Spike opened the door to discover a tear stained Dawn standing on the other side. He had to hand it to her, she was putting up a good fight with the emotion that was very close to overwhelming her. Wordlessly, he opened his arms and she stepped into them. “I hate death,” she choked out between sobs. “We all had lunch together a couple of days ago. He kept stealing Buffy’s french fries and she made him go get her more and threatened to kill him if he touched them. She told him she would slit his throat. We never even suspected -”

He rubbed her back, then fished a tissue from his pocket. He had put them there in case Buffy needed them, but so far the Slayer had not let loose a single tear that kept dancing in her eyes. He waited for Dawn to blow her nose and toss the tissue into the wastebasket before he said, “Buffy’s in the bedroom.”

“Is she sleeping?”

“She’s doing a good job of pretending.”

“The old avoiding trick where she won’t talk about it, acknowledge it, or allow herself to hurt at all? Classic Buffy move.”

“How are things out there?”

“Angel called a meeting. Told everyone that Miles was a hero and that he fought through to the end. Christine asked for a traditional service and asked to see Buffy.”

Spike nodded. “Thought she might.”

“You think she’s mad at Buffy?”

“Grief does funny things to people. If she is mad it won’t last. It wasn’t Buffy’s fault.”

“Did someone say it was?”

“No, but it’s human nature to look for someone to blame, innit?”

Dawn nodded. “I guess so.”

Spike nodded toward the kitchen. “Want a soda?”

“Sure.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, Dawn drinking a Diet Coke and Spike sipping a cup of warm blood. Part of loving Buffy meant that they both ached when she ached, they both laughed when she laughed, and they both grieved for her when she couldn’t properly grieve on her own. The bond between Spike and Dawn had more to do with their love for the Slayer than affection for one another, but at the heart of their relationship was the desire they both shared to see Buffy happy.

Spike drained his cup, rinsed it at the sink, and put it in the dishwasher. Lifting a dish towel, he ran it over the counter top, wiping up a couple of blood droplets, then he opened the oven door to check on the casserole that Matilda had dropped off for their dinner. He poked at it with a fork and decided that it was either very done or supposed to be very hard and unappealing. “Right then. Pizza it is.”

Dawn had to grin. “You know, you used to have that whole sexy demon of the night thing working for you. Playing house with Buffy ruined it.”

“Who said we’re playing?”

The phone cut her reply short and she finished the last of her cola as Spike picked up. She could gather from the conversation that Giles was on the other end inquiring about things in Los Angeles. As Spike filled him in, Dawn seized the opportunity to go and check on Buffy. She walked down the hallway, smiling when she saw a couple of rose petals lying here and there. If nothing else, Spike still got a few things right.

Knocking lightly, she poked her head into her sister’s bedroom. “Buffy?”

The bed was turned down and she could make out where someone had been lying under the covers, but Buffy wasn’t in the bed any longer. Frowning, she turned on the light, crossed the room and lifted her hand to knock on the bathroom door. It was ajar, however, so she pushed it open. It was empty. “Spike!” Dawn cried. She immediately moved to the closet, looking for Buffy’s trusty leather Slayer bag, but it was not on the hook.

Spike came running. “What is it?”

“She’s gone.”

“Bloody hell!”

*~*~*

Buffy had waited over an hour for the demon to wake up, but it wasn’t obliging her. She sat next to it, staring at the razor sharp tail that had cut Miles’ life short far to early. After patrolling with him so often it was easy for her to imagine what had happened. Judging by the blood that was spattered all over the cave and the fact that one of Wolfram & Hart’s weapons lay a few feet in front of her, she knew it had taken place in this very spot. Miles, true to form, would have entered ahead of his team. He would have assessed the demon, taken in the surroundings, and made the first move, trusting that everyone would know their job and how to handle it. The tail of the demon probably would not have crossed his mind as he attacked it. He likely never saw it coming and that upset her more than anything about the situation. He never saw it coming.

It would have been so easy to lift the machete that was in her bag and slice through the thick green neck, bringing the demon the same kind of death it had wrought, but she decided it would be better to look the demon in the eye when she destroyed it. She wanted to make sure it knew exactly who did it and give it the chance to fight back. She knew that time was valuable. Spike had probably already realized that she was gone and what her intentions were.

She lifted a heavy rock that was wedged into the ground beside her and threw it, striking the demon in the side of the head with it. It grunted, cried out, and lifted its head, blinking large, orb like eyes as it focused on her. Buffy tilted her head to one side. “You don’t look like much to me.”

The demon screeched at her, whipping its tail in her direction. Buffy had anticipated this, but she wasn’t fast enough. It caught her in the shoulder, slicing her flesh open and sending her flying back against the cave wall so hard that the breath was pushed from her lungs. Moaning and more than a little stunned, she crawled back to her bag and yanked out the machete just in time to sever the blade like bone that Angel had told her about as the demon moved to hit her again. It broke apart with a loud ‘pop’ and the demon screeched again, this time in pain. She looked back into the face of it, noted the wide eyes, and hacked again, further up the tail, severing it from the backside of the demon completely.

It began to rise, screaming and flailing, struggling for balance now that the tail was gone. On its hind legs, it stood at least ten feet tall. She was struck for a moment how closely it resembled the prehistoric birds that she had seen at the zoo. The only real difference she could see was that instead of a beak, it had long fangs and a wide mouth. It had short, stubby arms that had ridges and scaly armor that matched the scales on its back and tail. It made a swipe at her with one of those arms and Buffy laughed. She would have to be on its belly before it could reach her that way.

“This is normally never personal for me, but you killed a friend of mine last night.” She slammed her boot against its fleshy underbelly, wrinkling her nose when the flesh burst open and spilled blood, guts, and whatever it had eaten the night before on her expensive leather shoes. “Now it really is personal.”

Limb by limb, tooth by tooth, and piece by piece, she ripped the demon apart until finally she sat in nothing more than flesh and gore. Every inch of her was coated in blood: hers and the demon’s. She was aware that she was hurt, aware that the demon had damaged her arm, but she was too exhausted, mentally and physically, to do anything more than bow her head and finally cry.

She was unconscious when the search and rescue team from Wolfram and Hart found her a while later.

Davies, who had seen enough of the cave to last a lifetime, but volunteered to find Buffy anyway, strapped the Slayer down on the back board and nodded at his team, then he turned and surveyed the scene before him. “Jesus,” he mumbled softly.

*~*~*~