Author's note: Finally the chapter you've been waiting for. Are you excited?? Let me know what you think after you read, I'm anxious for your reactions!

Beta'd by dawnofme and Mabel Marsters- they make this story so much better.






Banner made by the very talented xaphania


Chapter 22


The journal’s firm cover was starting to bend in the tight clasp of Buffy’s fingers, her knuckles turning white as she rose to her feet. Instinct nudged her forward and before she knew how it happened she was bursting into Giles’ bedroom, not really concerned with her rude behaviour.


She stood at the foot of his bed, shaking from anger and betrayal as she watched Giles stir awake and fumble with one hand to switch on the lamp on top of his bedside table.


“Buffy, is everything alright?” He sat up and put on his glasses, worry and puzzlement overriding his annoyance at being woken up in the middle of the night.


The secrets within the journal seemed to burn a hole in her palm. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why!”


Giles struggled to understand what had gotten into her, so she threw the leather book on the bed, hitting him squarely in his chest. His flinch didn’t bring her even the smallest amount of satisfaction.


“Buffy, did you read my private journal?”


“Yes, I did.” She stared at him, her lips stretched taut in a cold smile. “You knew William didn’t die and what… you forgot to mention it? God, I can’t believe it. I trusted you!” She started pacing, unable to process the hurt. “All this time you knew… every time I asked about the Aurelians, every time you saw me miserable and you couldn’t have told me?”


“William did die that night. Everything I taught you about vampires is true… they do not have feelings of compassion or love. Why do you think I kept it from you? You’ve suffered enough as it is. I was merely trying to protec-”


“How? How is this protecting me? I’m the Slayer, Giles. I’m not just a regular girl. I could have dealt with this, no matter how much it hurt! It’s my life and my pain and you don’t deserve to be the judge of what’s best for me.” She put her arms around herself in a futile effort of comfort. “All this time I wondered what happened to his body,” she whispered.


“I’m sorry,” Giles said and flung his covers aside in order to stand up. “I should have told you. I didn’t want to burden you any more than necessary.”


Sudden realization struck her, casing tears to well up in her eyes. “He’s Spike. All those things he’s done… Oh God!” She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to hold the nausea back.


Giles put his hand on her shoulder. “You have to remember, Spike is not William. He might have the same face and memories, but he’s just a demon. That’s why I didn’t tell you… I feared he’d make you believe he was the same person if you sought him out and … kill you. I know my reasons were misguided, but I was trying to do what’s best for you.”


Warmth spread from the place where his hand rested on her shoulder and there was nothing she longed more for than to be comforted and told everything would be all right. That she wouldn’t have to deal with anything. She needed him to lie to her, but it wouldn’t make the truth hurt any less.


“Giles?” She stared up at him, her voice shaking, even if her eyes gleamed with unwavering determination. “I’ll have to kill him.” The unspoken question mark hung in the heavy air around them.


“I’m afraid so, yes.”


Her heart broke and she collapsed against his chest, letting herself break down for the last time before she shut all the emotions away so she could face Spike.


Face the demon wearing William’s face.


*******


The following night, Spike staggered his way out of a pub. The warm air rushed against his face, oppressive and heavy with a promise of rain, and Spike swung the bottle of liquor to his mouth to take a long swig.


“Now this is more like it, innit, Jack? Just you and me and no bloody women to mess with our heads… or I guess you’ve no head. Sorry about that, mate.”


After a few hours of vigorous drinking, the buzz was finally starting to set in and wrap him in a drunken haze. Wasn’t love grand?


Spike carefully tucked the bottle into the crook of his arm. “You an’ I oughta just stay away, but I just can’t, can I? Gotta see my girl… that radiant smile that makes me feel like a right ponce… ‘s good feeling, you know. And those eyes, the big pools of loveliness and-”


He stared at the bottle accusingly. “Are you laughin’ at me, Jack? Bloody traitor.”


A pair of young people holding hands passed him by, eyeing him strangely as he muttered to himself. He let out a low growl and flashed a fang. “Run along kiddies or I’ll make you my snack!”


He chuckled as they quickened their stride, glancing over their shoulders warily. Then he stared longingly at their joined hands and kicked the curb.


“Fuck!” He snarled as the pain from the impact shot up his feet and started hopping around on his leg, which wasn’t the best idea in his current condition. Spike fell down on his butt, a sullen look firmly in place.


“’M so miserable.” He sniffed and guzzled down the rest of the liquor, before he tossed the empty bottle aside, his toe throbbing with pain. “’Appy to have made your acquaintance, Sir,” he said to the bottle with a salute.


The coldness from the cement sidewalk was starting to seep through his duster so he picked himself up, swayed a couple of times but managed to stay on his feet. With a triumphant grin stretched across his face, Spike made his way down the street towards the more abandoned part of town where his current lodgings were located.


To his annoyance, the fifteen minute walk had dragged him from the blessed state of drunken stupor into a more sober world of regret, and he cursed himself for not stopping at the store he’d passed a while ago to acquire more booze. He rounded the corner, his steps echoing loudly in the silence of the deserted street.


A steady thud of a heartbeat carried to him on the warm breeze, and Spike stopped in his tracks, his body tensing as it prepared for a hunt.


The blood in his veins froze when his eyes met those of his prey. But she wasn’t prey at all, was she? Not with the piece of wood he could see tucked behind the waistband of her jeans as she drank him in. Her eyes were alight with a torrent of emotions, and it was making him dizzy because he could feel it too.


His heart clenched tightly in his chest and for one foolish moment, he expected it to beat. It hurt. The way her eyes filled with hope and recognition before the shutters came crashing down to shield her from him. To protect herself.


Didn’t she know he’d never hurt her?


Her muscles tensed beneath that smooth silky skin and a memory of him tasting it with his lips flashed before his eyes. Her eyes turned hard and he snapped to himself, trying to ignore the way his heart bled.


“Hello, luv. Long time no see, eh?” He heard himself say, hoping it sounded more confident than he’d felt.


Her fists unclenched and he could see her casually reach for the stake, her eyes never leaving his. He knew it would go this way, but deep down he wished. Longed for her to overlook the gaping hole of their differences and run into his arms with romantic music playing in the background.


She grabbed the stake.


“Why?” There was a catch in her voice that made him want to step forward and offer comfort for whatever it was that made her sad. Except, he was the reason, wasn’t he?


He tilted his head and slipped his shaking hands into the pockets of his duster. “Why what?”


She seemed lost, as if there were too many questions she needed to know the answer to, but didn’t know which one to ask first. “You’re a… why did you come here?”


He pulled himself together, clinging to all the bravery he had left in him. “What? No kiss hello? And here I thought you’d be happy to see me. You said you loved me once.” She promised to love him no matter what, didn’t she? It must have been just a dream after all.


Her lips curled in anger. “I loved William. Not you. You’ll never be him. You’re a monster, a thing that killed him and took over his body!” She took a step closer. “And I’m gonna make you pay.”


God, her words were like shards of glass, tearing him apart and making him bleed.


A monster. A thing. It seemed to have stuck on repeat in his brain, the way her voice dripped with hatred. And just like that, the bravery vanished, leaving only desperation behind.


“Buffy…” He could almost feel the burn of tears welling in his eyes and he hated himself for being weak. She wasn’t supposed to cut him with her words, not her. Buffy was kind and loving and now she hated him with her very soul.


And he knew he deserved it.


“No! Don’t you dare to say my name like that! Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. You’re not William!” Tears slipped down the fringe of her thick lashes and he knew what he had to do. To make it easier on her.


The alcohol still coursing through his system nodded in agreement.


“Yeah? Good thing too ‘cause the old William was a right pansy, too much of a coward to put it to you properly.” He sneered and ran his hand down his chest, the descent stopping at the belt buckle. “Come on, luv. You know you want it.”


And there it was, the tortured pain in her eyes transforming into outrage.


“I would never want you.”


The streetlight flickered. Then all hell broke loose, and Spike realized all too late that pushing her past the limit of her tolerance wasn’t the smartest idea he’d ever had. Especially in his current state.


His head snapped back from the force of her punch and he staggered on his feet. There was a feral look in her eyes that made the familiar rush of adrenaline course through him as she advanced on him and kicked him in the stomach. Spike doubled over and caught her foot in his hands when she aimed another kick at him, shoving her back.


Instead of falling, she molded the momentum to her advantage and cart-wheeled backwards. Her hair was tangled, her eyes wild as she gripped the stake so hard her hand shook. Spike returned her gaze and they started to circle each other, the tension between them growing with each passing step.


“Had enough, Slayer?”


Her eyes bristled at the title, the animalistic side of her he hadn’t seen before made an unexpected shiver of lust tickle his spine.


“You disgust me. Do you think I won’t kill you because you wear his face?”


'If only it was that easy. I am him, more than you’d like to admit,' he thought bitterly. Her presence brought it out in him more than anything else, but he couldn’t let her see it. It wasn’t as if she’d believe him anyway.


“Who’re you trying to convince? Me… or yourself?”


She broke the tension by lunging forward to backhand him across the face, but he was ready for her and deflected the blow, which sent her crashing into him with her shoulder. Spike lost his balance and they both tumbled to the pavement, the force of impact knocking the stake out of her hand.


He immediately banded his arms around her tightly to prevent her from moving and closed his eyes as the familiar feel of her body pressing against his had him reeling with memories. But she wasn’t relaxed; her muscles were coiled tightly as she struggled to break his hold, her arms locked between their torsos, her quick breath warming his jaw.


“Let me go.” She sputtered curses and wriggled her body to no avail.


“God, I forgot the way you smell,” he said, not aware of voicing his thoughts out loud. Her struggles ceased and he instinctively loosened his hold, his arms embracing her instead of restraining. She lay there for a few precious seconds before the reality of the situation struck her and she snapped out of it. She sat up, effectively breaking his hold and clutched his wrists in her strong hands, slamming them hard against the pavement.


Spike blinked twice and his nose twitched at the smell of his own blood, the back of his hands burning as the gravel dug into his chafed skin. Her bottom lip wobbled as she stared down at him, and he couldn’t muster up enough energy to defend himself as she freed one of his hands so she could slap him. She kept it up until his cheek turned numb, but it didn’t compare to the force of her punches from before. She was holding back, her eyes full of accusations and betrayal.


This was Buffy hitting him, not the Slayer.


He so wished to be able to hold her as she cried, the warm tears dropping down to splash against his cheeks. There was a stake in her hand and Spike had no idea where she’d whipped it out from, but then it didn’t matter because the sharp tip was poised above his heart with unerring accuracy.


They held each other’s gaze, her hands shaking even as she clenched her teeth, obviously trying to force her hand to end this. Spike didn’t fight back.


The tip pressed harder, breaking the skin beneath and Spike could almost taste the ashes of his demise in the back of his throat. He drank in her face, inhaled her scent because he wanted it to be the last thing he’d remember.


Then the weight of her was gone and it took him a moment to realize he was still alive—or as alive as a vampire could be. He pushed himself into a sitting position, staring after Buffy’s retreating form as she ran down the street and away from him.


TBC