* * * * * Chapter 40: In the Wee Small Hours * * * * *



Spike feels Buffy tremble in his arms and curses at himself. Of course he’s not cold, but his Slayer is freezing. Lifting his head from the crook of her shoulder, he makes eye contact. The words die in his mouth as he sees she was not trembling from cold, but because she’s crying. It almost did him in when she cried earlier tonight and this is much worse. Before he can speak, she blinks at him, her hazel eyes glistening in the moonlight. “I’m okay, Spike.” She brings up a hand to wipe roughly at her eyes, sniffling a little.

“No, you’re bloody well not. What is it? Did I hurt you, love?” Spike’s chest constricts at the thought. He never wants to hurt her, not since he fell for her.

“Oh no no…you didn’t hurt me.” The tears keep dropping at an alarming rate and Spike steps back, clasping her upper arms.

“Then what?” Spike rubs her arms lightly, trying to soothe her.

“I just…I just…it feels so right. Here with you…I just can’t do it. I can’t do it.”

Spike grins and lifts his eyebrows suggestively. “Well, we can wait a little while, pet.”

Buffy half-laughs, half-sobs at his joke, slapping feebly at his chest. “Not that…” She looks up at him, her hand still laying on his still chest, right where his heart is. For just a moment, she wonders at the love of a man with no beating heart. “I can’t love like this…” During the pause she takes, Spike’s thoughts race, wondering where she is going with this. “…and then lose you. I just don’t know that I can do it.” Her cheeks tracked with tears, Spike feels his heart crack nearly in half. He can’t do it, either. How could he possibly leave her?

He drags his thumbs down her cheeks, swiping at the moisture there. Leaning forward, he kisses at the salty tears lightly.

“Buffy. We’ve both been through…love and loss.” Spike’s jaw clenches involuntarily at the thought of his grandsire with the woman in his arms, but moves past the thought quickly. She did love the poof. And now, more importantly, she loves him. And of course, there was him and Dru. Well, a long long time together is hard to get over. Every time he looks down at the petite blond crying in his arms, he has a hard time even picturing Drusilla in his mind’s eye. His love for Buffy has moved in and shoved the old out of the way. “Doesn’t make this any soddin’ easier, though. Harder, maybe. But you’re forgetting one important thing.” Spike lifts her chin with his index finger, eyes diving into hers. “I don’t have plans to leave. Some dusty book in the Watcher’s house says I might be leavin’…but that doesn’t mean I have to. I’m not giving up that easy. Been around a long time and would like to keep my record going.” He kisses her gently on the mouth. “So, let’s not start talking of me in the past tense yet, eh, love?” His eyes twinkle and Buffy finds herself smiling at him, despite the knot of despair in her stomach.

“You’re right, Spike. I’m sorry to be so negative. It’s just the Slayer gig tends to come with a lot of death and loss and…I’m tired of it. I just got be in these arms and I like it here, dammit.” She wraps her arms around Spike and squeezes, hard. “Let’s go home, ‘kay? I’m done fighting for tonight. Gotta save my strength for tomorrow.” Unspoken is their need to simply be together as much as possible until tomorrow, come what may.

“You know you’re not to interfere with whatever happens tomorrow night, pet.”

“I’ll need strength no matter what, Spike.” He lets her words hang in the air, feels a cool breeze skate across their naked bodies. This time her shiver is of the cold variety.

“Right. Home, then?” She nods. They get dressed slowly, watching each other. Finally, Spike reaches his hand out. Buffy moves forward and takes it, lacing her fingers in his, gripping as if she will never let go.

Without a word, they turn for her house in step, hand in hand. Both see the change in the sky, heralding the coming day. A day they would like to hold away as long as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they enter the house, Buffy notices a light blinking on the answering machine. Her brow knits for a second. “Oh my god!”

Spike jumps. “What is it?”

“My mom!” Buffy drops his hand and darts over to the machine.

“Thought your mum was out of town?” Spike looks around, confused.

“She was supposed to be back tonight. I completely forgot!” Buffy hits the button on the machine and her Mom’s voice plays to her. Her face starts to relax as her Mom explains she won’t be home tonight after all. She’s extended her trip through the weekend. Buffy flops on the chair in relief, smiling up at Spike.

“So, we’ve still got the place to ourselves, right?” Buffy nods. “I’m pretty distracting, am I?” Buffy nods again. “Made you forget your own mum.”

Buffy stands up and walks up to Spike, lightly pressing her body against his. “Hell, you made me forget my own name a few times.”

Spike’s tongue presses against his front teeth, mouth open slightly as he returns the full body pressure Buffy applied. “That so, love?”

She nods and then throws her head towards the stairs. “Wanna try again?”

“What happened to saving your strength?” Buffy grinds against him once, hard, her answer in every movement. Feeling the quickly building bulge in his pants, she quirks an eyebrow in approval. Then she turns and darts for the stairs. She gets about halfway up before Spike reaches her. They go down in a heap on the stairs, Spike cradling her head in his hand, pressing them together below the waist. Buffy gasps as he dives for her neck, the kisses fast and rough. She’s drawn the predator out in him, something he confirms with a low growl. Her heart flutters like a rabbit caught in a trap, excited and aroused by his completely successful attempt at distracting her. The way her body sings out in response to his drowns out all other thoughts quite nicely.

“God, Slayer, you are delicious.” Spike travels up her neck to her jawline, finally reaching her mouth. The kiss is intense and when Spike finally breaks it, Buffy is gasping for air. Her pink lips parted, cheeks crimson, eyes dilated, she is pure sex, pure arousal and Spike has to have her, has to ravish her further. “Let’s go, Spike.” Her hand has found its way between his legs and gives his throbbing erection a gentle, but firm squeeze. Spike growls in response before standing up and over her. Sprawled out on the stairs, clothes disheveled, hair splayed across the steps, he can’t help but think he is one lucky bloke.

Buffy looks up at him, hair mussed, shirt half off (did she do that?) so that his alabaster skin teases her with a glimpse, chest heaving despite his undead state and thinks just one word.

Mine.

She’s on her feet in a flash, a few steps above him so she can see him eye to eye. Her arm shoots out, hooking him around the neck, holding his gaze. She pulls, a little hard, and Spike nearly loses his balance. Baby wants to play. The smirk that spreads across his face is so damn dirty Buffy nearly loses her train of thought. A glance down his body brings her right back on track, however. Her mouth captures his, leaning into his body, nearly sending them tumbling down the stairs. Spike fights back, driving Buffy backwards up the stairs. They twist and turn around the upstairs hallways, hands grabbing, lips attacking, crashing into furniture and walls before landing in a tangled mess of clothes and limbs on her bedroom floor. In the fury of claiming and tasting and just plain old having, the undercurrent is bittersweet. Their lovemaking is invested with a fatalism that neither can fully deny and both have to bite back the tears as they come together once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Psyche’s sigh echoes off the walls of the marble bedchamber. “Any ideas yet, dear?” Cupid’s shoulders are tense, most unlike the carefree god, as he paces to and fro. “Sweetheart?”

His head jerks up as he comes to a stop. “Yes, my sweet?”

She smiles sadly at him. “Any ideas?”

He frowns, wrinkles creasing his handsome face. “No, I’m afraid not. I would like to intervene on behalf of the vampire, but I cannot see how. Not yet. His fate…it is not my power. His love, well, that has been seen to.” He presses his lips together in a tight thin line and resumes walking. “I will continue to think about it…”

Eyes sadder than ever, Psyche turns back to the view below and the lovemaking that has transitioned from frenzied to tender. Her heart aches at the sight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Damn it.” Giles swears softly under his breath as he whips his glasses off and rubs his eyes furiously. A glance to the window shows the sky starting to turn pink with impending sunrise. The numerous books on his table are opened, pages marked with scraps of paper and scribbled theories. The lines of fatigue and worry on his face tell the story. That he has come no closer to saving Spike in his hours of additional research. He sees Buffy’s worried face in his mind’s eye and it only renews his frustration. Rubbing his eyes one last time, he replaces his glasses and heads to the kitchen. A cup of tea may help to clear the fog in his brain. He is not going to give up on his charge’s chance at happiness after just a few hours. His Slayer deserves it and he will give it to her. If he only bloody well can.

* * * * * Chapter 41: Good Morning * * * * *



Buffy lies very very still. She knows the slightest movement could wake Spike and she would like to keep him asleep a little longer. Finally exhausted by both fear and a large amount of sex, they both dropped off for some much needed sleep before dawn. Only her sleep was filled with ominous nightmares and fitful tossing, so Buffy gave up. She looks at her love, sleeping the sleep of the dead. Or undead. No nightmares appear to plague him. Her head turned to face him on the same pillow, Buffy studies his features in their relaxed state. Not the first time she’s done this, and she really hopes it is not the last.

She looks him over thoroughly, trying somehow to detect evidence that he has been alive for over a hundred years. She can’t find any. She just sees the mouth she now knows so well, the sharp curve of his cheekbone, the strong line of his nose, the stretch of lashes brushing his cheek. Buffy bites back a sigh. God, he is beautiful. And he is hers.

Now, to the question of the hour. How is she going to keep him? Meaning, how is she going to keep him from doing something heroic and sacrificing himself for her, for the rest of the humans on the planet? It figures that falling in love with her would be the very thing that could bring him to the end of this long long existence. Giles should call her this morning. Let her know what they found last night, whether he has any new ideas. The thought of that phone call fills her with a sense of both dread and hope at the same time. Her train of thought is interrupted by the stirring of her lover. Sleepy blue eyes meet hers in question and she ventures a smile at him before planting a good morning kiss on his lips.

After a few false starts, Buffy and Spike end up in the kitchen, with Buffy insisting that she needed some sustenance beyond sex. Buffy pokes in the refrigerator and the cupboard for breakfast fare. Spike lounges against the island, watching her. His eyes travel down her slender body, the curves of her back, hips and legs obvious through the thin robe. She turns to ask him a question and catches the hungry look in his eyes.

“Uh-uh! Buffy is getting to eat something today, mister. Some food. Human food. Like eggs and bacon and toast. And juice. Oh, and coffee.” She deposits the items she has gathered from the cabinet to make breakfast.

Spike arches his eyebrows at her long list. “And love, do you know how to make any of those things?”

Buffy sputters in indignation. “Of course! I am quite capable of…” She looks at the raw ingredients piled up on the island, brow knitting. “…juice. I’m excellent with juice.” Her megawatt smile makes Spike shake his head, chuckling.

“Let me show you how this is done, pet. Take that lovely bum of yours and sit it down.” Spike stands up, stretching his clasped hands in front of him before cracking his neck first to the right and then to the left. Licking her lips in approval, Buffy perches on the edge of the stool at the island to watch Spike at work. He goes to the kitchen window first, closing the blinds to protect himself from the bright morning sun. He begins to sort the ingredients and then stops to take stock. Spike turns back to the refrigerator, returning with a few more items, including ham and green onions. Seeing Buffy’s confused face, Spike says, “Omelets.”

Buffy nods, deciding to hide the fact that she had no idea people made omelets themselves at home. She thought they were pretty much ‘restaurant food.’ She puts her elbows on the island and props her chin on her hands. Spike is full of surprises.

“So, you cook?”

“Yes.” Spike’s bare back is turned to Buffy as he gathers skillets from the cabinet under the stove. She’s so glad he neglected to put on a shirt.

“Why?”

“Don’t need food, doesn’t mean I don’t like it, Slayer.” He turns back to her, smirk in place. “I know what tastes good, you know.” The expression on his face is positively lascivious and Buffy feels a pink blush spread on her cheeks.

Mission accomplished, Spike starts chopping various ingredients and preparing breakfast with a skill clearly honed over many years. Never before exposed to this domestic side of the blond vampire, Buffy is not sure what to do. She decides watching is a good thing, as he looks incredibly hot beating eggs half naked. Of course, he looks incredibly hot doing anything, but this is new. Plus, she is going to get fed.

“Toast!” Spike looks at Buffy quizzically after her outburst. Her next words are a bit quieter. “I’m also good with toast.”

“Juice and toast. It’s a wonder you have the strength to slay, pet.”

“I’ve got strength for lots of things, so hush and make me some food, cutie.” She giggles and sits back as Spike turns back to his task, a smile playing across his face, eyes dancing with mirth.

Buffy smiles at him as he moves back and forth between the island and the stove, hands moving deftly and quickly. Raw ingredients quickly turn into final products and the scents filling the kitchen are heavenly. Spike gets the coffee percolating, adding one more heady scent to the mix. Buffy’s stomach growls in anticipation and Spike laughs under his breath.

Eyes following his every move as he brings together the meal, Buffy feels a warmth towards Spike of the most tender kind. Yes, she loves him madly. But it turns out she also likes him. Sitting here with him, doing the most domestic and everyday of things - and she is blissfully happy. The nagging doubt of what tomorrow morning will bring is temporarily blocked by her enjoyment of this very moment. They are acting like an old married couple. The rightness of it and the way she easily slides into the role with him should surprise her, but it just feels so good, she can’t be bothered.

Spike realizes the Slayer has fallen quiet in the last few minutes. He turns from his position at the stove to see her gaze on him, but with a sort of faraway look in her eyes. He doesn’t realize she is picturing what their kids would be like if they could only have any. Her eyes come back into focus, seeing him clearly again. Spike smiles at her, just a little, as something unspoken but profound passes between them over orange juice and broken egg shells. Hearing the bacon sizzling on the stove snaps Spike out of it and he turns back to the stove, spell broken.

Without his glacier blue eyes on her, Buffy realizes her heart is pounding. The last few days have sent her mind reeling over and over. From hating Spike to craving Spike to truly madly loving Spike and now…and now she thinks of him in the same sentence as forever? As marriage? And god, she’s happy. In the next breath, hot tears sting her eyes. The prophecy.

“Dammit.” Unaware she has spoken aloud, Buffy is surprised to hear Spike answer her while still pushing the crisping bacon around the pan.

“What’s wrong, pet?” His voice is casual, so Buffy fights down the fear churning in her empty stomach. Her perfect vision may be shattered, but he doesn’t have to know it.

“It’s just that I’m so hungry…” With a quiet grace bred from years of slaying, Buffy slips from her chair and comes up behind Spike.

“No worries, love, food’s just about ready…and you are not talking about food.” Spike’s first clue is Buffy’s mouth against his back, moist and warm. To his credit, he doesn’t even jump, just hesitates a little in the flipping of a strip of bacon. She presses her lips against his shoulder blade before sliding all the way behind him. Buffy lets her hands come around and slide down his chest, skating lightly over the sculpted muscle before coming to rest with her thumbs hooked in his waistband. Standing on her tiptoes, Buffy nips at Spike’s earlobe with her blunt teeth.

“See, I’m just starving, Spikey. Can’t help it.” Her tongue dances over the lobe as her hot breath lights up his skin. Spike drops the spatula in the skillet with a low moan as Buffy’s nimble fingers start to undo the front of his jeans.

“Slayer, your breakfast is going to get cold.” Spike’s protest is very half-hearted. Maybe more like a quarter-hearted. Buffy’s hands continue exploring, her warm fingers dancing around Spike’s rapidly swelling cock.

“Nuh-uh.” Buffy withdraws from Spike, eliciting a sound of protest. She hops up on the island behind him, legs dangling. He turns to scold her and finds that she is wearing the most delightful grin, mischief making her green eyes spark. “Feed me.” Tilting her head to the side, Buffy is coy and playful, something Spike cannot resist.

“Yeah?” She nods and Spike grabs the plate he was preparing for her, dipping into the skillet to add the bacon. Turning off the oven, he turns and places her plate on the island next to her. Buffy looks down at the fluffy omelet, golden toast and crispy bacon and her smile widens.

“Oh, Spike, you are the best. My vamp of many talents.” Catching his face between her hands, Buffy pulls him closer, capturing his mouth with hers. Spike’s hands slide around her hips, tightening on the pale blue silk of her robe. He pauses before moving his hands a bit more, seeming to confirm something. The kiss breaks with a giggle from Buffy. She keeps their lips grazing, breathing warm on his face. Spike murmurs, “Completely naked under this scrap, aren’t you?”

Buffy’s only answer is another kiss, this one more demanding, tongue taking control of his with authority. Her legs come up slowly to wrap around his hips, ankles locking, bringing him into her circle, closer to her core and the warmth emanating in waves. Out of breath, Buffy pulls back from the kiss first, cheeks flushed prettily. Moments later, a forkful of omelet appears before her. Opening her mouth, she locks her eyes into Spike’s as he slides the fork into her mouth. Taking the bite slowly off the tines, Buffy moans in appreciation, eyes closing briefly as she licks her lips. Spike wonders if just watching the Slayer eat is going to make him come in his pants.

“You like it, then?” He smirks, knowing the answer.

“Mmm. God, it’s delicious, Spike.” She swallows and looks at him expectantly. “More, more.”

“So bloody demanding.” But he loves it, she can tell. He is getting off on this scene of domestic bliss as much as she is. Next is a piece of bacon, which Buffy bites off happily. Her entire body displays her approval and Spike wonders if she realizes her arousal is like a sledgehammer to his head. He strains to remain focused even as the heavenly scent teases him and her legs rub up and down his hips. She strains forward for the next bite, letting her robe fall open and he catches a glimpse of her tempting breasts. And so it goes, Buffy eating and teasing and moaning while Spike feeds her and concentrates on not losing control before she’s had her fill.

She licks her lips after the last bite of omelet and Spike finds himself watching her tongue dart out, leaving her full lips lush and moist. It’s almost the last straw.

“Slayer.” Buffy pretends not to hear the strain in his voice, not to notice the tightly corded muscles in his neck and the most prominent bulge in his half undone jeans. Instead, she takes his hand in hers and begins to methodically lick each finger, almost cat-like in her thoroughness. She pulls the index finger into her mouth, drawing in her cheeks and Spike’s eyes roll back in his head. This has officially and completely crossed the line from fun with food to Torture Spike. Withdrawing his finger from her mouth, Buffy suddenly tightens her legs, pulling him abruptly against her. Her superheated core is against the straining fabric of his jeans and he can feel the heat right through the denim.

She pushes her bottom lip out in a mock pout. Her left hand flattens against his abs and slides down into his loosened jeans without warning, finding her target like a heat-seeking missile. “Still hungry, Spike.” With a broad sweep of both his arms, Spike knocks all the dishes to the floor from the island with a crash. In the next moment, Buffy’s back is on the countertop and she has one incredibly aroused vampire over her, chest heaving with his unneeded breath. And through it all, she keeps one hand on his cock.

“Not full, eh?” Spike arches his eyebrows as he marvels at her.

“Not yet.” Up and down her hand goes, making him harder and harder under her attention. “Think you can help out?”

“I believe something can be arranged…” Spike, holding his weight off Buffy with one hand planted by her head, uses the other to tease open her robe. Her golden body is exposed to his hungry gaze, completely bare and incredibly inviting. The fingers ghost over her cheek before tracing down her neck, out over her collarbone and down between her breasts. “So so beautiful, love.” She sees the flicker in his eyes from blue to gold and she wonders if he knows it is happening. The idea that his craving for her is akin to a bloodlust does not disturb her as it might have another time. It seems to fit the way they feel. The desire is fierce, relentless, and the fact that he is fighting for control only shows how deep the emotions run, how thoroughly they are connected to each other. Moments later, his eyes, all blue now, light on her with tenderness and she remembers why this is so good. Because she gets both. She gets the battle, the tussle between equals as well as the attentions of a careful lover.

Their movements switch to languid now instead of frantic. Hands tangled into her hair, Spike finally positions himself at her entrance. He plants light kisses across her face, ending his journey at her mouth. Buffy’s fingers scrape down his strong back, encouraging him to continue. As Spike thrusts into her while they are still kissing, Buffy moans against his mouth, the vibration setting them both off. Spike’s kiss grows in intensity, teeth nipping at her tongue, lips pressing harder. Buffy arches her body into his at the sharp sensation, accelerating his slow thrust in one sharp move. She cries out at the depth of his cock inside her, the fullness startling but not unpleasant. Holding that position against him, she clasps the back of his neck with one hand, refusing to end the kiss. Finally, she lets her rear come back to the island surface and Spike follows, remaining buried in her to the hilt. He nibbles her bottom lip as she loosens her grip on the nape of his neck. The kisses move along her jawline, dancing over the healed pink marks on her neck from their previous encounters. Exquisitely sensitive, touching the skin around the punctures makes Buffy jump. Spike moves to the other side of her neck his mouth going over her old scars from Angel and the Master without the same effect. It was no accident that he chose to bite her on the other side. Not interested in sharing, particularly not with Peaches.

Convinced he will not come on his next move, Spike pulls back and thrusts into Buffy slowly, but forcefully. He lifts her off the counter just slightly with every drive and she gasps in pleasure. Taking one nipple in his mouth, Spike rolls it roughly over his tongue, hardening it instantly. Repeating this treatment on the other breast leaves Buffy panting slightly, her breaths short and fast. Arching her hips to meet his, each and every thrust hits her clit directly and Buffy wonders if she will black out when this orgasm hits. Feeling the pressure building, Buffy buries her face in his neck, the platinum curls tickling her nose. Body trembling from the force of their lovemaking, she manages to whisper to him, “I love you, Spike. More than ever. Love you more than I thought I could love…”

The last bit is what gets him. Spike comes with the force of a freight train, a roar that bounces off the kitchen walls announcing his arrival. Knowing she is close, feeling her muscles twitch, Spike manages a few more thrusts, sending the shockwaves pulsing through Buffy’s body as she comes in a rush of pleasure and intense sensation. He collapses on her, forgetting that he did not want to put all his weight on her. She wraps arms and legs tight around him in a gesture that indicates she doesn’t mind.

Mouth against her ear, Spike murmurs, “Love you, Buffy. God, I do love you.”

Moments later, a jarring sound rouses them both from their post-coital bliss. Buffy’s heart jumps into her throat as she identifies the sound and reality crashes back in around her. The phone. Giles. Oh god.

* * * * * Chapter 42: Counting Down * * * * *

The phone continues to ring as both Slayer and vampire sit straight up. Spike moves first, rolling off the island and snatching the phone off the hook.

“’ello?” The sound of sputtering and mumbling greets Spike. A smile touches his face. “Mornin’, Rupert. Were you trying to reach Buffy?”

Giles recovers enough to finally answer. He knows those two are in love, but this evidence of their intimacy is still disconcerting. Like walking in on his only daughter making out on the couch with her boyfriend. Only he’s sure they were doing more than making out. “Um, yes, uh…hello, Spike. Indeed, ah, could I speak with her?”

Without answering, Spike holds the phone out to his blonde love. “Your Watcher, pet.” The smile is still there and she can’t help meeting it with a small one of her own as she stands up and takes the phone. Giles must be mortified.

“Giles? It’s me.” Buffy pauses as Giles gathers himself. He must have realized she is potentially naked at this very moment. And she is.

“Yes, hello, Buffy. Well, I’ve found another transcription of the prophecy in ancient Sumerian and it’s…the thing is, there is more than one way to interpret it and I’m not sure which is correct.”

Buffy closes her eyes, her heart beating erratically. She strains for calm. “Is the other interpretation better than the first or are we still in the doom and gloom arena?”

Spike pays close attention to the inaudible signals Buffy is giving off. Her current scent is wildly familiar to him, but not in a good way. Fear. A smell he knows all too well. There was a time in the not too distant past that Spike would have relished the stale scent of fear coming off the Slayer. Now, it just makes him hurt. He comes to her side, wrapping his arms around her waist lightly. She shivers, biting her lip before looking over her shoulder at him. Spike tries not to flinch at the worry present in her eyes.

“Well, again, Buffy, it is difficult to say. It would be better if you could come over here. There is more work to be done and the more help the better the chances of…um, the better the chances.”

Buffy feels her chest tighten at what is left unsaid. Now, she is torn between getting to spend today with her love with this horrible burden hanging over them or to go to Giles’ apartment for dusty research. Only the research could help save her love. Oh, damn. It’s a vicious cycle.

“We should go, love.” Spike’s voice in her ear is soft and low and it sends tendrils of warmth down her spine. Clearly, he can hear the conversation.

Buffy stands very still, staring blankly ahead, wishing for the thousandth time that she was not the Slayer. Wishing that she was a normal girl with a normal boyfriend, doing normal things. As quickly as it came, the moment passes and she is thrust back into her real world by Giles clearing his throat. And she remembers the thrill of the hunt and the fierce pride she feels protecting the world and the cool, strong hands of her anything but normal boyfriend. This is the life she wants to save. Her life…and his. His existence is too precious to her now.

“We’ll be there soon, Giles. Keep working, okay?” Buffy moves the phone to the receiver even as Giles answers and lets it slide down with a click. Hand steady on the handset, she doesn’t move for a few seconds. A shudder runs through her.

Spike leans his head down, chin resting on her shoulder. The quiet extends, the low hum of the refrigerator the only sound in the kitchen. Buffy’s hand moves to slide up Spike’s cheek and he leans slightly into the warm touch.

“Why can’t we stay right here, Spike?” Her voice is quiet with a slight tremor running through it. “Just ignore it all and hide here?” Buffy pulls away and turns around to look up at him. Tears tremble on the edge of her eyelids.

Spike cocks his head, looking down at his Slayer with quiet blue eyes. Calm beyond reason in the face of his existence being so threatened. He reaches out to tuck a loose bit of hair behind her ear. “You know we can’t, Buffy.” The first few tears roll down Buffy’s cheeks. She nods, wiping them away and struggling for the brave face that has escaped her. “Let’s nip upstairs for a shower, eh, love? Rupert’s waitin’ on us.” Buffy looks up at this Spike. The strong one, the one that takes care of her. Loves him just as much as every other face he has shown her.

She nods again and follows him upstairs. Already undressed, they go straight into the bathroom and Spike leans over to turn on the hot water. Buffy stands very still in the small space, feeling tiny and fragile, arms wrapped tight around her. The room begins to steam almost instantly, but she still feels cold.

Spike turns back to her and is struck by a sharp pain and a need to give comfort to this lost girl in front of him. He pulls her into his arms and she lets out one soft sob into his chest. She feels his back tense.

“That’s enough, love. I won’t have it. Have you forgotten what I told you last night?” Buffy pulls back at the low serious tone from Spike and lifts her eyes to meet his firm gaze. “I won’t have you mourn me while I stand right in front of you. Do you understand? This prophecy could be complete bollocks, for all we know. Am I right?” His expression borders on anger and Buffy stiffens slightly.

Buffy sniffs. “Yeah.”

“Come on, that’s not too convincing.”

Wiping her eyes, Buffy stands up a little straighter, leveling her hazel eyes on his. “Yes.”

“And I’ve lived a bloody long time, haven’t I?”

“Yes.” Her voice gains a little strength.

“I’m a survivor, always have been.” Spike takes Buffy firmly by the chin, staring deep into her eyes with a focus she has only seen on the hunt. “So, don’t count me out, got it?”

Buffy swallows. “Got it.”

With that, Spike’s voice softens slightly. “You’ll just have to trust me, pet. I’m going to try and be a hero. It’s a new thing for me, y’know? Think I’d be nervous as all hell, but I only have to do one thing to know how to be one.”

“What’s that?”

“Just look at you. Been watching you in action for years. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. Not just strong in your fighting, but here. Where it really matters.” Spike’s hand rests over Buffy’s pounding heart, pressing firmly into her skin until he can count the beats. “Your heart, your spirit. It’s what made me want to fight you. It’s what makes me want to love you.” He pauses. “It’s what makes you.”

A surge of love courses through Buffy as she looks at Spike. Her mouth opens as she tries to find the words. Stumped, Buffy moves closer and Spike circles her with his arms. She leans into him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. Her breath is hot against his neck and she whispers, “You’re part of me now, Spike. Part of what makes me.” Spike closes his eyes and holds her a little tighter. Buffy’s heart beats hard against his chest as he takes in her words. Nobody has made him feel like trying this hard in so many years. Trying to find the right path. That he could even want to do right is beyond belief. His only reply is a light kiss to the top of her forehead as Spike continues to hold her tightly.

They stay just that way for a few minutes. Slayer gaining strength from the vampire as he draws it from her in turn. Spike’s hands run lightly up and down her back, fingertips dancing over smooth warm skin. Buffy’s fingers clutch his upper arms, feeling the tight muscles twitch. She could live and die in this moment, but knows the next one is pushing for its turn. With a sigh, Buffy turns toward the shower, pulling him with her.

After adjusting the temperature, Buffy steps in and under the stream of hot water. Eyes closed, she lets the water run over her, feeling the trail of heat down her body. Spike stands just outside the water, looking at her with a heat of his own. Her skin superheated, Buffy finally opens her eyes to find Spike watching her. Cheeks pink and skin hot to the touch, she grabs Spike by the hand and pulls him into the water. Spike flinches slightly at the warmth of her hands and the stream of water. As his body melts into hers, they feel themselves relax, muscles loosening, skin coming to life.

With movements both slow and intense, they take turns washing each other’s bodies. Soapy hot water runs in rivulets over curves and hard planes, washing away tears and worry, scalding away fear. They let themselves fall into the moment, water leaving them fresh and new.

Body freshly scrubbed and glowing, Buffy lets her hands trail down Spike’s chest, following the water on its path. Spike raises an eyebrow as her hands travel lower and lower. She leans in for a wet kiss right as her hands reach his cock, grasping gently, rubbing lightly. His moan is lost in her mouth as he feels his erection begin to grow. His entire body is warm from the steam of the shower and Buffy marvels at how he feels in her hands. Almost living. For just a moment, he is human in her arms. She’s not sure what to make of it. One hand still in place, she pulls away enough to meet his gaze. Blond curls falling every which way, face slightly flushed, eyes crystal blue, he is breathtaking.

“What is it, love?” Spike cups one of her breasts in his hand as he moves forward to nuzzle her neck, water pouring over them.

“Nothing, you just feel different. Warm.”

“Like it?” His nuzzle turns into nibbles and Buffy slaps her left hand flat on the wall to hold herself steady. Her right hand continues working its magic down below.

“Mmm-hmm. Just different. I like you at any temperature. All-temperature Spike.” She grins lightly, losing herself in the pleasure of a shower with her boyfriend. Her currently warm and nearly human boyfriend.

For a fleeting moment, Spike wonders what it would be like to be human. Wonders if that’s what Buffy really wants, really needs. Her voice was a little…yearning? He knows she loves him like he is, but he can’t help think her life would be easier if he, well, had one. He sighs.

“What’s the matter, Spike?” Buffy pauses when she hears him. Spike realizes these kinds of thoughts are the last thing either one of them need to deal with at the moment. Bigger fish to fry.

“Nothing, pet. Not one thing.” As his eyes rake up and down her naked form, Buffy feels her blood rush up to her face and down between her legs at the same time. With just a look, he makes her wetter than the shower ever could. In the next moment, Buffy feels cold tile pressing against her bare back and a warm Spike between her legs. The worries in their heads run off their entwined bodies like so much water and they stay there until the shower runs cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that afternoon, a grim-faced Slayer and a brassed-off vampire storm back into the Summers home.

“That was it? I spent the whole day locked away in that dim, dusty apartment to find out that there is still NOTHING we can do about it?” Buffy spins on Spike, eyes flashing dangerously, only to meet the same expression in deep dark blue. He picks up where she left off.

“Goddamn bloody right, Buffy! What a bleedin’ waste of time. Still gonna die tonight and all the flowery language in the world won’t stop it! Can’t believe he kept us there for nothing.” Spike whips off his duster in a fury and flings it on the couch. Spinning around to continue his tirade, he doesn’t see Buffy at first. Then he notices the small form sitting on the stairs. Crumpled, more like. Head in her hands, little shoulders shaking in all too familiar posture. “Oh, balls. Buffy, love, I’m sorry. I shot my mouth off, it’s what I do. There’s still a chance. There’s still time, pet. Please, stop.” He crouches down in front of her, hands on her knees, face pleading.

But she is gone, Buffy is lost. Awash. Finally, she lifts her face, sodden and flushed. Still trembling. “Oh but Spike, it’s true. I let myself hope all day and it was for nothing. Nothing. Stupid Sumerian version of the prophecy didn’t help. Just said things in a different order, different words. Same message.”

Shattered by the vision in front of him, Spike softens instantly, his voice goes gentle. “Watcher was trying to help, pet.” He brushes her hair from her face with both hands. “Can’t help it if he couldn’t find the answer. There may not be one.” Spike remembers the naked anguish on Giles’ face when they left. The scent of failure stale in the air. The fact that he let them go only made the two of them despair further. Mere hours before the pre-destined events and they were no closer to an answer that saved Spike than they were last night. Despite hours of full Scooby (plus Spike) research. Research of the most tedious kind, scouring book after book of prophecy. Cross-checking every term in the original prophecy. Translating, analyzing…and nothing.

Buffy digs into her jacket pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. The paper Giles made for her. Smeared black ink scrawls across the page. The prophecy, in plain English.

While Spike watches her with concern, Buffy reads it over and over again. The last line causes the lump in her throat to tighten every time. ‘His existence is the price.’ She wipes her face on her sleeve and takes a deep breath.

She lifts her face to Spike’s, words trapped in her constricted throat, fresh tears trying to fight their way to the surface. Her voice is soft, strained. “It’s too high a price, Spike.” Spike pulls her from the stairs and into his arms, her next words muffled in his chest.

“Too high.”

Chapter 43: And So It Begins
* * * * *

The next two hours pass in a blur for Spike and Buffy. They circle each other in the house, trying to find a moment’s peace and finding none. Buffy tries to eat, but has no appetite. Spike smokes a half dozen cigarettes on the back porch, and every one leaves him unsatisfied, the taste of ashes in his mouth.

Spike leans on the banister on the back porch, not moving when he hears the door quietly open. Warm, soft arms encircle him from behind and he feels the soft thump of the Slayer’s head against his back. Bringing his hands up, he covers hers on his chest. They stand there in silence, watching the stars start to wink into view as dusk turns fully into night. There is a slight chill in the air and Spike feels a shiver from Buffy run through him.

“Cold, love?”

Buffy answers by sliding around Spike, facing him. She brings her eyes up to his for a second, but the rawness there is too much for either of them. Buffy closes the small distance between them, snuggling up against his chest, pressing her body against the length of his. Spike encloses her in his arms and Buffy digs into his duster to cover herself. She wants to be as close to him as possible, but neither of them is mentally able to consider anything physical. Just being close is good. Painful, but good.

Buffy presses the side of her face against Spike’s black shirt, and her breath washes over the exposed skin of his neck. It sends pulses of warmth through him, making Spike draw her tighter. Buffy breathes in the scent of him, male and comforting. The musk of old leather and smoke fills her.

Spike brings his cheek down to rest on the top of Buffy’s head, inhaling deeply. Even at night, she has always smelled like high noon in springtime. Flowers, particularly jasmine, and sunlight. Warm and inviting. Well, to those who are not vampires, of course. She always glows under moonlight, skin luminescent, hair golden, like a bit of daytime trapped in the night. Spike knows why the demons and vampires fear her and it isn’t just her devastating drop kick. She embodies the other. The bright light of daytime, of life and goodness. She exposes them to it and they go down screaming, their dark world exposed. It’s the very thing that draws him to her. The way you want to touch a flame just to see if it burns. That’s the way she burns, the way she lures him to her. All the things he shouldn’t have, but really exactly what he wants.

A small sigh breaks Spike from his reverie. Her quiet voice follows. “It’s 8:00, Spike.”

“Yes, it is.” A lump forms in his throat.

“We should go soon. Have to go by Giles’ to meet the gang and then head up to Breaker’s Woods… It takes awhile to get there and we don’t want to be - ”

“I know, pet. I know.” He squeezes her, knowing she rambles when she’s nervous, when she’s scared.

A few minutes pass in silence before Spike loosens his grip on Buffy’s back. She takes one small step back, to get a good look at him. The moonlight lights his hair silver, and turns his blue eyes nearly black. His face is a study in contrast and the barest smile touches his mouth.

“Buffy.” The voice is low and it makes her quiver. It’s the sound of someone saying goodbye. His hand comes down to brush her cheek. “No matter what happens tonight…” Buffy sniffs, eyes welling rapidly. “…no, no, don’t cry, pet. Be strong. For me. I’m going to need you there by me tonight. We don’t know what I’ll face. Okay?” She nods, her mind’s eye flashing to the nightmare she had about Spike. Forced to relate the bits she could remember to Giles this afternoon, she flinches as she remembers Spike’s expression during her description. Resigned, in a way.

Spike wipes her cheeks of tears as quickly as they fall. “There’s one thing that won’t change no matter what fate throws my way. I love you, Buffy. I’ll always love you.”

Spike stops, emotion choking him. Buffy shivers. “I love you, Spike. Always. I promise.” She leans forward and Spike dips his head down. Eyes sliding closed, Buffy brings her lips to his, soft at first and then more insistent. Spike’s hands slide up and under her top, cool skin brushing her warm back. His mouth opens, tongue tracing her lips, which she quickly opens. They fall into each other, mouths searching, tongues tasting, lips pressing. Memorizing the taste, the feel, the sensation that shoots down to their toes with some pit stops along the way. Buffy moans slightly as she slides one hand up into Spike’s blond curls, yanking him even closer. Nibbling on his lip, she grows more forceful. Her heat blazes, penetrating his clothes. Spike growls low in his throat, his mouth punishing against hers, crushing and demanding. The insatiable kiss goes on and on, as limbs and hands and bodies blend together on the dark porch.

Finally, with a gasp, Buffy breaks for air. Chest rising and falling quickly, she makes eye contact. “Damn, Spike.” Also panting for breath from his force of habit, Spike grins.

“I second that damn, and raise it to a bloody hell, pet.” They both feel stronger somehow. The need to shiver and cry is pushed out of Buffy by a fierce need to keep this man. Keep him close. Spike looks down at his bundle of power and strength and realizes he is going to do what he has to tonight to keep her alive. If he can find a way to stay with her, all the better. But he is not going to fail her. Resolve renewed, they move away, clasping hands.

“Let’s go.” Her jaw is set, eyes sparking.

Spike nods his agreement and they head out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure this car can make it to Breaker’s Woods?” Buffy grins over at Spike as he guns the motor on the De Soto.

Spike rolls his eyes. “Not dignifying that with an answer, pet.”

“Can’t imagine why no one else wanted to ride with us.”

“That’s enough out of you, missy.” Buffy giggles at Spike’s reprimand. She rolls the window down, letting the crisp night air in. “Can’t help it if the rest of your Scoobies are scared of my car. Or maybe of my driving. Rather just have you anyway. Won’t have to hear Harris prattling for the next ten minutes.”

“He always talks a lot when he’s nervous.” Buffy smiles, remembering Xander’s extended ramble when they met up at Giles’ house tonight. At least he was still feeling supportive of their relationship. With so much else on her mind, she hasn’t had time to analyze why the hell that is.

“So, he’s nervous twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, 52 bloody weeks out of the year?” Spike glances at her as he turns up a rural road outside of town.

Buffy just shakes her head. The return of Spike’s snark is a good thing. Means he is feeling up to the fight. Ready to knock heads if it comes to it. She is most definitely ready, body tight in anticipation. Despite Giles’ feelings that her fighting skills won’t be needed tonight, she doesn’t want to let her guard down. If someone comes for Spike, she is going to kick that someone’s ass, prophecy or no.

A few minutes later, the two of them pull up outside the stone circle described in the prophecy. They get out and walk around the circle while they wait for the gang. Buffy lets her hands brush one of the stones and is surprised to feel a strange humming as well as a charge, like static electricity. She jumps back and Spike comes to her side as she stares down at her hand.

“What is it, love?” Spike reaches out to touch her hand and feels the extra heat coming from it.

“I…don’t know. I just touched one of those stones and zap. It was…alive, almost.” Buffy looks back at the monolith nervously. Spike moves towards it and she puts her hand on his arm. “Be careful.”

“Always, pet.” Spike pauses, smiles. “Okay, never, actually. But I will be, I just want to feel what you felt.” Reaching out slowly, Spike feels the buzzing electricity when his hand is still an inch away from the stone. He pulls back without making contact and shakes his hand. “Kinda stings, love. Did the Watcher mention this to you?”

Buffy shakes her head. “No, he actually didn’t say how the…whatever starts. There seems to be very little written beyond the prophecy.”

“Hmm. Well, I wonder if - “ Spike is interrupted by the sound of a car approaching. They both see Giles’ gray Citroen pull into the clearing. Xander, Willow, Giles and Anya climb out of the car. Willow, Xander and Anya go to the trunk to collect the books and weapons they packed, just in case.

“It’s buzzing, Giles!” Buffy calls out and points at the circle. She checks her watch and sees that it is after nine o’clock already. Things, whatever those things may be, could happen any minute.

Giles walks towards Buffy quickly, face drawn in thought. She meets him halfway. “What is buzzing, Buffy?”

“The stone thingies. I put my hand on one of them and it was all static charged. Same for Spike. It’s all hot and electric. What do you think it…”

“Spike, what are you doing?!” Giles calls over Buffy’s shoulder, eyes widening in alarm. They both spin around and find Spike moving towards the center of the circle, to the stone set into the ground. He seems not to hear them as he reaches down to set both hands into indentations at the edge of the circle.

Just as Spike’s palms make contact, flame shoots out of the center of the stone, sending orange sparks flying into the night air. Spike flies backwards, landing with his back against the nearest stone, facing the flames.

Buffy runs back to the circle to check on him. As she approaches, the sound of crackling fire grows louder as well as a low humming she doesn’t really notice. As her hands reach the edge of the fire, a blue glow and a loud pop send her flying. Buffy lands a few feet from the circle, hands burning where they touched the barrier.

“Buffy!” Both Spike and Giles cry out simultaneously. Spike slowly gets to his feet and tries to go to her, but is shocked and held back by the barrier that appears to encircle him and the stones. A line of orange fire rises up and shoots around the stones, completing a circle and creating the line of demarcation. “Buffy, are you okay?! What happened? How the hell did I get in here?”

Giles gets to Buffy’s side and sees that her hands are burned slightly, but she doesn’t seem to feel it. Her eyes are locked on Spike, who is standing just inside the circle of fire, staring back at her. Buffy gets to her feet, brushing off Giles and his words of concern. She moves a few feet closer, until she can feel the heat of the fire against her legs.

“You…you touched the stone in the center, Spike. Made the fire shoot up and then this…barrier showed up. Guess that answers our question of how the show gets started.” Her light words mask the pain pouring from her.

“I don’t remember anything. I was talking to you and then…well, I woke up there on the ground.”

Buffy lifts one hand towards him and Spike does the same. They cannot touch through the electric field, but they move close enough to feel it humming through their skin. The air starts to move, the sense of electricity swirling around them. Spike and Buffy continue to look at each other, trying to send messages of unending love in a few seconds.

“Be strong, love. It’s going to be okay. Remember that. I love you.” Spike feels the hairs on the back of his neck lift as the electricity inside the circle increases. The bonfire crackles and grows. He feels something coming.

Buffy lifts her chin, defiant, eyes sparkling in the orange glow. “Always. I love you always, Spike.”

A loud crack behind Spike startles them both and their hands fall away. Giles pulls Buffy back from the ring of fire before it singes her.

Three figures appear on the far side of the bonfire, inside the stone circle. Distorted by the flame and the heat, it is hard to make out their identities. Spike squints through the fire, trying to see who is there.

The voice of a woman carries over the flame. “And so it begins.”

An older voice chimes in. “And so it ends.”

A final voice, also female, finishes the chorus, “Shall we discuss your fate, dear William?”

* * * * *

Chapter 44: Fire and Ice

* * * * *

“And who the bloody hell are you?” Spike tries to move closer, around the fire, but something unseen prevents him. He peers at the hazy figures through the fire.

The last voice that spoke answers him. “Temper, temper, William. All will be explained in due time.”

“He is impetuous.” The voice is dry and crackles over the fire.

A sigh from the first figure. “I know, Atropos. I made him so.”

“Made me? What are you talk - ” Spike tries to interrupt, but the three robed figures ignore him.

“Well, I will end him.” The old voice rises slightly.

“You will not. At least not until we talk to him. Be patient, ancient one.”

“Alright, that’s enough, ladies. What the bloody hell are you going on about over there? And who are you?” Spike squints, trying to see through the fiery haze with little success. He glances over his shoulder, but finds that the ring of fire surrounding the stone circle has grown higher, so Buffy, Giles and the rest of the Scoobies are mostly blocked from his sight. He turns back when one of the women speaks again. That their voices are female is the only information he has been able to determine.

“William, William. It will not to do to lose your temper with us. We are the Fates.” One woman steps forward, pushing the hood from her face. Her features remain blurred to him, but her voice is soft. “I am Clotho, the spinner.”

The second figure also removes her hood, revealing a cascade of dark hair and a voice slightly tempered by age. “And I am Lachesis, the measurer.”

A few seconds later, the last figure, hunched inside her dark robe, speaks with a voice dry as ash. “I am Atropos.”

Face drawn in confusion at the unfamiliar figures in front of him and still quite aggravated, Spike blurts out, “And who are you, the one who sews on the buttons?”

The moment of silence that follows tells Spike he made a wrong move. Complete and utter soundlessness drops over the group, even the crackle of the fire is silenced, though it continues to dance and throw sparks high into the sky. Dropping her hood to reveal a head of coarse gray hair and a face fully lined, Atropos moves around the fire towards Spike with a speed that causes him to take one step back.

Her voice bites into him. “I cut.”

She pulls a pair of silver shears from the depths of her robe, snapping them once in front of his face, causing another step back from the blond vampire. It is not her stature, as she is several inches smaller than him, nor the gleaming shears that make Spike retreat. It’s not even the power she obviously wields. No, it is her eyes - black, bottomless and completely devoid of human emotion - that make his borrowed blood run colder than usual.

“When the time is right, I end life. With one snip.” Demonstrating by clacking the shears one more time, she cracks her face into a small smile, almost sinister. Flames reflect on the silver as she slips the sharp blades back into her robe.

Spike swallows, determined not to be scared of a little old lady with some scissors, even if she can do what she says. Mustering up a bit of bravado, Spike replies, “Oh good, luv. Here I thought I had something to worry about. Haven’t been alive in some 130 years or so, so no worries for me, then.”

She leans closer, bringing those dead eyes nearer to his face. Rather than the normal human scents, Spike smells nothing, hears no heartbeat, feels no warmth. She is something well other than human. Her voice slightly slower, she speaks again, “You need not be alive. Your thread is still ours. All creatures that walk this earth come under my knife eventually.” She pauses, “William.” With that, Atropos steps back and when Spike blinks, the old creature is back on the far side of the fire. All the sound rushes back over him in a wave and Spike finds himself a bit weak in the knees.

He tries to avoid looking at the old creature, as she pulls her hood back over her head, leaving her face in shadow. Nobody speaks for a few moments, leaving Spike wondering if he should open his mouth again. Recent experience tells him to keep it shut. Then again, he’s never one to do the logical thing.

“You birds planning on talking to me or just gonna let me slow roast over here?” He smirks a little, trying to not appear nervous. He doesn’t want to do anything that will keep him from getting back to Buffy. Rupert’s voice reading the prophecy - ‘His existence is the price’ echoes in his mind. Pretty high price. Might not do to piss these ladies off until he knows more.

“His spirit is strong.”

“He is a fool.”

“Atropos. Stop. We’ve only just begun.” Clotho turns to Spike and with a sweeping gesture of her robed arm, changes the world. The fire in the center of the circle extinguishes suddenly and three chairs appear behind the robed women. Spike looks around, trying to understand the oddest thing that has just occurred. Inside the circle of fire which still exists, it is daylight. Broad, midday sun shines down on him and yet...he is not burning. Squinting, he looks up. The sun is there alright, but he is not on fire. Grabbing his wrist, Spike feels nothing. So, he’s still dead, but somehow Clotho moved her arm and turned the world upside down. Created daytime in the middle of night, doused fire and made objects appear from thin air with a wave of her hand. He swallows, hard. He was definitely going to have to behave.

* * *

Buffy strains to see what is happening inside the circle, but Spike is just a dark figure visible through the wall of flame. Just then, a beam of light shoots up from the circle, a solid cylinder of daylight dissolving into the night sky.

“SPIKE!!!” Buffy pulls away from Giles, rushing closer to the fire until she feels its heat flush on her face. “SPIKE!” The dark figure turns and moves closer to Buffy until she can make him out. “Oh, thank God. He’s not dust. Spike, can you hear me?” He lifts his hand, but no words pass through the fire. Clearly, there is magic in this fire, not just heat. Buffy lifts her hand towards the fire, only flinching back when the heat grows too intense. She feels hands on her arms as she is dragged away from the flames. Looking up as the cool night air comes over her again, she sees the concerned faces of Xander and Giles.

“Hey now, Buffster, you scared us for a minute there. Thought you were going to do something flammable. You okay?” The scent of singed skin and hair is acrid.

“I’m o..okay.” Buffy gives Xander a weak smile before turning to her Watcher, whose gaze is fixed on the fire for the moment. “Giles, what the hell is going on in there?! First, he is drawn into the circle, then this wall of flame shoots up, trapping him. I think there are some people in there with him. I swore I saw something when that loud sound happened. And now, it’s, what, high noon in there and he’s not dusty? What the hell does this have to do with the prophecy?” Giles lets go of her arm and starts to circle the fire, keeping a safe distance.

“Giles? Hello?” Buffy gets to her feet and follows Giles. “What do you see?”

As Giles reaches the halfway point around, he puts his hand to his forehead. “Dear lord. I’m a fool.”

Buffy’s voice pitches higher as she reaches his side. He has stopped walking and his eyes are still fixed on the fiery circle. Her eyes fix on his worried face before turning to follow his gaze. “Hey, are those chairs? Those look like chairs. Who is sitting in them? For god’s sake, Giles, why are you a fool?”

His voice soft, Giles turns to Buffy and she meets his now worried eyes. The flames flicker off his glasses, giving him an otherworldly appearance. “I missed the most obvious interpretation of the prophecy. So focused on what it would mean to Spike, to the world, to humanity, that I was careless. I missed one key word.”

“Please, just tell me.”

“It is not fate which has brought Spike here tonight, Buffy. No, it is The Fates. Plural.” He pauses. Buffy studies him.

“And? What’s that?”

Giles mouth twists in a small smile. “Bloody American education system. Never teach you the classics. Not what, Buffy. Who. The Fates are figures from ancient Greek mythology. Three who control the lives and well, naturally, the fates of mortals. And sometimes, the Greek gods, too.”

Buffy frowns as she looks at Giles’ worried face, eyebrows drawn together. “Giles, needing more info here. Remember, educated in the good old U.S. of A.? Didn’t study this mythology stuff. So, they are like...what? Not demons.”

“No, Buffy. If only. They are goddesses. With all the power that entails.”

“Oh.” Buffy stares with Giles towards the backs of the chairs, unable to see the figures in them. “And they are in there with Spike, now? That’s...not good.” Face drawn in ever increasing fear, Buffy crosses her arms and shivers, though it’s not the cold that makes her tremble.

“Indeed.”

* * *

The three women settle into their thrones and look at Spike across what is now simply a bare central stone. The sunlight washes over it, and a light breeze stirs him.

“Nice trick, luv.”

Ignoring his words, Clotho speaks, “You are not exceedingly fearful, William. Why? Surely you recognize the power in front of you?”

“Yeah, but I figure doesn’t matter if I’m scared or not, see? You birds are going to do what you want, so I might as well just go with it.”

A trace of something like wonder cracks Clotho’s youthful face before she returns to her inscrutable expression.

“Interesting.” Lachesis looks back and forth between her two fellow goddesses. “He is most unusual.”

“Of course. That is why he is trouble. Why we are here. Or have you forgotten so quickly?” Atropos’ voice grates like metal on metal, making the hairs stand up on the back of Spike’s neck.

“Speaking of that, why are you here? Why am I here? None of us are enjoying it, so doesn’t seem...”

“Be quiet, William. All will become known in time.” Clotho’s gray eyes grow cloudy. “In our time, of course.”

She smiles, but there is no warmth in this expression, and Spike finds the unfamiliar sunlight does nothing to take away the chill.

*********************

Author’s Note: Remember me?? Obviously, there has been a huge delay between chapters, due to lots of RL stuff conspiring to keep me from writing. I hope to return to a more regular update schedule now, so hang in there! And thanks for reading! -Tiana

Chapter 45: A Choice

Spike paces across the grass, back and forth, as Clotho begins to speak. When she pauses, he interrupts. "So, let me get this straight...you had a plan for me. I've screwed it up. You're right pissed. Does that about cover it?" Spike stops pacing and looks across at the seated figures, squinting in the unfamiliar sunlight.

No one speaks for a few seconds. Finally, Clotho sighs and answers. "That does not in the least cover it, vampire. The fates of the mortal world are complex. We weave lives together and pull them apart, choose their lengths, end them when appropriate. It is a delicate balance to keep the cloth strong and vital. You, as somewhat other than mortal, are not meant to move into that world in the way you have. You have disrupted the fabric in ways...unforeseen."

Spike chuckles briefly, looking down. He glances up, meeting Clotho's strangely unnerving gaze. Her eyes are nearly metallic. Coppery. "Like I said, I bollocksed up your plans." He sees her jaw set and wonders when he will learn to stop talking.

She ignores him and continues. "You have forced us to become involved in events, to become visible. It is not our normal approach." Clotho glances to either side at her companions. "I created the thread of your life. Your life as William. A human."

The muscles in Spike's jaw twitch as he remembers his first existence so many years ago. He wonders where they are going with this.

The figure to Clotho's right moves her hood back, long dark hair falling to her shoulders. Lachesis speaks softly, surely. Her tone chills Spike. "I chose your lot in that life. Sent you down that alley years ago in despair. To find your human end in the arms of a vampire. One problem. She was insane, was Drusilla. She was meant to kill you."

Spike freezes, looking at this stately woman and her matter of fact discussion of his death.

"We thought we had controlled your fate, but the lunatics of the world often unravel the fabric unexpectedly. And so, you lived. In a way. Clotho wove a new thread and we spliced it into the old. And I chose a new lot for you. One suited to an evil killer." The temperature in the ring of fire is surprisingly cold. Spike realizes it is the voice of the goddess making it feel that way. "A killer of Slayers. A force of true evil. Your Chosen Fate. We found your tendencies as a vampire made you follow your fate easily."

"Wait just a soddin' minute. You're telling me you made me kill those Slayers? You three?" Spike's brow knits in anger and confusion.

Clotho speaks again. Her voice lacks the sharp edges of her companions. "It is not easy to learn that the Fates exist, vampire. Few ever learn it and most wish they have not. We do not eliminate free will, but we steer. We create the path."

Spike smiles a little. "Ah, I'm starting to see the problem here, luv." The cockiness in his body begins to return. "Didn't walk down the path just right, now did I?"

"Silence, fool." Atropos spits the words out. "We are wasting our time here, sisters. He is insolent."

"Well, yeah. But you ladies must have known that already, eh?" Spike lifts his eyebrows and waits for a reply.

"That is enough. As I was saying, you were meant to be a force against good. And until recently, you were following your path to perfection. You killed two Slayers and were sent on your way to a third."

Spike, for once, stays quiet. He remembers how he wanted to taste Buffy's blood a few years ago...and to think, he finally got the chance recently and it had nothing to do with killing her.

"But something changed. Something..." Clotho wrinkles her nose in disgust. "...not fated. You developed a fascination with this Slayer. Beyond the killing instinct. The insane one saw it well before you did. We kept waiting for you to kill the Slayer and fulfill your destiny, but you failed. Over and over. And the Slayer still lives. Her every action forces us to rework the fabric. She was meant to die. You were meant to kill this Slayer two years ago."

Spike takes a deep breath and looks at each Fate in turn as he speaks, his fists clenched. "Her. Name. Is. Buffy."

Lachesis sighs. "See, he loves her. Loves her! This was not written in his fate. I would not do such a thing. A vampire in love with a Slayer. It is beyond reason."

Clotho puts up her hand in a calming gesture. "Excuse my sister, Spike. She is unused to her handiwork being ruined in such a way. We have existed for longer than human history and rarely are we faced with such difficulties. These feelings you've had for the Slayer were well-hidden until Cupid got involved. Stupid, foolish boy always playing games. We kept him from the usage of his 'arrows of true love' and it did not matter. Still you loved her and most unexpectedly, she returned your love. And so we come to this."

"Are you birds getting anywhere near the point of this little rendezvous? I think I'm startin' to freckle." Spike shades his eyes as the sun washes over him.

Lachesis sighs again. "We should just let Atropos do her work."

Atropos sits up, eager. Clotho waves her back into her seat. "No. As I've told you, that is not going to happen. He has become part of a prophecy. One we did not write. We must honor it. He must make his choice to fulfill the prophecy."

Spike grimaces, glances over his shoulder at the flame that encircles him. No sign of Buffy or the others. Must be a mystical barrier. "Choose what? This chat is getting a bit old."

Suddenly, the air crackles around the circle and Buffy's head looks to the sky for a storm. It is clear and star-filled. Then, a voice rings out, coming from inside the circle. Xander starts to ask a question, but Buffy and Giles wave him quiet. They listen to the conversation that continues inside the circle. The crackle of the flames is silenced. Spike is unaware of any change.

"Though it goes against our very existence, you will be given...a choice. Your Fate will lie in your hands. Yours and the Slayer's. There are two choices."

"Alright, get to it." Spike puts his hands on his hips, moving quickly from impatient to pissed.

"Your existence." Lachesis speaks.

And then Atropos, "Or her life."

Clotho locks eyes with Spike. "Choose."

Spike stares into Clotho's shimmering eyes, scowling. The veins in his neck stand out as every muscle in his body goes rigid. "There'd better be a third choice."

Clotho speaks again. "There are two choices. You sacrifice yourself or she will be struck down. It is prophesized." Atropos pulls out the shears, giving them a snap. "One of you must go to set the fabric right again. We will not continue this alternate reality, this constant re-weaving. You were meant to kill her. Either do it now by your choice or give up your own existence, instead."

"No." Buffy covers her mouth, horror written across her features, her skin gone deathly pale. "This can't be." Giles takes her by the shoulders, trying to control her trembling.

"How in hell will my dying set the bloody wheel spinning again?" Spike frowns at the three figures in turn, but their faces are blank. Suddenly, a light goes on in his head. "Now, wait just a goddamn minute. If I snuff it, you are just going to send another vamp to kill 'er, aren't you? Fix your damn fabric that way, eh?"

Clotho's face goes stony, all softness erased. The fury emanating from the three goddesses tells Spike he has hit the nail on the head.

"These are your only choices. Choose wisely. The human who told you the prophecy did not interpret it correctly. To triumph as the prophecy describes, you must make the ultimate sacrifice. The humanity you protect from suffering is hers alone, the Slayer's. If you fail to choose correctly, darkness will fall on that warrior, as the prophecy foretells. It is you or it is the Slayer. This 'victory' comes at a price." She pauses and pulls the hood back up, shading her face. Her sisters do the same.

"Choose." They speak simultaneously. Spike tries to fly toward them in a rage, but an unseen force throws him back.

"NO!" Spike falls to his knees, grief buckling them. Tears streaming down his face, he looks up at them, whispers his reply. "Do it, then. Take me. Just...just save her." His voice goes hard and cold, flinty in the unnatural sunshine. His clear blue eyes flash with hatred and sorrow as tears fall unchecked. "But I swear by all that is holy and unholy, if you harm her, I will crawl up from the deepest circle of hell and find you. I love her more than I knew I could love and if a hair on her head is so much as singed, I will avenge it. I will rip your bloody fabric to shreds. And for the last fucking time, her name is BUFFY!" As the last word falls from his lips, Spike's body goes rigid in pain. The three Fates stand and lift their arms in his direction.

And he screams.

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