy nearly gaped.

“And the sun intolerance?” she then asked.

“That stems from Bothar,” Maeve answered. “He could not leave the netherworld or he would turn to ashes.”

“And crosses? Holy Water?”

“Purity,” Maeve replied. “Most demons shun it.”

“But this...” Buffy trailed off, disbelieving she had actually just heard the book of revelations for her greatest enemies. “There are so many questions! Why were Bothar and Lyria entitled king and queen? How did they die? How long ago is it?”

“Bothar was born king... It was no surprise that he built a new kingdom after being thrown out of his birthright. They died... why, it must be close to four thousand years ago now. And Clara killed them.” Buffy’s eyes widened. “When she was three,” Maeve finished and Buffy once more stared, incredulous.

“And Clara grew up. Why did she stop ageing? She doesn’t exactly look... four thousand,” Buffy remarked and Maeve smiled again.

“I do not think even she knows, but she reached the age where she was almost a scaring replica of her mother’s portrait – and there the process stopped. It took her a few years to realize that everyone she turned would not age at all.”

“I can barely believe it,” Buffy murmured. Maeve rose. “You’re leaving?” the Slayer asked and the other nodded.

“I may already have stayed too long.”

She bowed her head good night and headed to the door.

“Maeve,” Buffy said and she stopped, looking over her shoulder questioningly. “When Clara was born... The First had something to do with it, didn’t it?”

“Something,” Maeve confirmed, knocking twice on the door and having it be opened by Theodore.

“You can tell your princess that she doesn’t have to have me locked in,” Buffy called after her. “I won’t make trouble, I’ve learned my lesson.” The door closed and Buffy turned her gaze on the fire, struggling to digest all the information she had received as well as keeping a slight panic at bay. “I’ll behave,” she grumbled, pulling her robe tighter around her and bringing her legs up.

She couldn’t relax and knew she wouldn’t be able to get anymore sleep.

She wished she knew what time it was. She barely knew what day it was.

Spike, she thought, I wish you were here.

An image from a dream she had had the night before came into her head and she smiled.

‘I’m here,’ his voice said.

“Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “You’re here. Always right here...”

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

I had no choice, but to hear you

You stated your case, time and again

I though about it...

Your love is thick, and it’s swallowed me whole

Your so much braver than I give you credit for

That’s not lip service

You’ve already won me over

Inspite of me

Don’t be alarmed if I fall

Head over feet

And don’t be surprised if I love you

For all that you are

I couldn’t help it

It’s all your fault

You are the bearer of unconditional things

You held your breath, and the door for me

Thanks for your patience

-Head over Feet, Alanis Morisette-

¤

Lesson the Twenty-Ninth

¤

It was Christmas day, close to nine-thirty in the evening, when the plane touched ground in France. The lights of Paris were a glittering cascade of Christmas spirit and to see them soothed the three passengers. They were one step closer to the goal.

Willow hailed a cab and she, Angel and Cordelia rode to the hotel which they had gotten a last-minute reservation at; again much thanks to Giles’ connections. They took the elevator up in silence, walking into their shared suite and after a moment of familiarizing themselves with their new surroundings they chose a bedroom each.

“Three hours sleep. I guess we should start at the square where we found the book. Take it from there,” Willow said.

Angel nodded and they all said goodnight before closing their doors.

¤¤¤

Buffy wandered the white paths of the orchard, lost in thought and the serenity of the beautiful setting. She was glad to be out of her temporary prison. It seemed she wouldn’t have to be locked in again, so she supposed Maeve must have spoken to Clara.

The air smelled of winter, of dry and damp rock, of old and new mixed together. It wasn’t fresh, but in no way stale either and she quite enjoyed it. It was better than indoors, anyway. She took a seat on a bench and spotted Theodore a few hundred feet away. He seemed utterly caught up in studying a flower and she smirked. Stealth wasn’t always practiced even by these creatures. She knew he was keeping an eye on her.

“Is this place not marvelous?” Maeve’s voice asked to her left and the Slayer turned her head with a smile, then gave a nod.

“At least,” she replied.

“May I sit?” the vampiress asked and Buffy had her smile widen in affirmation.

The former sat down next to her, looking out on the garden, which was now empty of any life apart from them and the still fighting flowers.

“How can they still bloom?” Buffy wondered and Maeve smiled widely.

“How can there be snow?” she asked back and Buffy paused, then smirked.

“Fine, silly question,” she admitted. “I don’t get why I feel so peaceful here, though...”

Maeve reached out and broke a flower, handing it to Buffy.

“This garden was planted for Lyria, for her still human side. She sought refuge here when the isolation got to be too unbearable. Some say her spirit lingers to grant the same tranquility to those who visit it. Perhaps it is she who encourages her flowers to battle the cold,” Maeve replied and Buffy raised an eyebrow.

“Deep,” she said and Maeve smiled again.

Buffy glanced around nonchalantly, Maeve pointing out:

“He is still there.”

Buffy looked closer, but couldn’t spot the vampire anywhere.

“He does not wish to be seen,” Maeve stated. “He is cloaking himself from you... and me. Perhaps he is keeping an eye on both of us,” she added, her voice almost sad and Buffy frowned.

“What IS the story with the two of you anyways?” she asked. “I’m dying to know, really. You seem to think he’s the plague or something – how come? I mean, sometimes you don’t have a reason; sometimes you just THINK that someone is so damn annoying and always in your face and in your way and can he EVER shut up? No. And he interrupts your work and he shows up at the most odd occasions and he always has the most innerving quality of reading you when you’re at your most...” She stopped herself, smiling apologetically. “Sorry. Just saying that if you have no reason, I totally get that.”

Maeve looked at her, thoughtfully, then gave a slight shrug.

“There is too much to tell,” she muttered. “He did something that I... I cannot forgive.”

“Oh,” Buffy nodded in understanding. “He’s one of those.”

“Are you ready for the first hour of the negotiations?” the vampiress inquired.

“I guess,” Buffy replied. “As ready as I can be for something I have no idea what it’ll be like.”

“It is very basic,” Maeve assured.

“Oh, good. I was scared that it’d be advanced neg. one-on-one,” the Slayer muttered and Maeve smiled once more. “So...” Buffy began, hesitating before she continued: “You’re a few millennia old, what part of history is your favorite?”

“I believe the battle of Disdan is one that comes to mind. It was a grand victory and the Gnarlocks truly deserved it,” she replied and Buffy raised her eyebrows, looking at the flower in her hand and again growing hesitant. “If you wish to ask me questions you should know I think it only fitting. I believe you deserve answers on whatever might be pressing on your mind.”

Buffy smiled tentatively at that.

“Well, I was just wondering... The word vampire – where does that come from, really?”

“Vampire is a human word,” Maeve replied. “Our word for our kind is ‘sithir’.”

“Sithir?” Buffy asked.

“Yes.”

There was the sound of a bell chiming in the distance and Maeve exchanged a look with the other.

“It’s time,” the Slayer murmured.

She was about to put the flower down on the bench beside her before rising, but Maeve put a hand on hers and shook her head.

“Keep it with you,” she encouraged and Buffy nodded, though slightly perplexed, before putting it in the pocket on the inside of her cape.

¤¤¤

She was shown into a smaller room. Bookshelves lined every wall and there was a multitude of volumes filling them. Buffy took it in momentarily, then directed her eyes in the princess’ – sitting on a high backed chair at a table in the middle of the room. An empty chair was placed opposite the vampiress and Buffy concluded it was meant for her. The vampire who had brought her there bowed to his ruler and walked out, closing the door behind him. The Slayer proceeded up to the table, sitting down on the chair and facing Clara, who observed her in silence.

“What do you think of my city?” the princess finally asked.

“I’ve barely seen any of it, so I don’t really have an opinion,” Buffy replied.

Clara cocked an eyebrow.

“We must remedy that,” was her only comment.

As quiet once more grew to fill the room, Buffy felt her patience fall away.

“What do you want?” she inquired. “I’m here to negotiate, aren’t I? Though I have no idea what I’m supposed to negotiate for.”

“Peace... would perhaps come to mind as you are standing on the verge of war,” Clara remarked.

“And how do I reach peace, milady? It seems awfully far away right now.”

“Ah,” the princess smiled, “but of course. My people deserve their place above ground. They did not choose to live in isolation and dark – my parents made that choice before any of them were even conceived, including me. I’ve waited...” She trialed off, looking at Buffy and then sighing. “I’ve waited for far too long now,” she mumbled, having the Slayer furrow her brow questioningly.

“What do you mean, exactly?” she wondered.

Clara studied her nails for a few moments, seemingly lost in thoughts of her own and for the first time acting not one hundred percent in focus. Somehow it gave Buffy an even more innerving quiver down her back.

“You need to come back here tomorrow with more of an argument than all these questions,” the princess said, suddenly rising and Buffy stared at her – uncomprehending. “I will leave you the rest of the hour to think some up. I shall see you tonight at the ball. I beseech you, have a look around the city before then, so as perhaps we shall have something more interesting to discuss than our differences.”

With that she turned and left the room, the door being instantly opened for her as though by an invisible hand – though it was simply situated on the other side. Buffy sat back on the chair.

The fickle nature of this creature was incredibly annoying. How were they supposed to get anywhere if they only spoke for five minutes at a time? She rose as well, feeling an air of defeat about her that she thought too persistent to get rid of. She truly had no idea what to do next, what was expected of her, how she could stop this race from gaining ground when they were one thousand times stronger than her and any of her kin. Not even an army of Slayers could fight their speed. It was as though they could be in three places at once, they were so damn fast.

It’s hopeless, Buffy thought.

She continued out of the room and wrapping her cape tighter around her against the cold she walked through the hallways and to her rooms. She was beginning to be able to map out the castle, no matter how infinite its passageways, staircases, rooms and halls had first seemed. At least she knew how to get from point A to point B without getting lost. She reached her suite and went into her bedroom, taking off the cape and being about to throw it on the bed when she felt the lump of the rose.

She brought it out, thinking that perhaps its scent would help appease her, but bringing it to her nose she paused the movement as she detected something white among the petals. At first she thought it was snow and brushed at it; but it wasn’t. To her surprise, grabbing the tip that was sticking up, she was able to pull out a very small piece of paper.

“What in the...” she murmured, unfolding it carefully.

¤¤¤

Spike sunk deeper into the hot water of the tub. He hadn’t taken a bath quite like this since he was younger... much younger. The water had been brought in small barrels directly from the place where it had been boiled. He smirked to himself. Primitive, but efficient. Now he had a deliciously warm bath to soak in, and he planned to enjoy every minute of it. Closing his eyes he slipped his head under water.

He didn’t hear the door of his suite opening or Buffy’s voice calling his name – though he thought for a moment that he had – and he didn’t hear her feet approaching the door of the bathroom either.

Buffy looked around the bedroom, concluding he wasn’t there and headed for the adjoined bathroom, the door slightly ajar. She wouldn’t have been so intrusive unless it hadn’t been so important. She was positive he was just in there combing his hair anyway. Pushing the door open her eyes fell on him just as his head once more broke the surface of the water and they widened when his gaze met hers – shocked.

“Buffy!” he exclaimed and she couldn’t move or reply, merely stare. He snatched a washcloth from the nearby spindly table and placed it over his private parts; a gesture which had her smirk.

Clearing her throat she finally glanced away and he gave her a questioning look.

“What the bleeding...?!” he began, but she put up a hand to stop him.

“I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t think I’d walk in on you... in that,” she said and he could detect the lingering smile on her mouth.

“Well, do you mind?!” he asked and she shrugged.

“Not at all, in fact,” she stated, walking into the room and kneeling beside the tub as she leaned closer.

He stared at her, taken aback and for some reason irritated with her for violating his privacy. Or perhaps because he couldn’t take the liberty of pulling her in to join him. Waving the thought away he concentrated on her as she began to speak in a low whisper, telling him of her encounter with Maeve, the rose she had been given, and the note she had found in it.

“What did it say?” he asked.

“The Blue Orchard,” she answered.

“Nothing more?”

“It didn’t have to. It’s where we’re supposed to meet,” she said and he blinked.

“How the hell would you know that?” he demanded and she smiled, reaching down a hand and splashing a little water in his face before rising.

“Get dressed,” she said. “We’re going sightseeing.”

“And if I don’t wanna?” he muttered.

She looked at the bath and felt how much she longed for one herself, feeling cruel for asking him to shorten his. Then she thought of the pressing matter still at hand and replied:

“Then I’ll go myself, and withhold whatever vital and interesting information I’m able to collect.”

He tilted his head a little to the side and then rose. She closed her eyes and he smirked, taking the washcloth away and twisting the water out of it. She heard it dripping into the tub and bit the inside of her cheek before turning around in order to prevent herself from opening her eyes, feeling the convincing push for her to fall into his arms and not care about anything else... just for a while.

“I’ll wait out here,” she mumbled, walking out through the door and closing it behind her.

He had to smile.

Buffy did as well, forcing the blush away from her cheeks just as she looked up and her eyes met Theodore’s. She jerked from the surprise, but he simply gave the inkling of a nod as greeting. She composed herself and mirrored his motion, not knowing what she should say to him. Before she could think of anything fitting, the bathroom door opened and she turned toward it.

“So what’s sightseeing got to do with the Blue...?” Spike began, stopping himself when he noticed the addition that had been made to his company and hurriedly finishing: “...-ooming weather?! There’s snow in the bloody garden, but there’s not exactly a sky to worry about, is there?”

Theodore looked from one to the other. Buffy kept her gaze on Spike and soon his found hers as well. She smiled crookedly and he rolled his eyes slightly.

“You here for a reason, mate?” he then asked Theodore.

“Yes, her highness informed me that you were to be taken into the city before the ball.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

“Well, we’d better do exactly as her highness says,” she said, looking at Spike and then holding out her hand.

He held back the smirk and walked up to her, offering her his arm and having her loop hers through it before resting her hand against the soft fabric of the garments he was in. Theodore led the way and they followed, Spike trying to get her to explain more of what was going on through not-so-much-working mime.

They walked through the entrance hall and out through the large doors which had been the first to take them into the castle. There was a strange, reddish glow from the cave itself, illuminating the rocks high above the city; while the city itself had lamps burning along its streets.

As quiet and desolate the city had been when they walked through it on the first day, it was now full of movement. Vampires were everywhere, and Buffy was amazed at how the activity was... so normal. There were shops containing different items of purchase such as clothes, hats, candy, liquor and numerous other things. It was like stepping into an old movie and the transition from what both Buffy and Spike were used to was rather dramatic.

“Fantastic, isn’t it?” Buffy murmured to him and he smiled, nodding.

“But... a stroll through the orchard might’ve been to prefer?” he wondered meaningfully, having her return his smile.

“We might still have a chance to,” she then said, and he followed her gaze; his landing on a black painted sign carrying the silvered letters forming a name: The Blue Orchard. “If you’re thirsty there’s nothing else to do about it, is there?” she added, looking over at Theodore who was admiring something in a shop window. “We’ll be over there,” she called to him, “in the tavern.” He gave her a nod and she proceeded forward, muttering: “Does he EVER open his mouth?”

The Slayer pushed the door of the small tavern open and stepped inside, pulling her arm out of Spike’s as he followed her through the doorway. The place came to a crashing halt, all heads slowly being turned to them, and Spike tensed considerably.

“Maybe...” he began, but Buffy continued forward and up to the long, oak bar.

“Have anything not colored red at this joint?” she asked the bartender and the tall vampire gave her a long look before huffing.

“We don’t serve sapiens,” he replied coldly.

She smiled sweetly.

“Wanna bet?” she asked, bringing out the note and placing it on the counter.

His eyes flicked to it for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough for her to notice the immediate change on his countenance. However, it was so subtle she doubted anyone not expecting to see it there, would.

“We have tequila,” he muttered.

“Sounds good,” she nodded, Spike now joining her at her side and she could sense the protest coming from him. She gave him a calming glance. “Did you know,” she then added, addressing the bartender once more, “that ‘alcohol’ more or less was invented by monks? True ‘sapiens’ at that. Guess you’re not running a classy enough establishment here to rid yourself of those little quarks are you?”

He let hear a low growl at that, pouring her drink and slamming it down harshly before her. She grabbed it and swallowed it down in one gulp. Closing her eyes she let it pour through her and then slammed the small glass down in the same manner as the bartender. He glared at her, then said:

“Marion, take over.”

A vampiress moved forward from a different corner behind the bar and the bartender gave the Slayer and the Vamp a sign to follow him. They did, passed the extent of the bar counter at which end was a doorway. The bartender took the lead and Spike placed a hand on Buffy’s arm as she was about to walk in his footsteps.

“Don’t worry,” she said at Spike’s questioning and uncertain gaze, “you’re safe with me,” she finished and he smirked, still not convinced as he walked behind her after the other vampire.

It seemed Buffy knew exactly what she was doing, and he wondered how she possibly could.

They proceeded through a dark, narrow hallway, bringing a piece of cloth to the side and entering a low-ceiled storage room. The bartender moved a few boxes and revealed a tiny door in the wall, not higher than five feet. He brought out a keychain and selected a flat and long key made of copper, putting it in the lock and twisting it.

“There,” he grumbled, walking passed them and out the way they had come. “Now don’t come into the Orchard again, stirring up trouble,” he added before disappearing behind the cloth.

“What the buggering...?!” Spike said with a gesture to the door and Buffy merely smiled again before walking up to it and pulling it open.

“Here’s Alice,” she murmured. “Where’s that goshdarned old rabbit at?” she added, seemingly to herself and Spike stared at her as she huddled and gathered up her skirts, getting ready to move forward.

“Slayer,” he murmured and she looked at him.

“Almost there,” she replied softly. “Come on. We don’t have much time.”

He looked skywards before following her as she began the strained walk through the passageway beyond the door.

¤¤¤

“Are you sure it’s empty?” Cordelia asked, looking up at Willow where she stood on the edge of the fountain, having just reached into the belly of the headless angel decorating it.

“I’ve checked three times already,” Willow replied. “I’m pretty sure.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Angel said. “That page hadn’t just fallen out, someone had ripped it out deliberately.”

“Of course someone had!” Willow shot. “But that doesn’t mean that that someone didn’t replace it into the book before putting it in here...” She jumped down, brushing her hands off against her jeans. “Which someone obviously didn’t,” she added with a sigh.

“Whereto now?” Cordelia wondered.

“Well...” Willow said slowly.

“How about the girl who gave you the information...” Angel began.

“Tilla,” Willow filled in.

“Her apartment was messed up, like the Arderia had searched it for something,” he pointed out and Willow eyed him for a moment before she nodded.

“Let’s go then,” she said. “It’s not too far from here.”

¤¤¤

The Slayer reached the end of the tight passageway after what felt like hours of shuffling forward in darkness. She let out the breath she had been holding.

“You there?” she whispered and felt Spike’s hand gently place itself against her back.

“Right behind you, love,” he whispered and she smiled.

Pushing on the door now before her it took a few seconds and then it suddenly gave way for her, having her stumble forwards and into a rather large room, lit by candles standing everywhere – on tables, on small shelves. A large bookcase covered one of the walls, stocked to the brim of what was sane with books of different sizes. Three round tables were placed in the middle of the room, odd chairs stood around them. Buffy regained her balance and straightened her back as Spike came up at her side, taking the room in.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Explanation? How the hell did you know ‘bout this place?”

She met his gaze and then turned her head as a movement broke from one of the shadowed corners, stepping into the light. Spike stared at the vampiress as she brought the hood of her cape back to reveal her face.

“I led her here,” Ophelia replied to the vampire’s question.

“Why?” Spike demanded.

“Because there is still too much that she doesn’t know,” the vampiress answered silently, fastening her eyes in the Slayer’s. “Things that it is time she begun to understand.”