Thank you Kim, my one reviewer. Typo fixed. To answer your question (though giving away the plot is something I rarely do, even by way of warnings), Riley will be appearing...not very often, if ever again. I concentrated on him last chapter to get rid of him, basically.

"It says the same as all the others," Buffy answered Giles in an exasperated fashion. "She got chosen, killed the bad guys, blah blah, oops she's dead." Giles continued to pace around the magic box, carrying a watcher diary. "Where are the details of the slayers' last battle?"

Of course, she knew the answer before she had even asked the question: No details because they'd died, and were unable to make a report. But she needed to know so badly. She had almost died in a normal fight. What made their last battles so significant? If it hadn't been for Riley, that insignificant battle would have been her last. Giles pointed this out, earning a glare from his slayer. She didn't need him to tell her what she already knew.

"-There's no one left to tell the tales…" he said, trailing off when he realised he was mistaken. Buffy realised at the same time. Their eyes met, and both knew what she had to do.

Buffy inwardly groaned. She had to find Spike, the one who had been messing her up in the head, and ask him about a subject she really didn't feel comfortable about. Why was it that whenever she found something to distract her from the blonde that invaded her dreams, he'd pop up somehow? He drove her crazy. She couldn't stop thinking about him. Not in a good way, either. In a 'I'm stalking him' kind of way.

She'd dreamed about him last night. After she had confessed her dark secret to her now ex-boyfriend, and after he'd gone home, Buffy had dreamed. It had been dark. Darker than she normally liked her dreams, but it had seemed so…satisfying; like an urge had been quenched. She had died in it. Despite Spike fighting to save her, she'd been mortally wounded. When he'd killed the last vampire, he ran to her and held her, telling her how much he loved her, and would always love her. He'd kissed her, and then…she'd woken up. The love she'd felt in the dream left her feeling warm inside. It was just like that time they'd been engaged.

Of course, when she woke up the feeling diminished, having been replaced with that longing feeling. It felt like she was missing something, and the dream had told her exactly what. It had been so picture perfect, like something from a darkly romantic novel where everyone dies.

But this wasn't fiction. She was pining after a mass murderer, a sadistic torturer, and a rapist. She was drawn to his dark side (or was that his only side?). Dracula was right…she had a dark side that could no longer be ignored or suppressed. It was the side of her that dragged her from bed almost every night and made her hunt for prey. It was the side that had gotten off all three times she'd been bitten by vampires.

It made her feel dirty. It made her feel less human, and like she was damaging her friends just by being around them. The worst part of this degrading feeling? It turned her on. More, it satisfied something inside her, something that longed for darkness.

Sighing, she said goodbye to Giles and went to see Spike.

Walking into his crypt, she called out his name. He appeared from behind a pillar.

"What can I do for you, slayer?" he asked casually.

"You killed slayers. Two of them." Spike raised a brow. It was the first time she'd ever brought this up with him. He wondered why.

"Yeah, what of it?" he said, a small smirk emerging.

"You're going to show me how."

Buffy sat at a table across from Spike. The pair were in The Bronze, sitting in the shadows under the stairs. It was a relatively quiet night: no band, no dancing. Just enough people for them not to be noticed. Their location, though visible, was intensely private. His eyes sparkled with mischief through the din, and he knocked back his cheap beer, making a comment about how it wasn't a very good one.

"Update, Spike. We're here to talk about slayers, not hops. Two of them, both killed by you. Tell the tale, get the cash." She was going to do her best to ignore her feelings, because this was important. She needed to know how the other slayers had died.

"It's more than that, isn't it?" came that dark voice in her head. "You want to hear more about him, about his past? About his darkness…because it draws you to him. This is your way of getting closer…"

"Right then. We fought. I won. The end. Pay up!" said Spike shortly, presenting an open hand. He was eying the hundred dollars in Buffy's fist. Buffy clenched her jaw.

"That's not what I meant-"

"What, you want a blow by blow description? It's not about the moves, slayer. And since we're doing this, we're doing it my way. Wings." Buffy blinked. "Spicy buffalo wings. Order me up a plate, I'm feeling peckish, and unfortunately slayer isn't on the menu," he ordered, eying a vein on her neck in an obvious fashion.

Buffy's heart jumped when she realised he was imagining killing her. The way he wanted to bite her and drain the very last drop of life from her…to consume her in a way nobody else had ever wanted to? It sparked feeling between her thighs.

By now Buffy had had two weeks to come to terms with her infatuation with Spike (she refused to call it love, though in her dreams it went by no other name), but she still trembled with disgust sometimes. Sub-consciously covering her neck with her hand, she turned around to ask a waiter for wings, gasping in pain when she upset her injury. She looked up at Spike and saw him looking at her with a sinister smile.

"Well well… some nasty thing got a taste of you. Pity it wasn't me," he added, chuckling so as to unnerve her.

"I'm fine." Spike scoffed.

"Oh yeah, you're here, sittin' in a dark corner with a creature you loathe because you're fine," he said sarcastically.

She really did loathe him. She loathed him because she loved him. No, not love. She lusted after him. Her dark side desired what he was, that was all.

And it was too much to fight. He demanded buffalo wings again. "Were you born this big a pain in the ass?" Buffy sighed, struggling with her inner battle. He grinned, baring his fangs. Flecks of gold lit up his eyes before receding back to blue.

"What can I say? I've always been bad." Spike then began to retell the story of how he'd been sired. Parts of it, Buffy almost laughed at, others, she had wanted to stroke his face and apologise for as though they were her own crimes. Realising that he had once been an honest, fallible man, she felt a deep regret at his death.

At some point, they removed themselves from the table and began playing pool together. A haze hung around the vampire, testament to his chain smoking.

"So you were reborn to darkness. What then?" Spike laughed out loud. "What?"

"Reborn to darkness?"

"What? Isn't it accurate?" Spike tilted his head.

"Yeah, it is. Which is why I'm surprised. I woulda thought you'd dismiss it like it was nothin'." Buffy shrugged.

"Well it obviously was a big deal for you. I mean…you died. When you came back…you were someone else." More or less, Spike thought. "It must have been a profound experience," she added distantly, thinking, fantasising about how he might have felt. She was imagining what it must be like to become a vampire, a thought that scared her, but one that was impossible to distance herself from. She was stroking darkness, and it was satisfying.

Spike lit a match off the table and lit up another smoke. Buffy wondered in passing where you could buy non-safety matches. "It was. I was no longer bound by societies rules. I made my own. Of course, I needed a gang."

"Angel." Spike nodded.

"And Drusilla, and Darla. Although at first I was an unwelcome addition to the trio, I worked my way into the mix. Dru insisted I stay, and eventually I even won the begrudging respect of Angelus. Darla never liked me, but she enjoyed my body every now and then."

"You and Darla?" Spike looked at her pointedly.

"Yeah. And Darla and Dru. And me an' Darla and Dru. And me an' Angel." Buffy gasped, her eyes widening. "And every possible combination there is with four people. What, you shocked? Well don't be! We were bleedin' vampires. Like I said: not bound by the rules of society. I'm not surprised at all Angel never told you. Angel hates me. I always regretted that Angelus wasn't there to see me in my finest hour."

"When you killed your first slayer," Buffy surmised, pushing thoughts of Spike and Angel from her mind.

"The one and only. It was the happiest night of my life. I was barely 20 years bein' a vampire, and I killed a slayer in one-on-one combat. You really can't imagine the status that that brought me. Once Angelus' little side kick, I became his equal over night. To most creatures of darkness, the slayer brings on cold sweat. It makes even the powerful tremble with fear. But not me. I sought them out. I became obsessed."

"I'm obsessed with this vampire. Nice to know he's obsessed with slayers." Wait… he's obsessed with slayers. That was why he had come to Sunnydale, and it's why he stayed. He wanted to kill her. She tingled at the thought. He was here solely to see her dead. Getting her mind back on track, Buffy levelled her gaze at him.

"So how'd you kill her?" Spike strode towards her, moving behind her. She assumed he was moving to a more advantageous position to shoot from, but he grabbed her from behind.

"Funny you should ask," he whispered in her ear. She didn't try to shake him off. He was breathing down her neck in a manner that roused desire deep within her. She could smell his coat through the stale smoke. She gasped as he turned her around roughly and squeezed her shoulder. "Lesson the first: always reach for your weapon; I've already got mine." With that he shook his head, his demon coming to the fore. From deep within him came an animal growl. Buffy looked around nervously. Surely someone would notice? Some people had, and were backing away, obviously knowing what he was. When she looked back, his face was normal again. "Anyway, today, the slayer is you. Back then, it was Her."

He then described in detail how the battle against the Chinese slayer had gone over 100 years ago. The tale thrilled Buffy. Hearing about the pumping adrenaline, the combat. It was exactly like slaying was for her. The only difference was the ending. She was actually breathing heavily by the end of the tale.

"You got off on it…" she said. She had meant to sound disgusted, but there wasn't any determination behind the words. She had too. Just hearing about it made her crave the experience. By this stage, the voice telling her she was sick in the head had long retreated into the background. The way Spike told his tale, you just got sucked in. It was like reading a book so good you lost track of reality. She didn't care that it was wrong anymore. She knew she was going to dream about it.

"Of course I did," he bragged. "The blood of a slayer…it was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. But I'm sure you don't want to hear about it, do you?" he questioned with a sultry grin.

She did. She really did. But she wasn't going to ask him. This whole conversation was intense. Already it seemed like the other people in club weren't there.

"So how many of my kind do you reckon you've done in?" he asked, slithering around the table towards her.

"Not enough," she answered simply.

"Well," he began, getting closer to her. "You can kill a hundred of us, a thousand, a thousand thousand, and the armies of hell besides-" he was so closer to her she could smell the duster again. He got right in her face, so close she could smell the alcohol on his breath. "And all we need is for one of us-just one," his voice got lower and lower and he approached her. She backed up a little, but he pursued. "-To sooner or later have the thing we're all hoping for." By now it was a deadly whisper right in her ear. "One. Good. Day."

He withdrew himself from her, revelling in the fact that she was trembling. She was talking to a vampire who wanted her dead, about him wanting her dead. Her heart was pounding and her blood rushing, and he could see it. He eyed a throbbing vein on her neck, licking his lips.

"So that's it? Lesson over?" she whispered, her mouth too dry to say it louder. Of course she knew Spike would hear her. He turned away and putted the black, winning the game.

"Not even close. Come on," he said, exiting the building, heading for the alley. Bringing the snooker cue with her, she followed him out. The chill of the night air was refreshing, but did little to remove her mind from the haze it was in.

It was in this daze that her mind registered Spike's fist flying at her. She dodged just in time and grabbed him, spinning him around and pinning him against the wall. He laughed evilly. "Lesson the second: ask the right questions. You've been asking how'd I win? You should be asking, why'd they loose?"

She released him and shrank away. "What's the difference?" Moving with preternatural vampire speed, Spike moved to skewer Buffy's throat with the cue, halting with no margin for error. It was pressed against her windpipe. He'd caught her so completely by surprise she hadn't even flinched, but on the inside she realised she'd just been spared death only by the chip. Her lip trembled. Spike saw this and gloated.

"What's the matter? Did I scare ya?" he taunted.

"To death." He'd never scared her before tonight, but she realised she was terrified. "These twisted urges will get me killed."

"You can only hope" came that dark voice within her. She ignored it.

"H-how'd you kill the second one?" He looked at her.

"A bit like this." He swung repeatedly, but slayer reflexes kicked in, and she dodged the punches. She looked at him questioningly. "If there's no intent to hurt you, that chip doesn't activate," he said, knowing she was asking before she did.

"Do you wanna hurt me?" she panted, sounding almost as if she were begging. She regretted it, and hoped Spike would take it as a dare. Spike grabbed her arm and pulled her closer. He looked her in the eyes.

"Do you want me to, luv?" closing her eyes, Buffy pushed him away.

"How'd you kill her?" As soon as the words left her mouth, Spike was attacking again. He grabbed her and dragged her painlessly to the concrete ground until she was lying flat on her back. Grabbing her stake, he leapt on top of her pressed it against her heart.

"You're not ready to know." Buffy, momentarily shocked he had managed to get her pinned, grasped his hands with her own and pressed the stake against her own chest, surprising the vampire.

"I'm ready." She pushed him off and swung at him. He dodged and struck back, and they were dancing once more. He explained in between the punches and kicks how he'd killed her. He said he could have danced all night with her. "You think we're dancing?" He said that's all we've ever done, and Buffy knew he was right. If she had been fighting with Spike, he'd be dead by now. But no, they'd danced, trading blows and quips and insults, but she hadn't realised it.

Until now.

She found herself actually enjoying it. It was a release. The human world melted away, and all that was left were predator and prey, dancing to the death. It was beautiful. The outcome was beautiful. The death was beautiful.

"Everyday, the same bloody question haunts you. 'Is today the day I die'," he echoed, twirling the cue in his hands, stalking closer to Buffy, ready to strike again. "Death is on your heals baby, and one day it's gonna catch you."

"It will…I know."

"And part of you, wants it!" panted Spike, lashing out at Buffy again.

"Part of me does. Part of me wants it right now."

"Not to finally be done with the uncertainty, but because you're in love with it," he growled.

"I'm in love with you. You are death, and I want you to take me…"

"Death is your art. You make it with your hands day after day. That final gasp; that look of peace." Spike dodged a punch from Buffy that she had depended on making to keep her balance, and she fell to her knees. She was about to force herself up, but she saw that Spike had dropped the fighting stance, and just stood over her. She looked into his eyes and bent her knees more, sitting on her feet, electing to stay on the ground. He had total dominion over her. "Part of you is desperate to know…what's it like?" She had never wanted anything more. How could he make her want death, just by using words? She was transfixed on the standing vampire. "Where does it lead you? You see, every slayer has a death wish."

"Even me" "Even you."

Buffy was lost in his deep blue eyes. He held out a hand, and she took it. He pulled her to her feet and continued. "The only reason you've lasted as long as you have is because you've got ties to the world. Your mum, your scoobies: they tie you here. But you're just puttin' off the inevitable. Sooner or later, you'll want it. And the second…" he clapped his hands in front of her face, snapping her back to attention. "The second that happens, you know I'll be there."

"You're right…you're here now, aren't you?"

"I'll slip in…have myself a real good day." He chuckled, letting the obviously disturbed slayer stew a bit longer. "Here endeth the lesson………I just wonder if you'll like it as much as she did," Spike pondered with a nearly seductive expression. "Although, judging by the smell I'm getting offa you, I'd say you'll love it, in a very wet and sticky way."

She was too far-gone to be phased by his remark. He was right. He knew her better than she knew herself. She was wetter than she'd ever been before in her life. It felt like she was floating, as though his words had raised her to a place of pleasure and of death. Her breath came to her in shallow pants, barely audible, even to Spike, though he obviously knew how she was feeling. He was mere inches from her, close so as to intimidate her even more.

She was intimidated. He'd succeeded. She was trembling. She was also sick of waiting. She leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss, one from which he recoiled. "What are you-" he yelped. She clutched his duster and pulled him to her, pressing her body against his.

"Come on, you know you wanna dance. You've never been more right about me," she whispered in a near moan. "And I've only just realised it. Come on, make me feel alive, Spike. Use me, do whatever you want. Hurt me. Whatever you do, make sure to fuck me. Don't hold back. I know what you want to do to me. Do it. Do more. Just…make me come alive." She stood in front of him in a frenzy, using all her might to stop herself from ripping his shirt open.

The darkest smirk she'd ever seen in her life crossed his features as he imagined doing what she asked. "I can't do a tenth of the things I'd like to as long as I have this chip. But I'll do my best." He grabbed her by the shoulders, and she threw herself at him. She crushed herself against him, rubbing against his knee. She moaned in pleasure as she did, and he nearly laughed. He could scarcely believe she was doing this. He'd never have believed at the start of the lesson it would end like this. No matter…

He pushed her away violently, throwing her into the brick wall. Before she had a chance to recover, he was upon her, ripping open her shirt and squeezing her breasts painfully. She was certainly in pain, but he wasn't, and she wasn't sure why, but she was past the point of caring. Spike was biting her neck hard enough to bruise. His tongue licked trails along her skin, causing goose bumps to form as the wet was exposed to the cool night air. She leapt up and wrapped her legs around him, squeezing him with slayer strength to indicate how great her desire for him was.

He undid the button on her trousers and lowered the zip. Pushing her underwear aside, he thrust two fingers into her, eliciting a gasp of pain and pleasure. Foreplay? That was already over. He knew she was in pain, and yet the chip didn't go off, a fact he absolutely revelled in. "It doesn't go off if she wants pain!"

Buffy was beside herself with pleasure. Her mind was still in that place Spike's words had brought her to; that place where her very mind revelled in the ecstasy of death that he had promised to bring her. It was dark, she knew, but she was far beyond caring. This was so animal, so instinctual. She felt as though this was where the slayer belonged. It was as though a smoke had cleared, and for the first time she saw things as they were. She was The Slayer. She battled the forces of darkness, but was dark herself. Only by being truly dark could a human stand a chance, and Spike took her to this place in her mind. It was just like the place Dracula had taken her, only Spike hadn't taken her here; he'd led her. She was a willing follower.

She moaned with a torrent of lust as Spike replaced his fingers with his manhood. He grabbed her waist, mindful not to cause her wound too much pain. It ached and stung, but no more than Spike's intrusion into her body did. He slid in, going in all the way in one fell swoop, causing Buffy to gasp. Licking his lips with unconcealed bloodlust, he started lifting and dropping her, impaling her on him, an action she readily assisted him with. "Oh god...this is..." Buffy couldn't even formulate a thought.

Thrusting with violent rapture, Spike kept going faster and faster, blinding Buffy with the pleasure. She closed her eyes tightly and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing as rolling orgasms gripped her petite form. She buried her face in his shoulder, baring her neck. At the very height of her climax, she felt Spike's fangs sink into her jugular. Blood exploded into his mouth, aided by Buffy's pounding heart. For Buffy, the feeling of pain and danger just heightened her already otherworldly pleasure. The taste of slayer blood was too much for Spike, and came inside her, grinding her hips to his. He sucked and sucked, gulping down as much as he could. He stopped thrusting eventually and just held her there, drinking this ambrosia. Her face remained buried in his shoulder. She was buzzing with feeling, both physical and emotional. She felt sheer contentment. she felt connected to herself, like she finally understood what she really was. Sadly, it wasn't to last.

Buffy came down, the waves of pleasure subsiding, and the pain of her neck became ever more apparent. She whimpered in pain, wishing he'd stop, fear growing in her heart. A moment later Spike tore away from her, clutching his skull and howling in agony. The pain brought him to his knees, forcing Buffy to the ground with him.

He was going to finish her, she realised. He had just tried to drain her dry. Scrambling to her feet, she redid her trousers. As soon as they were zipped and buttoned, she turned to face the kneeling vampire. He was slowing getting up, the pain subsiding. She clamped a hand over he neck wound, which was bleeding more than she would have liked. Crimson flowed down her neck and ruined her top.

"What are you..." she asked, trailing off. Spike, upon seeing the hurt and bewildered look in her eyes, laughed out loud.

"Doing, pet?" he finished for her with mirth. She nodded, and the smile left his face, replaced with a cold lack of emotion. "What do you think?" He drew himself to his full height and wiped some blood from his chin, licking his finger clean. He savoured the powerful taste. He reckoned he'd got almost a third of her total blood volume in that short minute.

"B-but...I thought-"

"What? What exactly did you think?" he challenged mockingly. "That we'd fuck and then cuddle? For that matter, what were you thinking? Don't get me wrong, I haven't enjoyed a shag that much in a long time, and the food was great, but are you out of your mind?"

Yes, what had she thought? Had she believed it would be magical in a non-ecstasy of death kind of way? How had she planned the ending of that little tryst to go? She didn't know...but she wanted it to be going differently.

"You're right. I wasn't thinking. I-" he grabbed her and pinned her against the wall. It hurt her slightly, and he could feel the chip buzzing with caution.

"Damn straight you weren't thinking. I just tried to kill you, a feat that should be impossible thanks to this chip." Buffy pushed him off her and punched him in the jaw as hard as she could, somewhat unnerved when he shrugged it off like a child had just slapped him.

"Why do you care!?" she demanded. Spike just started chuckling jeeringly. "What's so funny!?" she demanded, starting to feel desperate. She had a history of her flames treating her badly, and this wasn't helping. She felt vulnerable, though the biggest reason was because Spike could tell her things about herself that even she didn't know.

"I don't. I just wanted to see the look on your face when you realised you'd whored yourself out to a filthy, disgusting monster. It's bloody comic! Just wait until I tell me friends what ol' Spike's just done. I should've known the only thing better than killing a slayer would be fucking one."

Buffy wasn't able to stop the tears stream down her face because they'd come so suddenly she hadn't realised they were there until it was too late. She had never felt so…filthy in her whole life. He was evil, and he was discarding her. It was like Angelus and Parker rolled into one, one that didn't wait until the morning after to show his colours. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, though she wondered how something so broken could work at all. Unable to tolerate his taunting a second longer, she turned tail and ran.

Spike sauntered into his crypt, his coat billowing behind him as he shut the door. He felt good. Hell, he felt great. He hadn't felt this charged in neigh on thirty years. The night was still young, and he was just here to pick up a bottle of jack from the fridge and tape the week-after re-run of Passions he'd missed. He went to the fridge and withdrew the 70cc bottle of whiskey, then set the VCR to record. He had just opened the bottle to take a swig, when something happened to him.

It wasn't physical, but emotional. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. It was like…like a hole had been bored in his heart and all the feeling was being sucked out. He felt cold and empty, a feeling he'd never felt before. It was as though he were dying on the inside. He dropped the whisky, letting its contents spill to the ground. He found himself breathless, quite a feat for a vampire. His body felt heavy, like he didn't want to be standing any longer. He painstakingly dragged his body to the wall and leaned against it, slumping down until he sat on the cold stone floor. He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. He tried to fight the sinking feelings he was having, telling himself that it wasn't true, telling himself that Angelus's words hadn't meant anything, that he didn't know what he talking about.

But he knew the truth. Somewhere, somehow, Drusilla, his sire, was dead.

It was killing him.

He sat there for an age, alone in the dark, mulling over what he was feeling. So this is what it felt like to loose your sire? This is how Angel had felt when he'd killed Darla? How could he stand it! Of course he know already. Angelus had never loved Darla. He felt her loss acutely, but he hadn't loved her. Even though they'd been broken up close to three years now, Spike still loved Drusilla, he knew. Not the way he once had, but she'd always hold a special place in his heart. That, coupled with the bond between them being broken, and he had emotional chaos. All his joy was gone, and he felt like he'd never know happiness again. He could not remember a bleaker moment in his life.

Hearing a click, he looked up, removing his face from his hands, and saw the slayer. She was pointing a crossbow at him, aiming directly at his heart.

-----

When he looked at her she instantly knew something was wrong. His face was mostly concealed in shadows, but she could see two shiny trails on his cheeks as they glistened in the darkness. He looked into her cold face. She'd come here to kill him. To get revenge for what he'd done to her. Never in her life had she ever felt such a cold fury within her. She was determined to beat him to within an inch of his unlife, until he was unrecognisable and brain dead, and then she was going to stake him. She was going to do what she should have done years ago, and kill him, ending her sick little obsession.

But seeing him now did something to her. He saw her lifeless stare, and she saw one looking back at her, nothing like the haughty glint he'd given her an hour ago. His taunting and demeaning laughter was a distant echo, and all there was now was him, sitting alone in his crypt, crying, on what should have been one of the best nights of his life. The two stared at each other, unmoving, unblinking, for several long seconds. Buffy broke first. Her look softened, and she slowly lowered the crossbow.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her soft tone breaking the deafening silence. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. After several failed attempts, his mouth shut. He retreated into himself. She realised he didn't care if he lived or died, for the moment at least. She couldn't fathom what might have brought this bizarre mood shift on, but all her animosity left her because of it. Having come on wings of anger, such feelings melted away until all that was left was sympathy and the emotion that had got her into this mess to start with: love.

How she could love him after what he'd done to her, she didn't know. "Love's irrational, isn't it?" she reminded herself. "I shouldn't love him. I should be revelling in his pain. Lord knows he did in mine."

She noted he looked dead, something he usually didn't do. He breathed usually, out of habit she guessed, but now he was motionless. He dropped his head to the ground and stared at her boots. Buffy put the crossbow down and tiptoed over to him, timidly seeing how he'd react. He didn't. Emboldened, she sat down beside him. After a few moments, seeing he didn't protest, she gingerly touched him, the touch growing into a comforting rub. Withdrawing after a minute, not wanting to invade his space if he wasn't willing to even talk to her, she just sat with him in silence for a long time.