[A/N: Slowly we creep toward and end to this installment of the saga that is the lives and loves of Spike and Buffy according to Niamh. . . . LOL. I’m sorry. This is starting to wrap up, and we are coming to a conclusion. Just a bit more to go, and then we are done. And hey, I can work on something else for a bit. . . LOL. Titles and quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect. I own nothing.]

Previously: Spike and Lawson faced the first challenge on their quest to rescue Connor; those in Sunnydale are dealing with the after effects of the battle; Jenner has Faith in a compromising position; and Buffy is making her decision.

Book Two. Chapter Seventy-One. The pierless bridge



There is a land of the living
and a land of the dead
and the bridge is love,
the only survival,
the only meaning.
Thornton Wilder, The Bridge of San Luis Rey


Faith—is the Pierless Bridge
Supporting what We see
Unto the Scene that We do not
Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems, Faith is the Pierless Bridge

... this single span,
Reaching for the world, as our lives do,
As all lives do, reaching that we may give
The best of what we are and hold as true:
Always it is by bridges that we live.
Phillip Larkin, Bridge for the Living



The bridge, though it pitched upward slightly, was a wide causeway more suited to cart and horse traffic than modern vehicles. Loose limestone and shells crunched beneath their feet as the two vampires strode forward through the low lying mist covering the ground. Though they knew water surrounded them, as they progressed, the mist thickened, obscuring their visibility. Desultory conversation occurred between them, sentences here and there, but nothing of any substance was said. Spike was too wrapped up in his thoughts of what he’d just been through and what other challenges awaited them to engage in idle chatter. Lawson had no idea what to say, he wasn’t even sure why they were so determined to save Angel’s son.

They’d lapsed into silence long minutes ago, neither one of them willing to share thoughts. Both hounds were keeping pace, plodding alongside, tongues flagging. The mist darkened, growing heavier and the strange bluish sunlight changed, mixing with the mist and a strange amber light. The air became oppressive and humid. Had they needed to breathe, both vampires would have been struggling.

“Maybe we should stop.” Lawson spoke quietly, as if his voice was too small to break through the weight of the air.

“No. Should keep going.” Pausing for a moment, Spike peered into the mist. “Place isn’t safe. Need to get across.”

“Are you sure?”

“Listen. . . . you hear that?”

Low, almost beyond the range of their hearing, voices echoed in the mist, coming at them from all sides. Spike turned around slowly, trying to pinpoint a location. He whirled about, coming face to face with a small slight figure shrouded by the now enclosing mist.

“You should not linger.” The voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, but commanding all the same. All other noise ceased, the only sound the soft whine of the hounds.

“Had no mind to,” Spike retorted, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

“Rest easy, William, I mean you no harm.” The figure moved, parting the mist, allowing them a glimpse of the person standing before them.

Roughly the same height as Buffy, the figure, like the other woman earlier, wore a cloak obscuring any features from their eyes. The voice and stature, though, indicated clearly their visitor was female.

“This path is hallowed, the way darkened by lost souls.” Again there was movement, which seemed to once more push back the darkness. Softer light glowed through the mist, illuminating the path. “Keep to the center and linger not.” Her arm pointed them toward the glow. “Make haste, I can but hold them a little while.”

Her voice faltered with the strain, growing hoarse and raspy. Spike’s instinctive move toward the figure as it wavered caused her to shy away. “Nay. Time is not your ally in this place. Look not behind, but ahead.”

Grabbing hold of Lawson, Spike followed her outstretched hand, saying, “Let’s go. Thanks, my lady.”

Within feet they were nearly running and by the time Spike dared to look back, everything had been swallowed by blackness.


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Her ass was on fire, throbbing from the force of Jenner’s blows. Faith was on her knees, hands still tied and bound. Curses had spewed from her mouth every time he landed a blow. Hoarse and gravelly sounding in the last ten minutes her voice had nearly disappeared, and now tears of frustration dripped down her cheeks, further angering her. Faith’s brain was scrambling, and she was seething with rage, most of it self-directed. Her body was betraying her, Jenner’s touch wringing reactions from her that she didn’t want.

She didn’t want to feel anything for him, told herself it was just another body, just another fuck. Told herself she wouldn’t feel anything.

Nothing beyond lust.

Nothing more than scratching an itch.

Stay in control and walk away.

It was what she’d always done. And it worked.

Until now.

She was so not in control that Faith had no idea what to do, how to react. Jenner had taken over so easily, so smoothly, almost before she’d even realized he’d done it.

Part of her hated him for it.

But a little part of her was enjoying this.

And that was what she hated.

Jenner knelt behind her, smoothing his cool hands over the heated flesh of her poor abused backside. Faith jerked away from his touch. Through clenched teeth, she growled at him. “Don’t touch me. Just don’t fucking touch me.”

He slid his fingers down the reddened cheeks, feeling the welts his fingers had raised. He could smell her arousal, could almost taste it. “C’mon, baby, it’ll feel so good.”

Two of his blunt fingers slid into the depths of her pussy and despite her mind’s rejection, Faith’s body welcomed his intrusion. But as much as her body betrayed her, her mind refused to give in. “Don’t, you bastard.”

Jenner leaned over her back, their bodies aligned, his mouth just above her ear. “Faith, just let go.”

“Untie me,” she growled at him, ducking her head so he wouldn’t see her tears. “Just fucking untie me.”

With a sigh, Jenner moved to loosen the rope that secured Faith’s bound wrists to the headboard. At the last second, though, Jenner paused, rethinking the idea of untying her. “Faith. . . .”

He waited, he wasn’t sure for what – some response from her, some indication that she wouldn’t turn on him. The why of his hesitation never struck him as odd, not even as he reached for the ropes after long minutes of silence from both of them. Her heart beat was slow and steady, her breathing the same. She refused to speak to him and for once, Jenner was not in the mood to prod her.

It had been a very long time since anyone made him think of their emotions beyond satiation of lust. Jenner knew his prowess between the sheets was more than adequate, never having left any partner dissatisfied. But something about this encounter with Faith was scratching at him, making him wonder if there was anything beyond lust. On her part.

Which unsettled him.

With a last probing look at Faith, he finally reached for the ropes, knowing he was going to regret it a second before she struck.

Faith rolled over faster than he could react, fist balled, and she nailed him across the jaw. He retaliated, slapping her back, pushing her across the bed. It was a mistake on his part, because she recovered quickly, her foot snapping his jaw and banging his head against the wall hard enough to leave a dent. His last thought before blacking out was about how much he was going to enjoy paying her back.


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They stared up at the towering cliffs, neither one able to see the top, even with their enhanced sight. Shifting into game face, Spike whistled, then shook his head. “Bloody thing goes on damn near forever.”

Lawson shifted the backpack, eyeing the start of the cliffs, gauging how difficult the climb might actually be. “You know, chief, this isn’t gonna be easy.”

“Like that crystal beastie was easy?” A dark snort of amusement rang from Spike’s mouth and he headed toward the craggy rocks a handful of paces away. “‘S not like we can just skip this part. No way round these bloody rocks. Only way is up and over.”

For the first time since this journey started, Lawson laid a hand on Spike’s arm, halting his progress. “Is it worth it? Why are we rescuing the kid anyway?”

The unspoken part of that question was ‘why are we bothering for Angel’s son?’ and for once, Spike didn’t hesitate. “Because I couldn’t live with her knowing I didn’t do m’best to get the sprog back. Couldn’t face her disappointment. ‘S not that the Slayer wants Angel’s brat, know the truth of that, first hand, but . . . . “ He paused, unable to put it into words himself that Lawson might understand. Without thinking too heavily on it, Spike continued, almost as if he were talking to himself. “He’s an innocent; boy has no fault in any of this. He’s a fucking baby, an’ to blame him for what his old man is responsible for isn’t right. An’ . . . he’s family. He’s blood kin to both of us.”

He looked to the younger vampire, wondering if what he’d said made any sense. When Lawson stared at him for a long moment, Spike figured he’d missed his mark, until Sam spoke.

“How could a baby be responsible? He’s only. . . . but you’re right, he’s family.” Almost to himself, Lawson said, “It’s not like I have a whole lot of that running around, willing to have me.”

Without saying anything else, the two headed for the cliff face, following the steep path the hounds were on.

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


The house was quiet. No sounds emerged in the immediate aftermath of Xander’s angry retreat. Giles, for once, was at a complete loss as to what, if anything, he should say. Wesley was no better. Neither man had any real inkling that those were the thoughts swirling about in Xander’s head; neither really paying enough attention to the younger man’s apparent distractions. Dawn shifted uncomfortably on the couch, drawing Wesley’s attention. She waved him off though, grimacing at the pain every movement caused. Tara stared at the closed door, a sad look on her face. She could feel the sorrow emanating off the girl standing next to her, and although she was wary of approaching her, she knew Anya needed the support of friends at this moment. It was hard realizing someone you loved didn’t really truly return those feelings unconditionally.

“Anya?” She half-turned to face the former demon, bracing herself for the tears she thought would be there. Instead, she caught a grim and angry look on her face.

“He should be really thankful I’m not a demon anymore.” Anya huffed a bit, wringing the kitchen towel in her hands. “I’m very angry.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” Giles limped over to touch her shoulder and Anya looked at him, her features softening a bit. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“Aside from wanting to eviscerate him, or you know, infect him with sexually transmitted diseases, I’m . . . . “ Her bravery crumpled in the face of the concern she saw etched on all the faces looking at her. “Oh . . . .” And she burst into tears.

Rupert gathered her into his arms, his voice murmuring soft assurances to her that all would eventually be well, while he guided her to sit in the chair he’d just vacated. “Sit down, dear. We’ll make you some tea.”

A watery half-sob, half-giggle broke from her and Anya turned teary eyes up at him. “Is that the English cure-all I don’t know about?”

Wesley chuckled, remarking idly as he headed for the kitchen, “Of course it is. We’ve nothing else to offer other than tea and sympathy.”

Giles shook his head, handing Anya his handkerchief, sitting on the chair beside her. “It really is all we have to offer.”

Even Tara had to laugh, though for her it was more of a relief. She looked around at them, Dawn fighting to stay conscious on the couch, Giles and Anya softly speaking, and Wesley coming in from the kitchen asking if anyone wanted anything else, and she realized in that moment what they had between them was far healthier and better than it had been before Buffy died. They were more of a family than the one she’d been born into, and despite the cracks and dissension of late, this was exactly where she belonged.

Exhaustion stole through her, making her eyes droop and a yawn escape her. Giving into her fatigue, Tara sleepily said, “As much as I’d like to stay up and wait, I need to lie down.” Leaning over Dawn, she felt her forehead for signs of a fever, asking, “Dawnie, do you want to go upstairs or are you okay here?”

“I’m okay here. I don’t think I could make it upstairs.” The blue-eyed teen shook her head, settling back into the cushions.

“All right. I’m going to go lie down. Goodnight, everyone.”

A chorus of ‘goodnights’ and ‘sleep wells’ sounded in the air, and Tara slipped down the stairs to the basement.

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


Following the hounds proved to be the wisest course of action, considering they were on precarious ground. The shale of the cliff face kept them from gaining steady footing, though it proved useful in digging out handholds. They kept to a single file, Lawson behind and a bit below Spike, and though they had thought of it, they had nothing to use as a tether rope. It was free climbing, while the dogs leaped from one overhang to the next.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of a high-pitched keening wail that owed more to an eagle’s cry than anything remotely humanoid as they neared the middle of the cliff. Loose rocks rained down on them from above, and though he craned his neck to see, Spike couldn’t get a glimpse of what might be causing either. Looking down toward Lawson, he shouted down a question and all he got in return was a negative shake of his head. Too involved in the climb to risk a full blown conversation, Spike turned his face to the rocks and resumed his upward motion.

As he climbed another ten feet, the cawing, keening noise increased, echoing off the rocks and deafening him. Spike ducked his head, covering both ears. Chancing a glimpse over his shoulder at Lawson, Spike could see him doing the same. He waited unmoving until the noise abated and he could hear his own thoughts again. His head was beginning to pound with the after-effects of aural overload, and Spike could feel his equilibrium starting to give way. There were very few ways to completely incapacitate a vampire, and affecting the hearing was the most effective. Spike shook his head, inhaling deeply, trying to get his balance back.

Giving it another few minutes, Spike calmed himself with thoughts of Buffy and eventually, his breathing stopped racing. With another look down at Lawson, he started the climb.

Twenty, thirty additional feet he ascended, his muscles beginning to strain with the effort of hauling and stretching. They were now nearly two-thirds of the way up the cliff, though neither of them realized it. Below them, the bridge between islands had nearly disappeared in the growing mist and above them, the clouds were beginning to darken, closing in on the cliff face. Grateful for his ability to stop breathing as the air thinned, Spike shut down his lungs and hauled himself up another four feet.

There was no warning, no keening cry from above, no shifting of the shale. Nothing. Just the cessation of all sound, like a vacuum whooshing next to his ear. Strong claws raked the rock next to him as he ducked and flattened himself against the rock. Heavy wings blocked the light, and Spike blindly fought off whatever it was that just attacked him. Using his own claws, he dug his fingers into the strong talon holding onto him, wrenching it away. He lost his balance, teetering on the outcropping his feet were planted on, his upper body swaying in the breeze. Spike over balanced, smashing his face into the rocks, but he didn’t care that he’d gotten a mouthful of gravel. Spitting it out, he panted, resting his whole body against the cliff. Adrenaline surged through him and he didn’t realize he was in game face until Lawson’s hand reached out to grasp his shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Wha’ the bleedin’ fuck was that?” Blood coursed down his face, and his right hand ached from where the beast had gripped him.

“No clue. All I saw was a tail and some wings. Didn’t get a close look at it.” Sam wiped away some of the rock off Spike’s shoulders, checking him for more injuries. “Can you climb?”

“Think so. Gimme a minute, ‘s all.” Closing his eyes, Spike leaned heavily against the rock face, mentally checking for more injuries. At the moment, all he could feel was the throbbing pain in his arm, and the sting of various small cuts on his face. He wasn’t all that worried about his face, it was the damage to his arm that was giving him pause. “How far to the next cave?”

Lawson leaned around him, checking both sides for any indentation or anomaly in the cliff, hoping to find a small enough enclosure to hide them both. “Not sure. I’m gonna have to look.”

He took off, moving slowly upwards, wary of attracting the attention of whatever beast had just attacked Spike. About ten yards over Spike’s head, Lawson found a big enough cave for the two of them to hole up in, at least until Spike recovered somewhat. The entire climb had been wrought with tension, especially considering about thirty feet up, the keening noise had restarted. Part of him was grateful for that, because the noise seemed to indicate a warning, not signaling an immediate attack. Lawson cleared out the cave, moving some of the bigger rocks to the side, so that Spike would be able to lie down once they got up there. He also left his backpack, figuring he’d have to take Spike’s and help him and the last thing he needed was the excess baggage.

Knowing time was important, Sam headed back down the cliff, his ears tuned to the sky. To his surprise, neither keening cry nor beating wing marked his downward progress, and Lawson guessed it was the upward movement that had the beast concerned. His supposition was played out correctly when, within seconds of reaching Spike and their shift upward, the noise started again.

“How far do we have to go?” The question was the first Spike had spoken since Sam had reached him, and it was very clear the other vampire was in pain and flagging. Lawson stayed on his right side, helping him climb and debated whether or not to tell him how much further they had to go before they hit shelter.

Deciding the lie wouldn’t do either of them any good, Lawson said, “Ten yards straight up. Lots of good handholds though, so we should be okay.”

A snort of amused pain emerged from Spike’s mouth. “So long as that winged beast stays away, we should be fine.”

“Should be.”

Conversation ceased again, and the climb, which had taken Lawson only about twenty minutes, dragged on for nearly an hour. Spike had to stop every few feet, and every time the cawing noise stopped, they paused, waiting for the beast to attack. Thankfully, though, it didn’t.

Less than five feet from the cave, rocks rained down from above, nearly knocking them both from the cliff. One particularly large one caught Lawson on the right shoulder, numbing him down to his fingertips. They clung there, hanging on by the tips of their fingers, until the feeling came back in Sam’s arm. By this time, Spike was panting heavily, and the bleeding in his arm hadn’t stopped, so his normally pale features were taking on a grey caste. “Almost there, Spike.”

“Okay.” The older vampire didn’t waste his time or strength on speaking, conserving what little he had for the rest of the climb. He couldn’t spare it.

As one, the moved up, and before Spike could get his feet under him, the whooshing sound was back and claws raked down his back, opening it from shoulder to waist. He screamed in agony, losing his grip completely and falling away from the cliff. His fingers scrabbled in the loose shale, ripping off nails and splitting the skin, but he somehow managed to stop his fall.

In the next seconds, Lawson was beside him, shielding his body from further attack. Reaching into the backpack, he withdrew two daggers, gripping one in his teeth. Working quickly and carefully, Lawson shredded his own shirt, tying Spike’s smaller body to his, laying the now unconscious vampire along his back. He couldn’t think of any easier way to get him up the last thirty feet, and uncaring of the danger, Lawson scrambled for the cave as quickly as possible.


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Oz was sound asleep, sacked out on the right side of her bed, facing the wall. He was curled up, almost in a fetal position, his hands tucked under his arms. Past experience told her he would be out for at least a couple more hours, the stress of calling up the change more than his body could handle. He’d learned to control the wolf, disciplining his mind and body to control without being submissive to the demon, but that kind of control always came with a price. Whenever Oz called forth the wolf, his body paid for it.

A minimum of eight hours almost comatose sleep was necessary for his recovery, provided he’d suffered no injuries. Tara stared down at his body, a tired smile lighting her features. With a small shake of her head, she decided he wasn’t moving any time soon, so she was safe. Stripping out of her soiled clothes, Tara dropped the dirty clothes in the pile Oz had left earlier. Donning her favorite nightgown Tara slid into the bed, her back to his.

Before she could think twice about sleeping with Oz, Tara was already there.


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Spike was mercifully out cold when Lawson crawled on hands and knees into the depths of the cave. He stayed that way, unnecessarily gasping for air, head hanging down between his shoulders. Sam sliced through the remains of his tee shirt, sliding Spike off his back and face down onto the dirt floor of the cave.

For the first time, Sam got a good glimpse of the damage to Spike’s back. Three deep furrows ran from his shoulder parallel to his spine down the length of his back, ending only at the waistband of his jeans. He’d stopped bleeding, which was good, but Spike was still going to need tending, something Sam wasn’t sure he could do. Given the extent of the injury, Sam was afraid they were going to be stuck for at least a day, if not longer.

Sam honestly didn’t know how to help Spike. He knew very little about first-aid, at least the kind Spike needed.

Going through the packs revealed not much of assistance. Extra clothes, tee-shirts, baby things for Connor, four thermoses of blood and nothing else. The blood would help, but looking at the shredded remains of Spike’s back, Sam was beginning to think it wouldn’t nearly be enough.

There was nothing to start a fire with, no wood, or rags or leaves. Spreading out the clothing on the ground, Lawson moved Spike, hoping this would help get him warm.

Trying to remember the training he’d gotten when he enlisted, Sam was able to recall only the advice his commanding officer had imparted. “When you don’t know what to do, always do the next logical thing.”

So Sam set to work.

Hours later, after feeding Spike the contents of three of the thermoses and some blood from himself, Sam slumped tiredly against the rock wall. Barely able to keep his eyes open, Sam fought the fatigue. He didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep until he heard voices whispering softly. He shifted, forcing his eyes open, then he slid back into oblivion.

He knew he was dreaming, because he was warm and comfortable. Sam rolled over onto his side, pulling the covering up over his shoulders. Soft crackling noises teased at his ears and the scent of warm wool had him bolting up right, wide awake.

A low fire glowed in the darkness, blinding him. Sam covered his eyes, looking away. Spike was resting quietly, his eyes open and trained on Sam. His body was covered by a blanket, and on the other side, away from the fire was a small red-haired woman, who was tending to Spike’s back.

“Rest easy.” Her voice was soft and melodic, with an accent he couldn’t place, but she was definitely not an American, which Sam couldn’t even figure out why he’d thought of it in the first place.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Rianwyn.” She ran a hand over the bandages over Spike’s back, checking the bleeding. “I’ve come to give what aid I can.”

“Why?”

She was silent for a long minute, then lifted her eyes to stare at him. “Because it needs doing.”




Thanks to everyone who's been kind enough to leave me a review. After all this time, it's still nice to see people caring enough to let me know what they think of this story. Slainte, Nia.