Who Do You Want Me To Be

by mak324

Buffy Summers will find out the hard way that looks can be deceiving, and that people you know are rarely what they seem as she's thrust into a fight for her life. Buffy is unwillingly thrust into a world she doesn't know, and doesn't understand. A world, some will claim, is her birth right.

25. Chapter 23

I watch as Spike's eyes blaze; he takes an impulsive step toward me.

"No," he growls, voice dangerous. "Bloody…" he trails off, staring at me. He shakes his head as though trying to clear it of some awful image. "Buggeringfuck, no."

It's the answer I'd expected. Even with his promise from earlier, that he'd do anything I ask him to. I'd known the second he realized what I was going to say, what the second part of the plan was, that he wouldn't be on board.

Not right away.

I sigh, a long exhale through my nose, and turn fully around to face him. His hands are curled into fists at his sides, shaking with barely controlled rage. Not at me. Never at me.

At himself, maybe. At the situation we've found ourselves in.

When I speak again I try to keep my voice as level as possible.

"You have to."

His eyes narrow.

"Like hell I do," he snarls, whirling away from me. I watch as he starts to pace, back and forth, like a tiger in a cage.

I reach my hand up, squeezing my head at each temple between my thumb and middle finger.

"That thing says no mortal hand, right?" I ask, already knowing the answer, trying a new tactic to explain the logic to my vampire.

Spike stops pacing, pausing mid stride to face me again. He's frowning deeply, brow furrowed.

"What are you—"?

"I'd do it myself if I thought I could," I say quickly, interrupting his question. I drop my hand away and take a step closer to him. "But as far as I know, I'm still mostly human." At his blank look, I continue on. "Mortal." When there's still no recognition, I sigh again, holding my hands out to him palms up. "Hands of the mortal variety."

His eyes widen in understanding, and he takes a step backwards, closer to the bed.

He shakes his head and says quietly, "Christ, Buffy."

I nod, crossing to the other side of him where we've left the papers rolled up on the mattress. I pick it up; hold it in both my hands.

Funny how a couple feather light pieces of paper can feel like the weight of the world.

Or the end of it.

I turn back to Spike, searching his face, trying my hardest to show him why this, why what I'm telling him, is so important. I take a deep breath; drop my eyes down to the paper in my hands.

"Spike—"

"No," he says again, more forcefully this time.

I drag my gaze back to his. He isn't looking at me now.

His hands are still shaking, body almost vibrating with tension. I can see the muscle in his jaw ticking, the way it does when he's fighting for control.

I chance a step closer to him.

"It might be the only way to stop them," I murmur, gesturing with the papers. I'm trying to keep my voice calm, as soothing as possible. "To stop this."

"I won't do it."

"You may not nee to," I say, reaching out, wrapping my hand around his arm. "But we have to be ready to do-"

Spike lets out a wild roar, rips his arm out of my grasp. I watch as he spins around, hooks both hands underneath the big coffee table and lifts it up, sends it hurling with a loud crash into the cement wall, shattering it into pieces.

He whips back toward me. I gasp, stepping back.

"Not layin' a finger on you," he growls, eyes raging. "And that'sfinal."

My eyes fill with tears. Hot, stinging tears, and I can't blink them away before they start to escape down my cheeks. They aren't normal tears, not tears of sadness. They're tears of rage.

He doesn't understand. He doesn't see why this is killing me, why I'm so desperate to find a way to keep it from happening.

Why I'd rather be dead than cause anyone else any more destruction, any more pain.

"Why?" I demand, stepping toward him, my own hands curling into fists at my sides.

Spike turns on me, lunging forward and grabbing me around my arms with enough force to make me wince.

"Because I'm inlovewith you!" He shouts, shaking me.

I gasp, a sharp inhale. Everything goes completely still.

My eyes go wide. Spike looks about as shocked as I am.

Love. In love with me.

Is that what he'd said?

We stare at each other for a long moment. Neither of us moves, neither of us speaks. I feel like I'm barely breathing.

In love with me.I know it's what he'd said, what I'd heard. It's the echo of the thought I'd let myself have earlier, in his arms, curled up on the cement floor. Earlier. Before Holland. Before Dad.

Before the prophecy.

God, it feels like a million years ago now.

"I-in love…" I trail off, shaking my head, unable to finish the question. The statement. Whatever it was going to be.

I close my eyes, try to think. It's hard with him this close to me, the connection between us humming in his touch. I can't wrap my head around it. Love. No one's ever said the words to me before. No one I've dated, I'd never had a boyfriend long term enough, serious enough, to even think about saying the words. And Spike...he's soulless. A demon. He can't understand feelings, not the way that I do. You can't love without a soul.

So he doesn't...hecan't…

I force myself to meet his eyes, and everything I think, everything I understand about what and how he feels flies out the window.

Can he?

Spike keeps his eyes locked on mine, chest heaving as his fingers wrap more firmly around my arms. "I love you," he murmurs quietly, almost like he's testing it out.

Hearing it again, out loud. It's enough to make my head spin.

But hearing himself say it, it only seems to make it more true.

Spike grips me tighter, pulls me closer to him. Closer still, until our foreheads are almost touching. His stormy eyes search mine.

"Iloveyou."

He says it so softly, so quietly and with so much earnestness that I swear my heart breaks a little in my chest. And I believe him. Whether it's true or not, whether it's just an echo of the real emotion that he's feeling and not true, genuine love doesn't matter. He believes it.

And I believe him.

My first instinct is to say it back. The second is to push him away from me.

I don't do either.

Instead, softly, echoing his tone, I repeat the words. "You love me."

Spike takes a deep, unneeded breath in, exhales slowly.

"Don't know when," he murmurs, almost to himself, ghosting his hands up from my arms to cup my face. He shakes his head. "Don't even rightly knowhow. But I love-"

My chest tightens, and I close my eyes. Inhaling sharply, I breathe, "Spike."

"You don't need to say it back, sweet," He whispers, threading his fingers back into my hair.

But he's misunderstood my reaction. It isn't that I don't want to say it back. It isn't that I'm not ready, or even that I can't admit it.

I can, I realize, standing here with him. Feeling him in front of me, his cool hands on my flushed skin. I can admit.

That I love him.

That isn't the problem.

I can't let myself say it now. Not now, not when everything might be falling apart. Not when I've just asked him to kill me if the prophecy turns out to be true.

How cruel, how unfair, would that be?

I won't do it.

I open my eyes again, blinking, and bring my hands up to cover Spike's.

"If you mean that," I say, refusing to repeat the words a second time, "then you'll do what I've asked."

Spike pulls his hands out of mine, leans back away from me. It's clear, so car, from the look in his eyes now that it isn't what he'd expected me to say. To demand.

He blinks at me, shaking his head. He turns away from me and takes a few steps toward the door, turns around and walks back. I watch as he repeats the movement several more times, biting down on my bottom lip. His hands come up, shaking slightly, and he runs them through his hair. Mussing it, freeing whatever curls were still gelled down.

He turns to face me, shaking his head. "I can't."

"I'm only asking you to do it if it's true," I mumble, feeling my eyes start to sting again. "Only if."

If. I'm clinging to the word like it's a lifeline.

Because it is. Right now, it's the only one I have.

"Right," he snarls at me, "because that makes it so much bloody better."

Anger flares, hot and heavy, in my chest.

My eyes flash.

"You say you won't do it. That you can't do it. You. Well, what about me, Spike? I can't be the reason. I can't...bring the apocalypse. End the world." I look down, my stomach churning as I say it out loud. "Be the reason all those people…"

Spike is there in an instant, gathering me into his arms again. He presses soft, urgent kisses into my hairline, across my forehead, all the while shushing me, murmuring soothing little sounds.

"Can't help it," he murmurs, the words muffled, spoken into the crown of my head. I'm not even sure he means for me to hear them. "Right selfish bastard."

After a minute, Spike pulls away from me, his eyes focused on the ground at my feet. He still has both arms wound around me, rubbing little circles into my back.

It's silent between us for a moment, the weight of everything, everything we've discovered, everything we have and haven't admitted, everything we might still have to face, hangs between us.

When he finally drags his gaze up to mine, I feel the air catch in my lungs.

Spike's eyes are shining, wet, and the most incredible midnight blue.

I've never seen them this color before.

"Is this what it feels like?" He asks me, voice coming out thick. At the look of confusion on my face, he continues on. "To be sorry and mean it?"

It's the closest thing to an answer I'm going to get from him on this, and I know it.

I reach up and cup his face in my hands, leaning my forehead down so it's pressing lightly against his.

I want to tell him thank you, but I don't know how that will go over right now. Maybe not acknowledging what's just occurred between us is the safest route for now. Until we can get out, until we can get the prophecy in the hands of someone who can really read it…

Richard. Mom's Watcher.

I'd almost forgotten about him. In all the confusion, the chaos here with Spike, I'd forgotten the reason for the Big If in the first place.

The thought makes a small kernel of hope bubble up in my chest, loosening the knot in my stomach the tiniest bit.

"It might not mean that, anyway," I remind Spike of the iffines I've just remembered, hoping to lighten the mood. "You said yourself, your Latin is all with the rusty."

He nods against me, squeezing me more tightly. "That it is." Then he chuckles, sending a little vibration into my lips, a small tingle down my spine. "Rubbish, really."

The sound, the gentle purr, makes my muscles relax a little. The tension in his body releasing causes the same in mine.

I wonder if that's part of it, the connection, between us.

Or maybe it's something else.

"I love you."

"We'll just take all his one thing at a time," I murmur against him, "starting with finding Dad, finding a way out of here."

As if on cue, we hear the grounding of the metal door unlocking, clicking open. We turn toward it as it slides open. The three guards from before are back, no sign this time of Lindsey or of Holland.

I'm not surprised.

"Miss Summers," the tall black man in the middle addresses me; the one who'd carried the stake earlier. "Your father is awake. I can take you to him now."

I drop my hands from Spike's face, stepping back a little ways from him.

"Where is he?" I ask, knowing even as the words leave my lips that I probably won't get a straight answer.

The guard squares his shoulders, folding his arms over his chest. He inclines his head toward the hallway. "If you'll just follow me."

Of course.

"What about Spike?" I ask, remembering what had happened, been about to happen, when I came back here the last time I willingly followed someone out.

"The vampire stays here," he says coolly, casting a wary glance at the vampire in question beside me. "House rules."

I raise my eyebrows at him, instinctively taking a step forward.

Spike reaches for me, laying a hand on my forearm and squeezing, directing me to look back at him.

"I'll be fine, luv," he murmurs, the words low enough to be for my ears only, "you go. Find a way to get us the bloody hell out of here."

I nod, giving my vampire a meaningful look, then turn back to face the imposing figure in the doorway.

"Okay then," I say, walking toward him. "Lead the way."

The guard, whose name I find out through a lot of inane questioning is Gunn, is actually friendly enough. He chats idly with me about the weather as he leads me back up to the main level, the same way we'd come earlier, but instead of heading for the elevator he leads me straight into a little corner conference room.

The first thing I see is my dad, fully awake, standing on the opposite side of the big corner room. He's leaning slightly onto the table's edge for support, but his eyes unmistakably light up when he sees me.

The same rush of hope I'd felt before, in the basement, floods my chest.

"I'll give you two some privacy," Gunn says, promptly closing the door behind him. I'm too happy to see Dad, awake and alert, to notice or care why he'd willingly leave us alone.

"Dad," I say, running to him, wrapping my arms as gently as I can around him.

I still don't know how much damage they've done. That, coupled with my rapidly growing strength, has me a little nervous.

But he hugs me back, surprisingly tightly, and we stand there just like that for a long while. I'm so grateful to see him, so grateful he seems to be okay, that for a minute it's easy to forget all the prophecy girl, impending doom, apocalypse now crap we've been dealing with since we got here.

When we finally pull apart, he keeps one hand on my arm, running the other over my hair. It's a familiar gesture, the same he always used to do when I was little.

"God, Buffy," he murmurs, eyes shining, "I was so worried." He stares at my face a minute longer, then his expression darkens. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm fine."

It's still not true, still has the same hollow ring to it as before, but if Dad sees through it he doesn't mention anything.

I search his face, looking around for the bruising I'd seen earlier. It still there, still looks pretty nasty, but he looks a million and one times better just being conscious than he had before.

"What did they do to you?" I ask, tenderly touching my fingertips to the bruise beneath his eye. When his eyes fill with tears, I pull my hand back, panicking that I've hurt him.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, running his hand over my hair again. "This is all my fault. If I'd just told you, if you'd known what to watch out for."

Oh.

I shake my head, offering him a small smile. "Dad, it's okay."

"No, it isn't. They have you because of me. Because I-"

I really wish everyone would stop blaming themselves for this situation and just focus on getting us out of out.

"We can be all with the hashing out later," I tell him, dropping my voice down low. I cast a glance over my shoulder, back to the door. It's quiet on the other side. I turn back to Dad. "I don't know how much time we have and right now, we need to focus on finding a way out of here."

His brow furrows. "A way out?"

He says it too loudly. I immediately shush him, and then feel silly for doing it. His eyes go wide and he puts his hands out as if to tell me he understands. I move closer to him, pushing both our bodies further into the room, away from the door.

"Where are they keeping you?" I ask, voice quiet. "Do you know?"

Dad nods. "Somewhere on this floor, I'm sure," he murmurs, making his tone match mine. "We didn't go down any stairs, and we didn't take any elevators."

On this floor. That's good. Something to go on. I rack my brain, thinking of how many doors I'd seen going down this hallway. Six, maybe seven, not including the conference room we're standing in now.

"Okay," I murmur, thinking out loud, "Okay. Is this the ground floor?"

"No," Dad shakes his head slowly, like he's thinking out loud, too. Remembering something from a long time ago. He drops his eyes down. "Ground floor is one below." Then up to mine again. "Lobby level."

The way he says it, it reminds me. What Holland told me. Dad used to work for Wolfram and Hart. Here, in New York, for their Special Projects division.

This building.

I do the math. If this is the first floor, Spike and I are three floors down, so that makes us two floors below ground.

"Does there happen to be a door on the lobby level?" I ask him, wrinkling my nose up. "Maybe one that's blissfully unlocked and unguarded?"

Dad looks at me, his expression somber. "You'll never make it out the front."

Of course not.

The answer isn't a surprise, but it's discouraging anyway.

"Kinda figured as much," I mumble, groaning. "Worth a shot."

I take a deep breath, biting down on my lower lip, casting a glance around the room. More for something to do than really looking.

Then it occurs to me.

I turn back to Dad, whispering tensely, "Is there another way out?"

A place like Wolfram and Hart, there has to be more than one way in or out. Right?

But Dad's eyes have gone wide, fearful. Bruised, swollen features suddenly full of anxiety.

"Buffy, please, it's too danger-"

"We're getting out of here," I cut him off, tone hard, expression serious.

Dad just shakes his head.

"You don't know," he whispers, putting his hands on my shoulders, "These People. Wolfram and Hart, what they're capable of." He squeezes me, and the fear and anxiety I see in his face is enough to make my blood freeze. "You can't know what you're up against."

His words are meant to scare me. To make me feel the gravity of the situation we're in, how dangerous these people really are.

And they do.

But not as much as the thought of letting Wolfram and Hart use the people I love to manipulate me. Letting them use me. As their tool. Their weapon. Some instrument to bring around the end of days, some... "unstoppable" force for God knows what kind of evil.

Nothing scares me more than that.

I steel my gaze as I look back at my Dad now, setting my jaw. More determined now, now that I've seen the fear in my own father's eyes, than I had been before.

I want to get myself away from here, yeah. But I want to get him somewhere safe even more.

"We are getting out of here," I repeat the words again, still quietly but more forcefully than before. I squeeze his hands on my shoulders and bring them down between us. "Now tell me," I whisper, "Is there another way out?"

Dad opens his mouth again like he's about to argue with me, but stops when he sees the expression on my face. He closes his mouth, leaning slightly away from me. The corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly.

It's a little jarring, his expression. The genuine smile, the twinkling in his eyes despite the bruising that surrounds them.

My brow furrows.

"What is it?" I ask him.

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head. Then he pauses thoughtfully, smiles again. "You just reminded me so much of your mom just then."

The smile that splits my face is wide, and genuine. It's the first direct comparison my dad has ever made between my mom and me. Before now, the only other thing I'd heard about her, about me being like her, was from Spike. About our fighting style.

It feels good. To know that there's at least a piece of her in me.

"Is there another way out?" I ask again, the ghost of a smile still on my lips.

Dad nods, his demeanor almost entirely different now.

"Two emergency exits," he tells me, casting a glance over my shoulder, back toward the closed door. "One on the third floor, one in the lobby. Secret doors hidden in the supply closets that lead out to the sewers, in case of full building shut down." Then he pauses, frowning. "That is, unless they've moved them…" he trails off, looking at me with wide eyes. "It's been a long time."

He's right. Anything he knew about this building, it's been eighteen years since he's worked here. The layout, the offices, everything. Everything could be different now.

Still. It's the best lead we have.

The only lead.

"We'll just have to risk it."I squeeze his hands once more before letting them go.

Dad frowns; looking around me again, to where I assume Gunn is still standing behind the door. "What about the guards?" He asks dubiously.

I feel my fingers itch, the familiar stirring in my veins I'm beginning to feel so connected with. My hands curl into fists.

"Don't worry about the guards," I murmur, looking off past Dad's shoulder. "Spike and I can-"

"Spike?"

My eyes whip back to his. They're wide, incredulous.

I realize there's a lot...a whole heck of a lot...I'm going to have to explain.

"Err," I mutter, racking my brain for the simplest explanation, "umm, William?"

So maybe that wasn't the simplest explanation.

"William?" Dad repeats, then his eyes widen with understanding. "The man you've been-"

"Dad." I cut him off in a rush, smiling weakly. "Time? Not a lot of it. And Spike's a long story." I swear I feel the pulse point on my wrist throb in time with the mark on my neck as I think about him, my blood burning hotter. I close my eyes. "A very long story. One I'd rather fill you in on once we're, ya know," I open them again, "no longer inside the evil law firm."

"Even if we do get out of here Buffy," Dad puts his hands up, palms out in surrender at the look on my face, "I'm only saying...where do you plan on going?"

"Somewhere safe," I tell him simply. It's all I'm thinking about right now. "We need to get you somewhere safe. We—"

I'm cut off by a knock on the door, and panic suddenly grips my chest. The rest of the words tumble passed my lips in a rush. "We have a copy of the prophecy, the one Holland told you about, back when I was little?" I turn back to look at the door, then back to Dad quickly. His eyes are very wide. "Spike thinks he knows someone who can help us read it. We just have to—"

I'm cut off again, this time by the sound of the door creaking open behind me.

I turn around at the noise.

"Miss Summers," its Gunn, poking his head into the room. "I need to take you back downstairs now."

I nod at him, turn back around to face Dad. His eyes are searching mine, wide, frantic. There's something in them, something he's trying to tell me, but there's no chance now.

I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze, as tightly as I dare to, and whisper into his ear, "Be ready."

Then, giving him one last meaningful look, I turn and follow Gunn out of the room.

"Nice visit?" Gunn asks me as we walk back down the stairs.

I shift my eyes warily over to him. "The nicest."

He hasn't given me any great reason to distrust him. Not yet, anyway. I mean besides working for Wolfram and Hart. Still, I catch myself on guard around him.

"You hungry?" He asks me suddenly, pretty much out of the blue.

I look over at him, frowning.

I haven't really thought about it. Not since my little chat with Holland. I am and I'm not. Still, probably best to try and eat something now.

I'll need it.

"I guess," I murmur, hands going instinctively to my stomach.

Truthfully, food's been sort of the last thing on my mind. What with the impending doomsday and me being the cause of it.

"They brought food down a bit ago," Gunn tells me as we round the second stair landing, heading toward the big double doors. "It'll be waiting for you."

It's good to know, but I'm not worried about me.

"What about blood?" I ask.

Gunn shifts his eyes to me, raises an eyebrow as we step through the double doors, out into the too-bright hallway. "What about it?"

"For Spike," I explain, stepping in line behind him. "Has he been given any blood?"

He tosses a wary glance over his shoulder at me, gives me a half nod before turning to face forward again.

"Someone was supposed to feed the vampire."

I frown.

The way he says it is wiggy. I sort of get the feeling they might be talking straight from the tap.

Still, I can't bring myself to be too bothered by it. Even if…

No. I can't think about that right now. There's too much else, too many other things going on, fighting for space in my already short circuiting brain.

Spike needs his strength.

I cast another glance toward Gunn, his imposing frame, muscular arms. I think about all the other guards here, the ones that have to be scattered all throughout the building, and grimace.

We both do.

I'm more than a little relieved when Gunn punches the code into the keypad and the metal door slides open to reveal Spike standing in the room, alone this time. No stakes, no syringes. He isn't vamped out, either. Whatever, whoever, they brought down to feed him...it must have been a while ago.

I notice the plate of food, sitting on top of the bedspread on the foot of the bed, the second I step through the door. I can't tell exactly what is from here, but it smells incredible. I realize the last thing I had to eat was a handful of grapes and half a strawberry back in the hotel room in Cleveland.

My stomach rumbles loudly.

Gunn leaves without saying another word, the heavy door clicking back into place the only notice I have that he's left at all.

Things feel awkward at first. I don't know why exactly. I guess it could be a couple things. Him with the I love yous, me with the not saying it back.

Or, you know, the whole I need you to kill me to save the world scenario. It could be that, too.

"Eat something, sweet," Spike says after a moment, dropping down onto the bed beside the plate.

He doesn't have to tell me twice.

I cross the room quickly, diving into the food with abandon. By the time I stop to register what it is I'm eating, I've already all but finished everything on the plate. When I look up at Spike, he's smirking down at me. I swallow the big bite of food that I still have in my mouth.

"Impressive, that," he teases, nodding at the almost empty plate. He looks down at my stomach; dark lashes sweeping slowly back up to my face. "Have to wonder where you put it."

I glance down at the plate again. It's the most I'm sure he's ever seen me eat.

I blush, my cheeks turning what I'm sure is a brilliant shade of red. I can feel the heat rolling off me.

Spike's features soften immediately, the smirk curving into more a genuine smile.

"God, I love it when you do that," he murmurs, his hand automatically reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair out of my face, his thumb trailing over the blushing edge of my cheekbone.

I blink at him.

It's the way he says it. Love. Different now, even if he isn't saying exactly what I think he means to. His words from earlier echo in my mind.

"Because I'm in love with you."

Everything feels different now. Whether it's a good or bad, I don't know.

I don't have the luxury of thinking too deeply about it right now.

I clear my throat, drop my eyes down and push the plate away from me.

"Okay, so we know I've eaten," I say softly, looking back up at him. "How about you?"

The question holds tension in it that I don't mean for it to.

I guess there isn't any way around that.

Beside me, Spike tenses a little. But then he nods, and I watch the smile slip from his face. "I ate."

Good. It's the only thing I let myself think.

"Are you ready to do this?" I ask.

His eyes widen slightly, leaning a little closer to me. "Did you find a way out?"

"Not exactly."

Spike's brow furrows, eyes darkening with confusion.

"Not...exactly," he repeats. "Wanna fill a bloke in?"

"Dad. Used to work here," I say, then turn a curious gaze up into his face. "Did you know that?" Spike answers me with a sardonic eyebrow raise.

I sigh.

"Of course you did." I roll my eyes up to the ceiling. "Anyway, he said there used to be these emergency exit thingies-"

"Used to be?" Spike cuts me off, incredulous. He blinks at me. "As in, not any more?"

I bite down on my bottom lip, shrugging sheepishly. "That's the 'not exactly' part."

My vampire nods slowly, then purses his lips. "I see."

He's got that "this is a bloody stupid idea" look on his face again. The same he'd given me earlier, when I'd first told him about the plan.

"Well, there's two of them," I continue on quickly, not ready for him to start poking holes just yet. "One's supposedly in a supply closet in the lobby, and it leads down into the sewers." I push myself to a standing position, pacing off in the direction of the door, then turn back around to face him. I fold my arms over my chest. "If it's still there, I figure it's our best bet."

Spike looks at me for a minute, studying my face. Then he copies me, pushes himself up off the mattress and begins walking toward me.

"So...we nab your pap, from whatever room they've hidden him away in. Make it out into the lobby and what," he folds his arms over his chest, mimicking me, "cross our fingers that this sewer exit's still there before we get caught and bloody cut to ribbons by the guards?"

Well, when you say it like that.

I square my shoulders, tightening my arms across my chest.

"Pretty much," I say, nodding. There's a short pause. Then, "Minus the whole...cut to ribbons thing. Thinking they kind of need me alive."

Spike barks a short laugh, raising both eyebrows at me. "Need you alive, yeah."

His words chasten me immediately, but I don't back down. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we get to mom's Watcher. Get him the prophecy.

And we get answers.

Once and for all.

"Are you in?" I ask, tilting my chin up.

Spike looks at me a little like I've sprouted two heads. "You jokin'?" He asks, and I watch as the ghost of his wicked signature smirk curves his lips. "Course I'm in."

I smile at my vampire, a little of my own smirk ghosting back at him.

"Good," I tell him, dropping my hands away from my chest. "Because the next time that door opens," I cast a glance over my shoulder, toward the metal slab blocking the doorway, "we're leaving."