CHAPTER 7: REVELATIONS PT. 2

What am I supposed to do?
When everything that I've done
Is leading me to conclude
I'm not the one.

Whatever I've done
I've been staring down the barrel of a gun.

Is there something you need from me?
Are you having your fun?
I never agreed to be
Your holy one.

Whatever I've done
I've been staring down the barrel of a gun.

            ~Barrel of a Gun, Depeche Mode
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"It's true," Faith spoke abruptly into the silence, and then looked regretful, as if she hadn't meant to speak at all. The eyes that met Giles' were filled with wrestling demons, and he thought he hadn't seen eyes so haunted since… well, since Buffy had gone to her final battle, truth be told. "I…" she looked away, seeming embarrassed. "The dreams… everything fits. I know it's true."

"Well, that puts our doubts to rest," Xander muttered.

Giles looked at her intently, searching her face. "Faith… You're sure?"

"I don't know how, or why, but I know he's right. It's like a… a Slayer sense or something." When he continued to stare at her, she went on the defensive. "Hey, it's not like I want it to be true, believe me." She seemed about to say more, but closed her mouth on the next words, shrugged and subsided into silence.

Giles seemed more convinced by that, and he turned his attention back to Tenth. "If that's the case… then I'm afraid your Oracle's words still offer us little in the way of enlightenment."

"The knowledge of the Oracle is a sword that cuts both ways. Sometimes knowing a little of what's to come is worse than knowing nothing at all." Giles nodded as if to say he knew that implicitly, and Tenth believed him. "The Oracle thinks everything that's going to happen is connected to whatever happened to Blackwell. She caught a glimpse of her in the vision"

"Then that's where we'll start. You said she came here tracking a vampire?" Giles asked, and Tenth could almost see the man gathering seeds, plowing the fertile soil of his mind, planting ideas and aligning everything for the crop of revelations that were certain to come.

"A type of vampire," Tenth corrected.

"A type of vampire?" Giles echoed with interest, and despite the severity of their conversation, Tenth could swear he saw excitement in the man's eyes. "What sort?"

"Types? We have types now?" Xander's voice rose, and Tenth thought maybe he would panic for real this time.

Giles made a shushing motion at him, focused intently on Tenth.

"That's the thing," Tenth confided, dark eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. "Blackwell's last check-in call sounded pretty sure that it's a breed we've never seen before. But she never had a chance to give a full report. There are rumors, but no one really knows anything…" He shook his head slowly.

"Do you have any idea what might have happened to her?"

"We have reason to think…" Tenth shifted, still not completely comfortable with the possibility that was well on its way to looking like reality. "…she might be dead."

"You think this… special vampire may have killed her?"

"We can't find a trace of her. Nothing in her hotel room, nothing on the streets. Not a sign, not a whisper. Fox hasn't been able to break into the County Coroner's database to see if she might be there."

Willow slowly lifted her hand and gave a guilty grimace. "That may be my fault."

"Your fault." It was a statement, flat and uncomprehending.

She seemed to consider explaining for a moment, then shrugged and rose from the table. "I can get in," she said simply.

He blinked at her, eyeing her dubiously. "I doubt anyone can, if Fox couldn't do it."

Willow said nothing, just smirked at him and walked over to her laptop.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

A short while later, Willow and Fox were hunched over Willow's laptop, Willow busily typing away as the younger boy watched, fascinated. Anya and Tara sat on either side of the two, listening intently to the conversation between Giles and Tenth. Spike still lounged in the same chair, head tilted back lazily as he eyed them. Faith sat furthest away from them all, her body turned slightly away from everyone, eyes moody and vacant.

"So…" Xander circled Tenth's chair warily. "You're part demon, huh?"

"Trongath," the bronze-skinned man proclaimed proudly.

Xander blinked, confused. "Uh… no speak-y Demonese."

"Trongath." Giles looked up from the book he was poring over, removed his glasses and rubbed thoughtfully at the bridge of his nose. "A type of empath demon, warrior caste."

"You know your stuff," Tenth said with a smile. "About monsters, anyway."

"And are those 'puppy-loving demons', or the 'brain eating' kind?" Xander asked Giles, eyeing the muscular man with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

"Most demonic/human offspring tend toward the side of good, else the parents wouldn't mate." Giles shrugged, explaining further. "Demons who tend toward evil wish to destroy humans, or rule the earth and turn humans into slaves. They certainly wouldn't waste time mating with them. There are exceptions of course. Succubae and Incubi, for instance, which are a form of vampire, mate with humans to drain their soul energy, and occasionally offspring is produced, if a female victim survives. It's not often that they live, though."

"So there are types of vampires." Xander seemed agitated. "How come no one sent me the memo on that one?"

Willow and Fox glanced up from Willow's laptop as if interested in hearing the answer to that.

"Well, they're exceedingly rare," Giles explained, voice mild and slightly apologetic. "Succubae and Incubi are the most common, and even they are small in number. Their existence is confirmed and documented by the Council." He motioned to his book. "Legends tell of all kinds of vampires; Ekimmu, Empusas, the Leanhaum-shee, Kuang-shi, Lamia, Rakshasa…" He set the book down and shrugged, stymied. "But few of those creatures are currently confirmed beyond folklore. The Council has records documenting their existence in the very early ages, but they have scarcely been seen since. One here, one there, perhaps every fifty years or so, and only the ones who are killed can be studied and confirmed. If they don't turn to dust."

Willow frowned slightly, still listening. "But if vampires were created when the last demon left the world and bit a human… how can there be more than one kind?"

He shifted his stance and leaned back against the wall, considering. "Well, it could be that these vampires are the result of the oldest vampires; ones who grew old and mutated. Vampires grow more powerful… their range of abilities broader, even change physically as they grow older. Buffy said that the Master had the ability to put her in a thrall. Kakistos had cloven hooves. It stands to reason that an ancient vampire could also change its chemistry over time, no longer requiring blood so much as life energy, or souls. Or… it could be that these creatures are naturally mutated vampires. For some reason, the vampire is 'born' with different abilities or features than the others. It happens in all species, even demons. And then, if they live, they reproduce their mutations in the ones they sire. It's evolution at its finest."

"Great," Xander commented, pacing restlessly. "Mutant vampires in the sewers… Next thing you know they'll be swinging nunchukus and yelling 'Cowabunga, dude'.

Giles gave him an odd look and then continued. "They could also be a completely separate species of vampire all together, if such things exist. We simply can't know without researching it. I think we should cross-reference what we know, look for rare breeds of vampires that only keep male minions. I believe the vampire this Blackwell was tracking and our new enemy may be one in the same. And even if they're not, it may still turn up some information."

"Male minions?" Tenth asked, confused.

"Oh, yes, let me—"

"Okay," Willow interrupted, looking down at the screen of her laptop. "I think I've got something."

"You got in?" Tenth asked, sounding surprised as he rose from his seat and walked around the table to get a better look.

Willow's expression was a mixture of chagrin and pride. "Fox couldn't get in because I locked him out. Locked everyone out, actually. They've upped their security over the years—not that it was ever a problem or anything—but if anybody else ever tried to get in and got caught, they'd make the security so tough that it'd be hard for me to get in."

Fox shot her a mild look of appreciation. "That's pretty impressive."

"Oh, thanks." Willow dipped her head and gave a quirky smile. "It was really easy once I got past the—"

"So what'd you find?" Tenth asked, breaking in before they could get too far off topic.

"Well," Willow frowned at the screen, pursing her lips. "There's no one in here by your friend's name. There's a couple of Jane Doe's though. I'm going to try to pull… up… the…" All the color seemed to drain from her face, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh… wow… that's really…"

By then everyone had crowded around the monitor except for Faith and Spike, who were watching with mild interest.

"Yeah? What?" Faith asked, voice rather too sharp.

Willow made a face and clicked the mouse, leaving behind the grisly pictures to scroll through the Coroner's notes. "This is really horrible. It says here that they think this girl was killed by some kind of serial killer, but she had twin punctures in her neck…"

"Vampire," Xander concluded.

"Yeah." Willow looked over at Fox with trepidation. "Is that… is she…?"

"That's not Blackwell," Tenth answered, relieved.

"Well, that's… good. But then…" she frowned, looking up at Giles. "Do you think a vampire might have done these other things to her?"

Giles leaned closer, squinting at the screen. "Decapitation. Mouth sewn shut. Removal of all inner organs… Good lord. It… it sounds as if it might be the work of a cult. I suppose we should, ah, a-add it to our research, just in case."

Willow nodded, making note of a few things before gratefully clicking away to the next Jane Doe case.

A few minutes later they had determined that Blackwell was not among any of them.

"Well, that's good to know," Tenth allowed with a sigh. "But it puts us back at square one."

"Not completely," Giles contradicted. "If, as you say, there is an apocalypse on the way, it's certain to be documented somewhere. I have references and books I can check. It may not help us find your partner, but it may assist us in stopping this… thing from happening." He glanced at the bookshelves.

"Oh," Willow exclaimed, as if an idea had just occurred to her. "We could, uh, try a spell to find her."

"I'd thought of that," Giles looked at her and nodded. "But the fact that she's part demon means a locator spell would be tricky at best, since it would only work on her, ah, human parts."

"I know," she agreed with an eager nod. "So I was thinking about contacting a higher plane, you know, asking for some guidance. I mean, if this friend of theirs is so important to what's going to happen, some higher power has to know something about what happened to her."

"Willow, that's extremely dangerous," Giles said with disapproval, taking off his glasses and frowning at her.

"I know," she said again, bubbly exuberance not fading a bit. "But I was thinking that Tara could anchor me… or… possibly… you…" she trailed off at his look.

"I can't allow you to risk yourself like that."

"But I want to," she protested, still managing to hold on to a bit of brightness.

"I know," he said, voice and eyes grave. "That's what worries me." He spoke up quickly, seeing her about to protest. "Willow, your spirit could become trapped on that plane, or worse, killed by whatever creature decides to answer your call. I know you want to help, but it's just too dangerous."

"He's right, Willow," Tara spoke up, looking at her lover with concern.

Willow bit down on her lower lip, biting back whatever she'd been about to say, and retreated back into her chair. Giles she would have argued with, but not Tara. Not after what had happened last time. At least, not yet.

"I'm certain the books will offer us some sort of insight of what's to come…" Giles trailed off, looking vaguely troubled.

"Do you have any of the Slayer prophecies?" Tenth asked.

"Of course!" Giles answered, sounding offended. He walked over to the ladder that led up to the loft that held the most dangerous and knowledgeable books. "I have at least th—"

"Great," Faith cut in as she leapt to her feet. "So while you guys research, I'll do another tour of the sewers, see if I can smoke out some vamps." Her mannerisms were upbeat, exaggerated and cocky as ever, and her voice was light… but it was off. She looked like a rigid marionette trying to imitate life and failing miserably. Her smile might as well have been plastered on for all its sincerity.

Giles turned slowly, eyes deep and knowing with realization, as if he had seen something she wasn't putting on display for them. Damn. How could he have been so thoughtless? He'd noticed her just sitting there like some sort of lifeless doll, but somehow it just hadn't clicked. He wasn't used to her being around, yet, wasn't expecting much from her besides silence until (if and when) she got more comfortable. He hadn't thought about what her silence might mean in this case.

"Faith… I know news of this apocalypse must be difficult for you to hear. You've never…" he trailed off, thinking the better of what he was about to say, and cocked his head to the side, looking at her with concern, instead, chagrined by the fact that it hadn't occurred to him earlier. "Are you all right?"

"Sure." She gave a half-hearted shrug. "You know. Five by--"

She cut herself short and paused, looking down at the ground self-consciously, dark eyes troubled and sad. "I…" She tucked a lock of hair behind one ear, too aware of everyone's eyes on her, not all of them kind. "I'll handle it," she said, voice quiet, more serious.

The silence inside the shop was palpable.

"I will," she said with more certainty as she raised her eyes to look at him. She looked shaken, disheveled after her long night in a way that only made her look even more fragile. She was still frightened, but steadier than she had been a moment ago. "I just… right now I need to go. Hunt. Let off some steam. You know?" Her eyes fairly pleaded with him to understand.

He nodded, and she turned to go, taking the inside door to the basement and sewers below.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

"Are you sure that was smart?" Xander asked after she was gone, eyeing Giles uncertainly. "What if she decides to take off?"

"I thought that would make you all happy?" Giles asked, giving him a pointed look. Xander shrank from him slightly, and he went on in softer voice. "If she wants to leave, we have no right to hold her. We just… have to trust in her."

He looked at the door, eyes distant and thoughtful. "And if she does leave… well, then we'll have to handle it by ourselves."

"Right," Xander said and shrugged, trying for upbeat.

"Nothing we haven't done before," Willow added. Her voice was neutral, but a line of worry creased her brow.

"Because we always thwart apocalypses without a Slayer," Anya finished with light, yet nevertheless biting, sarcasm.

Tenth and Fox watched the whole exchange with mild discomfort.

"I'd say it's a bit soon to panic," Giles hedged, attempting to sound casual. "We don't even know what we're up against. And she hasn't left yet."

He leaned to pick up his book, his mannerisms becoming businesslike again. "In the meantime… ah… Willow, why don't you and Fox do some searching online, see if you can find any links between what we already know? Xander, Anya, Tara, cross-reference the books. Tenth…" He trailed off, looking at the younger man as if he'd only just realized that he might not take kindly to being ordered about.

"You're the man who knows how this all works," Tenth replied and turned his palms upward, passing the authority to Giles.

Giles gave him a respectful nod. "Perhaps you could continue your efforts searching on the streets." He glanced at the sunlit windows of the store. "I'd send Spike with you, but…"

"S'alright," Spike said, rising from his chair. "Don't think soldier boy here would care much for my company, anyway." He shrugged, eyes straying to the door that led to the sewers. "Slayer's probably gone by now. Think I'll head home, get some rest."

Everyone only glanced at him, saying nothing as they busily began their tasks, and a moment later, he had disappeared through the doorway.

Giles watched everyone bustling with movement for a moment, and then lowered his eyes to his book, his words of a moment ago still echoing in his head.

And if she does leave… well, then we'll have to handle it by ourselves.

He had sounded confident, resolute, all the things they needed him to be. The things they had once looked to Buffy to provide. But if there was an apocalypse on the way, one heralded by an evolved vampire with an army of evolved minions…

He wasn't sure they could do it without her.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

She wasn't gone.

"Oh, bloody hell," Spike muttered in disgust as he dropped the last few feet off the rungs of the ladder. He shifted his posture, uncertain for a moment, then dug into the pocket of his duster and pulled out his cigarettes. He hissed in a sharp breath, inhaling smoke as he lit one, and observed her through the bright orange glow at its end.

"So. End of the world. Slayer hits the big time," he drawled, eyeing her speculatively. "Thought you'd be happier about it. You know, star of the show, name up in lights."

Faith only sat there, sullen and morose, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Her eyes were glazed as they stared off into the distance, empty, no emotion visible within them. If he couldn't smell her, he might've thought she was dead.

"Slayer?" he asked, tone taking on a note of concern.

She still didn't answer, and he took a tentative step forward.

"I can't do this." She said it so quietly that he almost wasn't sure he heard her right.

"Doesn't appear to me like you've got much choice."

And then she did look at him, and he saw it in her eyes. Fear, panic, resignation… like an animal with its foot caught in a trap. He bit back a sharp retort and took another shuffling step forward, tilted his head to the side as if to better understand her.

"B… Buffy could have done this. She lived for this kind of stuff. But me…" She looked away and gave a sharp, bitter laugh.

Pregnant silence while he let that sink in a moment, the scuffle of a boot heel against the floor.

"Jumping the gun a little there, aren't you? Don't even know what you're up against, yet."

"Doesn't matter." She shook her head bleakly. "It's all going to be on me, and you heard what the man said: Savior or Destroyer. Which one do you think it's gonna be, Spike? 'Cause I know which one I've got my money on." She said the last with a nasty grin, eyes so cold they almost unnerved him, left him with nothing to say.

It took him a moment to find his voice. "Giving up, then?"

"Might as well," she snorted. "You know my nature… they all do. I'm not Buffy. She always knew what to do. How to get it done right." 

"No. She didn't," he retorted quietly, reminding himself that she didn't know; there was no way she could know. "Before she died, Buffy was…" He looked up at the ceiling of the sewers, eyes and voice filling with emotion as he sifted through the memories. He didn't like to think about it, Buffy being like that. It'd given him a turn, it had. But it was truth, and he'd never been one to turn away from the truth. "She was afraid. She was scared, and tired, and… defeated."

Faith turned her head toward him again, looking at him with guarded wonder.

"But she pulled it all together in the end," he said, voice sharpening to a harsh, ragged point as he met her gaze. "She did it because she had to, because that's what she did. And she went out to meet Glory, determined to bring her down or die trying. And I fought by her side because I believed in her, because I… because I loved her." He swallowed, looking at her with barely restrained emotion. "She always did what was hard. What was right. Even when she didn't want to. And that's why they all followed her." He tilted his head toward the Magic Box, above them.

"I'll never have that," she said, voice hard yet somehow sad as she shook her head slowly side to side. "I always gave B a hard time about whining. I hated that she had everything and I had nothing. I never knew what it was like for her, though."

"You don't know now, either," Spike contradicted. Her eyes widened slightly at his words, and for just a moment, he saw a spark of fire in her. "Won't know what you're made of 'til you belly up and give it a try. All well and good to sit around and feel sorry for yourself—but when the time comes, you'd better be ready to defend what you care about. Or live with the consequences."

"Nice speech," she snorted. "Did you write that yourself? What do you care anyway, Spike? I figured hell on earth would be right up your alley of dark pleasures."

"World's not exactly my oyster anymore," he said, words etched with deep sarcasm. "Wasn't fond of it ending before I had this sodding chip. Not any fonder of the idea now that I couldn't take advantage of it."

She pulled her knees tighter against her chest and shook off his words like they didn't matter. "Right. Handicapped vampire, parading around like you're still the big bad, wishing you could sink your fangs into everyone—yeah. I should be taking your advice." She snorted. "You don't get it. There's no way you could get it," she muttered, beginning to sink back into her catatonia.

Oh and that pissed him off right quick, it did. Little bitch had no idea how much he'd done to help stop the world from ending. He'd lost Drusilla over it. Had lost Buffy in the process of it the last time. She hadn't even lost anything yet and here she was, sniveling like a baby.

"You're the one that doesn't get it, Slayer," he spoke up, voice sharp as a dagger, poised to wound. "You don't have a choice. Your life's not yours. You've got the power of heroes inside you and you can't just sit around while the world falls down, or it'll eat you up inside. Oh, you might act like you're all little Miss Tough Don't-Fuck-With-Me-or-I'll-Kick-Your-Ass, but I've seen inside you, Slayer. I can smell the fear on you. Can almost taste it it's so strong. And I know the only reason you haven't run like a rabbit yet is because you're so scared you can't even move."

"Fuck you," she uttered in a bitter, trembling voice.

He gave a snort of disbelief, turned to the side impatiently and flicked his cigarette away, and then spun back, pointing a finger at her. "No. You won't run," he condemned her, angry. "You'll stay. And then when the time comes, you'll give in to your fear, and you'll watch while all the others die and pray that your own death comes soon. Because you're too scared to run and too scared to fight."

"Fuck you," she thundered, leaping to her feet and spinning on him. She did it so fast that he didn't have time to react, and when her fist connected with his cheek, the world wavered red and black, and he stumbled backward, feeling something sharp and broken inside his face.

He blinked and steadied himself, regaining his footing and sneering at her. He turned his head to the side and spit blood, uncaring that she stood not three feet from him, body pulled tight as a bowstring, limbs trembling with barely contained rage.

"Go ahead," he taunted, tilting his chin at her and opening his arms. "Brave little Slayer, aren't you?" he asked with a nasty smirk. "Beating up on things that can't fight back."

She lunged at him with her fist out again, and this time he ducked low, thrusting forward and wrapping his arms around her waist, bearing her to the ground beneath him. The chip fired with light pain inside his head, but didn't hit him with the full-fledged zap that would incapacitate him. He didn't intend to hurt her, only meant to keep her from hurting him.

She writhed and twisted beneath him like a wild animal for an instant, then went still, gasping for air. He raised his head to look at her, about to speak, and her arms came up around him, tightening like a vice. And then—incredibly—instead of squeezing him, she pulled him closer and kissed him, passion and desperation making her mouth taste all the sweeter.

He didn't stop to think, body responding instantly, and for a moment he was completely lost—heat, fire, lips and tongue, body soft and hard, caught beneath him. She felt like sin and tasted like regret, warm and ripe, filled with blood and life, and his own blood stirred, making him strong, making him hard.

Somehow, thought prevailed and he drew back to look at her in amazement.

"Christ, Slayer. And I've got issues?" he demanded with breathless sarcasm.

"I don't care," she whispered raggedly. Tearing at his clothing, touching him, dark eyes seeking his with desperate need. "I want you. Fuck me, Spike."

She said it almost angrily, and the raw need, the desire in her voice sent a thrill through him. He put his hand possessively on the side of her face, palm cupping her jaw line, thumb smearing the blackberry lipstick at the corner of her mouth—and then he felt the tears on her cheeks.

His face softened, still aching where she'd hit him, and he shook his head slowly.

"No, luv. It's not me you want."

She tore at him some more, hands flailing now, passion shifting to something more transparent, something fragile. "I know you want me."

He pushed away from her gently, slowly coming to a sitting position. "This isn't about me."

She sat up, suddenly looking lost and bereft, hair a dark tumble around her pale, tear-streaked face, and he thought she might attack him again. And then her face crumbled, chest heaving with wrenching sobs. She pressed a hand to her face and looked around as if she wanted to run, then pushed away from him, scuttling back on her heels and butt like a crab. She slammed her back against the dirty wall of the sewer and choked, breath catching in her throat with a tiny, meaningless sound that Spike had heard many times before as he'd drained victims down into death. She closed her eyes, pulled her knees up to her chest again and cried, the frustration and pain of the last few months, the last few years—perhaps her entire life—pouring out of her in a torrent.

He sat and watched her, and could almost feel the racking sobs as they left her chest, so heavy were the sounds they made. He sat and stared at her and thought about the first time he'd seen her, how she'd been all fire and broken glass, lust for life equaled only by her despair. Thought about the way she hid herself from everyone behind an almost transparent façade. The way she covered everything soft inside her with nail-hard toughness, the way she never let anyone else win or have the last word. He thought she'd been breaking for a long time, stress fractures snaking out in never-ending tendrils, consuming every bit of clarity until she couldn't see anything else.

And now she'd shattered.

Could he leave her like this? Oh, he could. He knew he could. He could walk away and leave her to disintegrate in a shower of dust. And why should he care? She was nothing but pain in his ass, anyway.

And yet… and yet.

He crawled to her on his hands and knees, then turned and sat beside her, propping himself against the wall. He cut her a sidelong look, spent his own private moment in eternity, torn… and then he reached out and pulled her up beside him, encircling her with his arm.

They sat that way for a long time, the silence of the sewers broken only by the sounds of her sobbing.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

She'd been free-falling since she'd gotten out of prison, and now she'd hit bottom.

No, not just bottom. This was rock bottom. Rock bottom was sitting in a slimy sewer right under all the people who hated her most, crying her heart out on the shoulder of a handicapped vampire who couldn't stand her, her tears flowing down the arm of a leather duster that he'd taken from a Slayer he'd killed twenty years ago because he was the only one who gave enough of a shit to be there and hold her. Yeah, baby. If you're gonna hit rock bottom, might as well do it in style. Might as well do face first into rocks and glass with a nice big pile of corpses from murder victims to Watchers piled on your back and a giant helping of apocalypse to top it all off and make it really sweet.

No. This wasn't just rock bottom. This was rock bottom with a side of clusterfuck.

She didn't know how long they sat there, his arm engulfing her in the heavy scent of leather and the feeling of caring, and she didn't care. She didn't care about anything. It was as if everything inside her had welled to bursting and now it was escaping in such a rush that she couldn't distinguish one feeling from another—childhood, lovers, Buffy, Scoobies, Angel, Watchers, betrayals, murders, prison… All of her failures blended together in one huge emotional tsunami and poured from her like water from her heart. The walls she'd built so carefully over the years, walls made of glass, now became sand again beneath her feet.

She'd felt this once before. It had been Angel who'd held her that time, and she wasn't so far gone that she missed the irony of who was holding her this time.

She just didn't care.

And she cared about everything else too much. This feeling inside her, it was too big to hold. It hurt her to move, it was so big. She wanted to run from it… but she couldn't run anymore. Time had finally caught up with her, and the poisoned well of her mind would no longer hold back the tainted thoughts, the hurt feelings, the slights and mistakes of a lifetime.

And none of it mattered.

Because when you came right down to it, her life and all its unpleasantness wasn't shit compared to the fate of the world. In fact, it seemed downright petty, when you looked at it that way.

She had to let it all go. That's what Spike had been trying to tell her in his own misanthropic way. Had to let go of all the bullshit and pull herself together. Had to face death, look it in the eye and smile. Had to save the world.

Because nothing else mattered.

She twined her fingers in the collar of his duster, unconscious of the intimacy of the gesture.

"Take me home," she whispered after a while. Who knew how long?

And for a wonder, he did. Helped her to her feet and walked her there without a word.

She fell into bed and slept the whole night through for the first time in weeks.

And if there were dreams, she didn't remember them when she woke.