Life's precious. Emotions are binding, and yet, freeing at the same time. People die, and people are born. Vampires die, and vampires are born. Slayers die, and slayers are born. It's nature; it's rules. It's those damned higher beings, who toy with the lives of friends and loved ones. But isn't that what I did, by bringing Buffy back to life years ago, after her unfair death as a result of Glory. It's hard after doing it once and creating excuse after excuse to justify it, not to do it again. It's hard.
Connor jerked his head to the door across the lobby. He tried to peer through the glass at whatever was out there, but the light in the lobby wasn't enough, and it was pitch black outside. He cautiously eased his way across the floor, heading for the weapons cabinet first. When he finally reached it, he stretched his hand inside for a crossbow or sword of some kind. When he finally got a grip around a long sword the backdoor opened and Angel walked in. Connor realized he had stopped breathing and let it return to him, loosening his grip on the blade.
Angel nodded his head to his son, and cast a quick smile at him. The love and warmth the smile and nod were supposed to convey never quite reached his eyes, and therefore Connor remained untouched. He watched his dad walk directly upstairs and continued to stare at the stairway long after his father was gone.
Angel went directly where he had raised Connor as a baby, not too long before the abduction and the hell that had occurred because of it. This was the one place he could sit and focus on his work; it's where most of his good memories were. He settled at a nice, oak desk he had placed in the room for business. He checked Singapore off his list of countries.
* * *
The mausoleum's door creaked open in Sunnydale Cemetery. Spike strolled out with a lit cigarette smoking up the night air. The mist rolled along the ground in an eerie sort of way as Spike made his way over to the large marble block with the angel statue. He let his fingers play with the etched stone, spelling out B-U-F-F-Y. His mouth twisted into a half-smile as he turned around and shouted into the dark sky.
"Spike!" hushed a voice from the open door. A slim figure crept its way out of the mausoleum. It was mystical as the silhouette reached its arms around Spike's neck and lowered his face to it. "S-h-h, you don't want to wake anyone, do you?" asked the voice, obviously belonging to a lady.
Spike smirked once more before leaning in to the woman's embrace and kissing her tenderly, then almost forcefully – to which the figure's reply was a giggle. Spike began to pull away until the woman once again pulled him down and kissed him back as vehemently as he had kissed her. When she was finished she pushed his head away, laughed, and stretched her arms out to the sky.
The cold air of darkness breezed around Spike and the mysterious figure, though they never felt a chill. Spike rubbed the woman's neck, fingering the bite marks he had pierced in her skin that dank night, years back.
"Wouldn't want to do that, pet," Spike finally replied. "Don't worry though, I've got the brains to think about things like that."
"You know I admire your brain almost as much as your washboard abs," the girl answered back. Spike's eyes opened wide. The figure pulled a small, wooden stake from her taut shorts.
"Buffy, what are you doing?" Spike asked, already knowing the answer and retreating back.
"You think you could just control me like that? You treat me like I'm that lame-old sex-bot you had that jerk, Warren, make. Well guess what Spike, I'm not some loser robot. I'm a strong, independent, vampire," said Buffy as she slid the stake into Spike's chest.
"Buff…" said Spike as he exploded in a whirlwind of dust around her. The breeze carried his remains flowing through the air, and twirled her hair with it. She ran her hand through her hair and transformed into vampire mode to prepare for that night's hunt.