Title: Orion Sings (Chapter Twenty-seven - Meant to Be)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)

Feedback: Yes, please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, UPN, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren’t me. :::sigh::::

Summary: Spike goes on his reconnaissance mission to find out what Drusilla knows. What he finds out, however, is nearly enough to kill him.

WARNING: MAJOR ANGST. I can’t tell you what, but read at your own risk. I felt it necessary and organic to the story, so please try and understand and try not to hate me.

Orion Sings

The gravel in front of the mission crunched under the tires of the motorcycle. Spike wasn’t exactly sure where he was, but it was a couple of hours south of Sunnydale and not quite in Mexico.

The mission itself was a ruin. Not one of those restored-for-historical-value places, with clean, white-washed exteriors and flowers planted in front of the old stone and stucco. Rather an old, dilapidated monstrosity darkly set against the even darker sky.

A spray of rock and road detritus flew from behind the rear tire as he skidded his bike to a halt by the side of the building. A thought of hiding it crossed his mind, but, by the looks of things, no one was here anyway. And no one ever came.

Thousands of things ran through his head as he parked, grabbing his duffle and swinging his leg over the bike to start into the building. Pictures of Buffy lying in their bed, so small and injured and actually needing his help. Watching her fall to the ground in the fight. Other things too: she and Emma in the backyard, holding Will as she barked out commands on a school morning, undulating beneath him with her coral lips parted as they made love.

As he walked closer to the mission, he could see other things too. Pictures he wasn’t sure he wanted to see anymore, but that were as much a part of his memory as those of his family. Pictures of Dru, blood on her mouth, giggling after a hunt. Dru dancing under the stars, reveling in the base instincts she’d been left with after her torture had broken her. Hanging onto that stupid sodding doll and laughing at the moon.

A quirky smile broke on the edge of his lips. He loved it when she laughed.

Drusilla had been his princess then, and was his sire. There was a bond there that could never be broken. Somewhere, he thought, Buffy understood that. That there would always be a bond between them both like mother and child, and like first loves. That thought made him shudder. But it was true, all the same.

She was a part of him, Dru. Always had been. Always would be.

But a different part now.

Stomping out the cigarette he’d forgotten he’d lit, Spike stood in front of the mission. Something felt … wrong… here. Not in the ‘I’m about to be ambushed’ sense. His radar for humans was showing clear. The funny thing was, so was his radar for Vampires. He felt nothing in the place. Nothing at all. Except sadness.

With a deep breath, he gathered his courage and walked through the stone arch and into the mission.

~~~@~~~@~~~@~~~

“Buffy,” Giles said, exasperated, tired and a bit nerve-wracked, knowing his beloved was currently in Hell. “Do you remember anything about what the Master looked like?”

“I didn’t really see him,” she answered sullenly, curling up on her good side and drawing her broken arm over her middle. Giles sat on the edge of the bed, a dusty tome in his lap. He’d put Randy to bed in Will’s room and had decided to stay with Buffy on the first shift. She wasn’t going to be left alone while Spike was gone. Both by Spike’s wishes and his own.

“Nothing at all?” Giles asked, knowing that Buffy’s mind was elsewhere.

She shook her head. “I was a little busy getting my arm broken. Sorry.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Giles knew that it was just to cover the worry and sadness of what was happening with Spike.

With a dusty clap, Giles shut the book, like a father finishing telling a bedtime story. “Well, I’ll have to ask Spike when he comes back. I suppose that he got a look at the Master.” He paused, waiting for Buffy to react, but she just drew herself into a tighter ball. “If you’d like, I’ll give you a free berating session for coming up with this plan to begin with.”

Buffy turned on her back and stared at the ceiling. “I’d really like that.”

Giles chuckled, turning to face her. “Buffy,” he began, taking a deep breath, “You know that I wouldn’t… I couldn’t… after all these years…I would never…”

“Do something you didn’t think was absolutely necessary?” She asked, scooting herself up so she was propped on the pillows and wincing from the sudden surge of pain in her arm.

Giles’s face went white. “Your arm? Shall I get you something for…?”

“Can’t,” she hissed. “Baby.”

“Right,” Giles nodded helplessly. “Maybe we should have this conversation when you’re feeling a bit...”

Buffy closed her eyes and swallowed down the nauseating surge of pain, then refocused. “Fine now.”

Another, this time humourless, chuckle from her Watcher. “That I very much doubt.”

A smirk from the Slayer and things were back on track. “Listen, Giles, I know that you wouldn’t have asked Spike to do this if you didn’t think it was important. If you didn’t honestly think she might be able to help. But it doesn’t change…”

“I know,” Giles interrupted. “I know that Buffy. I wouldn’t have let Anya go back to La Maison Rouge unless I thought it was vital to the… situation…”

“But it doesn’t change how much I hate it,” Buffy concluded.

“No,” Giles agreed, nodding. “It doesn’t.”

Buffy thought for a moment. “Angel knows?”

A perplexed look crossed the Watcher’s face. “Knows what, Buffy?”

“That Spike is going there, or is there, or whatever?” Buffy asked. “I mean, I know that they don’t always see eye to eye, but I also know that Drusilla… well, she’s something to both of them.”

Giles nodded. “We can’t ever understand that, Buffy. We’re not… as close as we are, in differing ways, to the varying demon populations, we cannot understand their emotional ties. I can’t assume that this is particularly easy on Spike either.”

Buffy shook her head and then smiled. “Hey, were you just thinking of my Vampire husband’s welfare?” She joked.

A blush spread on the Watcher’s cheeks. “Yes, well, he has been at least moderately helpful and not annoyed me to the point of my brain dribbling from my ears for quite some time.”

Finally, laughter filled the room. Buffy exploded into giggles, ignoring the pain in her arm and her heart and her spirit and laughed, remembering a time when no one believed in Spike but her. And even the time when she didn’t, although that seemed so long ago. And she was really stupid then.

“But,” Giles finally continued, laughter in his own voice, “I did tell Angel that Spike had left and also to stay clear until Spike had talked to Drusilla, as I don’t think that she’ll talk as freely to Angel as she will to Spike.”

Buffy nodded, regaining her composure. “I wouldn’t.”

“There was a time when you did,” Giles reminded her.

“No, there was a time where I had a wicked crush on a handsome Vampire and fell in love with what I couldn’t have. But there was never a time where I felt safer with him than I do with Spike,” Buffy corrected, trying to remember it all. Everything seemed so long ago. Like another lifetime altogether. Then again, it was another lifetime altogether, in a way.

Giles nodded at her, so glad for the comfort between them. She was his daughter. Through thick and thin, that was the one thing that hadn’t changed. Them. And that made Giles happier than she’d ever know.

Somewhere, he hoped Joyce would be pleased at how her daughter had turned out, and that she thought he’d done an all right job seeing her there.

“You should get some rest, Buffy,” Giles said softly. “I’m going to go downstairs and do a bit of researcht.”

She nodded, smiling as he pulled the comforter up to her chin and filled the glass of water on her nightstand. “Thanks for staying with me,” she whispered, looking up at him with large, innocent eyes, reminiscent of those eyes that had looked at him the day they first met.

He nodded once, grabbing the tome. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now get some rest,” he answered, flipping off the light.

“Nite Giles,” she sang sleepily.

“Goodnight, Buffy.”

~~~@~~~@~~~@~~~

As Spike walked down the hallway of the mission, a surge of white hot pain spread through his body and he stopped, leaning against a wall for support. When he could see again, he shook his head and looked down at himself, trying to survey the damage, his eyes flittering around in the darkness to see where it came from.

He sensed nothing in the room. No one else. His body seemed whole. Intact. But his arm burned as if someone had spilled holy water on it. Halfway up his forearm, sparks of white fire still exploded like New Years fireworks.

A thought occurred to him.

Buffy.

Images swam in his head of her helpless, clutching her arm, screaming in pain, doubled over and crying, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to stop it. His heart beat double time in his chest and he searched the pockets of his duster for his cell phone, finding that he must have left it in his bag.

Buffy.

But as quickly as the pain came upon him, it began to subside, and a sort of peaceful quiet settled over him. Comfort, despite pain.

Spike took a deep breath and decided to get this over with. He needed, he *ached* to be with Buffy. But he knew he had to do this first.

The sound of his boot heels thudding against the cement corridor was deafening in the silence. He came to the end of the hall and found a T- junction. Left or right. Left or right.

A funny thought occurred to him. Were it Buffy he’d been looking for, he’d have headed right. With Dru, the left hand path was always a safe bet.

A pivot and he was on his way down a dark corridor, riddled with exits into various chambers. Spike switched into game face in order to see better, and began to search, still not feeling anything but the inky black emptiness all around him.

At the end of the hall, there was a large stone archway, leading into a small courtyard. From that direction, he sensed something faint. Nothing he’d consider a threat. Actually, it was more like what the life-force of a wet, bedraggled kitten would feel like. Just a blip. But he followed it nonetheless.

There was a dead fountain in the courtyard, surrounded by an overgrown garden. Stone benches sat in a circle around the fountain, lit by the soft light of the crescent moon. Darkness surrounded the area past the benches. Stone eaves and overhangs creating corners darker than the pits of Hell. It made Spike shudder.

Straightening his back, reminding himself that he was half of the single most powerful force on this plane, he pushed back his fear and strode toward the fountain in the pale moonlight.

“I wish to think the brave knight came to save his princess, but the knight is white and his princess is black and night,” a weak voice sing-songed from the darkness.

Spike spun towards the sound, focusing with his enhanced vision on the corner of the courtyard, not far from where he stood.

The voice breathed a heavy sigh. “The night does not bring pleasure to me anymore,” she said quietly. “But the flowers are so pretty.”

Dead roses climbed up a trellis to his left, but bright wildflowers grew at the base. He wasn’t sure which she was talking about.

“You came to ask your mommy for help,” she whispered, the sound cracked and arid. “You came to ask your mommy about the baby.”

Spike walked hesitantly towards the sound, his boot heels now explosively loud, only competing against the pounding of his heart. “That I did, Dru.”

He could almost hear her smile. “I always loved you best, my Spike,” she cooed from the shadows. “Come and say goodbye.”

Spike quirked an eyebrow, not at all certain of what the dark princess had in store, but stepped towards the darkness all the same.

At the edge of the ring of light created by the moon, he began to see her. She was dressed in a white dress like one of her dolls, sitting on the cold concrete, her legs spread in front of her like a child, her body held up only by the wall behind her.

She was skeletal, her face nearly as white as her dress, black hair shocking against her pale, smooth skin. Something in Spike cracked at the sight. She’d always been frail, but strong. Vibrant.

Now she was dead.

With another sharp inhale of courage, he pushed himself towards her and into the darkness, standing at her feet. “Drusilla,” his hushed voice gasped. He couldn’t fathom what was in front of him. The stick figure with skin hanging from bone, lost and alone with eyes as hollowed and dead as the deepest recesses of Hell.

She smiled a mirthless grin, but her eyes still twinkled with the last vestiges of her spirit. “My Spike. Come and sit with me, will you?”

Spike swallowed, dropping to his knees in front of his creator. What he told Buffy had been truth. He wasn’t in love with her… not in the way that Buffy feared… but there would always be something between them. She would always be his sire, his teacher. He would always know what made her smile and what made her heart sing.

A bony hand reached out and took his. It was ice against his warmed skin. “Your humanity suits you, even if I hate it,” she whispered. “It is nice to be warm.”

Spike scooted closer, pulling her against him so that her head lolled into the crook of his shoulder. She was too weak to fight it, and too weak to find her way in closer. “S’nice sometimes, Pet.”

“To share your bed?” Dru asked quietly, her eyes shifting up towards his.

Spike nodded. “That too.” He could feel tears forming as she nodded her reply.

“You were meant to be there, you know. Orion told me so.” She shifted her gaze to the stars and pointed weakly. “He sings me to sleep some nights. Like you used to do. And he told me you were happy with the little Slayer. I don’t like her.”

Spike had to chuckle at that. “I know you don’t, princess.”

Drusilla went quiet a moment and Spike wondered if she was gone. Disappearing out from under his arm. “She is your princess now,” Dru whispered sadly.

“She is,” Spike answered honestly. “Doesn’t change you, though. Doesn’t make what happened any less.”

A small hitch and Spike felt a tear against his shirt. “Alone now. Alone with the stars. Don’t want to drink the red red wine. Don’t want to play in the flowers. I never wanted this at all. But I did miss you.”

Spike could feel his own tears welling. “What didn’t you want, Pet?”

“I wanted to be good. I remember that now. Wanted to be a good girl. Went to a place like this. Holy men were here, Spike. They sang too, until we killed them. Our kind.”

He looked around the stone structure, feeling the faint vibration of torture and death in the walls. It wouldn’t have surprised him much to hear that Vampires killed the men that lived here. Like Angel had done to Drusilla’s convent. It was a favourite pastime of the darker breeds.

“Hurts to remember,” Spike whispered, absently stroking her hair. “What it felt like before...”

“Sad,” she whispered quietly. “And now Daddy’s got his soul and you’ve got your stars and I’m left alone. Can’t be good. Can’t be bad anymore because I remember.”

The words tore at Spike’s own heart. ‘Not a monster. Not a man.’

“I know, Love. But we can help you. Angel and me. If you want,” Spike said quietly, feeling her fingers threaded in his.

He felt her head shake violently. “Want to go back to the stars, Spike,” she whispered, tracing patterns on his palm. “Want them to take me home now.”

Spike turned and caught her tired gaze. She was starved and alone and afraid. Something in her hadn’t quite grasped guilt yet, but she was feeling something and that something was tearing her in two.

“But you didn’t come to help your princess,” Dru whispered quietly. “You came about the Dark One and your daughter.”

It took everything he had to pull himself together and press on. That was why he was here. Not for her. Although, if he could find a way to make this right in the process…

But then, would he be responsible for letting one of the most gifted killers of all time free once more?

The thought boggled his mind as he sat there, giving his warmth to the woman who created him. Did they really do those things? Or was it all a cheap hoax?

“The Dark One knows your child, Spike,” Drusilla said quietly. “I will tell you what he knows, but only if you promise to give me a gift.”

Spike shifted, turning towards her and settling her down on his chest, holding her like a child. “Anything, Dru. What do you want? I’ll do everything…” His eyes sparkled with unshed tears, his heart breaking at the sight of her. The sound of her voice. The smell of decay.

“End this,” she whispered, her gaze catching his. Tears streamed down her sunken cheeks as she said it. “End me.”

Spike’s eyes went wide and wild. “What? Dru, you can’t be serious! I can’t…”

“Love,” she said quietly, her hand rising to his face, her palm ice cold against his cheek. “I cannot be good. I cannot be bad. I cannot be.”

“We can help you, Dru,” Spike answered, his voice cracking. “Angel. Me. Even Buffy…”

“No,” she ordered, her voice as strong as he’d heard it yet. “The stars are calling me home and I will go, with your help or without. If you want your answers, you will take me home. Set me free.”

Tears streamed down his face as he stared at her hollow emptiness. Gone was the girl laughing under the stars. Gone was the killer. Gone was the saint. All that was left was the frail shell. And she wanted to go home.

How could he deny her that?

“I brought you into this world, Spike,” Drusilla began again. “I was your mum. Take me out of it.”

“Dru,” Spike breathed, his voice shaking and cracked. “Please. God, please don’t…”

“Forsaken,” she hissed, “God has forsaken me. Took you back. Took Daddy back. And I, who gave what I have unto Him, He has forsaken me.” Her eyes turned again to Spike. “But I will give Him what he asks and maybe He will love me again. Maybe you will love me again.”

She sobbed soundlessly against Spike’s chest, her bony fingers gripping the lapel of his duster. “Dru….” He whispered, stroking her hair.

“Promise me an end and I will give you your answer. Promise me nothing and leave,” Drusilla replied, trying to make her voice as commanding as she could. “My Spike,” she continued. “My good Spike. Make a choice.”

To be contd.

Title: Ashes to Stone (Chapter Twenty-eight - Meant to Be)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)

Feedback: Yes, please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, UPN, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren’t me. :::sigh::::

Summary: Spike goes on his reconnaissance mission to find out what Drusilla knows. What he finds out, however, is nearly enough to kill him. And the price that he pays for information is more than he can handle.

WARNING: MAJOR ANGST. I can’t tell you what, but read at your own risk. I felt it necessary and organic to the story, so please try and understand and try not to hate me.

Ashes to Stone

Spike stared down at the fragile creature held to his chest. Her eyes were lost and dead and tired and afraid, but her decision was made. Drusilla was always such an enigma. So frail and delicate, but, at the same time, so strong and so vicious.

And she always knew, in her twisted little way, what she wanted.

And now she wanted it to end.

“Dru,” Spike began, feeling the tears well up behind his eyes. “Please, love. Please don’t make me...”

“You are the only one to ask, my Spike. The only one left,” Drusilla began again, her dark eyes flittering from his face to the sky, as if watching a dialog that no-one but she could perceive.

The pause seemed like hours. Drusilla was silent, cradled against him like a child. She was more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her, but more sure than he’d ever want to admit.

She wanted to go home.

How could he deny her? How could he pretend not to understand? To be stuck in a place where your nature is evil, but your heart suddenly remembers good and right and love and loss. When he had gone through this, he had Buffy to hope for - to *try* for. But Drusilla was alone.

Likely, she always would be. Angel had gone his own way. Darla was dead. And her beloved childe had become too real.

“Dru....” It was more of a plea. Anything. Anything to make her change her mind, because if she *didn’t*, he knew he could not deny her her last request.

She smiled softly, a gesture reminiscent of so many strange moments in their past when both of them seemed just a little too... human. “The stars call me home now, Spike. Orion sings. The wheel must stop.”

A deep breath in and Spike closed his eyes, nodding. “Love, if that is what you want me to do, I will.”

Her skeletal hand wrapped in his and he opened his eyes, the tears now falling. Her smile became brighter, almost radiant, as she studied his face. “You are the knight most valiant, my Spike. You are the brave one.”

“Not feeling very brave, my love,” Spike answered, holding her closer against him.

“You are,” Drusilla answered simply. “And now I can give you my gift.”

Drusilla looked at the sky for a long moment, tracing patterns between the points of light with her fingers as if connecting the dots, or tabulating some formula just from the way that the cosmos danced above. “The Dark One is a bad boy,” Dru began again. “Not naughty, like my dear boy, or even evil like daddy used to be. His heart is darkness.”

“Gwydion?” Spike clarified, earning a nod from the dark princess.

“There is no light there. Doesn’t even love his maker. He made me scared, Spike. Even more than daddy. But his face...” She reached up and touched Spike’s cheek with her palm, drinking in the sight of her love. “He had your face.”

Spike nodded, feeling a tear drip down his face. He understood that. Drusilla had aligned herself with Gwydion not because of the hell he’d planned on unleashing, but rather because he’d taken Spike’s father’s guise. And Spike, William Windsor, was every inch the spitting image of his father.

Dru was simply lonely.

“He did, Love,” Spike confirmed, almost seeing the memories flash through her mind. Maybe it was from being joined with Buffy for so long and seeing flashes of their past.

Or maybe because, at one time, the same blood flowed between himself and his sire.

“The Queen of the Sky has chosen the soul of the one inside of the little Slayer,” Drusilla began again; her eyes focused on the line of stars that made up Orion’s belt. She was almost in a trance now, her voice smooth and hypnotizing and very far away. “But the soul of the chosen has been corrupted.”

“Corrupted?” Spike asked. “Evil?”

Dru shook her head, a tear escaping from her cheeks. “Not evil. Not like us. A golden soul, with tips of roses. But the bug crawled in and left a mark.”

In some odd way, Spike understood. He wasn’t sure if it was because he knew his dark queen so well, even after all this time. Or because maybe the stars were filling in the blanks. Insanity began to overtake his mind and it set him free.

“Like a bruise, Love?” Spike asked, rocking her against him as he did with Emma when the girl had woken from a bad dream.

“A scar,” Drusilla corrected, still lost in the shining line of stars. “It will not matter to the rest of the world, as she will heal. She is only a danger coming back to you.”

Spike nodded again, thinking. Trying to formulate, in his grief-addled mind, a way to fight this. A way to move forward. A way not to lose another part of himself.

A smile flitted over Dru’s pained face as she stared upwards and it made Spike quirk a brow. “What is it, Love?”

“Hot chocolate,” Drusilla said softly. “With the white petals in the dark brown. Sweet like a girl’s blood.”

Confusion rattled Spike’s thoughts. Hot chocolate?

The dark woman became quiet again, the smile disappearing from her face. “The Dark One can control her. He can make her dance. And she will be made to destroy all that she loves.”

“Because of the scar, Love?” Spike asked. “Because he’s marked her?”

Drusilla nodded. “He made her a puppet. Took her thought and filled her with his own. And she doesn’t know the games he plays, “Another eternal pause before Dru spoke again. “She just wants to come home.”

Tears began to slide down the wizened face below him and they made his spill from the corners of his eyes. “Can we stop it, Love? Can we take away the scar?”

A shake of the head, and Drusilla’s tears fell faster. “Can’t take it away. She cannot go home. Like me. She cannot come back to her heart and her little baby.”

Spike filed away Dru’s words in his memory, hoping that if he could remember any of it after this night was over, he might be able to find a way. But he had to keep her talking. Find out all she knew.

This could be the last chance he had to hear her voice.

“Dru,” Spike breathed. “Can we make it right, Pet? Can the stars?”

Drusilla thought for a moment. “Killing the little baby before it is born will make it stop.” She paused, watching Spike’s face contort in pain and fear. “But you love your little babies and the Knight cannot kill what he is meant to protect.”

“No, Love,” Spike answered, brushing her hair from her gaunt face. “I can’t.”

“But you will have to tonight,” Drusilla resigned. “Kill the love.”

His heart broke in his chest. Thinking of all he was about to lose. No, he wasn’t in love with her, but this pathetic, frail, creature in his arms was his everything, his world, for so long. One never forgets...

“I know,” he answered swallowing.

Dru nodded her relief. “Only the soul itself, now, can decide not to come home. It is not up to the Fairy Queen or to you or your little golden girls. Only the heart that has wished to come back can choose to remain.”

“How?” Spike asked, fear gripping him. “How do we know? How do we ask, my love?”

“Your eldest can take you to the place where the souls sleep. From there, you must only ask. But it is her choice. Her choice to remain or return. To come home to her baby and hot chocolate.”

“*To* her baby? Or *as* a baby?” Spike questioned, ignoring the second half, which would, he knew, somehow be important.

“To,” Drusilla answered simply. “And you cannot tell her why or the scar she bears will never fade. Knowing it, my prince, will make it real. Her heart will break either way.”

Spike nodded, knowing that pain all too well. “And if we convince her?”

“Then the Queen can choose a new soul and that child will be your light, not your darkness.”

Dru said nothing more for a long time, her eyes riveted on the sky. When she spoke again, it was a warning she imparted. “There is a new evil near you now. An old one. Like our Master.” Spike’s thoughts flitted to the fight that seemed an eternity before, but was really just last night. “He wishes to take away your power. Replace you and take your life. He wants to make Peace his own, my Spike. And he wants to use the Key.”

Shock flashed on Spike’s face. “Emma? Dawn?”

Drusilla nodded. “He does not play our games, my Spike. He will ferret himself into your world under your very nose and try to take away your loves. You cannot let him. You must be brave, my Knight. You must be a Vampire.”

More mental filing and Spike nodded. “Can I win, Love?”

A bright smile. Her last, he’d remember later. “My brave Knight always wins.”

Like the sun disappearing over the horizon, her smile faded and she became still. There was no more she could give. Spike had no doubt of that. The stars, her mind, her thoughts, were gone. Empty. Purged like the bag of bones curled against his chest.

She opened dark, lost eyes and caught his gaze. “A kiss, my love? To say goodbye?”

The tears began anew and Spike nodded. “Let us help you, Pet. Please.”

A small shake of her head and he felt her shift beneath him. A skeletal hand reached below the hem of her dress and a shock of sorrow crashed into him as he realized she was handing him a stake.

One that she’d made herself, judging by small, even claw marks running from base to tip. She’d wanted to go, but could not do it. Some vestige of her old faith clung tight to her. It always had.

God could forgive her her sins were she to return to him. But she could not be forgiven for taking her own life.

He felt the sob hitch in his chest as he took it, his hand brushing hers as she let go. “Please, Pet. Please don’t.”

The hand that had held the stake reached up to his cheek, cold flesh pressing to warm. “Be brave, my Spike. Be brave, my Love. You will always win.”

She shifted again, pushing herself up and curling an arm around his neck, her face mere inches from his. With her free hand, she took the fist in which he held her death and pulled it to her chest, the point pressing to the material over her heart. “My beautiful William.”

“Dru,” he choked out, sobs wracking him now. “Dru...”

“Let it be done, my beautiful boy. Let me go home.”

Drusilla leaned forward, pressing her lips to his almost chastely. She tasted of spice and honey and darkness and loss. Her hand held his face to hers as she kissed the tears from his cheeks, then pressed her lips once more to his.

“Set me free, my Knight.”

He nodded against her, tasting her lips, feeling her cold, frail body shudder. Her mouth so sweet and soft.

“Set me free, my love.”

With a sob, his wrist twitched.

And she was gone.

~~~@~~~@~~~@~~~

Buffy awoke in a panic. Pain and fear and sadness and terror, and every other dark emotion she could think of, rattled her. She screamed. It was all she could do.

Footsteps pounded down the hall. Fast. Furious.

The door swung open.

Buffy was still screaming.

“My God, Buffy. What’s wrong? What’s happened?” The soothing, English voice barely made it to her ears. It was the wrong soothing, English voice. The wrong one right now.

“Buffy? Is it your arm? Shall I call Takina?” A long pause and then fear took over the man’s face. “The baby?”

Sobs wracked the small girl on the bed. “Spike. God, Spike.”

Buffy pushed herself upright and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I have to go to him. Giles, I have to go...”

“Buffy, it’s not safe. What’s happened? Is he...” Confusion and contagious panic began to fill him. He and Spike had had their differences, but he was a part of Buffy now. A part of them all. And his children....

She shook her head, pushing herself upright, almost fainting from the pain in her arm and the fear and loss in her heart. “Not dead. Not dead. Something inside died. Something inside...”

“Buffy?” Giles asked, cautiously moving towards her. She looked as though she’d hit the floor any moment. “Does he need help?”

“Me,” she muttered. “Needs me.” Stumbling with every step, she forced herself to the dresser. “Now. Needs me.”

Giles nodded, knowing it was unsafe and knowing Spike would likely at least threaten to rip his head off for even thinking of allowing this, but the panic Buffy was in dictated that there was no stopping her. “It will take hours to get there, Buffy.”

She stopped, thinking for a moment, and then reached for the phone. “Get the car,” she ordered, almost catatonic. “Is Willow here?”

Giles nodded. “I’ll wake her and ask her to mind the children. But I won’t allow you to go alone.”

Buffy nodded, giving up on fighting, her fingers pressing buttons furiously. “Get the car,” she said to Giles in that same, empty voice. He could hear a voice answer on the other end of the phone line and Buffy spoke.

“Angel? I don’t want to argue or talk about this. Go to Spike. Now. Do you understand?”

Apparently, she got the answer she wanted, because she disconnected the call and tossed the phone on the bed.

“Get the car!”

~~~@~~~@~~~@~~~

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, propped against that stone wall staring at the stars. The tears had strangely stopped when the stake tumbled from his hand and clattered to the stone beneath him.

Ashes stuck to his face where the tears used to be.

Orion twinkled above him. How did stars twinkle? Did God have a little remote with a dimmer and just toyed round with it a bit?

Breezes passed down the corridors, sounding like banshees. Or sirens singing. Or Hell.

The emptiness she must have felt sitting in this spot all that time... alone.

No, he couldn’t think about that. Then the tears would come and wash away her ashes.

A dead rose stuttered in the breeze and fell into the wildflowers below. One more dead rose. One more dead. One more gone. One more lost. Loss. Loss. Loss.

A heartbeat in the background. Loud. Strong. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop.

No heartbeat. Shouldn’t have one. Do. Shouldn’t. Dead. Soulless. Dead. Gone. No breath. No breath. No breath.

The heartbeat got louder, but he couldn’t see. Clop. Clop. Only Orion, and he was singing. Singing loud and clear and beautiful. Maybe he’d given her a home. Maybe he told God to forgive her. Could be. Could be. He wasn’t the one who really deserved to be forgiven.

Never happens that way.

Clop. Clop. Clop.

The stars were gone.

The shadow blocked them out. Then it dropped to a crouch in front of him. A ghost? Ghosts didn’t block the stars.

“Spike?”

Blue eyes shining with tears flickered to the form in front of him.

Angel.

He should have been the one. He made her. He should have let her go.

Didn’t matter now.

She was gone.

“Spike?”

“Gone now,” Spike answered, his voice distant and lost. “She’s gone. I broke her. I broke me.”

Angel shook his head, close to tears himself. “I broke her, Spike. You fixed her.”

Spike blinked, shaking his head. “Gone now.”

The older Vampire nodded softly. “I felt her go.”

A nod from the blond. He looked like a child, propped against the wall so lost. “I killed her.”

“You saved her,” Angel answered, moving to Spike’s side and sitting down next to his grandchilde.

“Gone,” Spike repeated, looking at his hands. Ash and tears clung to his skin. “All that’s left.”

He raised his hands to Angel and looked at him, tears welling, waiting to fall. Asking permission from the one who raised them both.

Angel stared at Spike’s hands and his heart broke in his chest. Spike had done the one thing that Angel couldn’t bring himself to do, even though he *knew* it was the only choice. Let the dark princess go. Let his childe go.

Let her be forgiven.

Larger hands moved down to Spike’s and brought the palms to his face, kissing them both. Ash touched his lips and the tears started to fall.

“Gone now,” Spike repeated, the tears catching his throat. “Sent her to Hell. Let her down.”

Angel shook his head. “No, William. The demon might go to Hell, but that sweet girl, the one I took away from Heaven, gets to go home now. You let her go.”

“Why?” Spike asked, finally breaking. Tears streamed down his face. “Why’d we get to...”

“Love?” Angel asked. “Be loved. Be forgiven? I don’t know if I have, Spike, but you deserved it. Just like her.”

Spike was quiet a moment. “Thousands. Thousands of thousands, Angel. We killed them all.”

Angel nodded. “We did. We can’t take it back, Spike. You and I... we’ve learned to live with it. Most of the time, at least. But she....”

“Too innocent in life,” Spike finished. “Couldn’t... she couldn’t face...”

“She shouldn’t have had to,” Angel answered, looking at Spike’s palms. “And there’s nothing I can do now to take that back either.”

A hint of anger crept into Spike; one that he was sure would become more. But he was too empty to make it stick. “Should’ve been you, Angel. You should have been the one.”

Another nod. “You’re right. But I wasn’t strong enough.” He was quiet for a moment, following Spike’s eyes to the glittering line of stars. “And it wasn’t me she loved. It wasn’t me she wanted to see as she left. It wasn’t me she needed to make peace with.”

A sob wracked Spike. “She knew, dammit. She *knew*. Right and wrong. Good and bad. Monsters and men. She had to *live* with that. Alone. God, Angel...”

Spike hunched over, sobs shaking the younger Vampire. Angel felt his own tears threaten to spill over the ashes and stone. The emptiness. Slowly, not sure if it was the right thing or not, he wrapped his arm around his grandchilde. Spike curled into him like a child.

And they cried for their lost princess.

To be contd.

Title: What We Are (Chapter Twenty-nine - Meant to Be)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)

Feedback: Yes, please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, UPN, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren’t me. :::sigh::::

Summary: Spike goes on his reconnaissance mission to find out what Drusilla knows. What he finds out, however, is nearly enough to kill him. And the price that he pays for information is more than he can handle.

WARNING: MAJOR ANGST. I can’t tell you what, but read at your own risk. I felt it necessary and organic to the story, so please try and understand and try not to hate me.

What We Are

It was bad.

This Angel knew.

His relationship with his grandchilde had been tumultuous at best since Angelus had become Angel. It was downright hostile when they shared the love of a woman, as they had with Drusilla and, later, with Buffy. They’d beaten each other to a bloody pulp on more occasions than either of them chose to remember at this stage. And they’d raged in unison and in opposition.

But Spike had never needed his comfort before.

Or maybe he had and Angel had never noticed.

To be honest, the latter was probably the more likely. Spike had always been sensitive. Even at his most... evil?... he’d been the one to be hurt by it all. Hurt by the games. Hurt by the way the world worked, both for humans and for Vampires. He’d probably cried like this before.

Did he cry with Buffy?

When the hitching sobs and violent shaking began to wane, Angel just forgot about it all. Let it be. Right now, Spike needed help and their attitude towards each other really didn’t matter. They’d lost. They’d both lost something so dear to them that it was almost like air. Like losing one’s breath. Even if Buffy hadn’t called, Angel would have come. Because this was the one thing that Spike and Angel could agree on.

Drusilla.

And she was gone.

With painstaking slowness, Angel lifted himself to his feet, battling his own round of hitching sobs that he was sure would be let loose in a rain of fists at some point or other. Or Cordelia would get to him first, niggle her way past his defenses and make him cry it out. He hated when she did that, yet loved her for it.

Spike was like a rag doll. Empty and limp, falling back against the wall when Angel’s arm moved. Ashes streaked his cheeks. His hands. His clothes. They needed to get away from here. They needed to be... they just needed to leave.

A hand under Spike’s shoulder and Angel lifted the smaller man to his feet, taking his hand like a father would a son. Leading him out of the courtyard in numbed silence.

This was bad.

Spike was never silent.

The walk through the stone corridors was even longer on the way out. Spike winced every time their boots struck stone. Like a kicked dog. Or a dead man walking.

And the blond clung to his hand.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

She’s gone.

Stars singing.

Daddy’s here. Don’t want daddy. Want my girl. Want my girl. Want vanilla and soft and warm. So warm. Not dying. Not dying in my arms. Alive. And warm. And sweet and soft. And warm.

But daddy’s here and he’ll take me to her. He’ll bring her to me. He’ll kill the bastard that hurt my princess.

I am the bastard.

The sound hurts.

Where is my warm gold? Where is my girl? Little strong girl. With my babies. Want my babies. Want my girl.

Don’t want to lose everything. Not now. Not now.

The sound hurts.

The stars sing. Did they take her? Did they take my plum back? Will they love her like I did once? Will they make the hurt go away?

Hurt.

Loss.

Lost.

The sound hurts.

They were outside the mission now. That was good. Parked in front was the old black convertible, Gunn in the passenger seat.

What? He wasn’t about to find Spike alone after what he knew had happened. Spike was supposed to be angry. Spike was supposed to be beating the un- life out of him, blaming him for having to make the choice himself. Blaming him for driving Dru mad. Blaming him for hurting her. Using her. Leaving her dead and not letting her go.

It was his fault.

It should have been him.

Gunn was silent as Angel walked to the car. Two Vampires, both tracked with tears and ash, were walking a funeral march towards him. He wasn’t stupid. When Angel nodded at the motorcycle parked along the side of the wall, Gunn knew that that was his cue to go.

And a good cue it was. The last thing he wanted was to be between two lost Vampires who had a tendency to let any emotion, unchecked, turn into rage. Nope. Motorcycles were good. Even if there wasn’t a helmet.

As Gunn jumped from the car, he took another look at the pair. Angel loaded Spike into the passenger seat with something that looked like caring. Spike looked... like those war movies. Shell-shocked. Completely lost inside a Hell that everyone knew about, but wasn’t the same from one person to the next. He felt sorry for them.

He understood killing someone you loved, after all.

Angel got behind the wheel as Gunn revved the motorcycle. This is bad, he thought. Spike hasn’t even flinched. Hasn’t questioned some man he’s barely met taking his prized bike. Doesn’t even seem to have recognized the sound, despite the fact that it usually made him as giddy as a kid.

This was bad.

Angel drove away, gravel flying from the tires underneath. Somewhere, as uncomfortable as it always was, he hoped Buffy was on her way. She was the only one... Spike needed help.

And he hoped Cordelia would be up....

The car was silent.

Giles looked over at her as he drove, utterly awake considering it was four AM. Nothing like a good bout of early morning screaming to get a man in motion.

Buffy was muttering wordlessly, rocking, her arm cradled to her chest and her face set in fear. Nothing she was saying, even the words that made sounds, made much sense. Gone. Gone. Gone. Stars singing.

Somewhere, inside his overactive Watcher’s mind, he knew he should be taking note. Knew that the words and the actions and the terror and sadness etched on his charge’s face didn’t belong solely to her. That this connection, this lifeline that brought the One together, forced her to feel the other half’s pain, even though she didn’t completely understand why. She didn’t question it.

It was Spike, Giles was certain, that was repeating those words. It was Spike bent over in pain and in anguish and in fear. And no one knew why. The Watcher could almost see him in the passenger seat, a ghost over the image of his Slayer. Slumped forward in the same manner. Mouth moving wordlessly. Eyes as empty as dust.

No, he wasn’t dead. Were he in mortal danger, Buffy would either be dying along with him, or she’d be screaming at her Watcher to drive faster.

Something inside of him was dead. That’s what Buffy had said. Something died and she needed him.

What?

The hotel was bright, lights on all over the building. He didn’t want an audience. He didn’t think Spike would notice. All Angel wanted to do was find Spike somewhere safe where he couldn’t snap out of this and hurt himself before Buffy found them. And he wanted to talk to Cordy. And he wanted a drink. Several.

Spike was as easy to lead from the car as he was to put in - a shell of himself, completely traumatized, clinging to his grandsire’s hand and muttering wordlessly into the night.

Angel led him inside, where, thankfully, Gunn had arrived first and told the others to just stay out of the way. Lorne and Fred and Gunn were standing next to the desk, concerned looks on their faces. Cordy stood in the center of the lobby, strong and fiery and brave. But she didn’t speak. Merely took Angel’s other hand and led them up the stairs into an empty suite.

Set up on the table was a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. It was dimly lit and quiet and a bed was made, presumably for Spike. How Cordy knew to do these things, he’d never understand. Unless, of course, there happened to be a vision - although Angel doubted that the Powers had any interest in saving Dru. Cordy probably didn’t either, but she recognized that it hurt him, and she let any feelings she had for the Vampire community aside, excluding Angel and sometimes Spike, and did her best.

“Thought you might want a drink,” Cordy said softly as Angel settled Spike into a chair. She poured three tall glasses full of amber liquid. “He okay?”

“No,” Angel answered quietly, taking two of them and walking back to Spike. “Hey. Want a drink?” Angel asked softy, beginning to open Spike’s hand and place the glass inside.

The blond’s hand was streaked with ashes.

“We need a towel. Or something. Anything,” Angel said desperately. “Please, Cordelia.”

But she was already darting to the bathroom, wetting a rag. It didn’t matter why right now. Only that a man who was usually full of annoying words was silent, and her love was about to lose it all over again.

She ran back into the room and knelt down in front of Spike. “What is it?” She asked, taking Spike’s hand gently. He snatched it back a few times, clenching his fingers into fists until Angel finally put a hand on his grandchilde’s shoulder and squeezed.

“You have to let her go, Spike.”

Spike shook his head, but allowed Cordelia to gently wipe his hands clean. Nowhere else. He shook his head violently when Cordy tried to wipe his face or brush off his clothes. He snatched the ash-covered dishtowel from her hands and held it on his lap when his hands were clean, but he never said a word.

And Cordelia didn’t flinch.

Angel walked back again and placed the drink in Spike’s open hand. The blond stared a moment, then lifted the glass to his lips, took a sip and closed his eyes.

“What was that?” Cordelia asked, returning from the restroom, washed up and taking a sip of her own drink.

Angel ran a hand through his hair, staying near Spike, but moving closer to Cordy. “It was Dru.”

“She attacked you guys with ash bombs?” Cordy asked, quirking an eyebrow. Angel’s eyes dropped and he could feel his tears well again. She didn’t know everything. Cordy couldn’t, no matter how much she figured out on her own.

But she put two and two together like a champ. “Oh... Oh, God.” Angel looked up and caught her gaze, nodding. “Did... Oh, God. Did you make him kill her?”

Angel shook his head. “She was dead when I got there.”

Again, Cordy nodded. “He... why?”

“She wanted to be done. She wanted to go home,” Angel answered, feeling the tears begin to spill. “And it should have been me to send her there, Cordelia. Not him. I made her. I tortured her and I killed her fam...”

She placed a finger over his lips and then leaned forward, kissing his forehead. “Shhh. It doesn’t matter right now, okay? Not tonight.”

Angel nodded and felt himself falling forward into her arms and crying like a child.

The three remaining AI members were still sitting in the lobby by the desk when the doors swung open in a mighty heave. Three heads shot up to see a middle aged man in jeans and a Henley and a tiny blonde with her arm in a sling, looking as haggard as the two Vampires who had entered an hour or so before.

“Sorry to intrude,” Giles began politely, “but...”

Gunn nodded. “Kinda figured you were coming,” he interrupted, trying to smile. “Good thing she did, you know. The boss isn’t always the best at consoling...”

“I’ll... I’ll go get them, “Fred chimed in, darting past the visitors towards the stairs. Lorne proffered drinks, for which Giles was most grateful. By the looks of things, the cocktails had been free flowing for at least an hour or so.

Buffy stood at the bottom of the staircase staring up. Waiting.

This was bad. Normally, she’d burst in and just... find him. Maybe she wasn’t sure what there was to find. Maybe she needed to know if he was all right first. Maybe....

Angel appeared looking worn and dusty at the top of the stairs. He motioned for Buffy to come up, nodding at Giles in recognition. Fred scampered down the stairs to the Watcher, corralling him into the group left behind. Cordelia lingered with Angel at the top for a moment, then made her way down as well, hugging Buffy as they passed in the middle.

Grief changes everything.

Buffy reached the top of the stairs and Angel took her hand, much as he’d taken Spike’s, and led her down the hallway to the room where Spike was resting. Well, sitting. He hadn’t moved from the spot Angel had placed him. Other than to occasionally lift the glass to his lips, Spike hadn’t moved at all.

“Buffy,” Angel said quietly, stopping in front of the closed door. “I know you and Spike... I know there’s a connection. Did you see... do you know?”

Buffy shook her head. “I can’t see inside, Angel. I just... I can feel him. And he’s... empty. Like something died...”

Angel closed his eyes for a long moment. “Something did. Try. Please try to understand. He loves you. As much as I hate to face it sometimes, you love each other more than either of you have ever loved anything else.” He was quiet, studying the truth of that in Buffy’s face. “But he loved her once too. Not like you. Totally different, but they were connected. She made him.”

Surprisingly, Buffy nodded. “I know.”

He shook his head. “You don’t, Buffy. You understand a whole lot more about Vampires than most Humans, but you can’t understand this. We, all of us in the line, are connected. The Master. Darla. Me. Dru. Spike. We’ve all shared the same blood. Most of the time, we don’t even like each other, but it doesn’t change what we are. All of us, Buffy. We’re all part of it, no matter what happens. “

Again, Buffy nodded. “I think I understand.”

Angel nodded. “Drusilla’s dead, Buffy. Spike killed her.”

That, she didn’t expect. That she wasn’t prepared for. Now, she got it. Now she got the dying parts. The emptiness. The hollow pit inside them both.

There were some people that it just hurt to lose. It didn’t really matter what your relationship was to them before they left. Like her dad. She didn’t really care much what happened to the man who had abandoned her family. She didn’t really know where he was or what he was doing. But when he died, she knew she’d feel it. And she knew she’d feel loss.

With Dru and Spike, it was compounded by a century of being the only ones. The lost ones. Even though Buffy was jealous of that love, she knew that it was part of Spike. She knew that it led him on, in however crooked a path, to her. And she knew that Spike loved her, not Dru, more than life itself.

But that didn’t change the pain. It didn’t change the loss. The loss she’d feel if Angel wasn’t standing in front of her. The loss she’d feel if any of her friends died.

The loss she felt when she found her mom on the couch.

“He needs you, Buffy,” Angel said softly, his hand on the doorknob. “He loves you.”

“I know,” Buffy answered quietly, hugging Angel once. “And I’m sorry.”

“We’ll talk later,” Angel whispered, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “Don’t let him fall, Buffy. He did the right thing.”

Buffy smiled softly. “I’ll catch him.”

And then she turned and walked into the darkened room.

To be contd.

Title: Hurricanes (Chapter Thirty - Meant to Be)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)

Feedback: Yes, please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, UPN, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren’t me. :::sigh::::

Summary: Buffy arrives and Spike cannot handle what has happened. It’s in her hands now.

WARNING: MAJOR ANGST. I can’t tell you what, but read at your own risk. I felt it necessary and organic to the story, so please try and understand and try not to hate me.

Hurricanes

He sat as still as a statue, a half empty glass of thick, amber fluid balanced in his hand, as the door clicked closed behind her. There was no movement when she took a step toward him; just the glassy stillness of a frozen pond with a hurricane raging beneath.

This was not good.

Another step and the hurricane broke through the battlements that she hadn’t even known she’d erected in her mind. Torrents crashed down on her with tsunami force. Loss and lost and fear and loathing and, most of all, grief. Buffy shuddered, gooseflesh trailing up her spine, and took one more step.

This time, he turned his head and looked.

And the hurricane floods poured from the stormy blue eyes of a little lost boy.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Soft voices.

Open door. Shut door.

Click.

Pause.

Click.

Pause.

Click.

Her.

My girl. My girl. My girl.

Please help me.

Please.

She crossed the remaining distance between them in the blink of an eye as he reached for her. He fell forward, glass shattering on the hard wood floor, his knees hitting the ground with a thump and a crunch.

Buffy skidded in front of him, falling, dropping down in broken glass and spilled liquor, reaching to him. Trying to stop the floods. Staunch the bleeding.

Before she could even touch him, he grabbed at her desperately, gathering her to him, holding so tightly she had to wriggle in order to get the heavy splint out of the death grip. Tears rained in her hair as strong fingers dug into her back, grasping for purchase to stop from sliding.

Sliding.

Falling.

“Buffy,” he moaned, his voice a pained whisper as kisses rained on top of tears. His voice hurt to use, to hear, but he needed her - wanted her to know that he understood it was her. Give her the chance to sit this one out. Let her bow out of comforting him in his grief over the only love that had mattered before her.

But she didn’t shy away. She pulled her head back just enough to angle her face toward his, locking stormy blue in watery jade. “I’m here, Spike,” she soothed. “I won’t ever leave, okay?”

He nodded, his hands finding her face, drinking in her warmth. Trying to belong.

Belong.

Belong.

“Mine,” Spike growled, his grief-torn face flashing from Human to Vampire and back again as if the energy of holding either mask was too much to maintain.

Buffy swallowed, closing her eyes. “Yours,” she answered, tilting her head and exposing a golden expanse of neck to his needy face.

Sobs wracked him, choking off his breath, as she lay open and trusting before him. He leaned forward, Vampire mask to the fore, scenting, smelling, feeling her pulse.

The pulse of their child.

He didn’t want to be a Vampire.

Not tonight.

Not with her ashes still clinging to his skin.

Spike’s hands took hold of her face and leveled her eyes with his. She blinked, looking up at him as he stared at her, so warm and human and full of life. “Mine,” he choked out, his lips finding hers with hurricane force, but his body loosening in the familiar safety of her embrace. “Mineminemineminemineminemine.”

“Yours.”

He lifted her, lips and tongue still searching, tasting, finding, and carried her towards the bathroom. Have to be clean for her. Have to be good for her.

Have to wash it away.

Wash away the sin.

Need her. Need her.

Spike brought his mind under control enough to set her gently to the tile floor, one hand tangled in her hair, the other fingering the hem of her shirt with restless, desperate, fingers.

“Please, Buffy,” he whimpered. “Need you.”

She smiled softly, touching his face. Feeling the chalky paste of dust and tears. “Might need a little help,” she answered, pulling her braced arm away from her body and into his line of sight.

“Don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, his face breaking in torment. “Never hurt you. Never lose you.”

Buffy took his hand and placed it on her shoulder where the strap of her sling crossed golden skin. “It’s okay, baby,” she soothed, urging him to lift it from her. As she felt the strap move up, she ducked under, speaking to him softly all the while.

“You won’t hurt me, Spike. You’ll never hurt me. I love you. I need you.”

His tears fell in large, heavy drops as his lips met hers in desperation, one hand dropping the sling to the ground, the other delicately holding her arm until he could rest it at her side.

“Hurt because of me. Dead because of me,” he muttered, fingers circling her waist to the button of her jeans, undressing her with a gentleness in direct counterpoint to the hunger in his eyes. The need in his kiss.

“Alive again because of you,” she answered, stepping out of her jeans, feeling her own tears fall as he worked off her tank top with the gentleness of a thousand millennia of love.

“Gone.” His voice was broken as he stared at her with lost eyes, trying to find her warmth. Trying to drink it from her like brandy.

“Here,” Buffy replied, placing his hand on her cheek and then reaching down to tug his shirt from his jeans. She swallowed, watching his heartbreak in his eyes as he took over, exposing a body so beautiful and unblemished that it was almost impossible to imagine the wreckage that lay beneath. “She’s home now,” Buffy continued softly, so softly, as Spike stepped from his dusty jeans.

He stopped, hearing her words, as he leaned forward to run the bath. His eyes squeezed shut, but tears still escaped and his body trembled in fear and anguish and loss. She leaned forward, turning on the taps and then taking his hand and leading him to the basin as warm water filled the tub.

Silently, she wet a cloth, raising it to his face. Spike flinched as she neared him. He wanted to clean away the horror and still not lose what was left.

All that he had left of her.

Buffy stopped, pressing her hand to his heart, reading him as only she ever could.

“She’s in here, still, Spike.”

His eyes opened and the sobs came anew as he watched her gently raise her hand to his face. She paused and waited until he nodded. A slow, almost imperceptible move.

With gentle strokes, she wiped his face like a child’s, cleaning away the ash and the horror, the murder and the loss. The sin. Cleaning him with a reverence that surprised even his grief-addled mind. Respecting not only him, but the one he’d lost with the sweetness of her movements, the gentle sound of her voice.

But she couldn’t brush away the tears.

In silence, she led him back to the tub.

Spike’s eyes fluttered open.

Warm arms were around him. Warm legs tangled around his thighs. A slow, steady heart beat under his ear.

What had happened hit him as reality came flooding to the fore.

With a start, he pushed himself off, the water swooshing around. Buffy jumped a bit, startled from her peaceful reverie, however short it had been.

“Buffy!” Spike gasped, inspecting her visually, his hands running over her face and neck. “God, Buffy. Did I...”

“Fine,” she answered, smiling softly. “One piece girl.”

His shoulders dropped, his hand skimming down her arm and stopping at her elbow. “You... more hurt?”

With a soft shake of the head, she smiled again. “Never left the safety of the side of the tub of lust.”

Spike nodded, leaning down to kiss the wound, his lips as gentle as butterfly wings. Darkness crossed his features once again and Buffy steeled herself for the anger she was sure would soon follow the grief.

But it wasn’t anger he was feeling.

Not yet.

Fear moved across his eyes like storm clouds, gathering to near explosion. “The baby?”

Buffy chuckled. “When are you going to learn that the kid of a Slayer and a Vampire can take a little moving around?” He stared at her, unconvinced. “Look. Why don’t we go into the room and lay down, okay? You can make sure yourself.”

Spike nodded, pushing himself to his feet and climbing out of the tub. He leaned down, scooping her up in his arms, careful not to catch her arm between them, and settled her on the floor. With painstaking care, he wrapped a towel around her tiny body, rubbing her softly, studying her still for any sign of injury, other than the one with which she’d entered this room.

Once satisfied he hadn’t hurt her as well, he picked her up again, carrying her back into the bedroom and laying her down on the sheets. She studied him closely as he fussed about, making sure she was dry and in one piece before taking her towel and drying himself.

He still looked lost and sad and afraid, but fatigue was taking its toll. He didn’t look as alone, though. Some part of him was anchored now, shored to reality. Shored to her.

It was all right to sleep.

He climbed into bed on her good side, pressing so close to her he became just an extension of her warmth. His threw his leg across her and scooted down her naked body until his ear rested against her belly, then curled in a ball around her.

Buffy watched him, stroking his hair, trying to soothe him. Let him know that it would be okay. They would be okay. All of them.

Even Dru.

Spike shifted, growling once. “Can’t hear, Buffy. Can’t...”

With a gentle hand, Buffy guided him further towards her abdomen, and then stroked his hair again. “She’s little, Spike. Be calm. She’s fine.”

Spike closed his eyes and listened, his hand stroking Buffy’s side as he concentrated, letting his own heart slow. Listening to the sound of Buffy’s strong, steady beat.

And it came to him. Fast and fluttery like a bird. Pounding out a staccato beat a million miles away, but right beneath his cheek.

It would be okay.

They would be okay.

All of them.

Even Dru.

With the sound of their heartbeats beneath him, Buffy’s hand soothing him from above, he fell into oblivion, safe.

Finally, safe.

To be contd.

Title: On Winning (Chapter Thirty-one - Meant to Be)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)

Feedback: Yes, please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, UPN, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren’t me. :::sigh::::

Summary: The crew deals with the aftermath of what is a great loss to both Spike and Angel. Spike begins to remember what Drusilla told him before her death.

On Winning

A soft knock at the bedroom door stirred Buffy from her half-slumber. Spike’s exhaustion, as well as his sense of safety wrapped around Buffy, prevented him from swimming back to reality. In his position, Buffy thought, she would probably choose to stay asleep as well.

After a prerequisite long moment to allow for decency, Cordelia cracked open the door and snapped it quietly shut behind her. Without speaking, she padded barefoot to the chair next to the bed. Spike purred, clutching tighter to Buffy’s waist, and Buffy carded her hands through soft, blond locks to reassure him.

“I brought up some clothes,” Cordelia whispered, arranging jeans and a gray t-shirt as well as a flannel overshirt and boxers on the chair next to the bed. “They’re Wesley’s. I called and asked first, you know, to prevent the British tirade when you get back.” She paused for a moment, watching them. “It’s the closest I could come to Spike’s size. And Wes was fresh out of black....”

Buffy chuckled. “That’s like... heresy to Spike.” She looked over the clothes spread neatly on the chair. “You know he’ll never wear the box...”

“Wesley states, and I quote, ‘Spike is welcome to my clothes, however, as I’d eventually like my trousers back, be sure to take a fresh pair of under things. I’m well aware of the trappings of family, however, they do not include allowing another man’s bits to flop about in one’s pants’, end quote,” Cordelia completed, affecting her best British accent and staving off a laughing fit.

Buffy covered her mouth and shook with silent laughter. Spike growled softly and buried his head against her abdomen before settling back into sleep. Cordy watched them thoughtfully for a moment. “Weird, hunh? How we spent all our time in high school fighting Vampires and then...”

“Then we fell in love with them?” Buffy finished, voicing what Cordy couldn’t, or wouldn’t, say.

“In all of their irritating glory,” Cordelia finally answered, letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, “Speaking of the great brooding one, I‘d better get back. He’s...”

“Hurt,” Buffy answered simply. “I know we can’t understand the whole Vampire sire-childe thing, but I get loss.”

A derisive snort and Cordelia agreed. “Hellmouth girl. I get loss.” She turned and walked to the door, stopping briefly before turning the knob, but not looking back. “I get love and strength now too.”

With that, she quietly left.

Dreams ripped through him like tornadoes. Not the kind of dreams that tell a story or pass in a nice, linear order. No, these were random images, flashing through his sleeping mind, unchecked by rational thought.

Soft. Warm. Bird heartbeat. Sweet. Vanilla. Mine. Mine.

Dark.

Dead rose falling. Shattered glass. White and black. Wind. Dust. Dust.

An angel.

White robes. Pale skin. Red lips. Dark, shining hair. Smiling.

Smiling.

Hot chocolate. White flower petals. Green ball of light. Serene white with a child inside.

Dark robes. A young, handsome face. Yellow eyes. Blood.

Darkness.

Green light. Woman.

White light. Child.

Darkness.

Protect them, my William.

The screech of a bird.

Thudding heartbeats.

A scream.

Protect them.

Buffy awoke with a start. Spike was up, bolting around the bedroom like a beast trapped in a cage, his mind too rattled to accomplish even the simplest task. His eyes flashed from blue to amber to blue in a lightshow of upset.

She propped herself up on the pillows, watching him for a moment, judging the safety of speech. Deciding that the sheer terror that poured from him in waves was worth the chance she’d catch him off guard.

“Spike?”

He stopped moving, calming just a bit from hearing her voice. “Go.”

Buffy furrowed her brow. “You want me to go?”

Spike shook his head as if words had left him. “We.” A pause. “Danger. Master.”

She sighed, relaxing a little. “Giles had Willow set up wards before we left,” Buffy comforted. “No one will get her with Willow and Tara there.”

A low growl and Spike shook his head, frustrated that he couldn’t speak his thoughts. He stumbled upon the clothes Cordelia had brought and began to dress hastily, tossing the boxers to the floor. “Nibblet.”

Buffy sat bolt upright, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and wincing. Spike felt the wave of pain and stopped dead, moving quietly to the side of the bed and gently lifting her to her feet. Once steady, he set about gathering her clothes.

“What about Dawn?” Buffy asked, cradling her arm against her naked chest.

“Danger. Wants them. Go.” Spike growled, beginning to dress her with a gentleness in direct counterpoint to his current state of confusion. Buffy didn’t know if she was more afraid of what he had said, or the fact that he’d lost his ability to express himself.

Spike was never at a loss for words.

“Spike,” Buffy whispered, raising her uninjured hand to touch his face. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Eyelashes wet with unshed tears, he shook his head. “Please. Go first. Talk later. Please.”

With a soft smile, Buffy nodded and grabbed her phone on the nightstand. “It’s daylight now. I’m going to call Dawn and tell her to go to our house, okay? With Willow.”

Spike nodded, kissed her forehead and bolted for the door.

“ANGEL!!!!”

They were in Angel’s convertible, tearing up the five north towards Sunnydale. Buffy had given a half-explanation and Spike had commandeered Angel’s car, because he didn’t want to risk Buffy and their newest on the back of the motorcycle.

Angel agreed, but only on the condition that they allow him and his people to help with the situation back in Sunnydale. Grudgingly, Spike agreed, knowing that he’d have his hands full with saving their unborn. The help was almost welcome.

Giles was to leave just behind them, with Cordelia, Gunn and Fred. Angel would come after sunset, bringing Spike’s favourite toy back with him.

That’s when Buffy knew there was trouble. It had to be another apocalypse if Spike was letting Angel ride his motorcycle. Never mind the fear and the terror on Spike’s face. Sharing with his grandsire was not something Spike had been known for.

“Can you tell me anything, Spike?” Buffy asked as he weaved in and out of the lanes of the always-congested highway.

He lifted a hand and circled it near his head. “All jumbled. Don’t know, Pet.”

Buffy placed a hand on his thigh and squeezed. “We can fix this, Spike. We’ll win. Just try.”

“We’ll win,” Spike repeated, remembering Dru’s words. He took a deep breath, cutting off a tractor-trailer, and veering into a clear lane. “Master Vampire that did a number on your arm, love. Not after us. Not you. For once.”

Buffy snorted, raising her injured arm from her chest. “Could have fooled me.”

“Would help him to have us out of his hair,” Spike commented, running a hand through his own tousled locks. “S’not his plan though.”

“Vampire plans,” Buffy sighed, shaking her head and smiling. Spike shot a half-hearted scowl at her and continued.

“Don’t know the details. Don’t care. He wants Emma. And he needs Dawn.”

“The Key?” Buffy asked, the smile fading from her face.

Spike nodded. “And even if I did approve of the sorry sot that thinks he deserves to marry my girl, he can’t protect her. Not from a Master.”

Buffy nodded her agreement. “He’d die trying, though.”

“Then we’d have two dead on our hands,” Spike shot back, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.

There was a long silence before either of them spoke again. Spike weaved through traffic, finding every open spot on the highway, and making ones that hadn’t been there when he changed lanes. Buffy watched the perfect blue of the Southern California sky and wondered how a place this beautiful could hide so much.

Her quiet voice broke the silence. “Did you find out anything... about...”

Spike turned his head to look at her. Really look at her. She was tired and in pain and afraid, and he’d forgotten how much she needed him. Strong and independent as she was, she was still just a young woman. One who was carrying a child, not knowing if it would live or die.

And he, in his grief and ensuing anger and fear, hadn’t found the words to tell her.

Guilt struck him like a stake to the heart.

“Love,” Spike breathed, pulling her closer until her hip was flush with his. She dropped her head onto his shoulder, clutching him with her good hand. “There’s a way. We can save her.”

Buffy breathed deeply, elated that there was going to be a way to save their child, but knowing, somewhere, there was a price to pay. “What do we have to do?”

Spike trailed a hand over her cheek as he positioned the car to take the next exit. “Something I have to do. With Emma. But we’ll be fine. She’ll be fine.”

She shuddered, thinking about what the something could be. “I know you won’t ever put Emma in a position that she won’t come back from,” Buffy began. “But please tell me I won’t have to lose anyone in this. “

Spike glanced down at her face before turning his attention back to the road. Her eyes were dewy and she looked so... tired. “No, Pet. Not leaving you. Never leaving you.”

“Promise?” Her voice was as quiet as a little girl’s. “I mean, I know I’m the Slayer and I know I can survive, but I don’t... I can’t...”

“Next year, love,” Spike began, placing a kiss on the crown of her head, “You will have another perfect daughter. Her two sibs will be equal parts pain in the arse and our salvation, and I will walk the Nibblet down the aisle even if you have to push me.”

Finally, a smile, he thought, as Buffy settled in, curling her legs up on the seat next to him. “I trust you.”

With another kiss atop her head, he thanked whomever it was that was watching out for them.

She trusted him to make this right.

Dammit, he would keep his word.

The house had become command central. Even Buffy and Spike had to be let through the wards, although they had no idea of this before the car was bounced back from the driveway by what was, effectively, an extremely strong, gelatinous wall. A hurried phone call inside, and a glowing hole appeared, big enough for the two of them, but not for the car.

Street parking it was.

Inside, the house was abuzz. Xander was moving furniture with Cyrus, squaring it against walls. Willow and Tara were taking inventory of magickal ingredients and poring over various and assorted protection spells. Takina was organizing medical supplies and Oz was playing world’s furriest baby-sitter with the kids in the well-protected back yard.

Beds had sprung out of nowhere. Cots and sleeping bags and couches covered in blankets. Walking into the kitchen, Spike finally saw one of the two people he needed most to see at that very moment.

Dawn was unloading groceries from one of myriad paper sacks lining the counters. As she stretched up, putting away a box of chocolate pop tarts, Spike pounced her from behind, wrapping arms around her waist and tugging her fiercely close.

“What’s that for?” Dawn asked cheerfully, spinning around in the embrace and returning it.

Spike studied her face, then surveyed her body for damage, then growled over at Brian, who watched the possessive display he’d seen a million times before with barely contained amusement. “You all right then, Nibblet?”

“Other than getting blasted out of bed at like 7AM by my sister and threatened on pain of death to get over here, I’m fine,” Dawn whined, smiling despite her words.

“Nothing strange happened?” Spike asked, brushing her hair aside to check her neck.

Dawn chuckled. “Uh, Hellmouth. Everything’s strange. And this,” she countered, pushing him back so she could look him in the eye, “qualifies as strange too.”

“I’ll explain later,” Buffy interjected, watching Spike’s attention waver and begin to wander to the back door. He turned once more to Dawn.

“Sure you’re all right?”

“Fine!” Dawn huffed, still frustrated. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Got a century plus on you, Nibs. Always be a kid,” Spike retorted before turning and striding towards the back door in motions as disjointed as his over-burdened mind. Buffy shook her head and went about trying to fill in a few of the blanks.

Spike wandered out into the sunlight, hearing the squeals and peals of laughter of thoroughly unscathed children. It was hard to imagine that anyone touched by this place could know such joy. Then again, all of them had found it here.

There were a lot of them now. Children of the Scoobies. Children of the One. Emma. Will. River. Randy. Kali. Loki. At least one more to come, and Spike didn’t think that it’d be long before the Harris brood began expanding, and, perish the thought, Dawn’d probably make a good mum.

Two tow-headed children stopped as Spike reached the top step of the deck. Dual squeals of delight reached his ears and four small feet pounded over grass and up stairs to cling to his leg.

“Daddy!!!!!!!!” Emma squeaked, her grip as tight as iron. Will rubbed his face against the denim and smiled, a picture of quiet peace.

“Hey there, Mites,” Spike said quietly, silently thanking the stars above for everything he’d been given. He dropped to a crouch, eye level with the two children still clinging to him, and pulled them both against him.

Emma stopped, her character shifting in that eerie way that they’d become so used to. As if at the flick of a switch, she could go from child to timeless. “Are you all right, Daddy?”

Spike felt the tears begin to fall, all of the loss and the fear coming out as he held the two kids fiercely tight. “Fine, Mite,” he choked out, burying his face in his son’s hair and feeling his daughter pepper his cheek in butterfly kisses.

“It’ll be okay, Daddy,” Emma comforted as Will climbed into his lap and wrapped tiny arms around his neck, making the tears come faster. Harder.

“We’ll make the darkness go,” Will whispered, snuggling in closer.

Emma nodded, clinging to her father. “We will, Daddy. We win. We always win.”

To be contd.

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