Chapter 16: We Few, We Happy Few

"Are they here yet?"

Willow and Tara stood in the doorway of Xander and Anya’s apartment. "Nope," answered Xander, who was holding a big bowl of popcorn. "Come on in." The girls followed him into the living room and Willow deposited a Blockbuster bag in front of the TV.

Anya came out of the kitchen, carrying chips and a bowl of guacamole. "Oh," she said disappointedly, "I thought it might be them. Not that I’m not glad to see you guys," she clarified, setting the food down on the coffee table.

Xander flopped down on the couch, grabbing a handful of popcorn. "Does anyone else feel like this evening isn’t as much about watching movies as it is about observing the freak show that is Buffy and Spike?"

"Xander, be nice," Willow warned. "We need to be supportive of Buffy in this."

"I am supportive," Anya proclaimed. "I don’t see what the big deal is. Spike is a good guy now, plus he’s a hottie. If Buffy wants to have sex with him, I say, more power to her."

"It’s not so much the sex," Xander said, then made a face. "OK, it is a little bit. But what I mean is, now they’re, what, a couple? He’s her boyfriend? How sick is that?"

Anya stood over Xander, her hands on her hips. "Xander, you are the one who told her to follow her heart; you told me so. Are you saying that was bad advice? Because I don’t believe that it was."

Xander pulled Anya onto his lap, kissing her. "No, I don’t think it was bad advice." He sighed, then looked at the others. "It’s just going to take some getting used to, is all."

"I bet he’s good in bed," Anya mused.

"She told me he is," Willow said, a little excited to be the one with the spicy gossip.

"She talked to you about that?" asked Anya, all ears. "What else did she say?"

At which point Xander put his hands over his ears and began singing loudly and tunelessly. "La-la-la-la-la!!! I’m not listening, I’m not listening!"

The doorbell rang, and for a second they all stared toward the door as if all the demons of hell were on the other side of it. Anya was the first to snap out of it. "I’ll get it," she said, hopping off Xander’s lap and dashing to the door.

"It’s not like the six of us haven’t done stuff together since Buffy’s resurrection," Tara said. "Maybe it won’t really be different." But when Buffy and Spike walked in holding hands, Xander gave Tara a look that said it was indeed different.

"We brought margarita fixings," Buffy offered, holding up a grocery bag. "Direct me to your blender."

Anya and Buffy headed into the kitchen. Spike flopped down on a vacant chair, grabbing a chip and dipping it into the guacamole on his way. "So let me guess. I’m gonna judge from your awkward expressions that you’ve been talking ‘bout us. Am I right?"

"No, no, no, no, no ... yes," said Xander, putting on his best Eric Idle impression.

"Spike, we’re just ... getting used to the idea of the two of you as a couple, that’s all," said Tara. "But I don’t want you to feel like you’re getting major Scooby scrutiny. I know that can be uncomfortable," she said, thinking of herself when Willow had first told the others about their relationship.

"Look, I don’t really care what you lot think. But Buffy does, and I don’t want her unhappy."

"Neither do we," said Xander seriously, staring Spike down. After a few seconds, he decided to lighten the mood. "Hey, if this means no more visits to Sunnydale from Angel, I’m all for it."

Spike snorted in agreement. The whir of the blender and Anya’s laughter could be heard coming from the kitchen.

"I talked to Giles on the phone day before yesterday," Willow offered. "I told him about the Ba’ar-Pama situation, and he was suitably impressed with our victory. I left out all the uncomfortable love-triangley parts, though," she added, glancing at Spike apprehensively. "Much as he’s glad to be away from the Hellmouth, he still likes to be kept up on all the demonic goings-on here."

"So how’s he liking being back in the belly of the Watcher’s Council beast?" asked Xander.

"OK, I guess. On the one hand, the head guys like Quentin Travers don’t really trust him or keep him completely in the loop, but on the other, apparently he has like a legendary reputation with the younger Watchers. Five years on the Hellmouth means he’s faced like twenty times more demons than anyone else there." She giggled. "He said one guy even asked for his autograph."

"So are they just going to let Buffy keep flying solo? I can’t imagine with this huge Armageddony battle somewhere on the horizon that the Council is just going to leave Buffy alone. It doesn’t really fit," Xander commented.

"I know. But Giles believes that Quentin is almost certainly keeping him in the dark when it comes to decisions about Buffy. You know, on account of his ‘unprofessional attachment’ to her."

"Well, what good does it do us having him on the inside then?" Xander asked petulantly. "How are we going to be prepared for when they send the next Wesley-clone to try to keep the Slayer in line?"

"You know, Wesley wasn’t anything like you guys described," Tara interjected.

"Yeah, he must’ve found a surgeon in L.A. to remove the pole from his ass," said Xander as Anya and Buffy reentered the room, juggling drinks.

"Who?" asked Buffy as Spike jumped up and took a couple of the drinks from her.

"Wesley," answered Willow, taking a sip of her margarita. "Yum."

"So what movie did you get for us, Will?" Xander asked. Buffy settled in the chair Spike had occupied and he sat on the floor at her feet.

"Oh! I got Henry V!" she said, jumping up and going over to the VCR.

Xander groaned. "Shakespeare? I don’t know, I was kind of hoping for something a little less thinky."

"Xander, you should give it a chance; it has a little of everything," she said, popping the tape in. "It’s Shakespeare, it’s got a gruesome battle scene for the guys, and it’s got Kenneth Branagh for the ladies."

Spike sputtered at that. "Kenneth Branagh? I mean, he’s a fine interpreter of Shakespeare, I suppose, but, come on, the man has no discernable upper lip. How can you find him attractive?"

Willow shrugged, grinning, as she plopped back onto the sofa and snuggled with Tara.

"This is the girl who’s always had a crush on Giles that we’re talking about," Buffy said, laughing.

As the evening wore on, the group became a little more comfortable with each other, laughing at each other’s jokes as they watched the movie. However, Xander was still hyper-aware of Buffy and Spike, his eyes drawn to the way Spike absently caressed Buffy’s leg as he sat on the floor at her feet. Xander shook his head and dragged his eyes back to the screen, repeating what was becoming almost a mantra in his head. I will support Buffy, I will support Buffy ...

"See, that’s what I was talkin’ about," Spike said, looking up at Buffy and gesturing to the screen during the St. Crispin’s Day speech. "That’s the kind of speech you’ve gotta give to the troops before we go into battle."

She raised an eyebrow. "I don’t know, hon, I’m not much for speeches."

Hon? thought Xander.

After the movie, Buffy yawned and stretched. "I’ve gotta get home early, guys. I actually have something major going on early in the morning."

"Demon?" asked Willow.

"Job interview," replied Buffy. "I took your advice, Will. I’m going to try teaching self defense."

"Staking Vampires 101?" asked Xander.

"No," she said, rolling her eyes. "But if the class seems to be ... aware of what goes on here in Sunnydale, I might try Running Away from Vampires Brandishing a Cross 101."

Spike and Buffy left the apartment and got into his car, which he steered toward her house. "I meant it about going to bed early," she said. He grinned at her lasciviously. "I mean going to sleep early," she reiterated.

He sighed. "Fine, I’ll just drop you off then, like a proper date." But when they got to her house, it was at least five minutes before she actually got out of the car and headed up the walk, straightening her clothes and grinning furiously.

Spike headed back to his crypt, musing on the evening. It was somewhat tiresome to him, playing the part of a normal boyfriend. He liked the Scoobies fine in relatively small doses, but spending an entire evening with them ... Oh, well. If it made Buffy happy, he’d put up with it. He savored the memory of her kisses as he opened the heavy crypt door.

His vampire senses registered several things very quickly. There was someone in his crypt, make that three someones, and they had human heartbeats. He felt the sensation of one of them swinging a weapon at him, so he quickly dropped and rolled, coming up in a defensive position facing the doorway, where the threat had been. He prepared for another attack, but before it came, the sound of torches being lit made him spin to face the interior of the crypt. Standing there were two men: one was older, holding only the torch, and the other was in his thirties and in addition to the torch, held a crossbow that was trained on Spike’s chest. A quick check behind him verified that the third man was also armed with a crossbow. Wonderful, he thought. And who are these tweed-clad buggers here to threaten my life in the middle of the night - Then he realized.

"Excuse me for askin’, but you gentlemen wouldn’t happen to be from the Watcher’s Council, would you?" he said, holding his hands out in as non-threatening a manner as he was capable of.

"That’s correct, William," said the older man. "Name’s Quentin Travers."

"Oh right, Quentin. The Slayer’s told me all about you," he said, smirking. "What brings you and your thugs to my humble abode? If you’d like, I can point you to the nearest Holiday Inn -"

"We don’t have time to bandy words about, William. I’ve had an exhausting flight, and I would like to have a lie down, but my job always comes first. So allow me to get right to it and tell you a story."

Spike said nothing, just raised an eyebrow questioningly. The Watchers placed their torches in the wall sconces of the crypt.

"You and the Slayer are ... close, aren’t you?" asked Travers.

Spike tried to read what was behind Travers’ question, but failed. "I’ve been helping her with her training, going on patrol with her, if that’s what -"

"That’s not what I mean. I mean, you are in love with her."

"What of it?"

"And she ... she is in love with you." Travers said, looking a little bit like he had eaten something unpleasant.

"Is there a point to this?" Spike asked angrily.

"Are you familiar with the concept of a forked prophesy?" Travers asked, changing the subject.

"Enlighten me," Spike said, backing up slightly so he could keep both of the armed men in view.

"A forked prophesy contains two prophesies that are mutually exclusive. Either one will happen, or the other. Somewhere along the line, and it’s never at all clear exactly where, an event occurs that causes one of the forks to be chosen. At that point, one prophesy becomes true, the other, false. Are you with me so far?"

"I believe so, but maybe some visual aids would be helpful," Spike said sarcastically, moving slightly closer to the Watcher standing closest to Travers.

Travers ignored the comment. "Are you aware that there is a prophesy about you? You and the Slayer?"

"Is that right?" Spike asked innocently, not wanting to give anything away.

"Yes. A very important one. Some used to believe this prophesy referred to your grandsire, Angel. Others, myself included, thought it referred to some future Slayer and vampire. Now we know that it is indeed Buffy that this prophesy is about. But the vampire is not Angel, it is you."

Spike was tiring of this. "Well, that makes me feel awfully special."

"Don’t you want to know what the prophesy says?" Travers asked curiously.

"I’m gonna take a wild stab in the dark and say it’s one of these forked buggers," Spike answered, again moving almost imperceptibly toward the armed Watcher to his right.

"It is. One fork shows you and the Slayer fighting together on the side of good in the great battles to come. In this event, the forces of good likely win the war against evil, and the universe is saved from eternal darkness and chaos."

"And the other fork?" Spike asked, curious in spite of himself.

"The other fork also deals with the union between you and the Slayer, but the circumstances are different. In this outcome, the Slayer is pulled away from the light. The two of you fight for the forces of evil. Good is defeated; chaos reigns supreme."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Let’s just say to fulfill a personal curiosity on my part; I wanted to see how you would react."

"Well, I’m gonna start with ‘sod off’," sneered Spike.

Travers chuckled, then continued his lecture. "Prophesy is never absolute, William. Things can always be done to avert prophesy, even one as central as this one. And as much as I’d like the left fork to be the true one, I am not willing to allow for even the most remote possibility that it will be the right fork. In short, I am here to ensure that neither fork is possible. It will make the great war more difficult for the Slayer in the end, but we feel that even without you, she has a better than even chance of prevailing."

Spike could tell where this was going, but he continued playing dumb. "So, what, you here to chase me off? ‘Stay away from the Slayer,’ all that rot?" He again moved just the slightest bit to the right.

Travers laughed outright at that. "Chase you off? That’s very funny, William. Very funny. But, no. We aren’t here to chase you off. We’re here to kill you."

Spike was unsurprised at that. "So why the long lecture first? Why not just do it? Why not send one of the famous Council retrieval squads?"

Travers shrugged. "Again, primarily professional curiosity. I wanted to meet William the Bloody, killer of two slayers, lover of another, to whom such great prophesy is tied. As far as the retrieval squad goes, well, not to insult you, William, but it hardly seemed necessary. Rupert and Buffy explained the chip in your brain in full to us. We know you cannot hurt us."

"How are you planning on explaining on my sudden absence to the Slayer?" Spike didn’t care what the answer was, he just needed to stall long enough to get in position. If he could disarm the two Watchers quickly enough, the resulting headache might not matter. He might have a slim chance of getting out of this.

"We weren’t planning on explaining it, actually. She will never know that we were here."

Now, thought Spike, once more into the breach. With lightening motion, before the slower humans could do as much as blink, he had jerked the crossbow out of the hands of the nearest Watcher, swung around, and fired at the arm of the one near the door. The crossbow bolt buried itself in the Watcher’s arm and his own crossbow clattered to the floor. Spike braced himself for the searing pain in his head.

It didn’t come.

Without missing a beat, Spike turned on Travers, his demonic visage coming to the fore. "Quentin, my friend, it would seem that you’ve made a tactical error."

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

Chapter 17: Nothing Else Matters

Spike’s mind raced. The chip wasn’t working. Or hadn’t worked one time; was it a fluke? One way to find out, he thought. As he stared into Quentin Travers’ horrified face, he sensed the uninjured Watcher preparing to attack him. Keeping his eyes on Travers, Spike’s hand shot out, grasping the Watcher by the throat. He squeezed, and the Watcher gurgled. Still no pain, he thought. Wearing an expression of boredom, he flung the Watcher against the wall of the crypt. His head hit the stone with a sickening crack and he collapsed in a heap on the floor. Spike smiled.

Quentin was in shock, knowing that he had made a mistake that would probably cost their lives. “The chip in your brain ...”

“On an extended leave of absence,” Spike commented, wondering at the same time what exactly had made the chip stop working. Then he remembered, and he laughed out loud. The power line. It had been a week ago now, but Spike was long out of the habit of checking to see if the chip was still working.

Quentin began quickly backpedaling. “Perhaps you and I can come to a compromise on this issue-“

Spike turned around to see the other Watcher, blood soaking the arm of his coat around where the bolt still protruded, reaching for his crossbow on the ground. Slowly, Spike walked over to him and kicked the crossbow into the corner. Ruthlessly, he then kicked the Watcher in the head and watched as he also slumped to the floor, unconscious. Then he looked up at Travers, shaking off his game face. “Sorry for the interruption. You were saying?”

Travers’ face was covered with a thin sheen of sweat. “The Slayer won’t be pleased if you kill us,” he said desperately.

Spike chuckled, coming over to Travers and facing him down. “The Slayer’s never been too fond of the Council.”

“That’s as may be, but it’s a long way from that to cold-blooded murder. For her, anyway.”

“What kind of compromise you wanna offer me, Quent?”

Travers scrambled mentally. “Money. I have access to ... thousands of pounds. I can put you on a ship to any place in the world, with enough money to happily live out an eternity.”

“So we’re back ‘round to chasing me off now, are we?” Spike said, inhaling the thick smell of fear in the room and relishing it. “But you said it yourself, Quentin: I love her. Why would I leave her?”

“Because she’ll kill you when she finds out you’re back to your old tricks.”

“Who says I’m back to my old tricks? You gentlemen came into my home and threatened my life,” he said with mock seriousness. “I was just defending myself.”

“And you haven’t fed off any humans?”

“Not a one,” said Spike innocently.

Quentin shook his head. “It won’t last. The Watcher’s Council has been studying vampires for almost two thousand years. Never once in all that time have we known a vampire to deny his nature, with the possible exception of your soul-burdened grandsire. Not one time in recorded history. If you think you are different, you are sadly mistaken. You are a vampire, and I fear that the moment that chip stopped working, a fork in the prophesy of you and the Slayer was chosen.” He lowered his head sadly, suddenly looking older than his years. “And I was too late. The fate of the world was in my hands, and I was too late.”

“Shut up,” Spike said angrily. “You’re wrong about me, and you’re wrong about the prophesy. Besides, you underestimate Buffy if you think I can corrupt her so easily.”

“Do I?” Quentin asked. “We’ve watched her very closely over the years; much more closely than she or Giles imagined. We watched as she developed the hardness necessary to defeat Angel, whom she loved deeply. From then on, she was a warrior first, a woman second. She locked a part of herself away so that she could be the Slayer she had to be. Since she was resurrected, though, things have been different. You know it. She has unlocked that part of herself that she had locked away. She is a woman first, a warrior second. She focuses on the pleasures of today rather than the duties of tomorrow. I believe that you will corrupt her very easily.”

“NO! Shut up! You’re wrong!” Spike roared, backhanding Travers across the face. The blow knocked him into the sarcophagus. He fell to the ground and was still.

“Wrong. You’re wrong. Wrong,” Spike whispered distractedly, pacing in a tight circle. The smell of blood filled the air. It was intoxicating. Spike’s eyes fell on one of the Watchers lying on the floor of the crypt. He knelt down by the man. He was young; barely thirty, probably. Spike could hear his heartbeat, faint but steady. He could sense the blood moving through his veins. He felt his demon rising to the surface unbidden, which only heightened his awareness of the Watcher’s life force. Before he could stop himself, he reached out, pulling the unconscious man into his arms. He stared at the man’s neck for a long moment, then instinct took over and he sank his fangs in.

As he began to drink, an image of Buffy flashed before his eyes. He growled, closing his eyes in attempt to shut out the vision. Then he thought of Dawn. Dawn, who looked up to him; Dawn, who depended on him to protect her. Dawn, who trusted him more completely that anyone else, including her sister.

Suddenly Spike was on his hands and knees, vomiting blood. He sobbed, both as a man who was disgusted by what he had just done, and as a vampire who was sickened by what he could not finish. Looking around in horror, he fled the crypt.

When he finally stopped running, he found himself in one of Sunnydale’s darker alleys. He backed against the wall, sliding down into a hunched position on the dirty ground. He was finally free, after two long, miserable years, he was free of the chip that had kept him from being what he was meant to be. Finally free, he thought, and the irony caused a bitter laugh to escape his throat. For the first year, he had thought about it every day, every hour. Every time he sat at the bar at the Bronze, watching the humans dance and drink and flirt around him, every time he had to drink blood from a microwaved mug, every time he looked at the Slayer’s throat, he had railed against the injustice of it. He had burned with impotent rage. Every time he slept, he had dreamed of drinking blood as it jetted from a human throat, and had woken in a cold sweat.

But things slowly changed. His dreams about the Slayer changed, much to his chagrin at first. He still longed to be free of the chip, but at the same time he longed for Buffy. To touch her. To kiss her. And to drink her. He began changing his outward behavior to try to win her approval. Nothing worked, but he kept trying, and gradually his reasons for doing what he did changed. He mourned when Joyce died, not just because she was Buffy’s mother, but because Joyce had been kind to him. He protected Dawn, not just because she was Buffy’s sister, but because he loved her: the way her eyes got wide as saucers and she shivered when he told her stories of his bad old days, her innocence and her teenage rebellion and her capacity for love.

Dawn was the only thing that kept him alive after Buffy died. He had sworn to protect her, and she had needed him, so he had gone on with his undead existence for her. He had slain vampires and demons for her. Eventually, he even came to care about the others: Willow, Tara, Anya, Giles; even Xander. There was a part of Buffy in each of them. He became so busy with his responsibilities to Dawn and to the Scoobies that he sometimes went a day or more without thinking much about the restrictions of the chip.

When Buffy came back, it was like he had been given a second chance. A chance not only to act like a good man with her, but actually to be one. And she accepted him, as a friend, as a training partner, and then finally as a lover. When she looked at him, he no longer saw hatred and revulsion in her eyes. He knew it was much more than the monster in him deserved. As time passed, he went for longer and longer periods without thinking about drinking from a human throat. It was a nagging itch, not an all-consuming agony. When he sat at the Summers’ kitchen table, helping Dawn with her history paper as he absently crumbled Weetabix into a mug of blood, he didn’t even think about what he was missing. Even when he kissed Buffy’s neck, the sensation of the blood pumping beneath the surface of her skin was an added thrill, not the torturous frustration that it once would have been.

He probably could have gone for many years like that, loving Buffy and her sister, fighting evil, playing pool with Xander, being almost human except for his diet and aversion to sunlight. But now everything had changed. Now he could go back to his old life. He could take his natural place in the food chain. He could even seek out Dru again. Except he didn’t love Dru anymore. The chip doesn’t control my feelings, he had told Buffy, and he had been right. In a way, he wished that it had controlled his feelings. Then he could make a clean break from the humans that tied him to Sunnydale.

Now he was in the worst possible position. He had two choices. He could return to the ways of a vampire and betray everyone in the world that he cared about, everyone that he loved. Or he could try to turn his back on his nature forever, try to continue being whom he had become in the last two years. But was that even possible? Could he really deny his nature when there was nothing standing in his way but his own willpower? His mind came back to Quentin Travers’ words: not one time in recorded history. Thinking that he could be the first soulless vampire to just decide to stop feeding on humans was folly.

Then Spike remembered the prophesy. Travers had had no reason to lie; he was planning on killing Spike tonight. The moment that chip stopped working, a fork in the prophesy of you and the Slayer was chosen, Travers said. Could he have been right? Was Spike destined to destroy Buffy, to turn her into some hollow shell of herself? In a way, he had said so himself: I’ll cling to you until it either kills us both or until I drag you down into this dark place with me.

But this was Buffy. The thought that she was corruptible, that she could be turned to the dark side like some stupid George Lucas antihero, it was ridiculous. She would never deny her calling, even with someone she loved. She’d proven that time and again. Spike shook his head violently; it was impossible. Except... the Watcher had said that she had unlocked a part of herself. It eerily echoed Buffy’s own words: for once I’m not locking a part of myself away when I’m with you.

Spike trembled at the thought that he could turn that bright, shining girl into a monster. He wouldn’t. He’d rather she had stayed dead. He’d rather die himself.

He looked at the sky. He had apparently crouched in that alley for hours; it was getting close to dawn. He made his way back to his crypt. When he got there, it was empty; only a blood stain on the stone floor indicated that anything had happened that night. The Watchers must have come to and fled. They wouldn’t give up though; within forty-eight hours a retrieval squad, maybe two, would be crawling over Sunnydale armed with crossbows and hunting him.

Spike sat down on his ratty couch and picked up a sweater that had been left across one of the arms. Buffy had dropped it there two nights ago when they were on patrol and she had gotten too warm. Clutching the sweater, Spike began the seed of a plan. By sunset, he knew what he had to do. She is a woman first, a warrior second, Travers had said. Time to change that. His heart breaking, he slowly rose and left the crypt.

Spike staked out a spot behind another mausoleum, his door in view. She would look for him eventually, when he didn’t show up that evening. Sure enough, after an hour she appeared, bounding through the door and calling his name. After a minute, she came out again, looking around crossly. When she continued on, out of the cemetery, he followed.

She walked to the Bronze, humming quietly to herself. He watched her, keeping his distance. At the door to the club, Buffy went through followed by a large group. Behind the group was a lone young girl, maybe a year older than Dawn, clutching a purse and trotting in high heels. Her friends were probably inside already. Before she could open the door, though, she was grabbed from behind and flung against the wall.

Spike held one hand over her mouth as he pressed against her. “Not a sound, OK, pet?”

Her eyes wide and pleading, the girl shook her head.

He smiled. “Good, ‘cause we have a show to put on in a few minutes.” Taking his hand off her mouth, he pulled the girl to him and swung around, keeping a close eye on the door. To anyone else, they looked like a couple making out. To Buffy, who knew the signs, they would be immediately obvious. As the girl trembled against him, Spike vamped out and buried his face in her neck, waiting.

After a minute that seemed to last several hours, Buffy came out of the door.

Spike sunk his fangs into the girl’s neck and she screamed.

Buffy whirled, already reaching for the ever-present stake in her pocket. And froze.

Spike looked up at her, then threw the girl at his feet, where she lay motionless. He slowly licked the blood from his fangs. And smiled.

Buffy ran.

When she was out of sight, he shook off his game face and bent down to the girl at his feet. “Get up, girl,” he said shaking her. She had passed out, which had been convenient. “Get up! I hardly drank anything, you stupid bint! Wake up!” She gradually came to, then screamed again at the sight of Spike. “Go on then,” he said, “Run away.” She scrambled to her feet and ran. “That’s a good girl,” he said softly, watching her flee into the night.

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Chapter 18: Do What You Have To Do

Buffy stood in the shower, not moving, just letting the water wash over her. A few tears slowly ran down her face. She could feel her heart hammering away in her chest, and she wondered absently how it could still be beating. Surely it was finally broken for good this time. Her shoulders began to shake as the tears turned into sobs, and she wrapped her arms around herself protectively.

After a while, she noticed that the water was turning cold. She turned off the shower, then slowly pulled back the curtain and stepped out. She stood before the bathroom mirror, looking at herself and shivering. The image of Spike feeding flashed in front of her eyes. Her stomach churned. She dropped to her knees and bent over the toilet, emptying the remaining contents of her stomach into the bowl. She felt more tears running down her nose. Eventually, when she stood, the crying had stopped and the tears were replaced by a cold, hard look in her eyes. She rinsed out her mouth and washed her face, then dried off. Wrapping the oversized towel around her body, she walked into her room.

Buffy stood before her closet for several seconds, then with a vicious movement, pushed all the clothes to one side. There they were. She hadn’t worn that black leather jacket and red leather pants in over two years. Probably because they symbolized an ugly part of her. A part that could be ruthless. A part that could kill someone she cared about. Methodically, she dressed: underwear, a black tank top, the pants, the coat. Boots. She pulled a brush through her damp hair, letting it hang freely around her face. That was the way he liked it. She observed her reflection in the mirror. All dressed up in big sister’s clothes, she remembered Faith saying. If she had ever needed Faith’s sense of self-preservation, it was tonight. Because a part of her just wanted to die.

She went downstairs and knelt before the weapons trunk. Opening it, she pulled out most of the contents: two crossbows, a short-handled battle axe, bottles of holy water, crosses, stakes. At the very bottom, she found what she was looking for. She pulled out the smooth wooden stake, running her other hand absently over its surface. Mr. Pointy, Kendra had called it, and Buffy had laughed. She had put it away after Kendra died. After she was killed by Drusilla. Buffy’s hand tightened involuntarily on the piece of wood. With a small shake of her head, she shoved it into the inside pocket of her jacket. She stood quickly and before she could talk herself out of it, walked out of the house.

---------------------------

He sat on the top of a tombstone outside his crypt, slowly smoking a cigarette. She would come. She would need to compose herself, she would need to prepare, maybe she would need to have a talk with the Scoobies. But she would come. She was the Slayer, and it was her duty. He would have to count on the fact that she would do her duty as she always had, that it wasn’t already too late. Because this was the only way. Knowing what he knew now, knowing himself, this was the only way.

It wouldn’t be simple or quick. He would have to fight her with everything he had. If she sensed for a moment that he had planned it, it wouldn’t work. She had to believe in his evil, and in his determination to kill her. And she would have to believe it when he lost. In a way, it was fitting. They fought together better than they did anything else. He smiled, remembering the feeling of her body against his. Well, almost anything.

His sharp eyes detected movement through the trees. He watched as she walked toward him, not yet aware of his presence. He smiled again. She was beautiful, and she was dressed for battle. He licked his lips, a part of him excited to dance with her. Even if it would be the last time.

---------------------------

She saw him leaning against a tombstone, watching her. As always, he wore the long leather coat that he had taken off the last slayer he’d killed. She remembered the way it smelled when she was in his arms. Her heart beat faster and her empty stomach churned. No, if I think about him that way, I’m dead, she thought. She began taking deep, calming breaths as she approached him.

"Slayer!" he called. "Been waitin’ for you."

"I’m here," she said simply, stopping several feet away. Memories flashed through her mind.

She stands poised in the alley behind the Bronze, stake in hand, having just dusted a vampire. Spike comes out of the shadows slowly clapping his hands. She looks at him with a confused expression on her face. "Who are you?"

"You'll find out on Saturday."

"What happens on Saturday?"

"I kill you."

"Guess you saw that this serial killer is no longer in prison," he said, referring to her own description of him with the chip.

"I saw."

"So I asked myself," he said, steeling himself for the words he had to say, "which is better? Keep following the Slayer around like a puppy? Pretending to be in love with her? Fucking her when she lets you?" She flinched at that, but he pressed on. "Or do I go back to being the man I should be? Do I kill the Slayer? Or better yet," he said, moving closer to her, swaggering and taking a long drag off the cigarette, "do I sire you? ‘Cause then, you see, I could have the best of both worlds. I can be free," he said, throwing down his cigarette, "and I can still fuck you."

"You’ve never beaten me, Spike, what makes you think you can today?" she said, stilling her trembling hands.

"Cause now, you’re in love with me." he said, smiling a cocky smile.

She smiled back. "Why don’t you ask Angel how much that kept me from sending him to Hell."

"As I think I’ve told you many times before, pet, I’m not Angel." And with that, he punched her in the face.

They fight inside an abandoned church, Kendra with Spike and Buffy with an assassin from the Order of Taraka. Buffy backs into Kendra, grabs her by the arms and the two do a tandem flip.
"Rather be fighting you anyway." says Spike.
"Mutual."

She immediately retaliated, delivering first a hook to his jaw and then a punch to his stomach causing him to stagger back a step. She pressed her advantage, delivering a roundhouse kick to his head. Through it all he watched and admired her, a part of him enjoying the battle and even the pain, and a part of him heartsick at what he had to do and what it must be doing to her. He had counted on the fact that she was strong enough to do this, and so far, he appeared to be right. Just as she was strong enough to make the hard choices in the past.

They are inside the magic shop, long before it belonged to Giles. Spike faces off Buffy and Angel. "You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love till it kills you both. You'll fight, you'll shag, you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends. Real love isn't brains, children, it's blood, it's blood screaming inside you to work its will. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it."

With the next kick, he grabbed her foot, jerking it toward him and causing her to hit the ground. Before she could recover, he dropped on top of her, straddling her and squeezing his legs together to hold her down. He reared back and hit her in the face, splitting her lip. He sneered at her. "Been doing a lot of thinking over the last twenty-four hours," he said, "tryin’ to decide what part of the last two months I hated the most." He hit her again, causing her head to rock back against the ground. "Wasn’t screwing you; that was damn fun. Maybe it was pretending that Xander had two brain cells to rub together? Nah. Listening to the wiccan dykes talk about their relationship problems? Nah." His fist connected with her face a third time. "Then I decided it was playing nursemaid to your kid sister. You should’ve let that waste of space jump to her death when you had the chance."

They fight in the afternoon sunlight, the Gem of Amarra on his finger. "Whatever, guess you're not worth a second go. Come to think of it, seems like someone told me as much." He punches her. "Who was that? Oh, yeah. Angel."

He saw the rage fill her eyes. With a primal scream, she wrenched out from under him, bringing a foot up and smashing it into his face. His hand came up to his face as blood spurted from his nose. Buffy jumped to both feet, and before he could rise from his kneeling position, she kicked him in the stomach, making him double over on the ground. She stood panting in front of him. "When I think of all the chances I had to kill you that I passed up, it sickens me," she said.

Buffy slams a palm to his chest, sends him flying back from Giles’ doorway. He scrambles out of the direct sunlight, his blanket beginning to smoke. "What part of ‘help me’ did you not understand?" he shouts desperately.

"The part where I help you."

Spike rose in front of her, a small seed of worry in his stomach. She could have staked him then, when he was on the ground, and she didn’t. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on hurting her. Please, Slayer, he thought, be strong enough for this. "Come on, Slayer, you should’ve done me by now. I’m just one vamp, baby. Is this all you got?"

They are in the Bronze. "But all we need..." He comes closer, seductively. Buffy eyes him with caution but lets him come. "...Is for one of us, just one, sooner or later, to have the thing we all are hoping for."

"And that would be what?"

He gestures for her to come closer. She does. He leans in, lips beside her ear. Whispering just for her to hear: "One. Good. Day."

In answer, she threw several quick punches which he blocked just as quickly. Gradually, both of them lost themselves in the battle. A human observer would’ve had difficulty following the separate movements of their bodies. It was almost beautiful.

"You think we're dancing?" she asked.
"It's all we've ever done."

Buffy finally got in a kick to his head that was so hard and well-timed that it knocked him to the ground. She looked down at him, disgust on her face.

"Come on. I can feel it, Slayer. You know you want to dance." he said, still holding her.

Buffy locks eyes with him, feeling his intensity, his desire. After a beat, she responds. "Say it's true. Say I do want to..." She shoves him brutally backward, breaking the embrace. He falls hard to the ground. "It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you." She tosses the wad of money at him. It scatters over him and the ground. Her expression is filled with contempt. "You're beneath me."

"Just tell me one thing," she said, her heart pounding in her chest.

"What?"

"Was it all a lie? From the beginning? Did you ever love me?"

She is chained up inside his crypt. He grabs her chin and forces her to face him. "Look at me! I... LOVE... you. You're all I bloody think about... Dream about... You're in my gut, my throat... I'm drowning in you, Summers."

He flinched internally. Come on, Spike, don’t stop now. Break her heart. It’s the only way to save her. He grinned, getting to his feet again. He looked her in the eye. "Had to stay alive somehow, pet. You should admire my foresight." He shrugged. "Guess I just saw which way the wind was blowin’."

"And you... You wouldn't be able to touch me. Because this- this thing with you - it's wrong! I know it! Not a complete idiot!" He gestures to his heart. "You think I like having you here? Destroying everything that was me until all that's left is you in a dead shell."

With movements almost too fast for even him to follow, Buffy landed two quick punches to his head. Spike recovered quickly, grabbing her in an attempt to flip her to the ground. As they struggled, Buffy saw his balance shift slightly back on his heels. He was off-balance. Closing her eyes, she used it. His feet came out from under him. He fell and she dropped on top of him. She ripped the stake from her coat, raising it above his chest. And she stopped.

They are in his crypt. "It wasn't supposed to be -"
"Don't. That thing… it's not even real." Buffy says, referring to the robot. She starts to go, but then stops at the door. She isn’t sure how to say it, not even looking back. "What you did for me, and Dawn, that was real." She turns to him. "And I'll never forget it."

For a second, nothing moved. The night was silent. Spike opened his eyes. "Do it," he hissed.

She stared at him, eyes wide. "You did that on purpose."

"What?"

"I know your fighting style too, Spike, probably better than my own. You did that on purpose."

"No- "

"Yes." She lowered the stake, exhaustion and emotion making her hands tremble. "Why do you want me to kill you?" she said, her voice small.

He flipped her, and now he was on top of her. "That what you think?" he sneered.

"Yes."

"You’re wrong."

"Prove it." She tilted her chin, baring her neck to him. "Kill me. Drink me. Do it."

"I know you'll never love me." He stands at the foot of her stairs, looking up at her. It is the night of the final battle with Glory. She turns, saying nothing.

"I know that I'm a monster. But you treat me like a man, and that's..." He stops himself. "Get your stuff. I'll be here." She pauses for the briefest of moments before she goes up the stairs.

He stared at her neck, at the pulse beating beneath the skin. He wanted it. A big part of him wanted to taste her that way. Then he shuddered, backing away from her on his hands and knees, a look of abject horror on his face. She sat up and looked at him.

"Why?"

"I couldn’t -" He stopped, choking back a sob.

She crawled over to him, grabbing either side of his face with her hands. "WHY?? What could possibly be worth this?" she shouted.

He looked into her eyes. "Your life," he said simply.

Buffy backed away. "What do you mean?" she said fearfully.

He sighed heavily, defeated. "Men from the Council came to see me last night. Travers and two others. Travers told me about the prophesy. He said that it has two forks: one, you and I fight together on the side of good; two, you and I fight together on the side of evil. They had come to kill me, to ensure that the second fork would never come true, even if that meant the first fork wouldn’t either, sort of by definition. When I defended myself, I realized that the chip wasn’t working anymore."

"You killed them?’

"No."

She pondered that. "And that girl? Outside the Bronze?"

"No."

"Then why? I still don’t understand," Buffy said desperately.

"Travers said that you weren’t putting being the Slayer first anymore. That with the chip out, I would corrupt you. That the second fork of the prophesy was already chosen. I didn’t believe him at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it fit. You aren’t the same as you used to be. You let a monster into your heart, when everything should’ve told you it was the wrong thing to do. I realized we were already on the dark path, you and me. That I would ruin you.

"I decided that I’d rather die than let that happen. So I staged that display outside the Bronze to convince you that I had to die. I had to force you to put being the Slayer first."

She regarded him coldly, but her voice trembled. "The things you said… You made me feel like your whore."

"I had to make you hate me. It had to be real." Tears came to his eyes. "It nearly killed me, saying those things. I love you."

She gasped, a sob escaping her throat. Finally, she allowed herself to feel the wounds his words had caused her. She felt like her heart was being ripped out of her chest. Buffy collapsed at his knees, sobs wracking her body.

"I tried," Spike said, crying too. "I tried to save you the only way I knew how. I failed. Again."

Gradually she calmed, then raised her head, looking at him. "You did all this to try to save me."

"Yes."

Her expression turned perplexed. "You really don’t see it."

"What?"

"You were willing to sacrifice everything tonight. You were willing to die. All to save me. How can you be on a dark path if that’s true?"

"You don’t understand," he said plaintively. "It was easy to be good with the chip. Without it… I’m not that strong. No vampire ever could be. I’ve said it before, I can’t deny my nature. I’ll be evil again and I’ll take you with me."

She raised an eyebrow. "OK, first of all, let’s get something straight. I’m not gonna turn evil. That’s complete crap."

"But the prophesy -"

"Oh, screw the prophesy! The Council is wrong about me. Travers thinks I’m not putting being the Slayer first. He thinks I can only be one or the other: a fighting machine or a simpering female. He’s wrong. For the first time in my life, I’ve found the balance. For the first time in my life, I’ve figured out how to be the woman and the Slayer. Does it surprise you that the fools on the Council didn’t recognize that for what it was?" She took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes. "Give me some credit, Spike. I’m the Slayer. I accept that, and the duty that goes along with it. As much as I love you, that won’t change."

She had hoped this would calm him, but he became more agitated, standing up and pacing in front of her. "Right. Fine. Bollocks to the forked prophesy. But you said it yourself: if the chip stopped working, you’d have to kill me. It’s your duty. Well, guess what?" he said, holding his arms out helplessly.

She looked down sadly. "I know." After a moment, she met his eyes again. "But I won’t."

He fell to his knees in front of her. "You see? Aren’t you already going back on your duty?"

"Spike, why didn’t you kill that girl?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You said that you didn’t kill that girl outside the Bronze. Why not? You were going to die anyway, or so you thought. You were going to make me kill you. What did it matter if you drained her dry?"

He hesitated, a confused expression on his face. "I don’t know. I just… didn’t want to."

Buffy continued to press him. "But why?"

"I see where you’re going with this, Buffy, but -"

"Just answer the damn question, vampire."

He sighed. "I didn’t want to hurt her."

She stood, pulling him to his feet along with her. She put her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to hear her. "Maybe you’re right. Maybe you can’t deny your nature, Spike. But despite your best intentions to the contrary, all you’ve done tonight is prove to me that you can be good. It’s something I’ve known deep down for a long time."

He started to protest, but she quieted him. "I’m not finished." She sighed. "Before I died, I realized I had lost something. I didn’t care what happened to the world anymore. I had lost the strength to be the Slayer. Now, I’ve found that strength again. I’ve found the balance… and it’s because of you. You are the one that helped me find this peace. The Council may think I’d be better off without you, that I can do this whole Armageddon thing on my own, but I can’t. I need you."

"You’d have the others -"

"I know. I still will. But right now, you are the thing that ties me most strongly to this world. You are the reason that I don’t wake up wondering if today’s the day I’m going to die. I need you. I need you to be strong." Tears filled her eyes again. "Please."

He pulled her into his arms, clinging to her like a life preserver. They stood there for several minutes, just holding each other. Finally, he spoke. "The Council isn’t through with this."

She pulled away, a small smile on her face for the first time all night. "I know. Let me take care of the Council."

He laughed at that. "Wouldn’t wanna trade places with them." Then his face turned serious. "What if you’re wrong about this? About me?"

"As I believe my epitaph reads, I have a lot of experience at this saving the world thing." Buffy leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. "You’re just going to have to trust me," she whispered.

-------------------------

They clung to each other on the dance floor, swaying slowly to the music, oblivious to their surroundings.

...What could I say to you except I love you

and I’d give my life for yours...

The people at the Bronze that night who noticed the leather-clad couple were struck more by the fact that they seemed to clutch each other as if all the demons of Hell were trying to tear them apart than by the fact that they were bruised and bloodied.

...I know we are, we are the lucky ones

I know we are, we are the lucky ones

I know we are, we are the lucky ones, dear...

Tomorrow, they would worry and plan. Tomorrow, they would fight. Tonight, they closed their eyes, willing the future that was rushing at them so fast to stop, just for a moment. Tonight, they shut out the destiny and doubt and darkness that threatened to swallow them. Tonight, they stole a brief morsel of time to just be with each other. It would have to be enough.

THE END