Part 26:

3000, seconds later

"Lydia, what happened?" I brush strands of red from her face, so she isn't trying to blink them away.

A trembling hand reaches out to touch me. "A-are you really there?"

Gently, I take her cool fingers between my palms, bringing her arm back down. A thousand questions roll through my head, but I choose to repeat the one. "What happened to you?"

She licks her dry, cracked lips and murmurs, "Prenwick."

"That bastard?" Prenwick will now pay dearly. "What's his deal anyway? He's barely over a century old."

Her brown eyes break from mine. "He's my childe, Buffy." I'm not sure how much energy she has, so I give her some time to tell her story. "After Nabald was killed, the remainder of his group banded together for a while, but after a few decades, it wasn't enough. Quite a few of us were picked off by Joyger's remaining followers and other demons. Before I knew it, I was alone. Do you know what it's like to be completely alone?"

She studies me, then, and I do my best to present her a neutral face. The thought of being without someone, of being without the comfort that is uniquely Spike makes shudder involuntarily.

A half-smile transforms her face, and she winces in pain. "So, you do understand. When I met Prenwick, he was a preacher in a local bar, making some deals with a group of Ratchidel demons for money and power over his congregation. I thought I might seduce him for a night of pleasure. I suppose the irony of a 'good' man being so corrupt intrigued me. After the first night, he was hungry for more, which I willingly gave him, and after several months, he took me into his home to kill his wife and children. I became his mistress. Several members of his church figured out what was going on and got him fired. When he lost his job as a preacher, he begged me to turn him."

She pauses as if reassuring herself that I'm okay enough for her to continue. I've heard and seen worse in the last millennium, so she is satisfied with my reaction. "I did so willingly, thinking that I would have someone. . . that I wouldn't be alone anymore. And at first, I was right. Prenwick was my ever-present companion. I taught him the ropes of the demon world. . . I taught him survival. We made love every day, and we hunted every night. Then, he started disappearing from our bed more and more often."

Lydia draws a deep breath and pulls her hand jerkily from my lap as she turns onto her side facing me. "Come to find out, he had gotten himself involved with a Torakal demon. . . a half-Torakal demon, no less."

Astonishment radiates over me.

"His name was. . . is Richard."

This time, I let my reaction show on my face.

Lydia starts to laugh but chokes on the attempt. When she recovers, she informs me, "Ahhh, Buffy, but it's not what you're thinking. Let me finish."

Pressing my lips together, I nod.

"One evening when I was left waiting for him for six hours, I waited until he arrived home, and I confronted him on where he was going and what he'd been doing. He wasn't at all defensive like I expected him to be. He told me that he had met a half-Torakal demon who had the key to the freedom of demonkind. I asked what he meant, and he described Richard as a nice enough young demon who was an expert in human technology, and in fact, his work was advanced beyond what humans possessed."

Now the advanced technology is beginning to make sense.

"And he said the bonus was that the half-demon worked for the Council and that he had an 'in' to the slayer and her helpers, William the Bloody and Buffy the vampire slayer. At this point, my interest was piqued because of what happened with Nabald. I wanted revenge."

Somehow, I am not surprised by what she is revealing.

"Prenwick said that he thought that Richard wasn't going to turn from the side of the Council but that he intended to trick Richard and the Council into believing that he was going to help them in the demon underground. And that he would give demons something they'd never thought to have. After a few weeks, Prenwick reported that it turned out to be quite easy to trick Richard into falling for his charms and giving him what he needed. He said Richard truly believed that Prenwick was trying to civilize demonkind. After several years, I began to realize that Prenwick's plan wasn't what I thought it was going to be. More and more, he increased his distance from me as he drew deeper into his plan to ruin mankind. And the more I heard about the plan, the more I disagreed."

"How come?" I interject.

"Because he intended to send all humankind to another dimension. . . to cut off our only food source. We are, after all, ingrained into the natural system. Taking our food supply away even with the ability to make clones and generate blood from DNA was risky in my book. What if something should happen, and we lost the ability to generate more blood? We'd be screwed. . . at least, the vampires would. And who would be in charge; would Prenwick have sole control over the system he was creating? The options didn't sound very appealing to me."

"That sounds like a familiar argument, Lydia, and it's a good one," I point out, thinking of Spike's speech to me about Angelus's plan to destroy the world hundreds of years ago. In fact, I am taken aback by how easily his little justification for defying Angelus pops into my head.

She coughs again, and something rattles in her throat. . . not a healthy sound. "I tried discussing my concerns with him, but he wouldn't hear of it. In fact, the more I protested his actions, the more violent he became with me. . . until he threw me in here."

"How long?" I whisper.

"Twenty years."

Air whistles past my lips. "And the message sent to Reyni and I?"

She flinches from the memory of some unknown event. "He forced me. And I had no choice, or he would have killed me. He very nearly did afterwards."

"And the magical ability you possess?"

"A gift from Prenwick. . . from the beginning. He had DNA surgery done on me and had me trained under some of the Wiccans he cloned; he wanted me to have 'the touch' as he calls it."

"And why didn't you go the Council or Richard with information about the plan?"

She shivers at my words. "He'd kill me if they didn't. And trust me, he'd find out."

"Why doesn't he himself possess magical ability?"

"He didn't want demons to believe that he was becoming too powerful because he realized that other demons might plot to eliminate him."

Before I can open my mouth to ask another question, the familiar hum of the door disappearing sounds behind me, and I spring up, ready for action. Lydia groans in response to my action. Spike tumbles through the doorway and crumples to the floor in a heap. I rush to his side as the door slips back into place.

Scanning over his body, I do a thorough, automatic check for injuries. I am dismayed by what I view. The first injury I note is in his left forearm. The bone is broken clean through the skin. . . a compound fracture that's bleeding profusely, sending the sharp smell of copper to my nose and soaking the torn fibers of his clothing. His wrist computer is completely gone. Cross burns are imprinted on his cheeks; the flesh thoroughly scorched so that the flesh shines unnaturally white. His eyes are swollen shut with bruises and pools of blood. Although the rest of his body remains clothed so that I can't examine the full extent of his wounds, his leg is twisted at an odd angle, indicating that the bone is definitely broken. . . if not shattered.

Smoothing his thick hair back from his forehead, I kiss the untouched flesh tenderly. "Spike? Are you awake?" I murmur into his ear.

He moans slightly in reaction to my query but doesn't move. Worry etches my brow, but I am determined to not fall apart at the sight of him until after I attempt to tend to the damage.

Lydia has moved up behind me on shaky legs. "What can I do?"

I blink up at the vampiress who tried to seduce my husband so long ago, and I see only a trembling young woman who has never had easy circumstances. I have to remind myself that she's still a demon or else I'll let my guard down completely around her.

"Can you sit behind him and brace him so that he doesn't slide all over the floor? I need to set the fractures."

Lydia nods and eases herself behind Spike with her legs parallel to his hips and her arms around his waist. Kneeling on the ground near his broken leg, I apologize for the pain and feel his leg. I am thankful that the bone isn't shattered, and in one motion, I snap the bone back into place. In his semi-conscious state, Spike screams inside and outside my head, sending me reeling to the floor. Lydia almost falls backward from the backlash but catches herself, emitting a scream of her own.

Shaking off the waves of dizziness, I turn to the arm, keeping my mind distant from Spike's pain. Because his arm computer is gone, the clothing won't just disappear at the touch of a button, so I rip the cloth up to his shoulder, pulling the strips away and flinging them to the side. Numbly, I push the bone back into the original nest of muscles and tendons. This time the move is met with silence because Spike is now blissfully unconscious and probably in shock. I press the muscle and skin into place, hoping that everything will mend properly as fast-acting vampire healing kicks into gear.

Ripping my shirt, I hurry to the sink to moisten the material. When I return, Lydia has managed to back away from Spike so that he lay on his back. She is curled into a fetal position with her eyes tightly shut against the pain her aid has caused her. I pick her up and deposit her carefully onto her bed and return to Spike.

Methodically, I wash the excess blood away, cleaning him the best I can under my limited circumstances. When I am finished, I slide my wrist computer onto his arm, noting that the system's ability to communicate with others outside our prison is deactivated. However, the clothing regeneration program is intact. In seconds, Spike is dressed more comfortably in a fresh clean outfit.

Somehow, I carry him to the second mattress and arrange his body on his right side so that his damaged arm is not pressured. I climb up and snuggle my backside next to his form, cautiously bringing his arm around me and cradling it to my chest. As emotional and physical exhaustion overcomes me, I finally allow myself to tremble with pent up fear and worry and concern.

TBC. . . What happened to Spike and how will they get out of this situation? Keep reading! I apologize for this part being later than the others; I've had huge school projects due and I got sick with the flu, too. :o) Hope you still enjoy! Thanks again for the awesome reviews! You guys are wonderful!!!

Part 27:

3000, an unknown amount of time later

In a place halfway between dreams and consciousness, I turn over, inhaling the familiar scent of my lover and burying my head in his chest. With my movements, a whimper is elicited from my partner's throat, and my eyes fly open as memories of where I am and what's happening rush back in abundance.

"Spike?" I caress his shoulder. For some reason, I can't fathom a day without his body next to mine.

"Mmmm. Everything hurts." His voice is deep with pain, and all I want to do is take that pain away, but I know I can't.

I settle for simple understanding. "I know, sweetie. I love you."

"I love you, pet, always." His lips brush mine in reassurance that he's still very much alive.

"You know something?"

"Hmmm." His lids are heavy with the need for further healing sleep.

"When you were thrown in with all the injuries and I had to set you arm and leg, I sort of thought of you as my husband," I murmur with a slight bit of embarrassment.

In a stark contrast to their earlier state, his eyes are suddenly wide. Amusement tinges his next words, "Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Even though you're technically not."

His mouth covers mine with tenderness, and I melt into him as our movements intensify. When I am about to fall willingly over the edge and make love to him then and there, he lets out a hiss of pain, and I note that his broken arm has stiffened in its path over me.

He sighs reluctantly. "If I were up to snuff, you'd be ravished right now, miss."

A giggle tumbles forth, and I can't resist kissing and licking the scar along his eyebrow. "I know. Consider yourself in possession of a nice fat rain check for just that."

"And it's a virtual guarantee that I'll cash in." A faint smile overlays his grimace of pain.

Cautiously relocating his wounded but healing arm around my waist, I press close to him. The world of dreams threatens to overcome me, but I force myself to remain alert. Sleep is the least of the matters that needs attendance.

I find myself asking the same question I asked of Lydia who is unmoving below us. "What happened?"

His quiet laughter is as sarcastic as his words, "Amy is a witch."

"I know that; what did she do to you?" I peer up into his blue eyes, which are dark with swirls of emotion in the dim lighting. The puffiness is greatly reduced, and the skin on his face has already regenerated.

"What's it look like she did?" He smirks.

If he weren't so hurt, I'd have punched his arm, but instead, I settle for kissing his barely healed cheeks. "Why?"

"Better question, love." His lids close and a concentrated line forms in his forehead as he shifts his broken leg. "She wanted the magic in me. . . to add to her own power source."

"Magic in *you*?" I am surprised by this revelation.

"Yeah. I've done magic before, remember?" He notices my lingering puzzlement and adds, "The church, Drusilla, Angel."

My eyebrows lift. "How could I forget?" I certainly will never forget the night Spike tried to kill Angel to save Drusilla's unlife after she was nearly killed in Prague. He'd tied Angel and Drusilla together to perform a magical ritual that would transfer Angel's essence into hers. That was also the night Spike was crippled by the organ I knocked on his head.

"Well, she'd read about it and wanted to see what I had in me."

"I've done magic," I point out, recalling the spell I cast to find out what demon or spell might be causing my mother's headaches.

"But not to the extent I have. The spells I cast were pretty potent."

"I-I thought she wanted to seduce you!" I burst out before I can stop myself.

"I'm getting to that part, pet. Hold your horses in check for a bit." He takes a deep breath and laces the fingers of his injured arm through my hair. "Like I said, she wanted to drain me of my limited power. . . to add to her own. She tried using a tactic similar to what Drusilla uses on her victims. Course, she should have known better, being that Dru's tricks don't work on me. After all, I stayed with Dru over a hundred years, but Amy's not really bright enough to know that."

"And?"

"Patience. When that tactic didn't work, she tried that other one." This time he pauses for effect.

I nip his lip playfully with my vampire teeth. "Tell. Now. No waiting for centuries to tell me this time. Want to know everything."

"Ah, love, this is the part you won't like." He presses his lips to my forehead.

"Now." If I were standing, my arms would be crossed.

"Well, when the Dru thing didn't work, she did try to seduce me."

"Ah ha! I knew it!" I exclaim. When Lydia makes a small noise and sounds of altering positions reach my ears, I whisper, "I knew it!"

Spike's words filter through my mind instead of audibly. "It's not like you think, pet. She would attain the power I did have through. . ."

"Through sex!" I scream in his head.

"Yes." His agreement echoes in my mind.

I turn my head from him when he attempts to kiss me.

He continues our internal conversation, "Love, I didn't give in to her." He sighs and turns my chin so that I'm facing him once again.

I fight to keep the hurt from touching my eyes. . . and fail miserably.

"Why do you think she did this to me?" He pushes his hurt arm in my face, and I can smell the faint odor of dried blood and mending tissue. "Cause I so lovingly gave in to her demands?"

I close my eyes and stick out my bottom lip in a classic Buffy pout. I know I'm being childish, but I feel childish. "Prenwick touched me, too."

Spike rolls his eyes. "This isn't a pissing contest, pet." He hesitates, then adds, "And yes, it bothers m. . . everything about that vampire bothers me."

I decide to change the topic. "Did you know that Lydia was below us?"

He raises an eyebrow at me, wondering where I'm going with this. "Yes."

I quickly inform Spike of the details of Lydia's story.

When I am finished, he lets out a low whistle. "Sounds like the resentment you felt for her is gone, love."

"Definitely." The poor vampiress below me had had more than her share of injustice. I briefly marvel that I who had once deemed all vampires utterly evil am now taking into account circumstance. However, if Lydia kills again, I'll have to stake her. I secretly hope she doesn't do anything to justify me having to do so.

"So, do we have a plan to get out of here to stop Prenwick's Rapture ritual?"

"Not really. Although, I was thinking of fashioning a weapon out of the light bulb and the fixture up there and laying in wait in the dark until someone came back to check on Lydia and me."

"It's gonna take a hell of a lot more than physical prowess to conquer this situation, pet."

Out of the blue, another voice races through my mind, "And that's why we're here."

I slide over the edge of the bunk, landing silently as my eyes scan the tiny room for another presence. Having picked up the signal as well, Spike imitates my actions, albeit more slowly.

"Buffy?" the voice calls again uncertainly.

No one else is in the cell, so keeping an eye on the door, I focus on the messages entering my brain.

Nothing.

Glancing at Spike and telegraphing him my plan with my eyes, he allows me to jump onto his shoulders despite the injuries, and he balances me as I charily and methodically break apart the light fixture and bulb, instantaneously fashioning a makeshift weapon and bathing the cell in darkness.

Then, again, "We're going to find you. Don't worry."

"Who are you?" I demand.

"Umm. It's Rhonda. . . Rhonda Zaiman."

I knew I recognized that voice! I guess I just never expected a detective from the international law enforcement team to be who found us. "Rhonda! What are you doing here? How'd you get in?"

"Well, it's not just me."

"Cops?" Just great.

"Nope. I'm with Reyni and Richard. Cops would just muck things up right now."

Excellent point. "How is that you can talk with Spike and me? In our heads? I wasn't aware civilians had access to the technology."

Rhonda is as matter-of-fact as a detective should be. "Actually, that's the reason I came with them; they needed a way to contact you once we got inside. The Council outfitted all the top detectives at the same time as you and Spike. Their connections with the international government facilitated the implementation. So, it made sense that I come."

"Oh. How'd you get in?"

Before Rhonda can respond, the door to our prison disappears and Prenwick appears. "They got in because I wanted them to."

Donning my vampire mask, I launch myself at the vampire while Spike remains in the background as backup. My instincts note that Lydia is struggling to right herself. My foot connects with his midriff. When he staggers, I sweep my foot underneath him, knocking his feet out from under him. He falls forward, and I twist my body so that I turn one hundred eighty degrees and land on top of the vampire, pinning him to the ground with my legs around his waist.

Spike has his knees around Prenwick's head and is holding his shoulders, and I raise the fixture to slash his throat and saw off his head. The sharp edge connects with his throat, drawing blood that flows over his pale skin like a scarlet ribbon.

Then, the unexpected happens.

Prenwick laughs.

My hand stops.

"Oh, Buffy, this is delicious. Having you straddle me, drawing blood. It's quite a turn on, and in front of your lover, no less. I'm quite flattered."

Spike takes the moment to punch him in the nose with his right fist.

Prenwick only laughs harder at the same time as the same two hulking demons appear suddenly behind me, dragging me back and thrusting Spike away from me. Prenwick climbs to his feet, dusting off his clothing and catching the drop of blood from his neck with his fingertips. He makes sure that I am watching him closely as he licks the blood away.

"Come, Buffy, I have special preparations for you before the big event."

I attempt to view Spike around Prenwick's head, but Prenwick grasps my chin roughly. "Don't worry, your lover will be at the big event as well." Then, he binds a silencing device around my mouth, so I can't make a sound.

"Hurry!" I telegraph to Rhonda, half-hoping that she, Richard, and Reyni can do something to stop Prenwick and half-hoping they don't fall into his trap.

TBC. . . the ritual is next!!! :o) And hey! If you're a writer, I'd love for you to join my B/S Fanwriter's Clique! http://darkprophecies.net/eternaldevotion/edc_index.html ;o) Dear readers, thanks for the sweet comments! Means a lot!!!

Part 28:

3000, approximately three hours later

A cotton ball floats through the air.

Oh, wait.

Cotton balls don't just float through the air. There's a hand attached to the bit of fluff, controlling the movement.

Why is there a cotton ball? Do they make cotton balls anymore?

A sound like the wind brushes through the air over my ears. The timbre is low and scarcely audible. . . like earlier. . . I don't recall how much earlier, but I do remember. . .

I shudder at the memory. . . bright and sharp like a razor. Thankfully, I'm successful at shutting the thought down.

The sound's resonance changes, laving past more rapidly, more soothingly.

I relax. I'm safe.

"Owww!" I flinch away as the supple, moist texture touches my skin, stinging my mind back to reality.

Cool drafts flow over my hurt skin, but the hurt is nothing compared to the pain between my legs. The jagged ache scrapes over the scenes that flash through my head, leaving me pushed against the wall. My legs draw protectively to my chest, and an un-owned whimper pulses against the flesh pressed to my lips.

Fingers glide over my upper arm, bringing a touch too agonizing to bear. Like a kitten cornered by a predator, I attempt to shrink into myself and appear as small as possible. Maybe then, no one will notice me.

But the owner of the slender digits is persistent. My head involuntarily jerks to the right when the touch explores my cheek.

"Don't!" a voice raspy from. . . don't go there. Anyway, I'm not that person. No.

"Buffy! I need you to snap out of it for a minute."

My ears ring with the shout, and a veil is lifted, but I don't know how long I can hold off the danger.

"W-what?" I cough.

My eyes focus on the woman. . . vampiress before me. Lydia smiles with sympathy. . . no, empathy imprinted on her features. Her facial puffiness has lessened, but she appears tired. "You're here. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to snap out of it." She studies me for a few seconds. "Buffy, I'm not going to hurt you, but I need to tend to your wounds. Pren. . . I've only got a little bit of time and limited supplies."

"I'm okay." I'm a total liar.

"After we clean you up, sterilize your injuries, you have to put this on." She gestures to an outfit hanging on a wall hook beside us.

Beyond caring about time outside of this moment, I shrug. "Okay."

Staying passive, I allow Lydia, my past enemy, to clean the deep scratches and gouges that mar my skin. I concentrate on her ministrations to prevent myself from reviewing the events of the past hours. . . what Prenwick did to me. . . .

"What are my ladies doing?"

My bowed head shoots up to view Prenwick striding across the fairly large room. He is freshly dressed in light green, the color of life. I hadn't realized that there was an inner facility transport device in this room.

As he gets closer, my muscles instinctively react, pushing my body into Lydia. Her arms wrap around my waist unwaveringly and protectively against my trembling. "What exactly did you do to her, Prenwick?"

"Only what I've done to you, only what I've done to you, dear Lydia."

"You've done a lot of things to me, Prenwick. Doesn't answer the question."

"What's the worst I've ever done to you? Think of that. Got it?" Lydia doesn't even twitch. "Good. So, think similar action and multiply that about ten times. That's what I did to our precious Buffy."

I stare at his arm to distract myself. Bad move.

Prenwick's hand snakes out toward me, but Lydia blocks him so that he settles on her instead, gripping her throat with thick fingers. She doesn't cave to his intimidation, and he growls a message of anger at her defiance.

"I don't have time for this, Lydia. Get her dressed. The ceremony starts in fifteen minutes."

* * *

3000, ten minutes later

The room is massive. . . white, smooth walls and floor that seem to blend seamlessly together. A large demon-safe window is carved out of the ceiling that is several feet above. The most recent computer technology lines one wall, and I know from the size of the equipment that the potential power of the machinery is enormous. A myriad of demons of various types is maneuvering and making adjustments to the system.

At the center of the room just beneath the window, a huge circle is drawn with an un-nameable herb that Willow taught me is used in magic rituals. A small area that is roped off with satiny red chords is set up on the right side of the circle, and familiar faces crowd the tiny enclosure. . . Reyni, Richard, Rhonda, Spike, and Prenwick. Only Prenwick is unrestrained.

For security purposes, I'm air-strapped to the chair again, and demon guards are leading Lydia and me toward the small congregation. Somehow in the last few minutes, I've managed to force away the overwhelming horror of what Prenwick did to me in favor of focusing on the current situation. As I have done in my entire career as slayer, I push away my feelings to survive. Only now, I don't ignore my emotions after the danger is passed; I face and deal, but that comes later.

"Hello, Buffy," Prenwick greets as Lydia and I enter the group. "Lovely outfit. Guess I know how to dress my women." I'm dressed in a short black dress that hugs my body tightly. "How are you feeling after our encounter?" He winks at me. "Hope I left a mark."

You left a mark all right. My expression stays blank. "When does the ritual start?"

"Soon." He brandishes a long thin wooden instrument. "Watch." Placing the narrow end of the shaft to his lips, he inhales deeply, blowing a steady stream of air so that a high tone resounds and echoes around the room.

Deliberately, a line of figures of various shapes and sizes files through the doorway. Each is dressed in a robe of deep red like crusted blood. Before I even pick Amy out of the lineup, I sense the magic that emanates off the group. These individuals are the cloned witches and warlocks from throughout the last thousand years. As if marching to a silent thrum of music, they walk the inside of the circle until the ring is complete.

"Buffy?" Spike speaks inside my head. "Pet, are you okay?" He must sense the change in my demeanor.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I transmit silently back.

"What happened to you with Prenwick?" Concern etches his words.

"Can we talk about it later? What's the plan? Tell me that you guys have a plan." I'm attempting to sound light, but even to me, my words ring with false levity.

"There's a plan."

"Good."

The Wiccans join hands as one, and one warlock begins to chant words of a spell in Latin. Prenwick's thick fingers land on my shoulder as he stands behind me. "The ritual has begun. Soon, very soon, Earth will have no more humans." He leans forward to whisper in my ear, "And we will be together for a very long time."

The demons working on the computer system back away as the machinery springs to life with a soft hum. At the same time, the Wiccans turn to face the interior of the circle, their voices rising to join the warlock's. A glowing ball of light forms in the center of the ring. The ball begins to rise higher and higher and intensifies in luminescence as the chant continues.

"You know what the computer's for?" Prenwick asks me.

"No, but you're going to tell me, I'm sure," I reply, allowing a sardonic tenor to color my words.

"Of course, I am. The computer has the power to enhance the magic generated by the Wiccans. It allows the world's human population to be transported out of this dimension to another in a single instant. The computer focuses the energy to target human beings only."

Rhonda speaks in my head, "The plan. Richard added some features to the implant in my head. I'm about to send a signal to the computer to release my chair's restraints. Yours will be released as well. The goal is to reverse the settings on the computer; that's Richard's job. Yours, mine, and Spike's is to stop the demons."

"What about the circle?"

"We're not to disturb the circle."

"Why not?" That seems like an odd command.

"Richard's tweaking the spell."

Before I can finish my list of questions, I feel the air barriers dissolve. Prenwick's hand stiffens against me as if he senses the change. Taking advantage of the instant, I grasp his wrist and flip him forward so that he lands on his back on the ground in front of me. Spike, Richard, Reyni, Rhonda, and Lydia are up instantaneously. Over the continuing cadence of the chant, Prenwick shouts for the demon minions to aid him.

Spike is at my side and presses a wooden stake into my hand. He cups the bare skin of my elbow, shooting memories of an almost forgotten bathroom and an almost forgotten rape from long ago through my thoughts, and I wince and jerk away. Hurt flickers across his face, and I immediately regret my reflexive reaction. In the next instant, realization of the truth of what Prenwick has done to me replaces the hurt, and he shifts rapidly into his vampire mask.

"He's a dead man," Spike rumbles at me.

Prenwick has taken advantage of the delay to extricate himself from our vicinity, and a demon looms behind Spike. Without even turning, Spike uses the infusion of angry energy to drag the demon before him and snap his neck without a second thought. Then, he reaches for me, and I willingly allow him to pull me into his arms.

He nicks my earlobe with his vampire teeth and whispers hungrily, "You're mine always. And I love you, Buffy."

The power that radiates off him lends me the extra strength I need to push aside the lingering remains of the desire to run and hide. My demon pushes forth to match his, and I brush my lips against his, murmuring, "I love you, too. Don't get killed."

Then, we jump into the fray. Given that my weapon is a stake, I systematically aim for the vampires first. Rhonda seems to be mowing a path through the horde with a compact stun ray, and I pick over her scraps, staking the vampires she has stunned before they can recover. By the time I finish that task, I note that Reyni and Rhonda seem to be fending demons off Richard while he hastily works at the computer system. I don't spy Prenwick anywhere.

A large demon suddenly slams into my back, almost bowling me over, but I use his own force to slide him over my head to hit the floor in front of me. Bending forward, I snap his neck before he has a chance to recover from the impact. I whirl to search for Spike and witness him struggling to fend off several large demons while favoring his still vulnerable arm and leg. Lydia is assisting him while periodically stopping to look around for Prenwick as I have been.

Lydia and I spy the vampire we despise at virtually the same time, and we exchange a glance. I nod at her, giving her permission to take first gander at him. She understands my signal, and I slip in behind Spike to take her place at his back, kicking and punching at the demons surrounding us.

"Hi, pet, how's it going?" Spike shouts above the grunting and chanting.

"Peachy. Staked a whole lot of vamps. You?" I sidestep a body Spike sends crumbling down.

"Five demons down. Multitudes to go."

Holding a demon's arms back, Spike faces me with a struggling, flailing demon. I methodically break the demon's legs first before getting in a couple of kicks to the stomach and jaw and finally breaking his neck. Spike unceremoniously drops the lifeless body, and we return to our previous positions back to back.

At that moment, I clearly view Prenwick and Lydia fighting across the large room. Lydia hesitates, and Prenwick darts in for the kill, decapitating her with a long knife. Lydia's body bursts into dust, and violent rage ripples through me. Now, I am determined and stalk toward Prenwick, keeping my eyes set on him and pushing aside other demons who are launching themselves at me. Spike follows directly behind me, and I sense that his anger runs as deep as mine.

Prenwick sees us coming, and for once, fear touches his eyes. The demons around him have abandoned him momentarily in the interest of staying out of his fight with Lydia and tending to the wounded, leaving him exposed to attack. We just have to arrive in time to kill him before his protectors get back into place.

Before we can reach him, Richard steps into our path. "Wait. It is imperative that you get into the center of the circle now."

My eyes flash golden-yellow at him. "Why?"

Spike hurls a demon aside behind me while Rhonda is felled by another demon across the room. Reyni defends the police inspector but is clearly exhausted and leaving her left side open to attack. Meanwhile, the chanting is escalating to an almost unbearable volume, and for the first time, I notice how the room is lit with an almost blinding white light.

Blood is flowing over his cheek, but his expression is firm. "There's no time for argument or explanation. I've reversed the spell, and you have to get into the Wiccan circle. *Now*."

Kicking an approaching demon in the face and sending him staggering back, I assent, "Okay. How?"

"Between their bodies. You and Spike must go now."

"What about you and the others?"

"We will be fine. It is you and Spike who must go."

A wind has begun to swirl around the room with almost gale-like force. My voice no longer carries, and I struggle to hold myself upright against the abrasion. I search for Spike and reach out with my mind.

"Spike. Where are you?"

A cool hand slips into and squeezes mine. "I'm here."

As one, we move to the edge of the magic circle, squinting and bracing ourselves against the light and the wind. Between two Wiccans, I glide my arm through first, feeling the tingle of magic race through my veins like warm liquid. Once the safety of the action sinks into my mind, I plunge the rest of the way through with Spike directly behind me. The winds are absent in the circle, but the light and sound intensify, so Spike and I huddle in a small pile with his body shielding mine and with our hands pressed over our ears.

Minutes pass. Then, the sound and light dissipates, leaving a hollow, echoing void that Spike and I adjust to slowly. Blinking in the pervasive darkness, my eyes peer around the room. Spike and I help each other up. All the witches and warlocks have fallen into a heap like dominoes, and everyone outside the circle is frozen in shock.

Spike steps forth and touches two of the Wiccans, searching for a pulse because our ears have not yet recovered enough to hear heartbeats. "Nothing. They're dead," his voice signals quietly in my head.

Just then, the familiar form of Prenwick looms behind Spike. Hate marring his face, Prenwick raises the knife to slice off Spike's head.

My eyes widen, and I shout in Spike's head, "Duck!"

Spike abides by my directive and goes down, but Prenwick stops mid- swing. Confusion washes over his face, and he stares down at his body with uncertainty. I watch as his form begins to lose solidity, and his limbs begin disappearing. The truth dawns in his eyes, and he glares up at me. Before thinking, I raise the stake that I still grasp and hurtle the wood at him, piercing his heart in the final instant before he is completely gone.

 

Part 29:

3000, a few seconds later

I help Spike to a standing position again, and we lean heavily against one another. After the adrenaline rush fades, Spike's leg and arm remain injured, and I have still been physically hurt by Prenwick. After making sure that neither of us is fatally wounded, we survey the remainder of the room.

The computer system is smoking, but no flames are visible. The Wiccans lay in a heap, and I sense that none are still alive. Reyni is bending over Rhonda who is cautiously sitting up and rubbing her head. Richard lays huddled in a ball to one side of the computer. His body is motionless.

Then, I realize that Spike and I are the only demons present in the room. Like Prenwick, the rest of the demons have disappeared. I have my theories about this situation, but I am more interested in making sure my friends are well before I attempt to get answers. Without a spoken word between us, Spike limps away to check Richard while I take Rhonda and Reyni.

With her right arm cradled to her chest, Rhonda gets to her feet just as I near. "Buffy, it's over."

"It seems to be." I nod to Reyni. "You okay?"

Reyni's face is covered in blood, both human and demon. "Yeah. I'll live."

Before they get a chance to ask how I'm doing, Spike calls from behind me, "Buffy, love, you better come here!"

Relieved that I don't have to face a barrage of questions just yet about Prenwick, I lead the women to Richard's side. Richard has rolled onto his back, and his expression is distorted with pain, bruises, and blood. His eyes are tightly shut.

From his position squatting next to Richard, Spike raises eyebrows at me. "Pet, something's really wrong with him, but I can't detect any wounds bad enough to make him this bad off."

With a small moan, Richard squints up at me. "Buffy, I'm dying."

Imitating Spike's stance, I place my hand on Richard's forearm. "How do you know? Your injuries aren't extensive enough. You'll be fine."

"Maybe his injuries are internal," Reyni suggests.

Rhonda pipes up from behind me, "The authorities are on their way with medical crew. They have another emergency to take care of first."

Not taking my gaze from Richard's, I repeat, "See. You'll be fine."

"No, I won't." He coughs dryly, too weak to cover his mouth. "The spell. . ." His eyes drift shut, and I begin to worry for the first time.

I squeeze his arm with my full strength. His eyes shoot open. "Richard, what about the spell?" My tone is urgent. We need to know, and if he's truly dying, time is precious.

He is so still that I would have thought him dead if he did not have a heartbeat. Then, "The spell was reversed."

"Reversed? Reversed how?"

"All the demons in the world are gone." The statement is so low that I'm not sure if I heard him properly.

"Gone?" Boy, I'm good with the vocabulary today.

"To the other dimension. Reversed." His body begins trembling.

"But Spike and I are still here." I think I know how Richard will respond, but I have to be certain.

"Love, it's why Richard wanted us in the circle," Spike explains when Richard is silent.

I frown in frustration and disbelief. "I need to hear it from Richard."

"Y-yes. True." Richard takes a deep, halting breath. "It's why I'm dying. The half of me that's demon is gone."

Then, I notice that the absence of Richard's tail, his one mark of demon lineage. "I believe you, Richard." I brush the hair out of his eyes. "Why did you send Spike and me to the circle and not yourself, too?"

He manages to open his eyes again, looking from Spike to me. "You're needed here, and I didn't have time to make it. Reyni needs you. The world needs you. You need each other. There will be others like Prenwick. . . human others. You'll have to stop them. And I'm tired." His eyelashes settle against his cheeks.

Richard says nothing else, and I realize he probably won't say anything else. Suddenly, I feel his weariness, and I'm surprised that I can identify. I feel Spike staring at me, and I read the same feelings mirrored in his eyes.

As Richard's heartbeat fades away, Reyni kneels beside me and puts her arms around my waist and her head on my shoulder. The virtually empty ritual chamber echoes with the sounds of approaching emergency workers and security officers.

* * *

3000, several hours later

"Thanks, Rhonda." I reach over to hug the petite, dark-haired woman. She'd stayed with the rest of us during the international police inquiry and had seen Reyni home with us.

"You're welcome." She smiles tiredly and rubs her eyes, an almost childish gesture by such a tough young woman. "I should be getting home to the husband and kids."

Spike plants a soft kiss on her forehead. "You're welcome to bring the family over for dinner anytime."

"Will be funny explaining to the hubby the blood part and why I have vampire friends." She laughs a laughter that only comes with staying up beyond that point of sheer exhaustion. "Night, all."

"Night," I call as she enters the transport.

Spike then turns to me and slips a large, cool hand in my little one, stroking my palm with his thumb. "Bedtime, love?"

"Yes! Sleep needed." Time for processing emotions will come later.

We complete our sleep preparations in record timing, but before I can climb into bed next to Spike, I hesitate, hugging my ribs lightly. I'm not really sure the reason for my unwillingness. . . after all, Spike and I have been together for a lot longer than the miniscule piece of time I spent with Prenwick. At my reluctance, Spike's face transforms into a mixture of hurt but also understanding.

He pats the bed next to him and whispers gently, "It's okay, love. I just want to hold you. Nothing else tonight."

I am torn between desire for him and reluctance to touch him. . . anyone who is male. Cold tears roll down my face before I recognize that I'm a bit afraid. His eyes are filled with a need to simply touch me, but he won't come to me because he knows I need to decide for myself tonight.

"I-I can't." I flee the room, shaking like a leaf all over.

Spike doesn't follow me, and anger flashes through my heart. I want him to take care of me like he always has, and I'm perturbed that he hasn't come after me. I try to stay angry, but my body is more exhausted than my will. Soon, I fall into a fitful, nightmare-filled sleep on the lounger.

* * *

3000, a few hours later

Someone is shaking my shoulders, and I hear whimpering and crying. Before I can identify the person who is making such noises, Spike's voice sounds in my mind, "Pet, wake up. You're dreaming and crying and screaming."

The familiar scent of peppermints and smoke fills my nose, and I cling to and weep into the chest attached to the scent like a frightened child. "Don't leave me. I'm scared."

With fresh tenderness, he scoops me up and gathers me in his lap as he sits down on the lounger. Rocking me back and forth in rhythm with my hiccups and sobs, he strokes my back and breathes, "Shhh. Don't worry, pet; I'm not going anywhere."

"You left me." I know I'm making no sense whatsoever, and I don't care. I'm just drowning in his familiar touch and soothing voice.

"I'm sorry, love, I thought it's what you wanted. . . after what happened with Prenwick. Then, I tried to give you space this evening because I thought you needed it. Bloody hell, you confuse me, woman." His last statement is said in a contradictory tone of kindness that makes me laugh through the tears.

"I'm good at that, huh?" Presenting him a watery smile, I gaze up into his blue eyes, which are dark with love. . . not desire. . . love, and I feel myself offer him a tentative trust.

"A bloody expert." He kisses my nose. "A beautiful expert at confusing me."

A moment passes.

Then, I speak again, "I got scared. At the ritual, I could touch you. It was life or death. But, when we got here. . . tonight. . . too intimate. I-I was afraid you'd want to-to. . . make love, and I can't. . . not yet. I guess I just reacted without thinking."

"Which you're allowed to do. I don't want to hurt you, love. I just want you to feel okay around me, and I realize you might not for a while."

"It's not *you*," I correct him because I want to make certain he knows that I'm not rejecting *him*. "It's just the situation and what happened with Prenwick. I'd feel the same with any guy."

"So, now I'm just any guy," he teases, pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear and then wiping my cheek clean with his fingers.

I punch his arm. "Hey. No, you're not. You're mine." Snaking my arms around his ribcage, I hug him tightly.

We stay unmoving in the same position until my body relaxes against him, and my tears are spent. His hands remain loose and undemanding about my hips, and his chin rests on the crown of my head.

I sigh sleepily. "Take me to bed and don't let go of me."

Spike doesn't need another signal and stands with me clinging to his body like a baby koala bear. Moments later, I'm spooned against him and for the first time since Prenwick touched me, I feel completely at ease.

TBC. . . All seems safe, but is it? Find out next time as the aftermath of Prenwick's plot continues. . .

Yay! My site's back up at Dark Prophecies! http://darkprophecies.net/eternaldevotion

Part 30:

3000, the next day

Three computers are spread across the meal table in the dining room. Daylight streams through the vampire-proof windowpane, streaking a glare across my glare-proof computer screen. I attempt to concentrate on sending sentences across the blank page, but I can't seem to focus. To my right, Spike is tapping his finger on the table top to the beat of a band long lost to human record, and on my left, Reyni is humming along intermittently because Spike's been teaching her the melodies since he met her.

I take a sip of sweet, metallic blood from my mug and proceed to rub my foot up and down Spike's leg, sliding my bare toe up his jeans leg and massaging his calf. The rhythmic beats stop. Poking my head around my monitor, I catch Spike watching me with a silly grin on his face.

"Pet?"

I smile impishly back. "What?" My tone is full of playful innocence. I need that after the intensity of our recent adventure.

"Why aren't you working on your report to the Council?" He already knows the answer, but he insists on picking on me.

I purposefully bat my eyes at him. "I'm bored. . . And I don't want to."

"Now what kind of example are you setting for Reyni? Council business is serious." He takes a stab at the stern look but fails utterly.

"Yeah!" Reyni agrees emphatically. "I'm over here working away, and what are you doing?"

I lean over toward Reyni's monitor, which I find blank. "Uh huh. Like you've written pages over here."

"You're right; it is boring as hell," Spike slides his chair back and balances his forearms on his thighs. "How do we explain to a panel of stodgy old men and women what really happened?"

"Watchers have been doing it for centuries, Spike," I remind him.

"But for this kind of phenomenon?" He pauses for effect. "Never."

"I know what we need!" Reyni bursts out.

"What, pet?"

"Ice cream. Brain food of the gods."

"Sounds like a plan to me," I insert my support of Reyni's suggestion. Ice cream is one of those treats that's remained popular through the ages. "The parlor in Bailey?"

"Of course! What other one is there?" Reyni bounces in her seat.

In mere minutes, the computers are put away, and we enter the transport to Bailey, a little town outside Diolar, a major world city, second only in size to the international capital. The ice cream parlor is tucked away in the corner of the world's largest shopping tower. Despite the tiny parlor's popularity, the owners always manage to make the shop seem void of crowds and sticky messes. Adorned with red and white tiles, tablecloths, and seat covers, the shop is dimly lit, allowing for a semblance of comfortable atmosphere and privacy that contrasts with the garish décor.

Reyni happily orders mint chocolate chip ice cream in a white chocolate-dipped waffle cone, and I marvel at her ability to bounce back from the horrors she witnessed yesterday. She's so young; yet, I don't doubt her ability to adapt rapidly and easily. I order French vanilla in a cinnamon cone, and Spike grabs his usual double chocolate with marshmallows and cashews in a vanilla cone. Spike puts ancient quarters in the jukebox, the only one seen in centuries, and picks out some old rock songs I've never heard.

While we eat at one of the brightly colored tables, Reyni notes, "I think I might want to color my hair in a few minutes. Any suggestions?"

"Oh, no you're not, bit," Spike growls and then winks at her. "Your hair's beautiful the way it is. . . all dark and curly. Do you know that other girls would kill for your natural curls, dark hair, and fair skin?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "I bet you say that to all the slayers."

"Actually, just me and you. . . and maybe Ayledan," I correct her, savoring a bite of French vanilla cream and the feel of Spike's hand casually resting on my knee.

"Oh. I don't. . ."

Reyni trails off as the thunder of running footsteps approaches. Several unknown international police officers burst through the doors to the ice cream parlor. Thinking that they are friendly, Reyni greets them with a smile, but after years of experience, Spike and I are more wary and more prepared to resist. One obviously inexperienced officer pushes Reyni out of the way and flies clumsily at me with a stun ray in hand. Ice cream long forgotten and discarded, I kick the weapon away and meticulously hit him again so that he is merely knocked unconscious without real damage. Spike and Reyni are holding their own, each taking down two officers at once.

"Stop!" My head snaps up at the voice inside and outside my head, and action ceases. Hair pulled up in a functional bun, Rhonda enters the messy scene with a frown. She shakes her head at the officers who are struggling to rouse. "I'm sorry, guys, I tried to tell Frank at headquarters not to send his squad after you because you'd do this. Did he listen? Of course not!"

I cross my arms and glance at Spike who seems to be just as concerned as I am. "What's going on, Rhonda?"

Rhonda offers a hand to a fallen officer. She smiles at me, but worry lines remain around her eyes. "Frank at headquarters wants to talk with you and Spike. About what, I have no clue."

"Um, who's Frank, pet?" Spike asks Rhonda.

"The international police chief." She sees our incredulous expressions and reluctantly adds, "It would look very bad on you if you didn't come willingly."

I catch Spike's attention again. He shrugs. I turn back to Rhonda. "All right."

* * *

3000, twenty minutes later

In contrast to what I expect, the headquarters is quiet and virtually empty. Even the officers whom Spike, Reyni, and I fought have vanished. At vacant desks, several computers remain in the on position as if people simply abandoned them. Mugs of coffee are still steaming, and the fluid smells fresh. My vampire senses are on hyper-alert. Something is wrong. Spike touches my waist briefly to let me know that he feels the same thing. Reyni brings up the rear after insisting on coming.

"That's odd," Rhonda comments. "Everyone was just here a few minutes ago."

"Well, they don't seem to be now," I return. "What's going on, Rhonda?"

Her heart rate betrays her concern and apprehension. "I don't know. Guess we'll soon find out." She leads the way through the large, silent office toward the conference room. "Frank said to meet him in here."

Reaching out as we near the conference room, I search for signs of a heartbeat. I hear and sense nothing. The only people we know who can mask their bodily functions are. . .

Spike looms into my personal space, and we exchange knowing looks. Rhonda swings open the conference room door to reveal. . . a cache of Watchers. Damn it.

* * *

3000, several minutes later

"So, we've heard your version of what happened," Charles Arnold, the head of the Council, states in a gravelly tone like he's just woken from sleep. He is tall, slender man with lanky muscles, huge blue eyes, and a mop of curly red hair. Although he's clearly one of the youngest Council leaders, he holds himself with a confidence that exudes power. The other four Watchers pale in comparison to Charles and are merely shadows to their leader.

We are seated around a long, smooth metal table in the conference room. Spike and I are directly across from Charles, Reyni is on our left, and Rhonda is on our right. The room is lit with soft lights. . . just enough to maximize human visual acuity.

"Our version?" Spike wonders aloud, sarcasm deepening his words. The muscles in his arm are tightening, and I place a restraining hand over his fist. He relaxes a fraction at my touch but not fully because he doesn't trust Watchers and never will.

"You don't know the full truth, and we're here today to tell you." Charles places his palms on the table in front of him to illustrate an aura of alacrity.

"And that is?" Reyni asks assertively. She's getting better at dealing with the Council.

"Must this investigator stay? She's not involved with this." Charles casts Rhonda a pointed look. Rhonda glares at him and crosses her arms in response.

"She stays," I insist. "She *is* part of this."

Charles sighs resignedly before continuing, "First, I must tell you that Richard had no knowledge of what I'm about to tell you."

That's interesting. "Okay."

"We've known about Prenwick for several years now. We actually arranged the meeting between Prenwick and Richard because of his connection to Lydia, the remaining member of Nabald's clan."

"And you're saying that Richard had no clue about your arrangement?" I admit to being a bit skeptical.

"No, Richard did not. We hired another demon to introduce them. We had no idea of Prenwick's ambitions, but our infiltration turned out to be a fortuitous one."

Spike snorts. "Fortuitous for you but not for Richard."

"Well, the human population is safe, is it not?" Charles's eyes flash, but his demeanor appears calm.

"Tell that to all the people who were burned in the field and who disappeared as a result of Prenwick's little experiments. Tell that to the Wiccans he cloned and then allowed to die in carrying out his ritual," I add to Spike's point, quite proud that Spike's managed to restrain himself. I return my hand to my lap.

"What's done is done."

"Oh, really," Rhonda speaks for the first time. "You risked losing your slayer and your two best warriors to Prenwick. You knew what was happening, and you willingly allowed them to go into a situation in which they might never come out."

Charles regards Rhonda with contempt. "That's their job."

Reyni clears her throat. "Umm. That's actually *my* job, not Spike and Buffy's. They do this because they want to, not because they have to."

"She's right," I maintain. "We don't answer to you or any other members of the Council. We work with you but not *for* you."

Without warning, Spike launches himself across the table and lands behind Charles, pinning the Council leader against the back of the chair. His face in vampire form, eyes bright with fire, he growls, "Do you know what Prenwick did to Buffy? Do you? Do you know what he could have done to Reyni. . . or Rhonda? You call yourself a leader? You're just as much to blame for the damage Prenwick inflicted as Prenwick himself. You don't deserve to live."

The other Watchers stir to life as if they're half-asleep. Before they can touch my lover, I send him a warning with my thoughts, "Spike. Back down. Now's not the time. I don't want to lose you."

Spike shakes off his vampire face and releases Charles, patting his shoulders. "But now's not your time." He leans against the wall behind Charles, in manner similar to Spike of long ago, keeping his arms crossed across his chest.

Charles smiles as if he has perfect control. "I have some more news to tell you. And it's not good. The international government is intent on finding a culprit for the loss of life, and being that you're the only demons left in this world, they are more than a little wary of you. The general populace is clamoring for your deaths, but I managed to convince government leaders to allow the Council to handle the situation within our circle."

"Situation? We didn't do anything but save the world. . . again." I am personally beyond sick of the Council's politics.

"I'm sorry. This is beyond my control. Within the next two years, you and Spike will be held accountable for what your kind has done. The Council is already in debate about what to do with you as the last of the demons."

Part 31:

3001

Arms laden with packages, I arrive home from a shopping expedition with Reyni. She's getting married next year to one of Rhonda's sons, and we've been searching for a dress and accessories. I haven't done that since Ayledan married Ben, and the memories of a similar shopping trip with Ayledan are stronger than I would have thought. As usual, I have a special surprise for Spike who is supposed to be back from a lunch date with Rhonda by now.

Picking out Spike's present, I dump the rest of my purchases on the lounger and listen closely for signs of life from our apartment. Rain laps against the window in the dining area, and just behind that sound, I hear the whistle of the wind. As I tiptoe down the hall, the sweetly scented breeze finds me and leads me to the bedroom where the solid balcony door is ajar. Like a trail of breadcrumbs, stray raindrops are flicked by the wind to touch the bare skin on my arms, face, and neck.

Peering around the corner, I find Spike, staring out into the grey sky with his legs splayed and hands clasped in his lap. His clothes and hair are drenched, and I have to squint and blink a few times to realize that tears are rolling down his cheeks.

Recalling many a time when Spike has been comforting through his mere presence, I slide quietly onto the bench next to him. Running my fingertips over his bare forearm, I pry his hands apart and lace the fingers of my right hand with his left. A faint press of his palm into mine is the only response I get in return. Reaching up, I catch his salty droplets with my opposite hand.

"What's wrong?" Raindrops tickle across my scalp and begin to soak my clothes.

Not removing his eyes from the scene in front of him, he sighs. "I don't know, pet. I'm just having all these feelings about tomorrow."

I've been striving not to think about what happens tomorrow, and so far, I've been pretty cleverly pushing the thoughts away. Of course, Spike's never been good at hiding his feelings. . . at avoiding. I suppose, I've had a lot of practice.

Determined to overcome old habits, I ask, "What kind of feelings?"

"Well, part of me feels sad, nervous, and just bloody pissed off. I mean, after almost a year of struggling to get the Council. . . and the world to listen, it's still boiling down to tomorrow."

I understood the feeling. Negotiating with the Council, much less the government, isn't easy, and Spike and I spent the last several months appealing to various governmental agencies for support. Spike and I had even gone before the world population, telling our story to issue a plea for asylum. Reyni and Rhonda emerged as leading figures in our fight with Reyni tackling the Council and Rhonda the government.

The international government finally backed down, but not surprisingly, the Council hadn't. Tomorrow, the Council begins a hearing on our behavior in the past and will eventually make a decision about our future. We thought about running again as we had so long ago, but we are too well known now.

"I feel about the same. But we've done everything we possibly can. We just have to see what the Council says. We do have our supporters among the Watchers despite how it seems." I lean my head on his shoulder, gazing at the grey infinity. The sky makes everything less complicated and more peaceful.

"I miss the bit," Spike murmurs, laying his cheek on my head.

"You should have come with us this afternoon, then. Reyni would have loved to have you along."

"I know, but I meant Dawn." The comment comes out of nowhere.

After a moment, I swallow, my mouth dry. "Yeah, me, too. I miss her everyday."

"Do you think she knew how much we loved and appreciated her?"

I twist my head up to sweep my lips across his before re-positioning ear on his sleeve. "Of course, she knew and so do the other people in our lives. . . they know we care. We've made sure of it."

Spike makes another leap. "You know, this may sound a little off, but I feel relieved about tomorrow, too. I'll almost feel happy for them to decide something. I-I'm tired, Buffy. There's a part of me that's really tired like Richard said he was right before. . . . The funny thing is that I never thought I'd feel this way."

A strange relief radiates off me. "Me, too. I've been feeling that way for a while. It's a scary feeling."

"Yes, love, it is."

"You know that no matter what happens, we'll be okay?"

"Yeah, pet, I know." He pulls me onto his lap with his arms around my waist so that his chin rests on my shoulder. I lean heavily back against him, enjoying the feel of his body against mine.

* * *

3001, months later

"We have no further use for them," Michael Daquilla states firmly. Michael is a tall angular man with a pale and almost pasty complexion, ruddy cheeks, and tiny eyes that always make him appear as if he is squinting at something. Although his mouth does not open, his arms bob in rhythm with his words, and he stands stiffly on the podium, addressing the agency whose members are deciding our fate. Too bad Reyni and Rhonda didn't have a say.

Glancing at Spike out of the corner of my eye, I wish to the powers that be that I am allowed to talk with him, but telepathic communication other than that done by the appointed speakers is forbidden in the session room. Communicating out of turn means one seals his or her death, so I settle for the slight, almost imperceptible wink he gives me and the press of his thigh against my own as the only form of reassurance he can provide.

A young, dark-haired woman rises from amongst the crowd and raises her hands fluidly. Her voice in my head is calm and soothing like the melodious trickle of a brook over stones that line a riverbed. "They have done no harm.only good. Just because they have nothing left to do since the world is free of demons, does not mean they should be eliminated. And what about their popularity among the general populace? How will we handle that?"

"But, Ms. Griffin, they could very easily *fill* the world with demons again should they ever take the notion to switch sides. And the general populace can easily be swayed one way or the other," Michael counters, running a hand through his greasy hair. "How many times do we have to go over the same points, people? They're a dangerous risk to have around. End of story."

He pauses to take a deep breath. "What's our mission statement here, people? Eliminate the demons on this planet. We've battled demons for countless generations. We're all trained in some other occupation that would be less dangerous, would be more enjoyable, would make us more money. Why don't we take advantage of that fact? Because we still have two demons on our hands. The solution is clear."

My muscles tense at his words so that my posture thrusts my body forward, and I resist the temptation to fly over the bar we are seated behind to rip his head off with my bare hands. Spike's leg pushes further against mine with some urgency, and I am able to at least unclench my jaw muscles. Michael's argument has large holes, but I don't know if most of the Council members see them or are unwilling to see them. They know nothing about us, and I am driven nearly mad at my inability to respond to their accusations.

An older man interrupts the back and forth arguments that have been going on for several months, "You may stop now. The decision has been made. A majority has spoken."

This time, the one person who has held himself back the entire interview finally gives in to his rage, and the harshness of his tone rakes through my brain. "Bloody hell, I hate their sodding silent majority votes!"

I nod tersely, praying no one heard his slip.

During debate about important issues the agency members' thoughts are monitored by a high-class, supposedly infallible computer system, and when the majority of individual members have thoughts that agree one way or the other, the decision is finalized. The problem is that with human beings' whirling thoughts, one never knows when they will agree or when the verdict is coming.

"And?" Michael snarks, placing his fingertips on the counter in front of him.

The older man shoots us a glance laced with pity, and declares, "They are to be eliminated as soon as possible.."

Michael chooses that moment to beam triumphantly back at us. He's never liked us. I suppose he is jealous of what we share with one another and of our recent healthy status in the public's eye.

"However," the speaker continues, "they have options."

* * *

3002, a couple of months later

Frantically, I run from one end of the apartment to the other, grabbing various items to pack in the two cases we are allowed to bring with us. Spike sits on the bed with his legs stretched out and his hands behind his head, watching me with an amused expression on his face.

Finally, I stop and glare at his smug smirk. "What? Why are you staring? And why aren't you helping?"

"I just think it's amusing, pet, that you're packing two bags full of things that we don't even need. The ship will have blood and other necessities."

I survey the piles on the bed. There's no way all of the stuff will fit in the cases. I plant my hands on my hips. "Well, Mr. Perfect, I'd like to see you do this then."

"I'm having too much fun watching you do it." The smirk grows into a grin.

"Well, I don't really see anything I can eliminate."

Spike reaches forward and plucks an object from a pile of similar objects. "Sea shells, pet? Why do we need seashells?"

"So, we can hear the ocean in space?" Spike raises both eyebrows at my response, so I modify, "Because we collected them together, and I treasure them?"

Spike smiles tenderly at the memory I've conjured in his brain. Not so long ago, before the incident with Prenwick, we spent three months along the beach and took many a midnight stroll, hunting seashells and making love in the sand. "Okay, but just bring one or two. How's that?"

"I can't bring them all?" I dodge a playful swat that he makes at my bottom and assent, "Okay. One or two."

As I'm sorting through the rest of the piles, I ask, "Are you still up for dinner with Reyni and Rhonda and their families tonight?"

"It'll be hard but yeah."

"Vids of Dawn and crew?" I hold up several small vid devices.

Spike snatches them from me. "Of course, we're definitely bringing those." He crosses the room to his storage space and returns with something else.

"Your music collection? Sorry, no room," I say, turning my nose up at his selection.

"If you're bringing bloody seashells, I'm bringing my music," he insists stubbornly. "Besides the music takes up less room and provides hours more of entertainment."

"You can take your own ship if I have to listen to that crap the whole way," I pout, sticking out my lower lip slightly.

Spike nibbles my lip and slips his collection into the case while he's distracting me. Then, he tickles my ribs, sending me to my knees with laughter. I drag him down with me, forcing his hands away as he lays me down on my back. As his weight presses down on me, igniting an odd mixture of comfort and desire, his blue eyes are heavy with emotion.

Going somber, he asks, "Love, do you have any regrets?"

Holding his eyes steadfastly with mine, I answer firmly, "Nope. I don't. I don't regret a minute of the time I've spent with you. I don't regret any of the choices you or I have made. I love you. Simply because of that fact, I have no regrets."

He cups my cheek with his hand. "Good. I don't either. And I love you, too."

"Spike?" I brush my nose against his.

"Hmmm, what?" He nuzzles my neck, shooting sparks along my spine.

"Make love to me one more time. Here. On Earth."

He grins at my invitation. . . as if he ever needed one. "Of course, love. I thought you'd never ask!"

TBC. . . next chapter is the final chapter!!! :o) I hope you're enjoying still. I tried really hard to include a lot of emotion in this chapter. I needed to close with something playful after that first part. Phew! ;o) Yay! I'm so glad that you've enjoyed it, and I'm really happy to have such great reviewers and readers all the way up to the end! I hope you're not disappointed in the story, and if you'd like, I'm considering doing a sequel. . . not sure what time frame yet. So, let me know if you're interested!

3002, present day

Silent as a cat, I pad to the front deck where I plan to wait for Spike to awaken. I can almost predict like clockwork how long he will take to regain consciousness and search for me. Sometimes he arrives half- or fully asleep as if some primal survival connection exists between us. Even now, I feel that link thrumming between us as if an inter-psychic cord is tied tight from him to me.

Although there is no overhead illumination, the deck is alive with the blinking lights of the control panels and soft clicks of the tracking device the Council had implanted in the ship to ensure accuracy of our trajectory. Two seats are stationed apart from one another in front of a large demon-safe window so that we may view space without fear of burning to a cinder. Using my fingertips as a sensitive guide, I slide onto one of the comfortable cushions that cover each chair. My legs automatically draw up to my body so that my knees form a cradle for my chin. My arms surround my legs, and my waist-length blond hair cascades over my body like a protective blanket.

Staring into the vastness of space isn't as soothing as looking into the sky. Somehow, space makes me feel more isolated, colder. Maybe that was the Council's intention. I attempt to draw my thoughts together to perhaps feel a sense of finality, of peace, but nothing seems to coalesce properly. On Earth, my questions seemed answered, and the future seemed certain and justifiable. Now. . .

I sense him behind me before he touches me, and like a small child, I instinctively hold my arms up for him to hold me. Needing no further suggestion, he slips beneath me with a light sigh, hugging me tightly to his body. Marveling at the solidness of his chest against my back, I realize that he won't always feel that way.

He sweeps my cloak of hair to one side and emits a quiet puff of cool air along my neck as he whispers, "Pet, are you okay?"

Continuing to gaze ahead, I respond more quietly than human ears can hear, "Yes, why?"

"You're quieter than normal. . . quieter than you've been since we left Earth."

Without prelude, I leap to my burning questions, "Was everything we did futile? What Richard said right before he died about other humans bringing back the demons. . . don't the Council members realize that might very well happen? Don't they realize there's more than one way for them to come back? Why so much fanfare for us? I don't understand."

Spike cradles both my hands in his. "Ahh, love, good questions. No, I don't believe everything we did was futile. If we saved one life, made things better for only a small amount of time, we succeeded."

"But what about the future?" I place my palms against his.

"That's not our affair, pet. We can't control decisions made by others, especially human others. Human beings are very irrational creatures. Sometimes they do things, make decisions that don't make sense for the long run, that satisfy only a very cursory desire. The majority of the Council wanted a breather from their main directive, and they saw a moment that would likely be the closest they ever come to that break, so they took it. It might not make sense in terms of the likelihood that all demons are banished from the Earth, but it makes sense for the time. . . to them. And for a time, they may be right. The power behind that spell sapped a great deal of mystical energy from this dimension; it will take a few years to build back up."

"I know. . . I guess that I just needed to hear it out loud." I turn sideways to curl up into the curve of his frame.

Spike's hand roves over the length of my hair and down my back. "As for the fanfare bit, they're using us as the symbolic end to demon-kind and the future of the world without demons. People seem to need a marker, a ceremony to denote big events. This time, we're the end note."

"That's not fair." I close my eyes, imagining a heart beat in his chest.

"It never is, love, it never is."

We say nothing for several minutes, listening to the hum of the computer system driving the ship.

Then, I hear Spike, "Do you remember the first time you knew you loved me?"

He's never asked me this question. "You know when. When I told you I loved you. That night before apocalypse number with the gang. . . I don't remember which apocalypse it was."

"No, not the first time you told me you loved me. When did you first realize that you did?"

I suppose that's a different question, but it's also one for which I have a definitive answer. Lifting my head to take in his full visage, I answer as honestly as I can, "The night you came over to proofread Dawn's undergraduate history thesis. You fell asleep in the chair with the paper half-read and marked up with corrections. You were there when Dawn and I got back from patrol."

"Really? That's when? Not after a major battle victory or after a round in the sack?"

"Nope. That's when."

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face. "Good."

My lover is happy; I'm happy. "My turn. You told me a long time ago that you didn't know why you loved me. So, now I'm asking again. Why do you love me, Spike?"

Placing his hand at the nape of my neck, he pulls me close, breathing cool air over my eyelids before sweeping his lips over mine. I can feel the words on my lips as he speaks them, "All those years ago, I didn't know what love was. I didn't understand the rush of feelings I had around you. Now, I know that those feelings weren't love.

"What I felt for you soon after that. . . what I feel for you now. . . that's love. It's the connection we share. . . the loneliness I feel when you're not there, the joy I have on your return, the mutual understanding we have that even if we have a horrendous fight you won't leave and neither will I, the happiness I feel when you're happy and when you've done something you feel proud of. It's the way I can talk with you about my true feelings. It's the way you don't run away from yours anymore. And there are so many other things I could add here. Should I go on, pet?"

I shake my head, letting him see the depth of my feelings for him in my face. I push my lips more fully into his, kissing him with an intensity and urgency I've never before felt. He returns my ardor with equal passion. I could lose myself forever in the feel of him against me. Maybe. . . maybe we could spend eternity suspended in space just like this.

I get my wish.

A shrill beeping noise disrupts our embrace like an angry authority figure. Startled, I jerk back, my eyes wide. Spike catches me before I lose my balance and fall from his lap. He seems to be frightfully calm in opposition to my flurry. The ship has ceased moving and is beginning to turn.

"Spike?" My voice betrays my fear. What's about to happen is a reality that I've been denying.

"Shouldn't you move to the other chair they've provided, love?" Spike's voice is scratchy with emotion despite his outward placidity.

For the second time today, I shake my head. "I'm staying here with you."

"Okay." He steadies me on his lap with his hands on my hips, and a single tear escapes from the corner of one eye.

A flood releases from my own eyes, and a tiny sob catches in my throat. "Do you think we'll go to heaven or hell?"

Spike emits a pure laugh that overcomes the sorrow. "How is it, pet, that even at the saddest times of my life, you make me laugh?" He lays a hand on my damp cheek.

I giggle through my tears, briefly snuggling my nose and mouth into his palm. "Hey, I thought that was your job. And you didn't answer my question."

"You never let me get away with anything, do you?"

"Nope." I must agree with that.

"No matter where we end up, we'll be together, love."

I need reassurance. "Are you sure?"

"I'm absolutely sure."

With a subtle change, the ship stops a second time. I don't have to turn around to know that the sun is warm at my back through the demon-safe window. With every fiber of my being, I sense the protective shield lifting, and I am keenly aware of every muscle movement and change in my lover's solid form beneath me. Soon the Council and the world will know that we are no more.

"I love you, Spike," I whisper across his mind.

"I love you, too, Buffy."

Time is suspended for the briefest of moments in honor of our passing. Even while our bodies are crumbling to dust around us, my emerald eyes never leave his sapphire ones as we confront the sun together.

The end.