A/N: After a rather extended hiatus from this story, I bring to you the final chapters. As I promised before shelving this fic, all questions will be answered in this last chapter and the epilogue. As always, I own nothing but the story itself. All recognizable characters, places, and themes are property of their respective owners.




Rating for this chapter: R
Warnings: Violence, language, sexual situations, blood play, adult themes.

Snapshots of Eternity
Chapter 18: Moments

Previously: Spike shook himself free of the memories and focused entirely on the warm body wrapped around him. That part of his life was over and he was with his girl once more. He grinned at her and pressed his lips to her forehead in a gentle kiss. “Sorry I’m late, luv. Traffic was a bitch.”


He had never known it was possible to both laugh and cry at the same time. It didn’t really matter. Just as the steady stream of garbled, nonsensical words being babbled at him required no actual definition or clarification. He didn’t need to see the overwhelming joy shining through the tears streaming down his girl’s face to know how she felt. Her emotions came loud and clear through the link they shared. If the vampire’s own eyes spilled over with tears of unadulterated happiness, neither he, nor the Slayer-shaped limpet plastered to his front, took notice.

The only thing that truly mattered was that, after seeming lifetimes of endless pain, misery, war and death, the two former mortal enemies cum eternally-bonded mates had at last found their way home.

Presently, the couple had somehow found themselves upon the polished linoleum floor, wrapped around each other so tightly that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began; the vampire contented with whispered assurances, and a deep rumbling purr meant to soothe his tiny mate as she burrowed further into his chest while the storm of emotions continued to rage through her deceptively small body. The tempest slowly began to ease by degrees until, exhausted, she lay against him with only the occasional sniffle, whimper, and shudder remaining in evidence of such an explosive outpouring of emotion. Even those managed to abate in time, the now drained female still clutching at the vampire wherever her hands found purchase, her eyes drooping in fatigue as the adrenaline dissipated.

For his part, Spike just held her tightly across his lap and reveled in the heat her body radiated. He had been so goddamn cold for so long; an eternity of lonely days and nights spent aching for her touch, for any part of her that existed outside his fevered dreams. Now that he had her in his arms once more, he hardly knew what to do with himself. Extensive as their separation had been, the idea of shagging her stupid was, shockingly, not his first impulse. Oh, it was high on the list –he was, after all, virile male vampire too long without a woman to warm his bed- but he liked to think he was well enough beyond the randy, adolescent horn-dog phase of unlife, that he was no longer a slave to his libido. For now, he was content to just hold his mate and revel in her heat as it seeped into his bones. Everything else could wait.

Movement against his chest drew Spike’s attention, and he blinked his eyes open to find red-rimmed and blood-shot hazel eyes blinking owlishly back at him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and tightened his arms around her when she gave him one of the softest, sweetest smiles he’d ever seen. He grinned at her with a low rumble of, “hey, there, kitten”. A light chuckled filled the quiet as she nuzzled against him and offered a grin of her own.

“Hey, yourself,” she whispered back as she zeroed in on his wide, sensual mouth. Now that she had recovered from her bout of hysterics, she wanted nothing more that to sink into those luscious lips of his and get lost for hours. If the smoochies came with hours of hot, sweaty nakedness that left her unable to walk for days, well, so much the better.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him just that when the ear-splitting scream exploded from everywhere at once.



No matter how many times Connor Reilly awoke to find his arms filled with the slender brunette, he never got used to it. Dawn Summers was smart, funny, strong and sexy. In a word, she was his perfect fantasy come to life. Today was no exception, he thought as she snoozed lightly with her nose buried in the crook of his neck.

Spent passion hung heavy upon the air within their quarters, and the living child of two of history’s most vicious vampires took great pleasure in breathing in the combined scents of sex, sweat, and the love of his existence. How the hell had he ever managed to get so lucky as to win her heart? Sure, according to the Coven, he and Dawn had been destined to meet; the Destroyer of Quor-toh, and the Key of Creation. But, just because their lives were destined to cross had in no way ensured that they would also fall in love. Now, here they lay in the bed they had shared for years, two beings that never should have been forged into the human embodiment of ultimate power, and all he could do was smile goofily as the woman in his arms snored and drooled lightly upon his chest.

A nearly silent beeping drew the young man’s attention to the beauty curled against his chest, and Connor glanced at the tiny clock next to the bed. Regardless of his desire to do nothing more than lay in bed all day with his gorgeous girl, he had to report to his post in a half hour. He frowned; an impressive stream of curses echoing around his head as he eased from beneath Dawn’s sleeping form. Quickly, he stood and took one last moment to whisper a soft kiss to her smooth brow before making his way into the shower.

Had he looked back, Connor would have seen her eyes open to reveal blazing emerald orbs focused on some far away sight. Had he turned back before closing the bathroom door, he would have seen the lithe brunette absentmindedly slip into her robe and leave their shared quarters on silent feet. Had he even the slightest inkling of what was to occur, the Destroyer of Quor-toh would have taken Dawn Summers as far from Slayerville as he could get.


In her dreams, she’d seen the sarcophagus in all its glory. The jewels imbedded within its lid glittering at her beneath the bay area’s artificial light. They called to her, sparkling at her in random patterns like some sort of primitive rainbow-hued Morse code. Unaware of her actions, her body moved from the bed, pulled on her robe, and heeded the call of the ancient stone crypt.

In her mind, the lure of those jewels was impossible to resist. It never occurred to her to even try as she approached the bay area. All she saw was the smooth, sparkling gems which had drawn her earlier. All she knew was the intense desire to lie upon the sepulcher’s surface, and sink down within its cool depths. She was too far gone to hear the shouted warnings of those around her, as she reached out with her slender fingers to touch those darkly glittering stones…


The scream echoing through their heads was enough to have Buffy and Spike instantly alert. A moment later they were bursting from the senior Slayer’s office- nearly plowing into the young man headed towards his first training class of the day. Relying upon his preternatural reflexes and instincts, Connor wheeled around and followed right upon the heels of the vampire and Slayer as they raced towards the source of the screams.

As they neared Bay Area Three, the heavy metal door rose on well-oiled hinges granting the trio entrance unto a scene too surreal to be believed. There was no time to stop or prevent the contact of flesh to the large purple stone imbedded within the head of Illyria’s prison, or the sudden burst of light and energy that exploded out of the sarcophagus.

A fierce wind appeared from nowhere, forcing the room’s occupants against the walls inside the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike caught a glimpse of dark veins, black eyes, and rapidly darkening hair. Instinct told him without words what was happening to the flame-haired witch. In a blink, he caught her struggling form against his chest and did the only thing his demon knew to do. Before the first syllable of some useless spell made it past her lips, he allowed his fangs to drop. The next instant, he latched onto Willow’s jugular and began dragging deep pulls of her powerful, magic-enhanced blood into his mouth.

Several yards away, it was every thing the Slayer could do to hold back the struggling man in her arms. Short of making him unconscious or dead, there was nothing to do except hold on and keep him from doing something insane while every part of her screamed to rush to her sister’s side. Some deep, inner knowledge told her that it was useless. Already Buffy could feel the piece of her the monks used to create Dawn’s earthbound body crack and dissolve in the wake of whatever was taking place before their eyes. And, just as she had the moment Glory had ripped Dawn from her arms, the oldest and most powerful Slayer in history disappeared within herself.





Moments. Everything that ever was could be counted, summed up, and viewed through an endless series of moments. Some of them seemingly infinitesimal, insignificantly swallowed up by the ever-changing sands of time. Then there were the others- moments so great they could devour a person from the soul outward. These were the moments where breath is sucked in with a harsh gasp; the heart either pounds out a fierce tattoo, or threatens to stop altogether. The blood rushes past seemingly deaf ears, salty, stinging tears well in too-wide eyes before washing over pale cheeks. Legs go numb and refuse to bear the weight of their owner for one more instant.

It was this second type of moment, the type too large for words, too overwhelming to describe, which found a man on his knees one spring morning as night gave way to day and the first blush of morning began to seep over the horizon. Instead, his world laid shattered just steps away; her body broken and bloodied, her heart having beaten its last, the light in her eyes snuffed out long before her time.

A year later a similar moment would occur. Only, this time, it would be a fierce young warrior facing utter destruction and desolation as she looked out over what was once a sleepy little town in which she had spent the best and worst moments of her life. Instead of rejoicing in a victory she could not feel grief swelled within her breast, robbing her of breath and thought.

Centuries later, it would be neither of these moments used to measure the lives of a man and woman whose love withstood the tests of time; two warriors chosen by the Powers That Be to protect the world from those who would see it destroyed. Instead, it would be the greatest moment of their existence which would be told and retold by those who read about it in the annals of history; an epic tale of a greatest love born from the greatest hate…


But that was a story for another time.

For now, for this moment, the world had narrowed down to a room within a hollowed-out mountain; a room fitted with state-of-the-art computers and machinery that buzzed and whirred without deference to a frozen moment in which four lives seemed to shatter at once. It was this moment that would change the world forever as not a sound was uttered, nor a breath breathed into the sudden stillness as the bright burst of light and energy began to slowly dissipate. All eyes focused upon the stone sarcophagus and the two creatures that now lay face to face and curled into like fetal positions upon the cold, grated metal floor.

Seconds stretched out endlessly in the heavy, deafening silence. Spike held tightly to the witch, his fangs still embedded within her tender flesh though he had long stopped pulling mouthfuls of her powerful blood into his throat. She now lay subdued against his chest, her smaller frame as still as the two figures slumped against the wall not twenty feet away. Gently, the vampire’s fangs slowly returned to their sheaths, his saliva sealing the wounds shut to prevent further blood loss, and Spike knew he would take time later to be grateful that his demon knew how to care for his humans when his soul had not the strength.

Instead of conscious thought, Spike’s heart and soul waited with shock and horror for something- anything- to happen. It was what they all were doing as no one moved or spoke into the now silent room. The howling wind had vanished with the light and energy, its job completed with the appearance of the two prone figures that had yet to move from their position. Another piece of Spike’s heart broke as he reached out his senses and realized that he could only make out three distinct heartbeats. He wanted to snarl and rage against the truth that stared him in the face, but he was just as frozen as the others.

A moment later, with a frightening suddenness, as though some switch had been thrown, the two figures jerked upright with inhuman shrieks. Multi-colored hair whipped through the air to settle about naked shoulders in some sort of gothic halo. For the first time, the effects of the transformation were fully visible to all those present as both beings stood in unison, facing and mirroring each other. The only difference between the two seemed to be in coloring. Where Illyria’s hair was streaked with various shades of blue, Dawn’s was streaked with shades of green. Where Illyria’s eyes were a deep, penetrating blue that nearly glowed with an unearthly light, Dawn’s blazed a dark, striking emerald. And where the god-king’s body was marked with patches of blue and purple skin, this new creature’s echoed those patters in dark green and gold.

Face to face the beings stood without concern for their nudity as they studied one another without words or expressions. Several moments ticked by as this continued until, with some sort of silent agreement, they each raised a slender arm and slapped a palm down upon a different colored stoned. As one, their heads fell backwards with an ethereal gasp, and a coating of liquid material flowed rapidly over their flesh, solidifying into impenetrable armor the moment it touched air.




When all was said and done, Illyria and the creature now residing within the body of Dawn Summers had been sealed into the bay area. The one attempt Connor had made to approach them had earned the young man a broken arm and bloodied gashes. Willow had fled the room only to land upon her knees in the corridor as loud sobs wracked her slender frame. Spike barely took notice as he lifted his comatose mate in his arms.

Now, as they watched the two creatures from the safety of the observation room overlooking the bay area, the sounds of Coven members and military scientists debating theories became white noise behind them. Nothing mattered. He had gone through this when Illyria took over Fred’s body. The god-king’s essence had liquefied the tiny Texan’s organs, hollowing out her insides until there was nothing there but an empty shell made ready for inhabitance by one of the oldest demons to ever enter this dimension.

Heart-broken, the vampire curled himself around his too-still mate and began the insurmountable task of walling off his grief for the youngest Summers female in order to use his and Buffy’s psychic link to reach the Slayer. Deep down, he was terrified that, without Dawn, he would lose Buffy forever.




Below the observation room, Illyria slowly paced as she inspected her new environment with bird-like motions. The strange being responsible for her release had yet to speak, and she found it unsettling. Instead, the green one seemed more interested in investigating her shell. Searching within herself, the god-king found no internal changes had occurred between her existence before entering stasis and now. With her usual stoicism, Illyria at last decided that the transformation of the green being was merely triggered by the energies used to release the god-king, and not a created by the stones. To the Old One, the creature before her was an oddity, a puzzle to be solved, and nothing more.

“You are displeased with your shell,” Illyria observed in a flat tone. Green eyes snapped up to meet her gaze momentarily before they returned to the study of movement as a hand surreptitiously opened and closed.

Dawn heard Illyria’s observation, though she did not respond for some time. There was no way to accurately put her thoughts into words. Everything within her was simultaneously silent and overly loud. Her heart was not beating, though she could hear and feel the heartbeats of every living being within the facility. The thoughts, feelings and memories of hundreds of humans and nonhumans swamped her. Grief unlike any pain she had ever experienced streaked through every cell in her body.

Knowledge came to her as though some voice was whispering in her ear. It wasn’t supposed to go down this way. This was never supposed to happen. In that instant, she knew exactly what she had to do. Lowering her head and closing her eyes, the Key’s lips moved silently as the necessary words rolled off her tongue.

Outside the door to Bay Area Three, Private Nathanial O. Davitt grinned as his face became covered with heavy veins. With a soft chuckle, he rubbed at the small ring on his right middle finger.

“Wish granted.”



TBC…