Chapter Eleven

Spike rose awkwardly, a frown on his face. Rejection fizzled in his stomach and he stepped away from Buffy without saying a word. She glanced at him, but quickly looked away, pulling herself up and straightening her jacket. Blythe ran a hand through the soft dust on the ground in front of her, mixing it with the powder Zachary had drawn around himself. A shiver ran down her spine and her head snapped up towards the door, "He's here."

"Abel?"

She gritted her teeth together, "I can feel him."

We'll hold the bond for as long as we can, Tara's voice rang out. We can't put Xander through this for much longer.

Buffy looked around for a new weapon, something suitable to kill a vampire. Two swords hung crisscross on the wall and she ripped them down, wielding both in each hand. They were too light, too... "They're decoration," Blythe said, finishing her thought. "My brother and I aren't fans of keeping our weapons in plain sight; some call it paranoia, I always called it playing smart."

"Fine," Buffy huffed. She turned her attention to an old but ornate painting hanging by the door, ripping off one side and breaking it into two sharp points.

"That was a gift from King Charles himself!" Blythe scoffed. "It's over a century old!"

Buffy weighed the chipped golden wood in her hands, "I'm sure he won't mind now."

Blythe rolled her eyes, knocking the remnants of the painting to the ground; a large dagger hung on the wall behind it. "The other paintings are too small to hide anything," she shrugged. She reached down to pick up the hem of her dress, ripping a large piece of black fabric off with ease. Covering her hand with it, she bent down to retrieve dirt out of the large potted plant beside her and handed it to Spike. "It burns the skin," she explained. "It won't do much, but it'll distract Abel."

"It's not like I need a weapon anyway," he pouted. "I've got my fangs and my fists and that's all I need." He dipped his finger into the fabric with a doubtful eye, but the dirt clung to his skin and the heat of fire shot through his hand to his elbow. He ripped his finger out of the pouch, holding it as far away from his body as his arms would allow. Buffy snickered, "Does Big Bad need to stay behind and nurse those burns?"

He rolled his eyes, "Let's just get this over with."

The three walked silently through the halls, though Blythe knew that Abel would be able to sense her as well. When they arrived in the foyer, he was waiting for them; sitting on a chair framed with gold, staring into the empty fire place. Blythe's eyes fell to his lap which housed her ax, his fingers running back and forth over the blade. "My sister," he grinned, still not looking at them. "I do hope the rumors aren't true; that you'v brought this Slayer as a gift and you haven't actually lost your mind. Tell me, you haven't quit your special little diet, have you? You know how badly that fairs for your mind."

The hairs stood up on her skin and a low snarl came from the bottom of her throat. "So happy you were able to retrieve my ax; I've just come by to pick up."

He took the weapon in his hands, gripping the cold metal tightly, "I just love the poetry of slicing you in half with your own weapon; even better, one that used to grace the hands of a Slayer. The story will be told for as long as this planet exists."

Buffy pushed past Blythe and Spike, running a hand over the cold wood of the rail as she walked down the stairs. "You know, I love poetry just as much as the next girl, but it's getting late and I have an early job interview that I need to rest for." What she said was true; each warlock had taken more time than anyone had originally realized, and it was closing in on sunrise. "Let's save the catching up and get to the killing-you part."

He stood to face her, tossing the axe at the ground near her feet, allowing her to pick it up and toss it backwards to Blythe. She caught it, a proud smile on her face as she squeezed it in her hands, "Let's dance then." She came to stand by Buffy, followed by Spike; their weapons braced for the fight. Spike glanced awkwardly around the room, searching for some other weapon aside from dirt. A few painting much larger than the previous room hung from the walls and he edged towards them as the girls closed in on Abel.

Blythe leaped towards her brother, flying through the air with the butt of her ax raised; it smashed across his face with a sharp crack, and her body fell on top of his. His face morphed as it came back to face her and he dug his claws into her sides, throwing her body across the room. She let out a yelp as her body landed over a decorative coat rack, one of the metal hooks breaking off in her lower back. Spike ripped each painting from the wall, finding nothing but wall behind them.

Buffy reached Abel just as he pulled himself from the ground, his fangs bared. She kicked her foot rowards his head and his hand caught it in midair. He threw it in the opposite direction and her body spun through the air. She caught her self easily on her feet and propelled her body in between his legs. She thew an elbow behind her, catching him in the back. He stumbled into his sister who's face had also changed, she jabbed the hook into his neck and he yelled out. Buffy came up behind him and grabbed him by the neck, throwing him into the fireplace. He climbed out awkwardly, licking the blood from his lips and grabbing the firepoker from his side. His arm drew back behind him and released it in Blythe's direction; catching her in the neck, the momentum pulling her into to wall and pinning her there. He let out a sadistic laugh, "You always did tease me for my aim, and I'll admit, I was aiming for your head." She choked in response, blood falling from her mouth and onto her chest. Spike's eyes widened and he ran to her side, grasping the poker with each hand. Her panicked eyes glanced from him to the battle going on before them and her axe fell to the floor. She put her hands over his, urging him to pull it out faster. "It's stuck!" he shouted.

Abel reached out to grab Buffy by the neck, missing and taking a punch to his face. He stood his ground, reaching for her again, this time pulling her to the floor. Her eyes widened under his arms as she realized that she would have better luck getting out from under a boulder. He leaned over her neck, taking in the scent from her skin and the sound of her pulse in her veins. He broke the skin gently with his teeth, allowing the blood to flow into his mouth instead of taking it all at once. That was another piece of poetry he was loving as well, a Slayer giving herself to him instead of him having to fight it out of her. It was a whole new world. Buffy let out a loud guess, struggling against his mouth. He laughed, "You're shocked? I'm the biggest bad you'll ever meet." The smile fell from his face and into a pained grimace and Buffy could see the shining metal sticking through his shoulder. Abel let out a tortured howl, wrenching the firepoker from himself. He fell beside Buffy, clutching at the bleeding wound, "What is that?!"

Spike laughed, throwing the empty makeshift pouch to the ground beside him, "Actually," he corrected. "I'm the big bad and that's my fucking Slayer you're slobbering on." Buffy grasped at her wound, pulling herself to her feet and coming to stand next to him. Blythe knelt at his feet on the other side, spitting out more blood on the floor in front of her. She glanced towards the window, pulling the ax towards herself and gripping it tightly. Her brother lay on the floor, his blood burning as it flowed throughout him. She approached him angrily, blood falling from her chin to the floor. "You think you can beat your big sister?" she snarled, taking the backside of her weapon and smashing it into his groin. "You think I take care of you after all these years and I won't learn all of your pathetic little moves? I'm stronger than you, faster than you, and smarter than you. I created you and I'll kill you just as easy."

He backed up against the wall, clasping his crotch in one hand and his shoulder in the other. "My own sire would kill me?"

"It's been a long time coming."

"You were always jealous of me," he hissed. "You're mind started blowing away with the wind, but I was still strong even in my greatest weakness. You needed me and that just drove you crazy."

"Don't flatter yourself," she growled. "I've was crazy long before you came along, you son of a bitch."

"Let's leave mother out of this," he teased. "Unless it's yours, I could talk about her for hours."

She snarled, ramming the head of her weapon into his nose, "You should be thanking me you little rat."

"For creating me or killing me?"

"You existence was a plague in life and death, so I guess it doesn't really matter."

"Kill me then," he said. "Run you precious little axe through my neck."

"I'm not dumb enough to think you'd just let me kill you without a fight."

He laughed, "We were destined to kill each other, love. Are you ready to die?" She raised the ax above her head, forcing it down on his wrist. He stifled a scream, biting his bottom lip as his hand rolled away from his body. "That won't do, sweetie. It really has been a while since you've fed, hasn't it?"

She picked up the hand from the floor taking a loose vein into her mouth, "You're right. It's been too long since I've had the good stuff." Buffy crinkled her nose behind them both, but Spike stepped forward, his interest peaked. "You're blood was always so sweet," she smiled. "Made me feel warm enough to be mortal." She lifted the hand to examine it, feigning surprise at the ring on his cold finger. "Oh!" she squealed. "I know just how to handle you now."

"And how is that?"

She slipped the ring from his finger and onto her own, holding it in front of her face to admire it. There was a moment of silence before he finally began to understand what she was doing. The sun peaked over the window, landing directly on the top of his head. He struggled, held down by his own sisters foot. Slowly, his hair caught fire, followed by the skin of his forehead and his eyes. He burned until it finally reached the bottom of his neck, and then he was dust. "Nice seeing you again."

Buffy rubbed her bloodied hands on her pants, "Well, that... went better than expected."

Blythe stepped into the sunlight, a smile on her face. "Very poetic."

Buffy lounged on the couch, flipping through a magazine. "Sorry, Britney," she mumbled. "but green just isn't your best color."

A knock came at the door and she rolled her eyes playfully. She went to unlock the door, "Willow, you have to stop forgetting your k-"

"Hello, pet."

She glared at Spike from across the threshold, "What do you want?"

"Just taking a stroll, thought you might be thinking about me."

"Not even in hell," she sneered. "What do you really want?"

"Came to say goodbye," he shrugged, smashing the end of his cigarette on the bottom of his boot.

She frowned, "What do you mean?"

"It's generally what people say to eachother when one or both of them leaves a common place or area."

She opened her mouth to say something sarcastic until she realized just what he meant. She opened herself up, allowing him to enter the house, he walked in quietly, any hint of the usual cockiness left outside. "Where are you going?"

He smashed his hands into the pockets of his duster, uneasiness building between the two. "We talked about Spain... maybe Italy."

"We as in you and Blythe?"

"That's what you wanted isn't it?"

She hesitated and he could here the beating of her heart speed up. He took a step closer only for her to take two back. "It's what I want."

"Right then," he said, rolling his eyes. "Is Dawn here?"

"Dawn?"

"Yes, Dawn. I came to say goodbye, remember?"

"Oh," reality hit her like a train on the tracks and blood rose to her cheeks. "She's um... not feeling well, she's been in bed all day."

"Do you mind?" he said, gesturing towards the stairs.

She sat slowly back down on the couch, nodding her head. He turned without another word, and disappeared up the stairs. She leaned back, urging herself to look casual, pulling the magazine back into her lap and opening it. This is what's right... right? Right. This is best; he'll go away and I won't be so... distracted, and... this is best. Denial boiled in the pit of her stomach and she slammed her head into the cushion behind her. Goddammit.

Spike knocked quietly on the door to Dawn's room, a quiet Come in coming from inside. Hunched over a notebook and scribbling intently, she glanced up at him with a lazy smile and a sniffle, covering the her writing with her hand. "It smells like a sick person in here," he said.

"Don't you just hate that?"

"Try smelling it with a nose like this one."

She laid back, hugging her journal to her chest, "What are you doing here?"

He ground his teeth together, picking up a picture of Buffy and Dawn from her dresser. It looked like they were both laughing, their smiles wide and their noses scrunched. Buffy's head fell back into the sunlight, her golden locks falling in curls down her back. Dawn leaned forward, wrapping her arms tightly around her sister. It must have been before Joyce died, that kind of happiness just didn't exist afterwards. He laid the picture carefully back down, turning to face the questioning face. "I'm leaving."

"Leaving?"

"Buffy thinks it's best if I get out of town."

"Since when do you do whatever Buffy says?"

He glared down at her defiant face, her blue eyes glowing against her sickly skin. "I want to leave," he lied.

"With Blythe?" He didn't answer, plopping down in a chair across from her. "You do realize that she's technically the bad guy too, right?"

"You're not talking me out of this one, bit."

She huffed, looking away from him, "Where?"

"Someplace in Europe, I suppose."

She raised an eyebrow, turning an interested eye towards him. "Will you bring me something back?"

Guilt tore through his stomach, and he finally couldn't ignore what he had been all day; he might not be coming back. "I'll try."

She turned to wrap her arms around him, hiding the tears that were threatening to escape. His body tensed and he didn't return the hug at fist, unsure of how to react, but he couldn't resist and he found his arms drawn to her warmth. "Everything will be alright, nibblet."

He attempted to leave quickly, almost running to the door without a word to Buffy. "Wait!" she called, dropping the casual act to catch him before he made it out the door.

He stopped abrubtly, biting his lip and turning around, "Yes?"

"I don't know... I just... goodbye."

He smirked, "Don't tell me you'll actually miss me."

"Not even in hell," she smiled.

"I can always come back, you know. If you ever need-" He stopped himself, realizing he had placed a hand on her arm.

She looked down at it, not pulling away and ignoring the feeling screaming in her stomach. "No, this needs to happen."

He sighed, turning to leave when he realized that his own hand didn't follow. Buffy stood there, holding his hand to her arm. She pulled him closer to her, bringing her other hand up to his face. "Goodbye, Spike." It was just barely above a whisper, but it didn't matter because before she could finish that breath he brought his lips to hers. It was a soft, lingering kiss and for a moment, neither of them were sure that goodbyes were necessary anymore. When they pulled away, Spike could see the decision had been made and he stepped away from her. He lingered for a moment, praying she would say the words, but instead she pushed him away. He let go of her and walked slowly away, shaking her scent from his head.

Author's Note: I will now take the time to apologize for my awful combat writing. I've never done anything like it and it definitely took some getting used to. Thanks for reading! -xo