A/N: Title comes from a song of the same name by The Unquiet Void, written by Jason Wallach and published by TUQV. As always, I own nothing. I have nothing. Just call me a turnip. A very heartfelt thank you to Nia for the quick beta for this and for her support and encouragement to get this tale out there. THANK YOU, SWEETIE!


Warnings: This fic will contain: Violence, torture, strong language, blood play and strong sexual themes.


Breathing Liquid Breath


Prologue:


The Slayer stepped off the last stair and onto the basement floor, warm soapy water sloshing up the sides of the bowl she carried. Despite the very dim light from the lamp near the utility sink, her eyes adjusted easily to her surroundings. Heart heavy and mind filled with confusion, she kneeled beside the still form of her -no, not mine anymore. I threw him away like he didn’t matter. Now something’s happened to him, made him kill humans against his will. It’s up to you, Slayer. All up to you to find whatever dark place he’s gone to and bring him back. Bring him home.


Hard as it was, Buffy managed to push back the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions and begin the task of cleaning up the dried blood from the prone vampire’s mouth and chin. A task that would have gone much smoother had the object of her thoughts not opened soulful blue eyes to warily peer up at her. Guilt and self-loathing reflected back at her from deep, expressive eyes and she quickly broke the gaze before he could see her own tormented emotions.


Chapped lips parted, his cool pink tongue darting out to moisten them before he began to speak. Oh, Gods, that voice.


“Did I hurt anybody?”


“Andrew,” she sighed wearily.


“Who?”


The question would have been funny a year ago when no one could remember the third member of the Slayer’s self-proclaimed arch nemeseses, comprised of three cyber nerds determined to ruin her life and take over Sunnydale in their mission to rule the hellmouth.


“Oh,” was all Spike said in response.


“He’ll be okay,” she assured him in a tired voice as she finished cleaning him up.


“I don’t remember.”


“It’s okay.”


“Buffy, I don’t know why-”


Before he could finish the sentence, Buffy pushed to her feet and went to the sink to empty her bowl of soiled water and to wring the excess water from the washcloth she’d used. She was stalling, she knew; nowhere near ready to have this conversation. Still, she braced her hands against the sink and bowed her head. “We think we do.”


The clank of the chains binding the vampire to the brick wall behind her clued the Slayer to the fact that he had sat up. She knew without a doubt he was staring at her back, could almost feel his intense gaze boring in to her.


It seemed odd, suddenly. The Vampire and the Slayer, two predatory night creatures by their very natures, knew each other so well. Yet, William and Buffy stood so completely clueless of one another when it came to the part where human hearts were involved.


It had been so much easier when all they'd wanted to do was kill each other. Death and violence and primal, animalistic mating were something they both easily understood; his demon, her Slayer, both hedonistic regardless of what form the pleasure took. However, throw in a whole bunch of actual human emotion and they were both screwed in the so not fun way.


Which had just led her thoughts back around to the now souled-up version of her dark warrior; the demon she'd so willingly given her body to in so many ways and on so many levels and now was forced to keep chained like an animal who could turn on its mistress at anytime.


Heaving a dejected sigh, Buffy opened her eyes to stare once more into the scratched and stained basin of the utility sink. "Something's playing you. Some ghost or demon has figured a way to control you. I've got the gang researching it now."


Good. Talk business. Leave your whirling, swirling emotions for another time when the weight of the world isn't trying to bury you.


Buffy did her best to focus on the subject at hand, grateful that her back was to Spike so that he could not see the lingering fear in her eyes. Fear that she was losing him one piece at a time to whatever this thing was that was playing with what she considered hers. However logically or illogically that possessive thought, this vampire was hers. Hers to love or hers to kill, but still hers as much as she was his.


"Xander has a theory that you're being triggered."


"Kill me."


Two simple words. Just two single syllable words put together and spoken into the brief silence following her speech. In a flash, Buffy spun round on her heels to face the vampire that had hated and loved her in equal measure over the course of several years. "What?"


The demand came out several octaves higher than she liked and Buffy winced at the sound. The look on Spike's face was more intent, more serious than she had ever witnessed and it broke her heart just a little. But the vampire was not done by a long shot. Hands curled around the iron chains manacled to his wrists, he continued, "Buffy, you have to kill me."


"You don't understand," she told him as she stepped closer. "When I left the room, earlier, I heard you talking to someone."


Spike was having none of it, however, and spoke over her denials. "Do you have any idea what I'm capable of?"


Though he hated the words that spilled from his lips; hated the truth in them and the disgust which would fill the eyes of his love once she heard them, he forced them out of his mouth. She flinched slightly and her eyes flicked away for the briefest second before resolutely meeting his once more.


"I was in the cellar with you," she reminded him softly. "I saw what you did."


He snorted,"'M not talking 'bout the people in the cellar. The people in the cellar got off easy."


Here it comes, Spike thought miserably as he looked into the face of the only woman he would ever love with every last cell and fibre of his being. This was the moment she would learn the truth about him and all the dirty little things he'd done over the last century and some change. When she finally understood, she'd dust him right and proper. After all his filthy deeds, he deserved no less. The fact that it'd save his Slayer and the Bit was merely a bonus.


That in mind, he continued in a stronger tone, renewed determination to save the ones he loved driving him onward. One way or another, this ended tonight. "Buffy, you've never met the real me."


Buffy folded her arms across her chest, closing herself off to the heartfelt pleas coming from the powerful creature at her feet. "Believe me. I'm fully aware of what you're capable."


"No," he assured her. "You got off easy, too."


True to vampiric fashion, Spike shot to his feet and began pacing like the caged animal he was in this moment. His eyes met hers with purpose. "Do you know how much blood you can drink from a girl before she'll die?" His voice was icily calm, considering the raging emotions of his newly regained soul. "I do. You see, the trick is to drink just enough...to know how to damage them just enough...So that they'll still cry when you-" his voice trailed off to leave the meaning hanging on the air between them.


Rape.


Images from just a few months ago rose like bile in his throat and he doggedly forced them back. Instead, he ploughed ahead with renewed determination in hopes that he could push her to do what needed doing and sod all else. This was likely his best shot at protecting the humans whom he had come to think of as his family from the monster that he was. "Because 's not worth it if you don't make 'em cry."


"It's not your fault," Buffy told him in a soft, compassionate tone despite the ache in her chest. For a moment, she wondered if they were both completely silent, would they hear the sounds of each other's heart breaking?


Spike scoffed at her resolution.


"You're not the one doing this."


He snorted. "I already did it. It's already done." There was still an ace up his sleeve regardless of his own disgust at the thought of using it. With a ruthless smirk, he puffed out his chest. "You, uh, wanna know what I've done to girls Dawn's age?"


if that don’t get me a redwood to the chest...


He knew he had finally struck a nerve when her beautiful lips twisted into a grimace of disgust and she looked away. "This is me, Buffy. You've got to kill me before I get out."


"We can keep you here, keep you locked up until we-"


"Have you ever asked yourself why you can't do it?" Spike bellowed. "Why you can't off me after everything I've done? To you, to the people around you? It's not love," he continued in a softer voice and looked away out of fear of seeing the truth reflected in the startling green of her eyes. "We both know it."


"You've fought by my side," she replied just as quietly as she stepped a bit closer. "You've saved lives. You've helped-"


"Don't do that!" Spike bellowed as he furiously paced away from her. "Don't try to rationalize this into some sort of noble act!" He came to a stop several paces away from her, determined to shield the pain in his heart and the expectation of her imminent rejection by looking at the floor. His voice, when he spoke his next words, was whisper soft. "We both know the truth of it."


It was killing him to say these words, tearing his heart out to finally put voice to the long-suppressed truth. Buffy didn't love him. She never had. She never would. She was a true spirit. A goddess. A fierce warrior and protector, and he was beneath her.


"You like men who hurt you," he said at last, still refusing to look at her.


"No."


"You need the pain that we cause you," Spike told her carefully as their eyes met once more. "You need the hate to do your job, to be the Slayer."


"No," Buffy said again, this time stronger than before. Her voice shook slightly from the force of her denial and, to his surprise, she stepped closer to him. "I don't hate like that. Not you...or myself. Not anymore." Tears clogged her throat and she forced them back, swallowed against the lump of emotion, so many emotions; forced herself onward in what she had desperately been hoping to avoid. "You think you have insight because your soul is drenched in blood?" It was a rhetorical question and he remained silent as her voice took on a ranting tone. "You don't know me!" Sudden realization struck her, then, a harsh bark of laughter filling the dark, dank room around them. "You don't even know you."


She was right and she knew it. For all his Big Bad persona, Spike had admitted to her years ago the type of man he had been before Drusilla had found him. Wasn't that how she'd found him? Sobbing his broken heart out in an alley? William, the human had been a soft-hearted human in love with the toast of London's society blue bloods. William the man had been a poet and a romantic who took care of his ailing mother. By his own words, William the man had been a snivelling ponce before he'd been killed and turned into a soulless, murdering monster.


"Getting killed made me feel alive for the first time in my life."


Spike, the Slayer of Slayers, had the heart of a romantic who loved with everything he was and gave those he loved everything he had. When he loved, he held nothing back.


Suddenly, it was as if she were seeing Spike for the very first time. Knowledge she'd gained of him in the five long years she had known him clicked together to create the puzzle that was William the Bloody. Drusilla had never loved him. Yet, he stayed with her, killed for her, cared for her in her madness, gave her everything of himself, for more than a century.


Buffy, herself, had been worse than Drusilla at her most insane. She had done things to Spike that the insane vampiress had never done. Yes, Dru was the demon that had broken Spike's heart countless times over the decades. But, in less than three years, Buffy had become the monster that broke Spike's seemingly indomitable spirit.


And what had Spike done in response? He had scoured the planet; went to the very ends of the underworld to seek out a way to have his soul restored to him. For her. For her love and forgiveness.


"And she will look on him with forgiveness. And everyone will forgive....and he will be loved..."


That's what it all came down to. The one fact that lay at the centre of everything William had done as a human and everything Spike had done as a vampire. It was all he wanted. His heart's one desire. To be loved.


Buffy blinked away the threatening sting of tears, shoving them aside and going with anger at the once proud vampire. A lifetime had passed in seconds and a new determination to save him, even if it was from himself, gave her the strength she needed.


"Was that you who killed all those people in the cellar? Was that you who waited for all those girls?"


"There's no one else."


"That's not true!" Buffy snapped. To take the harsh sting from her words, she immediately softened her tone. "Listen to me. You're not alive because of hate or pain. You're alive because I saw you change. Because I saw your penance."


"Window dressing!" Spike hissed as he lunged at her in a last ditch effort to sway her determination. To his utter shock, the stupid bint didn't even flinch. The chit actually scoffed at him and gave him a smirk which he knew to be a damn fine imitation his own.


"Be easier, wouldn't it? If this were all an act? But it's not." One last step and they were practically nose to nose in the semi-darkness of the basement. "You faced the monster inside, and you fought back. You risked everything to be a better man."


"Buffy," he whimpered softly at the warm look of understanding and compassion he saw reflected in the green gaze peering back at him.


"And you can be," she continued as though he hadn't spoken. "You are. Maybe you don't see it, but I do. I do.." Her lips trembled slightly and her eyes misted at her admission. "I believe in you, Spike."


Spike's haunted blue eyes filled with something she hadn't seen in a very long time. Hope. For a moment, she found herself drowning in that look. For a moment, there existed the very real possibility that she could lose herself in him like she had once upon a time.


Before she could analyze her raw emotions or what they might mean for her and the vampire just inches from her, the light snapped out. A sudden explosion showered the floor in thousands of tiny glass shards and she ducked slightly as an intruder burst into the room. The sound of splintering wood announced the arrival of a second intruder as something heavy was bashed against the side of her head and Buffy's world abruptly turned black.


The First has Spike. The Potentials have arrived. Buffy has already had her second run-in with the uber vamp.

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

A/N: Some dialogue from "Bring On The Night"

Chapter One


beneath the city…


He’d been beaten. He’d been battered. He’d been carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey, bled of nearly every drop of borrowed blood in his body, and tortured on so many levels of painful that he was ready to beg for a stake somewhere in the vicinity where lay his unbeating heart.


Every time he passed out from the excruciating pain, however, that …thing would hold his head beneath the surface of the small pool of rank sewer water which filtered down from the world above. Every time Spike returned to awareness, he found himself the subject of fresh rounds of highly painful, though thoroughly unimaginative torture. All while the entity wearing the visage of his deranged Sire looked on with sadistic glee and coos of encouragement to the filthy, gnarled creature tearing at Spike’s flesh with its razor sharp claws.


The sun set at long last. The moment Spike felt that great, fiery ball sink beneath the horizon, the ancient demon- very primitive in appearance with reptilian eyes, and a mouth filled with needle-like teeth- loped from the cavern to set about its nightly carnage. The endless rounds of torture from the vampire that time forgot, nor the multitude of taunting cruelty spilling from the apparition dressed up in Drusilla’s satin and lace, frightened the ensouled vampire. Spike deserved every bit of it and more after all the atrocities he had committed during his days of murder and mayhem. Yes, he had been a bloodthirsty monster and had done things he could never take back or make up for if he lived a thousand years. After everything he had done, Spike deserved any and every punishment this thing could dole out.


At the same time, Spike couldn’t remembering ever being more terrified in his life or unlife The very thought of that twisted creature freely roaming the night and feasting on the unsuspecting denizens of the Sunnyhell, the very real likelihood that it could run into his Slayer while she scoured the town for the place where he was currently being held captive, froze the marrow in Spike’s bones. Buffy would not be expecting it.


The ancient vampire demon which the First had used Spike’s blood to release from the bowels of the hellmouth acted on pure, animalistic instinct. There was no one home for Buffy to sling sharp-tongued quips at in an effort to distract it or throw it off its game. There was nothing humanistic about it. No psychological weakness which would react to her status as the Slayer. She was good; the very best fighter Spike had ever come up against. But the feral beast was pure vicious animal. To the pre-historic vampire demon, Buffy Summers wasn’t a threat.


To the pre-historic vampire demon, Buffy Summers was food. And because the demon acted on the single-minded pursuit of its prey, it could and would kill her. There was no way she could come against that thing and live.


Some slight movement from the ghostly one drew Spike’s attention and a pang sliced through Spike’s heart as he realized how spot-on the likeness was to his once beloved dark princess. He forced himself to remember that this was not Drusilla and continued to study it, instead.


Spike was not as dumb as he allowed people to think. Quite to the contrary, his nature leaned heavily toward the intellectual. Did they think, somehow, that he was able to take out two Slayers single-handedly out of sheer luck? No. Spike had studied them. Know thy enemy was lesson well-learned from the Poof, himself, during the two decades before the gypsies had shoved a soul down Angelus’ throat.


During the small eternity which had passed since the cloaked, eyeless monks had nabbed him and used his blood to bring forth the now absent monster, Spike had taken to studying the mastermind behind his capture. It was evil. Pure, unadulterated evil in a non-corporeal form. It retained the ability to wear any guise it desired in a concentrated effort to cause the utmost pain in its victims.


There existed a pattern to it, Spike noticed. Every visage it assumed was that of someone who had been dead at some point, regardless of whether or not that person came back from the great beyond. Buffy had died twice and was Spike’s greatest weakness, though he had to forcefully restrain himself from showing that knowledge in any outward manifestation.


When Buffy’s face no longer appeared to gain a reaction from the vampire, the First had taken on the willowy features of Spike’s Sire. So now it was Drusilla’s face he saw before him.


“Do you know why you’re here?” The First had even perfected Drusilla’s haunting voice and mannerisms.


Spike coughed as blood welled in his throat from a punctured lung before spitting the viscous fluid onto the dirt floor at Drusilla’s feet. A brief coughing fit struck him and it took a moment before Spike could voice an answer to the query with a voice grown raspy from pain-filled screams.


“Never figured you for the existential thoughts, luv. I mean, you hated Paris.”


‘Dru’ continued as though he hadn’t spoken, raising slender hands to cover her non-corporeal heart. “You’re alive because I wish it. Do you know why I wish it?” She shook her head sadly, tears welling in the fathomless blue eyes he had spent a hundred years drowning in. A bittersweet smile played across her face. “Because I’m not done with you, yet.”


Spike actually rolled his eyes at the melodramatic display. “Give. It. Up,” he told the ghost in a bland tone, unaffected in the slightest by the tears. “Whatever you are, whatever you get away with, I’m out. You can’t pull my strings anymore.”


Drusilla whirled on him then, rage boiling off of her in palpable waves. “And what makes you think you have a choice?” she shrieked at him. “What makes you think you will ever be anything at all in this world?”


Completely confident in his beliefs, Spike drew himself up and faced the First Evil without the slightest hint of fear. “She does,” he replied. “Because she believes in me.”


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


Revello Drive…



She was hurt. Badly hurt. That thing had nearly killed her tonight. Her ribs were smashed and her face looked as though she were the poster girl for domestic violence. Worse, Spike was still missing and Giles had arrived the previous day with three young girls she was supposed to protect.


According to the man Buffy looked upon more as a father than a mentor, the thing she had found protecting the entrance to the First Evil’s lair was known as a Turok-han. “As Neanderthal is to man; the Turok-han is to vampire. Feral, vicious…animalistic in its single-minded pursuit of blood. They are the vampires that vampires fear.”


Wonderful. Not only was the First Evil holding the strongest warrior Buffy currently had on her side, but that thing was more than likely torturing the unliving hell out of her vampire. Rage; white-hot, searing rage rose up within her warrior’s heart and spilled from her lips in a growl that would make the bleached vampire proud. She had no doubt that Spike still existed. She would know instantly if he were dust. The scar- a gift from him during one of their sadomasochistic romps, last year- tingled slightly. Buffy had been seriously pissed when she discovered the side effects of the bite. Now, however, she thanked the Powers that he had done it.


Voices drifted from the dining room where the Scoobies, a growing number of potential Slayers and Andrew gathered together to discuss the specifics of recent events. Giles had brought them the news that the Council of Watchers had been fully decimated in a series of explosions having occurred at Council Headquarters and safe houses all across the world. Any Watchers that managed to survive the attacks were either in hiding or were risking their necks to send all remaining Potentials to Sunnydale and the relative safety of the current Slayer and her band of white hats.


I can’t even make it past the vamp that time forgot. How the hell am I supposed to protect a bunch of scared little girls from being gutted like fish on a daily basis?


Sick of feeling helpless and afraid, Buffy carefully unfolded herself from the chair she had been resting in and slowly limped her way towards the dining room as the group continued to voice their mutual doubts and concerns. The air was rife with fear; Buffy felt it shivering across her skin with icy fingers as Willow questioned Giles over what would happen if the Slayer was unable to recover from both the internal and external injuries she had obtained in the seeming one-sided battle against the Turok-han.



Giles paced back and forth, glasses in hand, as he considered the queries posed to him by the extraordinary group of young people he’d had a hand in guiding into adulthood. He’d seen each of them at their strongest and weakest. He loved each as his own child; felt his heart swell with pride and sink with disappointment during their accomplishments and follies. This group of individuals were his greatest contribution to the world and the legacy he would leave behind. They were all so very remarkable in their boundless courage in the face of adversity.


The Watcher tucked the end of one earpiece between his teeth for a moment in silent contemplation of Xander’s question. “I don’t know that we can fight it, Xander,” he replied truthfully. The end was coming and they did not have time for comforting lies or empty promises that they would all see the end of this fight.


“You’re right,” a soft voice agreed with him from the doorway. All eyes went to the battered woman whose face was a mask of steely-eyed determination. When no one spoke a word to dispute her pronouncement, Buffy continued. “We don’t know how to fight it. We don’t know when it will come. We can’t run. We can’t hide. We can’t pretend it’s not the end, because it is.


“Something has always been there to try and destroy the world, and we’ve always beaten them back.” The Slayer made eye contact with each person in the room, putting all her anger and determination into her eyes even as those emotions filled her voice. “We’re not dealing with them anymore. We’re dealing with the reason they exist. Evil. The strongest….the First.”


“Buffy,” Giles interrupted. “I-I know you’re tired-”


“I’m beyond tired,” Buffy admitted in a bitter tone. “I’m beyond scared. I’m standing on the mouth of hell and it’s going to swallow me whole.” The revelation surprised her as much as everyone else in the room, the knowledge made more powerful by the simple truth they represented. “And it’ll choke on me. We’re not ready? They’re not ready. They think we’re just going to wait for the end to come because it’s what we always do. I’m through waiting. They want an apocalypse? Oh, I’ll give them one!”


Again Buffy’s impassioned announcement was met with rapt attention and stunned silence. “Anyone else wants to run, do it now. We’ve just become an army. I’ve just declared war. From now on, we won’t just face our worst fears. We’ll seek them out and cut out their hearts one by one until the First decides to show itself for what it really is. And I’ll kill it myself.


“There’s only one thing in this world more powerful than evil. Us.” The last of her strength was waning as Buffy looked into the worried faces of her small army. How the hell she had managed to remain on her feet this long was a miracle unto itself. “Any questions?”


It was a good thing no one actually did have a question as Buffy finally allowed herself to succumb to the oblivion which had been threatening to consume her for hours. With no other option and her body screaming for rest, she let the world slip away.



Xander had been standing the closest to the Slayer during her heartfelt speech and was at her side, lifting her into his arms, before she’d even begun the slide to the ground. “Whoa,” he announced to no one in particular. “Guess it was just too much excitement for the Buffster.


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

Chapter Two



Xander had been standing the closest to the Slayer during her heartfelt speech and was at her side, lifting her easily into his arms, before she’d even begun the slide to the ground. “Whoa,” he announced to know one in particular. “Guess it was just too much excitement for the Buffster,” he laughed shakily as his nervous eyes met those of the aging Englishman. Without another word, he turned and carried his slight burden up to her bedroom to rest. Vaguely, he heard Giles send a couple of the young Potentials to stand watch while the others sought out their beds for the night.
Molly and Kennedy grudgingly accepted their duty.


With the new arrivals all out from underfoot, the Scoobies could speak freely amongst themselves in hopes of formulating a serviceable plan with which to rescue the missing vampire.



Willow was already at the computer when Xander returned to the group downstairs. Anya and Dawn were curled together on the couch with books spread open across their laps. The girls occupied, Xander wandered into the kitchen where Giles was busy making coffee.



“Perhaps we could perform a locator spell with which to find the place where the First is holding Spike.” He held up a hand before Xander could answer. “Yes, I know we have located the entrance to the First’s lair. But the tunnels beneath the city are rather extensive and if we could somehow decipher exactly where beneath the city Spike is being held, we may be able to devise a route with which to rescue him.”



“I agree,” said Xander. “But, Will already tried a locator spell to find the First.”



“What was the result?”



An image flashed across Xander’s mind; the memory of seeing that demonic apparition shooting out of Willow, energy striking Buffy in the chest and tossing the Slayer across the living room. The sound of screams filling the air and the smell of burning sulphur searing his nostrils.



The younger man shook his head. “It didn’t want to be found,” he replied blandly. “I think it tried to possess Willow. Lemme just say, I’m not a fan of scary, vein-y Willow. Possessed Willow? Way scarier.”



A sudden thought occurred to Xander and he called out for Willow to join them in the kitchen. “Yeah?” The witch asked when she entered the cheerfully decorated heart of the Summers home.



“You’ve done locator spells using a piece of clothing or personal item, right?”



“Tracking spell,” Willow replied softly.



“Right. Tracking spell,” Like the one you used to track down, torture and kill the guy that murdered your girlfriend a small handful of months ago, was left unsaid. “Think you could use the same spell to find Spike?”



The redhead shook her head. “I don’t think it’s such a good idea for any of us to be out there until after sunrise. That neander-vamp's still very much with the ‘slash and kill very much dead’ way of thinking.”



“Just use his coat,” Dawn suggested as she and Anya joined the others.



“Buffy kept Spike’s coat?” This from Anya. Dawn nodded and accepted a steaming mug from the patriarchal figurehead of their group.



Before anyone could else could add to or change the subject, the doorbell sounded and Dawn set her coffee down with a confused frown before going to answer it. Bad guys usually didn’t bother to knock and everyone she knew was already in the house. However, a quick peek through the peep hole had the teen throwing the locks and yanking open the door to find a couple just standing over the threshold. She knew better than to invite someone into her home after dark, though. It was a lesson she’d learned the hard way and would never forget.



Instead, Dawn folded her arms across her chest and stepped aside to await whatever came next. The silence seemed to stretch as she felt the presence of the others as they waited as well. Seconds ticked by unnoticed as everyone waited to see if the dark-haired couple would need an invitation before they were allowed entrance into the Slayer’s home. A collective sigh of relief was expounded as Cordelia smiled confidently and crossed the invisible barrier without the slightest hesitation.



“Sorry I’m late,” she said by way of greeting as she and her companion crowded into the foyer.



Dawn shrugged nonchalantly. “We were up anyway.”



Cordelia took in the tired faces around her before finally settling her attention back on the youngest Summers. “I didn’t mean the time,” she replied.



There was no mistaking the Seer’s meaning. A soft sob squeaked past Dawn’s lips and she launched herself into the older girl’s arms. An instant later found Cordelia Chase, former bitch queen of Sunnydale High School as the focal point of a group hug. A frown marred her beautiful face suddenly and she peered over the trembling teen’s head to the weary face the eldest of those assembled. “Uh, Giles? That better not be your hand.”



Her words had the desired effect and the group released her with much blushing and mumbled apologies from the aging Watcher. Cordy shrugged out of her calf-length coat and folded it over her arm. She took a moment to breathe in her surroundings and realized there was a hominess here that she had dearly missed while living in Los Angeles. “I’m glad to see you guys, too. Though, for once, I really wish it wasn’t some hell mouth-y or end of the world thing.”



As she smiled her thanks when a steaming mug of black coffee was set in front of her, Cordelia caught the curious eye flicks in the direction of her silent companion. “So, what’s the what, Cordy?” Xander asked his old high school girlfriend.



“You know us demon-y types. We just love the hellmouth.” She placed a hand on her companion’s shoulder and grinned at the Scoobies. “Guys, this is Connor. Connor, this is the Slayer’s team. Dawn, Xander, Giles, Willow and Anya. They work with the Slayer to protect the hellmouth.”



“Hey,” Connor mumbled shyly and shifted uncomfortably from all the attention. His face felt a bit warm as the pretty girl named Dawn smiled at him. Before he could think of something else to say, Cordelia cleared her throat in order to bring the focus back to their reason for being here.



“Before you ask, I had a vision. Hellmouth’s getting the munchies and some kinda vampire-y demon-y whatever’s out there painting the town red. Figured it was the perfect time to pay a little visit. Look up some old friends, show Connor my old stomping grounds. Heal the Slayer’s internal bleeding.” She grinned happily at the astonished faces around her and shrugged. “What can I say? I’m feeling all benevolent and what’s with the bound and gagged?”



“Andrew?” Xander asked with no little amusement at the whiplash-inducing way Cordelia had switched topics in the middle of a sentence. “The First Evil tricked him into killing Jonathan Levenson in an attempt to bring forth our current problem.”



Cordy frowned as she thought about the young man who had gifted Buffy with a special award during their Senior Prom. She could still hear the heart-warming speech their graduating class had put together in appreciation for saving their lives. A pang of sadness went through her heart as she recalled the boy who had picked on and shuffled aside throughout his entire life despite- or probably because of- his sweet nature and willingness to anything for the sake of gaining friendship. “Oh,” she softly whispered and resolutely trained her dark brown eyes on Willow. “Could you take me to see Buffy now?”



“Sure,” the redhead stood up and led her old friend and rival towards the stairs. “Um, what about…,” she nodded to Connor. The Seer turned to her fellow brunette.



“Stay here. Don’t kill anything unless you have to.”


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


“Leave us,” Cordelia told the two females pulling guard duty over the unconscious Slayer. Kennedy looked askance at Willow, having automatically decided the witch was this group’s default leader while Buffy was incapacitated.



“It’s okay,” Willow assured them. “She’s a friend.”
Without another word, Kennedy nodded curtly and followed the other girl into the hall, closing the door behind them with a soft click. A very brief silence followed as the new arrival studied the battered blonde. Cordy took in the bruises covering nearly every visible inch of her former rival. Buffy was one of the strongest people she had ever met. Seeing her this way frightened Cordelia and steeled her resolve at the same time. She was here to help the Slayer, and help her, Cordy would.



In a gentle, yet firm tone, the Seer directed Willow to Buffy’s bedside while she, herself, took a seat on the opposite side of the bed. “Hold her hand,” the brunette instructed as she clasped one of the sleeping girl’s hands in her own. “I can help her, but I need to borrow a little power from you.”



Willow’s eyes grew large at the request, but she forced herself to remember that this was to help Buffy. She noticed Cordy holding a hand out to her and Willow grasped it firmly as Tara’s face rose, unbidden, to the forefront of her mind’s eye.



Before she had time to dwell upon her grief at Tara’s death, however, Cordelia’s normally chocolate brown eyes became twin pools of solid, glowing white. That glow grew and spread quickly over the Seer’s body. It moved down her arms; changed to a rosy golden nimbus as it covered Buffy’s supine form.



In seconds, the power spread to Willow, where the colour changed once more into a bluish white aura. Soon, all three women were enveloped within a golden aura of warmth and bliss. Nothing hurt here. There was no such thing as sadness or grief or fear. Willow wondered idly if this was what Buffy felt before she had been ripped from heaven. If it was, no wonder the Slayer had been so broken and damaged when she had returned to the living.



The gashes and bruises on Buffy’s face faded quickly. Her eyes flew open and her lips parted on a silent scream as her body bucked and writhed against the rapid healing going on with in her body. The sound of bones popping and re-knitting themselves made Willow’s stomach churn and bile rise in the back of her throat. The sudden agony was unbelievable as she felt every injury Buffy had sustained in her battle with the ancient vampire creature heal itself. Try as she might, Willow was frozen in place, unable to escape the excruciating pain slicing through her body.



Cordelia’s eyes were locked onto the girl lying in the bed, allowing the images to roll through her mind as the girl’s body healed. She could see Spike as Buffy saw him. She could feel the blonde’s fear for her erstwhile demon lover; could taste the desperation in Buffy to rescue Spike as something bitter in the back of her throat.



Beyond the images of Spike, Cordelia could see hints of things to come. Fear rose like a tidal wave threatening to crash down upon them all. It was the Slayer’s fear. A fear that this time, despite anything she tried or the sacrifices she was willing to make, the end was here and there was no way to stop it.



“Shhh,” Cordy murmured as she stroked her thumb against the back of Buffy’s hand in soothing circles. “Let it go…don’t need that anymore…”
Over and over, she whispered calming, nonsensical words as Buffy calmed by degrees.



How long they remained like this was anyone’s guess. Time had no meaning. There were just the soothing murmurs of the Seer and the heartbreaking sobs of the Slayer.



Eventually the aura faded, the power receding once more to its place within Cordelia’s body. Willow slumped forward onto her hands and knees, panting, as she desperately tried to regain both her breath and equilibrium. Buffy bolted upright on the bed and dove into her saviour’s arms and wept openly for the first time since this entire mess had begun.

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


Chapter Three


Cordelia Chase had seen a great number of things in her short life. Most of it she had witnessed first hand while growing up in a town which could boast its very own portal to hell. This was something different. This was the Slayer. All mighty and Chosen and superhero-y. She was supposed to be a champion and protector of the innocent. The Slayer was supposed to fight the big “E” and laugh in the face of death.



A tiny voice in the very back of her mind wondered what the hell the rest of them were supposed to do if the Slayer fell apart. Irritated with herself, Cordy bitch slapped her inner wimp and smoothed her hands gently over the weeping Slayer’s back.



Peripherally, she noticed an ashen-faced Willow practically run from the room. A moment later, the sound of retching could be heard in the connecting bath.



Oh, great, Cordelia thought. The champion of the people is a basket case and the most powerful witch on the planet's ralphing after a healing spell.



Yep, the world really was ending.

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


Dawn looked up from her computer screen and eyed the potentials with interest. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it seemed to be a fairly animated conversation if their body language and facial expressions were anything to go by. The two were so jittery and on edge that Dawn felt the sudden urge to scream or throw something. She could only imagine what these girls would be like in the field if they were this freaked out now.


Probably wouldn’t last ten seconds on patrol before running neck first into a fledge’s fangs. Amateurs.



On the heels of that thought came the realization that she, herself, could use a bit of exercise to work off some of her own pent up stress. “Guys, I’m gonna head downstairs to work off some restless energy. Anyone wanna join me?”



“Training?” Giles glanced up from the book he was reading and read the time on the wall clock. “At this hour?”



Dawn shrugged. “You gave me coffee. It’s either training or an exciting new round of kick the geek. I swear, Giles, if I have to look at this screen one more minute, my head’s going to explode.”



Anya’s head jerked up at that and she smiled brightly. “Let me know if that happens. I’d like to be conspicuously elsewhere during the flying grey matter.”



Dawn rolled her eyes and grinned at the wary looks the potentials were giving her in the wake of Anya’s request. “You guys wanna come with?” She invited Molly and Kennedy. Her eyes fell on the shy guy who was watching everything around him with the tiniest hint of amusement sparkling in his crystalline eyes. “You can come to, if you want.”



Was it just her imagination, or did he actually smirk at her in response?




Once the group had crowded into the basement, Dawn pulled out and unfolded a small stack of sparring mats to cover the cement floor before taking her place in the center. She had changed into a tee shirt and leggings, and pulled her hair up into a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes. Kennedy and Molly had changed into similar attire while Connor simply removed his shoes and leaned against the wall.



Kennedy, unsurprisingly, volunteered to go first, almost laughing at the ease with which she would be able to take down the teen. She and Dawn nodded to one another as they prepared to fight.


“Take a swing at me,” Dawn told the brunette.



“Don’t wanna hurt you, Summers.”



Dawn laughed softly, “Have to catch me first.”


The smug look on the kid’s face pissed Kennedy off and she indeed swung her fist out. At the last second, Dawn ducked at the punch missed her by a good foot and a half. The potential Slayer swung again. Again, she missed. And again and again. Dawn lithely danced out of the way every time.



After about ten or so ineffectual punches were either dodged or deflected, Kennedy raised her hands to signal a time out. “What am I doing wrong?”



“Telegraphing your moves,” Connor replied as he broke his silence at long last. Kennedy glared at him.



“Like you could do better,” the girl challenged.



Connor thought for a moment before his odd little smile turned into a rakish grin and he stepped onto the mat. “Okay.”



Once they were the only two combatants remaining on the mat, Connor bowed to his opponent and assumed a defensive stance to mirror the slim figure before him. She smiled sweetly, her blue eyes dancing with excitement at the upcoming match. The corner of his mouth pulled up in a lazy half grin when she asked if he was ready to clean the mat with his butt. One dark eyebrow lifted at this.



“Attack,” Dawn ordered. Connor came at her, leading with his left fist. She waited until he was almost upon her before dropping into a crouch and swinging her leg around to knock him of his feet. He jumped back and away just in time, reminding himself that the girl was human and that this was not a real fight. His smile returned as he reached out a hand to help her up.



The two teens resumed their beginning positions on the mat and continued their light sparring match. A half hour passed by, the battle growing fiercer between them to see which one could surprise the other with the best moves and the fastest recovery.



It came to an end, finally, and Connor nodded towards the manacles he noticed hanging from the wall. “What are those for?”



Dawn followed the direction of his gaze and shrugged as she patted a towel across her sweat slicked skin. “Spike. Ready to call it quits?”



“Wait,” Molly interrupted from her seat on the wooden staircase. “You and your mates keep talking ’bout finding this bloke. Now we see you’ve got chains for him. Is he a were or some such?”



“Spike’s a va-”



“Dawn,” Xander interrupted, mercifully, before she could finish that sentence. Somehow, she didn’t think it was a good idea to tell a couple of excitable slayer wannabes that the current Chosen One was frantically searching for a card carrying member of the fang gang. Soul or no, Spike wasn’t just some bloodsucking demon. He was a Master Aurelian Vampire. One quarter of the notorious Scourge of Europe who had made it his personal mission to hunt and kill Slayers; the famed Slayer of Slayers who came to Sunnydale in order to make Buffy notch number three in his belt.



At least, that was who Spike had been before Buffy had devoted a good number of her nights kicking his undead ass all over the hellmouth. Back before a secret government-funded monster squad vamp-napped him and shoved a violence-inhibiting microchip in his noggin which kept him from feasting on the poor unsuspecting townsfolk. Before he fell in love with his mortal enemy and went so far as to win his soul for her.



Dawn’s inner romantic sighed dreamily. But, then her inner pragmatist gave the romantic a swift kick to the shin and reminded her that someone was speaking to her. Xander. “Huh,” she mumbled lamely.



Xander came a couple steps further down the stairs. “I said we may have found something.”


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


William huddled in on himself; shivering and rocking back and forth within the darkest recesses of his psyche. He was a coward and he knew it. From the moment the soul rejoined the flesh, it had been tortured. Either with memories of the horrors the demon had committed while it had inhabited human body, or by the First Evil as it made itself look like everyone who had ever meant anything to him as both man and demon.



So William hid. Huddled and frightened of the nightmares which formed reality. It was easier to retreat inward to the safety of the darkness where nothing could touch him. For a little while, at least, he could pretend that none of it truly happened. If he was quiet and still, so still, the voices couldn’t find him.



“You’re pathetic,” a familiar voice spat from the darkness. William peered around himself nervously. A figure separated itself from the stygian blackness. “Good. You heard me. An’ ‘s ‘bout bloody time, you nit,” William’s lips parted slightly in surprise as the presence in his mind paced like the caged animal it was.



William knew without a doubt that he was looking into the eyes of his demon. It wasn’t the First. It was truly the demon counterpart the soul of William Lexington.



A disgusted sneer on his face, Spike crouched before him, elbows resting lightly on denim-covered knees and fingers loosely entwined. “Look at you, mate. Cowering in the dark like a bloody child hiding behind his mum’s skirts. This any way to impress our Slayer?”



Not waiting for an answer, the demon rose and resumed his pacing as he muttered something about ‘useless, fucking guilt and worthless prayers for salvation. “You may not care if we dust, Nancy. But fuck all if I put myself through those soddin’ trials to get the unholy living hell tortured out of me by some ghostie with an overblown ego. I got myself a plan, I do.”



Spike stopped pacing abruptly and squatted once more in front of William. A truly terrifying grin spread across the demon’s face. “This is what we’re gonna do….”



A few minutes later, William trembled fearfully and pressed his face into his knees. “I can’t,” he whispered with tears forming in his eyes. “I’m nothing…a shadow.”



“What you are is a pathetic excuse for a demon,” Spike snarled. “No wonder they bled you instead of the boy. You just stood there and let them take you,” the demon hissed through elongated fangs. “It’s kill or be killed, you berk. Take your bloody pick. If you’re not monster enough to help yourself, get the fuck out of the driver’s seat and let daddy have the wheel.”


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


Spike stirred, opened his eyes slowly and tried his best not to move. The pain was nearly overwhelming. Broken ribs that had yet to heal speared internal organs which had not worked in over a century. Idly, he wondered,if the organs are little more than dead tissue, then why does it hurt like hell when they become damaged? I wonder if I can find myself a doc to take the soddin’ things out. Not like I use ‘em.



He noticed that the cavern was strangely silent where, before, there had been the endless, monotonous drone of those monks chanting away the boring hours they didn’t spend hunting and ripping apart lil girls. For the first time since he’d been taken prisoner by the First’s minions, Spike was utterly alone. The demon in him was a bit insulted that they had thought little of him that they had left him unattended.



Not that we’re a threat, William pointed out haughtily. We’re starved, badly injured and chained to a wall of stone in an underground cavern with no idea when that creature will return.



A shudder of fear and revulsion ran through Spike’s body at the memory of seeing that gnarled creature drag itself from beneath the Seal in the school’s basement. There was no doubt in his mind that the First had sent its pet monster to destroy his Slayer. Had the thing succeeded? Was Buffy dead? Was she…



Movement caught his attention and Spike lifted his eyes, swollen almost shut from numerous beatings which hadn’t had time to heal. The First had returned wearing the face of his love. Something inside him broke a little more to see the coldness in the usually expressive eyes. Still more frightening was the cruel smile slowly curving the gorgeous mouth he once believed he could never tire of kissing.



A roar echoed in the distance and that smile filled with sadistic glee.

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


Chapter Four


“You’re sure this is the place?” Xander asked as scanned the deserted lot. There wasn’t anything here aside from the dead grass and leaves where once there had been a small, thriving tree farm that specialized in Christmas trees. In fact, there was nothing at all which hinted to the two acre plot’s prior use.



“Careful, Xand,” Buffy warned as she grasped his elbow. The young man startled slightly and trained the beam of his flashlight upon the large hole in the ground.



“Oh…kay,” Xander drawled. “That doesn’t look the least bit forboding, does it?” Carefully, he took a half step back from the edge as the other members of their rescue team crowded close; faces all set with grim determination.



“See anything?” Cordelia inquired as she, too, gazed down at the blackness of the tunnel’s entrance.



“Cave,” was her ex boyfriend’s reply. He shook his head. “Not seeing any movement.”



“I hear something,” Connor whispered close to Cordelia’s ear in hopes that no one else amongst the group had supernatural hearing. She nodded and skimmed her fingers against the back of his hand to let him know she heard him. Her eyes flicked to the Slayer meaningfully and Connor studied the tiny yet powerful female. He had heard his father speak of the female warrior and knew better than to mistake her petite stature as a sign of weakness. If her sister was anything to go by, Buffy Summers was a force to be reckoned with when something tried to hurt those she considered hers.



Currently, the Slayer’s focus was intent upon the entrance to the cave. She appeared to be lost in thought for a moment before she nodded and looked up. “It’s still night. That means we’ve got time to get in there and get Spike. Team One, guard the perimeter. Stay alert. That uber vamp’s most likely still enjoying its self-guided tour. Anything enters this clearing, kill it. Team Two, I’ll take point. One at a time. Fully armed. This is search and rescue. Anything gets in your way, kill it. The First can’t touch us and Spike’s down there with nothing but a bunch of knife-wielding zealots standing between us and our vampire.”



Xander took a breath and handed the flashlight to Willow. “I’ll go first.”



“No,” Connor said simply. He did not know Spike. According to his father, the blond vampire was family. “I’ll go first.”



Xander began to protest, but barely managed to put two words together before the boy disappeared into the inky blackness beneath their feet.



Connor landed in a crouch ten feet blow the surface and gave himself a moment for his eyes to adjust in the darkness. Cordy’s voice floated down to him and Connor quickly scanned his shadowy surroundings. He smirked and gazed back up towards the others. “Dirt. Rocks. Cave. It’s clear,” he replied and held out his arms. “Come on d-”



A strangled scream ripped from Connor’s throat the instant
something shiny and metal punched through his side.

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



Buffy swore ripely and dropped through the hole as the Bringer slipped from the shadows. Her instincts had kicked in the second she caught a glimpse of moonlight glinting off the blade as it rose for the attack. Connor’s short scream told the Slayer he had been hit. The coppery tang of blood on the air told her all she needed to know. He had come to aide in Spike’s rescue under the power of his own free will. It was a sign of compassion and courage despite his lack of acquaintance with anyone other than Cordy and the rest of the L.A. gang.



Her heavy boots barely impacted with the dirt floor before she launched herself at Connor’s attacker. Without though, she grasped the bald head between her hands and gave it a sharp, vicious twist. The sickening crunch as the neck snapped was her reward as the Bringer’s body fell suddenly slack and the tossed it aside as she dropped to the floor next to the dark haired boy who’d accompanied Cordelia on this trip.



Calling back up to the others, a flashlight was dropped into Buffy’s outstretched hand. “Let me see,” she demanded in a soft, reassuring tone.



Connor’s eyes met those of the Slayer and he considered arguing for about a microsecond. The steely determination he saw etched into her face left no room open for debate. “Just a little scratch,” he pouted as she rolled her eyes and ordered him to hold the light while her hands went to the hem of his shirt.



“You can play Black Knight on your own time, Junior. My house, my rules. You get injured, we patch you up.” Eyes intent upon the site of his injury, Buffy was surprised to see he was right. Whether due to accelerated healing or if it really was as small a wound as he professed, she seemed satisfied that he was not in any immediate danger and was well enough to continue. Their eyes met in silent appraisal and understanding. Then Buffy stood and motioned for the others to join them.



One by one, her designated team made their way to the tunnel floor to join the pair with Xander bringing up the rear. Giles, Anya, Dawn and the potentials remained topside and armed to the teeth in case. Before she had gone down, Anya leaned over to whisper in Willow’s ear.



“Better put on your face.”



“Right,” Willow answered nervously. “My game face.” She knew everyone could tell she was terrified, and not of the thing holding Spike. But, this was the plan she had agreed to. Just a glamour…not real…it isn’t me…just a trick…, the witch inwardly chanted over and over.



When she was ready, the redhead took a couple of deep breaths and cupped her hands over her face; brushed them up and over her head and down the lengths of her hair. As her palms scrubbed across her skin and hair, her face became heavily veined while her eyes turned to pools of gleaming onyx and her fiery tresses grew as dark as a raven’s wing.



The involuntary gasps around her assured her the glamour was in place. “How do I look?”



“Like you’re on your way to a dead man’s party,” Cordy replied with her usual bluntness.



Xander groaned softly. “Now I’m gonna have that song stuck in my head the rest of the night.”



Cordelia rolled her eyes at him. It didn’t escape her notice that the Sunnydale gang refused to look at Willow’s altered appearance, however. She had been informed of the events which had taken place just months ago. She was well aware of Willow’s darker side and the loss of control she had suffered when her girlfriend had been murdered by a stray bullet meant to kill the Slayer.



After all, being a higher being gave new meaning to ‘seeing the big picture’. The only way to overcome the fear was to face the fear head on. No hiding or pretending the things that scared you didn’t exist. Anything else would just get you seriously dead.



With a shy smile which was made unnerving by the black eyes and veins, Willow turned and strode ahead behind the others. “Connor,” Cordelia called softly as she watched the others going ahead. “Don’t follow too closely,” she whispered as she smoothed a hand across his brow. “The guys in the black robes are real. The vampire is real. Be careful.”



Connor nodded and followed the path the others had taken.

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



She had been walking for about ten minutes; Slayer senses on full alert to possible attack by the First’s eyeless harbingers. The tunnel had gradually grown wider, the acrid stench of burning torches causing her nostrils to sting and her eyes to water. Elongated shadows danced upon the earthen walls as the tunnel neared its end.



Buffy held up a hand to stall the silent group behind her. To their credit, no one asked why they had stopped. Their reason for being here was too important for them to take any chances. Instead, they all held their position as the Slayer crept forward to scope out their field of engagement.



Buffy gave her eyes a brief moment to adjust to the dim, flickering light before scanning what appeared to be a cavernous room with stalactites stalagmites growing from above and below. Some had created cramped alcoves housing the chanting acolytes. Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the pungent mixture scents from unwashed bodies, stagnant water and blood and Buffy did her best to breath shallowly through her mouth.



A slight bubble of fear settled in her belly at the thought of being so far underground; a niggling edge of claustrophobia causing her heart rate to pick up a tiny bit before she forcefully shoved it aside. She was here to get her vampire and go home. Everything else was trivial.



Renewed determination had the Slayer refocusing on the room she had encountered. She watched the eyeless monks for any sign that they had picked up on her presence. Their droning voices became white noise. She neither knew nor cared what language they used. Nothing mattered but getting to Spike and getting everyone out in one piece.



Further across the room, past the minions, the room grew wider. Buffy reached out with that connection she shared with the Aurelian vampire. She knew, without a doubt, that he was there. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see him with her eyes. It didn’t matter that there were at least a dozen bad guys between here and there. It didn’t matter that they would try to stop her. She wasn’t leaving without her vampire.



Having seen enough, Buffy turned and retraced her steps back to where the others awaited in the shadows. She kept her voice barely above a whisper as she outlined the results of her study. Her eyes met Willow’s and the two spoke directly into each other’s mind via the telepathic link the Scoobies shared. The black-eyed witch nodded curtly and moved past the group to carry out her part of the mission. The First could not touch her physically. The others could deal with the evil monks. Her job was to reach Spike and set up a protective barrier to shield him from further injury..



Find him, Willow certainly did. She found him tethered to a large boulder just out of sight. Bruises marred his normally handsome face; his eyes swollen and so purple they were almost black. There were marks- gashes and slashes- covering the marble perfection of his torso and continuing into the waistband of filthy black denims. Her stomach rolled. She really did not want to know how far down the damage went. Evidence of continuous torture during his captivity was obvious on nearly every visible inch of his emaciated form. Healing would require a steady supply of blood and several weeks or rest. But, as long as he was not dust, he would heal.



Willow crouched down to see how badly his feet had been damaged in hopes that he would be capable of walking out of here. It would be a pain in the ass and an enormous blow to the vampire’s already diminished pride if Spike had to be carried from his place of torment.



To her surprise, it looked as though Spike’s feet were the only body parts which appeared to have been left untouched. “Pretty clever,” she said as she stood up and focused her attention back on Spike’s fearful eyes. “Using the Slayer’s pet demon to free your own.” The witch turned her cold, black stare on the sadistically smiling parody of her best friend. “Kudos.”



“What can I say,” the First shrugged. “I like the way he looks without a shirt.” Buffy/the First shivered with delight. “And the way he screamed for me…”

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

Chapter Five


"Using the Slayer’s pet demon to free your own." The witch turned her cold, black stare on the sadistically smiling parody of her best friend. "Kudos."


What can I say," the Buffy/the First shrugged. "I like the way he looks without a shirt." It shivered with delight. "And the way he screamed for me…"


Willow felt the rage burning in her gut as she observed the obscene mockery of life standing before her. Rage was good. Power was better. Willow held that power within her; was itching for the chance to let it loose and destroy the thing, which had declared open season on her friends and loved ones. It was the thing that had come to her in the university library wearing the guise of a recently deceased student. It had told her it had come with a message from Tara. The First had been cruel, vicious in its taunts as it suggested that Willow commit suicide.


Only Willow knew it was all a lie. Tara would never have said those things. She was all that was good and pure in the world. She had loved the world and life so much.


Now the First stood before her once more wearing a difference face to mask as well as deliver the same cruelty. The knowledge that the First had already decimated the Watchers Council and sent It’s army of Bringers on a mission to hunt down and tear apart any and every girl in the world who had been born with the potential to one day become the Chosen One, helped to fuel the rage within.


Willow felt the dark energies unfurl within her being like as though it were some great leviathan swimming closer and closer to the surface. It hovered there, just beneath her skin in ready anticipation of the perfect moment to strike. Willow could end this now, she realized. She could bring forth those energies and decimate the Bringers; incinerate them where they stood and call the power of the gods to smite the entity before her.


Spike whimpered quietly and the small sound was enough to bring Willow back to herself. It gave her the chance to grasp a tentative hold on her rapidly fading self-control. She waved a hand toward the enhanced chains binding Spike to this prison of rock and earth and magick. The manacles opened and dropped, the vampire slumping forward in a boneless flow of abused flesh and broken bones. His pain was as evident to her as the bloodloss and starvation he had endured in the long days and nights of captivity and torture.


"You really think I’m just going to allow you to walk out of here with my favorite toy?"


"You really think you can stop me?" Willow answered with a question of her own. She wrapped an arm around Spike’s waist and turned them toward an exit now blocked by four robed Bringers.


"No," the First replied truthfully. "But I bet they can." It vanished then, leaving the field of engagement to, presumably, watch avariciously as the fight began.


Willow took a brief moment to study the minion-shaped roadblock preventing her escape back to the world above. Beneath the hems of the black robes, she clearly caught the glint of steel blades. Sizing up the two in the middle, she sent a silent apology to the man at her side before shoving him out of the way and allowing the dark powers within herself to finally have the outlet they were waiting for.


Yes!!, the power exulted as it raced through her veins; swirled and bit at her arms and arced from her fingertips. THIS was what she was made to do. This was right; taking the power of the earth to which she was connected and using it to vanquish that which did not belong. These lowly rats; these filthy vermin that scurried beneath her feet.


The two on the end broke from the others just as Willow sent a blinding flash of purple energy bolting into her targets. Screams pierced the damp air with the stench of singed hair and roasting flesh. The smoking corpses dropped where they stood and were already an afterthought as Willow took on the other two minions as they charged.


She seemed to lose time, then, as the pent up rage and the dark magicks tore through one Bringer after another. A flash of white brought her back to find Cordelia standing before her with a knowing look in her eyes.


"It’s over," the Seer told her. "Time to go."





Buffy saw Spike for the first time since he had been taken and was torn between wanting to vomit and wishing they had left a few of the Bringers alive so that she could kill them slowly. It was worse, so much worse, than what Glory had done to him. The hellgod had only had a few hours in which to torture Spike into telling her where her Key was.


The First had been torturing Spike for days for Its own sick pleasure. He was starved, beaten, burned in places. Claw marks slashed down his back and one ear still seeped blood.


With Xander’s help, she picked Spike up as gently as possible. His eyes opened and a faint, reverent smile curved his cracked, swollen lips. "You came for me," he whispered in a voice thick with emotion and pain. It brought tears to Buffy’s eyes as she wrapped an arm around his waist.


"I’ll always come for you."


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


"And that’s how the First got to him," Willow told Cordelia as the two worked side by side in Xander’s kitchen. They were busy making a mixture of healing herbs and oils for Spike. The vampire would need a great deal of care in order to heal. Something he wasn’t likely to do with a houseful of teenaged girls. Giles, Anya and Dawn had taken the potentials back to Revello Drive while the rest had brought Spike to the apartment he shared with Xander.


Right now, the vampire was stretched out on his bed with his head in Buffy’s lap. Xander was paying a little visit to a local veterinarian who sometimes provided them with medical supplies in exchange for Buffy having saved his life on several occasions.


Cordelia thought over Willow’s explanation as she wandered into the bathroom to fill the tub with warm water. She didn’t know everything that had occurred between the blonde couple. Even her tenure on a higher plane hadn’t told her everything. The Powers liked to keep an eye on their champions. They enjoyed their stints as puppet masters while the warriors of each dimension fought their wars on the physical plane. Some things were meant to happen, predestined and therefore unavoidable, while other things happened outside the Powers’ control.


The relationship between the Slayer and the Aurelian was one of the predestined events. They weren’t the first to fall in love and they wouldn’t be the last. Cordy didn’t know what the PTBs had in store for them. She just knew that it had never been intended for Buffy and Angel to be together, much to the Seer’s surprise.


Although, looking back at all she had learned over the years and during her forays as a higher being, Cordelia could understand it. Buffy was supposed to put Angel on his path to redemption. Angel was supposed to prevent the opening of Acathla and then get his undead butt to Los Angeles. That was all. They weren’t supposed to fall in love and get groiny. Angel wasn’t supposed to lose his soul. Only, they did and he had.


Sometimes things happened unexpectedly. Sometimes they happened for a reason. That’s life. It’s hard and messy and takes the most unexpected turns at the most inconvenient times.


Cordelia yawned with the realization that she hadn't slept in nearly two full days. Two days that had been mentally and physically draining despite the nifty physiological upgrade courtesy of the Powers That Be. And Cordelia had already expended a great deal of her mystical reserves in healing the Slayer's body while easing her spirit.


Then. of course, there was the problem with Willow. The witch held so much power within herself that it was, indeed, frightening. They had all been lucky in the caves, narrowly avoiding becoming Scoobie flambe as Willow sent surge after surge of magick zinging through the air. Anything could have happened. Willow could have brought the whole place crashing down around their ears. Any one of their team could have been struck by a stray energy blast.


For the briefest moment, Cordelia longed to speak to one of her own gang back in L.A. It passed quickly, however. Everyone at Angel Investigations was tied up in his or her own lives. It was for this reason that she had decided to bring Connor along on this trip. The teen might not be hers by blood, but he was the closest thing to a son she thought she'd ever have. Not to mention that, ever since his father had become involved with Gwen the electro-superslut, the Seer and the son of two vampires had grown closer; they had found a common ground while re-learning how to survive in the world of their birth.


Cordy sighed quietly. Gunn and Fred were still in the newlywed phase of couple-dom. Wes was busy being Mr. Badass Rogue Demon Hunter and screwing the frigid Bitch Queen of Hell, Inc. Lorne had taken himself off to Las Vegas to escape the eternal fight of Good vs. Evil. It was a real shame, too. The empathy demon would be the perfect one to give Cordelia the advice she needed right about now. Stupid demon talent agents.


Another yawn escaped her lips and Cordelia decided to wait until after she'd gotten some sleep before making any definitive plans. Right now they had a houseful of teenaged girls with death sentences hanging over their heads; a wounded vampire to take care of; and a prehistoric vampire demon with serious anger management issues. Behind it all was an entity that made Angelus at his worst look like a friggin' altar boy. The First wanted the Slayers gone so It could bring Hell to earth. Somehow, Cordelia doubted It would let anything stand in the way.


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


Buffy had no idea how long she had been sitting there with Spike's head resting in her lap. Conversations flowed around her, doors opened and closed as people came and went. She ignored it all as her eyes drank in the multitude of wounds Spike's once perfect flesh had sustained suring the vampire's captivity.


The tears had long since come and gone, leaving a quiet sadness in their wake. The rage she felt upon seeing him in the First's lair had burned away once morning found them all safely indoors. She had her vampire back with no casualties on their side of the brief battle.


Despite the weariness weighing heavily upon her slender shoulders, despite the too brief restorative sleep her body had finally succumbed to, Buffy refuse to close her eyes. Her world had narrowed down to the man whose head was snuggled firmly into her lap and she couldn't look away if she wanted to. For the longest time, Buffy studied the wounds with a burning intensity. She could almost feel every cut and bruise as though they had been inflicted to her own body. In the back of her throat, she could very nearly taste the phantom metallic tang of blood well up in confirmation of a punctured lung.


Just seeing him like this, the way all the frownlines and fear
seemingly melted from his face and left his appearance resembling that of a young boy, brought some small measure of solace. It was this look which brought her protective instincts to the surface. There was something almost maternal in the way Spike's sleep-softened expression affected her. A part of her accepted it without question even while a greater part of her acknowledged this was the very first time she had ever simply held him without it leading to the animalistic rutting of their previous relationship.


It happened then as if the very memory of their former relationship was a trigger very much like the one the First had programmed into Spike's head. Or, maybe, it was the scent. Wood smoke and aged leather unhampered by traces of stale cigarettes and cheap booze filled her senses, made her stomach clench. Some primal element deeply ingrained within her cells gifted her with dawning knowledge. They were the same, she and Spike. Cut of the same cloth; two halves of the same whole; equally matched in all things. And just about every other cliche in the books which all gave voice to the simplicity of that truth. Individually they were powerful, together they were unstoppable.


Of their own volition, Buffy's eyes slid from Spike's pseudo-peaceful countenance and roved down his body, seeing beneath the imperfections- the bruising, the dried and caked fluid clinging relentlessly to the savage cuts and the angry abrasions. The urge to taste him made saliva pool in her mouth, caused her to swallow convulsively while need climbed higher and higher within her. Desire ran rampant, images so visceral she had to close her eyes for a moment. It only made the sensation so real that she could already feel her tongue gliding over the rippling muscles of his abdomen.


Her body tightened further, her breaths coming faster as she yearned to crawl inside his skin and wrap herself up in all that sinuous flesh. She wanted to cover his body with her own; absorb everything he was through her very pores. In her lap lay the most succulent of delicacies- rich, dark. Decadent. It called to her in a wordless invitation to lean in and devour him one lucious bite at a time.


Spike's nostrils flared unconsciously as his demon scented the heavy perfume of her arousal now painting the air. His eyes fluttered restlessly behind still closed lids as he swam ever nearer to awareness. Buffy thrilled internally at the idea that his demon wanted her every bit as much- if not more- as the soul of the man. The primal element within her- her Slayer- exulted in the knowledge. Her tongue snaked out to moisten dry lips, some small sound escaping at the sight of the brow ridges rising from the smooth flesh above his eyes.


Without warning, a presence appeared in the doorway, called her name apprehensively as the Slayer let loose a growl of warning. The human, misunderstanding the meaning behind that sound, took a step closer. Buffy clutched her mate tighter, growled louder at the human male standing at the foot of the bed.


"Get out," she hissed dangerously. Dark brown eyes grew large and round in Xander's face before he carefully set down the white plastic bag of supplies and backed slowly from the room.


A moment later, the door shut with a definitive click.

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

tbc