Epilogue

Spike couldn't say he was entirely unhappy; the first month was difficult to sit through without Buffy or the fight for good. He'd find himself wandering around the city at night, leaving Blythe in their bed to look for a good fight. But soon enough, the vision of Buffy faded and he began to enjoy himself as best he could. They chose Italy, staying in a town just outside of Rome. Their apartment was inhabited by young couple named Florence and Alec, and Blythe was so fond of them both, she kept them alive. Turns out, she learned a thing or two from those warlocks before they disowned her, and she was able to keep the couple nice and docile with a little bippity-boppity-boo. You're not to kill them, Spike. They're here to keep up alive and as far as they know, there's nothing out of the usual with us here. They want to feed us... to take care of us now. Do you understand? He didn't like the prospect of sharing at first; memories of the last foursome he was apart of plaguing his thoughts, but Blythe was very... attentive and he soon forgot those memories.

Alec worked with the men at the US embassy and Florence sold her paintings in a little square by the apartment, leaving Spike and Blythe alone most days. She spent those days convincing him that life would go on. On rainy days, when the clouds hung heavy in the sky, they would cover up and take walks around the city then wait until nightfall and make love on the shore. She allowed him to feed from her, and her blood set his mind on fire and made his heart beat. He was stronger and faster then he had ever been; he could feel her running throughout him and her power became his. In return, he volunteered his blood to her; turned out whatever made up a vampire's blood was healing to her. As time ate away at her mind, she needed it to keep sane. It wasn't enough to keep either of them alive by a long shot, so they fed from their roommates... among others. Not only did her blood gift him special abilities, but it did something to the chip in his head, and he could bite again.

It was hard at first; he imagined Buffy sitting on his shoulder, whispering obscenities in his ear. Stop it, she would whisper. You're hurting her... you're hurting me! He would get angry then, smash things and beg her to get out of his head. Blythe would sit idly by, allow him to scream until he was on his knees and he couldn't hear her anymore. She would offer her Florence's neck again, and the girl would smile and pull the long curls away from her own neck as though she were offering a gift. It got easier though, and soon Buffy was nothing but a tugging feeling at the back his brain; she was as quiet as the chip.

There was one particular night club they preferred to visit. Demons and humans alike gathered in the sewers to dance under the flashing lights. The humans were easy to find and to feed on, but Blythe warned to never kill them. "Have a taste and movie on," she ordered. "You'll get your fill and there won't be a mess to clean up." She was smart, and he realized how this life had never been unfamiliar to her. She'd lived that way since the beginning, and he realized that he was playing the part of Abel. That wasn't so bad, she'd become a Drusilla for him and he'd forgotten how good he was at taking care of the one who needed him. They were necessary to each other's existence, and now Spike finally got what he was looking for; attachment.

Blythe dragged her hand up his leg and waste, all the way up to his neck and gripped him to her tightly. Her back was to him and her hips wiggled and swayed with his, their bodies merging into one. He leaned into her neck, the scent of roses filling his nose and he burrowed deeper into it, putting his mouth over the holes that already waited on him. Her blood was as sweet as always and he could feel the lights around him growing warmer and brighter. He pulled away, running his hands over the scars he had once thought were tattoos on her bare back. She explained that they were given to her as a punishment; Pyramus carved them into her back with the tooth of a sluggoth demon. "He was quite the artist," she said. "He was always very posessi- er... protective of me; they all were. I went through a period where I blamed them for my estrangement from society and from the gods I worshipped. Pyramus said it was my destiny; that I was the angel that the gods never wanted, and they all just delivered me faster." Something about the teeth they used kept the wound fresh, never bleeding but never healing. It was beautiful.

She turned to face him, kissing his lips softly and grabbing the nearest girl by the wrist. She didn't hesitate as Blythe pulled her hands to her sides, offering the girls neck to him. "Go on," she breathed. "Have a taste."


Spike made it back to the apartment just as the sun peeked over the horizon; Blythe was having a bad night and demanded he go out without her. He spent most of his time at a small bar inhabited mostly by demons; he made a nice profit off a couple rounds of poker and drank himself into a dizzy state of mind. He didn't realize how drunk he was until he stumbled out of the bar, the dim light of day replacing the ink of night. It took a bit of tipsy running on his part, but he was able dive into the building just as the situation got critical. Granted, he'd have to make it through the small plaza that sat in the middle of the building, but to his relief it was still covered in shadows. He shut the front door quietly, slipping out of his duster and throwing it onto the chair by the door. Peaking into their room, he found nothing but an empty bed accompanied by a mixture of his and her things scattered across the floor. Blythe had always been very meticulous and kept their things organized; it must have been a really bad night.

His head turned in the direction of the kitchen; he could hear footsteps moving from left to right, followed by the sound of running water. He walked quickly through the hallway, having to stick to the wall to avoid the sun as he approached the kitchen. Instead of finding Blythe, he found Alec, cleaning blood from his neck. He could see that the bite was deep, deep enough to leave more than just two holes. Alec turned a lazy smile towards him, dabbing the rag gently over the wound. "Where is she?" Spike demanded.

He smiled, "Our girls are having a bath."

He walked across the house to the guest bedroom where Alec and Florence nicely offered to stay. The heavy silence was interrupted by a quiet humming; Blythe's voice rung out in a melancholy waves, bouncing off the tiles that lined the walls. He pulled the doors open slowly, fear that she may have hurt herself settling in his chest. The scent of blood wafted out of the room and he felt his mouth water. Red stains on the clean white tile stood out, but Spike's eyes fell immediately on Blythe. Her dark hair was mussed and several strands had freed themselves from the silky braid it had been the previous night, her lips were stained red, and her eyes turned dreamily to him. "Ma cheri," she said, turning back to the project in front of her. Florence's back was to her, her head hanging lazily in front of her and her arm draped over the edge of the bathtub; an open wound gleamed on her wrist, dripping blood on the floor below. Blythe ran her hands gently through the girls soft strawberry blonde hair, picking up her song again.

"Bly," he said quietly. "Are you okay?"

She leaned her ear against Florence's back, "The clock still ticks."

He listened for her heart and he could hear a faint beat beneath her skin; it wasn't likely that she would die, but she wouldn't be good for anything for weeks. He pulled her frail body from the water cradled it against his chest. "Alec," he called, carrying her to her room. He laid her down gently, pulling the towel from over the wardrobe door and throwing it over her body. "Take care of her," he ordered gruffly, leaving the ever-smiling couple behind.

Blythe remained where he left her, her song barely making it passed her lips. "You could have killed her," he said, pulling his damp shirt from his body.

"Her blood was screaming out my name; I could hear it everywhere I went."

He stepped out of his pants and into the tub, facing her. "I wouldn't have left you if I knew it was going to be this bad."

"I've had so much fun tonight," she beamed. "Florence and I danced and howled at the moon, and when we were done, I fed."

"Are you full?"

She leaned back as if to contemplate the question, drawing her legs up over her chest. A weak groan escaped from the back of her throat, "I drank so much, but I am so hungry still."

He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, her pulse racing so fast under her skin that she it felt as though she had a slight fever. He brought his face to hers and he could see her fight to focus on his eyes. "Beautiful," she murmured, placing a hand on his cheek. "beautiful, perfect pain screams in your eyes." She closed her own, whispering something he couldn't understand to herself.

He leaned forward again, grabbing her soft lips with his own, leaving them there for only a moment. Since he began to spend so much time with her, the fog that clouded his head wasn't as strong and he began to see through it. Sitting closer to her now, breathing in roses and tasting the blood on her lips, it thickened again. He thought to say something, but he couldn't remember what it was anymore. She wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him closer to her as he rubbed his hands over her body. His her lips brushed over hers to her cheeks and down to her neck and chest, and then retraced their path. She burrowed her face in his neck and her fangs slid gently out of her gums. "I'm so hungry," she moaned.

His body tensed as he braced the bite, relaxing only once his blood began to flow freely into her mouth. He ran his hands up to her chest, cupping her breasts gently. Her head ripped away from his neck and he could see the light returning to her eyes. She was never immediately herself once fed; she went through a stage similar to Spike's where her blood raced along with her mind. Her lips curled into the Cheshire's grin and she smashed her face against his, pulling her body on top of his and wrapping a hand around his shaft. He leaned back on the cold side of the tub, grabbing her by the ass and pulling her over him. She laughed, her head falling back and a chill running up her spine as she lowered herself on top of him. She placed both hands on his chest as she began to writhe on top of him, her back arching against the electricity that ran through her body. He leaned into her, putting his mouth over her neck and holding it there as if to ask for her permission. She pulled his head closer into her neck and he took advantage, sinking his fangs into the soft skin there. Her pace quickened as he pulled the blood from her veins and the buzz crept up into the back of his brain. His head fell away from her neck and he cried out of deliverance.

He could still feel her there, but the sounds around him fell away along with his sight and all he could see was Buffy. He blinked in an attempt to dismiss her from this moment that she didn't belong, but she stared down at him disapprovingly. What would she think of you now?


Spike turned over in bed, reaching out to the other side in a blind search for Blythe. When he found nothing, he cracked open an eye to peak around the room. The too-big-for-his-tastes clock that hung across the room signaled that the sun would be rising soon. Blythe sat with her knees to her chest on the window seat, her forehead pressed against the windowpane. He admired her for a moment; her dark hair running over the length of her back which rose up and down as though she were breathing. The ring that rarely left her hand sat in front of her, and she seemed unaffected by the ticking threat of the clock. "Come away from the window," he said sleepily. "The sun'll be up soon, love."

She turned to look at him, a smile on her face. "How long do you think I would last?"

He sat up against the headboard, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You think I'd last longer than my brother?"

"Do you mean to test it out?"

She laughed, standing up and moving a hand from the window. "I dream about him sometimes... it keeps me from sleeping."

"Shut those curtains and come to bed," he said. "Florence finally feels well enough to go back to work and we have the apartment to ourselves for the day."

She did as she was told and he admired the shirt that hung from her body as she pulled the curtains closed; it was his and he had to admit, the Sex Pistols never looked so appealing. She crawled across the large span of the bed and into his arms, wrapping an arm around his chest and taking a deep breath. "It seems you didn't sleep much better than I did last night."

"What do you mean?"

"You call to her in your sleep," she said flatly. "Toss and turn and beg her to stay."

He shifted uncomfortably, recalling his frequent dreams. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged under him, "Love never goes away."

"You think I-"

"I told you, no matter what tricks my mind can play on yours, I will never evoke the response that she does."

He struggled to think of a response but luckily, the phone rang. He hopped out of bed to grab it before Alec or Florence could, answering with a gruff "What?"

"Spike," his stomach dropped at the sound her voice and he hear a sigh come from Blythe. Looking back at her, she had turned her attention back to the window, drawing her hand in and out of the light. Buffy sat quietly on the other side of the line, only replying when he didn't. "You need to come back... it's Dawn."


Author's Note: I'd just like to say thanks for reading and reviewing one last time! This was my first Buffy story and it certainly won't be my last. I realize I have a lot of growing to do and I can't wait to do so. I do have a sequel planned and I'm ready to start writing! I hope you'll read that as well. Again, thank you for reading and I'll be seeing you soon. -xo