Digging up the Bones

Chapter 7

A/N: This gets a little graphic. Character torture mentioned.

Thanks go, as always to Sass and Emma.

*****

"It's one of Rupert's eyes."

            A haze veiled Buffy's face. She sat motionless, her body a rigid crescent folded around the eyeball clutched to her chest. On her cheeks, two blossoms of color grew harsh against her pallor.

Spike touched her back as it rose and fell in shallow, staccato breathes. "Come on now, Buff. No time for the shock business. Got research needs doing."

Tugging on her hands, he tried to take the eyeball from her, but she held it closer, bending around it and hugging herself as if wounded. "Buffy. Pet, did you hear what I said?"

At first he thought she wasn't going to respond. Her eyes clouded over with emotions thick and unspeakable. He was about to force it from her hands when she squeezed her eyes shut. Letting out a weighty gasp, she inhaled quickly, over and again, several frantic pants that seemed to calm her enough to function. Looking at him, her face inches from his, she said thickly, "I heard you."

Her haziness fell away a layer at a time as he watched, replaced with a sudden, sharp anger. She jumped up from the couch and moved across the room to the weapon's chest in a single, fluid charge. Spike scrambled to catch the eyeball before her movement sent it to the floor. She didn't seem to notice she'd dropped it; she didn't seem to be noticing much of anything beyond the fury driving her forward. Forward… to what? She's going into full-out Slayage mode but there's nothing to be slain.

He stood and approached her, using cautious steps. She's all nerves and impulses, with not much in the way of sense. "Buffy… what exactly is it you think you're doing?"

Digging through the jumbled mess of blades, bows and other weaponry, she ignored his question. "Where did you find it? Giles'…" Her voice shook, as well as her hands, but the muscles of her back were steady and strong, and he could see she meant to use them.

Off to fight the unfightable, she is. Taking another step towards her, he kicked away a box of holy water flasks. "Set paid us a little, invisible visit. Didn't even know he'd been here till I went to the kitchen for a drink of blood and found his calling-card waiting in my mug."

            She pulled out a bundle of stakes bound together with rope and tossed them aside as useless before continuing her search. "He left it in your mug? When?"

            The flatness of her voice worried him. Running on empty this way, she's gonna get herself killed.  Crouching beside her, he touched her shoulder. Got to get her slowed-down enough to let in some common sense. "Could've been anytime. You've been out for the past six hours. I thought your Watcher was sleeping off his bender upstairs so I set myself to the research. Pounded the books, went for a drink, and there it was, waiting for me. Just like Set is… wherever he is, with your Watcher, waiting for you. You know he's baiting you, luring you out to fight the fight on his terms."

            "I know." Drawing an axe from the box, she held it up. The hallway light gleamed off its shiny blade. "He picked the perfect thing. We knew he would. He wanted to catch himself the full good-guys team. And he succeeded." Whirling around, she headed for the door.

            "Yeah, well, goodie on him." Seizing hold of Buffy's arm, he pulled her back "You're not going after him. Not yet. Unkillable god, remember? You don't even know where he is."

            She yanked herself free. "I've got a good guess. Set goes for the torment, you said so yourself. What's the one place in Sunnydale Giles won't enter, won't even look at when he passes it during patrol?"

            "The mansion. Angelus' old haunt. Yeah, okay, full of bloody memories for Giles and you're probably right that Set's keeping him there all bait-like but wait a tick and listen to me. You can't go alone and I can't go with you. Sun's up." He gestured to the window. "Slow down, why don't you. We'll do more research, figure out how to…"

            She shook her head, interrupting him. "Giles can't wait that long." Giving him the barest of nods, she said, "If I'm not back by sunset, follow me."

            Trailing close behind her as she walked out of the living room, Spike clenched his fists to keep from grabbing her and giving her a good, hard shake. "Have you lost your mind? Get yourself killed, again, and what good will that do your Watcher? He taught you better, love. Life's taught you better."

            She opened the door, then stopped and turned towards him. Something in her expression made his chest tighten. Buffy… pet, is that love I see?  

Lowering the axe, she turned her face up and brushed her lips against his lightly. She held herself there and spoke near his mouth, her breath laying a moist heat onto his lips. "Life's taught me to hold onto the people I care about. I've gotta do what I can for him."  

He kept his body stiff against her, kept his lips static under the touch of her mouth, unable to give up, incapable of sending her off to die without fighting with all he had to keep her safe. "Don't do this, love. We'll find another way. The only creature strong enough to hurt Set was another god. We need a plan; you can't just whack at him with your axe.""

            "You see any friendly gods around? No? I didn't think so. And Giles needs me now." She opened the door, making him duck back to avoid the unexpected stream of sunlight. "Sorry," she said, then circled away and broke into a run.

Spike kicked the door, sending it slamming closed. "Giles needs you alive," he muttered, though he knew she couldn't hear. And so do I. He looked down at the eyeball in his hand. Blood discolored the cloth, darkening the fabric to a shade beyond black. His skin was also marked red and though he knew the blood did not belong to the Watcher, knew it was from the animal he'd been drinking out of a mug, the sight of it on his skin made him feel tainted. Frustration grew within his bones; he growled and stalked into the kitchen to find a container for the body part.

            There has to be something I can do. She's out there alone. Hours of research and all I've got are battle details older than the Master. Giles' shot glass was still where he'd left it on the island counter. Depositing the eye inside, Spike went to the sink and turned on the hot water tap. He soaked the blood from his hands, grinding his teeth at the temperature. It hurt him, the heat, but it also quieted the voice deep inside him that seemed able to repeat only three panicky words: Buffy will die.    

            Drying his hands on his jeans, he made his way into the dining room and stood still, looking down at the mounds of leather-covered books. The volume on top the nearest stack caught his eye, its title, The God Horus, prickling an idea. The only one ever to even hurt Set was another god.

            Falling into the closest chair, he hauled the book into his lap and opened it.

*****

            She ran, and for a brief, sweet moment knew nothing but the sting of battered pavement against the soles of her sneakers. Reality came back by increments as she neared the old mansion but did not stop her from racing up the front steps two at a time, her weapon raised. It was stupid, so stupid, what she was doing. Disregarding everything Giles had taught her out of anger and fear and guilt… He'd be angry with her but only if she succeeded, only if she saved him and if he lived.

She knew where she'd find Giles within the dismal, empty manse. The torture room, of course. The thought of what she'd find there- his eye, oh god, his eye- made her want to stop and run back home to where, if she was lucky, he would be waiting for her with his books and tea and his quirky music. He'd laugh when she told him about this crazy dream she'd had- Egyptian god? Good lord, Buffy, what were you watching on television before you went to sleep?- and he'd squeeze her shoulder and give her that smile, the one which he always used to tell her all was fine, and his eyes would warm in that way, making her feel safer than a Slayer had any right to feel. His eye. No, that won't happen anymore.  He would not be waiting at home and she could do nothing else but obey the thrum of raging energy inside her. Whatever it takes, this monster is going down, hard. Whatever it takes. I've got nothing much left to lose.

Opening the door, she paused, peering into the lightless room. "Giles?" she called. No need to be subtle. Set knows I'm here. The bastard called for me to come. "Giles, it's Buffy. I'm here. Can you… can you answer me?"

            There was a movement against the back wall of the room, a scraping of cloth on cement. She rushed towards the sound. "Giles?"

            His voice was weak, mumbling something she could not understand. Dropping to her knees, she felt her way across the floor until she hit upon something solid and warm. A leg. Giles' leg.  She ran her hands upwards, finding his shoulders. "Giles. It's Buffy. Can you… are you…" Are you okay? Of all the stupid questions… of course he's not okay. "Can you hear me?"

            Leaning close, she listened to his babbling, picking out words that made a sort of sense she wished she didn't understand. "He makes me see what I want…It's a trick, he makes me see what I want… Angelus, again. Again…"     

            Tears stung her eyes. She stifled them back, gasping out a strangled sort of laugh to keep herself from breaking down into sobs. "No, Giles. It's not Angelus, not this time. And I… I'm here, really, it's me." Scooping up his hands, she brought them to her cheek. "See, here I am. Just Buffy. No tricks."

            He touched her face, exploring her with his fingers, distinguishing her feature by feature with desperation. "Buffy. But I can't see you. I- I can't see… my glasses, I must put them on."

            He wants his glasses. All the better to see you with, said the wolf to Little Red. 'Cause she was walking through the woods looking for grandmother but all she found was Death. But Giles didn't find death, not really. Just kinda. Just a kind of  death. Tears welled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks; she could not stop them. I guess we still have stuff to lose after all. "No, Giles. No glasses. They won't… they won't help. Set, he… how much do you remember?"

            Giles fell into a loaded quietness. Buffy wished she could see his face, then thought better, imagining despite herself how damaged he must look. The quiet stretched on, until Buffy realized what she had asked him, and how stupid it was of her, how very stupid, to make him think of what he'd survived. "Don't remember. Forget that, Giles. Forget it. Let's… let's get out of here."

            Lifting him to his feet, she pulled him close, supporting his weight precariously on her small frame. She took a step, relieved when he did as well. "See, you can walk. It'll be okay. The door's over here and---"    She hesitated as something in the hallway stirred her Slayer senses. "What is that sound?"

Giles' fingers dug into her arm. A low keening sound erupted from his chest. "It's Set, he's returning for me." His body jerked back towards the wall, her grasp the only thing keeping him from hiding.

Reeling to the side, she spun around in a circle to keep her footing. "Hold still, I don't want to drop you."

"But he's…" Giles cocked his head, bumping Buffy's in the process. She winced, though he didn't seem to notice. "I heard him."

"Then we better get a move on," she said, keeping her fear in check with the knowledge that she had to keep Giles from panicking long enough to get them both to safety. Or, from panicking more. "Come on, the door's this way. Almost there."

            He let her lead him across the room without a word but his muscles were rigid under her arm. "See, here we are," she said, nodding towards the exit.

            As they reached the threshold, something creaked. Buffy stopped short, just as the door swung shut to slam inches from their faces. From behind it, someone- something- laughed. Willow's laugh. "Eenie meenie miney mo," said the god in Willow's girlish voice. Fingernails scratched over the wood paneling. "Catch a Slayer by her toe."

"Shit!" Buffy yelped, vaulting back. Giles flung himself away, scuttling back to the far wall. "Giles!"

            He cowered in the shadows, rocking back and forth. Words poured out of him in a shrill babble. "It's him, he's come back for me, he's going to cut me open with his magic again, he and Angelus, they do things to me, they won't let me go…"

            Running to him, she clutched his shoulders. "Giles!" She propelled him to his feet and kept him there, scanning the room for another exit. Duh, torture room. It's not gonna have a side way in. Turning her attention back to her Watcher, she gave him a tiny slap to interrupt the fearful moans that came from him unbidden. "Listen to me. Take a deep breath, okay? We're getting out of here. Both of us, we are, but I need you to focus. Can you think of another way out?"

            "You're not Buffy, you're not," Giles said, shaking his head, vehement in his terror. "He makes me see things…"

            Letting go of one of his arms, Buffy stilled his cheek with a flat palm. There wasn't enough light to see the wreckage of his face but the skin beneath hers was crusted with blood. She ignored that, ignored the impulse to recoil and run so far she never had to see her Watcher as degraded as he'd become. Careful to stay gentle, she made him face her and caressed him soothingly. "It is me. See? Buffy hand. Buffy voice. Now think, Giles. Please. We need to get out of here."

            With great effort, he relaxed his body, but did not release her. "There's … there's only the one door but I remember an entrance to the sewers. Angel a-and the other vampires used it, before." Pointing to the opposite corner, he said, "A hatch in the floor, leading to the sewers."

            Finally, something goes our way. Even if it comes from Giles having been-here, done-that with the torture room. But still, luck is luck. "Great. We'll use that. Stay quiet, and maybe…"

            Before she could finish her sentence, a rumbling noise filled the room. The floor and walls began to shake. She squatted low to keep her balance, yanking Giles down with her. His fingers pinched into her arms.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," she said to pacify them both as her hair was swept up by a furious wind which seem to come from nowhere. It blew with terrible vigor around them, as if they were the eye of a strange, demonic hurricane. "It's gonna be okay." Spitting her hair from her mouth, she blinked into the darkness. "I've just gotta…"

            "There's nothing you can do."

            She shot to her feet, positioning herself between Giles and the doorway. Willow's voice, not Willow. Willow's voice, that's all. It's not her. "What do you want!"

            "I have what I want," Set replied calmly. With his words, the wind fell away, revealing… No, not Willow. But… Willow's body. Willow hands, Willow hair, Willow…not Willow. Smiling, he reached into the pocket of the hooded sweatshirt he wore and pulled out something small. Tossing it in the air and catching it with mock-idle ease, he said, "The children of Horus are mine."

            "My dad's name is not Horus, you freak," Buffy said. "Horus is just some old guy in Giles' books. You're not dealing with him, you're dealing with the Slayer." Giles stayed huddled at her feet, shivering. He's got no way to fight, no way to defend himself, thanks to this creep. "You know what that means? Slayer? It means, I'm the girl you really don't want to piss off, and oh hey, you already did. Now, are we gonna fight or what?"

            "And what sort of fight do you plan to wage, little one? Haven't you learned, I've already bested you?" Laughing, Set raised his hand. "If nothing else, this should have convinced you. Catch." He tossed her the object he'd been playing with.

            She obeyed by reflex, not thinking better of her action until it was too late. Raising it up, she squinted at it in the dark. It took her several seconds to realize that the tiny, damp ball she held was Giles' missing eye.

His eye. Buffy could barely stay upright as ripples of nausea surged through her body. I'd wondered why Spike found only the one. Guess Set didn't want to give up both his toys. Swaying, she bent and threw up on her shoes.

*****

            Giles couldn't see. The room was darker than the deepest part of the ocean, darker even that the pure-black color of Ethan's bad-magick eyes, the ones which he'd once thought held the answers to all he needed. Now, decades later, he had no answers and he found himself no stronger for having given up the magicks that might have saved his eyes.  Now, he was huddled alone in the most wretched corner of the most hateful house he'd ever entered and wished suddenly, with all the clarity he possessed, to be looking into Ethan's evilness. To be looking at anything at all would have calmed the panic that rolled his stomach in sick waves. But the black magicks brought only death upon Willow. I was stronger than she, more proficient, true, but strong enough to defeat a god? No.  Not that it matters now.

He remembered they were about to die and felt nothing at the idea apart from the tickling notion deep within that Buffy should never have come after him unprepared. Bloody-minded girl. Should have known better.

He sensed the presence of his Slayer standing before him, protecting him from the god with nothing but the slight girth of her body. The wind whipped her clothing; the soft cotton of her sweatpants brushed his face. She yelled, angry words that he could not comprehend but the horror in her voice could not be mistaken. It cut into the fog of his semi-consciousness and reawaked his own fear. There'd been gagging a few moments earlier, followed by the sulpherous odor of vomit. Sliding up the wall to sit, he held out his hands, searching for her.  It's just a little death, my dear. Nothing we haven't faced before, but oh, not again, not again…

There was a noise, a sort of crashing, as if something wooden had exploded against something stone. A voice bellowed and received an enraged response shouted in a language Giles knew he should recognize but in his current state, could not. Just a little death, just a little… Then Buffy's hands found his and she murmured, "We're not going to die. Just hang tight."

            *****

            When Spike blew into the room, knocking the door from its rusted hinges, Buffy screamed, startled, then bit down on her lip in fury. Stupid vampire, what the hell does he think he's doing here?

Spike stood stiffly, gaping at the god wearing Willow's body. Chuckling, Set gave him a little wave. What is this, the official designated day for suicidal rescue missions? Is recklessness contagious? I told him to wait, I told him, and the idiot couldn't even follow an order to save his own stupid life. Before she could tell him as much, someone came into the room behind him. No, not someone. Something.

            Light shined from the being, illuminating the shadows. It revealed more of the room than Buffy wished to see. She kept her focus on the glowing… what is he? A demon?… avoiding other sights she couldn't bear to take in. Giles' face. The wetness on the walls and the floor, not water but blood. And Willow…

            "What is it?" Giles asked her, knocking his knuckles against her ankle before holding it tightly. "I feel a… a sort of heat."

            "I have no idea," Buffy said. She studied the being with fear-tinged awe. "Tall. Big with the lightyness. Sorta man-like, but not." Emphasis on the not. Never met a man with a head of a… oh, god. A god! I know this! "He's got a falcon's head. It-it's the guy from your book, Giles. The god, the good god. Horus."

            As Horus moved closer, Set growled, the animal-like sound absurd coming from his girlish body. Walking backwards, he threw up his arms, protecting his eyes from the light. "You weren't supposed to arrive yet, nephew. I'm still preparing."

            "The vampire summoned me. I had thought you dead." The words came from the body but the heavy, golden beak did not move.

A walking statue, Buffy thought. Like something out of a museum, except he glows.

            "You thought as I wished you to think," Set said. "I was weak before but with the witch's magic feeding mine, my strength is nearly restored."

            Horus folded his long arms over his chest. "Contact me when you have your full power. I will wait."

            "Farewell until then," Set said, "And farewell to you as well, Watcher. Your blood tasted of nutmeg, did you know that? Delectable. I look forward to another go-around with you and your Slayer." He saluted Buffy with mocking fealty and walked out the door.

"Umm… okay... this has gone beyond weird." Buffy looked from Spike to Horus and back again, bewilderment widening her eyes. "Someone better start making with the explanations, and I mean now. Why do we have two gods now instead of one? Where the hell did you come from? And why did you let him walk out of here? He told you he's weak, you could have…"

            "Buffy."

Giles' frail voice quieted her. Kneeling down, she said, "I'm right here."

"Do not…" Coughing, he tried again. "Do not anger Horus."

"I thought he was a good guy."

"With gods, it's all relative. He has goodness to him but you must remember, his motivations are his own." Inching closer, he whispered, "Horus beheaded his own mother when she granted Set amnesty. Do not anger him."

If the good guy is evil, does that make the bad guy double-evil? "Gotcha," Buffy said, "Play nice with the bird-brain super-coward who just let Set meander on out like they were best buddies or something, like he hadn't been in here all day playing psycho-surgeon on your face…"

"Buffy," Spike said, tapping his ear. "If I can hear you, so can Horus."

Stupid me. "Oh. Well, when I said bird-brain, I only meant… 'cause you know, you've got a big bird head and all… not that you're, um… yeah, I'll just stop while I'm ahead here."

"I understand that my actions seemed cowardly to you, mortal, being who and what you are. You do not need to understand, only believe that a disappointing victory over Set would be no true victory at all."  

            "Actually, I think that Set being dead pretty much equals a victory, and dead is dead no matter which way he's facing when you stick him with a sword. Or whatever you use to kill an uber-God."

            "Our battle has been waged over eons. I've not come so far only to fight an inadequate opponent."

 "So you decide to show up and wait to see if you'll pick this week to fight him?"

            "I had little choice. The spell used to summon me was powerful."

"Spike? You cast a spell?"

            Inclining his head, Spike said, "Found you a god, Slayer."

            "You summoned Horus? How?"

            "Giles has a book for everything." His face darkened as he studied the Watcher. "Talk can wait. We need to get him out of here. Think he's strong enough to walk?"

            "I… I am, yes," Giles said. "With help, that is."

"Put your weight on me," Buffy said. She tucked her shoulder under his arm, supporting him. Spike grabbed his other arm and took up half Giles' weight. Nudging him forward, Buffy hugged Giles closely. "That's it. Everything's okay. We're leaving now."

            Barely conscious, Giles bowed his head. He mumbled something as she urged him towards the door. It might have been good. Or it might have been god. Either way, she knew it was a sort of prayer.

            Something crunched beneath her shoe. Pausing, she glanced down. His glasses. They're broken. She started to reach down for them before remembering that they were now useless. What will he do with his hands when he's nervous? What will he do, period? Giles with no eyes is… A burning grew behind her eyes as her words from the night before resonated in her memory. What good is a Watcher who can't see? How could we have defeated Glory without Giles? Or the Mayor, or Acathla, or…

            Over Giles' bent shoulders, Spike met her teary eyes, his look a darker, harder version of her own. "Got work to do, Slayer," he said, quirking his mouth in resolute doggedness. "Buck up."

            Stiffening her spine, she kicked the broken glasses away into a corner and headed for home.

*****

            "You should be in the hospital," Buffy said as she helped Giles settle onto the living room couch. Pulling a blanket over him, she tucked it in around his chest. The quilt patches were only shades darker than the angry red and blue that mottled his face. She didn't want to think of his wounds, of the blood she'd helped him wash away, but a mixture of pity and anger rooted in her chest and would not be eased.

He winced as he adjusted himself on the cushions. "There's nothing to be done for me," he said, licking his lips. Without his eyes, his face was unreadable, but she got that he was thirsty.

Finding a cup of water on the coffee table, Buffy brought it to his mouth and helped him take slow sips. "Spike saved your… I mean, he put them in something safe. For the doctors. Just in case they want to try to, you know, put them back in."

            "Even if they could medically, in this case it would be impossible." He burrowed deeper into the couch, resting his cheek against the pillow. "Am I… is it… appalling?"

            Only when I look at it. At you. Or remember it or picture it in my head, or the way Set leered, all happy with himself for tearing you apart.  "No," she squeaked around the lump growing rapidly in her throat.

            "As bad as that, then. Well. I rather expected as much." His hand went to his hair then lowered, wavering, to hesitate on the ridge of bone above his eyes. "Will I find… is it… open?"

            Oh, god.  Oh Giles. A noise in the hallway caught her attention. Spike leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was as serious as she'd ever seen it but that he was there, supporting her, gave her the courage to scoot closer to her Watcher and cover his hand in hers. "It's okay. See? Just eyelids. Whatever he did to you, he cleaned up afterwards." Trying for lightness, she said, "It's not so bad," but her voice broke on the last word. She couldn't bring herself to outright lie. It's bad, Giles, it's so, so bad that I don't know how to fix it. I'd kick all sorts of ass if there was an ass to be kicked but there's not and I'm so out of my depth here and god, it's bad.

            He jerked his hand away and tucked it under his back. "I don't want your pity, Buffy," he said in his formal, 'I am Watcher, hear me roar all lectury and aloof' tone.

            He's gotta be wigging majorly to pull that attitude.  But maybe he needs me to be the strong one right now. I can do that, can't I? "You hungry?"

            "Did you not hear what I told you?" He kicked his feet out, adjusting the blanket and baring his toes in the process. They looked naked against the bright cotton and so human, she thought, so vulnerable.

 With a quick tug, she had the blanket covering all of him. "I don't do pity," she told him. "But I can make toast and tea. That sound good?"

            He let out a measured breath. "Sounds ideal."

            Spike stopped her in the hallway. He drew her to sit on the stairs and when she did, he sat beside her, so close his thigh brushed hers. "What's the damage?"

            "It's damagey." Leaning back onto her elbows, she let her head rest on the step. "His eyes? Gone."

            "Well, yeah, but all that blood Set used to paint the mansion didn't come from his eyes. You cleaned him up, you should know."

            "His back," she said, burrowed her face against the side of her arm. As long as I don't think about it, or remember… it's not bad. "Set beat the crap out of him. His back's torn up."

            "Hospital then?"

            "No. He won't go. And he says they can't fix his eyes. Set sealed them up tight. I don't know what we should do with them… bury them, I guess." Waving her foot towards the dining room, she said, "How's His Gloweyness?"

            Spike smirked. "He's reading the newspaper, if you can believe that. Said something about 'wanting to learn of the moral turpitude of these dishonorable times'. Poncey sort of god, if you ask me."

            She straightened, her eyes narrowing. "You called up a god, Spike. What were you thinking? I mean, didn't Willow's situation teach you anything? Can't you see how dangerous it is, having him here?"

            "I did what needed doing. You ran out of here to die. Again. What the bloody hell did you expect I'd do, pick up a bit of embroidery?"

            "I didn't expect you to…"

            "I did what needed doing!" Lowering his voice, he said, "And you should be saying thank you for saving your sorry ass, not to mention your Watcher. The two of you were three seconds from being god-meat." His jaw tightened and he seized her by the arms. "Dead, Buffy. Permanently, outright dead. And you just left me here to twiddle my bloody thumbs!"

            "I wasn't exactly thinking straight, you know. Not like I filed a mission plan or anything. I… I just… but it doesn't matter now, okay? I'm fine." Her lips curved upwards as something powerful passed over his face. "You still love me, don't you."

            He wanted to move back, away from her and her question. She could see the need knot his muscles with tension and for a moment, wished she hadn't asked. Too much, too soon, maybe? But no, he's all but admitted it anyway, it's so obvious. And he's not yelling at me or running, which is a plus. "Spike?"

            "Slayer." He swung out his legs from beneath him and stretched, kicking off his boots.

He's stalling. That's so… not Spike. Turning his hands over in hers, she brought them to her mouth and brushed a kiss over each palm. "Spike. I've gotta go get Giles some tea and then we've gotta have a talk with your new friend in there. We can't sit here and go back and forth like we do. No time for that, no energy either. But I want you to tell me this one thing. It's… important. Please." Following the line of his cheekbone with the tip of her index finger, she widened her eyes and let her need for him bleed out for him to see.  Please, tell me the truth. This has been one of the worst days of my life. I've lost almost everything and more than anything I need something to balance it, I need something real and true and alive. I need you to love me back. "Tell me the truth, please."

His face softened as she stroked over his brow. "Truth? Big question, that. Truth is, I've been a man in the dark for years whose only light came in a Slayer-shaped package. Truth is that I've wanted you and hated you, fought you and myself, grieved for you till I thought my soul'd grown back all on its own. I've sought you out all over the place, and would do it again a thousand times over if it meant having you for even a night." Striking his chest, he said, "That I won this soul for you, pet, that's no secret, but that I won it for myself as well… see, life without you is no life. Couldn't stand it. All those months in the Sanctuary, in the dark… couldn't stand it for the pain and hunger, yeah, but mostly…"

Moistening her lips, she said, "Mostly?"

            He threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her near him. "Mostly, I couldn't stand knowing you were a part of a world without me. I wanted you. Your touch, your scent, your… your bloody light. But mostly, I wanted to be in your world. And I couldn't let myself be, you see, couldn't, because you've had enough evilness in your life. But…" A thin groan rose from his throat. He touched his forehead to hers, his eyes closing reverently. "But I wanted your world."

            Twining her hands around the back of his neck, she hugged him. "You didn't know this… maybe I didn't even know this, then, but Spike… stupid vamp guy, don't you know it now?"

            Inching back just enough to see her clearly, he asked, "Know?"

            "My world and your world… they're the same now." Smiling, she moved her fingers to caress his lower lip. "In fact, I'd say, if you're over being pissed at me for thinking you deserve a life and pulling you out of that crypt… I'd say, you pretty much are my world."

            He froze, stunned by her openness. At least she hoped that's what made him pull the deer-in-headlights act. Too much, too soon. But one of us has to take a chance here or nothing will ever change. "Spike…"
 

            "Slayer." Shaking himself, he shot to his feet. "We've got work to do."

            "Yeah," she said as he fled to the dining room. "Looks like a lot more work than I thought."

            *****

            The sight of an ancient god sitting in her mother's chair at the dining room table reading the comics section of the Sunday Times sent Buffy into a fit of giggles. She collapsed onto the chair beside him, her whole body shaking with laughter. "You like Peanuts? Or, no, I bet you're a Gary Larson kinda guy."

            "I am not a guy." He used his hawk's beak like a mouth, opening it and closing it around the words. Buffy knew that was not physically possible but considering the manner of demons she'd seen, she found it more funny than strange.

            "Guy, god, whatever."

            Spike cleared his throat from across the table. "We got a game plan to work up. The funnies can wait, yeah? There's a couple of books here…"

            "Set needs killing, hard core." Folding the newspaper, Buffy shot Horus a side-long look. "And since someone thinks it's better to wait till Set's all strong and manly again, I guess it's gonna be just that. Hard."

            "There is already a plan in place. We need no books." With a broad, golden-skinned hand, Horus swiped the paper back from Buffy and opened it.

            Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Um… you're all 'case-closed' there, but we're more clueless than not. Care to let us in?"

            "We won't be killing Set," Horus said.

            "Yes, we will." Buffy sucked in her lip, her gaze going automatically to the doorway through which she could catch a glimpse of the top of Giles' head. Sleeping. I guess that rules out the tea I forgot to make him. The guy deserves a rest after… everything. "We will be killing Set very, very dead. Get me?"

            He blinked at her, calm and unphased. "We will not be killing Set. The witch will."

            "Witch?" Spike closed his book and slid it to the center of the table. "Which witch?"

            "Set's witch. The one within whom he dwells. She who feeds him can also…"

            "Willow can kill him." Buffy's mind began to whirl with possibilities. "You're saying, there's enough of Willow left in there, that she can… sabotage him somehow?"

            "Yes."

            They sat in silence for a minute, waiting for Horus to elaborate. He didn't seem to notice, only flipped through the newspaper to the Local section. Obituaries. How apt. "Willow's alive?"

            "After a fashion," Horus said distractedly. "Set keeps her consciousness within her body, feeds off her magicks. She's within, yet…"

            "He's keeping her alive. Sorta. And if we can contact her, get her to turn off the magick feeding she's doing, he'll die?"

            "No. He will die only when she does."

            "So, she's not dead." Buffy rubbed her temples, a headache brewing. "And when she dies, all the way, he'll die too. And that's the only way to kill him?"

            "Over eons, I've sought a way to secure his final death. This is all I've found."

            "We need to kill… to kill Willow. But Set keeps her alive. So… what then?"

            Spike cleared his throat. "We need to suppress Set long enough for Willow to take control of her body. She'll die. He'll die too. That about right? 

            "That is the plan," Horus said.

            We just need to kill Willow. Again. Great. Lovely. Wonderful. Lowering her head to the table, she groaned. Dammit.

            "Slayer?"

            She looked up to find Horus watching her. "Yeah?"

            "Sleep now, child. Tomorrow, we will kill. Tonight you must rest."

            Great plan. Thanks for that. Just the thing for counting sheep and lollipop dreams. "'Kay," she said, and headed for the door. Spike waved his hand to her but she ignored him. In the living room, she pulled a blanket from the armchair and curled up in a ball.  I don't wanta think. I don't wanta feel. Sleep is good. Tomorrow'll be Slayer time.

            .