BETAS: Binkysab, LostAngel and ElektraWWF from FanForum

CHARACTERS: Buffy/Spike

RATING: NC-17

SPOILERS: Through the fifth Season ending episode, THE GIFT.

SYNOPSIS: This is the story of the Slayer’s final destruction, and the part played by her vampire lover, Spike. So, this is how, I would end the series. This story is set 2 years after THE GIFT. Many things have changed in the lives of the characters but do NOT be alarmed. To my knowledge there are NO spoilers in this fic. However, to avoid confusion let me bring you up to speed. In my little corner of the Buffyverse: Willow and Xander have accepted Spike into the Scoobie Gang, Spike was instrumental in bringing Buffy back from the dead in the Season 6 premiere, Xander and Anya have married and have a child, Tara has died, Dawn is, of course, 16 years old, Giles has moved back to England, Oz has moved back to Sunnydale and Buffy has a job as a traffic cop aka meter maid. This is my idea of logical progression. Hey, lots of things can happen in 2 long years.

“You mean they broke up! He just dumped Dawn!” Willow asked, incredulously, as she tossed her trademarked ‘ball of sunshine’ into a vamp’s hands and watched him poof. “With only five more days until the big dance and without any explanation?”

“Oh, there was an explanation all right,” Buffy growled, meeting Spike’s eyes over the shoulder of her own assailant as she blocked a punch.

“What?!?” Spike said, innocently. “I only had a little talk with the boy.”

The blond Vampire and Xander Harris were juggling three opponents between them. Xander managed to stake one just before he took a wrong step and went down under the other two. Spike leaped to his assistance as Buffy picked up the conversational ball.

“You told him he could lose a hand!” the Slayer said, whipping a stake around and dusting her vamp before heading over to help Xander.

“Only if he put it somewhere dangerous,” Spike assured, as he tossed one of the two remaining vamps to Buffy. He twisted the other vamps arm up and back until the joint cracked before adding, “That’s not a threat or anything…its just good advice.”

“Yeah, Buffy,” Willow said, circling and looking for a way to help without toasting Spike. “I’m sure that Spike didn’t mean for the guy to jilt Dawn, right before the Junior Prom. And why do they have a JUNIOR prom anyway? We didn’t get to have the JUNIOR prom. It was Senior or you went without, Missy.”

“Kids today! They don’t know about the sacrifice and the hardship,” Xander said, like a shocked old geezer, as he patted himself over checking for injuries. He had a small cut over one eye but was otherwise fine. “I understand that you don’t even have to be genetically altered to be on the Varsity swim team these days.”

“The point is he has no business talking to Dawn’s boyfriends at all,” Buffy said as she put the stake to her vampire. “Dawn is my responsibility and I had already cleared this guy.”

“Oh, YOU cleared him,” Spike sneered, sarcastically. He spun under the final vampire’s swing and shoved him toward Buffy’s stake. The demon exploded on pointy contact and Spike dusted his hands off as he continued, “He got the Buffy Summer’s seal of approval then? May I remind you, Miss Can’t Keep Track of Her Own Virginity Past the Age of 15, that your record with the opposite sex is NOT the sort to inspire confidence.” He turned to slap Xander in the chest, “Harris, you’ve got a daughter would you let the Slayer pick out her Prom date?”

“You are making the mistake of assuming that Melanie will EVER be allowed to date,” Xander said, casually. “My plan is to send her to the Convent of the Eternally Virginal somewhere around the age of 8.”

“Well, Dawn isn’t 8,” Buffy said, as she stormed around the room recovering her weapons. “She’s 16 years old and she doesn’t need anyone to ‘pick out’ her dates for her. But if she did, as her big sister and legal guardian, I would certainly be more qualified to do the job than a vampire with more Victorian sensibility than sense.”

The Slayer stopped slamming weapons into her shoulder bag, straightened up and addressed Spike directly as she added, “And I was 17 when I spent the night with Angel, not 15.”

“Shame you didn’t have the remarkable control on your thigh muscles back then that you have now,” Spike snarled, before turning to stalk toward the warehouse door.

“Well, this has been a real pleasant evening,” Xander said, perkily, to Willow. “What with my bleeding head injury and the bickering old married couple, it was almost like being at my parent’s house. I feel like such a kid again.”

“Yep," Willow agreed, “that’s the whole point of the patrolling. It takes you back to those golden days of youth.”

“Do you believe him?” Buffy said, looking after Spike as she joined her two Buds. “He is out to drive me insane. This thing with Dawn is just the tip of the iceberg. You have no idea….there is just so much more iceberg there.”

Buffy puffed out a breath, shook her hair back and headed off after Spike. Willow and Xander exchanged a meaningful glance.

“So, we are all in agreement, then,” Xander said conversationally, “If those two don’t get horizontal by this weekend there’s going to be apocalyptic-like bloodshed.”

“I’ll have another talk with Buffy,” Willow sighed as she and Xander trailed after the odd couple, “After all, sex with the undead isn’t such a sinful indulgence when it’s for the public good.”

“Lilith, Mother of Darkness, Night Monster, Defiler of Innocents, may your heart be filled with this sacrifice, may we be nourished by this blood.”

The crypt was full of the sound of chanting as at least twenty red robed figures filed in to it. The strange monks moved in stately progression keeping their heads bowed in supplication.

“We have the hope that one is coming. We have the hope that he will fall and rise again. We have the hope that he is already among us. We have the hope that she will accept his seed. We have the hope that you will be reborn from their union.”

The red robed monks began to gather around an altar on which lay a little girl of about 4 or 5 years of age. The child’s eyes were filled with horror but she was too paralyzed with fear to scream. Each of the monks clutched a silver bowl. They circled closer and closer until the child was completely hidden behind a wall of red robes. One of the monks wore an ornate gold medallion with a flickering red jewel in the center. He stepped up on the altar dais and raised a knife on high.

“Let us be one with the Heart of the Night,” the assembly chanted together in Italian. “Siamo uno con il Cuore Della Notte”.

And then the knife swung in a downward arch. The chanting stopped abruptly as the knifepoint buried itself in the altar and a flow of blood filled every bowl.

Buffy entered the Magic Box the next morning a little after 10:00 am. Anya was assisting a customer and Willow was hunkered down at the round table with a huge lesson planning book open in front of her.

“Hello, Teach!” Buffy sang out. “Working on the molding of the tiny minds?”

“This lesson planning is driving me crazy,” Willow groused, tossing down her pen. “I keep wanting to do this magically but I don’t think that would be fair to the rest of the class.”

“Fair, Schmair,” Buffy said, waving one hand, dismissively. “If you can do your homework by twitching your nose, you have a sacred duty to overworked students everywhere to live out that fantasy.”

“That’s what I keep telling her,” Xander said, as he entered the shop through the training room door, holding his baby daughter in his arms. “Plus there’s the whole doing homework over Spring Break which is also wrong.”

“Hey, Papa Xander,” Buffy greeted. She twiddled her fingers at Melanie as she addressed her father. “And why aren’t you working?”

“We’re between projects,” Xander answered, shifting the baby in his arms. "We start up next Monday on the Stafford Dorm remodeling, we’re giving them Spring Break to find alternative shelter. What about you? Shouldn’t you be ticketing the jaywalkers or scarfing the jelly donuts with the rest of Sunnydale PD’s finest?

“Time off for the good behavior.” Buffy quipped. “I figured I would take a week's vacation. Do the Prom thing with Dawn, fittings and hair and salon treatments. I am a chaperoen for the shindig. We of the Scoobies should do something, too. With the fun and the frolic.”

“No frolicking until after the homework is done,” Willow, once again with pen in hand, said, indicating her stacks of notes.

“You sound like the teacher already,” Buffy smiled. “Okay, so we postpone the fun until tonight. Shall we hit the Bronze? Are they even open on Tuesdays?”

“The Bronze is always open,” Willow replied, “except…you know…for the times when they close…like at closing time.”

“I can do a quick patrol and meet you guys there,” Buffy said, “Come on…it will be just like old times.”

“I really have to stay with the baby,” Anya said, appearing as if by magic, next to Xander and leaning over to check on their child.

“Dawn could sit for us, Sweetie,” Xander urged, hopefully. “It would be a nice change from diapers.”

“No, I would rather stay with Melanie but you go ahead if you want to,” Anya said, giving him an encouraging smile. The bell on the shop door jangled and she went back to work. Xander frowned after her.

“I don’t know,” he said, softly, leaning in to address his best friends. “Ever since Melanie was born, I can barely budge Anya away from her. But the last few weeks it’s been unbelievable. I don’t think she would come to work if there wasn’t a place for the baby to sleep in the backroom.”

“Aren’t all new mothers nervous?” Buffy asked, casting a quick look over her shoulder at Xander's wife. “It’s probably just a phase.”

“Nervous is one thing,” Xander said, “but this is almost an obsession. It’s like Anya thinks that Melanie is just going to vanish if she isn’t watching over her all the time.”

“That reminds me did you guys read about those missing children in the paper?” Willow asked and Xander hissed at her, making a shushing motion with his one free hand. He peered anxiously over to where Anya was explaining love potions to a starry-eyed teenager.

“Will you keep it down?” Xander whispered, harshly. “I've been hiding the newspapers for the last week so that Anya doesn’t get wind of that story. I mean all I need is for her to read that some Red Robed weirdoes are making off with baby girls. She wouldn’t leave the house again until Melanie was ready for graduate school.”

“It’s that bad, huh?” Buffy said, her eyes filling with sympathy for her friend.

“You don’t know the half,” Xander sighed. “I’m thinking maybe we should go to counseling or something.”

“Hmmm!” Buffy said looking over at Anya again. She leaned in conspiratorially to whisper, “Still I need to know a little more about these guys. It smells Hellmouth-y to me. Willow, do you think you could do a little research on the sly? We don’t want to get Anya upset but we don’t want anymore disappearances either.”

“Sure,” Willow nodded, “I’ll just say I’m doing some random studying, I can let you know if I turn anything up when we meet at the Bronze.”

“Great, it's a plan,” Buffy said. “How’s 9:30 sound for you guys?”

They nodded their assent and the Slayer wandered back into the training room to workout on the free bag. She missed working out with Spike but lately that had become an impossible situation. As she shadowboxed and flipped and spun her way through her exercises, Buffy thought back to when things had gone bad.

She knew that her friends were puzzled by the sudden chilliness between her and the blond vampire. They had all been working together like a seamless unit. But she had no idea how to explain what had changed in the last two months. She only knew that having Spike close to her now caused a burning ache in her soul and the only way to stave off the pain was to harden her heart to him completely. She needed to drive him away from her and make him keep his distance.

She had finished her routine and was toweling off when Willow entered and asked her if she wanted to grab some lunch. Grateful for the interruption, Buffy agreed and the two friends set off for the local deli.

“So is Spike coming tonight?” Willow asked, innocently, after they had ordered and settled themselves in a corner booth.

“Spike?” Buffy asked, frowning. “Why would Spike be coming?”

“Oh, no reason,” Willow said, quickly forking up a bite of salad. She chewed, swallowed and then added, “I just wondered if…well…since you said it would be like old times. I thought maybe Spike would be your date.”

“Spike and I don’t date.” Buffy said, with a touch of sharpness. “There was never any dating. We worked together fighting the evil and sure sometimes he showed up for the inner circle events. But that’s because he and Dawn are close. I mean, he and I spent a little time together and maybe there was some level of attraction there but we never dated. I was talking about old times with you and me and Xander. Before there was any Spike involvement.”

“Buffy,” Willow said, leaning forward to take the other woman’s hand. “What is going on with you two. I’m not blind! I know that you and Spike are a lot more than co-workers on Project Hellmouth. You were getting very close. He was practically living at your house and then poof. He’s back in the crypt. Nobody’s talking and the two of you are both acting half-crazed. What happened? Did Spike do something to upset you?”

Buffy took a slow settling breath. She wanted to tell someone but she didn’t know how to begin. How could she explain about Slayers and Vampires and the lines that should never be crossed? How could she explain what it felt like to be forced to hunt the one you love, to strike him down as she had been forced to strike down Angel? Or how the love and the blood and the death and the sex all blended together when a vampire became the object of your desire?

“It’s not what Spike did…” Buffy finally said, softly. “It was me.”

“You?” Willow blinked, not understanding.

“Do you remember a couple months ago?” Buffy began. “At Dawn’s birthday party? When Spike and I were in the kitchen and I cut myself?”

Willow nodded wondering where this was going.

“You were doing the dishes and the knife slipped…” the Wiccan girl, prompted.

“The knife didn’t slip,” Buffy muttered, looking down at her plate. Her face was red with shame.

“What?” Willow exclaimed. This was not what she had been expecting.

“I cut myself,” Buffy clarified, looking up to meet her friend’s startled eyes, “...on purpose. For him. So he could drink from me without having any pain.”

“Spike asked you to do that?” Willow asked, shocked to the core. Buffy, quickly, shook her head.

“No!” she said, forcefully. “He would never have asked me to…”

Her voice trailed off for a moment when she continued, it was filled with the echo of memory, “It was me. I wanted to know. What it would be like to be with him…as a vampire. With Angel it was terrifying like a roller coaster ride into oblivion. With Dracula it was almost like a sexual assault…sickening. Both times the Slayer part of me fought against it, screaming for retaliation. But with Spike….”

Buffy’s voice faded again as she searched for the words to explain what it felt like to be consumed by the one you loved. How her instinct for survival had abandoned her. How the Slayer had faded away and only Buffy had remained. She had felt vulnerable and powerfully irresistible at the same time. She recalled the whole scene, vividly.

Spike had teased her as they worked in the kitchen, telling her he was only biding his time until he’d lulled her into a false sense of security. He intimated that he was only interested in her as a potential meal. Buffy had teased him in return, exposing her throat and then laughing when he snapped a towel at her. She had challenged him with her eyes, picking up the knife and letting the sharp blade slide along the fleshy base of her thumb. They had both watched her blood drip into the sink and blossom into red roses.

Becoming aware of Spike’s stillness beside, Buffy realized, too late, the magnitude of what she had done. She reached to turn on the faucet, planning to wash off her hand. Spike grabbed her wrist before she could plunge it under the stream of running water. In one swift movement, he brought Buffy’s hand to his lips as he snaked his right arm around her waist, pulling her close. His tongue played over her torn flesh, lapping the sticky sweetness off of her, probing the wound, and opening it further. Then he took the base of her thumb completely into his mouth.

Buffy’s knees went weak and she leaned back into the vampire as he sucked down her life’s blood, drawing it from her body. As he drank, Spike let his right hand explore the Slayer, fondling her breasts, stroking her throat, and sliding across her belly. Feeling the aphrodisiac effect of her blood, he pushed her pelvis back against his own rubbing against her from behind. The cut on the Slayer’s hand was superficial and soon ran dry but they were both too drunk with this forbidden exploration to end it.

“I can’t get close enough,” Spike whispered, hoarsely, as he transferred his attention to Buffy’s throat. “I need you to let me inside.”

It was the age-old plea of the vampire. “I need you. Unlock your doors, open your windows, abandon your defenses, and let me come closer, invite me inside.”

Spike bit down hard under the curve of Buffy's jaw, stopping just short of breaking the skin. He began to suckle against her neck drawing the rich arterial blood to the surface. She moaned softly as he bruised her, caressing his arms where they held her close. Buffy had found it easy, in that moment, to imagine Spike entering her body, his fangs sinking into her throat as she parted her thighs to him. The pain he was inflicting on her increased to a serious level but she couldn’t seem to pull away.

It was his chip firing that finally broke the spell. Spike jerked away from her, holding one hand to his temple. He grimaced with the sudden headache. Buffy saw the barest glimpse of fangs and then he stumbled against a pile of dishes sending them crashing to the tile floor. The loud noise brought everyone running from the other room and Buffy, hastily, pulled her hair forward to cover the mark on her throat.

But she had been shaken to her core by the experience and was afraid to meet Spike’s eye for the rest of the evening. It was that night that her dreams started, dreams of blood and lust that left her aching in the morning light. Night after night the Slayer dreamed of being devoured by a passion as eternal as the grave. Until finally, just being in the same room with Spike became an agony.

“So you wanted Spike to bite you,” Willow said, summing up and drawing Buffy back to the present, “but he couldn’t do it because of the chip, right?”

Buffy nodded glad that her friend finally understood, but instead of being shocked, Willow shrugged, dismissively.

“So, it’s not really a problem then is it?” the red-haired witch asked. “I mean, it doesn’t matter if you want it to happen because it just can’t. Not as long as Spike has that chip in his head.”

“But what if something happens to the chip?” Buffy countered. “What if it falls out, or short circuits or the batteries go dead?”

“Buffy,” Willow sighed, at her friend’s lack of technical expertise, “are you forgetting, I’ve seen those Initiative chips. If Spike’s is anything like Riley’s, and why wouldn’t it be, then it’s magnetically shielded and built to last a hundred years. By the time it breaks down you’ll be the old and wrinkly Slayer and Spike won’t even be interested in biting you.”

Buffy grimaced at the idea of being old and wrinkly. She was probably the only woman her age that became wistful at the idea of needing a face-lift. She already held the record as the oldest living Slayer, having earned that distinction by turning 22 this year. The fact was that in her line of work you started early and died young. The average Slayer shelf life was something like 3 years. Buffy, having held the office for 8 years now, was kind of the Michael Jordan, the Wayne Gretsky or even the Secretariat of Slayers. She was a genuine phenomenon having come back from the dead twice to kick the evil boo-tay.

“The point is I shouldn’t even think about Spike biting me,” Buffy insisted. “I’m the Chosen One. How can I pursue my sacred duty if I’m thinking about vampires in that way?”

“Well, you’re not thinking about OTHER vampires are you?” Willow asked, carefully. “I mean this is just happening with Spike, right? It’s not like you’re going all Riley on us. You haven’t started hanging out at Willie’s bar making eyes at the local bloodsucking talent, have you?”

“Uhurgh!” Buffy said, with a shudder. She looked like she might retch at the very thought. “No way!”

“Okay, then,” Willow sighed, gesturing with her fork. “What I think we are talking about here is a classic case of transference.”

“You mean, I want someone else to bite me?” Buffy asked, playing intentionally dumb, but frowning at the direction the conversation appeared to be headed. “And I just think that it’s Spike?”

“I mean that you don’t want to be bitten at all,” Willow corrected, knowing that Buffy wasn’t really that slow. “You want something else entirely. Something the biting only represents.”

“Yeah!” Buffy said, with false perkiness as she looked over at the dessert case. “Like pumpkin cheesecake!”

Willow gave her a steady no nonsense look. After a long pause, the Slayer met her friend’s eyes and sighed.

“Okay, not cheesecake,” Buffy said, resignedly. “We’re talking about the necrophilia, here.”

“It’s not that bad, Buffy,” Willow said, quickly. “I mean, okay, Spike isn’t exactly alive but he’s not exactly dead either. He has self-awareness and feelings and he really cares about you. You know that he does.”

“I know,” Buffy pouted, half-heartedly. “But first Angel and now Spike. What does that say about me, Will? That I can’t get no satisfaction without the undead creatures of the night being involved?”

“Well…maybe that IS what it says,” Willow agreed. “But is that such a horrible thing? I mean, let’s face it, Buffy, you’re REALLY not like the other girls. So, why pretend that you are? Why not seize a little bit of the pleasure to go along with all the big pain of Slayerdom?”

Buffy considered the idea. For the first time outside her dreams she let herself really think about having sex with Spike. It seemed almost too decadent to contemplate.

“I don’t know if I can…” she, finally, admitted. “I mean, I don’t know if I can just let go…with Spike.”

“You don’t have to do it all at once,” Willow said, hastily. “You can ease into it. A little dancing, a little dinner, a couple of innocent dates…”

“Assuming he’ll go along with this…” Buffy cautioned. “I still can’t guarantee that I will be able to…you know…let things go that far. Spike may love me but regardless of what’s between us, he’s still dangerous. That chip doesn’t change anything. It only keeps him from physically hurting people, you know?”

“You think that he’ll hurt you in some other way?” Willow realized. “You think that he still wants to harm you on some level? Like Angelus did?”

“He’s a demon, Willow,” Buffy reminded. “It’s not like he’ll ever be domesticated. Part of him will always want to see me bleed. And I don’t know if I can open up my heart in the face of that kind of potential betrayal.”

“But haven’t you already opened up your heart to Spike?” Willow asked her gently.

“Only in the sense of having lost it completely,” Buffy confessed, with a small self-deprecating smile.

Part 2:

A little before 9:00 pm that same night, Xander and Spike were at the Bronze playing Nine Ball. Xander was nursing a beer, leaning against a post, as he watched Spike run the table for the fifth time. The evening had already cost the dark-haired man three day’s pay but it hadn’t been very productive on the conversational front. He had invited Spike to join him for the express purpose of encouraging vampire/slayer relations. But the vampire wasn’t in the mood to discuss his love life.

“Look, Spike, it’s not like Buffy hasn’t walked the undead road before,” Xander tried, again. “Definitely not the scenic route for her, littered with heartbreak and the bodies of her friends but she’s been down to the end of the trail if you catch my drift. So she could probably find her way along it again. It’s just that she’s not real eager to take that first step.”

“And the wheels on the bus go round and round,” Spike sighed, sighting on the cue ball and firing off a shot to the side pocket. “Do you have some point to make Harris? Or are you just going to keep repeating today’s lesson until all the kiddies have turned off the telly and taken up drug use?”

“Oh, yes, with the sterling wit,” Xander replied. “Yet, another reason why you never get laid.”

“I don’t need your help with that, Elmo,” Spike said, throwing his pool-cue into the center of the table and starting to walk away.

“YES!” Xander asserted, grabbing the vampire’s arm to restrain him. “Yes, you do! Because unlike you I have the regular sex, with the regular woman, regularly. And I have the little tax deduction at home to prove it.”

Spike hesitated, considering the merit of this idea.

“And the POINT that I’m making here,” Xander continued. “Is that I’ve known Buffy for a good long time. In that special, we have never tried to kill each other, kind of way. So, I just might know a little more about what puts her in the receptive mood than you do.”

“Yeah?” Spike said, intrigued in spite of his irritation. He twisted his arm free of Xander’s grip but he sauntered back to the pool table, “Alright then, rack ‘em up again and you can tell me what you think the Dutch might fancy.”

With a bit of effort, Xander kept himself from saying “tulips and wooden shoes”. Thanks to Willow’s tutelage on the internet, the carpenter had recently discovered a website that allowed him to translate most of the blond vampire’s london slang. Consequently, he was probably the only member of the Scoobie Gang, besides Giles, who knew when Spike should be slapped. He had learned about twenty new terms for assorted sex acts and also, to his astonishment, that “the Dutch” was the British equivalent of “the Old Lady”, literally, “the wife”. Xander had yet to decide if Spike should be slapped for habitually referring to Buffy that way.

Over the next half hour or so, Xander laid out the plan for Buffy seduction that he and Willow had discussed. Gradually, Spike came around to their way of thinking. The two men had given up on billiards by the time they reached detente. They were seated at a small table near the dance floor, picking at a plate of hot wings, when Willow and Buffy arrived.

“It’s going to seem bloody unnatural,” Spike said, spotting Buffy at the door and, instinctively, getting up to leave.

“Okay, skipping the part where I point out the irony of that statement.” Xander said, pulling the vampire back into a chair. “Are you in or are you out?”

“I ain’t said I won’t do it.”

“Good Man!” Xander encouraged. Nodding toward the pair by the door, he added, “Willow and I will lend a hand with the set decoration but may I suggest that you start things off right now by asking the Buffster to dance.”

“Yeah…okay…sure,” Spike sighed, not sounding like he was overly happy about this part of the plan.

Willow and Buffy hadn’t moved from the doorway and Spike noticed that the witch appeared to be talking sternly to her friend. He’d also noticed that the Slayer had turned to go the minute she’d set eyes on him. The vampire felt this was not a good omen for the evening.

But after a brief, if heated, debate Buffy and Willow joined them at the table. The Slayer was wearing a gold sequined tank top and soft black slacks. Her wrists were draped with dozens of tiny golden chains. She reflected the light as she moved. Spike thought she looked good enough to eat. He, immediately, reprimanded himself for the thought.

“Hello, ladies,” Xander greeted. “Could we interest you in a malt beverage or a tepid chicken wing?”

“I came here to dance,” Buffy said, abruptly, then as Willow nudged her shoulder she softened her tone, “But I wouldn’t be turning down the refreshing wine spritzer.”

“Right, the Slayer wants a drink with no punch to it,” Xander nodded, sagely. Waving toward the waiter, he added, “And what will our Dark Enchantress be having…buzz-free beer?…Shirley Temple?”

“I would like a spring water, please, and a dance with Spike,” Willow said. Grabbing the vampire’s hand, she pulled him out onto the floor before he could think to voice a protest.

A few seconds later Xander and Buffy had joined them and the foursome set about rocking the Bronze. The live musicians were offering up a strange mix of Celtic and modern sound that was more festive than brooding, like Vertical Horizon with bagpipes and electric fiddle. Spike taught the Scoobies a sort of old country dance that went well with the music. The dance had them trading off partners, repeatedly. As the tempo grew feverish, all four of them collapsed into laughter trying to keep up the pace.

After about twenty minutes, Xander and Willow broke formation to sit out a few numbers.

“So any headway on your Red Robed researching?” Xander asked, before taking a long pull on his beer.

“No,” Willow sighed, regretfully, shaking her head. “Like I told Buffy on the walk over here, I need something more to go on than robes and missing children. That fits way too many profiles.”

“And what does that say about our little town?” Xander asked, rhetorically.

When Spike and Buffy came over to join the pair, Xander and Willow suddenly found their second wind and went back onto the dance floor. The Slayer slouched into her chair, lifting her hair off of her neck. She was glistening slightly with perspiration, not really winded but warm. Spike took the edge off of his oral fixation by popping a handful of peanuts into his mouth and washing them down with a shot of whiskey.

“Having fun, then?” he asked, casually, after swallowing.

“Yep,” Buffy smiled. “Who’d a thunk it?”

“What?” Spike asked, innocently, as he looked at the wall clock over the bar, “That we could be civil to each other for nearly an hour?”

“Well, it helps if we don’t have any breath for the conversating,” Buffy said.

“There’s a lot to be said for physical exertion,” Spike remarked and then silently cursed himself for the double entendre.

Buffy, however, was nodding her agreement.

“Yes, much better than the talking and the thinking things through,” she said. “Both highly over-rated activities in my opinion.”

“Have dinner with me tomorrow,” Spike said, quickly, before he lost his nerve, “and I promise, we won’t do too much of either of those things.”

“Dinner?” Buffy squeaked, sitting up in her chair and giving him a variation of the 'deer in headlights' look.

“7:30, my place?” Spike pressed the advantage.

“Uhm…yeah,” the Slayer said, after an interminable pause, “Sure!" She sighed out her pent breath, relaxing back, "Dinner! Why not?”

Spike covered his elation by looking across at Xander and Willow. They were stumbling through the steps of the dance he’d taught them. Xander turned Will under one arm and nearly dislocated her shoulder as he failed to release her hand. The red-haired girl came back around her partner and ended up facing in the same direction that he was.

“If you’re rested, Slayer,” Spike said, with a nod at Buffy’s best friends, “we had better go rescue those two. ‘Cause that is positively embarrassing.”

Buffy followed his glance and burst out laughing. The unfortunate couple was now tied in a human knot. Xander was struggling to free himself but having little success as he was apparently still unwilling to relinquish his death grip on Willow’s right hand. The carpenter was gradually strangling his redheaded companion. Buffy took Spike’s offered arm and the two of them went over to untangle her buddies in time for the next dance number.

The others left the Bronze a little past midnight but Spike lingered over his drink until he was the only customer left in the club. He watched from a corner table as the bartender, Kyle, and the closing waitress, Gracie straightened chairs and polished tabletops. Spike knew that they wanted him to leave. He could sense the impatience in them.

Unlike a human patron, Spike was also aware of the unspoken motivation behind the couple’s irritation at his loitering. He knew that Kyle and Gracie weren’t simply two tired people ready to go home for a little telly and some zeds. As soon as they dumped the final customer’s sorry ass on the street and locked the door, Spike knew that Kyle and Gracie generally shagged like rabbits. And for the past several weeks, now, the vampire had made it his business to torment the couple by nursing his last call for as long as possible.

As Spike watched, Gracie brushed by Kyle and the bartender grimaced as if in pain. “Poor Bastard!” the vampire thought.

Suddenly in total sympathy with the human male, Spike found he wasn’t really enjoying the game anymore. He tossed back his drink and got up. Dropping a five on the table, he headed for the door. Gracie hurried after him and as Spike hit the night air he heard the bolt click shut behind him. He stood listening to the sound of the pair inside for a few minutes before turning up his collar and heading down the alleyway.

Spike had only taken a few steps when he sensed another being close by in the shadows.

“Alright, mate,” Spike growled. “Come on out of there before I come in after you.”

“As wary as ever, William,” a voice said, speaking from the long lost past.

“SAUL!” Spike exclaimed in delight. Reaching into the darkest part of the alleyway, he dragged out a red robed vampire, “Why you old reprobate? What are you doing on my patch?”

The newcomer was wearing the Gold Medallion of the High Priest around his neck and a placid smile on his face. He seemed completely non-aggressive and graciously inclined his head at Spike.

“Pursuing the path of the faithful, my brother,” Saul, the high priest, replied.

“As I see,” Spike laughed, pointing at the flickering red jewel in the medallion on the other vampire’s chest. “Father Confessor are you now? Head of the whole bloody troop?”

“Only because you chose to leave the order, old friend,” the red robed monk said, graciously. “I have no doubt that, had you stayed, you would be wearing the Heart instead of me.”

“I would have made a lousy monk, Saul, and you know it,” Spike said. “I didn’t last out my first year. Could never give up the hunt…and the girls…and the hunting of the girls.”

“And yet you have not hunted in sometime?” Saul said, with another small smile. “How long have you fasted, my brother?”

“Hard to say,” Spike mumbled, looking away in embarrassment.

“There is no need for shame,” Saul said, gently. “This is, truly, a miraculous thing. It is, in fact, a mark of some distinction. Never before have I sensed one of our kind so purified.”

“It’s not by choice, I’ll tell you that much,” Spike growled. “So you can keep your sodding distinctions. I got a chip in my head. It’s a little hair shirt in the noggin, applying the punishment for my transgressions. I can’t hunt. I can’t kill. I can’t even bite people.”

“Is the pain such that you are unable to take blood from a human even if it be dead already?” Saul asked, a little too innocently.

Spike’s mind went back to the girl that Dru had killed for him almost two years ago. He had taken blood then without the chip firing. So he could drink the blood of the recently killed. Why hadn’t he simply had someone else kill for him? Harmony had even offered. But after the first one or two times, he had stopped going with Harmony. Telling himself that he couldn’t stand her blathering, Spike had stayed home with the butcher’s blood.

“That’s not the point,” Spike grimaced, dismissing his conflicted thoughts with a sharp gesture. “The point is I’m not doing this for religious reasons, it’s just a side effect of being used as a bloody lab rat.”

“And what of your relations with the Slayer?” the monk asked, and this time there was very little innocence in the question.

“You lot stay away from the Slayer,” Spike said, stepping forward aggressively and grabbing the monk's arm. “I mean it Saul, I know your games. You touch one hair on her aggravating little head and I’ll…”

“So protective,” Saul purred, as Spike left the threat hanging in the air. “So devoted! You are truly an inspiration to us all, my brother.”

“Fine,” Spike snarled, releasing his old friend and stepping away. “You cop off and be inspired, then, but mark my words. If you mess with this Slayer, you won’t live to regret it. She and I will wipe out your merry little monastery," he pointed his finger for emphasis, "permanently! And then no one will be wearing the pretty costume jewelry 'round their necks, will they?”

Angrily, Spike turned and stalked off into the night without looking back. Several red robed figures melted out of the darkness to stand beside Saul. They watched Spike until he disappeared from view.

“He is very strong willed,” one of the newcomers remarked, “full of fire and anger. Are you sure that he is the one?”

“Never have our prayers been closer to being answered, my brothers,” Saul said, a fanatical gleam in his eye as he stared after Spike. “All that William needs is a push in the right direction.”

“I should go back home,” Buffy said, firmly, starting to turn back, as she and Willow reached the cemetery gates, "and change…into something…else." The Slayer brushed, nervously, at her periwinkle colored silky layered skirt.

“You look beautiful,” Willow encouraged. “That blouse is so right. The lace! And the cream shade really brings out your coloring.”

“Maybe I want my coloring to be left in,” Buffy said, biting her bottom lip. She gave a quick shake of her head and turned to leave, again. “Nope, Nope, No…I can’t do this…”

“Buffy!” Willow snapped, stepping into her friend’s path. “It’s just a date. A simple dinner date with Spike. What is there to be afraid of?”

“Besides the Spike…and the dinner part?” Buffy queried, lifting her brows. She gestured to indicate their surroundings, “Well, there’s the scary mausoleum and me with no pointy wood.”

“I’m sure it will be very nice,” Willow said and Buffy looked doubtfully back across the cemetery at Spike’s place.

“You mean for a crypt?” she asked.

“Buffy, if you would feel more comfortable at my place,” Willow offered, instantly. “I could take Dawn to the all night arcade, play some miniature golf, while you and Spike…uhm…”

“No!” Buffy rejected, sharply, before moderating her tone to add, “No, I’m sure this will be just fine.”

“Better a crypt than a Wiccan Love nest,” the Slayer thought, “with the bed and the candles and the incense and the…bed!”

“Okay,” Willow agreed, perkily, turning Buffy around and giving her a push in the proper direction, “Off you go then.”

The Slayer stood up a little straighter, pulled her shoulders back, put her chin in the air and headed across the grass between the tombstones. Halfway to the crypt she froze and Willow, waiting at the gate, groaned.

Buffy looked right and left. Something was out there. She sensed it. Something undead. She dropped into a fighting stance. Her Slayer instincts were on full alert as she searched the shadows. Quite suddenly, the sensation of being stalked abated leaving Buffy feeling slightly off balance. She hadn’t felt the thing leave, whatever it was, but she knew that it was no longer close. It was no longer watching. After a moment more on alert, Buffy came out of her crouch and turned to look back at Willow. The witch gave her a friendly twiddle of the fingers. She waved back.

“Okay, so mental note…”, Buffy reminded herself as she hurried up to Spike’s door, “When dating someone who lives at the cemetery, always carry the spare stake.”

Arriving at the crypt door, she gave it a delicate rap, which produced almost no sound, and she waited. After five minutes, there was still no response to her knock. Hauling back she gave the metal door a solid, if unladylike, thunk with her fist. Then she checked to make sure that she hadn’t broken a nail. Within seconds, the door creaked open in an acceptably spooky fashion.

“It really is the little things that set the mood," Buffy thought, sarcastically. Then she stepped over the threshold and thought only, “WOW!”

There were candles. Hundreds of candles. They lined the walls and the window ledges. They graced the tables and overflowed the sconces. They filled the crypt with a golden warming light that turned Spike’s white curls to an effulgent champagne. He was breathtakingly handsome, dressed simply in charcoal colored slacks and a deep purple shirt that brought out the midnight blue of his eyes. The top two buttons of the cotton dress shirt were open, exposing his ivory throat. His sleeves were partially rolled up to reveal the sculpted definition of his forearms.

“'ello, Buffy,” he said, on a soft breath.

Giving her a small smile, he reached out to take her hand. As his fingers closed around her own, Buffy noticed that his nails were pale and free of polish. She stepped closer to him, drawing in a whiff of his signature scent, a delicate incense of dark amber and rain soaked earth.

"Damn," the Slayer thought, “Candles, incense…”

Her eyes were drawn inexorably toward the darkest corner of the room. Seeking and finding the final piece of the puzzle. It wasn’t ostentatious but it was definitely there.

"and BINGO," she thought. “Bed…and that’s my cue…time to leave…time to say goodnight…time to turnaround and walk back out that door…definitely time for Buffy to go home ….”

“Can I pour you some wine?” Spike was asking her and she realized she was now well inside the crypt. Buffy looked back at the closed door in confusion wondering how she had come so far in without noticing. Then she looked down at the table in front of her and almost burst out laughing.

“This is our dinner?” Buffy asked, not believing her eyes.

The table was a round wheel of the sort that electric companies used when laying new cable. It was covered in a cloth that Buffy recognized as belonging to Willow. The crystal and dinnerware also appeared to be Wiccan in origin. It was the food itself, however, which had caused a surge of delight to wash over Buffy. There must have been a dozen small plates scattered on the tabletop. Each plate was graced with a different bite size delicacy. There were miniature cheesecakes and meat pastries and chocolate dipped berries and delicate flowers made from vegetables.

“Song Lee’s Deli and the Fifth Street Bakery,” Spike supplied, by way of explanation. “I tried to get things I knew you liked but not too much of anything.”

“Well it’s a lot better than the microwave popcorn and hot cocoa I was expecting,” Buffy admitted, taking a seat in the chair he had pulled out for her.

He poured the wine, a well-aged port, into long-stemmed glasses and handed one across to her. Buffy was not a wine drinker but she took a small sip and was pleasantly surprised by the dark, full flavor. Spike walked over to set the wine bottle on top of his refrigerator. He turned on the portable CD player before heading back to join her at the table. Buffy cringed, internally, waiting for the musical assault of the Ramones or the Sex Pistols to blare out of the player. The first few chords were light and sultry and the male voice that came in shortly was rough but not abrasive. Buffy took another warming sip of her port and felt the tension begin to bleed out of her shoulders.

“Who is this?” she asked, nodding toward the player.

“David Gray,” Spike answered. “Fellow Brit, well…Welshman, album’s called ‘White Ladder’.”

“Very nice,” Buffy sighed, as she relaxed back into her chair. Tipping her glass at the spread she added, “All of this is…very nice.”

They ate with their fingers and Buffy began to get rather giddy with the subtle decadence of it. Fifteen minutes into the meal, she bit down on a fudge-tipped strawberry and was forced to lean forward quickly to avoid staining her blouse. She caught the red juice with her thumb before it ran down her chin. Then she had no other choice but to lick the stickiness off of her hand.

“Those famous Slayer reflexes,” Spike teased. handing her a damp cloth, “just like lightning.”

“That strawberry was unnaturally juicy,” Buffy pouted, wiping her fingers on the cloth. “It snuck up on me and I could afford to show it no mercy.”

“No,” Spike countered, shaking his head, “I'm sorry but that was definitely faulty technique on your part.”

He slid his chair over next to Buffy’s and reached across her to pick out a berry for himself.

“You need to lean your head further back,” he instructed. “Open your mouth wide and take in the whole fruit.”

Buffy watched in fascination as Spike acted out his own advice. The pale column of his neck was bared to her as his teeth closed near the stem of the strawberry. Buffy could see the tiny crescent shaped scar on his throat where Dru had originally bitten him. She felt an unexpected hot rush of jealousy. Spike had his eyes closed as he savored the assorted flavors. He chewed once, twice, three times and then he swallowed. Buffy swallowed, too.

“Your turn,” Spike challenged, opening his eyes to meet hers. He reached out and selected another chocolate covered fruit, “Tilt your head all the way back.”

Just for a second, Buffy hesitated, staring deep into the midnight blue of Spike’s gaze. Then she let her head fall back so that her hair formed a golden waterfall in the air. Exposing her own throat, she caught the berry he held up for her on the cradle of her tongue.

Spike watched the Slayer chew and swallow the fruit. Her eyes were closed and she seemed perfectly at ease. She was so vulnerable, so beautiful. The very sight of her filled him with a sanguinary desire. He felt the demon stir in his chest. Felt it conjure up a dark and horrible hunger. A hunger only Buffy’s blood could sate. Spike turned away from her, quickly. He concentrated on the flicker of candlelight on the wine glasses and the feelings of devotion in his heart.

“How was that?” Buffy asked, playfully, her voice barely penatrating the fog in his brain.

“Better,” Spike whispered, to the tabletop. He was afraid to look at her again. He was afraid of the monster that lurked inside of him.

Sensing his distress, Buffy leaned forward to lay one hand against his arm. Spike glanced down at the touch of her fingers clasping just above his wrist. He was always amazed by how fragile she seemed in light of how capable she was. She had such small delicate hands but the power contained in them nearly charred his skin. His love for her ignited from that point of contact between them and drove his demon back into seclusion.

“Much better,” he said, taking a deep breath and meeting her eye.

“I don’t know,” Buffy mused, “I don’t think I quite have the knack. Maybe I need to watch you do it one more time.”

She picked up a tiny cheesecake and gave him a challenging look. He grinned and opened his mouth, slightly. Buffy leaned very close. Placing one hand around his shoulders for balance, she fed him the pastry. His teeth closed lightly on her fingers as his tongue worked to free the melting dessert from her grip. He was only partially successful. When he released her fingers there was still a residue of creaminess on her thumb. Spike went very still as he watched Buffy bring her hand to her mouth and lick away the sweetness. She ran her tongue slowly along her skin savoring the decadent taste of his saliva mingled with the richness of cheesecake.

She was watching him, too, with the steady predatory gaze of the Slayer. Spike loved that look. It spoke to him of a passion as untamed as his own. Buffy’s eyes were the eyes of a hunter; she was no one’s prey. Not his, not anyone’s! Spike knew that. Unlike Angel or Angelus, he saw Buffy clearly. He knew better than to toy with her. He saw no need to shelter her from what he was and he took great comfort in her ability to fight him off should he ever lose control.

Drusilla had been vicious and cruel and capricious but Spike had always been her master. His was the stronger personality. He had cared for her, guided her, stabilized her and loved her. He had admired the quicksilver fluidity of her mind and the grace of her body. But Buffy was his equal, his other half, his perfect match and his true love. It seemed to him that he had always known that, from the first moment that they had come together in mutual animosity. He loved the fire, the wit and the passion in her. The way she countered every move he made, the way she struck at him and danced away.

“Do you wanna dance?” Spike asked, not knowing quite how he meant it.

“Very much,” Buffy breathed out, responding to him on the same number of levels.

He stood and pulled her roughly up against him. The David Gray CD was on a continuous loop and had just cycled through to the beginning again. The song “Please Forgive Me” started and Spike and Buffy began to sway gently, leaning into one another. The lyrics and the vocalist’s smoky tones seemed to speak directly to them.

“Please forgive me,” the song played out, “if I act a little strange for I know not what I do. Feels like lightning running through my veins every time I look at you…every time I look at you. Help me out here all my words are falling short and there is so much that I have to say, want to tell you just how good it feels when you look at me that way.”

Buffy reached up to wrap her arms around Spike’s neck. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the side of her head. Time seemed to fall away. Song blended into song as they danced. Selected lyrics stood out in bright relief as one or both of them found deeper meaning in the words.

“Like a stone I fall into your eyes, deep into some mystery---Let go of your heart, let go of your head and feel it now, the love that I was giving you was never in doubt. ---looking back in time, you know it's clear that I've been blind, I've been a fool, I've been afraid to show you how I really feel.---My oh my you know it just don’t stop, I’ve tried to fight it, tried to turn it off---and now my hands are shaking but I just can’t stop,” David Gray sang. He seemed to be telling their story in line after line.

They kissed. Then kissed again, slower and deeper. Sweet kisses that blended together and narrowed their awareness until nothing in the world seemed real but each other’s touch. Neither of them noticed the thick mist swirling around them and forming itself into several distinct shapes. Buffy’s senses were flooded with Spike, the taste, the feel, the scent of him and the sound of his soft moans on those few occasions when he abandoned her lips. She kept herself in darkness the better to savor those sensations beyond vision.

When she finally opened her eyes, it was to the sight of a vampire, his yellow orbs glaring and fangs bared in a snarl, just inches away from her face. A wash of adrenaline swept over her and she wrenched free of Spike’s arms, startling him out of his own reverie. He stumbled back against another foe. They were surrounded by red robed figures. Before Buffy could react, one of the vampires blew a pungent powder in her face. She kicked out sideways snapping her attacker’s knee, crippling him with one blow. Spinning she broke another’s nose and twisted free of the hands reaching for her as she searched for a weapon.

The red robed figures were everywhere; five of them had grabbed Spike, holding him up off the ground. The blond vampire was cursing and struggling but there were just too many of them. Buffy brought her elbow down on the wooden wheel of the dinner table and broke off a jagged splinter. Flipping back and forth, she dusted two of the red robes in quick succession with her improvised stake. She had just turned to assist Spike when the numbness hit her. Without warning, her legs buckled and she slumped into the waiting arms of the high priest.

“SAUL!” Spike screamed, struggling so fiercely he nearly broke free. “You Bastard! What have you done to her? So, help me…I am going to rip out your entrails for this! I’m going to slaughter every last one of you.”

“Calm yourself, my brother,” the vamp holding Buffy said, as he gently leaned her back against a marble column so that she was facing Spike. “The Slayer is merely incapacitated, we have not harmed her. We would not dream of hurting her. She is far too important to our plans.”

Good, Buffy thought, they weren’t going to kill her, at least not yet. Spike seemed to know them maybe he could stall for time. If only she could break free of the drug they had given her. She tried valiantly to move, to no avail, her body was totally paralyzed. Only her mind was still working but she could feel the first tendrils of numbness entering her consciousness. She watched helplessly as the one called Saul leaned down and took the wooden stake from her nerveless fingers.

“As you are important, old friend,” Saul continued, straightening back up and moving toward Spike. “Surely, you will not deny what we all have witnessed here.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about you filthy git,” Spike growled. “But I am not going to participate in your plan for world domination so you can just sod off.”

“But, my dear child,” Saul said, with soft assurance, “you really have no say in this matter.” And without further preamble, the high priest plunged Buffy’s wooden stake into Spike’s heart.

The Slayer felt her own heart twist in agony. The lover’s locked eyes. They drank in the sight of each other as if they could somehow freeze time; stop it cold in their minds, never venturing beyond this moment when Spike was whole. The moment before he shattered apart into nothing more than memory and ashes.

Buffy’s body could not scream so the sound existed only in her mind. She screamed inside as her true love died and she went on screaming silently even as the high priest caught Spike’s chip out of the air. Saul walked over and knelt beside the Slayer. Reverently, he placed the chip in the palm of her unresisting hand and closed her fingers around it.

“A token for you, sweet Slayer,” the red-robed high priest purred and Buffy, unable to cope any longer, slipped into unconsciousness.