Part Nine: Recall

They sat face to face in the dim little room beneath the manor. Spike had lit candles and set them about the chamber when the final torch guttered and died. While Buffy slept, he had found some blankets and laid them on the packed dirt floor beneath her to make her more comfortable. His once valued leather blazer he rolled into a ball and positioned behind her head as a makeshift pillow. Satistfied, he returned to his post a few feet in front of her and was there to hear her muttered response to his question when she awoke.

“Dead, long dead,” came the whispered reply.

“How did he die?” Spike asked.

Buffy gave him a tortured look. He just wouldn’t give up. “Painfully and too soon.”

“Good,” Spike replied.

Buffy hissed in disgust at his callous answer.

“No, that’s not what I meant. He didn’t leave you...he stuck it out,” Spike explained.

“A lot of good it did him, this place destroyed him, destroyed them all...eventually,” Buffy sighed, looking down at her manacles. Her wrists were raw from rubbing them against her chains and Spike leaned forward to pour cool water over the abraded flesh.

“Dawn too? Those pictures upstairs say otherwise...” Spike prompted, a patient look on his face.

“No...not Dawn. She...” Buffy swiped angrily at a tear running down her dusty cheek. “Why do you care? This is all ancient history.”

Spike grabbed a handful of gold hair and guided her eyes up to his. “Because somewhere in all that pain is the reason you don’t remember me an’ I need you to.”

“I’d rather you used the knives,” Buffy said, jerking away from his grip.

“I know pet. But this is worse,” he said. “Dawn...”

Reluctantly, Buffy replied, “Dawn...I sent her away.”

Buffy surged against her chains, the bolt in the wall creaked as the stone around it cracked. Spike leapt back to avoid her murderous swing.

She wasn’t going to do this, live out her most private pain for his voyeuristic pleasure. Either he died or she did, either way it would be over.

“No more...I can’t keep doing this, it hurts too much. Just kill me!” Buffy snarled as she yanked as hard as she could on the bolt. It was loosening, she could feel it.

Spike dodged another desperate swipe. “No!” he shouted back as he delivered a stunning blow to her jaw with doubled fist.

Buffy stumbled but recovered quickly. The drugs were wearing off; her reflexes were returning. She threw out a length of chain, trying to tangle the vampire in it so she could draw him close enough to attack. Spike just laughed and sidestepped the links.

“I’ve seen all your moves pet. Show me something new...” he mocked her efforts.

Buffy gave one final pull and the bolt flew loose from the wall and sailed across the room. One wrist was still chained but she was free from the wall. The vampire looked surprised.

“How ‘bout that one, vampire?” she gave him a grim little smile.

“Not bad Slayer...not bad at all...” Spike opened his arms and beckoned an invitation to battle.

Slowly swinging her chain, Buffy moved forward to accept.

The pair circled each other slowly in the confined place. Buffy trying to maneuver past the demon to reach her table of weapons but he seemed to know what she was thinking and stayed stubbornly between her and her goal. He was quick, she thought. He was unlike the vampires she remembered. They were always hampered by their need for blood; it distracted them from the battle. This one didn’t show any signs of that craving. In fact, Buffy wondered when he had last fed. There was no blood in the manor except hers and she had no bite marks. She ventured a kick to his shin but he just skipped back, an intense little smile on his face.

Tiring of the games, Buffy rushed him and they began to fight in earnest. The vampire’s smile just grew wider. He was enjoying this. She got a shot in which landed squarely on his nose. His head snapped back and a delighted laugh burst from him. He shook off the pain and gave her an approving look. She didn’t even see his fist as it hit her, so busy was she trying to figure out why he would be happy that she nearly broke his nose.

His fist connected with her solar plexus and the air rushed out of her lungs. Gasping for air she stumbled backwards and felt the wall at her back. The vampire just stood in the center of the room and waited for her to recover. She shot him a disbelieving glance. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t even in demon face. What was going on?

Buffy ran straight at her opponent and ducked around to finally reach the table. She snatched up a knife and spun, holding it at the ready.

The vampire’s smile faded and he grew serious. He slowly backed away from her, out of range of his death. She was the one to laugh now. The upper hand at last. She stalked forward; eyes focused on his bare chest. The injuries she had already dealt him were fading. The slash across his lean stomach was just an angry red scratch. Time to give him a new one.

* A spectacled man, Giles? He was speaking, “Spike has fought two Slayers in the last century, and... he's killed them both.”*

Giles had told her about this one? Why was she only recalling it now? He killed Slayers, did he? Buffy feinted right and slashed left. A thin red line appeared on the vampire’s chest. Blood ran down.

Buffy raised one hand to her head. These things in her mind...were they real? It was like the holes in her memory were suddenly filling with him. This fighting...they had done this before.

“You know me,” the bleeding vampire said again.

Buffy finally believed him. He was telling the truth. She pressed on, knife weaving the air in front of her. He wasn’t trying to fight back anymore; he was just avoiding the blade, waiting...waiting for what?

“We’ve done this before...fought like this?” she said wonderingly. “You tried to kill me.”

“Yes...but that’s not th’ whole picture pet. Keep going,” he prompted, narrowly avoiding another vicious slash.

Buffy stopped abruptly. “You loved me? How? You’re a thing, vampires don’t love.”

“No one told me that, Buffy. I loved you then...an’ I still do,” he replied.

Buffy looked at him, really looked at him. This was...Spike. The name clicked with the face. He was different. The hair a little longer, it looked odd so dark. No black pants...tan now, filthy with the dust of this dungeon but still tan. Different but still so familiar. Her gaze roved over his naked chest. She knew how it would feel to touch it. Silky skin over hard muscle...and cold...so cold.

“Dawn...you knew Dawn. You protected her...” Buffy gasped at the pain in her chest. Where was this all coming from?

“Yes, I protected Dawn...or I tried at any rate. A spell Buffy...or a curse. Someone made you forget. But now its breaking down...you’re remembering,” he said persuasively.

Buffy shook her head. “No...you laid the spell, you’re trying to make me trust you...”

“Afraid to give me the chance?” Spike waggled a scarred eyebrow at her.

The knife slipped from her limp hand. Chills swept through her as she gaped at him.

He walked forward and pulled her unresisting into his arms. He looked down into her confused face, silently pleading with her to remember.

“It’s a lie...” she tried to deny what she recalled.

His head dipped down and he kissed her hard, forcing a response. She found herself opening her mouth against his, moving her body closer. She had been here before. She felt a familiar clenching in her stomach and lower.

“No...” he growled against her mouth, his hands shoving beneath her ragged shirt to make contact with her skin.

They’re so cold...she thought. Why did that feel right?

“Not a lie...keep going Buffy. Remember it all.” He continued to kiss her, nothing gentle just raw need and force. His hands pushed lower now...the waistband of her jeans impeding their progress.

She thrust him away with all her strength, a trembling hand against her bruised lips. He stumbled backwards; eyes still trained on her, an almost predatory look in them.

“Spike...”

*”I’m using you....I can't love you. I'm just ... being weak, and selfish...and it's killing me. I‘m sorry...William.” Those were her words as she looked into his shattered eyes.

Buffy crumpled to her knees in the dirt, tears falling freely from glazed eyes.

“Spike...William,” she gasped.

Spike approached her again, kneeling in front of her...a hand reached out to touch her face.

She could hear the fragile hope in his voice. “Buffy?”

She reached up and laced her fingers with his. Her chest heaved convulsively as he drew her into a crushing embrace. She sobbed into the hollow of his shoulder. Hot tears falling on cold bare skin.

“Willow...what did you do?” she whispered.

***

Part Ten: Together

Buffy knelt in the circle of Spike’s arms and cried. For once in his existence, Spike knew better than to speak. He simply accepted it. One hand stroked her hair, pulling the plain elastic from it so he could run his fingers through the short silky mass as his other hand rubbed her back slowly. Her sobs shook them both. His unbeating heart constricted at the raw sound. What did she say? Willow? The witch had laid this ill wish on her, to live beyond her time with no memory of him? Her best friend?

It was not the time for questions. Buffy would tell him soon enough, now that she had mended the fractures in her memory. At this moment she just needed to give away some of the emotion bottled inside her. As Spike tried to soothe her, he contemplated one way she could do that.

He gently lifted her head from his shoulder and gazed into her stricken face. Tears glistened on her cheeks and a desperate look still haunted her eyes. He pulled her arms from around his waist and deliberately placed them on his still bloodstained chest.

Her eyes drifted downwards to the cut across one pectoral muscle. She smoothed calloused fingers over the wound...She felt regret squeeze her throat.

“Sorry...” came her choked whisper.

He shook his head silently as he dropped his hands to her narrow waist. The heat of her skin warmed them. He wondered if she would understand what he was trying to do.

Buffy looked up in confusion at his solemn face.

Finally he spoke, “Give it to me...all that pain...you know I can take it. You remember that well enough...” he asked.

She frowned. “How?” He seemed less comforting somehow...more...what?

He suddenly surged forward. Hands skimmed up her back to grip the neckline of her worn shirt, his chest pressed firmly against hers.

He replied huskily as he tore it from her body, “You know how...you know me.”

She felt the cold air across her back as she blinked in shock at his sudden action.

He watched her carefully...the knife wasn’t that far away, she could still slip away from him...a slightly feral look dawned on her face. A strange glow in her hazel eyes. He blessed vampiric memory for once. He knew that look.

Buffy felt a flush of heat cross her face. She watched Spike lean back and toss her ruined shirt to one side, a challenging look on his face as he awaited her reaction. She knew he was looking at her body, knew what it did to him to see it. She felt that power again, the power she held over him even after an eternity. He was offering himself as a balm to her sore heart, the best way he knew how.

Spike saw her slight smile. She could sense his arousal, she always could. What this woman did to him...no one in two hundred years had matched it. To have this chance again...such blessings he was unaccustomed to. As he watched, she rose gracefully to her feet, slipped slender feet out of battered shoes, fingers moving nimbly over the brass buttons of her jeans. He took a deep, albeit unnecessary, breath. She was still incredible; time had simply not touched her. The jeans fells to the dirt and she kicked them aside. Despite a life lived skulking in darkness; she still possessed a hint of gold to her skin. The gentle glow of the candlelight revealed curves his hands had memorized many years before and ached to touch again. He tore his gaze from her body to her face. She knew what she was doing to him...reveling in it.

Buffy looked down at Spike. The stunned expression on his face at he knelt at her feet was priceless. He had once told her he was her willing slave. At the time she had found it disturbing but he had taught her the possibilities of such an idea. She arched a brow, pointed staring at his still clad lower body and he quickly stood to rectify that situation. He shrugged off the pants without modesty; he had always been incredibly comfortable with himself. It was she who had had a problem with it. Now she gloried in the sight of it. A gift...to have this back.

She crossed the short distance to a waiting Spike and tilted her head up to accept his hungry kiss. Cool lips covered hers, his hands roamed across her back. She strove to blot out the slightest distance between them by pressing her body to his; she felt his hardness insistent against her hip. He did the same and Buffy suddenly couldn’t tell where he began and she ended. Her heart beat faster and her breath caught in her throat as his hand moved between them. Knowing fingers tracing a familiar path. How did one live without this, how could she have forgotten?

Spike pushed them both backwards until Buffy could feel the rough wall behind her, some things never changed...a bed was out of the question; their need was too immediate. His mouth was at her throat now, tongue moving over her jugular, something he had always done...she could feel the light scrape of blunt human teeth against her skin, he had never bitten down but the feel of the blood coursing beneath her skin drove him wild, she remembered. She threw her head back to allow him greater access and he growled in approval. She felt his body sink down momentarily as he bent to hook a hand underneath each of her knees and bring them up around his narrow hips.

He was right there, that glorious, cold column so close. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she pushed herself upwards, arching her back to find the right angle and sank back down. Her head fell forward limply at the sensation...it was unlike anything else...that single moment with him when their bodies came together. Her heat, his chill, the transfer of heat...and then it was like he was truly a part of her. No one else had ever made her feel this way...was it a vampire thing? No...she had another experience to compare and it was only him, he was like the other half of her, when they came together it was seamless. She clenched around him, already more than halfway there even though they had just begun. His hips bucked helplessly at the power of her contractions and something very much like a whimper tore from his throat.

Buffy raked her hair from her face with one shaking hand and caught his gaze. Wide blue eyes looked back, his sensual mouth open slightly. It was just the same...she felt like she could see right through him at this moment. It had made her run nearly a century ago but now it was everything. To see that kind of feeling in someone's eyes for her...and to feel it too. She took a deep breath and let him see it too, what she felt. Saw it register in his eyes as he moved inside her. His eyes flashed, he suddenly knew.

She loved him... Spike slammed her harder against the wall, moving quicker and quicker, she just moaned in pleasure. She loved him...it was right there in her eyes. This was worth a hundred-year wait...a thousand. She finally had let herself feel it. Spike nearly cried out for joy. They moved together, hard and fast. Spike knew he didn’t have to hold back, that was part of the wonder of this, she could take the pain, the roughness, give it back to him tenfold. She was completely open to him, heated and wet. He felt her nails carve a burning path down his back, felt her teeth sink into his shoulder, bloodthirsty little thing. This was who she truly was, however long it had taken to get here.

As urgency quickened his pace, blinding him to anything but the need to culminate this experience, he could hear a faint whisper in his ear. Was she speaking?

“...you William. Love you, William,” she was chanting in his ear as he drove her repeatedly into the jagged wall.

Her words pushed him over the edge and he surged into her helplessly. He heard her cry out as she joined him, the sensation incredible as her inner muscles gripped him almost painfully over and over again. He gasped, leaning into her, hands clenched into the stone to keep them both from falling.

“Buffy...” he sighed into her neck, unbidden tears streaming from half closed eyes.

They sank to the blankets at their feet as one. Spike twitched one rough green coverlet over them and propped himself up with one arm to look down at her flushed face...

Buffy twined her legs around him tightly and laid her head back to look up at him. The grief was still there, at the back of her mind, but somehow it was bearable...he had indeed taken some of it into him.

“I love you Buffy,” he said to her, voice slightly shaky.

She could see the half-formed terror on his face that she would push him away now as she had done in the past. She just continued to look at him...let him see what had been in her eyes moments before.

“I know...I love you too, William...Spike...both of you,” she replied softly.

She drew him down to her and kissed him softly, tenderness evident in the gesture, something that had been absent in the frenzied sex of minutes past. Soft lips pressed against hard. Gentle fingers drifting over raised welts on his muscled back. What had she done to him, so rough... and what was she about to do? She heard him gasp as she shifted slightly beneath him to better seat him atop her. She looked straight up at him and wiggled slightly.

“What? You thought we were done?” she said in a tentatively teasing tone.

Spike neared shouted in jubilation at the hint of humor. This was the Buffy he had been trying to find. He let a smirk curve his lips as he braced himself above her and let her feel the answer to that question.

“Not by half pet...not by bloody half...”

***

Part Eleven: Answers

In the corner of the dungeon, there was a pile of blankets. Only one candle still burned...across the room on the table of unneeded weapons. In the flicker of the solitary flame, Buffy studied the sleeping form of the man beneath her. One arm was flung outwards; the other firmly wrapped around her waist, as if she might drift away if he didn’t anchor her even in his sleep. Buffy didn’t mind, with the weight now lifted from her shoulders, she felt like she might.

She traced the sharp line of his jaw slowly, careful not to tickle. He needed rest after his ordeal...and what came afterwards. Buffy felt as if they existed inside a bubble just now, the terrible world held at bay by a single candle and a safe cocoon of government issue blankets. If she moved too quickly, spoke too loud, would it burst? Would this disappear? She wondered about that little book Spike had come here to find. Wondered what it was that he would ever return here. She knew he had not expected to find her, if he had known...well he would have come sooner. She knew this, his love was constant, it was she who had wavered. She dismissed the question of the book and returned to her task of memorizing every plane and dip of his face. Trying to carve it so deeply into her mind that it could never be wiped away again.

Willow and her rage. Had the curse been deliberate or the byproduct of a mind drowning in magic? Buffy didn’t know. Nor did she know why it had been erased by contact with Spike. Willow had probably counted on Buffy never seeing him again to disturb the spell. It was a fitting revenge she had crafted, Buffy thought. Truly, she had condemned Buffy to hell on earth.

Spike stirred beneath her and Buffy pushed her dark thoughts aside. He opened his eyes, looked straight up and smiled. That cocky grin, the one that always made her want to punch him, it still did. His gaze lowered until it made contact with the woman draped across his chest. Blue met hazel and the grin broadened. His arm tightened around her waist and he brought his other arm up to pull her head down to his. Their lips met lightly, lingered, and broke apart. She gave him an answering smile, a small one.

“Never thought I’d miss hair gel and peroxide.” she murmured, reaching up to stroke his inky locks.

He looked nonplussed. “Oh, th’ hair. Someone told me I looked dated...Slayer I think.”

She looked surprised. “A Slayer? Been steppin’ out on me?”

He laughed ruefully. “In a way, but not th’ way you’re suggestin’. Brings me to a question I have, pet. Ten years after I left...Paris...I met a Slayer there.” His face grew grave. “Thought it meant you were dead...care to explain that to me?”

Buffy thought back. Ten years...2013.“Faith,” she said.

Spike looked confused.

“Faith, the other Slayer, she died that year...out of prison three days and a gang of demons killed her in L.A. She was just trying to get back into it...the save the world business. The Council told me she was dead...I envied her.” Buffy looked distant as she related the tale.

Spike pulled her closer, trying to remind her he was there. She looked down at him sadly...the bubble was breaking.

He changed the subject, although all of them were somewhat sad. “How is it...that you are still young Buffy? I mean...you’re just th’ bloody same. I’d swear to it.” Spike cupped her youthful cheek in wonder.

Buffy shrugged. “Damned if I know. Cellular sunburn, my ass. Maybe it was the resurrection ritual...or the curse Willow put on me regarding you...to live eternally with no memory of love...I don’t know. I just know I wake up every night just the same, fight the same battle, and try as I might...I can’t manage to get myself killed.”

Spike raised his head up to stare at her closely. “Do you try? T’get killed, that is?”

She looked away; eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears. “Yes....sometimes, when it seems like too much. Then I remember this is my duty, to try and hold back the demons, I have no right to seek death.”

Spike hissed in disbelief. “What makes you think you’re th’ only one who has to fight? T’ do this alone? Buffy, it’s too much for any one person...even a Slayer!” He grabbed her chin and made her look at him. “Buffy?”

Buffy pushed the blanket aside and stood up. “It doesn’t matter if I wish for death or not. I’ll show you.”

She walked naked to the table and fetched the candle. Bringing it back, she held it close to her, close enough that Spike could see something he hadn’t noticed before. He rose up on his elbows and stared. A tracery of nearly invisible white lines crisscrossed her body. Across her abdomen, her thighs, four parallel gashes marred one bicep, a jagged line on her collarbone. She was covered in very pale, almost imperceptible scars.

“You couldn’t see before...it’s very faint...Every battle...recorded for me,” she whispered, dipping the candle so he could see her legs and their marks. “Once in a while...there’s too many monsters. They cut, I bleed, wounds that would kill even a Slayer. Sometimes I make it home, sometimes they leave me for dead, but I always wake up like this, recovered...except for this kind reminder...written in flesh.”

Spike was stunned...he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“So you see...a death wish is pretty useless...for someone who can’t die,” she returned the candle to the table and sank down beside him. She tried not to show the fear that she felt...that he would be repulsed by her now...the freakish thing she had become.

Spike sat up and reached to touch the extremely thin, silvery scar on her collarbone. It was long...uneven. A claw most likely, swiped across her throat to sever an artery. She lived through this? Over and over? He bent and pressed his mouth against it. As if he could take it back, that she never had to feel that pain...

“See now luv...its a good thing,” he said, still kissing the scar, running soft hands over others on her arms, her stomach...

It was Buffy’s turn to look confused.

He kissed her mouth once...lightly, and explained. “Because now you can be with me...forever.”

Buffy felt a surge of hope at his words before reality came crashing down again. She pushed him back a little. “Will you stay with me? Because this is what I do...I can’t leave.”

Spike frowned. “Why not. You like this place so much? Th’ rats? Th’ demons? Maybe this lovely abode y’ got here? This may sound funny comin’ from a bloke who used to live in a grave but this place is a dump.”

“I know...but it’s high up, away from the center of town and easy to defend. Those are the only criteria I care about,” Buffy replied.

Spike moved her over on the blanket and stood up. He hunted about the chamber, looking on the table and beneath.

“What are you doing?” she inquired.

“Th’ book, where is it?” Spike said, turning to look at her.

Buffy pointed at her knapsack in the corner and Spike crossed to it and pulled the small black volume from the canvas sack. He tossed it to her gently and started searching for his pants.

“Your ticket out of here, Buffy. The Adoperis manuscript. Get dressed, we’re getting th‘ hell out of Dodge,” he said, locating the missing clothing in a corner.

Buffy opened the book, determined it to be unreadable and set it down. “No ticket Spike. I can’t leave, not ever. If that isn’t okay with you...then lea...”

Spike was in her face before she could finish the thought. “No! Don’t say it. I will never listen to you tell me to leave again. Just...don’t!” he snarled, crushing his mouth to hers. This was no gentle kiss, it was anger and fear and punishment all in one.

Buffy tumbled back on the blankets, pulling him down on top of her. She let him handle her roughly, didn’t fight as he fell between her legs. He shifted once and was inside her. She accepted it, let him vent the frustration of decades spent alone in her body. She just held on, rocked with him, pressed her lips to his cheek as he drove into her. Whispered “Sorry,” over and over into his ear. She should never have suggested, much less said what she had started to say.

Spike heard her words somewhere in his delirium, his tempo slowed, he looked down, saw the apology in her eyes. She was so afraid. He should have realized that. He almost stopped but she arched into him, telling him to continue...and he did. Not gently but not so frenzied either. She matched her motions to his and it became a thing they did together instead of what he did to her. The room receded and all he saw, all he felt... was her...all around him.

Buffy knew when he let go of the rage, felt him come back to her. She wrapped arms shaking with relief around him and let herself give in to the sensations enveloping her. Rhythm, fiction, heat, and cold. His mouth, his fingers, everything, given to her. It built and built until she felt like she might scream and why not? She arched her back, let it happen and screamed into his shoulder. Bit down on his flesh, dug nails in his back. He growled in her ear, he liked the roughness, he always did. He was in the grip of it as well and he sank so deep it dragged another scream from her hoarse throat.

The instant they both came back to earth, he rolled to his side bringing her with him and kissed her once more, hard and quick. Looking directly into her passion glazed eyes, he said slowly and very succinctly, “Don’t ever tell me to leave again.

When Spike woke the second time, he was alone. He bolted upright and looked around for Buffy. Noise upstairs caught his ear. He rose and dressed quickly. He had no shirt anymore so he just shrugged his rumpled blazer on over bare skin and ascended quickly. What was she up to now?

“Buffy?” he called, shoving the damaged door aside.

She stood by the box that contained her clothes getting dressed. Pulling a black knit cap over her hair, she gave him a quick smile and knelt to lace up battered boots.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“It’s nighttime again. Time to go kill the nasties,” Buffy replied.

She crossed to the card table and started to pile weapons into her knapsack.

Spike laughed shortly. “Why? I told you, we’re leaving.”

“And I told you I can’t. My dut...”

“Screw your duty. It’s pointless anyways. Buffy, we have to get out of here. The book...” Spike shouted, his angry words echoing in the near empty room.

“Yes your little book. I don’t know what it is but it doesn’t matter...” Buffy interrupted him in turn.

“It bloody well does! You think I’d come prancin’ back into this town if it wasn’t? Buffy...it...” Spike stopped, tried to calm himself. She still drove him mad. Stubborn, opinionated little... He walked over to her and sat her down on the solitary chair...knelt in front of her and tried to explain.

He looked up into her stormy face, she turned it so she couldn‘t see him. Still so damned stubborn. This was necessary but still an unhappy task.

“Buffy...it isn’t working. Th’ demons pet...there's just too many. For every one you kill, a dozen leave Sunnydale and venture out into the world. People...well people just can’t fight them. They come out in th’ daytime... steal children from their mothers. Homes are bloody fortresses now...to keep out the demons. Not just vampires anymore...true creatures of hell. Devils and hellhounds...”

Buffy flinched at the mention of hounds. Another bad memory? There was probably no limit to those. He reached up to tilt her chin so he could see her face. Tears shone bright in her eyes.

“You can’t stop them anymore Buffy...not alone,” he said softly, knowing he was tearing away the foundations of her existence, her reason for being.

“So...eighty years of fighting and what? It doesn’t matter? The End of Days is coming anyways?” Buffy replied bitterly. She dragged one arm across her face to dry angry tears.

Spike shook his head. “Still th’ bloody hero. Buffy...it’s not your fault...someone is doing this. Letting them into the world. The book, it has a spell to stop it, seal the Hellmouth forever. It would give people a fightin’ chance to get back on top.”

Buffy looked...guilty somehow. Why couldn’t he convince her this was the right thing to do?

“It’s over for you here...all your people...gone...but I’m here and the world is still here. Don’t you think its time to go?” Spike said persuasively.

Was she wavering?

“They’re dead, Buffy. All of them...Xander...Dawn...Willow. But you’re not. Don’t you want to live, truly live?”

She stood and walked away from him...over to one of the covered windows, leaned her head against the rough black fabric. She said something, so softly even vampire ears couldn’t hear.

“What? What did you say Buffy?” he asked, still kneeling in front of the chair, puzzled at her behavior.

Buffy turned and faced him. A grim expression on her face, arms crossed defensively across her chest.

“I said you’re wrong. They’re not all dead...one still lives,” she replied quietly.

Spike was genuinely surprised. He was about to ask who when the outer door shattered into a thousand splintered pieces. Black smoke billowed inwards as Spike dove across the floor to Buffy’s side. Whatever this was, he was going to be right beside her to fight it.

But Buffy just stood there... motionless... and watched, a look of ineffable sadness on her face as a small figure flanked by six hulking demons stepped into the room. The bubble was broken...

Spike heard her answer through the sound of tiny shards of wood hitting the tile floor...

“Willow.”

***

Part Twelve: Regrets

It didn’t hurt anymore. That was what brought Buffy out of it, the absence of pain. She opened her eyes to find herself laying face up in the middle of the main room of the manor. That would make sense. That was where she had been standing when the largest demon came at her with that very large axe. The instinct to fight, to defend had been delayed a crucial second by the wave of sorrow she felt at the sight of Willow striding into the manor. The demon swung and Buffy saw a splash of red. Blood. Hers. As she sank to her knees in the center of the room she heard Spike shouting in defiance and rage. Begging her to fight back. He still didn’t understand...it didn’t matter. The only thing her still fragile mind thought at the moment the axe bit into her abdomen was that at least she was spared a good look at Willow who was still hidden by the smoke of the explosion.

Now... the absence of pain woke her. It meant whatever wound the demon had dealt her was healed. New arteries formed, new blood pumped through inhuman veins. The only mercy of this bizarre immortality was the coma-like state she fell into while her body knit flesh and bone back together. Buffy sat up, peered into the dim room. Sunlight intruded through the gaping hole in the wall that had once been a door. Daylight. How much time had passed? Twelve hours, maybe more. She staggered to her feet, looked down at the pool of sticky red at her feet. Her clothes were ruined. She needed to change again. As she began the near automatic task of stripping out of the shredded clothes and rinsing the gore from her body with bottled water, a thought gnawed at the back of her brain. Something was missing, what was it?

It slammed into her suddenly. Spike! She cleared the last of the cobwebs from her brain and looked around frantically.

“Spike?” she screamed, the name echoing off the stone walls.

She was alone. Dragging on a clean pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, she ran to the basement door.

“Spike?”

No answer, he was gone. Trembling in rage and fear, Buffy examined the floor for telltale signs of dust. None, just a million splinters. She wrapped her arms about herself; mind racing as she tried to think, knowing what had happened...Willow had him.

She had to go find him. Her mind instantly rejected that idea. To go there...she had stayed away for seventy years, never wanting to face the wolves of memory that haunted that place. No, she had to. She couldn’t let this go on. Since Spike had told her what was happening to the world, Buffy had known the truth. All the demons, the Hellmouth...this was all Buffy’s fault too...and now she had to fix it. Squaring her shoulders, Buffy went to collect her weapons.

“Wakey, wakey, Spike...” a soft voice whispered into Spike’s ear.

He groaned in pain. Chains again. He could feel the bite of steel into his wrists. What was it with this town? The battle at the manor had been over in seconds. Buffy, paralyzed with some unknown emotion, had fallen beneath the blade of one demon’s axe and the other demons all took on Spike at once. He killed two with his bare hands but the remaining ones overwhelmed him, subdued him. He remembered hearing a soft voice...calling him Spike, telling the demons to bring him along.... and then....nothing.

A feathery touch across his cheek made him open an eye. He knew there was nothing out there he wanted to see but he wasn’t one to shy away from things. A flame, that was the first thing he saw, flames everywhere. Then he looked down.

The mouth of hell gaped wide beneath him. Suddenly he was glad for the chains that held him secure against the wall of the dizzyingly deep cavern. He pressed his back against the rough stone, edged his feet backwards. What had happened to this place? Last time he saw it, the Hellmouth was just a jagged hole in the floor of a ruined library, now it yawned fifty feet from one steep wall to the other. It was deep too; staring down he couldn’t see the bottom, just gouts of sickly green flame and an oily cloud of black smoke. Narrow pathways ran along the walls and they were choked with demons traveling to and fro. No wonder the influx of demons was so great, this was a bloody highway. He heard the faint clank of tools hitting rock and realized they weren’t finished either, they were still widening the hole.

“Isn’t it pretty?” the voice came again.

Spike turned his head to see who was talking, not that he didn’t already know. It was Willow...or what was left of her. The bright little redhead he had once assured was eminently bitable had changed. The years that didn’t show in Buffy were all too evident in her. Not that she was old and wrinkled...she wasn’t but she was...terribly different.

Her eyes were like black holes, no light reflected outward. Spike felt if he looked too deep he would be unable to climb back out. The once vibrant red hair was now the color of old blood falling across pale skin like a raven’s wing. Her skin, it was whiter than his own was, sunlight had not touched it in a very long time. It looked stretched... a little too tight across brittle bone. Her hands...every sinew and tendon visible under papery flesh, nails long and sharp. She wore black silk, a plunging neckline, breathlessly tight, a dress that flowed to the rocky ground and trailed out behind her.

She stretched her lips in a grotesque caricature of a smile. “Spike...never thought I’d see you again,” she said in a strange hissing voice.

“Same here.” Spike snapped.

She glided forward, traced an idle finger down his bare chest. His coat was gone, shoes too. She had left his pants thankfully. Her nail sliced his skin like a razor and he felt a sluggish trickle down his chest. He wasn’t sure how much blood he had left to lose between her and her goons and of course Buffy. He was an elder vampire, needing less blood than when he was younger, but still there was a limit to how long he could go without replenishment. His captor cocked her head curiously and he saw blue sparks crackle in a halo around her head. She and her magic were one entity now, inseparable.

“You haven’t fed recently...vampire...” she commented.

He shrugged indifferently but didn’t speak. Willow sighed and backed up to look at him with a chiding expression on her ghostly face.

“You broke the rules...twice actually...” Willow raised a hand and beckoned a small cowering demon over. He crawled forward and reached out with trembling claws to hand her a coiled black bullwhip. He skittered away quickly, obviously fearful.

Spike wondered what she had become that demons groveled before her. His musings were interrupted by the sharp crack of the whip she now held.

“The rules...firstly, all demons who come to Sunnydale must come and pay me homage, that is if they don’t get killed trying to get here...getting killed...that happens a lot...” Willow looked annoyed.

Buffy’s efforts had not gone unnoticed by her apparently.

Willow’s gaze sharpened. “You...didn’t come...or get killed. You failed to bring me any nice gifts either...like this interesting little book.” She held up the Adoperis manuscript and Spike’s heart sank.

“Such a fascinating volume. You know how much I like to read...” She tossed it aside carelessly and it landed out of Spike’s reach. Far too close to one of the geysers of green flame for Spike’s comfort.

“Do you want to hear the second rule?” The whip cracked again, raising a welt on Spike’s shoulder.

He jerked against his shackles and glared at her menacingly. She just laughed. She didn’t fear him anymore...not even a little.

“Rule two...and very important...no one interferes with one of my spells,” Willow snarled, the whip unfurled again and laid open Spike’s cheek. His head snapped back at the impact and a growl of rage rumbled from his vampiric face, brought to the fore by anger and pain.

“What bloody spell? Th’ one you laid on Buffy? Your friend? Remember her?” Spike finally spoke.

A bitter laugh. “Remember? Oh yes I do recall the mad creature who lives up on the hill. I should. I made her that way. Until you came along...annoying as ever and insisting she come back to you. I felt...the spell dissolve. You had no right...” Willow hissed, arm going back to deal her captive another blow.

Spike’s arm moved quicker than sight and grabbed the leather cord before it connected with his body. Jerking hard, he tore it from Willow’s grip and hurled it into the smoky depths below the ledge where they stood.

“I had no right? What right did you have to do that to her. She didn’t save your hide often enough?” Spike shouted. He glared into her frightening eyes, unbowed by her malevolent look.

“She didn’t save someone else...Tara!” Blue fire poured from Willow’s hands; the physical manifestation of her anger and she walked forward to lay them on Spike’s chest. He screamed as the flame ate into his skin, the pain blinding.

Then it stopped. Willow stepped back, that death's-head grin back on her face. Spike looked down to see her handprints branded into his skin, red and blistered. She was mad, truly mad. Something had happened to Tara and it had warped Willow’s mind. Spike recalled Buffy’s reaction when he mentioned Tara back in the dungeon. Something bad had happened, set in motion this transformation in Willow, turned Buffy into the solitary vigilante she had become, and it was Willow who was destroying the world. Spike understood now.

Willow laughed again...he could hear how unhinged she had become.

“This is fun...I haven’t had a new toy in an age...I think I’ll keep you for a while. As soon as I erase you from Buffy’s mind, we can play...” Willow walked away from him.

“Why?” he called after her.

She paused, answered softly without turning around. “She has to suffer...eternally. That’s why she can’t leave...can’t love...she has to die over and over again to wake up and do it all once more...she has to suffer the way I do.”

The witch walked away, leaving Spike to hang bleeding in his chains.

Buffy crept through the crumbled remains of Sunnydale Highs corridors; silent and alert she avoided small groups of demons that Willow had set to guard the way. She didn’t need a battle just yet. Better to get in unnoticed, save her strength. It was taking everything she had just to get there. Every step felt like knives in the soles of her feet. The guilt and the memories were so vivid here. This was the hardest thing she had ever done in a lifetime of hard things.

Echoes of the past were around every corner. Giles polishing his spectacles, talking to the pretty teacher he had loved until she died a gruesome death, another thing Buffy reckoned as one of her failures. She could hear Faith whispering “Hey B...”, see Willow running past a row of gray lockers, a welcoming grin for her best friend. She saw Xander struggling with the soda machine, cracking a joke, bleeding to death with his gut torn open by one of Willow’s hounds.

Buffy collapsed to her knees, her body shaking with silent sobs. She couldn’t do this...

That beloved voice whispered in her mind. Did she? Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and brought that sharp-featured face into focus. He was still there in her mind. Yes, she wanted to live. Buffy climbed back to her feet, shouldered her pack, and pressed on. She had to do this. End it...for Willow and herself ...and get Spike free... She had to save the world one more time.

***

Part Thirteen: Enemy

The paintbrush tickled. Spike felt that laughter would be an inappropriate response at this point. A seriously disturbed witch was amusing herself by painting strange symbols on his chest with black ink and a thin brush and his only impulse was to laugh. Not wise...the brush was wooden after all, a flip and a shove and he was dusty. He looked down at Willow’s head as she concentrated on her task. She had left him alone for a long while, let him watch the traffic in and out of the Hellmouth. He had seen creatures out of nightmare make their way up and into his world. Things that he had never before seen. Big and tall, small and impossibility quick. Flashing fangs and cruel claws they came, paying tribute in blood and power to the mistress of it all. Willow.

She had an actual throne. Not the kind you saw in museums or not the sort of museums Spike had frequented when he was alive, this throne was made of bones. Not human he thought but demon. Yellowed thighbones and the occasional twisted horn jutting from the sides, it was gruesome. Willow had sat upon it and watched him for hours, waving away her obsequious minions to simply gaze at Spike, her eyes glittering black like the most poisonous of cobras. He saw each demon kneel at her feet. She would reach out a skeletal hand to offer an unholy blessing on each, accepting their tithes of rare and obscene things they had brought up from hell with them. Once in a while one would fail to please and Willow would use the very flames she had branded Spike with to roast them in their tracks. Spike imagined this kept the quality of the offerings quite high.

He had been almost glad when she finally moved, ordered her servants to bring her ink and brush. She had begun right below his neck, light stokes, the wet ink itching unbearably it dried. He had refused to move though, no twitching. That would be a victory for her and he wouldn’t give it easily. So he stood upright, the iron manacles digging into his wrists, the ink drying on his chest, and was silent.

“You have been gone a long time, Spike. How do you find our little town now?” Willow asked, dipping her brush once more.

Spike stared ahead stonily.

“No opinion? I’d think it would appeal to the demon in you...but that part is buried very deep now isn’t it. Have you spent the last seventy-five years learning to hide it? So sad...you were once a splendid creature, now...just a guy with a sun allergy,” Willow said in her soft little voice as she painted.

“Buffy is not what she was, is she? You found her what? A little odd. A fearful thing living in shadows. Nothing to her mind but kill, kill, kill.” Willow’s voice sounded proud.

“It took a lot of time to make her that way, to take away everything that bound her to the living world. Her people, her town. Hard work, but you know me. The little workaholic. This is much more fun than homework though. Much more...rewarding.” A happy chuckle from the witch as she worked.

A row of dots across his abdomen, a broad slash of wet ink, another series of dots. What in hell was she doing? Spike had no idea what the scope of her powers was now. She fed off the energy of the Hellmouth and its occupants, that much was clear. It kept her alive beyond her time but at a terrible price. Her sanity, her taut and stretched appearance. Spike just stood very still. He felt like he was in the presence of an unpredictable wild animal. Friendly one minute, it could turn and rend the next.

She spoke again. “Did you think to take her away? Leave me here? Foolish. She and I are bound. She can no more leave this place than I can. The Hellmouth sustains us both. She would have been ash in your embrace before you got twenty miles away.”

Willow laughed at the thought. “Maybe I should have let you both go. It might have been worth it to have that happen but no...It’s better this way. I get to feel her death countless times. Did you like seeing her die when my demon cut her down? It’s only the second time she has died for you. Don‘t worry, it gets better every time.”

Spike tried to muster a sneer but he couldn’t manage it so stunned was he at what Willow had just told him about Buffy.

Spike’s heart plunged in his chest. Buffy couldn’t leave? The witch had no reason to lie to him, trapped as he was. She had to stay here to survive? He moved...just a fraction of an inch but Willow noticed. She looked up at him, a cruel smile playing on her lips. Black eyes sparkled with delight.

“You didn’t know. You thought you could go have that happily ever after...see the Eiffel tower at midnight? Long walks along the Thames by the stars? You were going to show her the wonders of the world... you by her side. What did you think? A happy ending for Buffy? Never.”

Spike’s jaw twitched again. She was reading him so plainly. He forced his hopes deep, leaving them to shrivel in the depths of his undead mind. She couldn’t leave...

Willow slowly pushed her dark hair back, her brush still as she contemplated him. He did not look. Refused to let her drag anything else from his racing mind. Damned bitch. What could he do now?

She shrugged and returned to her task. “How did you know she lived? That is why you came back...one last shot at the girl who rejected you...no...That wasn‘t it. That wasn‘t it at all, was it?”

She waited for an answer that never came. Paused once more, trying to glean the answer from his stubborn mind.

“You didn’t know. That's not why you came...” she whispered.

Spike silently cursed to himself as she stood abruptly. Willow turned and walked to where she had thrown the book earlier.

“This book. You came for this?” she hissed.

Spike filled his mind with Buffy. Buffy smiling, laughing, moaning in pleasure as he...

“Stop!” Willow screamed. “Stop thinking of her. She cannot be happy, not for a moment!”

A crack in her reserve. Spike pressed his advantage, the thoughts of Buffy blocking out the truth of what lay inside the book. He brought to the fore of his mind the night he had so recently spent in Buffy’s arms. How they had comforted each other with touch and words. Willow threw the book aside again and advanced on him. He had done it now for sure, no more arts and crafts.

She snatched up her brush and slashed one final sigil on his chest and muttered an unintelligible phrase in Latin.

“Combustum!”

Spike screamed as the letters turned bright red and started to burn. Every stroke felt like a tiny conflagration in his flesh. Willow laughed in delight.

“The flames can’t kill you like ordinary fire but I assure you they will last longer...as long as I want them to,” she told him as he writhed in his bonds.

The witch turned and walked back to her throne. Settling back on cushions of black silk, she watched her captive suffer...

Up above in the ruins of the high school, Buffy had breached Willow’s defenses and managed to find the library without any skirmishes. Inside the framework of the doors there was nothing left of the place that had once been a second home to a very young version of herself. Nothing but a gaping hole from wall to wall. A greenish glow emanated from within but any hint to what lay below was obscured by thick smoke. Buffy stood on the rim and looked down. Willow was down there.

She felt remorse constrict her heart once more. She couldn’t... A growl behind her halted her thoughts. She spun to find a pack of hounds, hellhounds, watching her from a shadowed recess nearby. All feelings of sadness and guilt fell away as the Slayer took over. She dropped her bag and sprinted forward to take on the largest of the beasts. Vile creatures. They had killed Xander. The last of her friends to stand by her. After them she had been all alone.

She broke bones and crushed throats. No weapons, just her hands and the instincts gifted her by some unknown agency. She was death in motion. One by one, the beasts fell at her feet, bodies broken and oozing blood. With every death rattle, Buffy felt more alive, her gaze sharpened, her thoughts more concise. A realization dawned in her mind. The grief and guilt. Her inability to do what was necessary due to her crippling feelings...it was another spell. Willow’s malice knew no bounds. She had crafted a puppet of Buffy. One who would lie still and allow endless torment to be inflicted upon it.

Five hounds dead, six...she beckoned the remaining two. Offered them release. Bound by the will of their dark mistress they leapt forwards unwillingly. She was there to meet them, hands moving faster than they could follow. One actually whimpered at the terrible look in its opponent’s eyes. It cowered before her, submitted to the superior strength of will she exhibited. She just laid one foot atop its neck and broke it cleanly. It felt no pain, just the ending.

The last one fell and Buffy stood amongst the piled bodies of the fallen creatures. An emotion unfelt in ages beat inside her now. She wasn’t sad or lost or bound to duty. There were no regrets of past wrongs done by her and to her. She was angry. A pure blazing anger...towards the one who had done this. Ruined the world, ruined her.

Buffy turned once more, picked up her bag, and stepped off the edge into the pit. Falling down through smoke and flame, darkness and a miasma of hatred. It grew lighter as she descended. She kept her head down the whole time, seeking a place to land. A ledge loomed out of the dark and Buffy snapped out a hand to catch it. Hanging by one hand from the rocky promontory, she hauled herself up and crouched at the edge. Surveying the scene before her, she shuddered slightly. The spell still threatened to overwhelm her even though she knew its nature now.

It was still a long way down to where she could hear and see movement. Buffy lowered herself over the edge again and descended. She dug her fingers into tiny fissures in the rock, hugged her body against the rough stone to keep from falling. Even though she was suspending her entire body weight from one hand, Buffy felt no pain. Just anger and purpose. She was washing clean the stain of Willow’s curse with every handhold. This was who she was, not the thing Willow had created. It had taken the determination of one very irritating person to make her see it but now she felt like she was fighting free from an invisible web. Every breath came easier, things looked sharper somehow. She knew whatever Willow did to her once she made her way down, she would never go back to her refuge on the hill. She was done living that way. Another ledge appeared beneath her dangling feet. Buffy let go of the wall and dropped the dozen feet to the platform and saw that she had finally found what she sought.

Demons everywhere, a figure chained across the great chasm, Spike. He was twisting as if he was in great pain. Buffy looked for a way to get to him. There was a narrow pathway cut into the rock. She started towards him, noticing that not too far from Spike an alcove held a throne. The throne held Willow. The anger surged in Buffy’s chest again. Damn her. She was watching him suffer. Light-footed, she ran along the uneven stone towards them. A demon reared up in front of her, roared in rage. Buffy just shoved him aside and he spun away into empty space. Buffy closed the distance between Spike and herself quickly. She saw the glowing symbols on his chest and pulled a bottle of water from her bag, unscrewing the top as she ran.

She sprinted the last few steps and threw the water across Spike’s chest. The ink ran, the symbols melted away, and Spike stopped screaming. Buffy grabbed one chain, yanked it from the wall with brute strength. Spike pulled the other loose. Spike grabbed Buffy up into his arms and pressed a quick but fervent kiss on her forehead. A scream of rage pierced the air behind them. Buffy stood inside the circle of Spike’s arms as she turned to confront her enemy, for that was what Willow was.

She gazed upon the rabid witch who stood in front of her macabre throne seething with rage. Buffy smoothed back her tousled hair, squared her shoulders and looked at her onetime friend. Her eyes free of the torment Willow had so carefully planted there, she gave Willow a purely happy smile. She knew it would drive the witch to madness, to see how she had failed at the last in her quest to shatter Buffy.

“Hello, Willow.”

***

Part Fourteen: Forgive

Buffy regarded Willow through calm and clear eyes.

Willow vibrated with uncontrollable rage. “Guards!” she screamed. “Take them!”

“We’re done for, pet...” Spike muttered as he took up a fighting stance at Buffy’s side.

As glad as he was to see Buffy come for him, the cold realist in him saw that the odds were so very against them. The most they could aspire to was to die together...not what he had hoped for but...

His train of thought was interrupted by the appearance of a small army of demons ready to do the bidding of their frightening queen. Snarls and growls came from the demons as they approached en masse. Buffy handed Spike a club studded with nails and pulled out a wicked looking sword with jagged edges for herself. More of her impressive weapons. Spike hefted his club in one hand, liking the weight of it. Very manly. Then the demons were upon them and thought was impossible.

Spike warranted he had done a respectable job by the time the battle ended. A good dozen had fallen beneath his club. It was slick with blood and matted with fur and scales. Still a dozen among fifty was not enough. As for Buffy, she had fared even better; maybe twenty bodies lay at her feet. A wild and savage gleam in her eyes as she fought. She was bloody splendid, Spike thought as he watched her. A goddess of battle. This was the Slayer pure and simple, nothing remotely human about her. Yet it was the final dozen or so demons that did them in at the last. Overwhelming the pair as they fought. Willow shouting instructions in the background. Something about a cell and that was the last thing Spike heard.

When he opened his eyes it was to see Buffy looking down at him with concern on her battered face.

“Are you okay?” she whispered to him.

“Noarrgh...” he mumbled through his swollen lips.

“Yeah, that's about how I feel.” Buffy agreed, looking over her shoulder warily.

Spike squinted at their surroundings. Another sodding dungeon. He groaned and tried to sit up. It was hard; the demons had practically torn him apart. Buffy helped him. Propped him against the wall so he could get a better look. A cell with three stone walls and an iron grate for the fourth wall. Beyond the grate was that awful throne. Willow sat upon, watching them both with undisguised malice.

“Bloody wonderful...the wicked witch awaits...” Spike growled.

Buffy nodded in agreement.

“What are we gonna do? Just sit here and waste away while she watches?” he asked.

“No...I’m going to talk to her,” Buffy replied, never taking her eyes off their captor.

“Buffy...don’t push her. She’s absolutely mad. Nothing left of th’ cute little redhead there...” Spike warned, gently probing his ribcage. At least two had broken ones...maybe more.

Buffy looked back at him. Bent down to drop a light kiss on his cheek. She looked so sad...not in the same way as before but there was a new regret in her eyes now. He felt a stab of fear far sharper than the pain in his ribs.

“I think there is something left. I have to try and find it,” she said.

Spike grabbed her arm. “Buffy...”

She pried his desperate fingers from her arm, gave him a last searing look as if she would burn his face into her mind one last time and stood. He struggled to stand, to stop her but she was already at the bars.

“Willlooow....” Buffy called tauntingly.

Willow smiled and descended from her throne. The witch walked to a nearby table piled high with arcane materials. She began to pick and choose, throw things in a small black cauldron. A spell was in the works.

Buffy called again. “Willow...”

“Be quiet,” Willow snapped. “A few minutes and you’ll be your old quivering self...” The witch threw some strange glowing herbs in the pot and turned the flame beneath higher.

“Did Tara teach you that spell?” Buffy said softly.

She saw Willow stiffen; her hands begin to tremble.

“Don’t speak of her...you have no right.” Willow hissed, refusing to look at Buffy.

“Did Tara practice spells to twist people’s minds? Would she approve?” Buffy asked.

Willow turned to face Buffy. Eyes crackling with dark energy. “Stop,” she commanded.

“Do you remember why you decided to stay in Sunnydale? Instead of going off to Oxford...Harvard? What did you tell me? You thought saving the world sounded like a good cause...you wanted to be part of that,” Buffy pressed.

Willow’s hands started to burn with blue fire.

“Buffy...don’t do this...she’ll kill you,” Spike warned urgently.

“You’re angry with me...you’ve been angry with me for seventy years. Why don’t you take it out on me instead of the rest of the world? Face to face for once. Tell me how you feel Willow...” Buffy urged.

Willow stalked up to the bars, pressed her face close to Buffy’s until their noses almost touched through the bars. The air shimmered around them as Willow glared at the person she considered responsible for the end of her world. Willow reached out slowly and unlocked the cell with one flick of a shaking finger.

“Buffy, this is madness. You can’t stand against her! Come back here!” Spike surged forward, ribs grinding against each other as he stumbled towards the open grate. Gasping in pain he slammed into the bars just as Buffy firmly shut the grate behind her. He laced his fingers through the bars, looked at Buffy wild-eyed.

“Buffy, you can’t kill her. If you do, you die too. Please let her put the spell back on you. I’ll get away. I’ll find a way back to you an’ get you free of her...If you do this...you’ll die!” he pleaded.

Buffy cast her eyes downward for a moment. “I know,” she said quietly.

Spike hurled himself against the bars but they wouldn’t give. “Buffy!”

“I know it will kill me and I have to do it. You have to do what you came here for. Get the book and get it to someone who can close the Hellmouth. I know I promised I would never ask you to leave again but that’s all you can do now...” Buffy brushed her fingers against his softly before walking away towards a waiting Willow. It burned worse than any torture Willow had devised.

“No...” he whispered, watching her go.

Buffy walked to the center of the room and stopped in front of Willow. Bare inches separated the two. Buffy spread her arms to show she held nothing.

“No weapons, Will. Wanna call off your boys or what?” Buffy said challengingly.

Willow waved away the waiting group of demons near the throne. Grumbling in disappoint, they obeyed and lumbered away. The chamber was empty except for a witch in black, an imprisoned vampire, and an all too ready Slayer.

Willow’s arm moved with inhuman speed and a ball of her blue fire came hurtling towards Buffy. When it arrived, Buffy wasn’t there. She had moved, a scarce inch to the right but enough to avoid the flames. Willow hissed in disappointment. Buffy darted forward and Willow felt her head snap back from an unseen kick to the chin and Buffy was somehow back where she started.

Willow touched one finger to the trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. “You hit me,” she said, sounding surprised.

“Gotta say you had it coming, Will,” Buffy said without sympathy.

Willow’s next shot grazed Buffy’s cheek and Buffy reached up to feel a row of blisters raising up on her skin from the intense heat of the fire.

“You killed Tara. You must suffer.” Willow snarled.

“I’ve been taking credit for that for a long time, Willow but you know what? It wasn’t my fault. The demon killed her. As for me...human error...I’m not perfect. I have to forgive myself for that,” Buffy shot back, weaving in to land another lightning quick jab to Willow’s side.

The witch staggered under the force of the blow and started muttering a spell. Another fast punch to the mouth stopped the spell midcast.

“None of that now,” Buffy warned.

Willow eyes whirled faster. She looked amazed that Buffy was able to stand against her like this. Spike felt a tiny glimmer of hope. Maybe it didn’t have to end the way he thought. He pressed himself against the bars, seeking a weakness in their structure.

“What’s this all about Willow? Besides torturing me. The demons, the Hellmouth? Why Willow?” Buffy demanded.

Willow backed up, leaned back against her throne. She was confused. This wasn’t going the way she planned. Buffy was cool, confident, and utterly unwilling to let Willow punish her as she deserved. She looked at the defiant Slayer standing a few feet away. This was the Buffy who simply didn’t believe anyone could beat her. The Slayer who had battled a god to her knees.

“Why Willow?” Buffy persisted.

Another kick, another fist. Willow felt things breaking inside her as Buffy pummeled her. She fell to her knees, the black silk of her dress shredding on the sharp rocks.

“Why Willow?” Buffy asked again.

“To get her back!” Willow screamed.

The blows stopped. Willow looked up. Buffy just stood above her. Hands hanging loosely at her sides. She was waiting.

“If I have enough power...if I find the right spell or talisman...I might find the way to bring her back. You came back. Unworthy, unreliable you...why not her? Tara...the brightest, the best of all of us...” Willow continued, her gaze dropping to Buffy’s scuffed boots.

A voice came from above her. No anger or hurt in it anymore. Just an aching sorrow. “This isn’t the way to Tara, Willow. You’ll never find her down here...in hell. And if you did, what would she think? What would she say about the Willow she found here?”

Willow felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes. So strange...when had she last cried?

“Tara once did a great thing for me. Helped me through something. I want to do the same for you. Give you an undeserved gift.” Buffy’s voice sounded closer and Willow realized the Slayer was kneeling in front of her, her hazel eyes steady as she spoke.

“I forgive you,” Buffy whispered.

Willow reared back. “No! No you don’t. I killed Xander...would have killed Dawn if she had ever come back. I’ve let hell into our world, more each day. You can’t forgive that,” she shrieked.

“Still, I forgive you,” Buffy’s gaze never faltered.

“Decades of torment, alone and friendless? You can forgive that?” Willow demanded.

“Yes,” was the answer.

Buffy watched Willow closely. It was working. The black was draining away leaving brilliant green in its wake. As Willow focused on her, Buffy saw her friend for the first time in far too long.

“Willow, I forgive you,” she said one final time.

Willow slumped forward against Buffy. The tears fell freely now.

Spike watched in disbelief from his cell. Only on the Hellmouth could a fight to the death end this way. Bizarre was the norm here.

Buffy lifted Willow’s limp head from her shoulder, looked at her gravely. “There is a way, Willow. A way to mend this and maybe see Tara again...in a place beyond this world.”

Willow just looked blank. Buffy stood and fetched the book from its place on Willow’s table. Held it up for Willow to see. Willow shook her head. She didn’t understand. Spike did though.

“No, Buffy! Let it alone. What do I care if the bloody world crumbles away. Not if I have you!” he shouted, renewing his assault on the bars to his prison.

Buffy looked determined and ignored his outburst. “The book, Will. There's a spell in it to close the Hellmouth, stop the demons from becoming more numerous.”

Willow rose to her feet, came forward slowly. She took the book from Buffy and opened it for the first time and read the spell. A moment passed, another, and suddenly black flooded her eyes once more.

“No! I will not give it up! I need its power to live!” Willow screamed.

“What for, Willow? You’ll never find her here,” Buffy replied sadly.

The black receded again and Willow looked out of the witch's eyes again.

“Can you do it, Will?” Buffy asked.

“Yes...I can,” the witch replied, sounding weary.

“Buffy, please,” Spike said from the cell.

Buffy left Willow’s side to return to Spike. She didn’t open the grate however, just stood on the other side and looked at the grieving vampire.

“I can’t let you go now. You’ll try to stop us,” she said.

“Bloody right I will,” Spike retorted. “Buffy, we’ll find another way.”

“No. We won’t. This has to end now. Willow will do it and the world will have its chance,” Buffy said firmly.

“But...” Spike began.

“Why did you come? What did the Council tell you to make you agree to this?” Buffy asked unexpectedly.

Spike was nonplussed but he answered, keeping an eye on Willow as she assembled her needed ingredients for the spell. “Your children...Dawn’s. I wanted to believe they could live in a better world. One where monsters like me were not at the door everywhere they went.”

Buffy nodded. “I thought so. It still holds then. Dawn has children and grandchildren and more. They do deserve that.” She reached out and twined her fingers with his. He clutched at them desperately. “I died a long time ago, William. It’s just time to make it official.”

It was then that Spike knew he could not dissuade her. She had made up her mind. Chosen the good of the many once more. As much as he hated it and her a little for doing so, he knew it was a big part of why he never loved anyone as he loved her. Why he could never put her behind him. She was as close to pure good as he would ever get.

He leaned his face against cold iron, felt her warm lips press against his forehead. She whispered a request into his ear, waited for his promise to fulfill it. He nodded his assent, unable to look up knowing it would be the last time he saw her, wanting to stave it off that moment even for a little while.

She squeezed his fingers. He raised his head at last. She gazed into tear brightened blue, felt her heart skip a beat. Nothing in her life had ever been as intense as him, as alive. “Goodbye...William.”

Her fingers opened...his dropped to his sides. She turned and walked away. He leaned against the bars, helpless to move, no part of him functioning any longer, and watched her go.

Willow and Buffy knelt inside a circle Willow had created from oddly colored sand. The two clasped hands, at the end they were together again. Willow opened the book in front of her. One thin arm raised in the air in supplication to greater powers, she began. Oddly slurred words that sounded nearly recognizable but somehow...not. The circle flared to life, encasing Buffy and Willow in incandescent light. Spike didn’t look away. He would see this through until the end.

Willow called forth all her hoarded power and tried to force the Hellmouth to obey her bidding. The earth shuddered violently as she recited the spell, a hard determination in her voice as she encountered resistance. Buffy squeezed her hand in support and Willow forged ahead. Her words grew more commanding, more insistent, and finally a great cloud of smoke billowed up from the pit as they watched. The greenish glow emanating from the bottom of the pit guttered once, twice, and finally...went out. A howling could be heard from the myriad demons as they realized that the gateway to earthly paradise had closed leaving them stranded. Spike heard them fleeing like rats from a sinking ship.

The cavern was plunged into darkness. Even with his enhanced vision, Spike had to strain to see the figures of Willow and Buffy, still inside their now defunct circle. They were leaning together, no movement. Spike listened in the now echoing silence of the cavern. He could hear...heartbeats. Two distinct heartbeats but before he could translate that sound into hope, he heard one falter. It beat slower and slower and then abruptly stopped. Now there was only one. He listened to it; clung to the sound like it was his last anchor to Buffy. Beat...beat...beat...beat...beat...beat...beat...and then...nothing.

Spike slid to the ground, the pain in his abused body nothing to the pain in his heart. There was one final sound...what was it? A harsh sobbing. Was it someone? No...that sound...it was just him.

***

Part Fifteen: Farewell

Footsteps sounded on the crumbled cement that had once been a high school parking lot. Broken glass crunched under bare feet as Spike transported his burden to a more congenial spot on the dried grass beyond. He stopped and carefully laid his cargo down, taking care to lower the lolling head slowly. He slid his aching arms out from beneath her and stood. The moon shone down on the tableau. The dead looking upon the dead. A thought flitted through Spike’s fractured brain...

Sleeping Beauty...

That was what she looked like. In death, her face was cleansed of worry and pain. The perfection of her features was evident. Not that she was truly perfect but to him...Spike shook his head. No time for this now. The sky was still dark but he could feel the dawn just beyond the edge of sight. It tickled at the back of his neck like a stopwatch counting down. He still had another task to complete. He had promised. He turned back to the rubble of the school and started back inside.

He encountered no one inside. The demons that had escaped the closing of the Hellmouth were well away from this place and running fast like bugs left uncovered when one kicked over a rotten log. He strode through the hallways of the school. It ended where as it began. His first battle with her had been here. The sparks of hatred flying between them. What time could alchemize...the fierceness of his hatred...just as fierce his love. Spike found the fathomless hole that led to Willow’s lair, swung over the side and lowered himself into the pitch black. He knew the way. He had climbed up this same path, a limp body across his back and his very hands remembered.

Endless moments later, he alighted on the correct ledge, traversed the narrow pathway and located the source of his journey and his promise. Willow. She lay unmoving inside her circle, hair spread behind her like a pool of blood. Her face held a look of peace. Spike felt a sudden and nearly uncontrollable urge to pitch her from the side and into the depths below. Let hell have her after what she had done. Buffy might have forgiven but he didn’t have to. He couldn’t do that though. He promised. Her vindictiveness had destroyed them all but he would honor Buffy’s last request.

Spike winced at the pain in his ribs as he knelt to scoop the dead woman up into his protesting arms. Ripping the bars from his cell had added to his list of injuries but he could not take the time to recover. It must be done before dawn or he would have to remain in this place another day. Slinging her over his shoulder somewhat less gently than he had done with Buffy, Spike began the tortuous climb up once more.

Outside, he lay her on the grass next to Buffy. Fell to his knees to rest a moment. He looked from one face to the other. Buffy looked just the bloody same. A twenty-something girl frozen in time...while Willow had every year, every hatred carved into the lines of her face. He felt if he shook her too hard she might just blow away on the chill night wind. He felt the pain inside creeping up, threatening to overwhelm him but he had to finish this.

Standing unsteadily, he pulled one body over each bare shoulder and made his way across the dead grass and up the street to his final destination. It wasn’t much of a funeral march. Just him, no shirt or shoes, carrying two dead friends. The only mourners were the stars and the silent moon. It would have to be enough; there was no one else. Spike followed the echo of Buffy’s directions in his mind and found the place she told him of just seconds before she died. A quiet hillside grove.

It looked somewhat better cared for than the cemetery it was set in. Someone had trimmed the grass, kept the weeds at bay, even watered it and laid living flowers across the two graves. Spike laid his burden down once more, being sure to arrange them with dignity. The tombstones, obviously hand carved from rough granite by inexpert hands, read...

Had Buffy kept this place up? Willow? No way to know but this was where Buffy had asked him to bring them. They would all be together in end. Seeing an old workshed near the bottom of the hill, Spike walked away from the gravesite and towards it. Arriving, he pried the ancient door open and found a dented but usable shovel inside. Back in the grove, he looked down at the ground. No decision really. He would bury Willow first. Keep Buffy with him as long as possible.

Racing the coming sun, Spike dug. Each heave of the shovel a silent scream of rage and sorrow. Next to the resting-place of her beloved, he made Willow her final bed. Exhausted from the effort, he pressed on until the hole was a decent depth. Grim humor curved his mouth for a second. The dead digging graves for the dead. Funny world. He climbed out of the hole and lifted Willow up for the last time. Her arms trailed out behind her, the ruined black silk of her gown a proper shroud for a witch. Spike strove one final time for the forgiveness Buffy had given with such ease. It just wasn’t there. She was a better person than he was but he had always known that.

He tossed the body contemptuously into the hole. A minor spite towards a person he would have gladly killed given half a chance. She lay at the bottom of the grave, the moon providing a last glimmer of light to shine across her pale, peaceful face. Spike thought she looked...finished. That was the way it was supposed to be, right? Taking the shovel to hand again, he poured a first heap of dirt over her and another and so on until no trace of her ghostly white countenance could be seen. He had fulfilled his promise. A decent burial for the girl who had once been the most loyal of friends. Buffy had asked and Spike had obeyed. Such a small thing to do for her when he had hoped to do so much more...

Spike smoothed the last mound of dirt over the fresh grave and laid his shovel down. He turned to where Buffy lay. He had put this off as long as possible. Not even looking at her as he completed his task. As if ignoring it would change what he had to do. Put her in the earth...and not follow her down.

He lay down beside her body. Supporting himself on his elbow so he could look down at her, he remembered something he had read while still alive. He had been a lovesick fool back then and took to heart every word he read about love. Imagined it the very thing he felt for that stupid girl whose name now escaped him...But the words rang true in his mind ...for this ethereal creature who lay beside him now.

This... had been sacred and now it was done. Spike wondered if he could physically make himself do it? Dig the grave and put her in? He had watched from the shadows a long time ago, when they buried her the first time. That had been excruciating but to wield the shovel...do it with his own hands...

The moon had set and only the stars shone down on them now. Sleeping beauty...he thought again. How did the story go? One last kiss...after all he was just as dead as she. A kiss from one dead to another. He leaned over; his throat tight and aching with sorrow, and pressed cold lips to hers. A farewell. Her lips still held some lingering trace of warmth, as though life was loath to let go its hold.

He smoothed a stray hair from her face... it seemed as though the near-ended night had taken on the quality of a dream. For surely it was a desperate, imagined madness of his grieving mind that he saw her lips curve ever so slightly? That they parted just the smallest bit? Her chest rose and fell nearly imperceptibly. Cool air flowed past her lips and animated her still form. A faint whisper from her mouth. Spike leaned closer to hear, afraid that the moment would come crashing down around him and reality would stream back in...

“Cellular sunburn...” she said.

Spike gathered her closer into his arms. Watched with wild hope as she opened her eyes. Glorious eyes.

“Buffy?” he choked out.

“The wrong spell,” she said.

He just gaped, that one word all he could manage. It could still fade away.

“Willow was wrong...and Tara too. It’s the first spell, the Resurrection one that raises me every time. Not the Hellmouth,” she concluded, a note of wonder in her voice as she stared up at her astonished companion.

Spike pulled her close. Pressed his ear against her chest to hear the delightful sound of blood coursing through living veins and the steady thump of her heart. An undeserved gift...she had said to Willow. Well this was his. He raised his head to kiss her deeply, the slight warmth of her mouth now a raging heat. She was alive. Buffy kissed him back, joyously and just as deep. The two held each other tightly as the sun started to turn the horizon the palest shade of gray.

Buffy frowned, looking over Spike’s shoulder. She saw the new grave. Pushing to her feet, she walked over to it. Spike let her go. She would be back. Buffy stood at the edge of the newly turned earth.

“Goodbye Willow. I hope you find her...”she said softly.

Buffy saw the approaching dawn. “Time to leave,” she said over her shoulder to a waiting Spike.

Spike rose to his feet, held out one hand to Buffy. “Where to love?”

Buffy turned and took his hand, looked up into his brilliant gaze. “Only one more thing to do,” she replied.

They turned and started down the hill.

It was near sunset the next day and Buffy and Spike had left Sunnydale far behind. They had driven through the bright new day, hidden by the specially tinted windows of Spike’s car, to a place of Buffy’s choosing. They now stood in the deep shadow provided by an ancient willow tree near a large, old, rambling farmhouse. The house was painted white with yellow trim. A large porch surrounded the house and a picket fence wrapped around it, white daises poking from between the slats. As Buffy and Spike watched, two small girls came tumbling out the front door, down the steps, and out into the gently waving late summer grass.

They laughed as they ran, a half-serious game of tag developing between them. The smaller girl, the one with the long, straight, brown hair, fell and bumped a dimpled knee. The older girl stopped and ran back to gather her younger sister in protective arms. Her blond curls fell across both their faces as she murmured words of comfort.

Buffy looked up at Spike and smiled a purely happy smile. “No monsters here,” she whispered to him.

He nodded slowly, a smile of his own creasing his face.

Buffy’s face turned serious again. “I still have to fight, you know. The world still holds far too many demons.”

“Of course. An’ I’ll be right there with you. Th’ rough an’ tumbles always fine with me. But we’re gonna live too pet. No more skulkin’ in corners for you,” Spike said gravely.

Buffy nodded in assent. “Can you think of a good place to start? To live? Truly live?” she asked, looking hopeful.

Spike laughed happily and kissed her hard and quick. “That I do, love. That I do.”

They looked up at the sound of a soft voice calling the children back. The girls stood and started back towards the sound of love and safety that awaited them inside their home. The last golden light of the ending day cast halos atop their small heads as they climbed the steps hand in hand.

Buffy and Spike also walked away...into the shadows of the coming night.

The End