Snapshots of Eternity by slinkypsychokit

Chapter #1 - Open Your Eyes

Open Your Eyes-- We begin with an emotionally unstable Dawn and Buffy Summers. They have both been claimed, though not in the same way, by Spike before his death in the hellmouth. The sudden loss of connection to him is what has caused their slight case of insanity. But, it goes deeper than merely the effects of the Claim. There is also the once dormant Key part of Dawn that has awoken through all the magicks used during Willow's spell to feed power to all the Slayers. The reason she was affected by the spell to begin with was because of her link to both Buffy and Spike through the Claim. The Key wants to come out and play. Dawn has yet to understand that. Then, compounding already confused emotions is the realization that Dawn isn't Buffy's sister, but in fact the daughter of both vampire and Slayer. The reason is has not come out before was due to the monk's spell in creating a human vessel for the Key and their creation of all those fake memories. %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% Snapshots of Eternity Chapter One: "Open Your Eyes beta'd by Oracleholly She'd been crying for months. Slowly sinking further and further into that void of despair. Yet no one knew it wasn't really her in control. No one had come to visit, because no one doubted the well-thought out excuses of her devoted assistant, the sister who was actually the daughter. The daughter now playing the mother, their roles effectively reversed. She'd learned how to do it from the enitity that was 'father'. Her genetic make-up screamed for the paternal being to come and make the mother being better. They were both drowning in their sorrow, and spells could only do so much to ease their suffering. Just ease a part of the ache, but still leave all the rest of her raw, like open, bleeding wounds. While the misery and the heartbreak shred their world, she clung to it, for misery and heartbreak seemed to be all that was left of their souls. The sister/daughter sank to her knees in the deep cream pile of carpet outside the sister/mother's closed bedroom door. As tears silently rolled down her cheeks, her body shook violently. It had been six months since Sunnydale, but each day they died a little more without him. Each night they clung to each other as they drifted off into fitful slumber. Each silently knowing that the other was just something to hold onto and get them through the nighttime...his time...when his kind roamed. Her hand gently caressed her scars, fingers ghosting along the marred flesh. The scar was almost nothing now; just skin that marked where his razor sharp fangs had pierced her delicate flesh at the bend of her left elbow as a claim of family and protection. No one outside of the three of them knew she'd been marked as his. A private mark shared between her and the parent beings, though false memories said they were otherwise. As she touched the marks, she started frantically stretching, reaching, searching along that too long psychic tripwire linking the three of them together. She easily the burning red from the sister/mother and her own emerald green of the sister/daughter. On and on and down and out into that endless black which spread into forever in all directions. She was drifting throughout the black sea of nothingness and everything, her consciousness fully submersing in the endlessness of it all. Ahh...there it is... A wall. That aggravating wall! A huge, ominous, mental and psychic shield opposing her quest, like an ancient castle's impenetrable defenses. A moat with its ominous, lurking presense warning: DANGER! KEEP OUT! NONE SHALL PASS!! She knew that the very oldest of magicks and rituals were used to protect one mate if the other should perish. Still facing that wall infuriated her. It kept her out, separate. And her need to connect overwhelmed her. What was that? The shield had the tiniest of cracks. The faintest whisper of blue/purple light was filtering through. Essence! Friend/father! Impossible! Pretty to think so. The thought made her more aware of what was going on about her. The world outside had grown eerily quiet, so she pushed back from the void, pulled out, dragged away and returned along the green and the red lines. She had stayed too long. She had to get back before anyone knew what she'd done. She'd used too much energy and would have to use even more to cover her tracks. Folding the layers of her path taken in obscurity in case anyone came after and tried to track her signature to where she'd been, she made her way back to the other reality. She came back to herself with the sprig of Lethe's Bramble pinched between left thumb and forefinger. She cupped it and whispered one word: Forget. Dawn blinked and wiped the tears coursing down her cheeks. Why was she sitting on the floor outside Buffy's room with a piece of potpourri from the basket on the entry table? She stood with a sense of not-quite-right-ness, still able to hear soft whimpering from within the bedroom and felt helpless. Should she start slipping sedatives into those herbal teas Buffy seemed to drink 24/7? Would sedatives help or would they push her further into depression? She'd pray to the Goddess for strength and guidance. Dawn decided she would make one last attempt at making herself feel better tonight. The cold, fresh air on the terrace helped to drown out the lingering sound of her sister's anguish. Gazing into the clear night sky with thousands of glittering stars twinkling merrily down at a sleeping city, she felt a semblance of peace. Snippets of long ago conversations in a sun dappled kitchen with yellow curtains fluttering in the soft summer breeze... *********************FLASHBACK************ "What is it? Why does every chick I know nearly lose it over that guy? What's he got that I don't?" Xander asked in earnest. "He's very manly and has a large penis. You can tell whenever he goes around Buffy in those tight jeans and leather pants he always wears. I bet he gives her lots of orgasms." "ANYA!!!" Xander cried in mortification at his fiance's tactless and inappropriate observation. Both in support of her newly betrothed friend and with sadistic glee at furthering Xander's torment, Dawn nodded enthusiastically. "I think it's his perfectly heart-shaped ass!" Here, the Key provides a double-handed grabby motion for dramatic effect. "You could probably bounce quarters off an ass that firm!" "Dawn! Not you, too?!" Dawn shrugged. "'m just sayin'". Privately, she was ticking off the moments to find out if Xander's head will explode or if he would pass out from all the embarrassment. After all, he was the one who insisted on hanging with the estrogen brigade instead of going to that seminar with Giles. "Razor sharp cheekbones," Tara offered, delighted when the male in the room shot a dirty look her way. She let out an appreciative sigh, "And the eyes. They're like soothing pools of liquid sapphire." Slyly, she glanced at her girlfriend with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "That mouth is what really gets me," Willow admitted with a dreamy smile. "Ooh, what I wouldn't give for just an hour alone with that mouth..." Yep. Any second now. Combustible Xander right in the middle of the Summers' kitchen. The basement door opened, and Buffy emerged, her clothing wonderfully askew revealing more than it covered. Flushed skin coated in sweat, chest heaving as though she'd just run ten miles uphill at full Slayer speed. "It's the accent," she explained and reached into the freezer for a handful of ice. Her eyes are nearly crossed as she envisioned the naughty words he whispered in her ear in that deep, sensual baritone. "That bad boy Cockney, all rumbly growly rough and tumble. All it takes is one little crook of the eyebrow and a few whispered naughties and I'm ready for him to throw me against the nearest wall and take me all the way to happyland." She grinned wickedly and did a sexy little shimmy, a la Faith, to further the visual. Everyone was so caught up in Buffy's words they didn't notice the shirtless vamp in question slipping out of the basement and approaching the blonde Slayer. He took the ice from her with a devilish smirk and an impish wink that made her knees weak. "Here, kitten. Lemme get that for you," he whispered in his sexy bedroom voice just loud enough for the whole room to hear. Oh, so slowly, Spike glided the melting cubes across Buffy's overheated flesh. His eyes locked onto hers as she softly whimpered at the contact. His fingers drew lazy patterns along the sensitive skin of her throat, across her collarbone, down between her breasts. Four sets of eyes flickered to Xander in an attempt to gauge his reaction to the erotic display before him. Yep. Any second now... The vampire's tongue followed the trail of water from the hollow of his love's throat up along her jawline to capture her lips in the kind of kiss one can only see on late night cable. Limbs entwined as they pressed closer and closer. One of Buffy's supple thighs wrapped itself around his denim-clad hip. Pelvises slid and grounded against each other. The Slayer emitted a long, lusty moan... The vampire growled his excitement... Exploding Xander in 3...2...1... THUDD!!! All action came to a sudden halt and six heads turned to find an unconscious Xander lying atop the freshly waxed linoleum. "I'll be damned, Slayer!" Spike grinned down at the supine carpenter, "Bloody well worked!" Buffy beamed as she checked her watch and held out her hands, "I called twenty minutes! Pay up, guys!" "Not fair," Dawn pouted as she handed over a wrinkled twenty-dollar bill. "Isn't gambling illegal?" "Yep," Buffy agreed as she counted her winnings to be split with Spike. "Not fair," Dawn grumbled with the infamous Summers' pout in full affect. "We agreed no hands." "It's all in how you look at it, Sweetbit," Spike explained to the sulking teen as he tucked his half of the loot into his pocket. "You said we couldn't put our hands on Harris. Never said Big Sis an' I couldn't put our hands on each other." "Dammit," disgruntled and broke, Dawn wandered off in search of more people to swindle. ***********************END FLASHBACK******* Ahh, happier times, Dawn thought with fondness. Staring at the sky, Dawn noted that the sun would be up in a couple of hours. Hopefully Buffy will have found some peace in her dreams. Maybe she'd even find a few happy memories of her own. With her head down and eyes closed, Dawn startled as a pair of strong arms enveloped her and pulled her back against an equally strong chest. "Open your eyes, Nibblet." Oh, God!...His voice!...No! It can't be! He's...he's...he's... Turning herself around to see the truth with her own eyes, she saw her sister/mother and the owner of those strong arms. Standing beside him, tears of joy are falling from Buffy's eyes. Unbeknownst to Dawn, Buffy's tears had been falling off and on since his arrival on their doorstep while Dawn had been at work. Dawn was speechless for a moment as her eyes traveled from one blonde to the other, "Spike?" "Yeah, Nibblet?" "It's really you?" "It's really me." "You're here with us? Not gonna go away again?" Inwardly she cringed at sounding like the little girl she once was and not the woman she had been pretending to be during these long months. "Never gonna leave my sweet, beautiful girls alone again," he promised as he pulled them both into his arms and held them for all he was worth. Home. He was finally home where he belonged, the Key thought. Spike, friend/father, the father being was finally home where he belonged. Yes, indeed. Things were falling into their rightful places. tbc

Chapter #2 - Moonbeams and Gentle Whispers part One

Disclaimer: I own nothing This chapter beta'd by the wonderully delightful AmyB Chapter Two: Moonbeams and Gentle Whispers part I Monday nights were fairly quiet at the Bronze. No band meant very few high school kids, and not too many college students, either; mostly, the crowd consisted of townies milling around the pool tables, lining the bar and drifting across the dance floor. All in all, Mondays provided a nice change of pace from the usual crush and din of too many bodies packed into a too small space. Tonight was special—an anniversary, of sorts. Two months ago, today, she'd crawled out from the grave and back into her own living hell. She'd been in heaven after sacrificing her own life to save the world, at peace and happy; then her friends decided to snatch her from all that peace and love and eternal rest. She almost hated them for it. Sticking to the shadows surrounding the dance floor, a lithe figure swathed in black leather and an air of menace prowled the room. His nostrils flared as he sensed another of his kind—a young one, newly made and hunting. Nothing more than a hungry leech, trying in vain to play the wolf in sheep's clothing. Spike smiled slowly, wondering if this fledgling knew why there were no others like it in the club. After all, the Bronze had once been the prime hunting ground in a town known for its demonic population. All that had changed, however, with the arrival of the a petite blonde girl chosen to eradicate their kind. A sigh of longing directed towards the dance floor escaped his lips and Spike closed his eyes, allowing his senses to guide him to his current prey. His head turned until he located the vampire, a female who had apparently been in her mid-twenties when she'd been turned. Voluptuous curves were barely concealed by painted-on black leather pants topped by a tight, wine-colored top with a low neckline and bell-shaped sleeves. Long, curly, bottle-red hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back. The heavy black boots she wore brought her up to Spike's own height of nearly six feet. Whoever had made this one had had taste. She was delicious, and under normal circumstances, he'd have gloried in all the things he could do to a body like that. But, not tonight—tonight was special. He was feeling oddly benevolent and decided that in honor of the special occasion, he'd give this one a one-time “get out of jail free” card. It was a testament to her youth that she was oblivious to his presence until the master vampire was upon her. His stealthy approach was, for him, a disappointingly easy accomplishment since most of the newly-risen couldn't sense other vampires in a crowd. Her entire body tensed warily as he moved very close to her, and a subtle tremor ran through her undead body—a very human gesture that put her age down as perhaps a handful of months. Spike could also tell, by her scent, that she'd yet to feed this night. She hissed angrily and brought a hand up to claw at his face, unprepared for the lightning-quick reflexes afforded to a master. Spike caught her wrist before she could draw blood and smiled lazily at her, her pathetic growls of warning exciting his own demon with the prospect of violence and bloodshed. "Now, now," he purred. "No need for violence, pet." The fledgling continued to growl in an attempt to hide the fear he could smell on her, and he took pity on her, deciding to end the suspense. "Forgive me, milady. I was staring. Name's Spike," he murmured seductively, brushing a brief kiss to the hand he held, as he easily caught the other hand that was coming towards his head and pinned it to her side. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "You are delicious, pet. Got a name?" "I'm not your pet!" the vampiress snarled. "And my name's Cheyenne." Spike's smile grew wider at the Southern drawl, and he blatantly looked his fill, pinning her under his gaze until he scented her arousal. Oh, yeah, he still had it. One word and this tasty bit was all his. Too bad he wasn't interested. Spike released her hand, and it dropped to hang loosely at her side. He ran his own free hand over her curves, letting it rest lightly on her shapely hip, and thrilling when she swayed closer to him in eager expectation of further caresses. He breathed in deeply and pressed his mouth to the side of her neck, pretending that the cloying perfume she'd bathed in didn't make him nauseous. "A bit of advice, luv," he whispered, leaning away to watch her face as his eyes dropped all pretenses of the charm and seduction of they had held only a moment before and became serious. "This is my town. Mine and the Slayer's. I catch you hunting in here again, I'll make you very sorry." Once more, his faster reflexes gave him the advantage as he grabbed her by the throat and pinned her to the wall. Her eyes grew impossibly wide and fearful as his grip tightened to a pressure just shy of crushing. "Your sire was remiss in your education, fledgling. Ask around. First I'll strip the skin from every inch of your delectable body, and when I'm through, I'll stake you to the ground and leave you for the sun. If you're lucky, the Slayer'll come along and dust you out of pity. Either way, you'll still be ashes." Shoving her away from him, he let out a vicious growl. "Now get out!" Not waiting around to find out if the master vampire was serious, the fledgling vampiress hightailed it to the nearest exit. Spike grinned; sometimes it was fun to play with the kiddies. Fledgies were so easy, gullible and easily bullied. He'd been spending so much time around humans over the last couple of years that he sometimes forgot how much he missed being a vampire. Albeit, he was a neutered vamp, but he was still an immortal predator, nevertheless. Unless someone shoved a redwood through his chest or he took up sunbathing as a new hobby, that little factoid was never going to change, regardless of the company that he kept. A familiar song began flowing from the club's mounted speakers, and Spike's whole demeanor changed once more, the last ten minutes fading into nothing. Leaning against the wall, he dug in his pocket for a cigarette and tucked it between his lips, lighting it with a battered silver Zippo and inhaling deeply. Through the smoke he exhaled, his eyes—darkening from a sky blue to nearly indigo with increased lust— traveled back to the dance floor, where the object of his obsession swayed to the slow, erotic beat. Enthralled, he watched her move—she of the flashing green eyes and flowing golden hair. I would die for you I would die for you I've been dying just to feel you by my side To know that you're mine The entire world fell away and it was just the two of them. He'd known she would be here tonight—it was, after all, a special night. As couples swayed together in light and shadow, he prowled through the smoky room to keep her in sight. I would cry for you I would cry for you I'd wash away your pain with all my tears And drown your fears The black slip of a dress she'd worn tonight showed her figure to perfection as it flowed over her like water. Her arms were raised high above her head, bringing the hem higher up her thighs. With her eyes closed and her face tilted upwards, she was alone in her own little world; all that existed was the music and the moon and the millions of twinkling stars outside the confines of the small town club. The sounds of Garbage's #1 Crush slid pulsed around and through her, bringing her body to a state of heightened awareness. For a few precious minutes, she felt alive again. Sometimes it was all too easy to forget that she was a person instead of a shadow. It was so hard to remember that she was real, made of flesh and blood and possessed of a beating heart. When she and Spike tore and clawed at one another in frenzied passion, when she begged for him to hurt her and he readily complied, then she was real. Only he did that for her, fed her pain in intervals so that for a time she could feel. Those moments were the only ones to capable of reminding her that she was real. He made her alive once more, even if it was only temporary. See your face every place that I walk in Hear your voice every time that I'm talkin' You will believe in me And I can never be ignored Buffy lowered her arms to run her hands lightly down her body until they rested just above the hem of her dress. Cool fingers settled on her shoulders, the calloused pads gliding over her flesh and leaving goose bumps in their wake. She shivered at the contact and leaned back against the hard chest behind her; soft leather tickled her calves as she kept moving to the rhythm. Strong arms weaved through the bends of her elbows to fold across her front, and one thumb stroked the underside of her left breast while a hand curled around her right hip. Cool lips slid from the sensitive spot behind her ear down the smooth expanse of of her throat until they pressed the barest of kisses to her left shoulder. Always the left side and never the right, where she'd been marked by three different vampires: the Master to kill her, Angel to cure him, and Dracula to seduce her. Spike would never mark her in a place where another had tasted. Even with her eyes closed, Buffy could feel the movement, and she knew that they had left the dance floor. The night air smelled of the recent rain, and a light breeze ruffled the ends of her hair while muted lightning forked across the horizon. It felt good after the heavy atmosphere inside the Bronze, and she allowed him to pull her along by the hand as they moved through the dark alley, her high-heeled shoes making a loud clack-clack-clack as she kept pace. He stopped and turned to her. "Know what tonight is, kitten?" he asked in that low, rumbling voice that sent shivers skittering over her skin and tendrils of heat curling in her belly. He pulled her hand to his lips and lay pressed a kiss against her palm. "Look around, luv. See where we are?" She obeyed and really looked at her surroundings for a moment. She remembered this spot; he saw the spark of recognition as the knowledge flickered behind her eyes. "Why are we here?" I would burn for you Feel pain for you Twist the knife and bleed my aching heart And tear it apart "It's our anniversary. Five years, luv. I ever tell you the first time I saw you, you were dancing? One glimpse and I wanted you. Drusilla punished me for it. She could feel you in my head and left me because of it." He smiled at the gorgeous creature's surprise. "First time she ever really felt threatened." He ran one long finger down the pulse of her jugular, eyes following the movement and noticing the effect he had on her as she became even more aroused. "Tell me you love me," he demanded, not meeting her eyes. "I love you." "Tell me you want me." "I always want you." Her breathing hitched up another notch as her back pressed to the scratchy surface of the brick wall. She gripped the lapels of his duster and pulled him tightly against her body. In the darkness she felt his face shift as he nuzzled the left side of her neck. "Tell me to stop. Push me away before it's too late," he practically begged, all the while silently praying that she would not. Don't stop." Her voice was tinged with lust, and she was pressing tighter and tighter against his body while she gripped the back of his head. Her other hand came up to play with the curls at the nape of his neck as she held his face against her. "Do it." A loud gasp echoed down the alley and was soon followed by a fiercely growled, "Mine". I would die for you ******************** Buffy shot up in bed and did her best to swallow her heart back down into place from its current position in her throat, choking back alongside it with the scream that hovered on her lips. Her body shook with cold sweat and unspent passion, even as the tears of brutal truth and harsh reality poured over her. She was in Rome. Sunnydale was gone. Spike was gone. Dead to save them. "You promised you wouldn't leave me," she whimpered into the silence of the room as she and curled into a ball on her too big, too lonely bed. A knock on the door to the flat was her only response. Buffy lay there for several long minutes, debating getting up to answer the knock. Maybe whoever was there would go away if she didn't answer. That theory, however, only lasted for about five minutes before she was ready to reach for something extra sharp and pointy. Sighing, she stood and, instead of a weapon, grabbed her robe and shrugged it on, tying the sash as she padded through the living room and threw open the door. And promptly froze from sudden shock. Several long minutes passed in silence as she openly gaped at the black leather duster she'd once sworn to steal from his body before she dusted him for good. The high cheekbones she'd envied so often, the very cheekbones she'd spent hours touching, stroking and kissing. The cerulean eyes that had always held his every emotion, revealing him completely to her when they were alone, when it was just the two of them in a little world of their own creation. The wide, sensual mouth that had brought her to such great pleasure that she'd felt like she was dying more than just the "little death" the poets were so fond of describing. At long last, it sank into her fuzzy brain that what she was seeing was real. Gulping in much needed oxygen, she finally found the courage to speak. "Sp-Spike?" The most beautiful smile she'd ever beheld curved that incredible mouth of his. He took a deep breath, a hand reaching out for her. "Hello, Cutie." ******************** tbc

Chapter #3 - Moonbeams and Gentle Whispers part Two

Beta'd by Oracleholly Chapter Three: Moonbeams & Gentle Whispers part II "Hello, Cutie...." Just two simple words had been all it took. Six months of pain, heartache and gut wrenching misery just evaporated like the smoke from one of his cigarettes. Intangible for seconds, leaving behind a lingering, acrid stench before even that faded to nothing. Too afraid he would disappear and this would turn out to be just another dream, she didn't ask where he'd been or how he'd returned. If he'd been granted admission to Heaven then snatched away through another's selfishness, it would destroy whatever was left of her soul. On the other hand, if he wanted to talk about it, she would listen as he'd once done the same for her. For now, though, all that mattered was that he was here. He'd come back to her. His hands were really touching her face. His long, calloused fingers were sliding through her sleep tousled blonde hair. His soulful blue eyes, which she had always thought resembled the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, were really gazing into her own hazel green orbs. His strong arms were really wrapped around her, and holding on tight while his cool lips rained tiny kisses over her face and neck, paying special attention to the prominent bite scars adorning the left side of her slender throat. How was it possible that her neck still bore their claiming marks? Shouldn't the marks have faded the moment his body had turned to ash? Wasn't that what usually happened with these things? Hadn't she been told that when one mate dies, the claim is dissolved and the survivor has the freedom to find another mate? She didn't know the answer to that, and she couldn't ask anyone since only Dawn knew the truth. She'd already read every book on vampire claims and mating rituals she could obtain. Her mind had been mired with a myriad of questions, which she couldn't form into coherent words. One stray thought seemed to worm itself away from the others, forcing itself into the front of her awareness. Could the continuing existence of her marks have something to do with her new condition? Now, words from another lifetime came back to haunt her in this moment. Words she'd heard shouted from his own lips the night she clawed her way from her own grave. It'd barely registered amongst the chaos in her mind back then. At the time, the only thing she'd been able to understand had been the incredible gentleness of his touch on her ravaged hands and the softness of his words and expression as he'd tried to care for her. Then the others had swarmed at her like angry bees with their questions and demands for answers and their petty bickering over what was best for the newly resurrected Slayer. Honestly, did they actually believe pizza was the best cure for someone they'd just rescued from a hell dimension? And that was before they'd found out she'd actually been in Heaven. Somehow, she'd managed to escape the stifling attentions of her friends and watched him from her darkened bedroom window. He'd left the house and stood beneath the tree outside her room where he allowed the tears of pent up emotion to fall freely down the sharp angles of his high cheekbones. Then Xander and Anya had come outside and Xander had started in on him with his usual self-righteous attitude. Buffy stood helplessly at her window, unable to look away from the pain in Spike's eyes. The two males had argued briefly before Spike stalked toward his motorcycle, his parting shot shouted over his shoulder as he revved the powerful bike. "There's always consequences to magick! Always!" Always consequences... The universe never gives anything without demanding something in return. There's always a price to be paid when asking the Fates for a favor. The measurer, the cutter, the weaver-the three sisters loved their cosmic jokes. Then there was everybody's favorite torturer, that bitch named Karma. Always consequences to magick... She should have known those words would eventually come back to bite her on the ass. She hadn't understood it at the time; too caught up in the carnage and destruction going on around her. Later, after she'd had time to go over the details in her head, the strange idea first began to take root in her mind. Hysterical laughter and tears had assaulted her by turns as she had cursed irony and the Fates and those fucking Powers that everyone always went on about. They'd really screwed her this time and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. At one point, her emotional breakdown had become so extreme that only Dawn and Faith stood between Buffy and a lengthy stay at some Council sponsored mental health facility. The rogue Slayer and the former Key had taken Buffy to Rome where she would be away from the prying eyes of others. They'd settled into a flat where Buffy spent a majority of her time in bed. Several suicide attempts had earned her the constant presence of either one or the other of her companions. If she got too bad, Faith would knock her out or Dawn would perform small spells to keep her quiet. During those four months Faith had been with them, Buffy's mind had constantly replayed scenes from the battle against the First. She remembered the Turok-han's sword going into her lower back, only missing her spinal chord by a wish. The shock as the bloodied, steel tip of the blade jutting from her belly had driven her face first into the dirty cavern floor while the First taunted and crowed its delight at Buffy's impending death. All around, new slayers screamed as they were ripped apart by the vampires that vampires fear. That's when it had first happened. In mere moments, her body healed the fatal wound. Even with her Slayer healing, she should have been dead. Only Willow's spell to unlock the Scythe's essence and call forth the power of the Slayer line had been completed by then. When the spell first occurred, Buffy had felt that power move into her, its energies shooting through her every cell before moving on to Faith and spreading to all the potentials across the world. In the few seconds they had before the Turok-han army had reached them, the two Chosen Ones had borne witness to an entire army of female warriors born in blood and baptized in fire. Mere words failed to accurately describe the magnitude of such an event. But, there hadn't been time to consider her miraculous recovery as the legion of hell came in a nightmarish wave of mottled flesh, putrid, needle sharp teeth and sharp claws intent on shredding flesh from bone. It broke her heart all over again to remember that day within the bowels of the Hellmouth. She had to stop talking to Spike just for a little while to get her tears under control. Spike consoled her, telling her it was okay, that she didn't have to keep going. But, she continued anyway. He deserved to know what he sacrificed himself for; deserved to know what she had become. Several more minutes passed before she got her emotions once more under control, and she was able to continue with her tale about the Scythe. The spell and the magicks invoked had transformed Willow into a true Goddess, who could now feel every slayer across the planet. She'd also gained the power to easily traverse the astral plane allowing her to communicate with the souls of fallen slayers. In response, Willow had sought sanctuary amongst the Shaolin monks at a Tibetan monestary where she had been trying to learn control over her new abilities as well as cope with the newfound immortality she'd been gifted. The Scythe didn't just change the Wicca. It had changed Buffy, as well. It recognized her as the new Guardian of the Slayer line. The last Guardian had lived for thousands of years while awaiting her replacement. Only when Buffy had gained possession of the powerful weapon, had the old Guardian been rendered mortal, permitting her to die at Caleb's murdering hands. Buffy was no longer afraid. Her original fears after realizing her own immortality stemmed from knowing that, with the exception of Willowand a very small group of others, everyone she knew and loved would eventually die and leave her to face eternity alone. Ah, the joys of immortality. But, now her love had returned to her. Her skin pressed to his. Tongues teasing, tasting, twisting. Sweat soaked sheets. Loving caresses, whispered promises. Moments set aside in forever. Hungry flesh wanting, needing. Spike was here with her, making love to her and murmuring special words that brought soft whimpers and quiet sighs. Together they moved in the glow of candlelight, dancing their timeless, ageless dance. When it became too much for her and her emotions spilled glittering liquid diamonds onto her cheeks, his lips kissed them away. His voice cooed loving words of devotion and assurance. His fangs carefully slid into her sensitive flesh while her blunt, human teeth broke through his own skin. Lost in the taste of blood, their bodies joined together in soul shattering bliss, their claim was renewed. They had found their way through the darkness and had come out on the other side. tbc

Chapter #4 - Quiet

Chapter Four: Quiet beta'd by Oracleholly She was a vision, Spike decided as he and Buffy silently watched Dawn standing on the small terrace. In less than a year's time, the little girl he remembered had been stripped away to reveal a young woman aged beyond her years. He didn't need to see her angular face -so much like his own that it still amazed him- to know her startlingly blue eyes would be closed and her high cheeks would be splotchy from crying. He could smell her tears the same as he could smell the faded scent of a delicate perfume she'd spritzed across her wrists that morning and the faint traces of the magicks she'd used. The scent of the magicks bothered him more than he liked. Yes, she'd used them to help Buffy through her a great deal of grief and misery. But, it hadn't been too long ago that Red had become so addicted to magicks that she'd nearly incenerated the entire earth after the senseless death of her lover. The very idea that his Niblet could suffer a similar fate terrified the Aurelian vampire. He'd have to keep a very careful eye on Dawn to be sure she didn't lose control of her chaotic neutral paower. While he'd been lost in thought, a small sob managed to slip free from the young woman in question and he could see the slight trembling in her slender body. It tore at his hard won soul that he'd caused her this pain. He'd do anything to stop those tears from both his girls. Another emotionally shocking realization that filled his heart with joy and shame at the same time. After all the horror and bloodshed wrought by his deceptively gentle hands over the decades, after all the lives he'd destroyed and the helpless innocents he'd terrorized for the pure, unadulterated thrill of the hunt, the last thing he deserved was the love of these two miraculous creatures. He sure as hell didn't deserve their grief over his death. Right then he made a silent vow to spend the rest of eternity doing anything and everything he could to put his small family's hearts and souls back together. It wasn't going to be easy and it wouldn't be an instant fix, but his girls were worth it. He cast a sidelong glance at Buffy and saw that she had a soft smile, tinged with tears from all the emotional upheaval during the past hours since his arrival. Their eyes met and she gave him the barest of nods in encouragement. He didn't need a second invitation as he moved towards Dawn with catlike grace. He gave no warning before wrapping his arms around his and Buffy's mystically created daughter. Screw false memories, Spike thought as he buried his nose in her long, brown hair. All he needed was one tiny whiff of Dawn's unique scent -an odd combination of his and the Slayer's as well as something that was the girl's own fragrance- and one moment of studying all the attributes she'd inherited from him, to know the truth of it. Dawn Summers was his daughter as surely as if he'd impregnated the Slayer and watched the babe grow within her womb. He didn't really care that a bunch of frightened monks had somehow stolen a bit of his good-looking and athletic DNA to mix in with what they'd stolen from Buffy. Dawn was the precious result and he wouldn't give that up for anything. Dawn had gasped and gone stiff as a board the moment he pulled her back against his chest, the fact that he'd effectively pinned her arms to the side had not been lost on either of them. Her voice was a bare whisper he'd had to strain his senses to hear, but he'd understood the words. She didn't think he was real. Leaning his lips close to her ear, he whispered back, "Open your eyes, Niblet". Her entire frame shook violently and he spun her around to see the truth for herself. Startled, she backed away and her luminous blue eyes surrepitisiously moved between the two blondes before easing a half step forward and calling his name with a shaky breath. His heart seemed to break at the fear he saw in her eyes. "Yeah, Niblet?" "It's really you?" 'M not Father bleedin' Christmas. "It's really me," he assured her with a sweet smile. A full step closer, her bottom lip trembling at the force of the tears she was desperately trying to hold back. "You're here with us? Not gonna leave us again?" Oh, baby. Oh, God, what've I done to m' girls? How could he ever be worthy of them and the love they so freely offered him? He reached out and pulled her to him with a fierce determination, gathering her into his arms and enfolding Buffy against them so that their small circle was complete. "I'm never gonna leave my sweet, beautiful girls alone again," he promised them. And he'd be damned all over again if he let anything try to break that promise. Somehow, the small family ended up back in Buffy's bed with Dawn cuddled between the beings who were the mother and the father. The air was saturated with all the emotions wrung from the females and the trio simply lay resting against each other in the now silent room. Dawn's eyes moved behind closed lids as she shut off her external senses and tuned in to that inner self that showed what her eyes could not see. That internal sense told her that the claim between Slayer and vampire had been renewed as it detected the mingled essences of her parent beings. A low growl of warning rumbled from deep within the chest pressed against her front while the body against her back stiffened in response. She looked up to meet the startling blue eyes of her father. Anger reflected back at her from within the cerulean depths and let her know that he was not unaware of her psychic proddings. Before she realized his intentions, his fangs were buried deep in the bend of her left elbow and she couldn't hold back the initial cry of pain from escaping her parted lips. Immediately, the psychic shield between them dissolved and she was left open and unprotected from the rapid flow of thoughts, images and emotions flooding her conscious. As quickly as it had begun, the endless procession of the psychic information crashing over and through her, receded and his fangs had been replaced by a cool tongue gently licking the tiny puntures closed. The soothing purr now vibrating against her small frame calmed her agitated heart and mind. That part of Dawn that was still a little girl desperate for a father's love and reassurances cuddled closer to him and she buried her forehead against the base of his throat. Soon enough both Dawn and Buffy drifted off into a peaceful, restorative sleep, leaving Spike to watch over them and consider all the things he'd learned since his arrival. It was alot to take in, the knowledge that had been so suddenly revealed to him at the moment of his recorporealization inside the shiny glass and chrome tower of evil his Grand Sire had been manipulated into running. At first, Spike had been afraid to search out his girls. His insecurities that he could never be what Buffy and the Niblet needed or deserved had kept him in Los Angeles. Then the green guy, Lorne, had overheard Spike's loud, horridly off key singing during a night of drunken sulking. "Spike," the Pylean empath and head of Wolfram & Hart's entertainment division, had said in an uncharateristically serious tone. The very lack of a pet name centered around baked goodies had caused Spike to sober immediately. Without any lead-in, the loudly dressed demon had imparted the results of his unsolicited reading of the vampire's aura. And just like that, Spike had stuffed his few belongings and a wad of cash he'd stashed away in a metal box beneath his bed. Surprisingly, Angel had the company jet fueled and ready for the flight to Rome where Fred had learned Buffy had taken a flat with the Bit. Shocking him furthur, Peaches had pulled his wayward Grand Childe into his arms and wished him well and sent him on his way after promising that they would keep in touch. Now that he was here, Spike could see for himself what needed to be done. First on the agenda would be to get his family the hell away from Rome. Wolfram & Hart had a branch office here and that could only lead to trouble. And there was no way Spike was taking them anywhere that even smelled of Council. The longer he could avoid the soddin Council and Rupert Giles, the happier he'd be. Instead, Spike would take his girls somewhere sunny and tropical. Yeah, some warm little island in the tropics where they could relax and soak up the glorius rays of the sun while drinking those fruity concoctions with the tiny paper umbrellas. of course, they'd need a chaperone for their daylight excursions since Spike felt he'd finally outgrown his fascination with self-immolation. The girls trusted Faith and Spike couldn't think of anyone better suited to the task. First chance he got, he'd see about contacting the rogue. He also needed to get in touch with the family of solicitors that had handled Spike's private holdings since his human days. It was high time he put his inheretance to work. He'd offered the money to Buffy after she'd been brought back from Heaven and was struggling to make ends meet. But, she'd refused out of her sense of pride and the fact that she assumed the mony had come from illegal dealings. This time around he wasn't giving her the choice.

Chapter #5 - The Protector and the Warrior

Chapter 5: The Protector and Warrior beta'd by Oracleholly Three nights he'd been following her throughout the ancient city. Always staying in the shadows, he kept her in his sights while remaining far enough off her radar to go undetected. Several times he'd taken to the rooftops; running along uneven slopes and crumbling walls as silently as a mouse wearing felt slippers. What he remembered most about the rogue Slayer was that the girl danced to her own tune and made her own rules. She was a real tough as nails, ball-busting bitch who took what she wanted and to hell with anybody else. Her body was her weapon, and she used it well, trading sex for power and laughing outright at those gullible enough to buy whatever they thought she was selling. Faith's voluptuous curves, bedroom eyes and smokey voice enthralled men and women alike, keeping them oblivious to the enormous metaphorical blade she had trained on their unprotected backs. Spike couldn't help but smirk at his spot on assessment of the dark Slayer. The polar opposite of his exquisite golden girl. Spike was man enough to admit that, had he met Faith first, it would no doubt have been lust at first sight. She personified what he'd once believed to be the perfect woman. Violence and hedonism wrapped in an incredibly sexy little package capable of making a bloke beg for any small scrap she deigned to throw from her table. And to think Harris lost his virginity between her well toned thighs. Wonder if the Whelp fainted halfway through the ride of his bloody life. The sounds of a scuffle drifted to Spike's ears from an alley, and he took to the roof of a nearby building to get a better look. He arrived just in time to see her take down some scaly thing, which turned into a bubbling puddle upon death. The rogue Slayer covered her nose and mouth, turning a bit green around the gills as the extremely foul odor permeated the alley. Luckily for Spike, he could simply choose not to inhale. Seconds later, Faith burst from the shadows and set off in a light jog to distance herself from the smell of decomposing demon, seemingly oblivious to the master vampire following her via the close buildings lining the quiet strata. A scream split through the quiet night, and Faith put on an extra burst of speed, moving through the streets and alleys in a blur too fast for the average human to see. In just a few moments, she rounded a final corner and came upon the patio of a closed cafe. She stopped and folded her arms over her chest as she took in the sight of a woman held tightly in a pair of undead arms while the vampire attached to those arms was busy getting his feed on. "Let her go," Faith sighed in what could only sound like a very bored tone. Incredulous amber eyes looked up from his dinner. "What?!" Faith sauntered closer, a staked clasped loosely in her right hand. "Look, Claudio-" "Ricardo," the leech informed her as he lowered the corpse to an iron chair. "Whatever," Faith shrugged. "The point is… I don't care if you nibble on the groupies or the weres. I made that truce with David so that this shit stopped happening. Bad business for you guys goin' out and slaughtering the masses." Ricardo held his hands up and did his best to look innocent despite the incriminating evidence sprawled in an ungainly heap not two feet away. "I wasn't gonna kill her, Slayer! I promise!" Faith's eyes widened with feigned shock. "Wait! You were, what? Just havin' a little snack before bed? Quick slip, nip and sip before gettin' yourself all tucked in for the day?" "It was an accident? Um, the devil made me do it? Aliens?" whimpered Ricardo. Faith sighed again. Twirling the stake in her right hand, she shook her head in disappointment even as her left hand aimed and fired the mini crossbow she'd been holding behind her thigh. Once Ricardo exploded in a shower of ashes, Faith tucked away her weapons before moving to the corpse to check for a pulse she knew wasn't there. Blank eyes stared at her in accusation. Faith closed those eyes with gentleness as she thought over the grim task of informing David that she'd had to dust one of his minions. Damn vampires. Offer them a taste and they suck you dry. Or break your heart and steal your soul, Faith thought as she ran her fingers through the luxurious hair she'd recently dyed the color of a good merlot. The wind carried a familiar scent to her nose, and Faith found herself smiling. The fact that he still followed her after three long nights surprised her. From what she'd heard, William the Bloody had never been known for his patience. Especially where Slayers were concerned. Glancing briefly at the dead woman in the chair, Faith sighed once more and continued on her way. The sun would be up in a few hours, but now she needed to go see David. Perhaps there she might figure out why the hell the platinum haired vampire was tailing her throughout Rome. ****** Night Haven was still packed by the time Faith arrived. No matter how many times she'd been to this club, it never ceased to surprise her just how many vampires could be gathered in one place without a massacre in the works. But, David had pulled it off. With over four hundred years experience, David placed business ahead of any petty vampire squabbles, and in doing so built an entire underground city for his people. Night Haven was David’s favorite venture in his underworld. While the cover of the ‘Haven’ was a Goth club, vampires and weres played by the rules. No killing of innocents was permitted, so the vamps had to content themselves with bagged blood, were-animal or willing donors. Breaking those rules brought unwanted attention to the community. Now that there was an entire slew of Slayers, ten - plus the Guardian, herself- settled in Rome, David had no intention of violating the truce he'd made with Faith and the Council of Watchers. A violation of the truce would hurt business, meaning less money in his bank accounts; the mere thought of it rankled his sensibility. In exchange, David was allowed to conduct his business anyway he chose. As long as the bodies didn't start piling up, Faith didn't give a damn what David did. Then, again, Faith didn't care about much these days. Slipping through the crowd with ease, Faith was already sliding off her thigh length leather coat as she hit the iron stairs that would carry her up to David's private lounge. Dante, a bulging, no neck thug wearing a suit that probably cost more than Faith's prized Ninja, blocked her way. "I'm so not in the mood," she warned the mook. "Like I give a shit." Dante hissed. "Weapons. Now." Faith sneered and handed over her crossbow, two stakes, and a set of brass knuckles she had painted a matte black so they would not catch a glint of light at the wrong moment. Dante seemed satisfied that she had surrendered everything, so he didn't pat her down. Stupid Dante was clueless about the many knives and throwing stars she had concealed in various places. "Happy?" she smiled sweetly at the henchvamp. "Watch your tongue, human," Dante snarled. "David isn't always going to be around to ensure it's not ripped from your skull." "You wanna throw down, big guy?" "ENOUGH!" David thundered from his seat. Still smiling that saccharine smile belying just how badly she wanted to tear into the overgrown bully, Faith blew Dante a kiss and sauntered to the empty chair at David's table. David ranked as one of the hottest guys she'd ever laid eyes on, living or undead. And considering she'd been in the presence of the two very virile Aurelian males, Angelus and William the Bloody, David’s appeal placed him in very good company. She offered up her sultriest smile while she roamed her eyes over his chiseled face and long glossy hair, which he kept pulled in a que at the base of his skull. Her eyes focused on the his wide, sensual mouth that had been the object of many a fantasy over the past six months they'd been acquainted. David cleared his throat and smiled knowingly as his nostrils flared. She knew he knew his effect on her libido just like she knew he was harboring quite a few fantasies of his own. Now though was not the time to indulge. Instead of getting distracted by the undeniable attraction they felt for each other, she picked up his glass of scotch and drank it down in one gulp. "I can't decide what it is with the big baby," she commented with a nod toward Dante's back. "Does he hate me cause I'm human, a Slayer or because he wants to fuck me?" "Pick one," David shrugged. "Results will remain unchanged." Faith nodded and set the empty glass back on the table. "Dusted Ricardo. Found him feeding not too far from here. Just thought you should know." As a sudden jolt hit her system, Faith went utterly rigid as every fiber of her being shouted at her to return to the Guardian's side. She swore ripely knowing she had no choice but to obey. Outside on the street, Spike took off at a dead run as panic coursed through his link from Buffy, telling him something was very wrong. tbc

Chapter #6 - Hearing Voices

Chapter Six: Hearing Voices beta'd by Oracleholly A small part of Buffy's mind understood what was happening even as the rest of her was unable to escape the multitude of voices that had joined together in a screaming cacophony ripping apart her sanity. She was trapped, alone and helpless, and unable to flee the images rolling across the canvas of her dreamland. White gloved hands...coming towards her...an hypodermic needle filled with some clear fluid meant to subdue her ...Those hands changing and superimposing themselves over larger, dirtier hands ... vials of ugly brown liquid ... brown dirty floor ...dirty...dirty...”dirty girls”... “Naughty and must be punished” ... chains holding her down ... laughter while she screamed ... ‘cuz it isn't any fun if he can't make her cry and scream ... “Please! I'll be good girl!”.... Don't... help me ... Mommy, make him ... nooooo! ... Blue ...Yellow and blue make green ... green like grass and dragon scales ... gibberish in dozens of languages ... the demon holding her down ... squeezing the air from her struggling body ... fangs tearing into her throat ...ripping the flesh...her blood...pouring in a scalding wave down her chest...cruel laughter as she slid into death...the bone saw got caught halfway and she pushed harder...the sticky purple pooling atop stark white tile...fingers swirling through the warm, tacky fluid...war paint in three long stripes...forehead to chin...cooling and drying as she ran through the night...she had to find him...make the monster pay... “Stake through the heart, cut off the head”...not scared...strong...won't hurt if she's quiet...so quiet...hide under the bed...find the box that held the special medicine...make you sleepy...wake you up....make you numb...he can't hurt her anymore...not weak...not weak...strong now...powerful...power..."WILLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!" Buffy screamed in her sleep and continued to thrash and cry as she struggled to get away from what was happening. ************************** The teacup slipped from her fingers to shatter on the cold stone floor and splash its tepid contents across fuzzy blue slippers and the hem of her matching terrycloth robe. The power filled her in a hot rush. Her hair lengthened magickally, glowing a bright, silvery white. The energies swirled in her eyes, pools of onyx obliterating the whites. A silver aura arose from every pore of her skin as one voice cried out from the legion within her. She was being called; the Guardian's anguish tore at her, begging, pleading, screaming to her over the vast distance. Already on her feet, Willow moved through the corridors of the monastery she'd called home for nearly half a year, searching for a familiar face. She passed several robed figures along the way, asking after the whereabouts of the master werewolf in residence and sighing gratefully when pointed in the direction of the surprisingly modern gymnasium. If any of the Shaolin monks thought the sight of the Goddess in her flannel PJ's, fuzzy blue slippers and matching bathrobe odd, they kept silent on the matter. The temple housed a great many sights that most might consider odd. The Goddess and the Master didn't faze them in the slightest. Neither, for that matter, did the small winged creature chasing after the all-powerful Goddess as it rambled in sycophantic agitation. ************************* While Willow sought the lone occupant of the well-equipped gym, Dawn was hurriedly shoving her keys into the ignition of her emerald green Volkswagen beetle. She'd always wanted a 'punch-buggy' of her very own, and her ‘baby’ was a sorry-your-life-got-swallowed-up-in-a-freak-accident gift from good ol' Hank Summers. She figured what the hell? If the old man wanted to shower money and shiny new condos on Buffy and herself in lieu of actually showing up to give a damn about either of them, then who was Dawn to argue? Besides, it got her to and from her job as part time research assistant at one of the world's leading institutes in demonology. The job paid extremely well, and Dawn was learning more than Giles had ever taught her. Out of nowhere, her head exploded in pain, her foot slamming down automatically on the brake as she cradled her head. Breathing heavily and gritting her teeth against the pain, Dawn allowed the power to wash over her, turning her eyes into glowing pools of swirling green energy. The vast nothing and everything spread out before her, her inner eye honing in on the glowing red thread of the mother being. Buffy was calling out to Willow, and the Goddess' silvery white thread was reaching back. Dawn was awed by purity of that color. But Willow wasn’t just answering. The shining beacon of the Guardian's power was issuing a summons to all those connected by a similar thread. Goddess. Guardian. Warrior. Protector. And the Key that bound them all. Dawn held the others together. She was the link in the center of the chain. The link the monks had made flesh from the Guardian and the Protector. Even now, Dawn had trouble grasping the full weight of her existence. Sometimes the universe called to the power and the energies buried deep within the flesh and bone vessel. When that call was strong -like it was in this moment- the Key rose to the surface, guiding the body, while forcing Dawn the girl to be a backseat observer. She could still think and feel and try her best to influence the Key, but ultimately it was the Key that was in control. Not for the first time, Dawn fully understood what Spike meant when he spoke of his soul and his demon. The Key had been silent for the last two weeks following the little show of dominance against the Protector. Dawn had fought tooth and nail, remaining in control for the most part. But Spike had felt what she was doing and used every memory of every moment shared between himself and the Summers women in order to help. It was the love he felt for them all. Memories of laughter and hot chocolate with little marshmallows. Grief at both Joyce's and Buffy's deaths. Disgust at what he'd nearly done in crazed obsession. Joy at Buffy's tinkling laughter. Misery at her rejection. Bliss in her arms...contentment at knowing his sacrifice would buy his loved ones a chance to live. Pure, undiluted happiness at being once more surrounded by their love and acceptance. Every last bit of those powerful emotions had been shoved through the familial claim, forcing the Key back into its resting place. Long moments passed unnoticed as Dawn drew in all the whirling emotions of the others and allowed the Key to redirect them toward the one trapped within a lunatic's fractured mind. Faith was beyond pissed, and Dawn giggled at the colorful use of four lettered words. Was that last one even anatomically possible? Nah. You'd have to be an invertebrate. Or triple jointed. Calming slightly, she eased her foot off the brake and hurried towards home. *************** A shriek pierced the darkened bedroom as the nightmarish vision changed and added one more layer to the assault. She was no longer seeing through the eyes of the insane Slayer. Now she was being forced to bear witness to an even greater horror as she stood on the outskirts of a major demon war. Broken sobs became terrified screams as she watched Angel and his team torn open one by one. Images blurred together, moving too fast before she could make any sense of the details. Over and over, Buffy screamed her mate's name; silently begging to anyone who was listening to end this torment before it devoured her whole. **************** Oddly enough, the entire group managed to arrive outside the building housing the flat Spike shared with his girls. Peripherally, he registered the green glow in his Nibblet's eyes, the steady stream of swearing from Faith, as she'd been dragged from what had promised to be a righteous fuck, and the fading light of the portal from whence stepped Red with her ex mongrel and some sort of creature perched on her shoulder. But, none of that mattered in light of the mental anguish he could feel coming through the claim he shared with Buffy. Then the screams started. As if the first wave of visions -the ones which told her the story of an eight year old child kidnapped and tortured by a human monster- hadn't been horrific enough, the new deluge forecasting things to come threatened to shred the last of her sanity. Screams were being torn from her throat, her body jerking and thrashing from phantom blows. Too much...Make it stop... The litany of images repeated on a continuous loop. Still no one came to rescue her from the tortured screams of the dead and dying. Everything crashed in on her, her mind overloading and shutting down. Too far gone to notice that indeed the cavalry had arrived in the form of her mate and the Goddess, plus the Key and Protector. The touch of his hands on her skin shattered the last of her tentative grasp on whatever sanity she held onto, and she fell over the edge into the void. **************** Willow was right behind Spike as they raced into the master bedroom and went straight to the bed. Willow's heart skipped several beats, but her warning came too late as the vampire reached for the petite blonde and pulled her into his arms. Buffy's eyes flew wide, and the screaming stopped. Her small body became deathly still, and Willow groaned as she saw a similar reaction in the man holding her fellow immortal. "Oh, Goddess," she whispered mournfully. "Not again." tbc.....

Chapter #7 - Seven though Twelve

Chapter Seven: "Restless Again" beta'd by Oracleholly Despite Willow's belief that Buffy had tra-la-la'd off to her very own happyland of DeNial, just as she'd done that night not so long ago when Glory the hellbitch had snatched Dawnie for a little slice-dice-and-Pop!-goes-the-portal-- the Goddess was only partially right. Buffy had retreated to somewhere less painful than the world in which the rest of them trod and tread. More disturbing was that, somehow, a similar condition had befallen Spike as well. However, what Willow didn't know was that the couple had actually had assistance falling into their trance-like state. To the outside world, their bodies lay entwined amongst the rumpled sheets of Buffy's large, four-poster bed. In their dream states, each found themselves very much separated, alone and unaware of the forces guiding them. Unlike the last time, Buffy's current situation in no way resembled a replay of happier childhood memories. Quite the opposite was true as she found herself wandering through a cemetery so familiar she could have traversed it backwards and blindfolded. Under the light of a full moon, the well-tended lawns of Restfield Cemetery shimmered with early morning dew while row upon row of granite headstones, crypts and statuary fairly glowed with an eerie, blue-gray light. Unconsciously, her feet carried her to one grave out of them all. The only difference between this monument and all the others was that it held no markings to indicate the soul laid to rest within the earth beneath her feet. The sight of it was painful and brought tears to Buffy's eyes as a heavy sadness settled on her heart. She slowly shook her head and forced back her tears. "It should say something," she whispered into the cool, night air. "What should it say?" came the reply from the woman beside her. Buffy looked up from the blank stone and peered at the door to Spike's old crypt thirty yards away. The door was slightly ajar, and her feet itched to run to it for sanctuary. But, she needed answers first. Instead of running away, Buffy considered the unmarked monument in front of her and turned over the question of what it should say of the person, the friend who they had buried here after a bullet meant for the Slayer had gone astray and claimed the life of another. Half afraid to look into luminous blue eyes she was certain would be filled with accusation and too afraid that if she didn't do it now, she'd never get another chance, Buffy met Tara's eyes. "Your name," she answered sadly. "The world should know you're here. It should know you lived and were loved." Tara smiled softly, patiently, at the beautiful young woman at her side. "I did live, Buffy. And I was loved," her voice was whisper soft, and her eyes held only quiet serenity. "Don't be sad, Guardian. What lies beneath the earth is but a borrowed vessel. As we are born from the earth, so must me return to it. The part that is truly us continues on in everything. We are the wind in the trees. Rains from the sky. Sunlight shining upon children at play. "It was merely my time. The method doesn't matter. I could have easily been killed by a demon or by stepping out in rush hour traffic. Death is just the changing of rooms." The blonde smirked with a bit of her old self. "When you bow, you leave the crowd," she sang quietly and earned a tiny smile from the Guardian Slayer. Tara's eyes took on a faraway look, and she cocked her head to the side as she listened to something only she could hear. She nodded once, her azure gaze fixed on the heartsick young woman. Again she nodded and turned her eyes towards the moon. "Is there no other way?" her voice was full of sadness and pity, eye lowering to the ground and closing for a moment. "I understand." Throughout Tara's speech and her seeming one-sided conversation, Buffy had remained silent. The presence of Tara-- and it really was Tara, of that she was certain-- and the sound of her voice were such a precious gift she wouldn't dare risk making her go away. Then, as the whole of Tara's focus settled on her once more, Buffy became fearful and felt her nerves straining to their very limits. Needing something to hold, she wrapped her arms around herself and looked back toward the crypt with a deep longing to run and never look back. "What's wrong with me, Tara?" Tara felt like throwing her head back and screaming her displeasure at the Powers That Be responsible for making her afterlife so difficult at the moment. When she'd left the earthly realm behind, the Powers had offered her a reward of her choosing. Anything her soul desired. Her answer had been easy and without hesitation. She'd requested a condition, as well. Her soul's desire had been to continue the fight of the people whom had become her family. Her request had been that, no matter what task the PTBs chose for her, she would be allowed to remain close to that family. Deal done and here she was - designated spirit guide to one Buffy Anne Summers, Guardian Slayer and one William Nathaniel Wordsworth, a.k.a. Spike or William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers turned Protector of the Slayer line. Tara had been watching the couple almost since the moment of her death. In one moment, she was smiling at Willow, and the next she was standing in a room comprised mainly of blue and gray marble The ghostly figures had appeared in togas to complete Tara's picture of an ancient Grecian temple. The ghosts had spoken in a chorus of voices free of all emotion as they explained what had happened to her and gave her the freedom to choose her own path. Minutes later, Tara was witness to the deal struck between Spike and the powerful demon, Shakhalamahn. That deal would seal Spike's fate for all eternity as there had never-- in the history of this world-- been another soulless demon who actively sought the return of their soul for love. The platinum blonde's words, filled with so much pain, loneliness and desolation still made Tara's heart hurt. "Make me what I was so Buffy can get what she deserves.” Despite the initial heartache Tara had felt upon hearing Spike's request, she felt overwhelming pride at the Master Vampire's fierce determination as he fought his way through the demon’s trials. It had lasted for weeks, and Spike had not only endured all manner of torture, pain and suffering. He'd come out the victor in every test. And Tara found herself sobbing outright as Shakhalamahn had rewarded the battered mass of vampire-shaped cuts and bruises with the return of his soul. In the days following his newly acquired soul, Tara hovered protectively and possessively, using every bit of influence she held to aid and guide the broken warrior back to the young woman who had cried herself to sleep nearly every night since his departure from the hellmouth. She'd fought against the First's influence as much as possible until her new bosses had let her know that the vampire's destiny had been decided long ago. Just as Buffy's had been equally decided. The couple had, quite literally, been made for one another. Two halves of the same whole. Something, somewhere had gone slightly off track though. One of the halves was too much, and the other too little. Now, the Powers had determined a way to balance the halves and make them whole once more. "Tara?" The sound of her name brought Tara from her thoughts, and she once again looked at the frightened young woman. "Sorry, must've drifted out for a minute," she replied with a sheepish smile. A brief flash of pain flickered in Buffy's eyes before she again looked toward Spike's old crypt. "I asked what was wrong with me." What, indeed, Tara thought as she tried her best to find the right words and sent a mental glare at the Powers That Be. This was not going to be pretty. ********************************************** Spike was disoriented at first. One moment, a storm of emotions had come through the claim and hit him with all the subtlety of an out of control freight train. He'd sensed more than processed the various faces of others during his haste to reach his mate and ease her suffering. Vaguely, he recalled Red's shouted warning right as he pulled Buffy's thrashing body into his arms. Then everything seemed to flash across his mind at once; the images he'd first been subjected to upon the moment of his re-corporealization. Like a movie on fast forward, he'd seen his girls as they'd truly been, instead of what the monks had conditioned their memories to explain. He saw a room, very much like that of an ancient temple in some one or other gladiator movie he'd seen. Here stood a man and a woman whose bodies looked as though they'd been dipped in metallic body paints. Both were dressed in simple togas with corded belts tied loosely at their waists and some type of headbands designed to look like leaves adorned the crown of each head. The man and woman--siblings?-- both spoke as one to an audience of several monks, dressed in brown robes with the cowls thrown back to reveal concerned faces. The scene flashed just as the words "her chosen mate" and "destined to bring this child" reached his ears. He heard those words as another scene took the place of the first. This time, he was again forced into the role of reluctant observer as he witnessed a frantic coupling in the Watcher's lavatory, the result of just one of many spells Willow had gotten wrong. Spike's memories of that day differed than what was being shown to him. He did not remember this coupling that had occurred in the wake of Red's Thy Will Be Done incantation. He felt like a voyeur as his eyes seemed glued to the incredibly erotic display before him. He was helpless to turn away, as the bespelled Spike and Buffy moaned and writhed on the cold tile floor in mindless desperation, while a blinded Giles was left alone in the living room of his own flat with only a bottle of finely aged scotch to keep him company. As the lovers reached fulfillment, Spike watched himself lower his fangs to Buffy's throat, slicing through the tender skin to obliterate those marks left behind by Angel before he'd hared off to play the soddin' Dick Tracy to Los Angeles' world of the supernatural. The air was rife with a heady combination of Buffy's highly potent Slayer blood, the pungent scent of their combined fluids and the sounds spilling from his mate's gorgeous mouth, sending all of the observing Spike's borrowed blood shooting straight down to what was fast becoming painful. Each second he was forced to watch the scene play out had his aching, turgid member jumping and rubbing agonizingly against the metal zipper of his jeans. Fuck it, he growled inwardly and reached down to take himself in hand for whatever relief he could get. Then, just as his fingers grasped the metal tab, two things happened at once. Buffy's teeth viciously tore into Spike's neck and the observing Spike found himself somewhere else, yet again. As his world stopped spinning, Spike found himself chained to a cavern wall he recalled seeing during his trip to Africa. The only difference was, last time he hadn't been chained to the wall and at the mercy of a two beautiful women who made no attempt at hiding their amusement at his current state. "See?" Anya asked her companion. "What'd I tell ya? He has a large penis and is very capable at giving many orgasms." Demon girl leered at him, and Spike found it incredibly disturbing. "Oi, now! You bints can just lemme go," Spike demanded as he pulled at the chains and found them sturdy enough to hold him. He didn't have the first clue what the hell he was doing here, but he needed to find Buffy so they could get home. "Relax, Blondie," Anya's companion said, and Spike narrowed his eyes at the familiar face. It'd been a while since he'd laid eyes on her, and she'd filled out. Now she presented to the world lush curves and heavy breasts --a far cry from the weight obsessed girl he remembered from his first year in Sunnydale and that one time he'd come to L.A. after the Gem of Amara. A slow, thoroughly male smile slid across Spike's face as he ran his eyes over those delicious curves. "Well, well, well. Cordelial! You look divine, pet. Seems spending the last eight months on your back's done wonders for you." Cordelia rolled her eyes, sending a completely unimpressed look his way. "And gettin' toasted and ghosted still hasn't taught you how to dress," came her weak attempt at a comeback. "The chains were specifically designed to hold you, so there's no point fighting," the Seer added as Spike continued to jerk at the chains keeping him in place. All it was doing was chafing the hell out of his wrists. The vampire turned his focus back to Harris' ex-bird and pleaded with his eyes for her to understand his need to find his mate and get out of this place. Anya looked like she was on the verge of relenting when footsteps were heard coming closer. The sweet sounds of his love's voice eased a bit of the tension in his shoulders. Cordy gave him an inscrutable look and sighed, "What part of the word Relax did you not understand?" "The part where I did it," Spike shot back. "Mind you, demon girl's bread and butter, for more than a thousand years was makin' blokes suffer. And I had your boss tortured for hours with hot pokers to get my hands on an ugly little bauble that I let get stolen out from under my nose. The two of you together don't exactly inspire a fellow to let his guard down." At that moment, Buffy stepped into the cavernous room, and Spike felt himself lose all ability to form coherent thought. His jaw hung open as she came to him and smiled beautifully; one tiny hand with five tiny fingers stroked his face lovingly. Her eyes held him mesmerized in their green depths, and all he could think was how it was the first time since his return that no hint of madness was present in her gaze. "There's a ritual," Cordelia informed him. "To make her whole again. It's dan-" "Do it," Spike interrupted as Buffy continued to stroke his face. "Don't you," Anya tried only to be interrupted as well. "I said, do it," Spike snapped at the women. "Whatever it takes, whatever the consequences. If it makes her well, again…" Buffy looked deep into the loving eyes of her mate and knew she'd made the right decision. No matter what came after, they would still have each other. Leaning up, she gently brushed her lips across his in an all too brief kiss before giving him a watery smile. "I love you," she whispered for his ears only. A lump rose in his throat as Spike saw the reflection of her love in her eyes. "Love you, too, kitten," his voice was raspy, and it felt as though watching her take those steps away from him was worst moment of his entire existence. There was a reason he was trussed up in chains meant specifically to hold him. Spike was willing to bet his soul that it wasn't for a rousing game Checkers. Snapshots of Eternity Chapter Eight: Rebirth beta'd by Oracleholly Los Angeles Beeping... As her awareness began to grow, her mind focused on that sound after being dragged back into her body. So like the sound of that primal drumbeat in that other place - the steady thumping of the ornately carved wooden staff striking the ground over and over. Screams... The lonely, haunting cry of a fierce creature caught within the trap of its own making completely helpless to escape the bonds. Desperate to reach its mate; snarling and snapping, unaware of the harm it did itself as it continued to rage at their captors. Shifting... Everything was changing; outsides were becoming insides and vice versa. Power shifting, trading, taking away and giving back. Bodies, souls, aspects and essences were all tossed into a metaphorical blender and set on HIGH. Metaphysical threads twisted and twined, were torn apart then put back together again albeit different than before. Creating something where once there had been nothing. Beeping... She was back to the beeping. Her memories of that OTHER place were dimming, being replaced with the memories of what she'd been before ... back before that special kiss ... when she'd still retained some shred of her innocence. High school friends- and enemies- flitted through her mind. Random nights spent dancing at the Bronze. No cover Tuesdays. Not safe to leave her convertible- the shiny red ‘Sweet Sixteen, Love, Dad’ - parked in the nearby lot. The Bronze was the place to go. “Oh, they let anybody in.” “It's in the bad part of town...About half a block away from the good part of town.” They hadn't actually had a whole lotta town. Gods! She'd been the ditziest bitch at Sunnydale High. Then the Slayer had come to town, forcibly shaking the scales from Cordelia's eyes and dragging the spoiled little rich girl in her Jimmy Choo shoes to see her town for what it really was. Hell on Earth. And, hell's mouth had been gaping wide in glutinous anticipation just fifteen feet beneath the floors that saw the daily pitter-patter of teenaged feet. Cordy's world seemed to crumble down around her overnight, as she learned that the monsters under her bed were real. Making it to graduation had been a crash course in survival skills. Once the malaise that held her fellow Sunnydalians in steadfast ignorance and denial lifted, she saw the truth: not only were vampires and demons real, but they were also scary, ugly, and very, very hungry. They prowled through the night, hunting their hapless, still in denial-until-its-too-late human prey. Too soon, the sheltering embrace of memory gave way to waking thought. The steady beep-beep increased its pace in conjunction with the groan that drifted from between slightly parted lips. Wide, almond shaped eyes the color of decadently rich chocolate fluttered open scant seconds before she heard the sounds of the rapidly approaching medics. Then people filled her room. Some clad in various colored scrubs and a few dressed in pristine white lab coats with stethoscopes wrapped around their necks. All of them watched her every breath as it filled her lungs and was expelled. The blinking of her eyes alone held great interest for them, as they looked their fill. Frightened, Cordelia Chase swallowed with a great deal of difficulty before uttering the first word she'd spoken in over a year. "Angel..." **************************** Spike let out a pained groan as he struggled against the heavy fog surrounding his brain, instinctively stroking a hand through the silken strands of hair fanned across his shoulder. His mate's name expelled as a harsh whisper as though he'd been screaming for days, though he couldn't remember why he would have been screaming in the first place. He swallowed against a throat which felt as though it were lined with jagged bits of glass and licked his dry, cracked lips. The small body curled up against his side trembled violently. A quiet whimper sounded in the still air of the room before a flushed, tear-stained face lifted, and his eyes met with Dawn's red rimmed ones. Upon seeing that he was awake, his -What should I call her? My daughter? Sister? Does she even know the truth of her own parentage? - Nibblet sobbed loudly with visible relief. His questions were answered when her little girl lost voice whimpered her first word, "Daddy?" And he felt his heart swell with so much pride and love that he thought it might very well burst from his chest. But, something was wrong. Even though his demon clamored for a chance to reclaim this precious gift from the Powers That Be, he wanted … no, he needed his mate. Thus, Spike stretched out all of his senses, taking in the broken bedroom window. Narrowed to mere slits, the amber eyes of his demon zeroed in on the faint traces of blood on jagged glass. Gently nudging Dawn from his chest, sparing a brief glance at his Bit's saddened face, Spike stood from the bed and moved to the window. Buffy was out there, somewhere, and he'd be dust once more and damned a hundred times over if he allowed anything to stand in the way of his finding her. Spike took the same route as his diminutive mate, lithely dropping three stories to land with a predator's grace, black leather duster fluttering in the breeze. Allowing his demon to take control, he lifted his face and scented the air. Animalistic glee filled him as he easily picked up the scent Buffy had left specifically for him, whether she realized it or not. Little bitch of mine wants to play games...Forgot who she's dealing with...'M not Peaches. The image her scent conjured up, sent blood surging to his loins. He groaned as lust flooded his system, making his demon howl in expectation of the chase. Let's go find our mate and teach the stubborn chit a lesson. Think the bint needs reminding who she bloody well belongs to... ************************ It had been oh, so very long since she'd wanted anything but death. That sweet, blessed release from all the pain and the fighting. For what seemed an eternity death hadn't been just snapping at her heels, it'd been carving out pieces of her soul and leaving gaping wounds where it crawled inside with the intimacy of a long time lover. Curling within her deepest places and nesting there in wait for the moment she allowed it to take her fully. Now she was death. She was death and life, so thoroughly enmeshed in one another that even she could no longer discern where one ended and the other began. Tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight, she was free for the first time in as long as she could remember. The only thing that mattered to her was the sum of three little words. Want. Take. Have. Want... She'd seen it in the window of a specialty shop as she'd prowled through the streets. Shiny leather the color of freshly spilled blood. Ruby red exuberance tightly sheathing sleek, powerful muscles. It would ride low on her hips, the cold metal pressing deliciously against her aching clit; rubbing in just the right way with her every step. Take... It had been nothing at all for her to deliver a powerful sidekick to the large glass standing between Buffy and the display case greedily coveting the thing she desired. Too fast for the very human sales clerk to react, the petite Guardian snatched her prize from its resting place. In a flash, she'd obtained the matching leather tank top and the black, heavy soled boots matching the laces of the top. An instant later, she'd already vanished back into the night. She stopped slipping through the shadows to don her newly acquired armor when she spied a thick copse of trees. Glancing down at the grungy looking pajamas she'd forgotten were still covering her body, Buffy growled in irritation and tore the navy silk pants and blouse. She could always buy more where those had come from, anyway. Buffy sighed with obvious pleasure as she all but slithered into the second skin. A grin split her face, showcasing a double set of both upper and lower fangs to match the flickering green/gold blaze in her eyes and the tiny little ridges above her brow. Hearing a noise nearby, Buffy froze and attuned her senses in order to locate the source. When no further sounds other than the night followed, she relaxed and turned back the way she came. She'd taken but a single step when something large and heavy tackled her from behind and drove her back to the ground. She screamed as lethal canines plunged deep into her neck, savagely tearing at the flesh and furiously sucking down her potent blood. Everybody knew the blood of a Slayer was an aphrodisiac. What about the blood of a Guardian? Everything went black. *************************** Over the weeks since his arrival in Rome, Spike had found that among the many establishments owned by the ancient city's Master Vampire, were several demon-only hotels. One such hotel was located near Night Haven and provided a discreet service for the discriminating vampire. It was like the bloody W for the undead, except instead of a mint on the pillow, rooms came with virgin blood in the dishonor bar and a trunk full of 'Toys' at the foot of their lavish beds. After checking into the Black Rose Inn with an unconscious, leather clad female draped over his shoulder and being shown to their suite, Spike knew he needed to phone up Red and the Nib so as not to worry them overmuch in regards to his and the Slayer's whereabouts. He kept the call very brief and carried a hint of warning that those who could feel the inner workings of both Buffy's and his own minds, do what they must to allow the couple their privacy until their return. The last thing he needed was for their daughter to be a captive audience for whatever happened upon Buffy's return to consciousness. Red wasn't much of a concern for him, Spike reasoned. Aside from being a powerful witch, the redhead had learned when and when not to take a peek into someone else's brain. She no longer abused her power. Of course, the fact that Spike just didn't give a tinker's damn whether or not the witch caught a mindful went a long way to aiding his comfort level. Once he finished the phone call, Spike dropped the cell phone onto the nightstand and moved to the chest at the foot of the bed. Some of the contents he found within brought back interesting memories -some good, others...well, not so much- and he shoved them all aside as he rifled through the neatly arranged implements until he found what he was searching for. The heavy chains clanked loudly as he pulled them free from the wooden box, and he returned to his unconscious mate, slipping the manacles around each wrist and securing it to a metal ring attached to the wall above the bed. He had a vague sense of the changes that had occurred within her body as a result of the ritual, but Spike would be a fool if he didn't take necessary precautions just in case the new and improved Buffy Summers was drastically altered in a.... Not going to think that way, mate. Just secure the bloody chains and wait for the girl to wake up. Once he assured himself that the slender blonde would be unable to escape her bonds, Spike pulled a chair to the bedside and settled himself in to wait. When had it all started? That was the question he'd asked himself thousands of times over the last couple of years. What had been the moment in which William the Bloody, self-proclaimed Slayer of Slayers had become so irrevocably obsessed with the woman-child he'd been so determined to kill once upon a hellmouth? You bloody well know exactly when, you git; said the voice of his demon, while his inner William sputtered at the way Spike's eyes drank in the way the shiny leather molded to her succulent thighs. His mouth watered and his borrowed blood went straight to the burgeoning erection behind the cold metal zipper of his jeans. Back, you beast! William shrieked at the demon. Spike had the sudden image of his human self dressed head to foot in tweed, unruly mousy brown curls flopping everywhere as he wielded a whip and chair at the demon, like some lion tamer. You shall not molest our girl whilst she is unaware! Said whip cracked through the air with an audible snap, and the demon snarled through a mouthful of fangs. Spike groaned aloud, scrubbing a hand over his face even as he noted that the mental exchange between his soul and his demon had somewhat distracted him from the very delectable sight of his mate chained to the bed. In the place of his lustful perusal of leather and warm, golden skin, his earlier question returned. This is not the time for self-delusion, my friend, William informed him in a calm tone. The image of William now seated in the chair, which he'd previously used in order to fend off the lecherous demon. Apparently, William had exchanged the whip for a writing tablet and pen. You are well aware of that defining moment. Even he is aware. William nodded to his side where a game-faced Spike grinned lasciviously around his elongated canines. To prove his point, William waved a hand in the air and the memory arose to the forefront of his mind. ***FLASHBACK*** Fall, 1998 He hadn't been given much information to go on. Small. Blonde. Lethal. Spends a great deal of time at the local dance club. Small and blonde, check. Covered the majority of female flesh currently flinging about in the noise which passed for music in this joint. He could feel her out there, in the dim light and the mass of humans with their heartbeats thundering against his senses. They were clueless that death came dressed in black denims and long, black leather duster. The women who'd noticed him, and a few of the men as well, wore a different sort of hunger on their faces than the one he would satis-… Hold on a tick... He saw her then, moving away from a table on which her scattered school things lay forgotten. Instead, she took to the dance floor with another female and an awkward male whose chaotic jerks and twists would have been comical, had Spike bothered to notice. But, Spike noticed nothing. Saw nothing other than HER. Golden hair, golden skin, glittering eyes filled with a hunger for life. ***END FLASHBACK*** That was the moment in which he'd been lost. Spike knew that now with more certainty than he knew of any other truth. There, dancing with her friends in an overcrowded dance club, the sixteen year old Buffy Anne Summers dug herself straight into the very core of her would-be murderer's being. Spike’s thoughts were violently interrupted by the very loud screech of metal, a fraction of an instant before he found his lap filled with warm flesh and the sharp pain of fangs slicing into his neck. tbc _______________________________________________________________ A/N: For those of you who are unfamiliar with the name W, it's a chain of five star hotels owned by Starwood Resorts and Hotels Worldwide. Snapshots of Eternity Chapter Nine: Revelations in the Night beta'd by Oracleholly It happened fast. One moment Spike had been lost in his own thoughts, using memories of a night, which had occurred a lifetime ago to divert himself from the luscious, leather wrapped package sprawled and chained to the bed before him. Then, there was the screech of metal as the manacles were torn asunder. She'd pounced on him in a flash of gold, black and red. The sharp pain of fangs - Buffy had fangs! - brutally sliced through his skin. The feeling of both her fangs and her lips latching onto the wound was nothing compared to the tidal wave of knowledge which crashed into and over him. Whatever mystical barrier that had once been erected to hide the details of the ritual he and his mate had recently undergone came tumbling down with the first pull of blood that passed her pouty, bee stung lips and pooled in the moist cavern of her mouth. Yet, he couldn't explain it, but he knew everything she knew and felt what she felt, even as her throat constricted swallowing her first mouthful of vampiric blood making room for her next compulsive gulp. Memories.... He remembered his last thought as Buffy left him chained to that cavern wall taking her appointed place for the ritual. He'd known, instinctively, that whatever was going to happen was bad enough that the soddin' Powers That Fucked With You had deemed it necessary for Spike to be bound and helpless to go to his mate's aid. Helpless.... He'd been helpless to do anything but watch as chains sprouted from the cavern floor and attached themselves to her wrists and ankles, entrapping her where she stood and binding the Guardian to the earth. Pieces of knowledge had tugged at his awareness. A vague recollection filtered through the intent focus Spike placed on his golden girl and the resigned look in her eyes. That look spoke volumes. She knew what was to come and her own stormy jade gaze switched between the vampire and the three beings whom had been, in Tara and Anya's cases, close friends while Cordelia had been alternately a pain in the Slayer's ass, friend and comrade in the fight against the forces of darkness. Tara's whisper soft voice had cut through the heavy silence of the cavern, asking if Buffy were ready to begin. Buffy had replied with a careful nod of her blonde head. Spike had tried to interrupt, his rising fear for what was to come in the next small eternity temporarily overriding his resolve that these beings perform whatever ritual they needed in order to cure his love of her current state. His mouth opened, but he found himself unable to make a sound. The former Wiccan shot an apologetic look his way, her luminous blue eyes conveying the sincerity behind the apology. Her look had lasted only a mere fraction of a human heartbeat before the gentle spirit's attention returned to the young woman bound in chains. A large staff appeared in her hands, ornately carved in dark, gleaming wood and adorned with ancient markings that Spike assumed to be charms or wards. Perhaps the markings were in a language dating back to a time when the earth was still young and overrun by those creatures for which the Slayer had originally been created. As one, Tara, Anya and Cordelia--the latter two having taken up staffs matching the one in Tara's hands-- began a rhythmic thumping against the dirt floor. Their voices mingled into a beautiful cadence of words in a language Spike had never heard. For a moment, nothing happened. Then everything happened at once. Pain ripped through Spike's entire being, something like a black mist seeping from his pores and coalescing into a solid shadow before him. A howling wind filled the packed dirt room and sent icy fingers of panic skittering over the vampire's flesh. He could practically hear the outrage of his demon as it tried to tear itself from its flesh and bone prison and go to its mate. The scent of his own blood alerted Spike to the extent of his struggle to escape the chains. He could feel the thick viscous fluid sliding down his arms from the torn skin of his wrists. Didn't matter how badly damaged his own body became as long as he could stop her pain. Screams were spilling from her throat as Buffy fell to her hands and knees on the cold dirt. She'd known what would happen. Tara had explained it all to her as they'd made their trek here. The last time she'd been offered this gift, she'd vehemently rejected it. She had not jumped through the portal in search of answers just to get knocked up by some random demon essence. Instead, she'd fought against it with everything in her. Now was a different story. The dark men were nowhere to be found. She was surrounded by love, in this moment, by the aspects of womanhood. Serenity, beauty, courage and strength. The heavy, rhythmic pounding of each staff as it struck the ground kept pace with the steady pumping of her heart as it pushed powerful blood through her veins. The very same rhythmic pounding gave her a focal point and allowed her to block some of the pain as a piece of her soul was ripped from her body and replaced with a coinciding piece of Spike's demon. They were already mated and shared a daughter despite those lies the monks had used to hide that bit of knowledge. Sharing essences was really the logical next step. Would she become a vampire? No. At least not in the same way Spike was a vampire. This was different. She would be different, because she was already immortal. The Slayer demon, while closely tied to that which had set up shop in her mate's dead, soulless body, was able to reside within a living host. The advantage it held over its counterpart was its ability to move about during the day for brief periods of time. It also allowed for the majority of the human soul to remain within, to co-exist rather than force out those last traces of humanity. Her heart would still beat and she would still be Buffy, though the upgrade would go a long way to healing that part of herself which had been broken after the fall of Sunnydale and her defeat against the First Evil. The image of her new incarnation arose in the forefront of her mind as Buffy felt her canines extend and the corresponding teeth on her lower jaw elongated into a smaller, though no less lethal, set of fangs. She would need to ingest blood, Spike's, whenever the lust for it demanded to be fed. Thankfully, due to the dormant Slayer demon buried deep within, the bit of Spike's demon would only awaken the primitive creature. There would be no feeding from those she'd always been bound by sacred duty to protect. Tara had warned her that she might have some difficulty controlling herself, her hungers and desires, in the beginning. The ghostly guide urged her to remain close to her mate-- and now Sire, for lack of a better explanation-- as much as possible until she did learn to co-exist with the newly formed and awakened demon side of herself. The connection would need to be tended in much the same way as the mating claim, through blood and mysticism. Blood... The first mouthful of blood, darkly rich, powerful, and better than anything she'd ever tasted in her life, slid down her throat causing her to moan against her vampire's tantalizing skin. Even to her ears, the sound was closer to an actual purr than anything human. An answering rumble vibrated from the hard, powerful body beneath her, the vibration sending bolts of electricity straight to her core. She tore her fangs from the incredible elixir freely flowing from the open wound she'd created, swiping her tongue across the jagged tear before sitting up and flinging her hair out of her face. Her eyes met the burning amber of her mate's gaze, the naked lust held in them dragging a low moan from her as she ground herself against the hardness pressed against her. Moisture flooded the material of her lacy thong. The scent of her own arousal filled the air, rivaling the answering scent of her mate's. The low growl that rumbled past his lips, the flare of his nostrils, the bruising grip of his clawed hands as he held her tightly and thrust against her, had Buffy dancing on that knife's edge of nearly crippling need. Her newly acquired demon had one, single-minded goal. ****************************************** Dawn knew what was happening. The Key was almost giddy, as it, she, whatever, kept up a running commentary on what her parents were doing. So don't need the images, thanks all the same. "Focus, Dawn," Willow's voice was sharp as it crackled in the air between them. Oz, under Willow's strict orders, had enclosed the three females within a circle of sacred sand. Faith didn't seem the slightest disturbed by whatever feelings she was getting through her connection to Buffy. If Willow was affected, the Goddess didn't let on. That just left Dawn open to the full brunt of thoughts and emotions she could feel through the connection to her parents. When Buffy had awakened from wherever she and Spike had disappeared during their little mystical coma, the Guardian had given Dawn a fierce hug, whispered a few words of comfort-- words that had sounded so much like goodbye-- and took a running leap through the plate-glass window. Whatever force that linked the Key, the vampire and the Guardian had been completely sealed during their coma. The strain of the lost connection had finally worn away the last of her control and Dawn had curled against the still comatose vampire, heaving sobs wracking her petite frame. The moment Spike had regained consciousness, the links re-opened and all the details of the ritual came flooding back in a torrent of images and feelings. Then even Spike had bolted leaving his distraught daughter lying in a weeping huddle on the bed where Willow found her just moments later. It was in that moment which Willow realized the full extent of Dawn's lack of control. The girl was being slowly taken over by the entity of the Key, unwittingly feeding it more and more power through her tentative attempts with spell casting and her loss of emotional control. Determination flooded her system as Willow resolved to remain with Dawn for as long as it took for the younger woman to learn control over herself. With Faith's help, they cleared a place in the middle of the living room floor for the three girls to sit facing each other and practice a few meditation techniques. Then, Spike had called with his news that he'd found Buffy and that he would bring the blonde back soon. The moment she'd disconnected from the call, Willow had already began instructing Oz on how to set up the spell ingredients which would create a wall of silence around the women. Once activated, the spell would block out any and all outside elements from reaching those on the inside. The last of the sand was poured and a sound very much like that of a bug zapper zinged throughout the apartment. All was silent within the well. ************************************ It was hard to say how they'd ended up in this position. Her hands were braced against the wall, with a fully aroused vampire pressed along her back, a set of razor sharp fangs embedded within her throat. Some distant voice within her railed against the complete, blatant show of dominance on his part while she was being held immobilized in a submissive stance. She couldn't move. Why couldn't she move? She always moved during sex. A lot. Oh, but this works, too, the traitorous voice in her head whimpered. The sound of it was quite audible, as one of the hands splayed across her belly slipped to the fastenings that held the leather pants together. She felt the minute tug as he clasped the zipper and slid it down, a fresh flood of juices further soaking her already sodden undergarments and another mewl escaped her parted lips. Spike's hand snaked inside the loosened trousers. His deft fingers slid beneath the pitiful excuse for knickers, which provided the last bit of barrier separating him from the only heaven he'd likely ever know. His eyes rolled back slightly, and he released the grip he had on her neck when his fingers at last obtained their goal in the hot, moist folds of her sex. He gave the bite mark a quick lick and trailed his tongue to her ear. "So wet for me, kitten...hot and wet...smell divine," he babbled in her ear. His fingers nimbly found the engorged bundle of nerves and he gave it a sharp pinch, grinning when she groaned and her knees weakened. "Spike," his girl moaned as her head fell back against his chest. He held her tighter to his front, warring with his demon over the desire to just tear away her clothes and blindly thrust within her heated depths and his inner William's want to give his mate a proper seeing to. The next words out of her mouth decided it for him. ************************************** Snapshots of Eternity Chapter 10: Until Time Stops Beta'd by the beta-shaped Goddess, Oracleholly “Tell me you love me.” “I love you.” “Tell me you want me.” “Until time stops, the world ends and eternity fades to nothing,” he rasped in the ear he'd been nuzzling. Ever the poet, he thought with no little amusement. Then he couldn't think much of anything beyond the utterly primal need to mate with this beautiful creature in his arms. She had turned within the circle of his arms, her eyes glazed with passion and need. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and he groaned at the sight, wanting to pull that delightfully talented appendage into his mouth and feel it wrap around his own. Spike noticed there was a look in her eyes that went beyond the mere physical delights her body craved. A yearning, a need for something he couldn't quite put a name to…oh…. A slow, sexy grin he knew had always gotten her right in the knickers slid across his sharply chiseled features. “Tell me you love me,” he demanded in a low, sensual tone. Excitement made her eyes sparkle and she laughed softly, intimately as she began to walk him backwards towards the bed. “I love you,” she punctuated her statement with a lingering kiss to that wide, sensual mouth she loved so much. The backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress and she pressed him to sit. “Tell me you want me,” the smile on his face had gone from playful to awestruck in the blink of an eye. There was another emotion in his eyes that hurt Buffy's heart to realize. After everything that they had been through; after every way she had tried to show him since he'd miraculously reappeared in her life, there still remained some tiny bit of lingering doubt that she would turn him away. How could she not love him? He'd been a part of her for so long now that she couldn't remember her life before he'd shown up in that alley behind the Bronze. They shared a daughter- how weird was that? Sure, she knew the monks had made Dawn from her. Still…and the spell…and with the fake memories- Spike had given her Dawn. How could Buffy not love him? As for wanting? Buffy realized she had been quiet for several moments, just losing herself in her thoughts and the drowning azure pools steadily gazing back at her. She smiled, so much emotion making her chest tight. Moisture gathered in her eyes and she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, her other hand softly cupping his cheek. When she smiled again, it was a bright, beautiful smile filled with everything she had inside her heart and soul. Tell me you want me. How could I not? “Until time stops, the world ends and eternity fades to nothing.” Spike was speechless. All the flowery words of William vanished as the admission left her sweet lips and found their way into his ears. The truth he'd always wanted to hear from her and the adoring gaze coupled with the wondrous smile told him everything he needed to know. This was his Buffy. His Slayer. This wasn't the sixteen year old girl in love with his brooding, soulful grandsire. Nor was she the broken woman dragged from Heaven by her well-meaning friends. And most certainly she no longer was the heartbroken, soul-sick creature he'd encountered a small handful of weeks ago. This was the Buffy he'd held in his arms those final days in the Hellmouth. The golden goddess who'd declared him her Champion and entrusted him with the lives of everyone she held dear. This was his mate. Tears filled his own eyes as he drank in the sheer beauty before him, and Spike pressed his face to the strip of bare flesh between the leather trousers she still wore and the barely-there top. He just wanted to curl up in her arms and stay there forever. Buffy, however, had other ideas. She felt like she hadn't really been with him since before the fall of Sunnydale. In a lot of ways, she hadn't; too broken after everything that had happened since that day her world had exploded and left her more fully devastated than the debris filled crater that had once been her home. Happiness bloomed in her chest, her heart soaring with hope that she now had eternity to spend in the arms of her perfect mate. “Not enough,” she whispered so softly that his vampiric hearing barely heard it. “What's that, kitten,” he asked her, and she felt her stomach flip at the sensual glide of his fingers caressing the warm skin of her lower back. She looked down into that beautiful face of her love. “Eternity still isn't long enough for me to show you how much I love you.” The resulting look of stunned surprise was almost comical, as his eyes grew so wide they looked in danger of falling out of his face, his mouth gaping and the rest of his body going statue still as he looked up at her. “What is it?” Slowly, the sweetest smile curved his lips. “'S the first time you've said that to me since that day in the hell mouth. And don't say you said it before when we were--oomph,” Suddenly, Spike found himself with a lapful of mate as she flung herself into his arms and fastened her mouth to his, greedily feasting as though she were starving and he was the first meal she'd seen in days. The kiss seemed to last forever, their tongues sliding and wrapping around each other as each battled for dominance. When they at last broke to give Buffy a moment to breathe, she attacked the sensitive flesh of his throat; her fangs dropping as she lightly grazed them over her previous marks. The urge to mark him again nearly overwhelming her and she growled softly. His answering growl accompanied his hands, gripping her hips with enough strength to leave bruises. His hips ground into her leather covered sex, and she mewled and writhed against him. “Off,” she demanded, gripping the hem of his tee shirt and tugging, frantic to get at the bare skin beneath. He lifted his arms dutifully and allowed her to rip the offending material over his head and cast it aside even as his nimble fingers deftly worked the laces holding her top together. The shiny, constrictive garment was gone an instant later and cool lips latched themselves onto a pert nipple while a hand palmed her other breast. Buffy threw her head back with a hiss of pleasure, holding on as tightly as she could while sensations sparked through her petite frame. Tension coiled low in her belly, molten heat flowing through her veins. Without warning, she shoved Spike to his back atop the expensive bedspread, hands grasping at the rough denim jeans and jerking until she had them down his legs, then tossed them to the rapidly growing pile on the floor. She hesitated only a moment to take in the mouth-watering sight of pale flesh that could give any Greek statuary a serious case of envy. Oh,…oh, gods…Naked Spike…MINE! the voice in her head chanted and Buffy licked her suddenly dry lips as she settled a knee on the foot of the bed and crawled upwards to cover the sinfully beautiful body with her own, stopping to drop hungry nips and kisses along the way. A low hiss colored the air as she lingered over the smooth expanse of flesh covering Spike's lower abdominal muscle. She knew for a fact that it drove him crazy when she nibbled on the velvety skin surrounding his navel. If the hard column of muscle nudging the underside of her chin were any indication, it still drove him wild. Cheeky bint, Spike thought as the love of his unlife tossed a wink his way and opened those luscious lips to wrap around the head of his aching cock. He groaned as it disappeared inch by inch into the moist, blazing inferno of her mouth. His hands clenched in the coverlet and he tore his eyes from the sight of her head bobbing up and down. All it would take would be her eyes on his while that sweet mouth worked him and her soft hand cupped and kneaded his…. Bloody fucking… Hotter than hell and needing some form of release, Buffy slid her free hand down her taut belly and beneath her unfastened pants. Her small fingers found her clit and skimmed light circles over it as she slid her lips all the way to the base of her lover's turgid member. Relaxing her throat, she swallowed around the belled head and hummed as he growled at her. The urge to giggle at him was repressed, but only just. Instead, her eyes climbed up his torso to meet desire darkened eyes almost fully swallowed by the pupils. Another growl echoed through the suite and his hands reached down to jerk her up and away from the center of her teasing attentions. “No more fun an' games, luv,” he ground out from between tightly clenched teeth. Spike rolled her beneath him and quickly divested her of the last remaining barriers separating their bodies. “Need inside you, kitten. 'll give you a proper seein' to next time,” he promised in a strained whisper as he settled himself between her spread thighs and joined them together in one sharp thrust. Dual groans filled the air as he stilled momentarily within her body. Toned, golden limbs wrapped themselves around him, hidden muscles clenching and unclenching in an effort to urge him on. His smoldering gaze swept over her, eyebrow arching as he saw raw desire and need meeting him in her hazel gaze. Tiny nails scraped along the coiled muscles in his back until they dug into the firm globes of his ass. That was all it took before Spike was pounding viciously into her body. Her head arched backwards onto the pillow, mouth open wide as delicious moans and grunts spilled from her lips. She babbled senselessly as he circled his hips to grind his pubic bone into her engorged clit. Every thrust was hitting her in just the right way, pushing her higher and higher as her inner muscles squeezed and massaged him for all she was worth. He wasn't going to last and he knew it. But he wasn't going over that ledge alone. Instead, he snaked a hand down between them, grasping the tiny bundle of nerves and giving it a sharp twist as he plunged his fangs into the marks he'd left just a little while ago. A shriek rose on the sultry air, and her own fangs found his throat in return. Orgasm slammed through them both as they swallowed mouthfuls of blood. Bodies shuddered and pulsed, and they pulled free by mutual consent to howl their release with dual cries of, “Mine!” A moment passed, and, both panting and shaking, softer voices echoed, “Yours.” Buffy smiled a tearful smile up at the man who owned her heart, body and soul, pressing her sweat dampened forehead to his and whispered, “Until time stops, the world ends and eternity fades to nothing.” tbc A/N: Manipulated dialogue shamelessly stolen from AtS S5 episode “You’re Welcome”. A gentle reminder, this story was designed to be non-canon and, while I do touch on canon elements throughout, I am not writing this to follow the progression of any themes used by Joss and his wonderful team of talented writers. As always, I own nothing. It’s all the property of someone else kind enough to let me play. Now, on with the ficcy goodness. :-P Snapshots of Eternity Chapter Eleven: Spin You to Thy Rest Cordelia had been awake for three days. At first, she'd been exhausted- which was an odd sensation considering she'd been asleep for the past eight months. The exhaustion and disorientation had lasted only as long as it had taken Angel and Wesley to arrive from wherever they had been when the medical staff had alerted them of Cordelia's return to land of ‘the not in a coma.’ Like an avenging...well, angel, Angel had swept into the room, a good brood on his face. His eyes were cold and flat towards the senior medical staff, sending doctors, nurses and orderlies, alike, scurrying off to an elsewhere not inside her semi-private room. Then, just Angel, Wesley and herself remained. Cordy's deep, wide set eyes welled with the tears of relief that the vampire and the former Watcher turned rogue demon hunter had come for her. After the hell of the previous year - after the supernatural entity within Cordelia's body had torn apart all their lives - Angel and Wesley had still come for her. It all came back to her in a rush—the guilt and the horror that she'd been unable to prevent the other from shoving all that was Cordelia Chase into some dark hole inside as it brought forth the Beast. Images of the pain she'd caused as ‘she’ played on the confused affections of the man-child she'd looked upon as a surrogate son... No! Not me! That thing was controlling my body! I didn't...would never... Great wracking sobs tore from deep down in her soul and Cordelia whimpered, burying her face in her hands so the men didn't see. Strong arms wrapped around her, and she jerked away from the comforting embrace. Or tried to, at least. They just held on tighter; Angel to her left, Wesley to her right, different as night and day, yet similar in their desire to ease her suffering as well as to celebrate the return of one whom they'd both thought was lost to them. Neither man spoke as they held the third part of their triad—She’d been the heart and soul of what once had been Angel Investigations after Doyle had sacrificed himself to save the countless lives of beings whose only crimes had consisted of the fact that they were demon halflings. Until Gunn had come along, it had just been the three of them. A vampire cursed with a soul, a former Watcher ostracized by the Council to which he’d devoted his life in service, and a former Scooby, who’d left behind the Hellmouth once her family had lost all its wealth and possessions. Well, not so much lost, as the IRS had come and taken it all away in lieu of the taxes Daddy had never bothered to pay. Ever. Then Gunn had reluctantly found himself as part of the group after the numerous times his gang of streetwise of demon hunters had crossed paths with Angel Investigations. Both leaders finding a common goal in their mission – saving the helpless from those creatures that went fangy and homicidal in the night. The young, tough black man had lost his entire family to vampires, his baby sister having been turned and subsequently staked by Gunn’s own hand. This moment, however, wasn’t about Gunn. Or Lorne, the Pylean empath demon, whose world had imprisoned the sweet, introverted Texan, Fred, until Angel had rescued her on the way to rescuing Cordelia when she’d ended up in the alternate dimension. This moment was about the three present-- Vampire, Watcher and Seer. All connected by memories of life as a white hat fighting evil atop a hellmouth. They were now linked in another way. Each had caused pain for the others in the years since forming Angel Investigations. Each had committed crimes against each other that would haunt them as they sought atonement for past sins. Although her tears had stopped, they still sat on the narrow hospital bed and clung to each other. Cordy sighed from between slightly trembling lips and she closed her eyes. She reveled in the cool touch of Angel’s soft, firm lips pressed to her temple, while Wesley’s warm cheek rested in the crook of her neck. The storm of emotions passed at last, and Cordy wriggled in attempt to get the men to move. “Guys, uh…not that I’m not glad to see you, cuz, I’m all with the so glad I’m not Coma Cordy anymore, but…Think we can get out of here? Think I’ve had more than enough of hospitals to last me the next forever.” ************************************* Hours had passed since Cordelia had found herself once more a part of the waking world and she found herself wishing, at the oddest moments, that she were back in that other place. The place between the worlds where light met shadow, land of the eternal gray area. Being back was painful. There was so much pain in the world. Death and disease; thousands of atrocities humans visited upon each other. Add to that the forces of evil, monsters of every ilk ready to tear flesh from bone and consume the souls of the innocent. Dread had settled like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. More and more memories were coming back to her, and Cordy felt the weight of knowledge pressing down on her soul. The burden of truth was a terrible thing as the Seer settled herself on the side of Angel’s bed opening a cardboard box filled with her personal effects Angel had saved. A sad little smile curved her lips as she pulled her high school yearbook, still slightly charred around the edges. Sunnydale was gone now, with no sign that it had ever existed. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Now, there was nothing but a big dirt-filled crater where once there had been a town. One dark eyebrow arched slightly as the old saying ‘you can never go home again’ teased through her mind. Discarding the yearbook without opening it, Cordy continued to rifle through the box’s contents. Photo albums and framed pictures, knick-knacks and little mementos of her time since moving to Los Angeles and taking up with Angel and his mission. Tears filled her eyes as she came across a framed sketch she’d done after the very first vision she’d been given by the Powers That Be. Angel had framed the ugly little picture of the “gray blob-y thing” as a reminder that a piece of Doyle would remain with them always. The tears spilled over and tracked down her cheeks, unchecked by a woman whose mind now focused inward upon the memory of the Irish human/Brachen demon hybrid. Sure, Doyle had drunk too much, gambled with money he didn’t have, and had worse fashion sense than a sixteen-year-old Xander Harris. But, that was Doyle. Despite all his faults, a very large part of Cordy had fallen in love with him. Despite the impenetrable walls she had built around her heart after the numerous times it had been broken, it was Doyle who’d wormed his way inside and refused to do the gentlemanly thing and leave. More memories of the last five years brought with them the nearly overwhelming weight of knowledge gained, be it through experiences or what she acquired as she’d existed on that higher plane. Her tenure as a higher being had gifted her with the ability to see the big picture. And, oh boy, had she seen enough to know that she’d rather be ignorant. Past, present and future. She knew what was to come, though she also knew that the geas upon her wouldn’t allow her to actually communicate that knowledge. It was hers and hers alone. Curse and gift, both at the same time. Shaking herself from her reveries, Cordy gently placed the framed sketch on the bed beside her and reached for another item within the box. “I know you’re there. I can feel you,” her voice rang out strong and true in the semi-darkness of Angel’s bedroom. “Might as well show yourself.” With a wave of one slender hand, a ray of white light spread across the walls with a whisper of sound. That particular power had come as part of her demon package was one of the few things she was grateful for in the wackiness that was Cordelia Chase. A soft popping sound signified that the room was secure and cloaked from detection by the Senior Partners. The figure lurking just outside the bedroom door entered, head down, footsteps silent on the plush carpeting. Cordy lay the video cassette in her lap and studied the intruder, gaze looking past the façade of strength and courage to see the fear so well hidden from the rest of the world. “Must be exhausting,” the Seer’s voice was filled with compassion, and blue eyes snapped up sharply. “Playing all sides. Going against the natural order. You’ve no idea what you’ve done, no inkling of the events you’ve set in motion.” Anger furrowed the smooth brow on the child before her, though not a word passed from the tightly closed mouth. Cordy waited a moment to see if her visitor would speak, her dark eyebrows rose when she was answered with silence. “What?” she asked when the silence continued, “Nothing to say? Not like there is anything to say. What’s done is done, and there’s no way you can take it back.” Again there was silence. Cordy sighed as she felt a bit of maternal instinct rise within herself. “Does he know who you are, or why you’re really here? Do any of them know?” A shake of the head, and the older woman was ready to scream in frustration at the stubborn silence she received as answers to her question. A brief glance at the tape in her lap and she had an idea. Rising, the brunette crossed to the entertainment system situated against one of the walls. “I want to show you something.” ************************************* It was a couple hours, and way too much thinking than was healthy for her, later when Cordelia heard the ding signifying the arrival of the elevator. She was still seated on the edge of Angel’s bed, her visitor long gone and the video still playing. Her heart ached with a bittersweet longing to return to the early days of Angel Investigations when things had been somewhat normal despite the very lack of normality which encompassed all their lives. She remembered the day this video had been made, and smiled a little as the ensouled vampire wandered into the bedroom. She spared him with a brief glance as she continued to watch Doyle onscreen, bright blue eyes filled with determination as the crystalline orbs surreptitiously flicked from the camera to the off-screen cue cards she’d written for him. Bad acting and discomfiture at being in front of the all-seeing lens making the half-demon’s shoulders hunch a bit and his hands fiddle with some object or another in the pockets of his wrinkled, ill-fitting pants. “…so when the chips are down, and at the end of your rope, you need someone you can count on. That’s what you’ll find here. Someone who’ll go all the way. Someone who’ll protect you no matter what. So don’t lose hope.” Pausing the tape, Cordy returned her gaze to the large figure standing in the doorway, inwardly delighted to find his dark eyes on the screen. “First soldier down,” she announced unnecessarily. She’d been preparing for this conversation since the moment she’d learned of Angel’s new position as CEO of Wolfam & Hart, evil Attorneys at Law. And who the hell in their right mind would hire Harmony as their personal assistant? Nevermind that she’s as vapid as they come, she’s a freaking soulless vampire! ************************************* The dark haired vampire had become very still beneath the intense scrutiny of the woman seated upon the edge of his bed. How many times had he dreamed of just one more minute with Cordelia's eyes focused on him? How many months, years, had he wanted to see her smiling and know that it was all for him? The months she'd spent on the higher plane had left a gaping hole in his life, and an even larger emptiness within his soul. Once she'd been returned to him, her body had unknowingly been infested with the entity that would become Jasmine once it had used Angel's own son to conceive a flesh and blood vessel for it to inhabit. She was speaking, and Angel forced away thoughts of the past as he stepped further into the room. "Sorry," she murmured and fidgeted with the remote in her hand before dropping it onto the bed beside her. "I found this and-" "No. It's okay," he assured her as he seated himself beside her. "You couldn't sleep?" An unladylike snort was her answer. "God, no. I've slept enough to last me a lifetime." Angel nodded his understanding. Turned so that he wasn't facing her or the screen but could see the reflection of both in the large windows overlooking the busy lights of Los Angeles. "It's been a long while since I've seen this," he admitted. "Doyle pissed me off so righteously going out like that." Cordelia whispered softly. She glanced at Angel's back, knowing that she'd found the right method by which to broach this conversation. "But, he knew. He knew what he had to do and didn't compromise. He used his last breath to make sure you would keep fighting. I get that now." Do I ever... Angel sighed, "Cordy...". A moment passed while he struggled with what to say that would make her understand. "There were reasons I agreed to take over Wolfram & Hart. Reasons you don't understand." Apparently, that was the absolute wrong thing to say as the woman he loved launched herself up from the bed and paced across the room angrily before turning her furious gaze on him. Warning bells sounded in his head despite his demon's primal assessment that she'd never looked more gorgeous. God, help him, the man in him agreed as he tried in vain to force the lusty thoughts from taking over. Then Catherine Cordelia Chase opened up that spectacular mouth and dumped a proverbial barrel of ice water over his head. ______________________________________________________ A/N: For Cordykitten & Nia. Thank you for the wonderful support and for your kind words. Some dialog taken from AtS S5 episode “You’re Welcome” Chapter Twelve: The Devil’s Playground Eyes glittering with aggravation, breasts heaving, face flushed, Cordelia faced him from across the room. Everything within her wanted to lash out at him in retaliation for the stupidity of his callous decisions. The arrogance he’d displayed in making choices, which affected the group at large. He’d been so determined to do what was best for Angel while masking it as what was best for everyone around him, that he had trapped them all in Hell. That’s exactly where they were, too. Hell. He’d sold them all down the line to the wolves they’d valiantly beat from their door for years. And he’d done it either under the pretense that he’d had no other option or under the false illusion that, by signing them all up for eternal damnation, they could destroy the beast from within its belly. Doesn’t he get that this is one battle that can’t be won? “I understand just fine,” she flung out at him and turned to gesture to their surroundings, frustration mounting the more she looked at the swank furnishings provided by the evil empire. “They seduced you with all their fancy facilities, man power. They threw a whole bunch of money at you!” She spun on her heels and paced away angrily as the vampire rose to follow. “They plied you with all these expensive toys, penthouses with spectacular views…” her words trailed off as her dark-eyed gaze fell upon said view. “Really spectacular…what was I saying?” she asked when she realized that she’d become distracted. “I’ve been seduced,” Angel offered helpfully as he folded his arms across his chest. Cordy pointed at him. “That’s right, Pal,” she accused and returned to her regularly scheduled ranting. “Dazzled you with shiny objects! Expensive--” She resolutely turned her back on an obviously valuable abstract gracing the wall of his living room and once more faced the object of her frustrations. “There is no reason you can give me--” “Connor,” he said quietly while avoiding her gaze. The name took some of the wind out of her sails, though not for the reasons he would expect. When she spoke again, her voice was gentler, “Where is Connor? Why did Gunn ask…” “They don’t remember him,” Angel interrupted before she could finish the question. “It’s part of the agreement for me to take over this place. The Senior Partners altered reality. They gave Connor a life. A real family and a childhood. Something I could never give him. He has no memory of us, and no one remembers him.” Angel had moved past her as he spoke, and therefore missed the extreme heartbreak that washed over Cordelia’s lovely face before she thrust it beneath a mask of friendly compassion. He sat down on the arm of a sofa, bracing his hands on his knees and heaved a sigh. “Except you and me.” He looked down and muttered, “and Eve, for some reason.” Taking a deep breath in an effort to bring her inner turmoil under control, Cordy looked away briefly before returning her attention to her old friend. “So…,” she drawled as she moved closer to him, “not only did you strike a deal with your worst enemy to give up your son, you let them rape the memories of your closest friends who trust you?” Angel flinched at her blunt words as well as the accusatory tone. “He was about to kill you,” he told her defensively, “and himself. He was so torn up. I didn’t know of any other way to stop him. No way to help him. Connor’s happy now.” The vampire stood abruptly and began to pace. “We’re doing fine here. We’ve done some good work here.” “Don’t give me that ‘we’re doing fine here’ company line!” the Seer snapped angrily. “I’m not buying it and neither are you. Neither are do the Powers That Be! Why do you think I’m here? Why do you think they’ve sent me back with a vision? Truth is, you’ve fallen off your path, and I’m here to put you back on it.” “You’re wrong about the Powers,” Angel argued. “They’re not in my corner anymore.” ************************************* The argument had become even more heated after Angel’s announcement of no longer being the PTB’s choice for Champion. No matter how hard Cordelia had tried to convince the ensouled vampire of his own self worth, she’d eventually reached the limits of her carefully wrought patience. Even though she remained somewhat a higher being deep down despite her earthbound status, Cordelia’s patience and control were not endless. So she’d left the great glass and chrome tower of Hell, Inc. There were things that needed to be seen to and one place she felt she needed to visit for what could possibly be the last time. The door to her old apartment opened the moment she’d come to a stop. A smile of pure pleasure stretched across her face, and Cordelia stepped inside, opening her arms. As a weight settled against her, she didn’t need to see the presence enveloping her to know what it looked like. “How I’ve missed you, my ghostly friend,” Cordy whispered into the seeming emptiness of her former abode. An invisible kiss gently placed against her forehead was the answer she received. She was finally home; welcomed lovingly by her ghost, Phantom Dennis." Did you miss me?” she asked the apparition and could have sworn that she felt a slight rumbling laugh vibrate against her cheek. The door closed behind her, and Cordelia was tugged down a short hallway where a door lay open to reveal a bathroom. Dennis released her for a few moments in order to turn on the taps and drop a stopper into spotlessly clean tub. Steam rose on the still air. A moment later, a bottle of rose-scented bubble bath floated into the room along with a light blue bathrobe, a couple soft, fluffy towels, and other assorted sundries. Everything was laid out lovingly before Dennis carefully peeled away his mistress’ garments. If she could have seen him, Cordelia would have seen a man completely besotted with the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. A good hour passed as Cordelia allowed herself to be thoroughly pampered by Dennis’ gentle ministrations. All the tension and frustrations from her argument with Angel melted away with every glide of ghostly hands, leaving behind utter contentment that she knew would come to an end all too soon. As though he had read her thoughts, the loofah sponge was dropped into the water, and unseen hands began kneading the tense muscles of her neck and shoulders. Clean, dry and relaxed, Cordy returned to the unfurnished living room lit with the soft glow of white votive candles placed atop the mantle over an unused fireplace. Where Dennis had gotten them, she didn’t know. That was just Dennis. He had always taken very good care of her. And as much as she would have loved to bask in his unwavering devotion, she had things she had to do. People she needed to contact. Seating herself upon the creamy beige carpet, Cordelia Chase closed her eyes and focused on the faces of Tara Maclay and Anya Jenkins. ***** “About time you got here,” Anya told the Seer. “Any idea how boring things are when your only charge refuses to remain sober for any length of time? Sheesh! You’d think he had nothing better to do besides live at the bottom of a whisky bottle.” “Anya,” Tara admonished the other spirit. “He’s heartbroken and empty. He lost nearly everything he ever cared about when the hell mouth collapsed. Now everyone’s gone their separate ways and he’s hurting.” “Ladies, please,” Cordelia interrupted the other two. “We’ve got more important things to discuss than a Watcher’s self-embalming. If you two could focus for a minute?” Sheepishly, both female spirits turned resolutely from their individual charges to offer Cordelia their undivided attention. “Yes, ma’am,” and “whatever,” were the replied assurances the earthbound woman received as she quickly took a seat on a nearby boulder. For a moment, Cordelia breathed in the picturesque landscape. They had left behind the cemetery and traversed the Other Realm. The new setting was one out of some classic fairytale. Behind them, a large sparkling castle arose high and proud. The garden in which they sat was edged by boulders on which one could sit and look out upon a glittering ocean beneath billions of stars and an eternally full moon. Cordelia sighed after a moment and returned her attention to the other two. “It has begun.” Tbc Short chapter, I know. But the next one will make up for it, I promise.

Chapter #8 - Thirteen: So It Begins

Snapshots of Eternity Chapter Thirteen: So It Begins Rome To Faith, the spell had seemed to last forever, as she watched from her place within the protective circle. She knew better than to try to leave or do anything to break Willow's concentration as the Wicca continued to weave her magicks in and around Dawn. The power bit along Faith's skin, prickling to the point of pain. Vaguely, she felt the wolf's presence, as Oz stood sentry over them all. She knew, without a doubt, that Oz could take on anything that came through the door. How long had they been there? Hours? Days? Weeks? Time seemed to lack meaning beneath the veil of silence. As though someone, somewhere, had heard Faith's thoughts, the other two women seated within the circle let loose a unified gasp and slumped forward. The force field collapsed, and Oz started slightly. The creature perched on the wolf's shoulder spread its leathery wings and came to its mistress, alighting her shoulder and nuzzling its little face into her soft skin. A moan sounded from Dawn which drew Faith's attention to the child of vampire and Slayer. Her angular face lifted, and Faith caught a glimpse of eyes drastically changed from their once cerulean color. Tiny green veins now adorned her temples and jaw line, the emerald color a perfect match to the new eyes. Anger and fear flashed through the rogue slayer's heart. Faith knew that she, like Buffy and Willow, had been gifted with immortality, but that only meant that Buffy and Spike could spend eternity torturing her for allowing harm to come to their precious offspring. "What the hell did you do to her?" Faith shot to her feet to glare at the rousing Goddess. "She's..." Unable to find the right words, Faith waved a hand to indicate her own face. "Relax, Rogue," the answer came from the young woman still calmly seated on the floor. Her voice was deeper, now, huskier. "Will just helped bring us closer together. Took the voices away." "Us? Voices?" Faith took a step back and folded her arms across her ample chest. "It's true," Willow said as she got to her own feet. "The key part was taking her over because Dawn kept fighting it. So, every time Dawn managed to suppress her Key-ness, the Key would use the bond we all share to taunt Dawn with our voices in her head. She's been hearing our thoughts in her mind. All our thoughts." Willow gave Faith a knowing look. "You think it's bad enough when you walk in on your parents being all naked, and ... Just try having a ringside seat and unable to leave," Dawn blushed furiously and shuddered at the residual images that were forever burned in her mind. Seeing the look on Faith's face, she grinned unrepentantly. "How's David, by the way?" Now, it was Faith's turn to blush. "Get bent, munchkin." "Who are you calling munchkin? I'm taller than you." Willow rolled her eyes at the squabbling brunettes before settling her gaze on the stoic facade of her first love. He'd been her rock for months, a soothing balm for frazzled nerves as she learned to cope with yet another wacky turn in her wacky existence. Despite his outward appearance, Willow could see an almost teasing glint in the depths of cerulean eyes. Oz had stood vigil throughout the entirety of the ritual she had just performed; his unflappable presence and his ever watchful eyes taking it all in his own stride without passing judgment in the things he witnessed. It was his way; one of the things she loved about him. Though now Willow knew without asking that he would be returning to the temple and the young charges he felt responsible for guiding through the rigors of coping with their inner demons. Some were weres like himself, while some were other supernatural beings. And some were human-demon hybrids. All of the charges looked up to Oz; practically worshipful in their adoration for the man who refused to give up on them and toss them aside for the crime of being different. Without words needing to be exchanged, Willow slipped her hands into his, feeling a hint of the old tinglies she'd relished as an innocent girl of sixteen. A world of change had occurred between them in the span of a few years. She still felt the tinglies, though. The exuberance of love in youth now eased into the fondness of dear friends that know the value of genuine love for oneself and one another. Goddess and Master Werewolf exchanged a few words in soft tones before gentle kisses were exchanged upon sun-kissed cheeks. A portal was opened, and Oz departed leaving a serene smile on Willow's face, while the good-natured teasing continued behind her and Kristlan nuzzled his leathery head beneath his mistress' chin. "We go home soon?" the tiny creature asked in his broken English. Willow reached up to stroke one clawed foot. "Soon, Lani," she whispered. "Soon." ********************************** He awoke alone, the tiny blonde who'd previously been snuggled into his arms no longer curled against his chest. For a brief moment, Spike thought she'd rabbited off to find herself another meal after the debacle that had occurred with the delivery boy. He'd only stepped into the opulent bathroom to run her a bubble bath when a tentative knock sounded at the door. A high pitched squeak pierced the air, and Spike darted back in time to find his mate with her dainty little fangs firmly embedded in the delivery boy's throat, a steaming pie squashed beneath the young man's wildly kicking feet. From now on, Spike silently avowed, she would feed before she leaves the house. After a moment, Spike noticed that the door to the balcony was slightly ajar and the mystery of his absent mate was solved. He felt her out there, knew she was nearby, and could sense her tumultuous feelings. He'd known something was coming, something bigger than even the First and the destruction of the Hellmouth. Right now was just the calm before the storm. He felt it. She felt it. Hell, everything and their fangy aunt from here to the next dimension could likely feel it. As much as he'd love nothing more than to whisk his girls away to some forgotten desert isle, he knew better. War was coming, and the Slayers would be right in the thick of it. Maybe now would be the best time to get in touch with the ol' grand sire. See what Peaches and his lot were about these days. Just for this moment, though, Spike did the only thing he could do. He got out of bed and into his clothes before taking the path his girl had taken out onto the balcony. *************************** Buffy felt that for the first time since Willow had done her little magick trick with the Scythe the voices and the pain had quieted within her mind. She could still feel the connections she had to all the others, could still hear the Slayers, like a low level hum deep inside. But it was quieter now. Or, perhaps, her new demon, the effects of the Claim, and her link to Spike were stronger. Yeah, cuz that makes a whole lotta sense. New sensations coursed through her. She felt the chill where her hands curled around the metal railing of the balcony, the cool night air wafting gently across her face. Different. Her eyes drifted closed, and Buffy tilted her face towards the streets below. Her new senses focused on something familiar that she couldn't quite put her finger on. A presence she couldn't quite describe outside of the niggling feeling that it belonged... There. Buffy opened her eyes and her lips parted on a gasp as a pair crystalline, blue eyes watched her from the shadows down below. Never mind that she could see those eyes as clearly as if they were looking at her from scant inches away in broad daylight. The owner of those eyes smirked back at her, and even saluted her, brazenly. The display was so much like Spike that she gasped and blinked a couple times to make sure that she wasn't hallucinating. Nope. He was still there. Not a hallucination or a trick of the moonlight. There really was a gorgeous brunette looking up at her from the street five floors below. The light treading of feet moved up behind her, and Buffy couldn't help the slight mewl to escape her mouth as soft lips found the edge of her throat. She reached up behind her to thread her fingers into the soft, springy curls free of hair gel and pressed back against the firm muscles of her lover's lithe form. "Didn't mean to wake you," she whispered. "You didn't wake me. The empty bed woke me," he whispered against her lips and kissed her softly before resting his chin against her shoulder and looking out over the twinkling city lights. Not far off in the distance, he could see a building, which eerily looked like the tower of evil Angel and his crew were running across the puddle. The similarities were such that Spike felt himself shudder. "We should get back, kitten. Don't like leaving the Nibblet alone for too long." "Yeah," Buffy answered distractedly, her eyes still searching the darkness below for any sign of the stranger. He was gone, however. *********************** Faith had no idea what possessed her, really. She'd just needed to get some air, some time away from the squirt and Red. She'd said she was taking a walk, which she did. Her feet had brought her to the front door of Night Haven, somehow having found the time for a shower and a change of clothes on the way. The need to see David had become a living, breathing entity with its own power, driving her through the doors and up the stairs, past Dante and straight into David's private office. Before she knew it, her hand had flicked the locking mechanism to ensure their privacy, and Faith was across the plush carpeting to swivel David's expensive, high-backed leather chair around and throw herself into his lap. All that mattered to Faith was the feel of an unnaturally cold hand smoothing across the warm skin of her back while his other hand slid along the toned muscles of a thigh. Her own hands weren’t idle, as they found purchase on the stark white designer button down shirt covering the broad expanse of his muscular chest. Buttons popped and scattered as she ripped that shirt open and swept her greedy fingers over the olive perfection of his torso. Uh, hello, Fabio, she thought greedily as her eyes drank in all that beauty. David stared intently into the haunted eyes of the dark haired Slayer. Haunted, David thought could be the only word that accurately described the woman in his arms. It was the look of a heart that had seen too much damage in too few years. A child thrust into the world of adults long before she had ever been given the chance to even know what it meant to just ‘be.’ Something deep down, primal, and instinctive in him wanted to take the broken child within her and lead her to the woman she would become. Heat scorched his hands where they found the satiny skin of a thigh or the scarred lines across her back beneath the pitiful excuse of a top she wore. Her lips beckoned, and he gave in to this siren's call to touch and taste, to sip at the fount of her youthful exuberance. Her name, a whisper of cool air against her lips, brought a mewl from her throat, and her hands clutched him tighter, a fine tremble in her body which communicated itself to his. "Say it again," she demanded in a tiny, quivering voice. David smiled a bit and wrapped her up tighter in his arms. "Faith." Tears slipped from the edges of her eyes as she really saw the man who held her. So he was a vampire. So was Spike. So was Angel. David wasn't eyeing her as though he intended to suck her dry and dump her body in the closest river. If anything, he looked like he was ready to devour her whole in a completely different and decadent way. And if the prominent bulge nestled against her hip was anything to go by, she'd enjoy every second of the devouring. A knock sounded at the door, and David lifted his gaze to the barrier, growling something in heated Italian that Faith couldn't translate. A meek reply came back and the interloper was gone. The Master Vampire returned his gaze to his guest and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead in a show of tenderness that made Faith's heart wrench in her chest. "Come home with me, my beauty. Allow me to show you things you've never dreamed." Faith bit her lip and looked down at his chest for a brief moment before nodding and allowing David to shift her to her feet. The heated look he raked over her body sent blood rushing to her cheeks, and David grinned rakishly at the very becoming blush. Oh, yes. She was precious. ************************** It wasn't his fault, really. He'd tried so hard to be a good vamp, tried to force his eyes to follow the ground or to take in their surroundings during their walk home instead of allowing his eyes to become glued to that spectacular, delectable lil’ peach of an ass all covered in slick, red leather. As though she'd sensed his attentions, his minx of a mate had turned her head to him with a coquettish giggle and wiggled the body part in question while beckoning him closer. After a few steps and a triumphant laugh later, he had her pinned to the wall, her sinuous legs now free of any covering and gripped tightly around his thrusting pelvis. She was heat, fire, a blazing inferno of the type of heaven no vampire should ever be allowed to breach. Only he was here, buried within her sopping, dripping core, divine muscles gripping his shaft and milking him for everything while her sweet cries were swallowed in lustful kisses. Her fangs dropped unexpectedly and pierced his tongue. The rich blood, old and powerful, filled both their mouths. Moans became rumbling growls as she fed from him and fucked him within an inch of his unlife, and he knew without a doubt sex had never been this good. ************************* Unbeknownst to the couple reveling in their frenzied mating, a pair of bright, blue eyes watched from a nearby rooftop. An odd, little smile curved on pale lips and a soft rumbling laugh sounded in the back of his throat. "Well, well, well," former Ensign Samuel Lawson murmured to himself. "I'll be damned...again." With that, Sam strolled back from the ledge and set about the next step of his mission. That's all that mattered in this world. The mission.

Chapter #9 - What's In A Name

Snapshots of Eternity Chapter Fourteen: What's In A Name? Pleasure. White-hot, intense, searing pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in her belly, seeking that one glorious moment that would set it free. Then there was blood. Delicious blood filled her mouth and slid down her throat to meet and mesh with the sensations already sparking from the place where flesh drove mercilessly into flesh. It happened in the next instant. The dam broke; the power flared, rising up from her deepest places to burst from her mouth in screams of pleasure. Then the wave of pleasure crashed over both of them in scalding waves of bliss. Spike’s screams seemingly echoed Buffy’s, and the power created by their coupling bit along his own skin, raising tiny hairs over both of their bodies. The ferocity of it all drove them literally to the ground, Buffy oblivious to the rough brick scraping at the tender flesh of her naked ass and her bare shoulders. Upon impact, they both moaned at the intense feeling of Spike's still thrusting cock driving deeper to batter against her womb. One orgasm fed into another, and another, and another, over and over in an endless cycle of unadulterated pleasure riding that knife's edge into pain. Buffy felt not only her orgasms, but also her mate's as well. It was indescribable; the closest she could express the feeling would be that they had suddenly succeeded in becoming one being. A being of writhing, sweating, bleeding and breathing lust; greedily drinking in every bit of essence their individual selves possessed, absorbing each other through the very pores of their skin. Exhausted and drained, albeit, happily, the lovers collapsed against each other in a pile on the dirty alley floor. Both decided that it'd almost be worth it to let the sun's lethal rays find them. Nothing in all eternity could ever come close to what they had just experienced. Swallowing painfully against her desert dry throat, Buffy cracked open an eye and tried her best to peer up into her love's glazed, azure gaze. "Wow," she mumbled weakly and moaned as his answering chuckle vibrated against her over-sensitized body. ********************************** Dawn sat at the vanity in her bedroom, a place she had spent so little time in that she hardly felt it was her own. Studying her face, Dawn saw that her eyes, once a blue as pure and deep as those belonging to her father, now sparkled with an emerald to match the other green wisps decorating her hair and the edges of her face. She was both enamored of the color and saddened by it. Despite the similarities she shared with her mother and father in bone structure and personality, the eyes told her she was now something else. It was all about the eyes. Not just hers, but the other's. The part of her that was the Key had quieted, no longer overwhelming her with its presence. Its hold now remained as a gentle guiding hand. Just now, as she continued to gaze into the mirror, the Key was showing her things. Images. Some she understood- the Council Headquarters, a drunken Xander playing poker in some hellhole; a girl with stringy, dark hair restrained at the wrists in a hospital bed. However, among those images, one was unfamiliar - another man she didn't know. This man's flesh was covered with numerous tattoos. Sigils. Long moments passed in which Dawn focused all of her attentions on those symbols inked into the stranger's skin. They were words. Phrases. A smile curved her lips as she read them as easily as one might read a child's introduction to reading. Clear as day, their intent became evident. A spell meant to hide. Unconsciously, her hand picked up a pencil and began sketching the vision she saw in the mirror. Just as Dawn's hand completed sketching the last symbol on the page, the image within the mirror changed once more and a new face appeared. In a glance, she felt all the air whoosh from her lungs and her fingers flattened against the surface of the vanity. This new face was having an unexpected effect on her. Sweat beaded above suddenly dry lips. Her skin felt hot and prickly despite the cool air and the goose bumps skittering across her arms. Her belly fluttered nervously and a strange ache deep inside had her pressing her thighs together. The image was that of a male. He looked to be about her age with bright, blue eyes and a softly rounded face, which danced on the edge of androgyny. He smiled, and heat suffused Dawn's cheeks upon thinking at how beautiful his face became with that smile. A word came to her out of nowhere and a sense of longing and peace filled her being at the same time. Mate. ******************************************* The first faint blushes of morning were beginning to tint the night sky when Buffy and Spike finally made their way home. A lifetime had seemingly passed in the space of a single night, and both were feeling its effects deep in their sleep-deprived bodies. As the pair entered, Willow sat her tea cup down quietly and stroked Kristlan's clawed foot, as he shifted and returned to sleep on the back of the chair where she had been reading to pass the time. A sigh of relief washed over the Goddess as the lovers mumbled a sleepy greeting in her general direction before trudging to their bedroom and disappearing behind the closed door. Whew! At least I'm saved from the big explanation until the fanged duo have had their beauty rest. It would be a heck of a lot easier to avoid a bloodbath if she didn't have to explain her actions to cranky demons. **************************************** Faith rolled over in bed and found herself face to shoulder with her snoozing lover. For once, the thought of finding a dead body in bed with her was a good thing. Her wicked grin at the thoughts of the aforementioned dead guy and his very talented parts faded slightly as she noticed the tattoo on his left shoulder blade. Leaning a bit closer to it in the faint gloom of the bedroom, her grin returned in full force. It was a wolf. And not just any, mind. For some reason, which Faith vowed to discover, the Master of Rome had a tattoo on his right shoulder of a red wolf. ************************************** Stupid, stupid girl. Stupid, selfish, foolish girl playing with magicks and timelines she had no real concept of... Cordelia was fully aware of the girl's part in all that was taking place just now. She knew Eve didn't belong to this time, though she didn't fully understand how she came to be employed by the Senior Partners. No, Eve was playing too many sides; erecting a house of cards that was going to come down on all their heads. Stupid girl. Searching out Lindsey from whatever rock he'd crawled under. Finding the amulet and sending it back to Wolfram and Hart. Re-corporealizing Spike. The free will stealing robots. The games. The taunts. The plots within plots. Stupid, foolish, little girl. There had to be some way to send her back to her rightful place before she did any more damage. Not even bothering to knock, Cordelia barged into the secret hideout for Lindsey MacDonald in time to see Eve, definitely worse for the wear in the wake of her boyfriend's capture by the Senior Partners, curled up in his bed. The younger girl squeaked before her wide, terrified eyes took in the fury radiating from the higher being. "Evelyn Dawn Summers!" @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ A/N: Uh-oh! Three full names! Somebody's in trouble. Yes, I know. Evil cliffie. Guess you'll just have to read the next chapter to find out what the frilly heck is going on. Now, won't you show the author some love? **bats eyes innocently**

Chapter #10 - Dreams of Monsters

beta'd by oracleholly Snapshots of Eternity Chapter Fifteen: Dreams of Monsters He'd always heard that in the moment before death, the entirety of one's life passed before their eyes. Not for Spike, though. For him, he saw the dream. He always experienced the same dream without fail and without variation, leaving him disoriented upon waking, leaving him to wonder if any of it had ever really happened. It always reminded him of a conversation he'd had with Buffy around the time that her mum had come over all sickly. Those days he remembered fondly despite the gravity of Buffy’s situation. The Slayer had told him of a dream she had in which she had been pregnant and had given birth only to have the Council snatch the babe from her arms. Buffy had sworn upon waking that, somewhere in the world, that child still cried for her mother. Thinking of that dream now, Spike understood some of the reasons his unconscious mind had chosen Dawn as their child. Was all a soddin' dream, mate. Nibblet being taken over by the Key. Buffy becoming a part demon. Eve, a daughter from the future come to take care of the poof. Cordelia being alive. It was just a dream. Once Spike was able to separate the dream from reality, he focused on what was real. What the holy bleedin' hell just happened? One minute there had been serious monster mashing and an army of nasties parading up and down the streets of L.A. with a fire-breathing dragon starring in the role of grand marshal. Then there had been a great, big flash- cuz, you can just never have enough mysterious flashes of light- and then nothingness. No sky or ground or streets or rain. Just a great, big, black pit of nothing. Feeling returned slowly to his body and Spike knew he was lying on something cold and hard. Testing his limbs, he discovered they were strapped down. In fact, he could feel several straps holding him down. His predicament suddenly dawned on him and he nearly groaned at the inconvenience of it all. The last thing he needed right now was for some well-meaning medic to mistake him for an actual corpse and stuff him in a body bag. Stretching out his senses, the blond vampire picked up the distinct sounds of several heartbeats in the near vicinity. The heart rates indicated that neither being was very large, most likely women. Spike heard the barest whisper of sound as a door opened and closed a moment before a familiar voice filled the air and had him sighing in utter relief. ******** Willow took in the faces of the two lab techs. The startled attendants stood between her and her vampire. Well, not technically mine. But, still.... She gave herself a mental shake and forced her mind back to business. Somewhere in this room- possibly in one of the drawers lining the walls- a card-carrying member of Club Dead was awaiting retrieval and transport back to his loved ones. In order to do her job and get Spike back to base, preferably in one piece and un-dusty, Willow had to get rid of the morgue employees. "Leave," the witch told the two females in a cold, flat tone that brooked no argument. Of course, the black eyes and veins crisscrossing her face helped emphasize her point. She'd possibly feel guilty about it later when Spike was safely on his way to headquarters and she was away from the stench of the wastelands formerly known as Los Angeles. The door swung closed with a soft squeak and she nodded toward the young man who had accompanied her. "Keep watch." Connor Reilly nodded dutifully and took up a post outside the morgue's entrance, leaving Willow alone with a roomful of sheet-covered corpses. Willow took several steps down the middle of the sterile room and turned herself in a circle. Closing her eyes, she called Spike through the telepathic link she shared with the inner circle of the Council. 'You awake, vampire?' "I'm awake, witch," the Aurelian vampire assured her. Willow followed the sound of his voice to the far right corner of the room. "I'd wave, but those bloody techs strapped me down right proper. 'I s'pose they were thinking better safe than snack food. Think you might give us hand here, pet?" Willow would have laughed if it were not the truth. In the years since the demon war had begun, those few humans with the stomach for it had stayed on in Los Angeles to help others in the heart of the Senior Partners' evil empire. Those humans were a lot smarter than she would have once accredited them; strapping down corpses they came across out of the uncertainty as to whether they were getting the body of a dead human or an unconscious vampire. If it were the latter, it would meet the business end of something extra sharp and pointy upon awakening. The silence seemed to stretch on forever before Spike felt his bonds being removed and heard the slide of the zipper along his vinyl prison. The overhead fluorescent lighting was harsh to his sensitive eyes after the absolute, Stygian blackness he'd experienced since returning to awareness. He blinked several times, his eyes tearing as they attempted to re-adjust to the presence of the too-bright light. "Here," Willow called in a soft, urgent tone as she tossed a pair of dark blue hospital scrubs his way. "It'll be a heck of a lot easier to make our getaway if we're not creeping down the hallway with a naked man in tow." She grinned devilishly and raked her black eyes over his form. Spike raised an eyebrow at the leering female as he quickly covered his modesty with the pilfered clothes and shoved his bare feet into the heavy combat boots she'd had the foresight to conjure from thin air. "Who's the 'we' of this little outfit," he asked her as he tied the second boot. "Escape now, chat later," Willow replied as she hurried to the door and poked her head out. A moment later, she held the door opened as a familiar redhead slipped inside. Spike smiled with genuine pleasure to see the young woman whom he had helped train in the months before the fall of Sunnydale. "Company," Vivian Marx informed them. "Take Spike," Willow ordered. "I'll meet you at the rendezvous point." Spike bristled at the witch's insinuation that he couldn't look after himself. He was a bloody master vampire, for Satan's sake! Not some mewling pulser with no clue to the dangers surrounding him! 'Go, Spike.' Willow's voice filled his mind. 'I didn't fly halfway across the country with my own private Slayguard just to get you dusted. Buffy would kick my ass.' 'Fine, Red,' Spike replied telepathically. 'Once we're clear of this, you and I are gonna have us a confrontation.' Willow glared hard at him for several long seconds before a secretive smile spread across her face. 'I'll be the one in the fuzzy, pink sweater with the lilac underneath,' Willow's smile turned into a full grin and she blew him a kiss before nudging him out the door. Vi gave him a salute when she saw him. "Commander," she addressed stoically. "Nice to have you back." He nodded and her rigid stance relaxed, a playful smile curling her pouty lips. "The Chief'll have kittens." "GO!" Willow hissed at the small trio. "Someone's coming!" All business once more, Vi motioned for Spike to remain quiet and for Connor to lead the way with the vampire between them and herself bringing up the rear. Silently, the group hurried along until they were outside the hospital where Spike found a black van idling. Standing alert, military issue M-16 at the ready, the blond vampire was surprised to see a black clad Faith awaiting them. Even more surprising was the sight of Xander Harris behind the wheel, his eye surreptitiously surveying the surrounding area. Spike found himself oddly touched at seeing the group who'd come for him. Faith's eyes met his, a grin of appreciation alighting her darkly beautiful face. "Batboy," she said by way of greeting. "What's shakin'?" "Less talk, more running away," Harris urged the group. "Red's still in there," Spike told the Whelp. "She'll catch up," Vi assured her charge. "Time to go," Connor suggested urgently as he climbed into the van. "Yeah," Faith agreed. "Preferably before the jelly squad notices they're down one corpse." *** The trip to the airstrip took nearly an hour and delivered a nasty shock when Spike learned he would be making the trip tucked away within a coffin in the cargo bay. According to the very convincing Vi, she'd come to Los Angeles to claim her ex-husband's remains to be taken back to Cleveland for a proper burial in the family plot. Spike had to hand it to the young woman - she had missed her calling as an actress. Her little performance had been nothing short of award winning. As much as he'd love nothing better than to bitch about his less than accommodating accommodations, Spike was fairly certain that the commercial airline did not come with the added bonus of vampire-friendly windows. He really was going to miss necro-tempered glass. Ah, well. At least Willow had promised to keep him company during the flight via telepathy. ****************** The acrid stench of torch smoke assailed her senses, jarring Buffy from the blissful, pain-free realm of sleep. As the last dregs of unconsciousness left her, the agony of her many healing wounds rushed back and she was helpless to prevent the whimper that escaped her slightly parted lips. A cool face nuzzled into the crook of her neck, the low rumbling purr from her mate's chest attempting to soothe her as her brain separated dream from reality. Voices nearby, garbled to her still groggy brain, alerted her to the presence of others. Instinct had her pressing closer to the body stretched along her own on the makeshift bed. Tentatively, she cracked open one eye to see the faces contained within the infirmary. Right away, she recognized Angel and Cordelia speaking quietly off in one corner. The former cheerleader's gaze was focused on something in her lap, too low below Buffy's immediate sight range for the Slayer to see what it was she held. "What happened?" Buffy rasped from a throat that felt as though she had been swallowing glass. Angel's dark, soulful eyes turned to her at the sound of her question. "What do you remember?" What did she remember? Closing her eyes, Buffy tried to focus on what it was that she last recalled before she succumbed to a much needed restorative sleep. Nothing. She remembered Spike being taken by the First and Angel and his team coming to aide her in searching for her missing mate. The elder Aurelian, the Clan head, had ordered her to stay where she was safe lest she endanger the life of her unborn child. Sudden panic filled her and her hands cradled her nearly flat abdomen. Tears welled in her eyes and she let out a low keen of utter desolation. The arms around her tensed, and a pair of blue eyes lifted above her shoulder to peer into her tearful gaze. "Pet?" "The baby!" Buffy moaned. "She's fine, Buffy." Cordelia stood and approached the prone couple, tiny, squirming bundle wrapped securely in her arms. The Seer perched herself on the edge of the bed and showed the blonde the small girl-child. "You don't remember what happened?" Buffy reached out a trembling hand to stroke a finger across a silken cheek. "The First had Spike. You guys came to help. Angel made me stay with Giles and Robin while you all went to search the First's lair." "It was a trap, luv," Spike told her. "Wood was in with Dru. She'd turned him. Rupert never knew what hit him, luv. I'm sorry. He'd set explosives once he got you out of the house. Guess Dru figured the perfect revenge was to force me to watch as she tortured and killed my mate, and my unborn child while I was chained to a bloody cave wall and helpless to stop it. By the time the others found us and dusted the principal, you'd already lost too much blood. Gramps and the cheerleader here took the baby. Had a choice. Let you go or turn you." Spike's eyes filled with tears. "Just couldn't let you go." The baby chose that moment to let loose with a series of shrill screams which oddly enough sounded like... Buffy jerked awake and blindly reached for the still ringing telephone on her nightstand. Glancing blearily at the bedside clock, she saw that she'd only been asleep for a few hours. If it was a telemarketer, she was going to fucking disembowel someone. "You better be dying," she growled into the receiver. "Ma'am?" a nervous voice asked. Buffy sighed and sat up on the edge of her bunk. "What is it?" The person on the other end of the line rambled on for several moments, the Slayer only paying half attention to the words until a familiar name was spoken and she forced herself to concentrate on the information. "He did what?!?" Fury cleared her mind of all grogginess as she lurched to her feet. "Fifteen minutes. He better be there when I get there." Buffy disconnected the call without another word and stomped towards her shower, plotting the many painful things she was about to do to one scrawny, Transylvanian vamp with a bagful of showy gypsy tricks. ___________________________________________________________________________ A/N: Ever seen Jacob's Ladder? Excellent film about a war veteren of Viet Nam. It's fairly difficult to understand, as nothing seems to make any sense. Every scene seems disjointed and random. Then you get to the very end, the last scene, and you see that it was all done for a reason. Now, don't worry, this isn't the end of our tale just yet. Still loads more to come. Hope you guys are still enjoying it. Thank you to all who have been keeping tabs and leaving a little note to lemme know what they thought.

Chapter #11 - Wonton Follies of Men

Author's Note: Are you confused yet? A really quick recap. Spike woke up in a body bag in the morgue only to realize that he'd been dreaming all along. None of it had actually happened. It is, in fact seven years following the fight between Angel and Co. and the Senior Partners. Hell doth reign; the armies of hell free to roam and feast. Coming to Spike's aid, surprising the vampire, is a team led by Willow Rosenberg. More surprises lie ahead for the vampire when he is again reunited with the Slayer after the years he has spent 'being a hero'. Beta'd by Oracleholly Snapshots of Eternity Chapter 16: Wonton Follies of Men Seemingly overnight things had gone bad, apocalyptically bad, and it didn’t look like things were ever going to get better. Los Angeles, California- once that bright, shining La-La-Land of seventy millimeter hopes and dreams and silver screens- became a no man’s land. Hell had opened up in a dank, rainy alley and vomited forth hordes of nightmares the likes of which not even Stephen King could ever have imagined. In the beginning, the monsters had been confined within the city, under the protective canopy of perpetual night- courtesy of the very oldest and darkest of magic. There, great beasts rampaged the city, preying upon the flesh and souls of the hapless human inhabitants. If any humans made it out of the city alive, they usually didn’t make it far. Once night fell upon the surrounding towns- then states- the monsters were free to roam and ravage wherever their bloodlust led them. Creatures with unimaginable thirsts for horror and bloodshed savaged the lands at will, laying waste to anything and everything that crossed their paths. Evil spread like a disease upon the lush garden of the world. The time of man, the world of man, had ended in screams and great rivers and blood. The government had sent its troops of trained men and women only to watch, helplessly, as the bodies piled up. The United States government had then sent in the Initiative- the secret, does-not-exist-because-the-creatures-they-were-created-to-fight-don’t-exist army of doctors, scientists and infantry personnel. It had made little difference. The monsters still came. Humans were still dying by the town or were driven into hiding, forced to accept the charity and aide of those peaceful, co-existent groups of nonhumans that had lived in the world long enough to recognize Armageddon when they saw it. At last, someone had gotten smart. The newly appointed head of the Initiative met with the director of the newly rebuilt Council of Watchers. The President of the United States of America, the leader of the free world was, for the first time, utterly speechless as he took in the sight of the Slayer. Throughout the meeting, the President had found his mind stuck on the odd mix of individuals before him. Of the group, the only one, aside from himself that appeared to be over the age of thirty was a middle-aged man dressed in a charcoal gray suit well tailored to fit a physique toned from years of combat. However, it had only taken a few moments for the President to realize that the ones in charge of the motley group were, in actuality, the petite blonde in a vivid blue pantsuit and the curvy brunette wearing black leather pants with a scarlet blouse and black leather coat that rattled lightly when she moved. Despite the obvious presence of weapons the young woman had concealed on her person, no one in the room seemed the slightest bit concerned. ‘This is the group that has saved the world time and time again?’ the president wondered idly before forcing himself to pay attention. In two days’ time, a deal was struck between the U.S. government and the Council of Watchers. The fate of the world would now rest in the hands of this united force. So help them all. ****** "Ma'am?" Dawn turned her head sharply to peer at the young man- Damon?- standing beside her with a clipboard extended in her direction. She was slightly embarrassed to have been caught speaking to herself. The fact that she couldn't recall the soldier's name, or even his rank, did absolutely nothing to alleviate her discomfiture. When all else failed, she focused on the business at hand. "Extraction was a success?" she queried as she scrawled her signature on the file Unnamed Guy had handed her after briefly scanning the information. "Yes, ma'am. The packaged was intact. Two survivors have also been retrieved and transported from sector X1J12. They are being contained and quarantined for analysis. The Coven has requested your presence in Bay Area Three." "Thank you, Private Davitt," Dawn replied, having seen his name on the file. Private Nathaniel O. Davitt offered her a smile and a brief salute before hurrying away to attend to other duties, leaving Dawn to make her way to Bay Area Three on her own. ********** Buffy quickly stepped from the shower and dried herself off, dressing in black and gray military issue fatigues and twisting her hair into a severe bun at the nape of her neck. Fine lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes, a testament to the years she’d spent on the earth and her nightly battles to protect man from those very creatures, which now roamed the land. Applying a light coat of foundation to hide the dark circles beneath her eyes and a quick coat of lip gloss, Buffy shoved her tiny feet into a pair of well-worn Doc Martens and headed out. Fury had replaced the mild irritation she’d felt upon being awoken from her too brief respite. The vampire awaiting her in her office would be lucky if she didn’t just dust him on sight. During the brisk walk to her office, Buffy noted that more than one young soldier gave her a wide berth as they passed. None would meet her gaze as they passed, though one or two had not been quick enough to hide the brief flashes of fear that crossed their usually stoic features. That was fine by her. Buffy had spent the last seven years building and maintaining her reputation as a ball-busting bitch. She had begun that reputation at the tender age of fifteen when she only needed to intimidate the creatures who now overran the earth. Doing so in this place had not been all that much of a switch. The only difference was that now grown men and women who’d been trained to kill under the blanket of the American flag replaced vampires and demons of every flavor. They were fighting a war. They were trying to force back the armies of every hell dimension that existed. Kindness would not get the job done. Machiavelli had it right when he stated that it was better for a leader to be feared than loved. Buffy had tried kindness in the beginning. She really did, but the soldiers all looked at her and treated her like some little girl that needed protecting. They just couldn't respect those they perceived as weaker than themselves, as she had learned the hard way. The hard way had been the death of her former Watcher and surrogate father, Rupert Giles. The day after Giles' memorial service, Buffy had sent her Slayers to round up all military personnel and bring them to mess hall where the tables and chairs had been pushed against the wall. From that day on, everything changed. She had ordered the small team of soldiers, who had been under Giles' command, to be bound and hung by their wrists from the ceiling. Once the base's occupants had crowded into the hall, she'd taken a page out of Angelus' book of leadership and had those soldiers publicly whipped. She made an example of the ones who had failed Giles and gotten him killed, as well as proved a point to the rest of the military - Buffy Summers was to be feared and followed without question. The demons they battled had driven civilization back to the laws of the jungle. The laws were pretty simple. Kill or be killed. The name of the game was Survival. If she couldn't rule with kindness, fear would do. People respected fear. Those that didn't respect fear got very dead, very fast. Buffy sighed internally at the direction her thoughts had taken. She hadn't always been this way. There had been a time when she had been a much softer individual. She had once been a young woman that believed in the world. That had been in the beginning. Since then, death had come calling at her doorstep a couple of times. She'd even been to Heaven before being snatched back into this dimension. She'd come back from her second death much more jaded and detached than she could have ever imagined. Then she had discovered what real love was in the arms of the most unlikely of individuals. Only, in the blink of an eye, she'd had it all ripped away from her. There are things you do because you have to. But, sometimes, there's just no coming back from it. You can kill a hundred, a thousand, a thousand thousand and the armies of hell, besides. All it takes is one- just one- to slip in and have itself a real good day. Buffy had sent her first love, her supposed soul mate to hell with a kiss and a sword. Yet, despite the teen angst-o-rama that had plagued her in the aftermath of Angelus' run of Sunnydale, killing Angel had not ripped her soul apart. That honor was reserved solely for watching her true soul mate sacrifice himself to and for the world they had both loved. *** Flashback*** May, 2003 When it was all over, Buffy gazed out over the enormous crater, which, only yesterday, had been her home. Sunnydale. Hellmouth. Oh little town of murder, mayhem and destruction. Behind her, she sensed the approach of her Watcher as he moved to stand at her side. "I don't understand," he admitted in his flowing British accent. She could almost hear him polishing his glasses and would have smirked if not for the storm of emotions within her warrior's heart. "What did this?" "Spike," she answered distractedly as she took several steps away from a man who'd been a surrogate father to her for so many years. Grief won out for the moment; her heart feeling as though it would become dust. Spike saved us all. Saved the world. Not bad for a formerly evil, Big Bad who'd fallen for his mortal enemy. You did so good, baby... "Oh, God...Spike!" The emotions burst forth from her in that moment, ripping her apart and leaving her lost, cold and afraid. Arms fell around her and she flinched away, snarling viciously at an equally grief stricken friend. Xander shot back from her as though she'd sprouted fangs and lunged at his throat. Faith just glared at the one-eyed jack-of-all-trades before taking Buffy's violently, sobbing and shaking body into her arms and holding her in a way which concealed the blonde's view of everything but a denim clad shoulder. ************************ Seeing his former soul mate in so much agony shook Angel to the core of his being. He hadn't believed it before, hadn't wanted to believe that she could actually care for the peroxided pest. Now, with Spike gone, he saw that Buffy was left hanging by a very thin line. She kept to the room she shared with her sister, not even venturing out for meals or interacting with her soldiers or friends. According to Giles, who appeared to have aged ten years in those final months, Buffy only spoke to Dawn and Faith. Everyone else was considered persona non grata. And everyone else included Angel at the head of that list. ************************ Buffy opened the door to her suite and found the highly fidgety Andrew shifting nervously on his feet. "What?" she all but snapped at him for intruding upon her grief. He flinched and swallowed. "I...um..," he held out a VHS tape and her eyes focused on it instead of the pity in the towheaded hanger-on. He swallowed again and continued in the same stuttering speech. "Um…he, uh...It's from-" "Spit it out, Andrew," Buffy's furious growl had him rapidly spouting his news and thrusting the tape into her hand before running away. "Oh," she murmured, dazedly, as she went to the room's TV/VCR combo and turned it on. For a moment, nothing happened and Buffy let out the breath she'd been holding. But, then an image sprang to life and she found herself on her knees with her face practically scrunched up against the screen. Spike. Alive Spike sitting on 'their' cot with his elbows braced on his knees. He smiled that special smile he only ever allowed her to see. That was her smile and she was suddenly jealous of whoever had made the tape because they got to see her smile and she never would again. His lips parted then, smile never leaving his face. "Hello, Gorgeous," that deep, rumbling voice greeted her with remembered lust. Her heart lurched as she placed her hand against the cold glass of the screen, too afraid to look away and too enthralled to try. "Hey," she whispered back to Spike's image. Onscreen, Spike took a breath. "Guess if you're seeing this, well...." he flinched slightly and heaved an impatient sigh. “God, this is hard. I should probably say something profound here. Truth is all I can think is how much I love you, princess. Have since I first laid eyes on you." His smile slipped a little and he looked away, jaw clenching as he forced back his emotions before returning his gaze to the camera. "It's alright, kitten. Don't mind the dyin'. I'll be goin down fighting at your side. 'S how it should be. And...knowing that, for a time, you really did see me....I can die a happy bloke." His jaw clenched again as he looked down at his feet, and Buffy's fingers itched to lift that chin so she could see those eyes she wanted to drown in just once more. Tears cascaded over her pale cheeks when she saw the sadness behind the smile as he looked back up. "Uh, tell Harris thanks for the closet. Remind Red that it was the lilac that looked most fetching on her. Don't tell Angel, but, he was the only father I ever knew, and my regret is that I never found out what that meant." Tears welled in his eyes and his chin dimpled beneath the weight of holding himself back. "Don't forget to hold the Nibblet every once in awhile when she doesn't expect it." He was silent a moment; body going statue still in the way the older master vampires could. His eyes focused on something only he could see as the next words came from his heart by way of his lips. "Ah, Love... my Precious, Buffy…. Even with the looming battle, all I can think of is making sure you make it out of there. Figured I owe you an apology for never givin' you that proper wedding. Kinda made up for it with the endless shagging though, yeah? Best night of my life, princess.” Buffy saw Spike's eyes flicker upwards as the faint sounds of footsteps pounded across the kitchen and the creak of the basement floor could be heard off camera. That cerulean gaze returned to her. "Goodbye, my love. I'll hold you for eternity." He was still smiling when the tape was turned off. Vaguely, she registered the strong arms that folded her into the empathy demon's comforting embrace. Lorne. She thought she'd remembered Faith say that was the demon's name. His red eyes were wet with tears as he ran his hands soothingly over her hair and back. The sound of his voice crooning some sweet little lullaby dragged heartbreaking sobs from her as she allowed him to guide her onto his lap and hold her as though she were once more a little girl. "Just let it out, Sunshine," he whispered while he rocked her. "I've got you." ***End Flashback*** Buffy stepped into her office, face devoid of emotion, as she took in the regal presence of Count Vladimir Dracula in all his silken glory. His eyes raked over her from head to foot, a lascivious smirk curving his wide, sensual mouth. She felt like rolling her eyes at the blatant flirting he somehow managed without uttering a single word. She sighed as she took the seat behind her heavy desk. “Nice to know you can follow the simple orders,” she told him in a tone that could have melted ice. The count nodded once and seemingly flowed into one of the leather chairs situated across from her. “Elizabeth,” he greeted in his softly accented voice. Privately, Buffy felt a tingle race across her skin at the rich sound. If nothing else, Dracula could seduce legions with just that voice. Hell, he had seduced legions with that voice. It was a good voice that brought to mind immediate thoughts candlelight and things two creatures could do alone in the dark. Wonton…uninhibited…erotic… Buffy caught the direction of her thoughts and all but growled as she fought against the thrall. It was going to be a long day. ************* Dawn hurried through the wide corridors of the facility she had loosely dubbed "Slayerville, USA". It was a magically concealed, hollowed out mountain created by the military in case there was ever some unforeseen world-ending scenario. The government really had no clue how spot-on it had been to the truth of that foresight. Well, not until that day in 2004. Watching the world go to hell was almost worth the immature pettiness of several ‘I told you so's.’ Almost. She reached her destination to find several members of the Coven quietly conversing with Willow. Two coffins lay side by side in the center of the room. One coffin, a tasteful, dark wood casket with gleaming, silver bars running along the sides, had been used on quite a few occasions. Anytime a demon was retrieved, hostile or no, the non-human was put into stasis and transported under the pretence of a deceased friend, relative or co-worker en route for proper burial. The second transport was a sarcophagus of seeming primitive origin; its design forged from stone. Smooth, sparkling jewels winked as they caught and reflected the fluorescent lighting overhead. Dawn felt herself drawn to that sepulcher, the sparkling gems pulling her in and holding her enthralled. Her fingers ached to touch the rough-hewn, stone crypt, to caress the contours of the tomb’s bejeweled surface. Every part of Dawn wanted to lie upon the vault and absorb it into her pores. A sudden movement caught Dawn’s attention, making her jump, and she whipped her head around to see Connor seated happily upon the simpler casket. He grinned wickedly and knocked on the rounded lid beneath him. “Time to wake the old man up,” he told her. “Bastard owes me a shirt.” Amusement danced in the young man’s eyes, bringing an adoring smile to her own lips. “Didn’t go gently, huh?” Connor hopped up and pulled Dawn to him and planted a quick kiss on her mouth. “He was fine until we got to Phoenix to change flights. Some dumb ass in customs screwed up and left the box out on the tarmac. By the time we got to him, it was already sunrise. He wasn’t happy.” “I can imagine.” Dawn smiled knowingly as she wiped a smudge of dirt off her lover’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.” “Hate to break up the happy reunion, but we need to get these guys up and at ‘em,” Xander interrupted the couple as the group joined the brunettes. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them slowly and doing his best impression of a mad scientist’s sycophantic assistant. “Vich do ve vant first, Meeeeesterrrr?” “Let’s do Spike first,” Dawn decided. “Buffy’s eager for-” “Yeah, we all know what the Buffster’s eager for,” Xander waggled his eyebrows. “His report, gutter brain,” Dawn told him, nonplussed with the direction of her former crush’s thoughts. Pushing down her annoyance, she turned her attention to the flame-haired witch. “Willow?” Nodding to her fellow Coven members, Willow came forward and waved a hand over Spike’s casket. “Release,” she intoned in a firm tone. A clicking sound emanated from within the fiberglass and steel prison, signaling the release of the specially designed interior locking mechanism. Xander and Connor each took an end of the lid and lifted it free. Spike lay completely still on the satin-lined bed, his eyes closed, face serene. “He looks so peaceful,” Xander murmured to no one in particular. “Do we really have to-?” “Awaken!” Willow’s voice was louder than before. “Shhh,” Xander hushed. “You’re gonna wake the dead.” “Undead,” a deep, British voice corrected. Spike groaned softly as he sat up and rubbed at the back of his stiff neck. His eyes groggily scanned the faces surrounding him before they settled on Connor. Then all hell broke loose. ___________________________ A/N: Just to clear things up. It's been seven years since Angel and Co. took on the Senior Partners and, well, not so much lost as they just couldn't stop the apocalypse. There was no sudden arrival of the Slayers. No witches on hand to mojo ancient power. No super powerful thingamabob. The armies came, mamed and massacred. The odds were against the white hats. The bad guys had it on sheer numbers. Thank you for reading. To be continued in Lies My Lover Told Me...

Chapter #12 - Lies My Lover Told Me

beta'd by Oracleholly Snapshots of Eternity Chapter Seventeen: Lies My Lover Told Me ****Flashback**** seven years ago... The lovers lay entwined upon a narrow cot in a darkened basement. It was their last night together for a very long time. Everything that had needed saying had already been said; vows and promises now echoed in the gentle glide of fingertips on skin. Neither felt the need to further discuss the missions which would tear them apart come morning. There was no point in doing so as there was still the very real possibility that one or both of them would not survive the coming battle. The slow building orgasm rolled through her and Buffy cried out the vampire's name in a soft whimper. Tears fell from the corners of her eyes only to be licked away by a cool tongue. Her entire body tingled; desire rebuilding itself immediately as though she was storing the pleasure only he could ever give her up for all the lonely nights that were sure to come. "God, you're amazing," Spike whispered as he stroked a hand lazily up and down the golden expanse of her back. She trembled beneath his touch and lifted her tear-stained face just enough to peer down into his passion-glazed eyes. "You get the job done yourself," she replied with a playful grin. The words were old, going back to a time when they hid themselves away in a moldy crypt. Her eyes danced wickedly. "Too bad we took down the chains." "Least we finally made it to a bed." Buffy's eyes became sad again and she laid her head back against Spike's chest. "I'm so tired." And she was tired. Though, what she felt was soul sick at what was to occur when the sun rose. Spike's arms tightened around her and he buried his lips in her hair. A gentle rumbling purr vibrated beneath her cheek. "Rest, luv. I've got you." ****End Flashback**** Buffy studied the vampire seated on the opposite side of her desk. "Y'know, I really don't understand why we keep having this conversation. I gave you one guideline when I accepted your help." She shook her head with a sigh and pressed her fingertips to her temples in hopes of staving off the impending migraine. "One rule, Drac. Don't. Screw. My. Slayers." "You did not refuse me," came that silken voice that caressed her skin and slid down her spine. "It could be that way again." It was a tie as to which urge was stronger; fling herself across the desk and wrap herself up in all that vampiric sensuality, or fling herself across the desk and shove a pointed stick through his non-beating heart. The fact that the egotistical bastard looked smug decided it for her. "Not on your unlife, old man. It was thrall. A parlor trick. Doesn't work on me, anymore. I'll say it one more time, Count Famous. Stop screwing my Slayers. I've got enough trouble without the army of Slayer-shaped ticking hormonal time bombs willing to tear each other's throats out for a chance to bang the legend." And puh-lease! It's not like the guy is even all that great in bed! He's just a one bite stand with a bagful of showy gypsy tricks, sexy eyes and voice that gave good thrall! On the heels of that thought, came another image. Piercing blue eyes and a naughty smirk that was only outdone by hands and mouth that could turn her into a panting, writhing mess in seconds. Dracula slid to his feet, bracing his hands on the edge of her desk and lowering his voice until it was fairly oozing with sex. "You know how to keep me from your girls, Elizabeth. Agree to be my consort." Buffy sighed. "No," she replied in a bored tone. "Leave my girls alone or I'll have the Coven bind your powers." It was an old, empty threat, but Dracula didn't know that. His lavender eyes filled with uncertainty. Then they sparked with anger. "You would not dare," he hissed. Buffy folded her arms across her chest. "Try me, Drac. If you can't keep your fangs to yourself- not to mention any other excitable parts- then leave. Go back to your castle and your brides." As she spoke, Buffy strolled across the room and opened the door with a pointed look at the master vampire. "Your choice, Count. I won't have this conversation again." Dracula smoothed his long, slender fingers over his silky black hair and walked out of her office with his head held high. She sighed and closed the door, contemplating the last half hour. That's one problem solved. Hopefully. Only a couple hundred or so left, she grumbled to herself. Ten minutes later, a quiet knock interrupted her work. Buffy muttered a few choice words in irritation before slamming shut the file she had been reading. "Enter," she called tersely. ****************** Spike had taken his own sweet time to get from Bay Area Three- or what he liked to think of as the BAT cave- to the administrative wing. Dawn wandered along at his side, her warm arm looped through his as she guided him ever nearer to the Slayer. The younger Summers had been happily chattering incessantly since Red had separated the combative Aurelian males. "...and if you ever scare us like that again, I'll fucking dust you myself!" "Nibblet!" Spike slammed to a halt in the middle of the corridor with his mouth gaping open in shock at the obscenity which had come from the young woman's sweet lips. "Language! I know your sis an' I brought you up better than that." Dawn rolled her eyes. "Whatever. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not fourteen anymore." She got an evil glint in her gorgeous blue eyes. "'sides, if I'm old enough to do it, I'm old enough to say it." The brunette giggled at the flustered look on the vampire's face. She stopped walking and turned to him, having sensed his nervousness. Offering him a smile of encouragement, she smoothed her hands over the crisp tee shirt of the standard issue military black and grey fatigues. "Here we are." Spike cast a glance at the engraved brass plate which informed him they had reached his destination. "Looks like." "Um...I could go in first...cushion the blow?" Spike smiled softly and pressed his lips to Dawn's forehead. "Thanks ever so, Bit. Really. But..." "Gotcha," Dawn nodded her understanding and threw her arms around the vampire in one last hug. When she stepped away, she looked him over a final time. "You look nice, dear. Play nice, have fun, don't get dead." Spike chuckled quietly as the Slayer's kid sis bounced back the way they had come. No doubt off to find Connor and spend the next few hours making up for lost time. He followed her with his eyes until she had turned the corner and was lost to his sight. He was alone. Spike took a deep breath and knocked. "Enter," came the terse reply from within. The former slayer of Slayers took a deep, fortifying breath of air he didn't need, steeling himself for the moment of which he had awaited seven years. Bracing himself, Spike stepped through the door before he could lose his nerve. His eyes found the object of a decade's worth of fantasies. His golden goddess. His tempestuous temptress. She of the flashing eyes and honeyed skin. His love. His life... "Glad to know you're alive," she snapped as she reached into a drawer of heavy metal desk. Spike swallowed the angry retort and schooled his features into a mask of complete boredom. "I'll have my report for you before I get settled into my quarters." His words were devoid of any emotion, though his eyes swirled with deep emotion. Silently, he watched her retrieve a glowing lavender orb and smash it against the floor at her feet. A flash of energy crackled throughout the room. His ears popped from the change in pressure and he grinned, holding his arms out to her. Buffy glanced at her watch. The glamour would last an hour before it wore off and the security cameras began recording once more. Unwilling to waste one precious second, she flew across the room and dived into Spike's arms, crushing her mouth to his, kissing him as though she could devour him from the lips down. "God, I missed you," she sobbed as she clung to him. Tears streamed down her face. "Let's never go be heroes again." Spike laughed and cried at the same time. They had lost so much time. Seven years, to be exact. Seven long, excruciating years of wanting and needing and not having. Seven years in which every waking moment was its own personal hell. He had died for her, closed the Hellmouth and burned to a cinder before being entrapped within that soddin' amulet. There had been no reason to believe that Angel's plan would work. No proof that the machinations of the Watchers and head of Clan Aurelius could actually succeed in fooling the Senior Partners. There had been no guarantees that Spike would ever be reunited with his love. ****Flashback**** May, 2002 Spike was in a fierce temper. It was actually a slight improvement over his previous bout of mindless rage. He had found, over the decades that a solid round of destruction could be extremely therapeutic in alleviating stress. Hope the owner kept his insurance up to date, he mused, though not actually caring whether or not the person who owned the place ever returned. Sunnydale had emptied itself of humans and demons alike save those directly involved with the coming battle. At the moment, Spike stood against the wall, chest heaving more from intense emotion than the actual need to fill his dead lungs with unneeded oxygen. In his hand was the note from his Slayer which he had found upon waking just after sunrise. He'd known she was gone before he'd opened his eyes; knew why she had left and where she had gone. Just as he knew that this was something she had to do alone. It is not for thee. It is for her alone to wield. The words he had found in the monastery's secret room, words which had driven Caleb into a rage induced killing spree came back to him and Spike cursed the Slayer's name a dozen times over even as he mentally begged her to be safe and come back to him in one piece. Footsteps crunched over broken glass in the tiny house's living room and Spike felt the unmistakable signature of family. Hurriedly, he tucked the note away and composed himself. "Your handiwork?" Spike inwardly groaned at the familiar voice that he loved and hated in equal measure. He trained his eyes on the rumpled bed linens where he'd lain the night before with his love tucked securely in his arms. "Why am I not surprised?" Angel looked around the room, the only room which had escaped his grand childe's little tantrum. His nostrils flared as he caught the various scents mingled together. He knew exactly why Spike had left the bedroom untouched. "What do you know about it," Spike snapped. "More than I ever wanted, actually." Angel jerked his head towards the room he had just left. "Let's take a ride." "Hello, vampire? Not interested in kissing daylight anytime soon," Spike snarked. "Recent trip to Africa's kinda cured me of all those little suicidal tendencies." "You always did talk too much, William," Angel called back over his shoulder as he walked back to the living room. Spike groaned beneath his lack of breath and followed the magnificent poof. Once they were settled into the safety of Angel's limosine, the elder vampire gave directions to his uniformed driver and closed the partition. Spike sat opposite his grand sire and gazed petulantly out the tinted window. Angel watched him in silence for several miles. "Do you love her?" The question was so abrupt and unexpected that it took a moment for Spike to realize that Angel had actually spoken aloud. The blond vampire flinched, but refused to answer and give the old man one more excuse to ridicule him for being as much of a wanker as Angelus had always claimed. "Then stop acting like a spoiled teenager." The dark haired male tossed a thick, brown dossier onto Spike's lap and turned his equally dark eyes to the scenery whipping past the window. "It's all there." Spike studied his grand sire's profile for a minute, noted the tic in the square jaw that spelled trouble to any who crossed him. Then he opened the file and felt nausea rise in the back of his throat. Angel was right, it was all there. Every detail. Dates, times...photographs. "Where the hell did you get this?" His voice had taken on a low growling quality as rage built anew. "Wolfram and Hart," Angel replied in a flat, emotionless tone. "I've taken over the L.A. division. Lock, stock and evil barrel. Minions to paperclips, it's mine." Spike snorted at this information. "'s that right? Whose family did you have to slaughter to get your meaty paws on that place?" "Mine." Angel shifted in his seat so that he was facing the younger man. "Mostly, I destroyed world peace and this was the reward." A casual wave of his elder's hand brought Spike's focus back to the file in his lap. "You should study that, William. It's just chock full of unfun facts to know and sell." Spike opened the thickest file in the binder and began reading as Angel lowered the partition long enough to give the driver directions to the mansion on Crawford Street. A black and white surveillance photo lay on top. It had been taken of himself and Buffy lying in his old bed at the crypt. She was draped over his chest, her arms wrapped around him as though she would never let go. One of his hands was tangled soft, golden hair while the other splayed possessively against the naked flesh of her lower back. He had his face buried in her sleep tousled locks. Spike felt Angel's eyes on him and quickly shuffled the picture to the back of the file. The next page began the detailed account of Spike's tempestuous affair with the blonde warrior. Every last sordid fact, encounter, every game they played, every twisted fantasy, every rejection. Stuffing down the rage that burned within his heart, Spike sniffed. If the poof was here to take his revenge for Spike's having touched what his elder believed his, the sod was just going to have to stand in line. There were plenty others standing in line for the pleasure of taking out William the Bloody. "Nice bedtime story you got yourself, Peaches. Already knew all this, having been there. What's the point of digging up mine and the Slayer's uglies? You gonna kill me over it?" A curious smile curved his elder's lips. "Thought about it. Well, fantasized, actually," Angel answered honestly and pointed to the file. "It goes on to tell about your return to Sunnydale and sanity. The removal of the inhibitor chip. Etc. Etc. Yada, yada, yawn. Relax, Spike. I'm not here to stake you because you got the girl." Spike couldn't have been more surprised if Angel had suddenly torn off his clothes to reveal high heels, fishnet stockings and burst into a rousing rendition of "Sweet Transvestite". What Angel did do was pull something from his suit coat and tossed it across the seat. "Relax, Childe." He smirked as Spike held up the gaudy looking necklace in his hand. "Cheer up, William. You're going to be a hero." The limo stopped moving and Angel tensed in preparation for the mad dash for the mansion's front door. "We're here." He was gone the next instant and Spike stared after him for a moment as he thought over everything he had just learned. "Bloody 'ell." ****End Flashback**** It had taken three weeks and a great deal of money paid to an independent contractor who specialized in acquiring certain hard to find relics. The amulet had been returned to Angel and their great bloody plan to stop the Senior Partners had commenced. Spike shook himself free of the memories and focused entirely on the warm body wrapped around him. That part of his life was over and he was with his girl once more. He grinned at her and pressed his lips to her forehead in a gentle kiss. “Sorry I’m late, luv. Traffic was a bitch.” tbc _________________________________ A/N: Just to clear up a bit of confusion regarding Dracula and Buffy. They are not now, nor have they ever been, a couple. Dracula was referring to the events which took place during his and Buffy's encounter when he visited Sunnydale at the beginning of season five. The reason he is at Slayerville is that he chose a side. He may not be a saint, but is in no way on the level of the First. Also, as Spike was aware of their activities in season five, he is not jealous or angry. He trusts his Slayer and knows she isn't cheating, so he just doesn't care one way or the other that Drac's there. As always, your reviews keep the fic-age coming. Thank you to all for the support and encouragement!

Chapter #13 - Chapter Eighteen: Moments

A/N: After a rather extended hiatus from this story, I bring to you the final chapters. As I promised before shelving this fic, all questions will be answered in this last chapter and the epilogue. As always, I own nothing but the story itself. All recognizable characters, places, and themes are property of their respective owners. Rating for this chapter: R Warnings: Violence, language, sexual situations, blood play, adult themes. Snapshots of Eternity Chapter 18: Moments Previously: Spike shook himself free of the memories and focused entirely on the warm body wrapped around him. That part of his life was over and he was with his girl once more. He grinned at her and pressed his lips to her forehead in a gentle kiss. “Sorry I’m late, luv. Traffic was a bitch.” He had never known it was possible to both laugh and cry at the same time. It didn’t really matter. Just as the steady stream of garbled, nonsensical words being babbled at him required no actual definition or clarification. He didn’t need to see the overwhelming joy shining through the tears streaming down his girl’s face to know how she felt. Her emotions came loud and clear through the link they shared. If the vampire’s own eyes spilled over with tears of unadulterated happiness, neither he, nor the Slayer-shaped limpet plastered to his front, took notice. The only thing that truly mattered was that, after seeming lifetimes of endless pain, misery, war and death, the two former mortal enemies cum eternally-bonded mates had at last found their way home. Presently, the couple had somehow found themselves upon the polished linoleum floor, wrapped around each other so tightly that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began; the vampire contented with whispered assurances, and a deep rumbling purr meant to soothe his tiny mate as she burrowed further into his chest while the storm of emotions continued to rage through her deceptively small body. The tempest slowly began to ease by degrees until, exhausted, she lay against him with only the occasional sniffle, whimper, and shudder remaining in evidence of such an explosive outpouring of emotion. Even those managed to abate in time, the now drained female still clutching at the vampire wherever her hands found purchase, her eyes drooping in fatigue as the adrenaline dissipated. For his part, Spike just held her tightly across his lap and reveled in the heat her body radiated. He had been so goddamn cold for so long; an eternity of lonely days and nights spent aching for her touch, for any part of her that existed outside his fevered dreams. Now that he had her in his arms once more, he hardly knew what to do with himself. Extensive as their separation had been, the idea of shagging her stupid was, shockingly, not his first impulse. Oh, it was high on the list –he was, after all, virile male vampire too long without a woman to warm his bed- but he liked to think he was well enough beyond the randy, adolescent horn-dog phase of unlife, that he was no longer a slave to his libido. For now, he was content to just hold his mate and revel in her heat as it seeped into his bones. Everything else could wait. Movement against his chest drew Spike’s attention, and he blinked his eyes open to find red-rimmed and blood-shot hazel eyes blinking owlishly back at him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and tightened his arms around her when she gave him one of the softest, sweetest smiles he’d ever seen. He grinned at her with a low rumble of, “hey, there, kitten”. A light chuckled filled the quiet as she nuzzled against him and offered a grin of her own. “Hey, yourself,” she whispered back as she zeroed in on his wide, sensual mouth. Now that she had recovered from her bout of hysterics, she wanted nothing more that to sink into those luscious lips of his and get lost for hours. If the smoochies came with hours of hot, sweaty nakedness that left her unable to walk for days, well, so much the better. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him just that when the ear-splitting scream exploded from everywhere at once. No matter how many times Connor Reilly awoke to find his arms filled with the slender brunette, he never got used to it. Dawn Summers was smart, funny, strong and sexy. In a word, she was his perfect fantasy come to life. Today was no exception, he thought as she snoozed lightly with her nose buried in the crook of his neck. Spent passion hung heavy upon the air within their quarters, and the living child of two of history’s most vicious vampires took great pleasure in breathing in the combined scents of sex, sweat, and the love of his existence. How the hell had he ever managed to get so lucky as to win her heart? Sure, according to the Coven, he and Dawn had been destined to meet; the Destroyer of Quor-toh, and the Key of Creation. But, just because their lives were destined to cross had in no way ensured that they would also fall in love. Now, here they lay in the bed they had shared for years, two beings that never should have been forged into the human embodiment of ultimate power, and all he could do was smile goofily as the woman in his arms snored and drooled lightly upon his chest. A nearly silent beeping drew the young man’s attention to the beauty curled against his chest, and Connor glanced at the tiny clock next to the bed. Regardless of his desire to do nothing more than lay in bed all day with his gorgeous girl, he had to report to his post in a half hour. He frowned; an impressive stream of curses echoing around his head as he eased from beneath Dawn’s sleeping form. Quickly, he stood and took one last moment to whisper a soft kiss to her smooth brow before making his way into the shower. Had he looked back, Connor would have seen her eyes open to reveal blazing emerald orbs focused on some far away sight. Had he turned back before closing the bathroom door, he would have seen the lithe brunette absentmindedly slip into her robe and leave their shared quarters on silent feet. Had he even the slightest inkling of what was to occur, the Destroyer of Quor-toh would have taken Dawn Summers as far from Slayerville as he could get. In her dreams, she’d seen the sarcophagus in all its glory. The jewels imbedded within its lid glittering at her beneath the bay area’s artificial light. They called to her, sparkling at her in random patterns like some sort of primitive rainbow-hued Morse code. Unaware of her actions, her body moved from the bed, pulled on her robe, and heeded the call of the ancient stone crypt. In her mind, the lure of those jewels was impossible to resist. It never occurred to her to even try as she approached the bay area. All she saw was the smooth, sparkling gems which had drawn her earlier. All she knew was the intense desire to lie upon the sepulcher’s surface, and sink down within its cool depths. She was too far gone to hear the shouted warnings of those around her, as she reached out with her slender fingers to touch those darkly glittering stones… The scream echoing through their heads was enough to have Buffy and Spike instantly alert. A moment later they were bursting from the senior Slayer’s office- nearly plowing into the young man headed towards his first training class of the day. Relying upon his preternatural reflexes and instincts, Connor wheeled around and followed right upon the heels of the vampire and Slayer as they raced towards the source of the screams. As they neared Bay Area Three, the heavy metal door rose on well-oiled hinges granting the trio entrance unto a scene too surreal to be believed. There was no time to stop or prevent the contact of flesh to the large purple stone imbedded within the head of Illyria’s prison, or the sudden burst of light and energy that exploded out of the sarcophagus. A fierce wind appeared from nowhere, forcing the room’s occupants against the walls inside the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike caught a glimpse of dark veins, black eyes, and rapidly darkening hair. Instinct told him without words what was happening to the flame-haired witch. In a blink, he caught her struggling form against his chest and did the only thing his demon knew to do. Before the first syllable of some useless spell made it past her lips, he allowed his fangs to drop. The next instant, he latched onto Willow’s jugular and began dragging deep pulls of her powerful, magic-enhanced blood into his mouth. Several yards away, it was every thing the Slayer could do to hold back the struggling man in her arms. Short of making him unconscious or dead, there was nothing to do except hold on and keep him from doing something insane while every part of her screamed to rush to her sister’s side. Some deep, inner knowledge told her that it was useless. Already Buffy could feel the piece of her the monks used to create Dawn’s earthbound body crack and dissolve in the wake of whatever was taking place before their eyes. And, just as she had the moment Glory had ripped Dawn from her arms, the oldest and most powerful Slayer in history disappeared within herself. Moments. Everything that ever was could be counted, summed up, and viewed through an endless series of moments. Some of them seemingly infinitesimal, insignificantly swallowed up by the ever-changing sands of time. Then there were the others- moments so great they could devour a person from the soul outward. These were the moments where breath is sucked in with a harsh gasp; the heart either pounds out a fierce tattoo, or threatens to stop altogether. The blood rushes past seemingly deaf ears, salty, stinging tears well in too-wide eyes before washing over pale cheeks. Legs go numb and refuse to bear the weight of their owner for one more instant. It was this second type of moment, the type too large for words, too overwhelming to describe, which found a man on his knees one spring morning as night gave way to day and the first blush of morning began to seep over the horizon. Instead, his world laid shattered just steps away; her body broken and bloodied, her heart having beaten its last, the light in her eyes snuffed out long before her time. A year later a similar moment would occur. Only, this time, it would be a fierce young warrior facing utter destruction and desolation as she looked out over what was once a sleepy little town in which she had spent the best and worst moments of her life. Instead of rejoicing in a victory she could not feel grief swelled within her breast, robbing her of breath and thought. Centuries later, it would be neither of these moments used to measure the lives of a man and woman whose love withstood the tests of time; two warriors chosen by the Powers That Be to protect the world from those who would see it destroyed. Instead, it would be the greatest moment of their existence which would be told and retold by those who read about it in the annals of history; an epic tale of a greatest love born from the greatest hate… But that was a story for another time. For now, for this moment, the world had narrowed down to a room within a hollowed-out mountain; a room fitted with state-of-the-art computers and machinery that buzzed and whirred without deference to a frozen moment in which four lives seemed to shatter at once. It was this moment that would change the world forever as not a sound was uttered, nor a breath breathed into the sudden stillness as the bright burst of light and energy began to slowly dissipate. All eyes focused upon the stone sarcophagus and the two creatures that now lay face to face and curled into like fetal positions upon the cold, grated metal floor. Seconds stretched out endlessly in the heavy, deafening silence. Spike held tightly to the witch, his fangs still embedded within her tender flesh though he had long stopped pulling mouthfuls of her powerful blood into his throat. She now lay subdued against his chest, her smaller frame as still as the two figures slumped against the wall not twenty feet away. Gently, the vampire’s fangs slowly returned to their sheaths, his saliva sealing the wounds shut to prevent further blood loss, and Spike knew he would take time later to be grateful that his demon knew how to care for his humans when his soul had not the strength. Instead of conscious thought, Spike’s heart and soul waited with shock and horror for something- anything- to happen. It was what they all were doing as no one moved or spoke into the now silent room. The howling wind had vanished with the light and energy, its job completed with the appearance of the two prone figures that had yet to move from their position. Another piece of Spike’s heart broke as he reached out his senses and realized that he could only make out three distinct heartbeats. He wanted to snarl and rage against the truth that stared him in the face, but he was just as frozen as the others. A moment later, with a frightening suddenness, as though some switch had been thrown, the two figures jerked upright with inhuman shrieks. Multi-colored hair whipped through the air to settle about naked shoulders in some sort of gothic halo. For the first time, the effects of the transformation were fully visible to all those present as both beings stood in unison, facing and mirroring each other. The only difference between the two seemed to be in coloring. Where Illyria’s hair was streaked with various shades of blue, Dawn’s was streaked with shades of green. Where Illyria’s eyes were a deep, penetrating blue that nearly glowed with an unearthly light, Dawn’s blazed a dark, striking emerald. And where the god-king’s body was marked with patches of blue and purple skin, this new creature’s echoed those patters in dark green and gold. Face to face the beings stood without concern for their nudity as they studied one another without words or expressions. Several moments ticked by as this continued until, with some sort of silent agreement, they each raised a slender arm and slapped a palm down upon a different colored stoned. As one, their heads fell backwards with an ethereal gasp, and a coating of liquid material flowed rapidly over their flesh, solidifying into impenetrable armor the moment it touched air. When all was said and done, Illyria and the creature now residing within the body of Dawn Summers had been sealed into the bay area. The one attempt Connor had made to approach them had earned the young man a broken arm and bloodied gashes. Willow had fled the room only to land upon her knees in the corridor as loud sobs wracked her slender frame. Spike barely took notice as he lifted his comatose mate in his arms. Now, as they watched the two creatures from the safety of the observation room overlooking the bay area, the sounds of Coven members and military scientists debating theories became white noise behind them. Nothing mattered. He had gone through this when Illyria took over Fred’s body. The god-king’s essence had liquefied the tiny Texan’s organs, hollowing out her insides until there was nothing there but an empty shell made ready for inhabitance by one of the oldest demons to ever enter this dimension. Heart-broken, the vampire curled himself around his too-still mate and began the insurmountable task of walling off his grief for the youngest Summers female in order to use his and Buffy’s psychic link to reach the Slayer. Deep down, he was terrified that, without Dawn, he would lose Buffy forever. Below the observation room, Illyria slowly paced as she inspected her new environment with bird-like motions. The strange being responsible for her release had yet to speak, and she found it unsettling. Instead, the green one seemed more interested in investigating her shell. Searching within herself, the god-king found no internal changes had occurred between her existence before entering stasis and now. With her usual stoicism, Illyria at last decided that the transformation of the green being was merely triggered by the energies used to release the god-king, and not a created by the stones. To the Old One, the creature before her was an oddity, a puzzle to be solved, and nothing more. “You are displeased with your shell,” Illyria observed in a flat tone. Green eyes snapped up to meet her gaze momentarily before they returned to the study of movement as a hand surreptitiously opened and closed. Dawn heard Illyria’s observation, though she did not respond for some time. There was no way to accurately put her thoughts into words. Everything within her was simultaneously silent and overly loud. Her heart was not beating, though she could hear and feel the heartbeats of every living being within the facility. The thoughts, feelings and memories of hundreds of humans and nonhumans swamped her. Grief unlike any pain she had ever experienced streaked through every cell in her body. Knowledge came to her as though some voice was whispering in her ear. It wasn’t supposed to go down this way. This was never supposed to happen. In that instant, she knew exactly what she had to do. Lowering her head and closing her eyes, the Key’s lips moved silently as the necessary words rolled off her tongue. Outside the door to Bay Area Three, Private Nathanial O. Davitt grinned as his face became covered with heavy veins. With a soft chuckle, he rubbed at the small ring on his right middle finger. “Wish granted.” TBC…

Chapter #14 - Chapter Nineteen & Epilogue

Snapshots of Eternity: Chapter Nineteen: As You Were Previously: Knowledge came to her as though some voice was whispering in her ear. It wasn’t supposed to go down this way. This was never supposed to happen. In that instant, she knew exactly what she had to do. Lowering her head and closing her eyes, the Key’s lips moved silently as the necessary words rolled off her tongue. Outside the door to Bay Area Three, Private Nathanial O. Davitt grinned as his face became covered with heavy veins. With a soft chuckle, he rubbed at the small ring on his right middle finger. “Wish granted.” It had taken them all night to track the Glargle’m’gash’m’nak demon responsible for poisoning the Slayer. Once they had gotten their hands on it, chained it up and dragged it into the Slayer’s basement, they’d had a helluva time extracting the creature’s venomous spike. Every time either Xander or Spike managed to grasp the necessary appendage, the demon’s struggles began anew, its waxy flesh making it impossible to retain any hold on it. In the end, it had been Tara’s carefully intoned sleep spell that got the job done. As soon as the creature was out, Xander held a slippery arm steady while Spike thrust the business end of a dagger through its waxen flesh. The demon’s poisonous spike shot out, and Willow ran forth to break off the piece needed for the antidote. When they finished, the redhead rushed off to brew up the anti-venom. At Tara’s request, Xander and Spike unbound the creature and locked it into the basement with a clear escape route to the outside world. Then there was nothing to do, but wait- something the brunette male chose to do at his own home while the vampire returned to his girl’s side. By sundown, Spike felt as though his patience had been stretched to its very limit. The entire afternoon had found him as the subject of the Slayer’s endless hallucinations. She’d screamed, cried, nattered non-stop about a future demon war where humans were driven underground by creatures of unspeakable horror. Whenever he attempted to calm her, she would fight him with every bit of her considerable strength. He’d long stopped counting the numerous wounds now marring his pale flesh. The insignificant scratches and bites were nothing to him, however. They would heal in no time, and were nothing with which the vampire was unaccustomed. Instead, Spike focused on preventing a crazed Slayer from hurting herself. For Buffy, the things she saw within her mind were more than real; each scene unfolding without mercy as it passed before her mind’s eye. Eschewed views as though she saw them through the eyes of others despite the impossibility that she could do so. Flash: She'd been crying for months. Slowly sinking further and further into that void of despair. Yet no one knew it wasn't really her in control. Dawn. Flash: “The point is… I don't care if you nibble on the groupies or the weres. I made that truce with David so that this shit stopped happening. Bad business for you guys goin' out and slaughtering the masses.” Faith. Flash: The power filled her in a hot rush. Her hair lengthened magickally, glowing a bright, silvery white. The energies swirled in her eyes, pools of onyx obliterating the whites. A silver aura arose from every pore of her skin as one voice cried out from the legion within her. She was being called; the Guardian's anguish tore at her, begging, pleading, screaming to her over the vast distance. Willow. Flash: “What lies beneath the earth is but a borrowed vessel. As we are born from the earth, so must we return to it. The part that is truly us continues on in everything. We are the wind in the trees. Rains from the sky. Sunlight shining upon children at play.” Tara. Flash: Strong arms wrapped around her, and she jerked away from the comforting embrace. Or tried to, at least. They just held on tighter; Angel to her left, Wesley to her right, different as night and day, yet similar in their desire to ease her suffering as well as to celebrate the return of one whom they'd both thought was lost to them. Cordelia. Flash: The silence seemed to stretch on forever before Spike felt his bonds being removed and heard the slide of the zipper along his vinyl prison. The overhead fluorescent lighting was harsh to his sensitive eyes after the absolute, Stygian blackness he'd experienced since returning to awareness. Spike. Flash: Seemingly overnight things had gone bad, apocalyptically bad, and it didn’t look like things were ever going to get better. Los Angeles, California- once that bright, shining La-La-Land of seventy millimeter hopes and dreams and silver screens- became a no man’s land. Hell had opened up in a dank, rainy alley and vomited forth hordes of nightmares the likes of which not even Stephen King could ever have imagined. The darkest of images -as seen through the eyes of a being created to house the oldest of entities- were those that would forever haunt Buffy’s soul. The most devastating of them all, however, was a final scene in which the Slayer’s baby sister was once more snatched away from her in yet another cruel twist of fate. Only, unlike the night a hell god had abducted the teen, there would be no happy ending in sight. Even as Buffy’s mind began to shut down beneath the weight of her grief, some distant part of her registered that she was being held down while a vile concoction was forced down her throat… When Willow finally returned home with the antidote, Spike was forced to hold Buffy down while the redhead forced the vile concoction down her throat. The blonde immediately spat it out, forcing the other two to repeat the task a second time. Once they had gotten the second dose into her, Buffy stilled gradually until she seemed to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep –something for which her best friend and vampire mate were profoundly grateful. The two gave each other tired, relieved smiles before the witch left the couple in the privacy of their bedroom. Snapshots of Eternity Epilogue: Aftermath “If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream…” Beneath the tree outside the Slayer’s bedroom, the Glargle’m’gash’m’nak lifted its face upward with a glare of irritation as the words from a Shakespearean play looped repeatedly through his head. He turned away with a growl, his tentacle-covered features transformed into a very human head beneath a black fedora as he muttered the familiar lines while he stomped his way towards the sidewalk. “Gentles, do not reprehend: if you pardon, we will mend: And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearned luck, Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends ere long…” Whistler shot another glare upwards. “And who the hell ever heard of a wax demon?” The balance demon demanded. He paused for a moment before tossing a glance back towards the now-quiet house on Revello Drive. A secretive grin stretched his thin lips. “Here’s hoping you get it right this time, Kid.” With that, the errand boy for the Powers That Be began fading into the night. “Else the Puck a liar call; So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends…” A final glimpse at the now-quiet residence that housed his favorite vampire Slayer, and the little demon grinned. “And Robin shall restore amends.” A moment later, an angry snarl ripped through the peaceful night. “Goddamn William Shakespeare!” The End Final author’s note: I just wanted to take a final opportunity to thank everyone for sticking with me through the end. It’s been a long, difficult road to get here, but I think the ride’s been worth it. For anyone unfamiliar with the quotes used in the epilogue, they are Robin Goodfellow/Puck’s final speech in William Skakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. (Which just happens to be my favorite of all the bard’s works.) Drop me a line and lemme know what you guys thought.