Chapter 5

In the Egyptian tomb, more with the kissage as Angel and Buffy held each other. Angel knew, this was the last kiss they would share before the big fight. If she was smart, she would send him away, to prepare in case Sunnydale failed. But he wasn't sure she'd seen all the pieces yet. He didn't want to have to tell her he was leaving. Unless she asked him to go, anything else would devastate her.

He softly ended the kiss, and pulled back enough to say, "I'm here to tell you that-"

Just then, something hit Angel in the back of the head so hard that he went soaring across the room. He landed in the dust face-first, slamming to a stop against a wall.

It was Caleb, eyes black, ebony blood dripping like tears from them, and from his nose and mouth.

"You ready to finish this, bitch?" His voice was otherworldly, coming from everywhere.

Then he rushed her, swinging at her. Spike moved to help her, but she blocked the preacher with the scythe. His movements were halting, but his strength was greater than ever.

She stumbled back.

"Okay," she said sarcastically, "how many times do I have to kill you? Ballpark figure."

"You understand nothing!" he cried in reverborama.

He came at her, and they fought – lunge, parry, riposte – as he shouted at her, "You think you have power over me? I am everything. Everywhere!"

"Speech getting old," she informed him.

"Stupid girl!" He was a wild … entity as he came at her. "You'll never stop me. You don't have the ba-"

As he was saying it, she arced the scythe back and swung it up, right between his legs.

"Well, who does nowadays?" she asked him. A moment, and she used both hands to rip the blade upwards. His dark blood splattered her face as she finished the job.

One half of Caleb toppled to the right, and one half to the left. Praise God Almighty, he was torn asunder.

Angel got to his feet. Spinning around furious, he said, "Okay, now I'm pissed. Where is he?"

Buffy pointed to a spot on the floor to the left. He looked. Then a spot on the floor to her right. He looked. Then he looked back at her, impressed, and she smiled girlishly.

"He had to split." She snorted with darkish laughter and Angel just shook his head. "I'm sorry," she said, quelling herself. "I just, ahh … I haven't had a good pun in a while."

"That would still be the case," he darted at her.

She feigned being insulted. "Hey! My kill, my word play."

He reached to the sky. "I'm out of line."

"Well, I'm still glad you're here," she said adoringly.

From the shadows, Spike watched, his world shattering. The First murmured to him, "Yeah, she needs you real bad."

He thought of how he had shown her his heart: truth time on the way out the door, bein' terrified. Blowing up his barriers, letting her in, and then … of course. Of course.

As Spike looked on, the two lovebirds looked at each other, their hands running over each other's arms. Angel finally straightened, and he pulled something out of his pocket. "Remember this?" Buffy's eyes widened; she'd forgotten how tremendously gaudy and tacky that amulet was. Least, that was Spike's best guess; he felt that he didn't know this girl.

Ah, c'mon mate. Sure you do. This is exactly what you expected.

"Yeah, I remember," she replied. "Meant for a Champion. Someone ensouled, but stronger than human. Like me," she baited him.

"No," he repeated, just as firm as he'd been a few days ago, the night he'd first come into town. "I'm not going to risk you wearing it. Besides…" He grinned faintly. "You've already got that cool axe-thing."

She gave the scythe a bit of a pat and said, "Still with me in this fight?"

"'Till the end," he told her. "I'm yours, no matter what."

Bloody moron, Spike cursed himself. Blinkin', soddin' fool …

And he left the tomb, left the lovers, got the hell out of there and off again into the world without her, a world he knew so well….

…Hell.

Buffy looked at Angel lovingly and said, "No."

"No, what?"

"No, you're not going to be in this fight," she said.

She turned to go; he followed. He stopped her near the entrance and said, "Why not?" He already knew why, ultimately, but once again, he needed to be sure she knew.

"Because I can't risk you," she told him calmly.

He was proud. She knew. Just to make totally certain, he hedged, "You need me in this."

"No." She shook her head. "I need you gone."

"Why?"

She took a moment to collect her thoughts. "If I lose … if this gets past Sunnydale, then it's days – or hours – before the rest of the world goes. I need a second front, and I need you to run it."

"If I'm here we have a better shot at capping this thing," he cautioned. He lifted the amulet in his hand. "I've read the files-"

"I've lived the files," she interjected, "and I … if I can't win this…" She gazed at him, her eyes clear, her voice steady. "It's my fight, Angel. It might be my last. But it's mine."

The pride and love he felt for her threatened to break his heart. He looked at her, and she knew there was a whole lot he wanted to say. And she also knew he wasn't going to say it.

Which was a good thing. Because she wanted Angel here. She needed Angel here. But she could not have him here.

Her heart began to pound. She felt on the verge of something, standing on a different kind of threshold. After a moment, he handed her the amulet. "I'll start working on a second front. Make sure I don't have to use it."

His hand was on hers. He turned to go, and she gave his hand a little tug.

"Angel, I …" He stopped and smiled a bit. She wasn't quite sure what she'd wanted to say to him, it had flown out of her head looking into his eyes. "We've got time, haven't we?"

He walked backward into the dark, smirking at her. "I ain't gettin' any older." He disappeared into the shadows, and she watched him go, remembering when they first met. He would glide away like that and disappear.

But he always came back. I thought he was gone forever from my life, and yet, here he is again…

Or rather, here he was again. I may die soon, and I will never see his face on this Earth…

She went home, walked through the front door and found … Dawn?

Her little sister glared at her. Buffy, in turn, gazed over at Xander, who looked pained and sheepish. Anya was rubbing his head. Giles and Willow were there too.

As Buffy looked back at her sister, Dawn silently kicked her in the shin.

"Ow."

"Dumbass," Dawn growled at her.

Buffy looked over at Xander again, who simply threw up his hands and said, "Don't look at me. This is a Summers thing. It's all very violent."

Buffy said to Dawn, "You get killed, I'm telling."

And that was that.

Sensing the change in cabin pressure, Willow asked, "Did you find out anything about the scythe?"

Buffy seized the preening opportunity with glee. "I found out it slices, dices, and makes julienne Preacher."

"Caleb?" Giles asked, actually excited despite being British.

"I cut him in half," Buffy affirmed. "I'm not going to lie. It was pretty neat."

"Well, all right!" Willow cried.

"He had that coming," Anya concurred.

"Party in my eye socket and everyone's invited!" Xander yelled, then winced and said, "Sometimes I shouldn't say words."

Buffy waggled the scythe and said, "I did find out some history on this puppy. I'll fill you in. And … this." She held out the amulet. "Supposed to be powerful, don't know much more."

Giles looked at the ostentatious thing and asked, "Where'd you get this?"

"Angel," she said.

"Where is Angel?" Dawn asked.

"I sent him back to L.A.," Buffy said. "To prepare." She headed out toward the basement, turning back to add, "If we fail."

Xander cocked a brow at her. "Operative word 'if.'"

Anya added, "Operative word 'fail.'"

Dawn chirruped, "Or, Operative word 'Wheee!'" Lowered it, cricketed, "Nobody gets me."

Buffy went downstairs to the basement. Spike was sitting in the moonlight, shirtless, looking off. She wasn't certain how he would feel, since she had, essentially, split on him with just a scribbled note of explanation. But there was a flash of joy on his face that he could not conceal, and she warmed to her friend, relieved.

"Honey, you're home," he said in a slightly low tone.

"Yeah." She nodded, smiled.

"And you did it. Fulfilled your mission, found the holy grail, or the holy hand grenade, or whatever the hell that is."

"Right now we're going with scythe." She showed it to him. "You like?"

He looked it over, taking its measure, and replied, "Pointy and wooden is not exactly the look I want to know better, but it does have flair. I can see how a girl would ditch a guy for one of these."

"I'm sorry about that," she said sincerely.

"So where's Tall, Dark, and Forehead?"

"What's it to you? Can you smell him or something?"

He tilted his head, appraising her as he said, "Yeah, that; and I also used my heightened vampire eyeballs to watch you kissing him."

"It was a … goodbye," she said.

He gave her a look. "Most people don't use their tongues to say good-bye. Or, I guess they do, but…"

"Good, good," she said sarcastically. "I haven't had quite enough jealous vampire crap!"

"He wears lifts, you know."

She shook her head tiredly. "One of these days I'm just going to put you two in a room and let you rassle it out."

"No problem at this end."

"There could maybe be oil of some kind involved," she said, warming up to the idea.

He cut her off. "Where's the trinket?"

She paused. "The who-ket?"

"The pretty necklace your sweetie-bear gave you. The one with all the power." He gazed at her very calmly. "I believe it's mine now."

"How do you figure?"

"'Someone with a soul, but more than human,'" he quoted at her. "Angel meant to wear it, that means I'm the qualified party."

"It's volatile," Buffy told him. "We don't know…"

"You need someone strong to bear it, then," he informed her. He drawled, "You were planning on giving it to Andrew?"

She hesitated. "Angel said … this amulet is meant to be worn by a champion."

He deflated … until she held it out to him, and he understood. She was calling him a champion.

"Been called a lot of things in my time," he said.

"I want you to be careful," she said gently.

He smirked with self-referential irony. "You're talking to the wrong guy, love." He felt it. "This is powerful."

A beat, as he turned it over in his hand. "Faiths still got my room," she murmured.

He frowned at her. "Well, you're not staying here! Can't buy me off with shiny beads and sweet talk. You've got Angel breath."

She looked down, accepting his decision.

"Won't just let you whack me back and forth like a rubber ball. I've got my pride, you know."

She got up and started to go. "I understand," she murmured.

He moved quickly to block her. "Clearly you don't," he said, "since that whole 'having my pride' thing was a smokescreen."

She exhaled, very relieved. "Oh, good."

He joined in the relief effort, saying, "I don't know what I would have done if you'd gone up those stairs."

She touched his face with great tenderness. "Me neither. You're a dope, by the way."

He frowned, baffled. "I'm what?"

"You're a dope, and a bonehead."

He could only stare at her. "Have you gone completely Carrot-top?"

She held up the scythe, and ranted sotto voce: "You see this? This may actually help me fight my war. It may be the key to everything, and one of the reasons I'm holding it is 'cause of you. Because of last night, he strength you gave me. I'm tired of defensiveness and weird mixed signals. I've got Faith for that." She took a deep breath. "Let's just get to the truth. I don't know how you feel about last night, but I'm not gonna-"

"Terrified."

She shifted, pulled back on the bed. Okay. Honest. Real. Oh, my God, we're doing this. "Of what?" she asked him.

"Last night was…" He looked down, gave his head a shake, closed his eyes. "God, I'm such a jerk. I can't do this."

"Spike…" she urged.

He couldn't look at her, but he could tell her. "It was the best night of my life."

Then he did look at her, eyes welling up defiantly, as he pointed at the scythe. "If you poke fun at me you bloody well better use that 'cause I couldn't bear it. It may not mean that much to you…"

"I just told you it did."

"I know, I hear you say it, but…" He made himself go on, his voice choking with emotion. "I've lived for sodding ever, Buffy, I've done everything – I've done things with you I can't even spell, but I've never … been close. To anyone, least of all you … until last night.

"All I did was hold you, and it was the best night of my life. So, I'm, yeah… terrified."

She leaned over, resting partly against his side. "You don't have to be."

He gazed down at her, hopeful, a bit guarded, daring to ask, "Were you there with me?"

"I was." She gazed back up at him.

There was a moment. Their moment. Theirs … and no one else's.

"What does that mean?" he asked her.

"I don't know." Her voice betrayed her fragility, her own fear. "Does it have to mean something?"

The spell was broken, albeit slightly. He backed off, not hurt so much as a wee bit detached. "No," he said. Then, "Not right now."

"Maybe," she said, "when-"

"No," he repeated, a firm grip on the magic of this moment, this bond. "Let's just leave it."

"'Kay."

"Tomorrow, we'll go be heroes."

"Can I sleep now?"

"You listen to me," he said quietly. "I've been alive a lot longer than you, and dead a lot longer than that. I've seen things you couldn't imagine, and done tings I'd prefer you didn't. I don't exactly have a reputation for being a thinker. I follow my blood, which does not always rush in the direction of my head. So I've made a lot of mistakes. A lot of wrong bloody calls." He maneuvered to face her on the bed. "A hundred plus years, only one thing I've ever been sure of: you."

He moved to touch her face and put his hand to her cheek. He urged her to listen, to see, what was in his heart. In his soul.

"Look at me. I'm not asking you for anything. When I tell you that I love you, it's not because I want you, or 'cause I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me."

His voice astonished her, moved her, as she listened.

"I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your strength, and your kindness. I've seen the best and the worst of you, and I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are.

"You're one hell of a woman."

Buffy was silently crying. He could only smile at her kindly, containing his own emotions. "You're the one, Buffy."

Softly, she said, "I don't … I don't want to be the one."

"I don't want to be this good-looking and athletic," he riposted. "We all have our crosses to bear."

She smiled a little.

"Now…" he swallowed, "you get some rest."

No more words. A look, a moment, a soft inhalation, and a wish…. He wrapped her in his arms, and she put her head down on his chest.

No more words.

They slept spoon style, Buffy wrapped in Spike's arms, facing away from him. He slept, she could not.

She looked at his hand, resting on the bed in front of her, running her hand along it. After a moment, he rolled over, and Buffy took the chance to sit up. Got up, crossed to the window, and looked out on the world bathed in moonlight.

"Pretty, ain't it?" Caleb said right beside her.

She started, then recovered, reminding herself it was The First. "You're not him," she said.

"No, you killed him right and proper," he answered. "Terrible loss." He pulled a sad face. "This man was my good right arm. 'Course, it doesn't pain me too much. Don't need an arm." He smiled broadly. "Got an army.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "An army of vampires. However will I fight a bunch of… oh, right! I've been doing that for years!"

"Every day our numbers swell," he boasted. Then he sneered at her. "But then you do have an army of your own. Some thirty-odd pimply-faced girls who don't know the pointy end of a stake." He thought a moment. "Maybe I should call this off?"

Buffy asked, "Have you ever considered a cool name? Since you're incorporeal and basically powerless, you could call yourself 'The Taunter.' Strikes fear…"

"I will overrun this earth," The First proclaimed.

"You know how many people have said that to me?" Buffy shot back.

"I do," he assured her. "Since they all had a small part of me in them. Whereas I have all of me in me, so I like my chances somewhat better." His voice rose as if it were seeking the vulnerable, thin places in her soul to pour in his poison, and let it rot her from the inside out. "And when my army outnumbers the humans on this earth, the scales will tip and I will be made flesh."

"Talk on," Buffy taunted. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Then why aren't you asleep in your dead lover's arms?" His expression was cagey, his point well taken as she looked over at Spike and had no answer.

"'Cause he can't help you. Nor Faith, nor your friends. Certainly not your little wannaslay brigade. None of those little girlies will ever know real power unless you're dead. You know the drill."

Then Caleb morphed into the only person The First had never attempted to portray. Somehow, over the years, it was as though It had never dared assume the identity of the Chosen Warrior for the Powers That Be. While there would always be another Slayer, undead or alive there was only one

Angel.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she watched pure evil come in close, wearing the face of Angelus. He came in as close as possible, voice carrying truth – always the truth she never wanted to hear. "Into every generation, a Slayer is born. One girl in all the world. She alone will have the strength and skill to fight the … well, there's that word again. What you are. How you'll die. All alone."

She took that in, said nothing for a minute. Wherever she went, she would always, once again, be connected to Angel – the real one. His bite had instigated that. Then she said, "You're right."

The First was bemused. "Mmm. Not your best, lover."

From across the room, Spike moved on his cot and cried out, "I'm drowning in footwear." His eyes flew open. He glanced at her and said, "Weird dream." When she didn't reply, he frowned at her and said, "Buffy? Is something wrong?"

"No," she said, then, "Yes. I just realized something." She stared at him as the steadiest calm she had ever experienced mingled with her warrior's blood. She was serene and highly charged at the same time.

She said, quite frankly, "We're going to win."

More coming soon! Only about 2 chapters left to finish this off.