Mercy for the Living- Part 7 of Song of Solomon Series. ("Like a lily among thorns, so is my loved one among the young women.")

By: Isabelle

Disclaimers: BTVS belongs to Joss Whedon along with all the characters--these are sued for entertainment. Lyrics: Pilgrim by Enya.

Spoilers: "Smashed" and "Wrecked" Season 6 Summary: Set some fifty years after "Smashed", Spike died about seven months after the episode aired. Buffy being not truly human is more of an immortal; she's alone in this earth and her life does an 360 degree turn when she runs into Rocco in a bar one night. Rocco is somewhat the reincarnation of Spike's soul. B/S, some B/Rocco. Rating: Strong R

Distribution: Please do not take without my permission. The only sites that have my pre-approval to post my stuff is CarnalSins (cause it's mine), Death-Marked Love, and any affiliate/soul mate of mine.

Rating: Strong R (I curse...get used to it.)

Feedback: bih80@yahoo.com

Author's notes: If you've read 100 yrs of Solitude and enjoyed it you will like this, think Spike in 100 yrs, reversed to Buffy. Special thanks to Professor Miller and Marie for their help with the beta.

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"The mandrakes give a smell, and at our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, new and old, which I have laid upon for thee, Oh my beloved."

Sing of Songs 7:13 The Bible

She had watched him puke, cry, and shake with misery. She knew what it was like to come back and hate that she was brought back.

This life was a hard bitch and she now wondered if she shouldn't have done that to him. But to feel his skin again... it felt marvelous. To look into those eyes, to touch with the skin of her lips that soft cheek and let his coolness wash over her was more than she could ever describe.

She loved him when he died. She loved him even more now, as he was curled up in a fetal position, with his head resting on her lap. She softly ran her fingers through his hair.

He had stopped whimpering a while ago and she was afraid that he had actually fallen asleep. She nudged him softly. She would have stayed there all day but night had just fallen and she wanted to get him home - her small home, the only thing she could offer him. But at least it was something.

He let her pick off the small herbs that were stuck to his body like sap on a tree. He needed a bath -- she'd deal with that when they would get home.

He let her pull out a worn pair of sweats Rocco had brought and a navy T-shirt that fit him loosely. She noticed how thin he was and made a mental note to feed him.

Spike stood in front of her, dressed, his eyes red and puffy, his gaze stoic.

"We should go while it's still dark," she told him softly.

He moved forward and past her, into the night. She sighed and followed him.

"Spike?" she asked him. "Spike... talk to me."

He stopped and looked at her. Her bright green eyes, just like he remembered them, pleading with him, asking him to drop his defenses.

"Did she... Was she in any..." But he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, and looked anywhere but at her.

"Pain?" she asked, touching his bare forearm lightly.

He flinched and turned from her, his jaw clenched, teeth grinding.

"She wasn't... It was over before she knew it... I think-- It's been so long." She let out a little laugh and he turned to look at her, stunned.

She looked down at her dirty hands -- there were no longer the Smooth, delicate hands he'd known. "I don't remember much... The spell the monks did... it faded."

Buffy touched the long silken brown hair carefully. She didn't want to disturb the figure, though she knew there was no way she could -- she was dead. Pallid eyelids closed over once bright and beautiful eyes.

She was so pretty when she was a baby. She remembered chubby rosy cheeks and baby giggles, small pink hands that clapped together at the funny faces her older sister would make. And she had always had such beautiful thick hair. Buffy had always been a little envious.

Ignoring the voices around her she picked up the fallen body of her sister. No matter what, she would always be her sister and no one was going to make her think otherwise.

She rocked back and forth, cradling her sister's head to her chest.

She was covered with ashes - her love's last attempt to save her sister. But this time it had not been enough. Nothing he could have done would have changed the outcome. He hadn't seen Dawn come up behind him and hold his hand, her feeble attempt to pull him back from what would burn him alive.

But the energy within her and the energy of the portal had taken the last human breath from her and she had fallen, fallen amongst the ashes of a soulless vampire and the debris of the room.

But she looked unhurt. And Buffy liked to think that she hadn't experienced any pain. In fact, there was a small smile on her lips.

So she cradled her baby sister -- flesh of her flesh, blood of her blood -- against her chest and sung her to sleep.

"Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree top
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all.."

By the time she whispered the last words she was sobbing and clutching at her desperately. This is what she had died once to save - but you cannot save what was meant to end.

Spike turned from her again and looked out into the night sky. "Why did you bring me back?"

Buffy looked up, studying his whitish curls. "Because I still love you... and I saw where you were."

She saw him drop his hands to his sides. His hands clenched and unclenched.

Slowly she walked up to him and ran her hands against his shirt. She felt the muscles under the cotton and bit her lip to stifle a cry: he felt just like she remembered.

He looked at her over his shoulder then turned around to take in her short figure. "I remember... but I thought it was a dream. It felt so... unreal."

She smiled at him and cupped his face in her hands. He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her warmth.

"It seemed so long," he whispered.

Buffy gulp and pulled him against her. They embraced wordlessly. She buried her head in the crook of his neck like she used to when life would just get too overwhelming.

"It was," she answered finally, quiet.

He felt the wetness of her tears against his neck and held her closer, smelling her hair and feeling how familiar her body felt pressed against his.

"I missed you so much..." Her words shook with a small sob.

He pulled her face back and looked at her. She looked different. No longer was she the lost woman he had seen walking down the stairs of her house after she had been brought back. She was no longer in denial of anything; she was strong and proud -- but in so much pain, he wished he could take it all away.

They had hurt each other with words on their first sexual encounter, and it had been violent and disheartening at time, but this, THIS was real. This was the pain he never would've caused her... The kind of pain Angel had once caused her.

He turned from her, untangling himself from their embrace and leaving her confused.

"I hurt you..."

"I only hurt when you died."

He placed his hands on the wall before him -- ancient walls of tales passed. The echoes of its immortality sung to him and suddenly he wanted to be back there, back in that place where the suffering made him feel condemned. Feeling condemned was what he needed. He wanted to feel the fires of hell burning and melting his skin. It made him feel like he was paying the price for his sins and failures. Holding her had always been his heaven. How could a creature that had killed an innocent little
girl, with large blue eyes and a heart-warming smile, be let to live and with the one thing he loved more than his own existence?

"Slayer... You should've... you should've left me there," he said loudly, letting his voice echo in the vacant temple.

"No!" she let out fiercely. She grabbed his shoulders and turned him around to have him face her. "Look at me. I see what you're doing. I know what you're doing cause I did it myself. Remember how much I hated living? How numb I felt?" She took his face in her hand and made him look at her, with her cheeks flushed and etched with tears. "You made me feel
again, made the fire spark once more... You remember?" she asked him softly.

He cocked his head and studied her... but he felt too tired to question the fine lines around her eyes and the dullness of her hair - long and stringy, not short and perky like had remembered it.

"Where are we," he asked, changing the subject.

She sighed and looked around. "It's some type of old Mayan temple -- it was the Hellmouth once. Only place to bring you back."

He nodded and shuddered. "Let's get out of here."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you sure?" Caesar asked his minion.

The nervous little thing nodded, scared witless.

"Y-yes, master. My cousin, who lives down south, just contacted me and confirmed it. The Slayer has brought Spike back from hell."

Caesar smiled and rubbed his chin, wincing when he touched the sore spot where the Slayer had kicked him.

"Well, I want someone watching her 24/7. Put the bitch's apartment under surveillance. She's bound to bring her lapdog home sooner or later."

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Rudolf Morston considered himself a proper and sensible man. His father, and *his* father before that, all came from a long line of professional chauffeurs catering to the Pickerings. They were all very proud of their heritage and walked with their heads held high, unless Madame said otherwise.

So when he saw the young lady walk out followed by what he had been told was Mr. William Gordon, he quickly exited the car and smiled at her.

"Miss Summer, Mr. Gordon. I was told to bring the car to the entrance," Rudolf said quickly as he opened the door for the young couple.

Buffy nodded and let Spike go in first. He still seemed so worn out...

"What's your name, Jeeves?" she asked him.

The older man was a bit startled and stuttered for a moment. "Ah...Well, you may call me Rudolf, Miss."

Buffy nodded and pulled her coat tighter around herself. "Okay, Rudy."

"Rudy?" the man asked indignantly.

Buffy looked at the proper old man and smiled. "Yeah -- suits you. I need to go back to my place now, so please step on it."

"Miss, I am not a cab. Besides, I was given strict instructions to take you to your new place."

Buffy placed both hands on her hips and glared at him impatiently. "My new place?"

"Yes, Miss."

Buffy stepped closer to him. "Rudy. If we're going to get along you need to listen and understand what it is I tell you. I don't have a new place. I live in the same place I've been living in for the past seven years. Now get me there."

"Begging your pardon, Miss, but you no longer live there," he said, smirking. "And the name is Rudolf."

Buffy lost her patience and grabbed the lapels of the man's jacket, slamming him against the car. "I've had a very long, weird day. I'm tired, hungry and on my way to pissed off. So will you drop the bullshit and take us home?"

Rudolf looked at her with as much patience as he could muster and gently pried her hands off of him. "You, Miss, should learn how to control your temper. And all of your belonging are in the trunk."

Buffy glared at him curiously but followed him as he walked around the car to the trunk.

He popped it open, revealing all of her earthly possessions, including the little night table that was the last of the Summer's residence she had left.

"Why... How... When..." she stuttered, bewildered.

Rudolf smiled and closed the trunk. "It was milord's wishes that you, young lady, be well accommodated. Your new apartment is waiting for you, and if you will please join Mr. Gordon inside the car, we will be on our way."

Buffy stared at him. He wasn't kidding! She wanted to be mad at Rocco for doing this without telling her, but she really couldn't -- he had given her everything she wanted; she wasn't going to complain about his dying wishes.

She sighed, giving in. "Alright. Just... hold on. "

Buffy peeked inside the limo and saw Spike sleeping deeply, with his head on the headrest. Rudolf walked quietly to the driver's side as Buffy walked back into the temple for a final goodbye.

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"Jefe, she's still here. The old man showed her something in the trunk," the raspy voice spoke into the phone as he watched the Slayer walk away from the limo.

"You and your men follow her -- I want to know where she's going," Caesar said on the other end.

"Whatever you say, hombre," the other man answered and hung abruptly. The man lit a cigarette and watched her disappear into the temple.

He smiled and exhaled calmly, turning away and towards the tavern.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy saw her as she was gingerly pulling down the white sheets they had used to make the makeshift room for Spike to recover. The room still smelled of him, a lovely reminder that her vampire was safely sleeping in the car, waiting for her. She walked to Dolores and helped her take down the blanket.

The old woman smiled at the Slayer. "I thought you had left already, hermana."

Buffy folded the blanket in silence and finally looked up at the old woman. "I wanted to thank you..."

The woman shook her and dismissed it. "Fue nada." (It was nothing.)

Buffy smiled at her and handed the folded blanket back to her.

"Please tell me... about what I'm expected to do."

Dolores looked at her and took the blanket from her, signaling her to follow her into the next room. The Slayer complied.

This was something she had wanted to know for ages... decades, even, in those times when she actually still cared. The woman walked to the large bag in which she kept her instruments. She pulled out an indigenous necklace with a thin leather string holding a wooden charm. A small cross, antique, incrusted with a snake running from an eagle.

"It is said that in the beginning of my people, the Yucatán tribes, the world was covered in water. The few settlers that lived like drifters on the sea came upon a small island where the only animals that hunted were serpents and eagles. The eagle hunted the serpent by day but the serpent only came out at night. Remember this: to defeat those who oppress you, hunt them when they can't attack. The demons of the darkness come out at night to hunt for easy prey. The eagle must be astute and hunt for them when they are most vulnerable."

With that she handed Buffy the necklace. "Wear it at all times, it will protect you more than any of your crosses."

Buffy nodded and tied the thin leather string at the back of her neck, slipping the pendant into her shirt. "Thank you for everything, Dolores."

The old woman smiled.

"Would you like a ride?" Buffy asked and turned to point at the limo. "I'm sure Rudy wouldn't mind--" Her words died on her lips as she turned to look at the woman. Gone, along with her bags and her blankets and all that she had brought.

Buffy looked around, spooked.

"Dolores?" she called out into the now empty temple, but she knew she was gone. She felt it in her blood the same way she had felt the power of this land when she had first gotten here.

She quickly glanced around the temple once more. "Thank you Rocco," she whispered and quickly exited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike slept the whole way there, his head pillowed on her thin shoulder. She would look down at him once in a while to make sure he was really there, and would run her hand through his hair and kiss his forehead.

He was actually here.

Not a dream, not a memory, but flesh and bones and sparkling eyes. She sighed contently as she wrapped her arm around him and held him closer.

She smiled wistfully; he was going to miss his Duster, he had been practically married to the thing.

They arrived at the gated community around four in the morning. The guard at the door quickly let them in and before long Rudolf stopped the car in front of a large condo.

She nudged Spike carefully. He yawned and opened his eyes, standing straight and looking around them.

"We're here, wherever here is," she said quietly.

Spike looked at her with a questioning glance. "You don't know where you live?"

Buffy groaned and ran her hands through her hair. "It's a long story... I kinda moved without really knowing it."

He arched his eyebrow at her. She smiled and took his hand, pulling him outside the car. "I'm sure there's a bed in there -- you can get more sleep."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They both stood there, staring at the things surrounding them. Buffy wanted to run away and hide. Spike wondered idly how many channels the telly had.

The apartment was bigger than what her house used to be. The floors were hardwood, the walls a soft pale white. There were mirrors and paintings on the walls. Flush carpets were sued at runners in the foyer that led to the living area. There was a large leather livingroom set with a complete entertainment center. The tables were made of metal with glass tops and flesh orchids decorated them.

The kitchen was large and tiled in dark blue, filled with pans and utensils. There was a microwave, an oven and even a toaster-grill Spike went wild for. The refrigerator was filled with food, including bags of human blood, chilled in their separate container and labeled "for the resident vamp". There was an island counter with more fresh flowers and multiple cooking books - most were for the spicy Mexican food Spike loved.

The dining room was bit strange; it was attached to the corner wall and looked very much like a restaurant booth. The seats were plush red and the table was made of kitchen tiles. More white orchids decorated them.

Spike led Buffy to the bedrooms. The master bedroom was large... very large. With a cherry wood canopy king-size bed in the middle, with silk ivory sheets. Large Persian rugs decorated the floor and the windows had thick dark curtains blocking the sun. Behind these curtains was a large balcony that overlooked a large lake with a fountain in the middle.

The dresser was filled with garments that fit both the vampire and the Slayer. The walk-in closet had all of the clothing she had left at her old dingy apartment, plus tons more. On Spike's side was plenty of dark clothing including a leather duster that Spike scowled at but didn't comment on further. The bathroom was a lush ivory and red. Ivory tiles and red towels and red accessories. There was a sunken tub and a large shower. There was a large vanity for Buffy to do all of her morning necessities, had she still been that kind of girl.

The other room in the apartment was a small study. A computer sat innocently on top of a desk. Rudolf pointed to a button under the desk and the Slayer pressed it. She jumped back in fighting position as the wall in front of the desk turned around to reveal a wall full of weapons.

Her eyes bogged out as she saw her own guns and some of her nastier knives. But there was also additional ammunition and newer, more expensive ones she had never been able to steal. There was also two ancient Japanese swords resting on a display shelf.

Both Slayer and vampire turned to look at Rudolf, who stood nearby with a stoic statement.

"What's all this?" she asked suspiciously.

The older man smiled. "This is all Lord Pickering's doing. I just work for him."

"Who are these people and what do they want in return," Spike asked him as he walked closer to the man. The older man did not move and did not seem to be afraid of the stalking vampire.

"Lord Pickering's parents wish to remain anonymous. I am not in the liberty to say."

Buffy shook her head, overwhelmed. Information overload... She needed a drink. "I can't afford a place like this," she told him.

"You don't understand, Miss Summers; everything has been taken care of. You will receive groceries to your door every Monday at 3pm--"

"What?" Buffy interrupted.

"Everything will be taken care of -- including Mr. Gordon's special needs."

"Special needs?" Spike cried, insulted.

"Your blood, honey," Buffy explained.

"Oh." But he still glared at the man.

"What do they want in return?" Buffy asked suspiciously.

"That you continue to live your life fully for as long as you're on this earth. That is all."

Buffy stared at him as he walked out. "If you need anything at all, just dial '0'," he said as he walked out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She sat across from him as he studied what was outside the window behind her. She could feel her body trembling as she looked at him. His head rested lightly on this clasped hands, his elbows on the table. Pale blue eyes looked beyond her, peroxide-blond hair curly and mussed.

"I still love you, you know," she told him.

He kept his gaze beyond her for a while longer before he taking a deep breath and looking at her. She was not what he remembered. She had aged. Her hair was long and unkempt, stringy, growing roots. Her eyes were hallow and hardened, like she had seen too many hard nights. She had a nasty scar from her right eye to her cheekbone. Her skin was pale, and
as wrinkly as an eternal twenty-four-year-old's could be. Her hands were callused and dry, the once manicured nails cut short and uncared for.

"What happened to you, Buffy?" he asked quietly.

Suddenly she became conscious of her appearance. For the first time in fifty years she wondered if she looked okay, if she looked presentable.

He saw her falter, her lower lip pouting slightly -- reminding him very much of the night she came back.

"I'm sorry..."

She shook her head quickly. "No, you're right, I've changed." She looked down at her long hair, which no longer shone in the sunlight. "I'm probably not be as pretty as I used to be," she added quietly.

He frowned and took her rough hands in his softer ones. The touch still felt foreign. Like touching with gloves, touching through layers.

"Pet, you're still as beautiful... You just look tired and..."

"Older?" she finished for him.

She knew him well enough to know what his non-response meant. She drew back from him. She didn't like this. All this time she had dreamed about him coming back, and here he was now, pointing out how much she had aged.

But she couldn't blame him; he had fallen in love with a girl full of life and spirit, willing to take on anything, with more strength in her eyes than the armies of hell.

"Spike..."

He studied as she paced the room. She still had the same stunning figure, clad in black leather that left nothing to the imagination.

"I know that-- I... I don't expect much from you. I just wanted to end your suffering -- in whichever hell dimension you were in."

He watched as she walked quickly to the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of vodka. With one gulp she drank a fifth of the bottle. He was stunned that she didn't flinch or do that cute 'yuk' face of hers. She was clearly used to this.

"Buffy, what are you doing?" he asked, standing up. He was still on shaky legs and his knees faltered, making him crumble to the ground. She quickly dropped her bottle and helped him up. He was more surprised by her scent than her strength. She smelled like cigarettes and booze, mixed in with cheap shampoo and harsh soap.

She helped him to the bed. "You have to rest, you're still weak," she murmured.

"M'not weak," he protested.

She laughed lightly and he could almost see the old Buffy - his Buffy - shining through, trying to pierce that hard shell she had created around herself.

Buffy tucked him in, pulling the covers over his chest. She sat down next to him and took his hand.

"I want you to know... I need you to know that I don't blame you. Whatever happened, I don't blame you, Spike. I never did and I never will." She studied his hand. These hands, which a few days ago had belonged to Rocco, and now Spike. They looked different. "I know you probably don't love me anymore..."

He pulled her to him looking into her darkened eyes. "I've never stopped."

She got lost in his eyes, eyes that sparkled with mirth and life. "Neither have I."

They stared at each other for some time, studying each other with undisguised curiosity. Eyes, mouths, ears, nose, hair.

"Your hair is long."

"We had to dye yours. Rocco had it curly and brown."

Spike suddenly looked uncomfortable and let his hand slip from hers, breaking the contact. "So you an' this Rocco fellow... Did you and him..."

Buffy looked down at his chest, pale and hard in the darkness of the room. "You're wearing his body."

Spike scooted away from her. "Giving me the yitters."

"Please-- don't-- He made a great sacrifice for my happiness," Buffy said, leaning in to look at him.

Spike looked at her. "And are you? Happy?"

Buffy looked away from him. She could never lie to him. He knew her, even after decades of absence, he still knew her.

"I guess... I thought everything would go back to the way it was," she whispered and looked back at him. "But we're not the same people we were then, are we?"

Spike took her small hand in his. "No we're not."

Buffy looked down at their hands. This was all of her dreams come true. But he was colder than she remembered. "Where do we go from here?"

Spike brought her hand to his lips. Soft cool lips.

"I still love you... You still love me."

She looked up at him. "Is it enough?" There were tears running down her face.

He reached out and brushed them away. "Is it enough for you?"

Buffy leaned in and wrapped her arms desperately around him. She let out a little sob. "You. That's all I wanted. It's more than enough."

He put his arms around her too and let her cry on his chest. He peered down at her, and his thoughts drifted away on their own.

Fifty years.

He tasted it on his tongue. The taste was bitter and oppressive. Fifty years she had lived alone, still loving him. Drowning her sorrows the way he had showed her. He waited until her cries were no more than mere whimpers as she held on to him desperately.

When the tears finally stopped she moved onto the bed with him and fell asleep, wrapped in his arms the way they used to all those years ago.

Spike stared at the ceiling.

He felt sick.

This was wrong - the demon within him screamed it. He moved his head from side to side but that same vision had engraved itself inside his brain. Ever since Buffy told him about Dawn he had seen it.

His nibblet's wild blue eyes as she tried to save him and killed her instead. He had tried to protect her; all he ever did was for her and Buffy. But still in the end he had not been able to save her from death and Buffy from the dreaded immortality.

He should be happy. He had Buffy for the rest of eternity. But the young girl that slept peacefully enveloped in his arms was not that same girl he knew.

Her skin was not as warm as he remembered.

This bothered him, in ways he couldn't explain. It was like both Dawn and Buffy had died that night and he had woken up in a nightmare filled with mirages.

He quietly eased himself out of the silken sheets and pulled his shirt on. He walked to the boxes Rudolf had left in the livingroom.

The first thing he found was the remains of his leather duster. He sat down and caressed the leather in his pale hands, remembering the feel of it.

"'Fraid of loosing, Slayer?" he smirked at her.

The small blonde looked at him in defiance. "Loosing? To you? Yeah right!"

He smirked. "Okay, what happens if I win?"

Buffy looked pensive and then suspicious. "I do that little thing you like," she said seductively, standing in front of him and rubbing herself lightly against him. Spike gulped and nodded quickly.

"And if you win?" he asked, smirking.

Buffy batted her eyelashes in mock flirtation. "I get your duster for an entire week."

Spike pulled away from her. "You're insane!"

Buffy grinned in triumph. "Deal's a deal!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Okay, fine. No bet then." She turned to walk away.

Spike groaned and muttered something about Slayers with perky breasts and round bottoms.

"Alright, alright. You win, as usual," he sighed. "You get my duster for a week."

And she had beaten him - had killed more vampires than he did that night. And so she had been wearing his duster when he had died. It had survived, with her.

He brought the leather to his nose. It still smelled like tobacco and a small hint of whiskey. But is was unwearable. The leather was so thin it would fall apart on his back. His heart sank at the thought.

He went through the rest of the box. There was a framed picture of him, which he glared at. His smile was goofy, but she had seemed to treasure the photograph dearly. He smelled the glass of the frame and could almost smell the tears cried, night after night...

He shuddered, his own skin feeling foreign. Why had he come back feeling so... off?

He paced the room and decided to have a good serving of blood. As he watched the mug filled with O-neg go 'round and 'round in the microwave, he made his decision.

He saw her little face, lost and defenseless, crying out to him and trying to save him, but being killed instead.

He growled. This was ridiculous - he wasn't supposed to have a conscience. A soulless vampire couldn't have a soul, for christ's sake! And again, a third time that day, he wondered if maybe he did had a damn soul.

He studied her sleeping form while drinking his meal. He remembered when he would lie awake at night and just look at her sleeping in his arms. All soft and warm, innocence painted in her sleeping features. He would fall in love with her more every time.

The way her breast swelled from her collarbone and the way her soft neck dipped into the bedding. Blonde hair all around her like a Greek goddess that begged to be worshipped.

He had worshipped her. Everything about her - her mind, her body, her soul. What was important to her became important to him, what she loved he loved too. At times he wondered if he had lost his own identity in her arms. But as long as he could hear her soft snores, he knew he was alright.

She didn't snore anymore. Her breast didn't swell from her collarbone and her neck didn't dip into the bedding. Her long hair was ashen and dry, with visible split ends and smelled of cheap tobacco.

He realized he needed a smoke. He found a new pack in her coat pocket. He frowned - she was smoking his old brand. He almost laughed, lifeless. She had almost transformed herself into him. She smoked, drank, cursed, wore tight black leather and dipped her hair in unhealthy chemicals.

Spike shook his head as the smoke filled his lungs. They had slept all day, and the sun was now setting. He realized she also kept a vampire's hours.

He silently cursed himself. This was all his fault. The woman he had admired and worshipped so long ago had disappeared and in her place was a rough warrior that cared not what side she was on.

She hadn't told him that she had killed humans - but he could smell the blood on her. In her. She was no longer pure, and that disturbed him more than he expected it to.

He put out his cigarette.

It was time to end this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy woke up with the deep, sick feeling that something was wrong. The strong, cool arms around her were gone. The apartment felt cold and empty, making her heart sink and pound wildly both at once. She climbed out of the bed on shaky limbs and quickly threw on jeans, tank top and sweater.

The Slayer moved slowly, smelling the hint of fresh cigarette Smoke. She followed the scent out to the balcony. There he was, sitting with his legs dangling from the edge of the veranda. He was smoking her cigarettes, looking out into the night sky.

She looked at the wooden deck that overlooked the lake, seven stories down.

"Spike?"

He didn't acknowledge her, just sat there, shoulders slumped.

She took out a cigarette from the pack next to him on the railing, and lit it. She could feel him staring at her again, studying her and the thousand things that were wrong with her. She hated it.

She looked back up at him. He seemed so sad, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. She knew that feeling, that haunted look. She had sported it herself once.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," he said quietly and put out his cigarette on the railing next to him. He looked at her and he gave her a small smile.

And then he jumped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TBC......