Good evening, One and All,
Well, only a two chapter week, but at least this one is exceptionally long (for one of mine). I wish I could remove the angst warning, but this is pretty much equal to the last in the heart-wrenching department. Please make sure to have a steady supply of tissues, chocolate and tequila on hand to dull the ache.
The good news, the next chapter lets up a little. If these last two have been an angst blizzard, the next is more of just an angst Winter Storm Warning! Can you tell I've been around *way* too much snow?
That being said, here we go. Please let me know what you think. I'm particularly nervous about chapters like these because I want to know you see the point and I'm not just dragging you through the ringer at my whim (no, I am not ME).
The next chapter should be out on Wednesday.
Enjoy.
*Cheery Vibes*, Nimue
"As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Spike and a widdle Buffy and Spike wubs Buffy." James Marsters 14 July 2002
Title: Firelight (Chapter Twenty-Three of The One)
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG -13
Pairing: Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.
Feedback: Yes, please
For instant notification of fic releases, straight to your mailbox, please visit Always_Everyday@yahoogroups.com . Also, please visit the wonderful fan listing that Rachel put together. Sign up today and link to your website (or just sign up to say hi!). The fan listing can be found at .
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (With, of course, the exception of Emma and William, who belong to Buffy and Spike)
Summary: Spike and Buffy deal with the immediate aftermath of his last ditch effort to save her from the demon. But, in his efforts, did he lose himself? Can Buffy come back to him in time?
Firelight
A red veil, satiny and smooth washed over her. Covering her. Melting into her. She could feel the fire start in her veins again. The warmth. Her glow. Like coming home. It bubbled into her, soothing her, making her feel like.her again. She was warm. So warm. So safe in his arms. Wrapped in his warmth. It was coming back. Her light. It was coming home.
"Buffy." So distant, it almost wasn't even a word. Barely even a breath.
"You have to stop."
But it was so beautiful, this warmth. This blessed reunion with herself in his arms. The veil slid over her eyes, down her throat. Her life.
Coursing down her throat.
"Buffy."
This time it was a choked whisper in her ear.
The veil lifted slowly, sliding across her skin, slowing its furious pace down her throat. Her eyes flickered open and she swallowed, watching the candle flame, her head resting on his shoulder. He had done it. Driven the beast back. Given her back herself. How? How did he know?
It was warm euphoria. Lying in the cooling bath water, one with her lover, the candle filling the room with a hazy glow. She felt herself. Strong. Controlled. "Spike?" She smiled and stretched her arms behind him in feline femininity. "Spike?"
But he was still beneath her.
Her face felt tight and warmer than the water. She lifted her hand, still wrapped around him and touched her face, bringing her fingers up into the light.
Blood.
"Oh God," she whispered to the air. "Spike?"
It took all her strength to pull herself back from where they had fallen, reclined against the back of the tub. She pushed herself up on outstretched arms, her own light in control of the beast for a moment. Her heart raced, blood, her blood, Slayer blood, pumping through her veins like white fire.
"It's always the blood, Pet." She heard his voice echo through her mind.
Buffy pulled herself back and opened her eyes, still sitting astride his thighs. He was there. With her. His face porcelain and perfect, dark lashes closed against alabaster skin. Her eyes scanned down and saw it.
Bright, bright red sliding slowly down his shoulder. Carving a river down his chest and dripping one heavy drop at a time into the water. She followed the trail back up in stunned silence, her hand clapping over her mouth to quell the rising scream.
His throat was torn open as if a wild animal had taken him. Lying open in the pale moonlight and soft candle glow, spilling the contents of him, of her, into the warm, scented water. Her eyes filled with horror, her newly borne blood with terror as she looked at him so still and torn in front of her. So still. So cold.
"Oh God." This time it came out as a squeak. A terrified, raspy breath escaping. "Oh God, Spike, no."
She pulled her hand from over her mouth and saw the blood coating her fingers. Her eyes grew larger.
She had done this. She had done this. She had done this. She had killed him.
"No." Her tears spilled as her trembling hand rose to the untouched side of his neck, pressing her fingers into the smooth white skin. "No."
A faint pulse against her fingers. Faint. Faint. Slow.
"Oh God."
Frantically, she grabbed the washcloth, sponging off the hole in his neck, looking at the bite marks, trying to make it stop. Make it stop. Don't bleed. Don't die.
Her other hand splashed water over her face. Her chest, trying to take the blood away. Trying to make it go away.
"Spike, no. Why? Why? Why did.how.why did you let me.no." A tumble of words and she pressed the cloth to his neck, trying to splash all the blood away and then realizing the tub was full of blood stained bubbles.
Buffy stood, pulling the plug out with one hand and holding the cloth to his neck with the other. He was so still. Still alive. Still alive. Have to fix him. Have to fix this. Have to. Oh God.
She climbed out and slid, her ankle banging into the porcelain toilet base, her knee cracking into the floor. Blood. More blood on the floor. And broken pottery. Oh God. More blood. She turned her head and threw up. More red filled the bowl of the toilet.
Buffy clapped her mouth shut, swallowing. He had given her back herself. Even if it was only temporary. Damned if she was going to let him die while she gave it to the Sunnydale sewer system.
Slowly, she stood again, clutching the side of the tub and hauled him out onto the bathmat, pressing the blood soaked rag to the side of his neck. "What do I do? Spike, what do I do? How do I help you? What do I do?" Her words were frantic. Panicked as her free hand stroked the hair away from his face.
His hair was stained almost pink from blood.
A retching, gasping, sob shook her as her eyes frantically darted, looking for the answer. Call for help? Get him juice like at the blood drives at school? Cram a cookie down his throat? She chuckled nervously, her heart breaking into a million slivers because he lay there dying and she did it. She killed him. She let him go because she couldn't do what he had been doing all along.
Hold down the beast.
And who was evil?
Blood, she thought. Give it back. Give it back. Her hands searched desperately in drawers trying to find something, anything, to cut herself. A knife, scissors, hell, she'd rip her skin with toenail clippers if she could find them. Where? God, help us. Help me.
She couldn't even scream. There were no words.
There was no one here to help.
"Mother?" A soft, rich voice came from the darkened corner of the bathroom. It was a child's voice. But not as young as any in the house. Buffy stopped, raising her trembling face to the sound, her hand clutching the blood soaked rag on her lover's torn throat.
A soft white glow emanated from the corner of the room. Not a form, really. Not a figure. Just a bathing, warm, whiteness. "Mother?"
"Emma?" Buffy's voice shook like dry leaves in the wind. Foreign and metallic and so alien. Was it her? Was it me?
"The fey," the voice said quietly. "Go."
"What?" Buffy stuttered, her voice panicky and shrill. "Emma?"
"Mother," the calm, sweet voice repeated. Buffy could almost hear her smile. "It will be all right. He can be saved. He is your One. Go to the fey. They are where they always will be."
"Please, Emma. Save him," Buffy pleaded, trying to strain towards the voice without leaving Spike's side. Without losing contact. She was afraid if she stopped touching him, Spike would drift away.
The girl stepped into the candlelight, glowing and ethereal, a sad smile on her lips. "Go to the fairies, mum. I will stay with father." Emma, the Peacemaker, walked towards them, crouching on the floor next to her father. Buffy threw a towel over him nervously, as if it were a habit to always have to make sure he was covered around the kids.
But this wasn't a kid. This was the Ancient One.
Peace.
"Go the fey."
~~~~~
Floating.
It was as if he could see her, but he couldn't. Feel her without touching.
The aching, throbbing, searing pain had stopped and he rested, reclined against the cold, cold porcelain, draped in her warmth. Her scent.
My beautiful, golden goddess, he thought, trying to lift his hands to stroke her soft, soft hips.
But his hands were numb.
He tried to move his fingers. His toes. Anything. Nothing. Numb. Inky black oblivion except for her. That silver and gold vision, that form, moving against him.
He heard her scream into her hand. Retch. Start to sob. No, no Buffy. We won. We won. I don't know for how long, but we won. You are not lost. I gave you some of your light back. It's still in me. There's more. So much more. You have an endless supply of fire, Pet. Of good. Do not cry. There's more.
But the words wouldn't come.
He tried to lift his arms to hold her, to comfort her. It's all right, Love. Nothing to be sorry for. You needed me. You needed me to live. You need to live. You need. You live. My golden goddess.
But he couldn't move.
In out. His breaths were so slow. Were they always this slow? In..... Out.
Thump..thump.thump.thump.. I thought that it was sort of more a jig than a slow moving waltz.
Her whimpers and sobs brought him back into himself and he could feel her press against him. Cold and wet and ah, that feels so cold against my neck, Love. So good. Thank you. So tired, now. Will you hold me? Will you hold me while I drift off?
A thump made him jolt, or at least he thought he had. But he hadn't moved. And her bones cracking. No, baby. No. Don't. It'll be all right. Slow. Slow. Let me help you.
But he couldn't move.
The sound of her retching. Of blood hitting water.
Not after this, you don't. Don't give it back to the Sunnydale Sewer System, Pet.
A wave of empathy crashed over him and he could feel her in his head, panicked and afraid and horrified and full of guilt. Of sorrow. Of fear.
No, Love. I made you do this. I asked you to. You're not a monster. Never a monster. My golden goddess, you are. Always.
Another voice and he was instantly calm. Her voice, but not. Emma's. But not. Smooth and rich and vanilla and calm. Take care of your mum, he thought to himself. Make her right.
Then the hand against his neck was gone, but the warming rag was still against him. The lightest touch in his hair. The warm smell of vanilla. The rich, perfect tone of his daughter's voice.
~~~~~
She ran into the hall and to Emma's room, opening the door as quietly as her panicked hands could manage. Her breaths came in short, ragged spurts, the robe she'd thrown hastily on hanging haphazardly off her shoulders.
It was a blue robe. His.
Emma lay in her bed, but she didn't. The small form of a young girl was there, but Buffy couldn't *feel* her. Like her essence was gone. Just her form. Just a sleeping shell of their baby girl.
A fluttering in the window brought her back from her thoughts.
Three shimmering sentries stood around a vial of sparkling red. Like liquid fire with stars suspended. So small and so bright against the dark of the night. Buffy ran to the sill, cracking open the window to a chorus of muted hums. Soft, gentle, quiet, soothing noises as the little winged beings lifted the vial and put it in her outstretched palm.
"What is it?" Buffy whispered, between awe and terror.
She heard the answer but she didn't. It wasn't a word or a name. Just a soft, gentle, hum. "Firelight."
"Come to me, Pet."
His choked voice in her head made her neck swivel to scan behind her. Only the sleeping form. Buffy's head swung back to the window and all that was left was the vial cradled in her palm. Firelight.
She ran silently on wet, bare feet into the hall and back to the bathroom. He was still lying supine on the floor; glorious in the pale rays of the moon that struck his too white skin. Perfect and marble and deadly and hers. Her predator and her prey. She had preyed on him tonight.
How could he ever forgive her?
How could she forgive herself?
The silvery form of the Peacemaker was almost lost in the moonlight, crouched beside her champion, her hands stroking his marble cheeks. She had bound his neck in gossamer gauze and cleansed the blood from his chest so all that was left was pale perfection against the powder blue bathmat and the silver light of the moon.
"Did you find the answer?" That rich, honeyed voice filled the room and settled over Buffy like a warm blanket on a cold day.
Buffy opened her hand wordlessly, the vial glowing with the light of a thousands stars in her hand. She nodded. "His neck," she choked out.
"He is a Vampire, Mother. He will heal."
"But I . I have.," Buffy sputtered.
The girl smiled, gesturing Buffy to the floor. "Feed him the potion and I will explain."
Again, Buffy nodded, pulling the stopper from the vial with a pop and kneeling by her love's head. He was so still. The tears filled her eyes anew.
Slowly, gently, she lowered the vial to his lips, but they were cold. Pinched closed in his repose. "How?" Buffy muttered, more to herself than to anyone.
The Peacemaker looked at her kindly for a moment, settling Buffy back to peace. How? Baby, please drink, she thought.
"Go to him," the girl said softly. Buffy closed her eyes and searched, holding the vial against his pale, cold lips. Searching into him. Trying to find him. Trying to bring him home.
Door after door clanged open in her mind, swinging into corridor after corridor and she ran through them all, looking for him until she felt so tired. So very tired.
And there he huddled, at the end of the last long hall, back to the wall, naked. Alone. His knees drawn up against his chiseled chest.
Buffy slid to him, skidding on her bruised and battered knees to a halt in front of his feet. "Spike?"
He looked up, blue eyes full of fear and of sorrow. "Don't hate me, Love."
Her eyes grew wide, pooling tears drowning her vision. "No, baby. No. It's me. I."
"I had to save you from it," Spike choked out. "Had to bring you back. Didn't know how."
"Shh," she whispered, her hand stroking his hair softly. "Why? Why did you. Why?"
"Can't lose you to the beast, Love. Not you. Not my golden goddess."
She smiled, pressing her lips softly against his. "I love you, Spike."
"I love you," he answered, his voice as small and shaken as a scared little boy.
"Please forgive me. Forgive me." She broke down, sobbing, her hand covering her mouth as her horror poured out of her in waves. Her grief. Her sadness.
A gentle hand against her cheek brought her back to that crystalline blue gaze. "We do what we have to to keep each other alive, Love," Spike whispered, his thumb tracing her cheek. "I would die for you a thousand times."
Buffy blinked, the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I won't let you," she gasped, her shaking hand rising in front of him. "Drink this and come back to me."
Spike looked at the vial and back at her emerald eyes. "What is it, Pet?"
Buffy smiled, raising the vial to his lips. "Firelight."
"Firelight?" He asked, quirking his brow.
"Emma. The fairies."
Spike smiled softly, his palm still pressed to her cheek. "Helpful little buggers, aren't they?"
Buffy returned it. "Please forgive me," she whispered, bringing the vial to his lips. "Please love me."
His hand wrapped around hers, raising the red glow to his lips. "I will love you always, Pet."
She tipped the vial against his lips. "Everyday," she whispered, pressing her lips to his forehead.
Roses and fire and stars surrounded them, enveloped them as she forced the liquid down his throat, bringing him back to life. Flames ignited his heart. Blood boiled and sang in his veins. He pulled her down to him, warming her in the fire around him, in him, until he felt it explode, consuming both of them in tender warmth and starlight flames.
Her form appeared before them, glowing white against their crimson red. They stood, bodies swirling through, between, around each other in formless majesty.
"It is not permanent," she spoke, her eyes so soft and gentle.
Buffy felt herself glance at him, enveloped in the beautiful rose glow. "Spike?" She breathed.
"No," the Peacemaker answered, her voice rich and quiet. "You, mum."
Spike felt his boneless form tense, swirling protectively around his mate. "No."
The Peacemaker nodded. "You will heal, Father. You will forgive. You must help her. Your cure for her is not permanent."
Buffy shook against his fire. "No. Please, no. Not that."
"The beast shall return. Night after night. Father's blood can only return you to yourself for thirteen hours. Thirteen rotations of the hands of time. And then you shall fight on your own," the Peacemaker continued.
"No," Buffy whispered, shaking her head, tears streaming. "Please don't let this be for nothing."
The Peacemaker smiled. "Nothing is for nothing."
"I will feed her again. I will die before." Spike began.
Her rich voice cut him off. "She must fight herself. She is strong. You will help her. But she must fight this alone." Emma was quiet a moment, staring at the beautiful glow that was her parents. "You will win."
"How?" Buffy breathed. "How can I do this and protect you?"
"Love will quell the beast," the Peacemaker said softly, reaching towards them, touching the soft flames that had become their swirling forms. "Love wins."
"Please, Emma," Buffy pleaded. "Tell me how."
Again she smiled, warm and soft like goose down on a winter's day. "You will win."
With that, she was gone.
To be contd.
Well, only a two chapter week, but at least this one is exceptionally long (for one of mine). I wish I could remove the angst warning, but this is pretty much equal to the last in the heart-wrenching department. Please make sure to have a steady supply of tissues, chocolate and tequila on hand to dull the ache.
The good news, the next chapter lets up a little. If these last two have been an angst blizzard, the next is more of just an angst Winter Storm Warning! Can you tell I've been around *way* too much snow?
That being said, here we go. Please let me know what you think. I'm particularly nervous about chapters like these because I want to know you see the point and I'm not just dragging you through the ringer at my whim (no, I am not ME).
The next chapter should be out on Wednesday.
Enjoy.
*Cheery Vibes*, Nimue
"As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Spike and a widdle Buffy and Spike wubs Buffy." James Marsters 14 July 2002
Title: Firelight (Chapter Twenty-Three of The One)
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG -13
Pairing: Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.
Feedback: Yes, please
For instant notification of fic releases, straight to your mailbox, please visit Always_Everyday@yahoogroups.com . Also, please visit the wonderful fan listing that Rachel put together. Sign up today and link to your website (or just sign up to say hi!). The fan listing can be found at .
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (With, of course, the exception of Emma and William, who belong to Buffy and Spike)
Summary: Spike and Buffy deal with the immediate aftermath of his last ditch effort to save her from the demon. But, in his efforts, did he lose himself? Can Buffy come back to him in time?
Firelight
A red veil, satiny and smooth washed over her. Covering her. Melting into her. She could feel the fire start in her veins again. The warmth. Her glow. Like coming home. It bubbled into her, soothing her, making her feel like.her again. She was warm. So warm. So safe in his arms. Wrapped in his warmth. It was coming back. Her light. It was coming home.
"Buffy." So distant, it almost wasn't even a word. Barely even a breath.
"You have to stop."
But it was so beautiful, this warmth. This blessed reunion with herself in his arms. The veil slid over her eyes, down her throat. Her life.
Coursing down her throat.
"Buffy."
This time it was a choked whisper in her ear.
The veil lifted slowly, sliding across her skin, slowing its furious pace down her throat. Her eyes flickered open and she swallowed, watching the candle flame, her head resting on his shoulder. He had done it. Driven the beast back. Given her back herself. How? How did he know?
It was warm euphoria. Lying in the cooling bath water, one with her lover, the candle filling the room with a hazy glow. She felt herself. Strong. Controlled. "Spike?" She smiled and stretched her arms behind him in feline femininity. "Spike?"
But he was still beneath her.
Her face felt tight and warmer than the water. She lifted her hand, still wrapped around him and touched her face, bringing her fingers up into the light.
Blood.
"Oh God," she whispered to the air. "Spike?"
It took all her strength to pull herself back from where they had fallen, reclined against the back of the tub. She pushed herself up on outstretched arms, her own light in control of the beast for a moment. Her heart raced, blood, her blood, Slayer blood, pumping through her veins like white fire.
"It's always the blood, Pet." She heard his voice echo through her mind.
Buffy pulled herself back and opened her eyes, still sitting astride his thighs. He was there. With her. His face porcelain and perfect, dark lashes closed against alabaster skin. Her eyes scanned down and saw it.
Bright, bright red sliding slowly down his shoulder. Carving a river down his chest and dripping one heavy drop at a time into the water. She followed the trail back up in stunned silence, her hand clapping over her mouth to quell the rising scream.
His throat was torn open as if a wild animal had taken him. Lying open in the pale moonlight and soft candle glow, spilling the contents of him, of her, into the warm, scented water. Her eyes filled with horror, her newly borne blood with terror as she looked at him so still and torn in front of her. So still. So cold.
"Oh God." This time it came out as a squeak. A terrified, raspy breath escaping. "Oh God, Spike, no."
She pulled her hand from over her mouth and saw the blood coating her fingers. Her eyes grew larger.
She had done this. She had done this. She had done this. She had killed him.
"No." Her tears spilled as her trembling hand rose to the untouched side of his neck, pressing her fingers into the smooth white skin. "No."
A faint pulse against her fingers. Faint. Faint. Slow.
"Oh God."
Frantically, she grabbed the washcloth, sponging off the hole in his neck, looking at the bite marks, trying to make it stop. Make it stop. Don't bleed. Don't die.
Her other hand splashed water over her face. Her chest, trying to take the blood away. Trying to make it go away.
"Spike, no. Why? Why? Why did.how.why did you let me.no." A tumble of words and she pressed the cloth to his neck, trying to splash all the blood away and then realizing the tub was full of blood stained bubbles.
Buffy stood, pulling the plug out with one hand and holding the cloth to his neck with the other. He was so still. Still alive. Still alive. Have to fix him. Have to fix this. Have to. Oh God.
She climbed out and slid, her ankle banging into the porcelain toilet base, her knee cracking into the floor. Blood. More blood on the floor. And broken pottery. Oh God. More blood. She turned her head and threw up. More red filled the bowl of the toilet.
Buffy clapped her mouth shut, swallowing. He had given her back herself. Even if it was only temporary. Damned if she was going to let him die while she gave it to the Sunnydale sewer system.
Slowly, she stood again, clutching the side of the tub and hauled him out onto the bathmat, pressing the blood soaked rag to the side of his neck. "What do I do? Spike, what do I do? How do I help you? What do I do?" Her words were frantic. Panicked as her free hand stroked the hair away from his face.
His hair was stained almost pink from blood.
A retching, gasping, sob shook her as her eyes frantically darted, looking for the answer. Call for help? Get him juice like at the blood drives at school? Cram a cookie down his throat? She chuckled nervously, her heart breaking into a million slivers because he lay there dying and she did it. She killed him. She let him go because she couldn't do what he had been doing all along.
Hold down the beast.
And who was evil?
Blood, she thought. Give it back. Give it back. Her hands searched desperately in drawers trying to find something, anything, to cut herself. A knife, scissors, hell, she'd rip her skin with toenail clippers if she could find them. Where? God, help us. Help me.
She couldn't even scream. There were no words.
There was no one here to help.
"Mother?" A soft, rich voice came from the darkened corner of the bathroom. It was a child's voice. But not as young as any in the house. Buffy stopped, raising her trembling face to the sound, her hand clutching the blood soaked rag on her lover's torn throat.
A soft white glow emanated from the corner of the room. Not a form, really. Not a figure. Just a bathing, warm, whiteness. "Mother?"
"Emma?" Buffy's voice shook like dry leaves in the wind. Foreign and metallic and so alien. Was it her? Was it me?
"The fey," the voice said quietly. "Go."
"What?" Buffy stuttered, her voice panicky and shrill. "Emma?"
"Mother," the calm, sweet voice repeated. Buffy could almost hear her smile. "It will be all right. He can be saved. He is your One. Go to the fey. They are where they always will be."
"Please, Emma. Save him," Buffy pleaded, trying to strain towards the voice without leaving Spike's side. Without losing contact. She was afraid if she stopped touching him, Spike would drift away.
The girl stepped into the candlelight, glowing and ethereal, a sad smile on her lips. "Go to the fairies, mum. I will stay with father." Emma, the Peacemaker, walked towards them, crouching on the floor next to her father. Buffy threw a towel over him nervously, as if it were a habit to always have to make sure he was covered around the kids.
But this wasn't a kid. This was the Ancient One.
Peace.
"Go the fey."
~~~~~
Floating.
It was as if he could see her, but he couldn't. Feel her without touching.
The aching, throbbing, searing pain had stopped and he rested, reclined against the cold, cold porcelain, draped in her warmth. Her scent.
My beautiful, golden goddess, he thought, trying to lift his hands to stroke her soft, soft hips.
But his hands were numb.
He tried to move his fingers. His toes. Anything. Nothing. Numb. Inky black oblivion except for her. That silver and gold vision, that form, moving against him.
He heard her scream into her hand. Retch. Start to sob. No, no Buffy. We won. We won. I don't know for how long, but we won. You are not lost. I gave you some of your light back. It's still in me. There's more. So much more. You have an endless supply of fire, Pet. Of good. Do not cry. There's more.
But the words wouldn't come.
He tried to lift his arms to hold her, to comfort her. It's all right, Love. Nothing to be sorry for. You needed me. You needed me to live. You need to live. You need. You live. My golden goddess.
But he couldn't move.
In out. His breaths were so slow. Were they always this slow? In..... Out.
Thump..thump.thump.thump.. I thought that it was sort of more a jig than a slow moving waltz.
Her whimpers and sobs brought him back into himself and he could feel her press against him. Cold and wet and ah, that feels so cold against my neck, Love. So good. Thank you. So tired, now. Will you hold me? Will you hold me while I drift off?
A thump made him jolt, or at least he thought he had. But he hadn't moved. And her bones cracking. No, baby. No. Don't. It'll be all right. Slow. Slow. Let me help you.
But he couldn't move.
The sound of her retching. Of blood hitting water.
Not after this, you don't. Don't give it back to the Sunnydale Sewer System, Pet.
A wave of empathy crashed over him and he could feel her in his head, panicked and afraid and horrified and full of guilt. Of sorrow. Of fear.
No, Love. I made you do this. I asked you to. You're not a monster. Never a monster. My golden goddess, you are. Always.
Another voice and he was instantly calm. Her voice, but not. Emma's. But not. Smooth and rich and vanilla and calm. Take care of your mum, he thought to himself. Make her right.
Then the hand against his neck was gone, but the warming rag was still against him. The lightest touch in his hair. The warm smell of vanilla. The rich, perfect tone of his daughter's voice.
~~~~~
She ran into the hall and to Emma's room, opening the door as quietly as her panicked hands could manage. Her breaths came in short, ragged spurts, the robe she'd thrown hastily on hanging haphazardly off her shoulders.
It was a blue robe. His.
Emma lay in her bed, but she didn't. The small form of a young girl was there, but Buffy couldn't *feel* her. Like her essence was gone. Just her form. Just a sleeping shell of their baby girl.
A fluttering in the window brought her back from her thoughts.
Three shimmering sentries stood around a vial of sparkling red. Like liquid fire with stars suspended. So small and so bright against the dark of the night. Buffy ran to the sill, cracking open the window to a chorus of muted hums. Soft, gentle, quiet, soothing noises as the little winged beings lifted the vial and put it in her outstretched palm.
"What is it?" Buffy whispered, between awe and terror.
She heard the answer but she didn't. It wasn't a word or a name. Just a soft, gentle, hum. "Firelight."
"Come to me, Pet."
His choked voice in her head made her neck swivel to scan behind her. Only the sleeping form. Buffy's head swung back to the window and all that was left was the vial cradled in her palm. Firelight.
She ran silently on wet, bare feet into the hall and back to the bathroom. He was still lying supine on the floor; glorious in the pale rays of the moon that struck his too white skin. Perfect and marble and deadly and hers. Her predator and her prey. She had preyed on him tonight.
How could he ever forgive her?
How could she forgive herself?
The silvery form of the Peacemaker was almost lost in the moonlight, crouched beside her champion, her hands stroking his marble cheeks. She had bound his neck in gossamer gauze and cleansed the blood from his chest so all that was left was pale perfection against the powder blue bathmat and the silver light of the moon.
"Did you find the answer?" That rich, honeyed voice filled the room and settled over Buffy like a warm blanket on a cold day.
Buffy opened her hand wordlessly, the vial glowing with the light of a thousands stars in her hand. She nodded. "His neck," she choked out.
"He is a Vampire, Mother. He will heal."
"But I . I have.," Buffy sputtered.
The girl smiled, gesturing Buffy to the floor. "Feed him the potion and I will explain."
Again, Buffy nodded, pulling the stopper from the vial with a pop and kneeling by her love's head. He was so still. The tears filled her eyes anew.
Slowly, gently, she lowered the vial to his lips, but they were cold. Pinched closed in his repose. "How?" Buffy muttered, more to herself than to anyone.
The Peacemaker looked at her kindly for a moment, settling Buffy back to peace. How? Baby, please drink, she thought.
"Go to him," the girl said softly. Buffy closed her eyes and searched, holding the vial against his pale, cold lips. Searching into him. Trying to find him. Trying to bring him home.
Door after door clanged open in her mind, swinging into corridor after corridor and she ran through them all, looking for him until she felt so tired. So very tired.
And there he huddled, at the end of the last long hall, back to the wall, naked. Alone. His knees drawn up against his chiseled chest.
Buffy slid to him, skidding on her bruised and battered knees to a halt in front of his feet. "Spike?"
He looked up, blue eyes full of fear and of sorrow. "Don't hate me, Love."
Her eyes grew wide, pooling tears drowning her vision. "No, baby. No. It's me. I."
"I had to save you from it," Spike choked out. "Had to bring you back. Didn't know how."
"Shh," she whispered, her hand stroking his hair softly. "Why? Why did you. Why?"
"Can't lose you to the beast, Love. Not you. Not my golden goddess."
She smiled, pressing her lips softly against his. "I love you, Spike."
"I love you," he answered, his voice as small and shaken as a scared little boy.
"Please forgive me. Forgive me." She broke down, sobbing, her hand covering her mouth as her horror poured out of her in waves. Her grief. Her sadness.
A gentle hand against her cheek brought her back to that crystalline blue gaze. "We do what we have to to keep each other alive, Love," Spike whispered, his thumb tracing her cheek. "I would die for you a thousand times."
Buffy blinked, the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I won't let you," she gasped, her shaking hand rising in front of him. "Drink this and come back to me."
Spike looked at the vial and back at her emerald eyes. "What is it, Pet?"
Buffy smiled, raising the vial to his lips. "Firelight."
"Firelight?" He asked, quirking his brow.
"Emma. The fairies."
Spike smiled softly, his palm still pressed to her cheek. "Helpful little buggers, aren't they?"
Buffy returned it. "Please forgive me," she whispered, bringing the vial to his lips. "Please love me."
His hand wrapped around hers, raising the red glow to his lips. "I will love you always, Pet."
She tipped the vial against his lips. "Everyday," she whispered, pressing her lips to his forehead.
Roses and fire and stars surrounded them, enveloped them as she forced the liquid down his throat, bringing him back to life. Flames ignited his heart. Blood boiled and sang in his veins. He pulled her down to him, warming her in the fire around him, in him, until he felt it explode, consuming both of them in tender warmth and starlight flames.
Her form appeared before them, glowing white against their crimson red. They stood, bodies swirling through, between, around each other in formless majesty.
"It is not permanent," she spoke, her eyes so soft and gentle.
Buffy felt herself glance at him, enveloped in the beautiful rose glow. "Spike?" She breathed.
"No," the Peacemaker answered, her voice rich and quiet. "You, mum."
Spike felt his boneless form tense, swirling protectively around his mate. "No."
The Peacemaker nodded. "You will heal, Father. You will forgive. You must help her. Your cure for her is not permanent."
Buffy shook against his fire. "No. Please, no. Not that."
"The beast shall return. Night after night. Father's blood can only return you to yourself for thirteen hours. Thirteen rotations of the hands of time. And then you shall fight on your own," the Peacemaker continued.
"No," Buffy whispered, shaking her head, tears streaming. "Please don't let this be for nothing."
The Peacemaker smiled. "Nothing is for nothing."
"I will feed her again. I will die before." Spike began.
Her rich voice cut him off. "She must fight herself. She is strong. You will help her. But she must fight this alone." Emma was quiet a moment, staring at the beautiful glow that was her parents. "You will win."
"How?" Buffy breathed. "How can I do this and protect you?"
"Love will quell the beast," the Peacemaker said softly, reaching towards them, touching the soft flames that had become their swirling forms. "Love wins."
"Please, Emma," Buffy pleaded. "Tell me how."
Again she smiled, warm and soft like goose down on a winter's day. "You will win."
With that, she was gone.
To be contd.