Save the Last Dance for Me

By: Passion4Spike

Chapter 50: Metaphors


Chapter Summary:

Buffy ventures into Spike's soul/mind/psyche trying to find out what's controlling him and if she can do anything about the pain from his new soul.

Note: I don't think they used salt much, if at all, in the magic on Buffy, but almost every other story with magic uses salt for various things, therefore, we are using salt.


Spike and Buffy sat facing each other, cross-legged on the floor of the basement. They were inside a chalk pentagram drawn on the floor, red candles burning at each of the five points, with the whole thing surrounded by a circle of salt.

"This better work," Spike remarked, looking around. "Lots o' margaritas apparently gave their lives fer this."

Willow chuckled lightly. "It was in a good cause," she assured him. "We don't want anything else, like more evil spirits, slipping in with Buffy. I think there's enough evil dead skulking around inside you as it is."

"Not sure if I should be flattered or insulted by that," Spike replied sourly, letting her cut a long line across his right palm with a sharp knife.

Willow gave him a nervous laugh. "I just meant—"

"I know what you meant, Red," Spike assured her as she joined his bleeding right hand with Buffy's, which had a similar slash across the palm. The witch wrapped their clasped hands with a red ribbon, symbolically joining them, as their blood comingled and dripped slowly into an antique silver bowl with delicate filigree around the edges that sat on the floor between them.

"Okay, are you guys ready to hook up?" the witch asked the two warriors, looking down at them.

Both blondes looked up at her, brows raised.

"I mean, in the metaphysical sense not in the, you know, hooking up sense. I promise there will be no hooking up in the spell, just … joining and connecting and coupling and … ummm … this isn't getting any better," Willow stammered.

Buffy rolled her eyes and looked back at Spike. "You might want to stop talking and just do it, Will."

"Oh, right! Good idea," the witch agreed.

Willow looked over to Tara, who was standing outside the salt circle. Tara gave her girlfriend a supportive smile and nodded reassuringly. They'd talked it over and decided that Tara just didn't have enough power to do this, it would have to be Willow. Willow hadn't actually done any magic of her own for some time. She'd quit cold turkey after realizing she was addicted to it when she'd hurt Dawn while high on magic. But there was no real choice now. She had to step up.

"Just look into each other's eyes," Willow instructed, before she took a deep breath and cleared her mind. She reached down and held Spike and Buffy's linked hands between hers and began the spell.

"Goddess Hathor, we call on you in the name of healing and tranquility. Join these two warriors in spirit, soul, and blood. As their blood flows and joins, allow their souls to join. Allow peace to be restored and darkness defeated. Open all doors, remove all barriers, clear all paths. Aparecium! Lungis! Coeo! Coalesco!"

As Willow spoke, the flames of the candles on the points of the pentagram flared three feet in the air and a magical wind whipped around her and the two blondes, building with each word into a whirling tornado within the magical confines of the spell.

Buffy felt Spike's grip on her hand tighten, becoming almost painful as Willow cast the spell, but she didn't look away from his eyes. They seemed suddenly more vivid, filling her vision, allowing her to see every nuance of color and pattern in them. As she watched, every brilliant and subtle shade of blue, every glint of grey, every tinge of green and fleck of gold within them seemed to come alive, bright and shimmering, calling to her. She felt the wind whipping around her, swirling her hair around her face, but all she could see were his eyes.

Those eyes that she had fallen into more than once during moments of rapture. Those eyes that drowned her in adoration. Those eyes that showered her with love. Those eyes that touched her soul and allowed her to see into his.

And then she was engulfed in them. Bright bursts of exquisite shades of blue glittered in her vision as she swirled and fell through a warm pool of light. She floated in the love that they shared, felt it surrounding her, caressing her, consuming her. She let go then, giving in to it, giving over to the embrace of endless devotion, of infinite passion, of immeasurable love.

And then she fell through it and the feeling of peace and love was gone. Just like when she'd been yanked out of heaven, she instinctively reached back for it, trying to recapture that moment, that feeling, but it was beyond her reach. She fell through complete and utter darkness, and then landed in a blinding light, hitting hard in the depths of Spike's soul.

Buffy moaned and curled into a ball as all the breath was driven painfully from her lungs when she hit. She clamped her eyes closed against the blinding light that shone down on her as she tried to take in enough oxygen to re-inflate her tortured lungs and get the pain to subside.

Finally, she managed to roll up into a sitting position and squint her eyes open, shading them with her hand as she looked around. She had landed atop a hill of bleached, white bones. Below her, parched, scorched plains, scattered with even more bones, stretched out in all directions like a never-ending desert. The only living things in sight were large saguaro cacti, like those in the Arizona desert, which dotted the landscape like giant, thorny demons, waiting to snag her.

"Oh, come on," she whined, still squinting against the blinding light from above. "I know he killed a lot of people as a vampire, but this seems like a bit of an exaggeration," she contended as she got to her feet, trying to balance on the shifting mountain of bones beneath her.

She sighed, turning in a slow circle atop her mountain vista, trying to figure out which way to go. It all looked the same for as far as the eye could see – desolation, destruction, bleached bones and parched sand. The horizon, where the sky met the ground, was black as night, as was the sky above, except for the blinding sun that blazed down. She'd never seen this landscape before; she'd always been inside some type of canyon before – that was where she'd always seen William or the little lark.

Unable to find any landmarks, she had decided to just start walking, heedless of the direction, when she heard something behind her, like the beating of wings. She turned to find the little sparrow – or lark – fluttering around in the air, flying away a short distance and back again, urging her to follow.

She gave it a small smile of acknowledgement and nodded. "I know, Timmy's down the well. I'm coming."

** X-X-X-X-X **

After mostly tumbling down off the mountain of bones, Buffy had followed her fluttering guide over more smaller hills made of the same, through parched valleys, and across dried and cracked riverbeds. Now and then they would have to cross deep gorges in the earth, partially filled with something that looked like a river of black, solid rock. It looked as if the rock had been liquid at one time, like lava, then simply hardened in place.

The sun above them never changed, it never moved, it never diminished, no clouds blotted it out for even a moment. It just beat down on them, relentless and blinding. She'd have to stop at times simply to close her eyes and try to get the stabbing headache that had developed behind them to lessen just a bit. But the little bird wouldn't allow her to rest for long, urging her ever forward. She felt like she must've walked for hours, covered many miles of this bone wasteland, before the landscape changed. Unfortunately, the change was not for the better.

Buffy stood on the edge of a swamp with the little bird perched on her shoulder and sighed heavily.

"Seriously?" she muttered, looking at the oozing blood that bubbled up from the ground. "We can't go around this?" she asked her guide, but he just fluffed his feathers and settled back on her shoulder.

"Spike is so gonna owe me for this," she muttered, taking a tentative step into the gore.

It was only when her foot sank down several inches into the muck that she realized that the blood wasn't oozing up from the ground so much as through entrails and viscera. An eyeball popped up to the top next to her leg, its brown iris staring at her accusingly, and some grey matter squished up from the bloody muck a few inches away.

"Oh, you cannot be serious," she groaned, trying to pull her foot back out of the sucking gore with limited success.

She finally wrenched her foot out of it, managing, somehow, to keep her boot on her foot, and backed up away from it.

"I can't do that," she told the little bird. "I just can't."

The little bird tweeted excitedly and flew in a circle around her head, then out over the viscera marsh, and back again.

"I can't go that way!" she told it again, and again it flew around her head, then away, fluttering over the gore a moment before coming back. "There has to be a different way!"

Buffy sighed and felt tears sting her eyes. "I can't…" she moaned despondently, feeling utterly helpless. It was just too much. Walking through a swamp of blood and guts and brains and floating eyeballs and who knew what else ... she just couldn't do it!

The little bird landed on her shoulder and grabbed onto her shirt with its little feet. Holding onto her tightly, it fluttered its wings and lifted her off the ground a few inches before dropping her.

It twittered at her madly, again circling around her and flying away before coming back.

Buffy furrowed her brow, trying to figure out how that little bird had lifted her and what it was trying to tell her. The bird landed on her again, lifting her up with its small wings pounding, before dropping her back to the ground once more.

"Okay, you shouldn't be able to do that," Buffy began, thinking out loud. "Which means … something. What does it mean? It means we aren't in Kansas anymore," she muttered, looking around as she thought. "It means the same rules don't apply."

"Everything's a metaphor. There are too many bones, too much blood, too much sun. So … what am I a metaphor of?"

The little bird tweeted wildly again, then flew straight up toward the burning sun before tucking its wings and falling back to the ground, landing on its back with a small thump and a puff of dust in front of Buffy. The sparrow staggered back to its feet, as if drunk, then spread its wings again, fluttering back up into the air in front of her face.

"A dead bird?" Buffy guessed, making the sparrow roll its eyes – honest to God!

Buffy sighed.

"Blue ice? Wile E. Coyote? Lois Lane if Superman didn't catch her? A falling star?" she continued to guess.

At her last guess, the little sparrow landed on a pile of bones nearby and began dancing around wildly, raising its wings up and turning in circles in front of her, making her pause a moment and think.

"A falling star?" she said again, making the bird stop and begin turning the other way, less excitedly. "Not a falling star … a falling … falling … angel?" she tried, and the sparrow flew up and circled her, tweeting madly.

"A fallen angel. Which means, I have … wings?" she continued, looking back over her shoulder.

In that instant, a pair of large, glimmering, white wings sprouted into life behind her, unfurling and stretching out several feet in both directions.

"Holy shit," she muttered, then turned to the sparrow and demanded, "Why didn't you tell me that before I walked a hundred miles in that desert!?"

The sparrow rolled its eyes again, basically saying, 'You didn't ask, stupid!' and took off over the blood swamp.

"Wait a minute! How do I get these to woooorrrrkkkk?" she asked, the last word coming out as a surprised exclamation as her wings flapped and lifted her off the ground.

"Oh shiiittt …" she cried as she began flying shakily over the gore swamp, her arms and legs flailing, following the little bird. She careened this way and that, losing altitude then gaining, falling at times before catching herself with her new appendages. It took a few minutes of trial and error, of almost crashing into the ooze twice, before she got the hang of it, though she wasn't sure what to do with her arms. She finally held them out in front of her like Superman and tried to use them to steer. It seemed to work.

From her new vantage point high above it all, she could see the entire landscape. It was like an archery target with an outer border that was as dark as onyx, then came a ring made of the white bone desert, an inner ring of the red blood swamp, and a slate-blue bullseye in the center rising above it all. Running out from the center, crossing all of the rings, were those deep gouges with the black stone rivers. There were many of them, radiating out in all directions.

As she flew high above it all, Spike's words came back to her, "Felt like an emptiness taking over, it did. An evil that spreads out like jagged furrows o' black lava from yer soul. Eats away at ya, it does."

The jagged furrows of black lava … that's what those were. There were so many of them … and they were so deep. To cross them she'd had to slide down one side on her butt, then climb with all her strength to get back up the other side, often sliding back down more than once before she made it to the top. His soul must've been in so much pain as those were carved out, burning with bloodlust, filled with the agonizing darkness of the demon.

And now it had all been solidified, flash-frozen, under the brilliant glow of his renewed soul. She wondered how painful that had been, to suddenly have all that black, liquid fire doused with light and turned to stone in an instant. She thought it would be something like crashing a car into a solid wall of rock at high speed: shattering.

How did Spike endure it? How did Spike endure any of this? It's a wonder he had any of his marbles left rolling around in his brain at all.

Buffy sighed and turned her attention to the center of the bullseye. It looked like a volcano that had exploded and left only the shell of the rocky, shale mountain behind. The center of the mountain was hollow, empty, the top open to the sky. That was where she'd been before, in what she thought had been a canyon. It was where the fire had been, where she'd first met the sparrow and William. She was sure of it. Everything else that she could now see – the swamp, the desert, the furrows of lava – had been dark, swallowed in the inky blackness of the demon.

She circled over the hollowed-out mountain a few times, trying to figure out how to land. As she did, it occurred to her that this was where William's soul, his humanity had been in life. It had, undoubtedly, filled that mountain when he was a human, and most of it had been ripped out when he'd been turned. Only a portion of it had come back with him, or stayed with him, but it was enough to keep a spark of light in there, to keep the demon from completely taking over. It was enough to keep a small element of tortured humanity amid the darkness of the demon.

The little spark of what Buffy chose to think of as his soul, despite Anya's contention that it didn't work that way, had lived through all of the demon's sins, it knew them, had seen them as they happened, but each one had faded into the heart of the darkness. Now, though, all the sins were being exposed at once by that bright light shining down – overwhelming Spike with the magnitude of it all.

"Still say that's an exaggeration," she muttered, looking out over the landscape as she circled high above. "He would've had to have killed the whole world – twice!"

The little sparrow interrupted her musings by landing on her head and jumping up and down, as if trying to push her toward the ground.

"Okay, okay, I know," she told it. "I just don't know how to land. Any suggestions?"

It took off then, gliding in front of her, and she followed, folding her wings back a bit to glide behind it through the opening at the top of the mountain. The sparrow circled around in an arc near the rocky walls, descending slowly to the floor below, and Buffy followed its lead.

Even so, when she hit the ground she tumbled and rolled, ass over teakettle, coming to rest against the rocky wall in a flurry of ruffled feathers.

"Ow," she muttered, rubbing her backside and trying to get off her new appendages so she could stand up. "Well, I continue to prove the old adage: it's not the fall that will kill you, it's the landing."

Buffy finally struggled to her feet and looked around the area, finding William immediately. He was curled up in a ball on the ground, clutching his knees up to his chest like a fetus. There was smoke rising from his body, the scorching light burning him as he huddled into himself, unable to find a single patch of shade to take shelter in. Beneath him was a pool of dried blood, soaked into the sandy soil of the chasm.

Buffy ran over to him, kneeling above him and spreading her wings to shade him from the overwhelming brightness. She touched his shoulder, eliciting a painful moan from the huddled form. "William, it's Buffy. Can you hear me?"

Near him now, she could see that his exposed skin was burned, covered with nasty, painful blisters. Some had popped and were oozing clear liquid mixed with blood, others were still distended, swollen and angry-looking. Some blotches of his skin were scorched to black, while still others were smoldering, as if ready to burst into flames at any moment.

She touched a gentle hand against his cheek. "William, it's Buffy. What can I do?" she asked worriedly.

When nothing but a moaning answer came, she pulled on his shoulder, rolling him onto his back beneath the shelter of her outstretched wings. The gaping hole in his chest that she'd seen several months ago was still there, leaving a blood-stained hollow where his heart should have been. His white shirt and light blue vest were also caked with dried blood, each with a hole matching the one in his chest where his heart had been ripped out.

She looked around the ground for the missing piece of him; it had been here before. Had it been completely consumed by grief in the last months? Or simply burned up beneath the light of Spike's renewed soul?

The little sparrow tweeted, then hopped up and pecked lightly at William's hand, which was closed into a fist, then looked up at Buffy.

"What is it?" she asked, reaching for William's hand. She pried his fingers open to find a red, crystal orb about the size of a pool ball. There were cracks and fissures through it and shards missing in places, giving it some sharp, jagged edges. It was his heart, torn from his chest and shattered when she had died again. The metaphorical heart pulsed very slowly – too slowly for comfort – with a soft amber light from deep within.

"Oh, God, William," she cried, picking it up and cupping it in her hands, holding it against her chest tenderly.

"How do I fix it?" she asked the sparrow. "Tell me what to do."

Her bird-guide bounced lightly up onto the unmoving chest of William's prone figure and looked down into the gaping hole.

Buffy nodded, understanding. She lifted his broken heart to her lips and kissed it gently, then placed the small, glowing orb of light back into William's chest. When she pulled back, the little sparrow tweeted once to her in farewell, and slipped inside, too, blotting out the glow of the orb from Buffy's view.

With her wings still spread wide, shading William from the blinding sun, Buffy laid her hands atop the wound in his chest, praying to the saint of lost souls for him to heal. It didn't take long before Buffy felt something move beneath her palm, and when she lifted her hand, the hole had healed, closed over as if it had never been.

"William?" she tried again, laying a cool hand against the heated, blistered skin of his cheek. "Can you hear me?"

The manifestation of Spike's tortured soul moaned dazedly, then blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision and his disorientation. He finally focused on her in the bright light, his brow knitting in confusion.

"Buffy?" he murmured so low she could barely hear him.

"It's me, baby. I'm here," she assured him.

"But you … how? I saw you. You had … shuffled off this mortal coil," he contended, squinting up at her.

Buffy smiled down on him kindly. "Na, just took a short, out-of-body shamble. You just missed my return engagement. It's my thing, ya know? I'm kinda like 'The Who'. Meet the new farewell tour, same as the old farewell tour."

William furrowed his brow. "Who?"

"No, 'The Who,'" Buffy, clarified, emphasizing 'The'. "Which is not to be confused with 'Doctor Who', which I am totally not. I look the same every time I come back, thank goodness! Can you imagine the confusion if I looked like Faith, or, heaven forbid, that skinny bitch Dru?"

William still looked confused but latched onto the one thing he thought he understood. "Come back? But you're … an angel," he breathed, taking in the gossamer wings and the glowing light above her that seemed to form a halo around her shimmering, golden hair.

Buffy shook her head and gave him a smile. "No, not really. I just borrowed it, metaphorically speaking."

His brows furrowed deeper as he tried to sit up. She helped him, pulling him back a bit so he could lean against the inner wall of the cavernous, hollow mountain.

"Borrowed it from whom?" he asked, studying her intently.

"Whom?" she repeated, emphasizing the 'm' at the end and grinning. "I don't think Spike has ever said 'whom' to me before."

"Well, I'm quite certain that I am not him," William asserted, seeming a little affronted.

"Ummm, I kinda think you are," Buffy insisted. "His soul or … um … his human essence, anyway."

"Which he's chosen to essentially ignore for over a century. I think that rather impolite, wouldn't you agree? I therefore abdicate all association with the ill-mannered and uncouth vampire."

Buffy opened her mouth, then closed it again before finally replying. "Well, I guess it was pretty rude, but considering that he's got the evil creature of the night thing going on, maybe also to be expected? He wasn't really sure you were even here. Not until I…"

"I remember," William breathed, reaching a hand out to touch her face softly, his eyes meeting hers and holding her gaze. "You are a remarkable individual."

Buffy gave him a small smile and cupped her hand over his where it rested on her cheek, turning her lips into his palm and touching a soft kiss against his heated skin.

"You are too, William," she assured him sincerely. "To survive here all this time, alone, surrounded by the demon, beaten into submission by the darkness with just that little light… that takes a lot of strength."

William pulled his hand away and dropped his gaze. "You flatter me, but I would not presume—"

"Don't presume, just believe. Hey! Guardian angel here – see the wings? I must know what I'm talking about."

"You said you borrowed them – metaphorically," he reminded her.

Buffy shrugged. "But what metaphorical angel would lend me their metaphorical wings if I wasn't metaphorically worthy of them?"

William considered that a moment, then was forced to nod in agreement. "That does seem unlikely.

"May I ask why the light is so bright … and painful?" he questioned, squinting out beyond her.

Buffy sighed, being reminded of her mission.

"Spike … well, he thought you had died. Which I'm gonna say might've been a reasonable assumption," she began to explain, laying a hand over the bloody hole that remained in his shirt and vest. "So, he went and made a deal with a demon to … resurrect you. But it seems to have done more than that."

"I see," William mused, reaching one hand out from under the shade of her wings into the blazing light. He pulled it back almost immediately. "That's quite … uncomfortable."

Buffy laughed. "Are you competing for the King of Understatement title, or what?"

William furrowed his brow. "Is there such a position in the monarchy?"

Buffy shook her head and waved a dismissive hand. "I just meant, that … uncomfortable feeling, is causing a problem," Buffy revealed, taking his newly-burned hand in hers. It cooled immediately as she held it, and the angry, red blisters faded back to a smooth porcelain white.

She looked at his face where she'd touched him before and only then noticed that the same thing had happened – the burned skin and blisters were gone, replaced by the pure white of a baby's bottom. She smiled at the thought, reaching a hand out to touch his other cheek – the one on his face, not his ass.

"Let me heal you," she requested softly, moving her hand slowly over all the painful, blistered and scorched skin.

He sat still while she touched his exposed skin, his face, neck, hands, and even his scalp beneath his soft, light brown locks.

"Is that better?" she wondered, when she'd finished.

"Indeed, yes, thank you."

"Are you burned under your clothes, too?" she asked, reaching out to open his collar and check.

"I dare say," William objected, catching her hand in his and stopping her. "I may well be, but that is not done in polite company."

"Oh … right," Buffy stammered, pulling her hand away. "It's just … I'm fairly sure I've seen it before – plenty."

"Not mine, you haven't, I assure you. And none shall outside of a marriage bed."

Buffy's mouth formed an 'O' and her brows went up. "I see … so, William – you, I mean – never … Uhhhh … I mean, you never had a woman … before Dru?"

"Do you see a wedding band on my finger?" he replied curtly.

"Noooo," Buffy drawled.

"Then you have your answer."

Buffy pursed her lips together to keep from grinning. William – a romantic, poetic virgin. She tried to imagine Spike as a virgin. It didn't really work. It was a struggle to even think 'Spike' and 'virgin' in the same sentence in her mind, they were so incongruous.

But then her grin faded, and she suddenly felt an overwhelming sorrow for virgin William. He never had the chance to become the man she knew he could have been – a good man, a good husband, a good father. His first sexual encounter had been with that crazy, Queen of the Damned, bitch, Dru. Heaven only knew what that had been like.

"Are you quite alright?" William asked, looking at her with concern as her expression saddened.

Buffy snapped back to herself and gave him a small smile. "Yeah, sorry … just thinking."

Buffy looked around the area, trying to figure out how to shield William from the burning sun. Even in places where there should be shade, there was none. Nothing here seemed to cast a shadow except her wings. What would happen to him when she had to go?

"Great," she muttered to herself. "I guess no shadow that means we'll have six more weeks of crazy Spike."

"I beg your pardon?" William inquired, not understanding her reference.

Buffy shook her head. "Nothing. I'm just trying to figure out how to … Hey! What's that?" she asked as she spotted what looked like an entrance to a cave which she'd never seen in her previous visits.

William leaned out from beneath her shade to see what she was looking at, his skin beginning to burn immediately. Buffy shifted her wings, covering him again, and moving to the side so he could see.

"Oh … you certainly do not wish to concern yourself with that," he said evasively. "It's nothing, really."

Buffy quirked a brow at him. "William, what is it? It wasn't here before, I'm sure of it."

"It's … well, it's simply not anything to be concerned with."

"Oh, yeah, you know what? That's not gonna work," she informed him, standing up. "If you want to keep out of the light, you might want to stay close," she invited as she turned to look at the opening on the other side of the hollowed-out mountain.

William scrambled to his feet and grabbed her hand. "Buffy, I beg of you. Please do not go in there."

"Tell me what it is," she insisted, looking back at him, nearly knocking him over with her wings when she turned. "Oh! Sorry! I forgot! New attachments!"

William scrambled back away to avoid the collision, but then hurried forward again out of the burning light as she raised her wings up like an umbrella to shelter them both.

Buffy touched his face where he'd burned and healed it quickly, then took his hand in hers, meeting his eyes. His eyes were Spike's. A heavenly vision of blues and greys with a hint of green here and there, like pools of some tropical ocean, just begging to be leapt into. He didn't have all the same expressions in those eyes that Spike had, but she could still read them, they were still a window into his thoughts.

"You're afraid of it," she murmured. "Why? Where did it come from? What's in there?"

William shook his head despondently, and looked down, breaking eye contact with her. "Evil."

"Well, lucky for you, we fight evil," Buffy informed him.

"'We'? Do you happen to have a mouse in your pocket?"

Buffy laughed and turned, more carefully this time, back to face the opening of the cave. "No, William. We, as in you and me."

"I'm afraid you mistake me for someone else."

"I'm afraid I don't," she insisted as she began walking toward the cave. William had little choice but to follow, staying in the shadow of her wings.

"P-perhaps Spike could be of help with this?" he suggested nervously.

"I think Spike's probably in there," Buffy surmised. "Maybe being held prisoner by some big-bad monster-type? Which means it's up to us to find him and set him free."

"Oh, good Lord," William muttered, trying to decide which was worse – the burning light or the dark cave.

"You sound like Giles."

"Do I? And is he a brave warrior?"

"Wellll …" Buffy hedged, getting nearer the cave entrance. "He's got lots of school spirit – like a … Slayer cheerleader … with books instead of pom-poms."

"I dare say, that sounds quite … ineffective," her companion deduced, staying behind her as they approached the opening.

Buffy laughed. "You'd be surprised what you can do with books. The big, heavy ones are especially helpful for hitting things in the head."

"Perhaps I should go see if I could find some," William suggested, peeking out over her shoulder at the cave. "I'll just do that, shall I?"

"Nope, you shall not," Buffy declared, grabbing hold of his arm to keep him from running.

"B-but, I'm not who you presume me to be," he retorted, pulling back on her grip with little effect.

"Yes, William, actually, you are exactly who I presume you to be, and it's time that you realized it," she insisted. "Let's go."

** X-X-X-X-X **

Entering the cave, Buffy folded her wings down against her back. They fit snugly, compacting down smaller than they really should've physically been able to. The interior of the cave was dark, the only dark place she'd seen here, other than the far horizon. She, with William beside and slightly behind her, stopped just inside the opening to let their eyes adjust to the dim light. The cave opening was large, at least ten feet high and easily as wide – big enough to drive a Mack truck through – and seemed to open into a cavern that was even larger, but it was difficult to tell just how big or deep it was in the darkness beyond.

She'd no sooner blinked in an effort to get her eyes adjusted, than a form sailed at her from the gloom. She ducked instinctively, blocking the knife blade, which glimmered suddenly in the glow of the light streaming in, with her forearm. The hooded figure sailed past her, rolling to a stop on the parched sand a few feet outside the cavern's entrance. With the scorching light sizzling down on it she could clearly see what it was, and her worst fears were confirmed: the thing that had Spike as its puppet was The First Evil.

She'd met these hooded demonic-humans before, when The First had haunted Angel some years ago. These monk-looking demons had been human at one time but had been mutilated with some type of ancient ritual which replaced their eyes with runes. It also enhanced their speed and strength, transferring them out of humankind and into the realm of demons.

Within just a moment, the monk-guy— No, wait, that wasn't it. What had Giles called them? Buyers? Barters? Bangers? Bringers! That was it! Within just a moment, the Bringer burst into flames beneath the glare of Spike's shiny, new soul … or whatever it was that the demon, Lloyd, had shoved inside him. In another moment, the demon was nothing but a pile of ash on the ground, smoldering beneath the blinding light.

"Neat," Buffy beamed. "Finally, something that works in our favor."

"Neat?" William questioned incredulously. "You consider being attacked by a … a …" he waved his hand at the pile of ashes, unable to find a word to describe it, "'…neat'?"

"The neatest," she assured him brightly, turning back to face the darkness of the cave.

"Be ready, usually when there's one, there are more. They're like mice … blind, demonic mice," she warned him. "Let's see if we can cut their tails off with a butcher knife."

"A carving knife," William corrected her.

"Huh?"

"I assume you refer to the children's verse? 'Three blind mice. See how they run. They all ran after the farmer's wife, who cut off their tails with a carving knife,'" he quoted.

"Oh, well, butcher knives are bigger," she insisted with a shrug. "But, whatever works.

"C'mon," she beckoned, moving further into the darkness.

"Do you feel this is wise?" William asked moving forward with her warily.

"Doubtful," she admitted. "But wisdom has never been my strong suit."

Before William could reply, four more Bringers appeared from the darkness, charging as one coordinated being. Buffy ducked and swung around in one motion, landing a hard kick into the back of one of them, sending it careening out of the cave and into the light. She continued her spin, coming up with a roundhouse punch, catching the second one under the chin and sending it staggering back.

William had been swamped by the other two, driven to the ground beneath them. Buffy turned to help him and saw a knife blade flash in the dim light as one of the robed demons lifted it, preparing to strike.

"I'll take that," she informed it, grabbing the Bringer's wrist and twisting hard enough that the demon not only dropped the knife but was forced to roll off William. Buffy snatched the dropped knife from thin air neatly and slashed in one fluid motion, severing the demon's throat almost to the spine, and sending a spray of hot blood spurting over both her and William.

By then, the demon she'd hit beneath the chin had gathered itself and was charging again, its own knife drawn for battle. Buffy leapt backwards as it slashed at her mid-section, sucking her stomach nearly in to her spine to keep from being cut. It slashed at her again and she did the same, on the third swipe of the knife, Buffy jumped over the demon's swinging arm and, using her wings for lift and forward thrust, sailed past the confused attacker, raking her own knife across his throat in the process.

She landed in a somersault, tucking her wings against her back, and rolling back up to her feet gracefully. She turned to see that demon clutching at its throat, gurgling blood spilling from between its grasping fingers. Buffy then turned her attention to William, who was still struggling with the final Bringer. They were tussling on the ground, rolling this way then that, both grappling for control of the knife. The demon had the hilt in its hands, trying to drive it into William, while William struggled valiantly to keep that from happening.

Buffy hurried back over to them, lifting her own blade in preparation to bring it down on the Bringer, when the pair suddenly rolled, William ending up atop the blind minion of The First. With more leverage, William gained an advantage, and managed to push the demon's arms, along with the knife, up over its head and against the ground there. The demon continued to fight, to raise the blade back up, attempting to slash or stab it into its adversary. Each time the Bringer lifted it up off the ground above its head, William slammed it back down with all his strength until, finally, it came free from the demon's hands.

William howled a cry of victory, snatching the knife from the ground and rolling off and away from the cloaked attacker. He rolled up to his feet into a crouch, facing the Bringer, the dagger clutched tightly in his hand.

"C'mon, you currish miscreant!" William snarled, as the demon regained his feet and began to stalk warily nearer the man.

Buffy watched in horror as the Bringer charged at William with preternatural strength and speed. To her surprise, William slid to the side with the grace and elegance of a dancer, making his attacker miss completely. With unexpected dexterity, the man lifted the blade and drove it deep into the demon's back as it went past.

William roared in rage then, twisting the knife and driving it all the way to the hilt into his enemy's body. He then put a foot on the Bringer's ass and removed the knife by simple expedient of kicking the dying demon off of it, like removing a piece of tenderloin from a fondue skewer.

He turned then, wild-eyed, bloody, bruised, and disheveled, ready to face the next threat, but nothing stood in front of him except Buffy. He gasped for breath, turning to his right, then left, eyes wide, searching for something else to hit, to stab, to fight, but finding nothing.

He shouted a wordless snarl of victory up at the ceiling of the cave, before falling to his knees in the sand at his feet, breathless and exhausted, but jubilant. His hands shook, in fact, his whole body was trembling in a rush of adrenaline, and he suddenly felt overwhelmed with fatigue.

"Oh, heavens," he muttered, collapsing back onto his ass, the knife falling from his hand, which had suddenly lost all sensation.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Buffy asked, dropping down next to him and trying to determine if any of the blood was his.

"I … I'm certain that I do not know," William replied, his heart still racing much too fast, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

"Take a deep breath and hold it, then let it out slowly," she advised, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"In for three counts, and out for five. Just breathe," Buffy instructed, doing it along with him. It struck her odd that a metaphorical soul would need to breathe, but, apparently it did.

"Did … you … see?" he asked her, still gasping. He waved a hand at the Bringer that he had killed.

"I saw. I heard too … something about a 'currish miscreant'?" she teased. Buffy didn't really know what that meant, but just the way he said it told her it wasn't a compliment. "William, is that proper in polite company?"

If William could've flushed any brighter red, he would've, but he was already beyond the pale in that regard from the fight.

"I … I … do apologize for my abhorrent language," he said, his breath finally coming a bit easier. "I do not know what overcame me."

"Uh, I'd say bloodlust or maybe survival instinct, perhaps just a plain ole hankerin' for violence," Buffy suggested, still smiling at him. "How do you feel?"

William took a moment to consider that, then looked at her with wide, astonished eyes. "I feel … exultant, euphoric, and a little … libidinous," he admitted, adding the last reticently, but unable to stop himself from voicing it.

Buffy took in a deep breath of relief. "If that means what I think it does, then I had a feeling you might," she told him. "See, you really aren't that different from Spike. Spike loves a good brawl. It's like downing ten dozen oysters, and usually less snot-flavored … though, to be fair, not always."

William tilted his head and studied her in the dim light, looking enough like Spike to make Buffy's heart flutter a bit. "You are the most extraordinary woman," he said at last, his voice full of adoration.

"Slayer, sort of a one of a kind," she agreed. "Or, well … two, I guess, technically…"

"No," he interrupted her. "Not that … or not only that. It's your heart, your soul … I can feel it."

William reached a tentative hand out toward her heart but stopped short of actually touching her. Buffy pulled his hand down against her chest, over her thudding heart, and held it there. William's eyes fluttered closed and he sighed deeply, a feeling of overwhelming peace and joy washing over him.

"You are his heart," he whispered before opening his eyes and meeting her gaze in the dim light. "You are our heart."

Buffy smiled softly and leaned forward very near him. "And you are mine," she murmured against his full lips before kissing him gently.


**END NOTES**

Next: Buffy and William venture deeper into the dark cavern in search of the other half of Spike's psyche – the vampire.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you're still enjoying the story. Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! Lots more to come.

Thanks also to my wonderful friend, PaganBaby, for sharing her talents with me. Her beta skillz are the fantabulous and I treasure her help so much - any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!

Her banner-making creativity and skillz are equally beyond the pale! I can't thank her enough for doing them for me! Love them! She is so damn talented!