Mortal Allies Series

Episode 5

War and Roses

By: Passion4Spike

Chapter 27: Apoc-Eclipse NOW?!

Chapter Notes:

Oh dear, oh dear... what's gonna happen now with Buffy and Spike both in Sunnydale after she promised to stake him if he showed up? Well, you won't have long to wait to find out... read on!

All the thanks to MissLuci for sharing her fabulous beta-skillz with me on this story. And thanks to all of you for reading and commenting! I'm working on getting caught up on responding, but never doubt that I love EVERY SINGLE COMMENT.

And now, without further ado...

-X-

Spike swam up from the depths of his booze and grief induced sleep and immediately wished he hadn't. He groaned and clutched at his aching head, deciding he was way too sober. Blinking his bloodshot eyes open, he found the bottle of Jack that he'd been curled around was empty. As were the other half-dozen bottles that littered the floor nearby. He reluctantly pushed himself to a seated position, his face, hair, and clothes shining with shards of harvest gold, avocado green, and tangerine orange confetti.

He spit some of the old wallpaper from his mouth and swiped other bits from his tear-stained cheeks before stumbling up to his feet, scattering heaps of the wretched stuff out in a flurry of groovy 1970s flashbacks.

Picking more bits off his duster and shirt as he went, he staggered to his whisky cabinet only to find it bare. "Balls..." he groaned, holding his head again as the ground swirled beneath his boots, which seemed to have been redecorated by a demented seven-year-old who'd gotten into their parent's LSD.

How long had he been out? He carefully raised his eyes to the windows—dark. So, a few hours or a few days... not long enough to stop the ache in his chest and the tears that hovered just at the edge of his ability to control. Who was he kidding? Forever wouldn't be long enough to dull the ache in his heart. Buffy had promised him forever and then turned her back and walked away leaving him an empty, pain-filled carcass. How could the universe be so cruel? How could Buffy be such a bloody bitch? How could he have trusted her so fully and been so bloody wrong about her? Why couldn't the fucking women in his life care at least enough to cut his bloody head off or set him on fire, and put him out of his misery?

He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the crumpled paper...

If you come back to Sunnydale, there will be no truce. I will stake you.

There it was. His way out of this fucking life. Out of this pit of despair that followed him around like a cloud of switchblades, cutting him to shreds with every unneeded breath he took. He'd hunt her down, make her finish it. Finish him. Look him in the fucking eye and do it proper. He was going to force her to follow through on her fucked-up promise. Hers would be the last face he saw just before his undead flesh burst into ashes.

Spike sniffed, squared his shoulders, stood up straight, and promptly lost his balance and fell on his ass.

In just a mo'... he'd do all that in just a mo', as soon as his brain stopped bouncing off his skull.

-X-

Buffy strode into the library much later that night, a little worse for wear. She dropped her sword and the orange crate of contraband onto the table with a clatter, summoning Giles from his office.

"I take it the information you got from Willy was good, then? You located them?"

"Locating was the easy part; slaying took a little more effort. They were way too fit," she admitted, rolling a shoulder, trying to get the stinger, which had made her whole arm go numb, to subside.

"So, they were in the caves beneath the Christmas tree lot?"

She nodded, tilting her head side to side as the numbness turned to pins and needles in her shoulder. "Those are like Grand Central for evil. We really need to blow those up or fill them in or something."

"Y-yes, well, I'm not certain that is practical," the former Watcher continued. "They're quite extensive."

The Slayer sighed at his practicality.

"I still don't understand why you didn't take Spike with you," Giles continued.

Buffy's heart twisted at the name, even though she knew Giles was talking about furry Spike. She had to fight back the contents of her stomach, which burned acidly at the back of her throat. Spike... What is he doing? Where is he? Her mind flashed to the broken expression on his face and the hurt in his voice. Is he still in their hotel room? Did he drink too much and pass out with the curtains flung wide? Or had he already found a new traveling companion? Was she blonde, like her, or brunette like Dru? Or maybe the little redhead from the burger joint... Had he... he... touched her, kissed her, out of spite, to get even? Was he still in San Francisco? Had he taken some new, more experienced girl to their special places? Was he, at this very moment, dancing with someone else beneath the bridge? Playing the mix tape for her, holding her tenderly, whispering in her ear, making her shiver. Did the new girl already know things and didn't need to be taught brand new cherry popping things? Maybe he was making love to her right there... or out on Treasure Island like he'd wanted to with me. Was he kissing her with everything he had and making the world disappear in a way I'll never feel again? God, Spike, I miss you so much.

"Buffy?"

The Slayer blinked back the tears that were threatening to cloud her vision, clenched her jaw, and dropped her mask in place over her pain, like the faceplate on a suit of armor falling. "I told you, the dream said he shouldn't be in this fight. Just me, Angel, Faith, and you."

"And yet, you brought Miss Chalmers along..." he pointed out.

Buffy shrugged. "Not to fight," she explained. "Just to ID the bodies."

"Where are your compatriots, then?" he asked next, looking behind her for the rest of the group that had accompanied her on the mission.

"Angel and Faith decided all that fighting made them thirsty, and coming in to report would cut into happy hour at Willy's. Is that whole thing—Angel and Faith hang-age—worrisome to you?"

Giles removed his glasses and began scrubbing them in earnest. "I admit that it has been interrupting my sleep, yes. If you have some idea how to put an end to it, I am open to any and all ideas." He looked up at her and returned his glasses to his nose, his brows raised.

Buffy frowned and shook her head. She'd tried talking to both of them in the week since seeing them at the Bronze. All she got from Angel was hostility about dating Spike; all she got from Faith were flippant assurances that nothing soul-losing was happening.

Well, Angel would have to find something else to be hostile about now, wouldn't he? Spike. God, Spike. Buffy felt her mask slipping again and swallowed hard, digging deep, scrambling to press the bricks of her façade back into place, feeling the dust begin to crumble around the edges and desperately hoping they would stay intact until she could be alone with her grief.

"And our Miss Chalmers?" Giles said, making Buffy blink.

"She, uh..." she frowned and looked at the library doors. "Was right behind me."

Just then Lydia limped in, fighting with the confounded doors, which tried to swing closed on her before she'd gotten through. Her normally flawless blonde hair was half torn from the meticulous bun, hanging in ragged strands down to her shoulders; her face was smudged with dirt and blood, her tweed looked like it had gone ten rounds with a dirt devil, and she only had on one shoe.

The Council's Liaison lifted her chin when she saw them watching her and did her best to look dignified as she walked toward them like a buoy on the ocean, bobbing up and down with each step—shoe, no shoe, shoe, no shoe.

Giles smothered a smile, scrubbing a hand over his face as she approached. "Miss Chalmers... are you quite well?"

Lydia cleared her throat. "I believe I may have been concussed," she admitted, touching a hand tenderly to the side of her head.

"At least you didn't pass out like Giles usually does." Buffy could feel the weight of the stare from her former Watcher as she continued to address the limping liaison. "Also, I told you to stay out of the fray," Buffy reminded her. "Watchers should totally be fray-adjacent if they don't want to be bonked on the head. Just ask Giles. He's been hit so many times we're taking up donations to buy him a suit of armor. You know, like he had when he was a kid."

"Yes, very amusing," Giles drawled. "Between the blows, were you able to confirm the identity of the assailants?" he asked Lydia.

She lowered herself gingerly into a chair at the research table, reaching for one of the books that were stacked there. "Yes, they are most assuredly the Sisterhood of the Jhe, as we suspected from Buffy's... err... sketches."

"What do you mean by 'errr... sketches'? What's wrong with my sketches?"

"I might suggest you add a Basic Drawing course to your curriculum in the future. More concise depictions would make the identification much simpler and allow me to stay well away from the fray."

"Everyone's a critic," Buffy groaned with a roll of her eyes. "So, what's the sitch with these sister dudes?"

Lydia slid an opened book over to her, then dropped her head into her hands and closed her eyes, wondering if she shouldn't be at hospital or at the very least have a lie down with a nice, cozy ice pack.

Buffy looked down and began to read. "Sisterhood of Jhe," she muttered under her breath, reading the rest silently, 'An all-female race of demons. Known to be fierce warriors, they celebrate victory in battle by devouring the flesh of their foes.'

The Slayer scrunched up her face. 'Ewww... they really should get with the times and just pour Gatorade over each other,' she thought before she continued reading, 'An Apocalypse cult, they exist solely to bring about the world's destruction. Confirmed to have killed two Slayers, (1729 Ireland and 1870 Tunisia).'

Buffy felt a knot of anger rise in her—they couldn't even bother to give the Slayer's names? Typical fucking Council. She shook it off with an eyeroll and kept reading...

'Since approximately 1600, when the Council of Watchers began keeping records of such things in earnest, they have opened several modestly sized Hellmouths around the globe. All of their efforts to bring on the final apocalypse have been thwarted by the Council by employing superior magicks along with rigorous physical intervention.'

Buffy interpreted that to mean they sent their weapon, the Slayer, in to battle the monsters, while the Watchers stayed back and diddled with their magic doohickies. Of course, the Council gets the credit for the thwarting.

When she was done reading the meager information, she looked up at the two Watchers. "Well, they sound like a fun-loving crowd. Why do demons always want to end the world?" Buffy asked in exasperation. "What's wrong with the world, anyway? Don't they like being able to watch 'Friends' and 'Dawson's Creek'? I mean, imagine the entertainment options with demons running the networks. 'The Fresh Slime Serpent of Bel-Air' or 'Sabrina, the Teenage Mucus Monster' just don't have the same appeal."

"Some might say demons were already running the networks," Giles muttered. "How else could you explain 'The Nanny'?"

Buffy's brows went up, her world tilting slightly on its axis. Giles watched TV? Giles watched 'The Nanny'? "Maybe we should put on a seminar: 'Focus on the Future: Why ending the world is an uber-bad idea.' We could have t-shirts made... and buttons!" She gave Giles her brightest, Colgate smile, even though her heart twisted with the effort.

Giles removed his glasses and pulled out a handkerchief to begin scrubbing them again. "Yes, well, perhaps another Tuesday, when the world isn't actually ending," he muttered.

"But... didn't we stop them? They're all with the deadness and we got all the doodads they had scattered around—"

"Antediluvian artifacts," Lydia corrected with a sigh, finally looking up. "Including this..." she continued, reaching into the apple crate to retrieve an ornately carved wooden box. A relief of a Tree of Life adorned the lid with garlands of flowers emanating from it, covering the sides and bottom. The background had been dyed sky blue with the reliefs of the tree and flowers gilded in gold. "If I'm not mistaken, and I rarely am, it appears to be the Stone of Osiris—very powerful, very rare—in fact, it was thought lost or destroyed eons ago. Opening a Hellmouth is no simple task, even for formidable sorcerers like the Sisterhood of Jhe. They require a powerful, supernatural artifact to focus the dark magicks, like the Stone of Osiris. Thankfully, these are quite rare, severely limiting their opportunities to end the world."

Lydia opened the box, which was lined with polished steel, to reveal a black, oval stone with an intricately carved design on its face. In the depressions where the surface of the stone had been removed, there were vibrant colors ranging from gold to turquoise to midnight blue which seemed to pulse with life.

Buffy reached in to pick it up, but Giles' hand shot out and stopped her. "Don't touch it!"

The Slayer frowned but pulled her hand from his grip, away from the gleaming colors. "It's a rock... A pretty rock."

"It's much more than a rock," Giles informed her. He picked up a small bone from the crate and dropped it onto the large, flat stone. An iridescent glow emanated from the design carved into the artifact, beginning with violet, and shifting through the color spectrum like an earth-bound rainbow. Nothing happened as it transitioned through the hues—blue, cyan, green, yellow—but when it got to orange, the bone began to vibrate, and when the light turned red, the bone sizzled and smoked and then incinerated in a flash of blinding light.

"You were saying?" Giles drawled as he retrieved a pair of metal gauntlets from the crate of doodads. He held them up. "It can only be safely handled with forged steel," he informed her, closing the lid of the steel-lined box and latching it, then dropping the heavy metal gloves back into the crate.

"Fine. More than a pretty rock. So, we got their magic bullet. Does this mean we stopped them?" Buffy asked hopefully.

Giles and Lydia shared a look.

Buffy sagged. "I know that look."

"I-it's simply that there are an untold number of demons in this faction. If they believe that the coming eclipse is their opportunity to bring about the apocalypse, it is unlikely that they will simply give up."

The Slayer sighed and dropped down into one of the chairs, folding her arms on the table and resting her head on them. "Well, that's just par for the corsage."

-X-

As the stars appeared in the darkening sky, Spike stopped on the sidewalk in front of 1630 Revello Drive, staring at the house. The house where he thought he'd found friends, where he thought he'd found family, love, a future. How could it have all gone so wrong so quickly? He still didn't understand what he'd done.

Her scent was strong here; it seemed to permeate the air like the perfume of a rare flower, a poisonous, painful, glorious flower. His hand curled around the paper in his pocket, feeling her words stab into his flesh like daggers.

This had to end. This pain. This anguish. She had to end it properly, she owed him that much for saving her mum and her Watcher. She fucking owed him a quick and merciful death, not this slow, lingering, bottomless pit of agony.

He tightened his jaw, squared his shoulders, and strode up the walk, reaching deep down into the darkest shadows of his demon to bring Big Bad to the surface. Bold. Confident. Badass. A demon to be reckoned with—a demon to be slain, to be destroyed. A demon he held onto with a tenuous thread hoping he could maintain the façade long enough for Buffy to finish him and end his misery.

Spike held his breath as he turned the knob and barreled in, ready to be smacked in the face by a disinvite... but it didn't happen. The lack of a barrier made him stumble into the foyer, wondering what that meant—if she just hadn't had time to do the spell yet or...

A howling bark came from the kitchen, but he didn't feel Buffy anywhere nearby. He bounded up the stairs, half of him hoping she was upstairs, the other half hoping she wasn't. "Slayer! Time t' face the sodding music!"

No one. No human heartbeats. Nothing but the clicking of the dog's nails scrabbling up the stairs behind him.

Partly relieved, partly disappointed, he stepped into Buffy's room. Her bag was on the floor, but otherwise nothing seemed different. His postcards were still around the mirror, the colorful Talavera wall hanging of the eclipse was still on the wall opposite her bed, the red cast of his torso from the healing-spell-gone-wrong was still on display. Why hadn't she thrown these things away if she hated him so much? If she loathed him the way she claimed in her letter, all traces of his presence should have been gone from her room. He walked over to her dresser. Photos from her Hot Chocolate Day celebration were scattered about between lip glosses, hairbrushes, and nail polishes. He picked one up—he and Buffy posing for Joyce and her infernal flashbulb...

They were happy.

They were in love.

Goddammit! They were in love! It wasn't just him. He could see it in her eyes. It was real. She loved him, but why had she pushed him away? Tears blurred his vision, but he couldn't dwell too long because in the next moment, he was bowled down by a furry monster, who began licking and drooling all over him, huge paws pinning the vampire to the floor.

"Bloody hell!" Spike exclaimed, raising his arms to defend himself from the onslaught of slobbery love. "Let off, Cujo!"

The vampire finally managed to push the beast off, though he was then assailed with a furry sledgehammer disguised as a tail, which slammed into his face and torso as the dog danced around him. "Fuck's sake..." Spike groaned, climbing back to his feet, sure there would be bruises left in the mutt's wake.

"Where's the Slayer?" he asked the dog.

Spike looked up at him with eager eyes, his mouth hanging open joyfully, his body still twitching back and forth as his tail hammered between the bed and the dresser, threatening to demolish them both.

"Whooof! Woof, woof, woof!" The dog's front feet bounced off the floor with every exclamation.

"Only been two sodding days," Spike grumbled, looking down at the overly enthusiastic mutt. "Don't need t' go all carrot top on me."

"RRRR-ARRRF!" Furry Spike disagreed as he began dancing around, rubbing against the vampire's legs like a mountain-lion-sized house cat.

Spike sighed and dropped down to one knee to give the dog a hug. He'd missed the mangy mutt more than he thought he would. Should have one good tussle with the demon dog before the end—see who really was the baddest Spike in all the land—but his heart wasn't in it. He just needed to find Buffy and get this over with. Then there would be only one Spike left, and he could have the crown of the biggest and the baddest.

Then a familiar scent hit him, coming from the dog's coat. Tears. Buffy's tears. Spike leaned in and inhaled deeply. He knew their scent, knew their taste, had kissed them from her cheeks as he held her in his arms not so many hours ago. Buffy had definitely cried against the dog's neck, since she'd gotten back from San Francisco. Coupled with the lack of disinvite, the postcards, the photos, the knickknacks... it had to mean something.

"Where's your master?" the vampire asked again, pulling back to look into the dog's eyes. "Need t' have a word with the fucking bitch."

The dog seemed to frown, his big brows drawing together in either confusion or consideration, his wagging tail stilling.

"Come on then—" Spike encouraged, shaking the dog by his oversized jowls before waving an arm at the bedroom door. "Take me to your leader. Let's go find Buffy."

"Woof!" Spike agreed then, bouncing in place a moment before dashing out into the hall and down the steps, racing for the open front door.

The vampire grabbed the photo of him and Buffy from the dresser and slipped it into his pocket next to the bloodied, crumpled note, glancing around the room as if it were the last time. If he were reading the cards wrong—if all this adding up was just some new math he didn't understand and he'd bollocksed up the answer—it very well may be his last time here. He took a moment to drink it in—inhaling deeply, taking in the pure scent of her to hold onto forever... even though his forever might come as soon as he found the Slayer.

As his eyes roamed, he noticed the Rum Tum Tugger plushy toy next to her pillow. He picked it up, brows furrowed. She'd not really packed before she'd left the hotel, leaving behind all her toiletries and what seemed to be any clothing that wasn't already in her bag, and yet she'd taken time to retrieve the doll. The doll of the Jellicle Cat that she said reminded her of him. The toy smelled of fresh salt. More Buffy's tears. The small spark of hope that had sprung up when he tumbled through the non-existent barrier continued to grow, to burn brighter.

What did it all mean? It had to mean something, didn't it?

Seeing the keepsake reminded him of the postcard he'd nicked back in San Francisco... the one of the Golden Gate at night, the one that commemorated their dance beneath the stars. He dropped the doll back onto the bed and began patting down his pockets until he found it and pulled it out. His heart lurched and twisted in his chest, remembering everything they'd shared. It had only been a short time, but the passion and the emotion... the love they'd shared in that time made it feel like years, decades.

He turned back to her dresser and the mirror above it, ringed with all the postcards he'd sent or given her. Searching through the girly paraphernalia he found a pen. This could be the last thing he'd ever get to say to her... it needed to be perfect. If his little glimmer of hope was misguided, then it needed to last a lifetime. It needed to be worthy of...

The dog's ear-splitting and insistent bark echoed up the stairs, jolting Spike from his thoughts.

"Bugger..." he muttered, quickly writing, 'I'll love you 'til I dust, even if that happens to be tonight. Hate you with all my heart, Spike.'

Spike placed it in a blank spot on the edge of the mirror and hurried out. As soon as he was in sight of the front door, the dog took off running down the porch steps to the walk, toward the street.

Spike sped up, not wanting to lose sight of the mutt, leaping the porch steps, and hitting the yard at a run. Before reaching the sidewalk, he came to a skidding halt, reversing direction and darting back onto the porch. The vampire yanked the door closed, chastising himself for the courtesy—Big Bads did not worry about closing sodding doors!—before he turned and again hurried after the distant furry giant.

-X-

Everyone in the library started, jumping up from their chairs at the table, when the doors slammed open and a huge, coppery ball of fluff barreled in.

"Spike!" Buffy exclaimed, her eyes wide. "How—" But the rest of her question froze on her lips as the doors banged open again. "Spike," she whispered, barely louder than a thought. Her heart lurched painfully in her chest, her love battering at the walls she'd been so fervently rebuilding, desperate to get out, to go to him.

Her hands dug into her dog's thick mane as he pressed against her leg, looking supremely pleased with himself. The vampire looked less pleased as he stopped a few feet away, hands on hips, legs braced wide.

"C'mon, Slayer... ended the truce, you did. Where's your pointy stick? Let's get this done."

"Buffy, what's..." Giles began but Spike cut him off, "Didn't explain it to them, then?" he demanded. He pulled the balled-up note from his pocket and tossed it onto the floor between them. "Maybe you'd like t' explain it to me, then."

Buffy felt her mind whirl and her legs tremble with longing, guilt, and despair. "Spike," she murmured again, her voice cracking with the emotions raging inside her, her heart and mind battling, love vs. logic, obligation vs. freedom, the world vs. herself. Her chin wobbled and her eyes shone as she tried to hold back the rising tide of warring factions that battled within her.

You can do this, she told herself as she steeled her back and squared her shoulders. You can send him away to save him. You have to do this. Be brave, be the Slayer.

She took one halting step forward, the only thing keeping her from collapsing was the massive dog at her side. "I... already...d-did," she stuttered.

"Well, do it again, cos I didn't quite get it the first time, sweetheart," he sneered, balling his hands into fists at his side. "Want t' hear it again! Tell me how you don't love me! Tell me how you hate me! Tell me what a bloody murdering bastard I am! Tell me I'm beneath you, not fit t' lick your boots. FUCKING TELL ME!"

His blue eyes were bright and glittering with furious anger, yet underneath his rage, they were filled with so much hope and... and love… Oh god, he still loves me even after I cut out his heart…

Buffy lost the battle with her tears. They spilled down her cheeks, burning her with the guilt of her betrayal. But she didn't have a choice... when it came to her vs. the world, the world had to win. The world always had to win. "I'm sorry," she rasped. "I... can't love you."

"Not can't... don't! SAY IT, YOU LYING BITCH!" Spike roared dangerously enough to raise the hackles on his namesake, who was braced against Buffy's thigh.

"Woof!" Spike protested as Buffy flinched. She deserved that. She deserved that and so much more, but it still hurt. The words stabbed deep and twisted, making her touch her chest, checking for blood. There should be blood. How could something hurt so much and not bleed? Why was he doing this? Why was he here? Why wouldn't he just leave so he could be safe?

"Say it," he growled, stepping up nose to nose with her, his eyes blazing with pain and anger. He was bloody well going to make her say it before she staked him. It was the only way he'd believe she'd given up on everything they'd had, everything they'd shared. He knew he was right, he had to be…

He stepped impossibly closer and slid his fingers into the front pocket of her jeans. Buffy gasped, her eyes fluttering closed at the too-intimate touch. Her body shivered and her heart lunged into a gallop. She wanted to fall into his arms, kiss him, hold him, beg him to forgive her... but then his touch was gone. She felt bereft and empty as he took a small step back, and when she opened her eyes, he was holding his Zippo up, smirking at her.

"What's this then?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerously calm as he waited for an answer.

Buffy just gawped at him, unable to drag her mind out of the whirlwind of desire, despair, and impossible hope that his touch had elicited.

"Tell me you don't love me, then do your duty and put me outta my fucking misery," he growled, stuffing the lighter into his pocket.

The dog whined pitifully, looking between the two blondes, unsure what to do.

The Slayer stood frozen, her vision blurring and clearing as tears filled then overflowed, cascading down her cheeks and pooling into the hollow of her throat. Her jaw quivered uncontrollably, trying to form the words she needed to say to make him go, to keep him safe, to do her duty, to stop the PTB's retributions, to keep the world from ending... But they wouldn't come. She'd barely gotten the words out the first time; she couldn't say any of it again.

Spike's next words were so quiet, so filled with pain, she thought she'd surely die. "Then why?"

She swallowed hard and blinked, sending another flood down her cheeks. Her voice was a painful croak when it came out, "There's an apocalypse... Tuesday."

He tilted his head, his eyes swimming in confusion. "Not my style."

She shook her head, shell-shocked, tears streaming down her face. "No... it's mine."

"Said I was with you, didn't I? Thought we'd agreed we'd have each other's backs. You and me, pet... together, forever."

Buffy didn't think her heart could hurt any more than it already did, but he looked so broken, so alone, his expressive eyes were so empty, so utterly desolate, the pain redoubled and redoubled again until every inhale was an effort.

She dropped to her knees, all the strength drained from her body, sucked out by her bleeding heart. "But that's just it, don't you get it?" she cried, covering her face with her hands. "I slept with you... with a vampire—the enemy. The thing I'm supposed to... to slay! I'm in love with another vampire... The Powers aren't just going to let that happen without... without making me pay, making the world pay. It's my fault. This apocalypse. If you stay, you're going to dust and the world is gonna end, and it's all my fault."

"BOLLOCKS!" Spike growled, kneeling in front of her and pulling her hands away from her face. "That's sodding bollocks!" he repeated, leaning in until he could look into her guilt-ridden eyes.

"It's not bollocks... it's what happens. I was afraid of this... but I thought... when the world didn't end after the 'I love yous', I thought, maybe... maybe they won't punish me, but..."

"Buffy, don't be daft."

"I'M NOT DAFT!" she screamed at him, shooting to her feet with a surge of panicked adrenaline, and pushing past him as she began to pace agitatedly. "I slept with Angel, and he tried to end the world! I had to kill him! I had to kill the man I loved to save the world. Now it's all happening again! I had another dream. Dru...id" She changed the name at the last moment, suddenly remembering who was listening and so not wanting to have to explain her blood oath to Giles and Lucinda. "The Druids showed me! We lose. Every time, we fucking lose! You dust! You have to go! Run! Get away now! Spike, please! I'm begging you."

"This again?" Spike roared, throwing his hands out in agitation. "Thought we'd settled this, Slayer. Not going anywhere without you. You want to run... fine, I'll run with ya, but I'm not leaving your side."

"You have to!"

"I bloody well don't!"

"YOU DO! GET AWAY FROM ME! Go find someone to love! Someone who can love you like you deserve. You have to!" Her voice broke as she finished, "One of us has to... one of us should be happy..."

Spike stared at her for several long moments, silence filling the large room like a thick, heavy fog.

The Slayer held her breath as she waited, wishing more than anything in the world that he could stay, but knowing he shouldn't—no—couldn't. She needed to know he was out there, somewhere safe. It was the only way. She'd survived when she thought Angel died by her own hand, but she knew her heart would stop beating from grief if Spike died...dusted. So, he had to go, and she had to keep fighting. It was her job, her sacred calling, her curse, her…

"Fine, I'll go," he agreed, and Buffy sagged with agonized relief.

With a calculated tilt to his head, he stated his terms, "Soon as you tell me you don't love me. Say it to my face, right now. Say it! Tell me! Tell me how you can't love a soulless demon! Tell me how beneath you I am. Tell me you don't love me!"

"Spike, please," she begged, coming to a stop facing him, her face dripping with anguish. "You know I can't."

"Then stop—"

"You don't understand! I saw it. You... and Spike... you'll die... and... I can't bear it."

"Dru...ids don't know everything," he insisted, going along with her deception, stepping up to her, gripping her upper arms with a calming strength. He ducked his head to be on a level with her. "Druids are bloody famous for twisting things up, making things look one way when they're another. They can be fucking wrong."

"What if they're not?"

Her voice was so desperate, so desolate, that Spike's already shattered heart cracked even more. She was hurting just as much as he was and she was willing to stay in that miserable place to save him, but he'd had enough of that. He'd been around long enough to know that love like theirs was rare and he was bloody well going to make sure she knew it was worth fighting for.

"We'll prove 'em wrong," he asserted calmly, trying to infuse his words with certainty enough to fill the fissures in both of their hearts. "The Power's aren't punishing you, pet," he continued. "Told ya before, we aren't the first... likely won't be the last. Slayers and vampires 'ave been allies and lovers before, and the world's still here, innit?"

Buffy shook her head, her hair sticking in the dampness on her face.

"I swear it's true, pet. I'll show ya... prove it to ya."

"How?"

Spike looked up at the two Watchers, who were, err, watching in silent, possibly horrified, fascination, his eyes focusing acutely on Lydia. The concussed woman took a few moments to realize he was waiting for her to say something, to confirm his assertion, as she'd done before privately.

She cleared her throat and looked away. "I-I'm not sure what you expect—"

"You know sodding well—" Spike began, stepping around Buffy and taking a long stride toward the woman. He cut off his words abruptly, realizing anything he said would surely give him away—give away the secret between them. Buffy couldn't know! Even as hurt as he was, he wouldn't take that from her. She deserved the money, the perks, she was the one risking her sodding life, but if she didn't believe she'd wrangled it out of the wankers, what would that do to her newly boosted confidence?

Giles stepped between the reeking—had he bathed in whisky?—furious vampire and the cringing woman. "Spike is correct," he announced to the room at large. "It seems there have been other such... liaisons in the past."

Buffy walked up next to Spike, wiping her eyes with trembling fingers. "Are... are you sure? I never... you never told me that before." She looked at Giles with a mixture of hope and accusation.

Her former Watcher cleared his throat and shot Lydia a scathing look for putting him in this position, before refocusing on his Slayer. "This is something that has only recently come to my attention."

Buffy blinked more tears from her eyes and swiped at them with her sleeve. "And... what happened to them?"

Giles removed his glasses and began polishing them in earnest, unable to meet Buffy's eyes.

"Oh..." Buffy muttered, trying desperately to hold back her pain, but it kept spilling down her cheeks. "Of course... they died. The vampire too."

"Not gonna happen to us, pet," Spike assured her.

Buffy looked up at him, her green eyes shining with pain and worry. "You don't know—"

"I bloody well do know. You aren't them... we aren't them," he insisted vehemently.

"I'm just a Slayer... a tool, a weapon."

"Bollocks! You're a fucking Valkyrie, a warrior goddess—and I'm the Slayer o' Slayers. The monsters don't stand a chance against us... long as we stay together."

"I-I sent you away... I tried to send you away to protect you. I don't want to... to drag you down with me. I couldn't bear it, Spike. I couldn't..."

"Not dragging me down, luv. We lift each other up. Don'cha see, Buffy? Together there's nothing we can't face... no threat we can't overcome."

"WOOF!" Spike added.

The two blondes looked down at the dog, tentative smiles curving their lips. "Us and the mangy mutt, o' course," the vampire amended, looking back up at her.

Buffy nodded shakily. She wanted to believe him. She needed to believe him. She knew she couldn't push him away again, even for his own good. She wasn't strong enough. It just hurt too much, like slashing at her soul with icy razors. And seeing the fractures of raw pain in his stormy blue eyes had only made her soul bleed black.

"'Sides, got some science to be done, don't we? See how long a Slayer's arteries can withstand the rigors o' cheese overdoses and red meat," Spike reminded her.

Buffy sniffed in a little laugh, wiping at her leaking eyes, then looked up at Giles. "Are... are you sure this apocalypse isn't... it isn't because I... because we..."

"Buffy, my dear," Giles said soothingly, taking a hesitant step toward her as he replaced his glasses. "I can assure you that this isn't fire and brimstone being rained down on you by the Powers because of your feelings for Spike. It's simply another Tuesday in Sunnydale."

Buffy's heart sank with shame and exploded in joy all at once as the reality of it all settled in. She turned her doleful eyes back to her boyfriend. "Oh, Spike... oh, god, I'm so sorry. I... I didn't mean it. None of it... I never wanted to hurt you, I just... I was trying to... to... be the Slayer and keep you safe. I just want you to have the life you deserve, to be happy."

"I've not got a life without you, Buffy. Don'cha know that? There's no one else that can make me feel like you do. No one else I want to be with. I'd rather dust, spill my last drop o' blood at your side, than live a single moment without you."

Buffy gulped back a sob, his words resonating in perfect harmony with her own heart's desires. "Oh, baby, I'm so, so sorry, I—"

Her words were cut off by his lips crashing against hers. The world exploded into a cacophony of butterflies and rainbows, of glittering sunbeams floating on summer breezes, of moonbeams dancing over ocean waves, and sparkling snowflakes fluttering gracefully atop crisp mountaintops.

Spike crushed her body against his, clinging to her desperately, as the crumpled letter was trampled beneath their feet. Buffy's arms snaked around his neck as their tongues battled, swirling and tasting, teasing and tempting each other while their lips did all they could to devour their lover's.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I love you," Buffy breathed against his mouth.

"Love you, love you, love you," Spike returned fervently, the kiss deepening, becoming ravenous, completely wrapped up in the taste and feel of each other. Not even the sound of two throats clearing, or the huge dog trying to press in between them, could distract or separate them.

They were shaken back to earth only when the ground began to rumble and tremble beneath their feet. They both pulled back, eyes wide, the literal earth moving beneath them.

"What—?" Buffy began to ask, not convinced that it wasn't Spike who had rocked her world... who was still rocking her world.

"Move!" Giles ordered as he and Lydia scurried from their spots on each side of the table, each grabbing an arm of one of the blondes, and pulling them away, toward the doors, the Guardian barking and growling, but right on their heels.

They all stopped several feet away and turned back to see cracks opening in the library floor, right over the Hellmouth.

"What?" Buffy demanded again, her wide eyes shifting from the fracturing floor to Giles and back again. "How...? What...? Giles!" She finally turned her full attention on the Watcher as her dog snarled and barked at the widening fissures. "The Hellmouth! It's opening! You said Tuesday! It's not Tuesday! And we got the doodads and killed the demons and... IT'S NOT TUESDAY!"

"It's Tuesday somewhere," Spike pointed out as he leapt the jagged cracks, making his way to the weapons in the book cage.

"Spike! Come back! Get away..." Buffy warned in a panic.

"Oh, dear lord," Giles moaned as he hurried into his office.

Buffy was a flurry of confusion and fear, her attention darting between her Watcher, her boyfriend, her snapping dog, and the ever-growing opening a few feet away. "GILES!? What the hell? Spike! Both of you! Get back over here!"

Giles returned with an almanac of some kind and was madly flipping pages, another oath of, "Dear lord," escaping his lips as he studied a page.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?" Buffy demanded.

The Watcher looked up at her, guilt and chagrin painted over his expression. "I'm afraid Spike is correct... it is Tuesday somewhere. Specifically in the southern Indian Ocean... where the eclipse should be beginning at this very moment."

Buffy's jaw dropped open as the earth shook again, bits of flooring falling into the widening aperture. She could see the tip of one of those demon octopus tentacles trying to push itself free from the Hellmouth. "No, no, no... this is not happening," she insisted as Spike returned, a heavy battle axe in one hand, her sword in the other.

She stared at the axe as Spike handed her the sword, remembering her dream and how it had gotten stuck in the Hellmouth monster's neck. How Spike had been ripped in half as he was flung from side to side like a chew toy, how her dog had been...

"Sorry, luv. Did you want the axe?" he asked, misreading her hesitation, twirling it deftly in his left hand, as if it were an extension of his arm.

Buffy shook her head numbly, all her momentary joy draining from her soul, as her hand automatically curled around the haft of the sword. Giles and Lydia were talking, but she couldn't understand them, all she could see was death and destruction. She'd failed. She'd failed to save him. She'd hurt him, ripped and gouged at his heart with her horrible words, and she'd still failed to save him. And her dog... he was nipping at the demonic appendage, making it jerk back into the trembling ground, but not for long. It wouldn't work for long. The opening would be too big soon, the whole creature would emerge, and they would...

"EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Spike ordered, making everyone, including the dog, jerk in surprise and go silent. The vampire tilted his head, brows furrowed, turning it one way then the other, as if listening to something.

The only thing Buffy could hear was the flooring as it cracked and tumbled into the depths of the Hellmouth and her own ragged breathing.

"Chanting. Above us... second floor or roof," he announced. "Reckon that's your bad guys. Stop them, stop this, yeah?" he asked, waving a hand at the crumbling floor.

"Y-yes... yes! That would halt the spell. But you must—"

Spike grabbed Buffy's hand, and before Giles could say, "hurry," they were out the door. The vampire let out a shrill whistle and the dog was on their heels in the next moment.

"Call Willy's! Get Faith and Angel here now!" Buffy yelled back over her shoulder as the doors flapped madly on their hinges.

"Perhaps a blocking or protection spell would slow the progression," Lydia suggested, frantically pawing through a pile of books on the counter as Giles picked up the phone.

"Yes..." Giles muttered in agreement, dialing the demon bar.

-X-

On the second-floor landing, Spike stopped.

"A little warning!" Buffy exclaimed, nearly slamming into his back, as she and the dog skirted around him—barely.

But the vampire paid her little mind as he listened, turning his head to triangulate where the chanting was coming from. "Roof!" He looked up, but there were no more stairs.

"This way!" Buffy called as she took off running for the maintenance stairwell. She slammed through the unlocked door that led to the rooftop. They took the stairs two and three at a time, barreling onto the flat, gravel roof. Buffy didn't need Spike's vampire senses to guide her—the flickering glow of candles and loud, inhuman chanting coming from the clock tower, right above the library, and by extension, the Hellmouth, was like a beacon in the night.

Buffy crashed through the wooden shutters on the nearest side of the clocktower, bringing an abrupt halt to the voices, which was of the good. Coming face-to-face with three more of the Sisterhood, all looking murderous, was not so much of the good.

"If I'd known you were having a Hellmouth opening tonight, I would've brought a gift," she quipped, using the demons' moment of frozen shock to survey the floor—candles, pentagram, bones, stinky herbs, shiny doodad in the middle—all the ingredients of an apocalypse just waiting to be shaked and baked. Well, that wasn't happening—not today. She lifted her sword. "Oh! Look, I did bring a prezzie!" she added, whipping the blade at the closest demon, who flinched back out of harm's way. Buffy used the momentum of her swing to knock over three of the candles and scatter the herbs, sliding her boot through the pentagram at the same time, smudging the precise lines.

A moment later, just as all three of the Sisterhood lunged for her, the two Spikes smashed through the shutters on either side, plowing into the demons with roars and snarls of fury.

"Don't touch the shiny thing!" Buffy warned them as the deadly dance began.

Two Spikes battled in perfect harmony with Buffy—such a divergence from the earlier fight with Angel and Faith at her side. Their ability to anticipate not only her moves, but each other's, to duck and leap, spin and weave in time was thrilling. It seemed like the battle had been choreographed, or that they could somehow read each other's minds. It was as graceful as any ballet ever conceived, but performed to a riotous, heart-pounding beat.

When Buffy's sword was knocked away, out of reach, the vampire was there, his battle axe sailing through the air toward her. She caught it with barely a glance, continuing the motion to behead one of the demons. Meanwhile, Spike had rolled away from another of the Jhe, retrieving Buffy's sword from the clocktower floor as he came back to his feet in a swirl of leather, his back to the big dog's.

Three more of the Sisterhood joined the fray, appearing from nowhere, and the clash spilled out onto the roof, the clocktower no longer large enough to contain it.

The two Spikes were both growling as they fought the three newcomers, though the vampire's growls were interspersed with wicked laughter and taunts. He stabbed one of Jhe through the chest with Buffy's sword as the dog barreled into another, knocking it down. The Guardian snarled madly, and blue-white lightning flashed in his eyes as he ripped viciously at the demon's throat. The Jhe writhed and struggled, trying to throw the dog off amid unintelligible screams which eventually turned to burbling gasps as the demon died. As the two Spikes turned to face their third opponent, Buffy's dagger sailed through the air between them and imbedded itself in the center of the demon's forehead, right between the eyes.

"Remind me t' never wager on darts with you, Slayer."

"Chicken!" she taunted.

Spike's lips crashed against Buffy's in a fast, brutal kiss as they exchanged weapons, then they were off again, blades whirling, beautiful and deadly, the dog weaving between them, taking his own shots with snapping jaws.

With a surprising suddenness, the blades stopped whistling through the air. The three warriors turned in slow, wary circles, searching for more attackers. They all visibly relaxed after a minute when no new threat appeared. Buffy slumped over, bracing her hands on her thighs, as she gulped in deep breaths, trying to get oxygen back to her over-taxed limbs. Even Spike, who didn't technically need the oxygen, was panting hard, leaning on the long axe like a cane. Meanwhile, the dog, his mouth hanging open, blood-stained drool flooding from his jowls, flopped down on the gravel at their feet. They were surrounded by dead, or at least dying, demons, two in the clocktower, four on the rooftop around the heroes.

For a few long moments, the only sound was the ragged breathing of the fighters and the blood dripping from their weapons—or in the case of the Guardian, blood mixed with drool dripping from his deadly teeth—making wet plops onto the roof.

"Anyone tell you you're fucking hot when you're covered in blood and gore?" Spike asked, breaking the silence, letting his eyes caress her battle-stained blouse and trousers.

Buffy shivered, the heat of his gaze sparking blazes in her already boiling blood. "You're pretty high on the hottie scale yourself... all manly with your big, dangerous weapon," she replied, raking her eyes over the axe before focusing on the very noticeable bulge in his jeans.

Spike smirked and somehow managed to put a whole mile of sexy saunter into the two steps it took for him to reach her. The axe clattered to the gravel as he reached her, cupping her face in his hands as he swallowed her flirty smile, drinking in the heat and power of her with a desperate kiss. Buffy's sword joined the axe on the roof as her arms slipped around his neck and she levered her legs up, clenching them around his waist.

The dog sighed and rolled his eyes, settling his chin on his paws to wait it out, clearly giving up on his separation mission.

"Spike... so sorry... can't tell you how much," Buffy mumbled against his lips, grinding her core against his straining cock, trapped beneath his zipper.

"Shhh... just tell me you love me," he begged, cupping her ass in his hands, desperately wishing for a de-clothing spell... maybe the little witch could whip one up for them. Something simple with no side-effects.

"I love you," Buffy panted against his mouth, frantically trying to figure out how to get free of her pants without releasing him.

"Tell me you want me," he continued, dragging his tongue down over her jaw, trailing a sizzling line of need down her neck to her jugular.

"Want you. God how I want you," she groaned, tilting her head, opening herself to his questing lips and nibbling human teeth. "Want you inside me, Spike, need you..."

Suddenly, Buffy found herself dumped on her ass on the hard rooftop. Spike was moving again, a blur of black and platinum as he twirled, grabbing up the axe from the gravel before sweeping it up in a deadly arc. The long battle axe swung over Buffy's head in a flash of silver as he spun, his duster whirling out dramatically. The blade, dulled slightly from use and misuse during the battle, slammed into the ribcage of an approaching member of the Sisterhood of Jhe, but didn't slice cleanly through. Spike was yanked forward as the demon lurched backwards, the blade embedded in its torso. The Jhe screeched in agony, a shrill, ear-splitting shriek that brought to mind a steel building being twisted and shredded by enormous claws of ice.

Buffy scrabbled back to her feet, picking up her sword on the way, her adrenaline spiking again. Her blade came down on the enemy's throat, cutting off the piercing yowl with deadly finality. Spike put his boot down on the demon's torso and wrenched his blade from between its ribs with a sickening squelch and crunching of bones.

The Slayer cringed, more because of the memory of the dream that sight conjured than from the sound. She could still see Spike's axe buried in the neck of that octopus demon thingy and him being pulled from his feet, then... She shook her head, clearing the vision, her heart racing again as if she'd just fought another dozen whack-job demons, not simply hacked the head off one.

Spike noticed. "You okay, pet?" he asked, flinging the blood and gore from the blade as his eyes scanned the roof, searching for more attackers.

"Frustrated with a side of pissed off and a dollop of deafened," Buffy replied, trying to make her heart stop skipping and jumping as she, too, looked around for more demons.

"Loud little fucks, aren't they?" Spike observed, pressing a finger into one ear to try and soothe the ringing.

"You'd think an axe to the chest hurt or something," Buffy bantered back.

"Nancies." Spike chuckled a little as they all faced different directions, including the dog, who was up and alert again.

"Also, rude," Buffy added, glowering at the bleeding corpse. "Remind me to send them a book on battlefield etiquette. Interrupting make-out sessions is sooo gauche."

"Emily Post would be aghast," Spike agreed.

After a few moments, the sound of footsteps crunching in the gravel, hurrying across the roof, had them on alert again. With weapons at the ready, they crept silently around the clocktower, prepared to catch the new threat off guard. Spike sent the dog with Buffy, who was clearly exhausted, around one side, while he went the other way. Again, as if choreographed, the warriors leapt from their hiding places as one, blades and fangs drawn back, only to be met with a shrill exclamation of surprise from Giles on one side, who stumbled back, arms automatically raised in defense, and a clatter of steel against steel from Faith on the other.

"CHRIST!" Spike swore as his axe collided with the dark Slayer's raised sword.

Buffy managed to divert her weapon away from Giles, with the Guardian adding in a reproachful, "WHOOFF!" as he skidded to a halt.

"What are you doing up here?" Buffy demanded, her heart thudding from an overload of fizzing adrenaline, the realization that she could've easily beheaded Giles flooding her already-hyped system.

"T-the... the spell seemed to have stopped," Giles explained haltingly. "We managed to reseal the opening... We were coming to check on you, see if you required assistance."

"You closed it?" Buffy asked hopefully. "Like... totally closed, no hungry monster tentacles looking for Happy Meals?"

"Yes—we modified the healing spell that Miss Chalmers and Willow used on Spike to, well, heal, the fissures, as it were," Giles explained. "She and Angel remained below just in case of any trouble.

"I take it you were also successful in halting the ritual," he observed.

"More dead Sisters... more shiny baubles in the clocktower. Just how many more times are we gonna have to stop them?" Buffy wondered as she automatically moved over next to Spike.

"I believe that will be the last time. The eclipse, which was lending them additional power, has ended," Giles assured her. "Though it might be wise for us to inspect the caves one last time to make certain no dangerous artifacts were missed. We should also keep the Hellmouth monitored to watch for more of the Sisterhood."

"The Slayer and I can search the caves," Spike offered immediately, giving Buffy a significant look.

She sagged. She didn't want more missions tonight. She just wanted to go somewhere with Spike—somewhere with aloneness—where they could finish what they'd started before being so rudely interrupted. Then the lightbulb clicked on, and she was suddenly very on board with the idea of searching the creepy demon caves with Spike.

"Yes! You all stay here," she agreed eagerly. "We should go—to search. Much searching can be done by us... of the tunnels... for old junk."

Faith sighed and rolled her eyes. "Pretty sure the junk you're interested in finding isn't all that hidden," she asserted, letting her eyes linger on Spike's crotch.

Giles' glasses were off and being polished to a gleam in an instant. "Erm, we wouldn't want you accidentally disturbing any artifacts; it could be quite dangerous. I believe it would be more prudent if I accompanied you."

"We won't touch anything!" Buffy protested.

"Oh, they'll be plenty of touching," Spike murmured just loud enough for her to hear, making Buffy squirm and take a step toward the edge of the roof, pulling Spike with her.

"We'll just go make with the checking and be back soon...ish," Buffy continued, glancing over the short wall that ringed the flat roof into the grassy quad below. Free falling wasn't her normal mode of descending two stories, but it was doable if you're motivated, and trying to escape your Watcher and be alone with your boyfriend was very motivating.

"You stay here, Spikey," Buffy instructed her dog, patting him on the head as he followed them. "We'll come back and get you in a little while."

The dog whined pitifully, but sat down, his big brown eyes darting between the two hoomans.

"I'll bring you a snack... pizza! You love pizza! With extra pepperoni," Buffy promised as she and Spike stepped up onto the narrow wall.

"Whoof!" the Guardian agreed, jumping to his feet excitedly just as the two blondes stepped off the parapet and disappeared into thin air.

"Hey! Bring some for everyone!" Faith called after them.

"Got it!" Buffy's voice came back from below.

"Dear lord," Giles gasped, rushing over to look down, but he needn't have worried. Buffy and Spike were running through the quad toward the street, hand in hand, the echo of laughter drifting in their wake.

The big dog braced his front paws on the wall to look with the Watcher. Giles put an arm around the dog's big shoulders as they watched the blondes disappear around the corner of the school.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to learn to share her, my boy," Giles advised, giving the dog an affectionate little shake.

Spike huffed, but then sighed in resignation. He didn't really mind sharing with the White Rabbit. The White Rabbit gave him treats and belly rubs and let him chase those nasty little squirrels when they were home alone. The White Rabbit was a Good Rabbit. He was his fren.

-X-

Chapter End Notes:

See, all that foundation building and talking helped, right? They didn't even have to beat each other up to have their words heard this time. Progress! More on Sunday... make up sex is on the way.

Credit to PaganBaby for the manip of Buffy and Spike that I used for the photo of them from her Hot Chocolate Day celebration. (If you can't see the storyboards, check this story out on A03)

Stingers are a sudden burning pain or numbness in the arm often accompanied by weakness of the upper arm or shoulder muscles after an injury, most associated with competition in contact sports.