AUTHOR: 1stRab-id / Rabid / Raeann

BETAS: Binkysab, LostAngel and ElektraWWF from FanForum

SYNOPSIS: This is the story of the Slayer's final destruction, and the part played by her vampire lover, Spike. So, this is how, I would end the series. This story is set 2 years after THE GIFT. Many things have changed in the lives of the characters but do NOT be alarmed. To my knowledge there are NO spoilers in this fic. However, to avoid confusion let me bring you up to speed. In my little corner of the Buffyverse: Willow and Xander have accepted Spike into the Scoobie Gang, Spike was instrumental in bringing Buffy back from the dead in the Season 6 premiere, Xander and Anya have married and have a child, Tara has died, Dawn is, of course, 16 years old, Giles has moved back to England, Oz has moved back to Sunnydale and Buffy has a job as a traffic cop aka meter maid. This is my idea of logical progression. Hey, lots of things can happen in 2 long years.

1.

"You mean they broke up? He just dumped Dawn?" Willow asked, incredulously, as she tossed her trademarked 'ball of sunshine' into a vamp's hands and watched him poof. "With only five more days until the big dance and without any explanation?"

"Oh, there was an explanation all right," Buffy growled, meeting Spike's eyes over the shoulder of her own assailant as she blocked a punch.

"What?!?" Spike said, innocently. "I only had a little talk with the boy."

The blond vampire and Xander Harris were juggling three opponents between them. Xander managed to stake one just before he took a wrong step and went down under the other two. Spike leaped to his assistance as Buffy picked up the conversational ball.

"You told him he could lose a hand!" the Slayer said, whipping a stake around and dusting her vamp before heading over to help Xander.

"Only if he put it somewhere dangerous," Spike assured, as he tossed one of the two remaining vamps to Buffy. He twisted the other vamp's arm up and back until the joint cracked before adding, "That's not a threat or anything ... it's just good advice."

"Yeah, Buffy," Willow said, circling and looking for a way to help without toasting Spike. "I'm sure that Spike didn't mean for the guy to jilt Dawn, right before the Junior Prom. And why do they have a JUNIOR prom, anyway? We didn't get to have the JUNIOR prom. It was Senior or you went without, Missy."

"Kids today! They don't know about the sacrifice and the hardship," Xander said, like a shocked old geezer, as he patted himself over checking for injuries. He had a small cut over one eye but was otherwise fine. "I understand that you don't even have to be genetically altered to be on the varsity swim team these days."

"The point is he has no business talking to Dawn's boyfriends at all," Buffy said as she put the stake to her vampire. "Dawn is my responsibility and I had already cleared this guy."

"Oh, YOU cleared him," Spike sneered, sarcastically. He spun under the final vampire's swing and shoved him toward Buffy's stake. The demon exploded on pointy contact and Spike dusted his hands off as he continued, "He got the Buffy Summers seal of approval, then? May I remind you, Miss Can't Keep Track of Her Own Virginity Past the Age of 15, that your record with the opposite sex is NOT the sort to inspire confidence." He turned to slap Xander in the chest, "Harris, you've got a daughter. Would you let the Slayer pick out her Prom date?"

"You are making the mistake of assuming that Melanie will EVER be allowed to date," Xander said, casually. "My plan is to send her to the Convent of the Eternally Virginal somewhere around the age of 8."

"Well, Dawn isn't 8," Buffy said, as she stormed around the room recovering her weapons. "She's 16 years old and she doesn't need anyone to 'pick out' her dates for her. But if she did, as her big sister and legal guardian, I would certainly be more qualified to do the job than a vampire with more Victorian sensibility than sense."

The Slayer stopped slamming weapons into her shoulder bag, straightened up and addressed Spike directly as she added, "And I was 17 when I spent the night with Angel, not 15."

"Shame you didn't have the remarkable control on your thigh muscles back then that you have now," Spike snarled, before turning to stalk toward the warehouse door.

"Well, this has been a real pleasant evening," Xander said, perkily, to Willow. "What with my bleeding head injury and the bickering old married couple, it was almost like being at my parents' house. I feel like such a kid again."

"Yep," Willow agreed, "that's the whole point of the patrolling. It takes you back to those golden days of youth."

"Do you believe him?" Buffy said, looking after Spike as she joined her two buds. "He is out to drive me insane. This thing with Dawn is just the tip of the iceberg. You have no idea ... there is just so much more iceberg there."

Buffy puffed out a breath, shook her hair back and headed off after Spike. Willow and Xander exchanged a meaningful glance.

"So, we are all in agreement, then," Xander said conversationally. "If those two don't get horizontal by this weekend there's going to be apocalyptic-like bloodshed."

"I'll have another talk with Buffy," Willow sighed as she and Xander trailed after the odd couple. "After all, sex with the undead isn't such a sinful indulgence when it's for the public good."

♥ ♥

"Lilith, Mother of Darkness, Night Monster, Defiler of Innocents, may your heart be filled with this sacrifice, may we be nourished by this blood."

The crypt was full of the sound of chanting as at least twenty red-robed figures filed in to it. The strange monks moved in stately progression keeping their heads bowed in supplication.

"We have the hope that one is coming. We have the hope that he will fall and rise again. We have the hope that he is already among us. We have the hope that she will accept his seed. We have the hope that you will be reborn from their union."

The red-robed monks began to gather around an altar on which lay a little girl of about 4 or 5 years of age. The child's eyes were filled with horror but she was too paralyzed with fear to scream. Each of the monks clutched a silver bowl. They circled closer and closer until the child was completely hidden behind a wall of red robes. One of the monks wore an ornate gold medallion with a flickering red jewel in the center. He stepped up on the altar dais and raised a knife on high.

"Let us be one with the Heart of the Night," the assembly chanted together in Italian. "Siamo uno con il Cuore Della Notte".

And then the knife swung in a downward arch. The chanting stopped abruptly as the knifepoint buried itself in the altar and a flow of blood filled every bowl.

♥ ♥

Buffy entered the Magic Box the next morning a little after 10:00 am. Anya was assisting a customer and Willow was hunkered down at the round table with a huge lesson-planning book open in front of her.

"Hello, Teach!" Buffy sang out. "Working on the moulding of the tiny minds?"

"This lesson planning is driving me crazy," Willow groused, tossing down her pen. "I keep wanting to do this magically but I don't think that would be fair to the rest of the class."

"Fair, Schmair," Buffy said, waving one hand, dismissively. "If you can do your homework by twitching your nose, you have a sacred duty to overworked students everywhere to live out that fantasy."

"That's what I keep telling her," Xander said, as he entered the shop through the training room door, holding his baby daughter in his arms. "Plus, there's the whole doing homework over Spring Break which is also wrong."

"Hey, Papa Xander," Buffy greeted. She twiddled her fingers at Melanie as she addressed her father. "And why aren't you working?"

"We're between projects," Xander answered, shifting the baby in his arms. "We start up next Monday on the Stafford Dorm remodeling. We're giving them Spring Break to find alternative shelter. What about you? Shouldn't you be ticketing the jaywalkers or scarfing the jelly donuts with the rest of Sunnydale PD's finest?

"Time off for good behavior." Buffy quipped. "I figured I would take a week's vacation. Do the Prom thing with Dawn, fittings and hair and salon treatments. I am a chaperone for the shindig. We of the Scoobies should do something, too. With the fun and the frolic."

"No frolicking until after the homework is done," Willow, once again with pen in hand, said, indicating her stacks of notes.

"You sound like the teacher already," Buffy smiled. "Okay, so we postpone the fun until tonight. Shall we hit the Bronze? Are they even open on Tuesdays?"

"The Bronze is always open," Willow replied, "except ... you know ... for the times when they close ... like at closing time."

"I can do a quick patrol and meet you guys there," Buffy said, "Come on ... it will be just like old times."

"I really have to stay with the baby," Anya said, appearing as if by magic, next to Xander and leaning over to check on their child.

"Dawn could sit for us, Sweetie," Xander urged, hopefully. "It would be a nice change from diapers."

"No, I would rather stay with Melanie but you go ahead if you want to," Anya said, giving him an encouraging smile. The bell on the shop door jangled and she went back to work. Xander frowned after her.

"I don't know," he said, softly, leaning in to address his best friends. "Ever since Melanie was born, I can barely budge Anya away from her. But the last few weeks it's been unbelievable. I don't think she would come to work if there wasn't a place for the baby to sleep in the backroom."

"Aren't all new mothers nervous?" Buffy asked, casting a quick look over her shoulder at Xander's wife. "It's probably just a phase."

"Nervous is one thing," Xander said, "but this is almost an obsession. It's like Anya thinks that Melanie is just going to vanish if she isn't watching over her all the time."

"That reminds me did you guys read about those missing children in the paper?" Willow asked and Xander hissed at her, making a shushing motion with his one free hand. He peered anxiously over to where Anya was explaining love potions to a starry-eyed teenager.

"Will you keep it down?" Xander whispered, harshly. "I've been hiding the newspapers for the last week so that Anya doesn't get wind of that story. I mean all I need is for her to read that some Red Robed weirdoes are making off with baby girls. She wouldn't leave the house again until Melanie was ready for graduate school."

"It's that bad, huh?" Buffy said, her eyes filling with sympathy for her friend.

"You don't know the half," Xander sighed. "I'm thinking maybe we should go to counseling or something."

"Hmmm!" Buffy said looking over at Anya again. She leaned in conspiratorially to whisper, "Still I need to know a little more about these guys. It smells Hellmouth-y to me. Willow, do you think you could do a little research on the sly? We don't want to get Anya upset but we don't want anymore disappearances either."

"Sure," Willow nodded, "I'll just say I'm doing some random studying, I can let you know if I turn anything up when we meet at the Bronze."

"Great, it's a plan," Buffy said. "How's 9:30 sound for you guys?"

They nodded their assent and the Slayer wandered back into the training room to workout on the free bag. She missed working out with Spike but lately that had become an impossible situation. As she shadowboxed and flipped and spun her way through her exercises, Buffy thought back to when things had gone bad.

She knew that her friends were puzzled by the sudden chilliness between her and the blond vampire. They had all been working together like a seamless unit. But she had no idea how to explain what had changed in the last two months. She only knew that having Spike close to her now caused a burning ache in her soul and the only way to stave off the pain was to harden her heart to him completely. She needed to drive him away from her and make him keep his distance.

She had finished her routine and was toweling off when Willow entered and asked her if she wanted to grab some lunch. Grateful for the interruption, Buffy agreed and the two friends set off for the local deli.

"So is Spike coming tonight?" Willow asked, innocently, after they had ordered and settled themselves in a corner booth.

"Spike?" Buffy asked, frowning. "Why would Spike be coming?"

"Oh, no reason," Willow said, quickly forking up a bite of salad. She chewed, swallowed and then added, "I just wondered if ... well ... since you said it would be like old times. I thought maybe Spike would be your date."

"Spike and I don't date." Buffy said, with a touch of sharpness. "There was never any dating. We worked together fighting the evil and sure sometimes he showed up for the inner circle events. But that's because he and Dawn are close. I mean, he and I spent a little time together and maybe there was some level of attraction there but we never dated. I was talking about old times with you and me and Xander. Before there was any Spike involvement."

"Buffy," Willow said, leaning forward to take the other woman's hand. "What is going on with you two. I'm not blind! I know that you and Spike are a lot more than co-workers on Project Hellmouth. You were getting very close. He was practically living at your house and then poof. He's back in the crypt. Nobody's talking and the two of you are both acting half-crazed. What happened? Did Spike do something to upset you?"

Buffy took a slow settling breath. She wanted to tell someone but she didn't know how to begin. How could she explain about Slayers and Vampires and the lines that should never be crossed? How could she explain what it felt like to be forced to hunt the one you love, to strike him down as she had been forced to strike down Angel? Or how the love and the blood and the death and the sex all blended together when a vampire became the object of your desire?

"It's not what Spike did..." Buffy finally said, softly. "It was me."

"You?" Willow blinked, not understanding.

"Do you remember a couple months ago?" Buffy began. "At Dawn's birthday party? When Spike and I were in the kitchen and I cut myself?"

Willow nodded wondering where this was going.

"You were doing the dishes and the knife slipped..." the Wiccan girl, prompted.

"The knife didn't slip," Buffy muttered, looking down at her plate. Her face was red with shame.

"What?" Willow exclaimed. This was not what she had been expecting.

"I cut myself," Buffy clarified, looking up to meet her friend's startled eyes, "...on purpose. For him. So he could drink from me without having any pain."

"Spike asked you to do that?" Willow asked, shocked to the core. Buffy, quickly, shook her head.

"No!" she said, forcefully. "He would never have asked me to..."

Her voice trailed off for a moment when she continued, it was filled with the echo of memory, "It was me. I wanted to know. What it would be like to be with him ... as a vampire. With Angel it was terrifying like a roller coaster ride into oblivion. With Dracula it was almost like a sexual assault ... sickening. Both times the Slayer part of me fought against it, screaming for retaliation. But with Spike...."

Buffy's voice faded again as she searched for the words to explain what it felt like to be consumed by the one you loved. How her instinct for survival had abandoned her. How the Slayer had faded away and only Buffy had remained. She had felt vulnerable and powerfully irresistible at the same time. She recalled the whole scene, vividly.

Spike had teased her as they worked in the kitchen, telling her he was only biding his time until he'd lulled her into a false sense of security. He intimated that he was only interested in her as a potential meal. Buffy had teased him in return, exposing her throat and then laughing when he snapped a towel at her. She had challenged him with her eyes, picking up the knife and letting the sharp blade slide along the fleshy base of her thumb. They had both watched her blood drip into the sink and blossom into red roses.

Becoming aware of Spike's stillness beside, Buffy realized, too late, the magnitude of what she had done. She reached to turn on the faucet, planning to wash off her hand. Spike grabbed her wrist before she could plunge it under the stream of running water. In one swift movement, he brought Buffy's hand to his lips as he snaked his right arm around her waist, pulling her close. His tongue played over her torn flesh, lapping the sticky sweetness off of her, probing the wound, and opening it further. Then he took the base of her thumb completely into his mouth.

Buffy's knees went weak and she leaned back into the vampire as he sucked down her life's blood, drawing it from her body. As he drank, Spike let his right hand explore the Slayer, fondling her breasts, stroking her throat, and sliding across her belly. Feeling the aphrodisiac effect of her blood, he pushed her pelvis back against his own rubbing against her from behind. The cut on the Slayer's hand was superficial and soon ran dry but they were both too drunk with this forbidden exploration to end it.

"I can't get close enough," Spike whispered, hoarsely, as he transferred his attention to Buffy's throat. "I need you to let me inside."

It was the age-old plea of the vampire. "I need you. Unlock your doors, open your windows, abandon your defenses, and let me come closer, invite me inside."

Spike bit down hard under the curve of Buffy's jaw, stopping just short of breaking the skin. He began to suckle against her neck drawing the rich arterial blood to the surface. She moaned softly as he bruised her, caressing his arms where they held her close. Buffy had found it easy, in that moment, to imagine Spike entering her body, his fangs sinking into her throat as she parted her thighs to him. The pain he was inflicting on her increased to a serious level but she couldn't seem to pull away.

It was his chip firing that finally broke the spell. Spike jerked away from her, holding one hand to his temple. He grimaced with the sudden headache. Buffy saw the barest glimpse of fangs and then he stumbled against a pile of dishes sending them crashing to the tile floor. The loud noise brought everyone running from the other room and Buffy, hastily, pulled her hair forward to cover the mark on her throat.

But she had been shaken to her core by the experience and was afraid to meet Spike's eye for the rest of the evening. It was that night that her dreams started, dreams of blood and lust that left her aching in the morning light. Night after night the Slayer dreamed of being devoured by a passion as eternal as the grave. Until finally, just being in the same room with Spike became an agony.

"So you wanted Spike to bite you," Willow said, summing up and drawing Buffy back to the present, "but he couldn't do it because of the chip, right?"

Buffy nodded glad that her friend finally understood, but instead of being shocked, Willow shrugged, dismissively.

"So, it's not really a problem then is it?" the red-haired witch asked. "I mean, it doesn't matter if you want it to happen because it just can't. Not as long as Spike has that chip in his head."

"But what if something happens to the chip?" Buffy countered. "What if it falls out, or short circuits or the batteries go dead?"

"Buffy," Willow sighed, at her friend's lack of technical expertise, "are you forgetting, I've seen those Initiative chips. If Spike's is anything like Riley's, and why wouldn't it be, then it's magnetically shielded and built to last a hundred years. By the time it breaks down you'll be the old and wrinkly Slayer and Spike won't even be interested in biting you."

Buffy grimaced at the idea of being old and wrinkly. She was probably the only woman her age that became wistful at the idea of needing a face-lift. She already held the record as the oldest living Slayer, having earned that distinction by turning 22 this year. The fact was that in her line of work you started early and died young. The average Slayer shelf life was something like 3 years. Buffy, having held the office for 8 years now, was kind of the Michael Jordan, the Wayne Gretsky or even the Secretariat of Slayers. She was a genuine phenomenon having come back from the dead twice to kick the evil boo-tay.

"The point is I shouldn't even think about Spike biting me," Buffy insisted. "I'm the Chosen One. How can I pursue my sacred duty if I'm thinking about vampires in that way?"

"Well, you're not thinking about OTHER vampires are you?" Willow asked, carefully. "I mean this is just happening with Spike, right? It's not like you're going all Riley on us. You haven't started hanging out at Willie's bar making eyes at the local bloodsucking talent, have you?"

"Uhurgh!" Buffy said, with a shudder. She looked like she might retch at the very thought. "No way!"

"Okay, then," Willow sighed, gesturing with her fork. "What I think we are talking about here is a classic case of transference."

"You mean, I want someone else to bite me?" Buffy asked, playing intentionally dumb, but frowning at the direction the conversation appeared to be headed. "And I just think that it's Spike?"

"I mean that you don't want to be bitten at all," Willow corrected, knowing that Buffy wasn't really that slow. "You want something else entirely. Something the biting only represents."

"Yeah!" Buffy said, with false perkiness as she looked over at the dessert case. "Like pumpkin cheesecake!"

Willow gave her a steady no nonsense look. After a long pause, the Slayer met her friend's eyes and sighed.

"Okay, not cheesecake," Buffy said, resignedly. "We're talking about the necrophilia, here."

"It's not that bad, Buffy," Willow said, quickly. "I mean, okay, Spike isn't exactly alive but he's not exactly dead either. He has self-awareness and feelings and he really cares about you. You know that he does."

"I know," Buffy pouted, halfheartedly. "But first Angel and now Spike. What does that say about me, Will? That I can't get no satisfaction without the undead creatures of the night being involved?"

"Well ... maybe that IS what it says," Willow agreed. "But is that such a horrible thing? I mean, let's face it, Buffy, you're REALLY not like the other girls. So, why pretend that you are? Why not seize a little bit of the pleasure to go along with all the big pain of Slayerdom?"

Buffy considered the idea. For the first time outside her dreams she let herself really think about having sex with Spike. It seemed almost too decadent to contemplate.

"I don't know if I can..." she, finally, admitted. "I mean, I don't know if I can just let go ... with Spike."

"You don't have to do it all at once," Willow said, hastily. "You can ease into it. A little dancing, a little dinner, a couple of innocent dates..."

"Assuming he'll go along with this..." Buffy cautioned. "I still can't guarantee that I will be able to ... you know ... let things go that far. Spike may love me but regardless of what's between us, he's still dangerous. That chip doesn't change anything. It only keeps him from physically hurting people, you know?"

"You think that he'll hurt you in some other way?" Willow realized. "You think that he still wants to harm you on some level? Like Angelus did?"

"He's a demon, Willow," Buffy reminded. "It's not like he'll ever be domesticated. Part of him will always want to see me bleed. And I don't know if I can open up my heart in the face of that kind of potential betrayal."

"But haven't you already opened up your heart to Spike?" Willow asked her gently.

"Only in the sense of having lost it completely," Buffy confessed, with a small self-deprecating smile.

2.

A little before 9:00 pm that same night, Xander and Spike were at the Bronze playing Nine Ball. Xander was nursing a beer, leaning against a post, as he watched Spike run the table for the fifth time. The evening had already cost the dark-haired man three day's pay but it hadn't been very productive on the conversational front. He had invited Spike to join him for the express purpose of encouraging vampire/slayer relations. But the vampire wasn't in the mood to discuss his love life.

"Look, Spike, it's not like Buffy hasn't walked the undead road before," Xander tried, again. "Definitely not the scenic route for her, littered with heartbreak and the bodies of her friends but she's been down to the end of the trail if you catch my drift. So she could probably find her way along it again. It's just that she's not real eager to take that first step."

"And the wheels on the bus go round and round," Spike sighed, sighting on the cue ball and firing off a shot to the side pocket. "Do you have some point to make Harris? Or are you just going to keep repeating today's lesson until all the kiddies have turned off the telly and taken up drug use?"

"Oh, yes, with the sterling wit," Xander replied. "Yet, another reason why you never get laid."

"I don't need your help with that, Elmo," Spike said, throwing his pool-cue into the center of the table and starting to walk away.

"YES!" Xander asserted, grabbing the vampire's arm to restrain him. "Yes, you do! Because unlike you I have the regular sex, with the regular woman, regularly. And I have the little tax deduction at home to prove it."

Spike hesitated, considering the merit of this idea.

"And the POINT that I'm making here," Xander continued. "Is that I've known Buffy for a good long time. In that special, we have never tried to kill each other, kind of way. So, I just might know a little more about what puts her in the receptive mood than you do."

"Yeah?" Spike said, intrigued in spite of his irritation. He twisted his arm free of Xander's grip but he sauntered back to the pool table, "Alright then, rack ' em up again and you can tell me what you think the Dutch might fancy."

With a bit of effort, Xander kept himself from saying "tulips and wooden shoes". Thanks to Willow's tutelage on the internet, the carpenter had recently discovered a website that allowed him to translate most of the blond vampire's London slang. Consequently, he was probably the only member of the Scoobie Gang, besides Giles, who knew when Spike should be slapped. He had learned about twenty new terms for assorted sex acts and also, to his astonishment, that "the Dutch" was the British equivalent of "the Old Lady", literally, "the wife". Xander had yet to decide if Spike should be slapped for habitually referring to Buffy that way.

Over the next half hour or so, Xander laid out the plan for Buffy seduction that he and Willow had discussed. Gradually, Spike came around to their way of thinking. The two men had given up on billiards by the time they reached detente. They were seated at a small table near the dance floor, picking at a plate of hot wings, when Willow and Buffy arrived.

"It's going to seem bloody unnatural," Spike said, spotting Buffy at the door and, instinctively, getting up to leave.

"Okay, skipping the part where I point out the irony of that statement." Xander said, pulling the vampire back into a chair. "Are you in or are you out?"

"I ain't said I won't do it."

"Good Man!" Xander encouraged. Nodding toward the pair by the door, he added, "Willow and I will lend a hand with the set decoration but may I suggest that you start things off right now by asking the Buffster to dance."

"Yeah ... okay ... sure," Spike sighed, not sounding like he was overly happy about this part of the plan.

Willow and Buffy hadn't moved from the doorway and Spike noticed that the witch appeared to be talking sternly to her friend. He'd also noticed that the Slayer had turned to go the minute she'd set eyes on him. The vampire felt this was not a good omen for the evening.

But after a brief, if heated, debate Buffy and Willow joined them at the table. The Slayer was wearing a gold sequined tank top and soft black slacks. Her wrists were draped with dozens of tiny golden chains. She reflected the light as she moved. Spike thought she looked good enough to eat. He, immediately, reprimanded himself for the thought.

"Hello, ladies," Xander greeted. "Could we interest you in a malt beverage or a tepid chicken wing?"

"I came here to dance," Buffy said, abruptly, then as Willow nudged her shoulder she softened her tone, "But I wouldn't be turning down the refreshing wine spritzer."

"Right, the Slayer wants a drink with no punch to it," Xander nodded, sagely. Waving toward the waiter, he added, "And what will our Dark Enchantress be having ... buzz-free beer? ... Shirley Temple?"

"I would like a spring water, please, and a dance with Spike," Willow said. Grabbing the vampire's hand, she pulled him out onto the floor before he could think to voice a protest.

A few seconds later Xander and Buffy had joined them and the foursome set about rocking the Bronze. The live musicians were offering up a strange mix of Celtic and modern sound that was more festive than brooding, like Vertical Horizon with bagpipes and electric fiddle. Spike taught the Scoobies a sort of old country dance that went well with the music. The dance had them trading off partners, repeatedly. As the tempo grew feverish, all four of them collapsed into laughter trying to keep up the pace.

After about twenty minutes, Xander and Willow broke formation to sit out a few numbers.

"So any headway on your Red Robed researching?" Xander asked, before taking a long pull on his beer.

"No," Willow sighed, regretfully, shaking her head. "Like I told Buffy on the walk over here, I need something more to go on than robes and missing children. That fits way too many profiles."

"And what does that say about our little town?" Xander asked, rhetorically.

When Spike and Buffy came over to join the pair, Xander and Willow suddenly found their second wind and went back onto the dance floor. The Slayer slouched into her chair, lifting her hair off of her neck. She was glistening slightly with perspiration, not really winded but warm. Spike took the edge off of his oral fixation by popping a handful of peanuts into his mouth and washing them down with a shot of whiskey.

"Having fun, then?" he asked, casually, after swallowing.

"Yep," Buffy smiled. "Who'd a thunk it?"

"What?" Spike asked, innocently, as he looked at the wall clock over the bar, "That we could be civil to each other for nearly an hour?"

"Well, it helps if we don't have any breath for the conversating," Buffy said.

"There's a lot to be said for physical exertion," Spike remarked and then silently cursed himself for the double entendre.

Buffy, however, was nodding her agreement.

"Yes, much better than the talking and the thinking things through," she said. "Both highly over-rated activities in my opinion."

"Have dinner with me tomorrow," Spike said, quickly, before he lost his nerve, "and I promise, we won't do too much of either of those things."

"Dinner?" Buffy squeaked, sitting up in her chair and giving him a variation of the 'deer in headlights' look.

"7:30, my place?" Spike pressed the advantage.

"Uhm ... yeah," the Slayer said, after an interminable pause, "Sure!" She sighed out her pent breath, relaxing back, "Dinner! Why not?"

Spike covered his elation by looking across at Xander and Willow. They were stumbling through the steps of the dance he'd taught them. Xander turned Will under one arm and nearly dislocated her shoulder as he failed to release her hand. The red-haired girl came back around her partner and ended up facing in the same direction that he was.

"If you're rested, Slayer," Spike said, with a nod at Buffy's best friends, "we had better go rescue those two. ' Cause that is positively embarrassing."

Buffy followed his glance and burst out laughing. The unfortunate couple was now tied in a human knot. Xander was struggling to free himself but having little success as he was apparently still unwilling to relinquish his death grip on Willow's right hand. The carpenter was gradually strangling his redheaded companion. Buffy took Spike's offered arm and the two of them went over to untangle her buddies in time for the next dance number.

♥ ♥

The others left the Bronze a little past midnight but Spike lingered over his drink until he was the only customer left in the club. He watched from a corner table as the bartender, Kyle, and the closing waitress, Gracie straightened chairs and polished tabletops. Spike knew that they wanted him to leave. He could sense the impatience in them.

Unlike a human patron, Spike was also aware of the unspoken motivation behind the couple's irritation at his loitering. He knew that Kyle and Gracie weren't simply two tired people ready to go home for a little telly and some zeds. As soon as they dumped the final customer's sorry ass on the street and locked the door, Spike knew that Kyle and Gracie generally shagged like rabbits. And for the past several weeks, now, the vampire had made it his business to torment the couple by nursing his last call for as long as possible.

As Spike watched, Gracie brushed by Kyle and the bartender grimaced as if in pain. "Poor Bastard!" the vampire thought.

Suddenly in total sympathy with the human male, Spike found he wasn't really enjoying the game anymore. He tossed back his drink and got up. Dropping a five on the table, he headed for the door. Gracie hurried after him and as Spike hit the night air he heard the bolt click shut behind him. He stood listening to the sound of the pair inside for a few minutes before turning up his collar and heading down the alleyway.

Spike had only taken a few steps when he sensed another being close by in the shadows.

"Alright, mate," Spike growled. "Come on out of there before I come in after you."

"As wary as ever, William," a voice said, speaking from the long lost past.

"SAUL!" Spike exclaimed in delight. Reaching into the darkest part of the alleyway, he dragged out a red robed vampire, "Why you old reprobate? What are you doing on my patch?"

The newcomer was wearing the Gold Medallion of the High Priest around his neck and a placid smile on his face. He seemed completely non-aggressive and graciously inclined his head at Spike.

"Pursuing the path of the faithful, my brother," Saul, the high priest, replied.

"As I see," Spike laughed, pointing at the flickering red jewel in the medallion on the other vampire's chest. "Father Confessor are you now? Head of the whole bloody troop?"

"Only because you chose to leave the order, old friend," the red robed monk said, graciously. "I have no doubt that, had you stayed, you would be wearing the Heart instead of me."

"I would have made a lousy monk, Saul, and you know it," Spike said. "I didn't last out my first year. Could never give up the hunt ... and the girls ... and the hunting of the girls."

"And yet you have not hunted in sometime?" Saul said, with another small smile. "How long have you fasted, my brother?"

"Hard to say," Spike mumbled, looking away in embarrassment.

"There is no need for shame," Saul said, gently. "This is, truly, a miraculous thing. It is, in fact, a mark of some distinction. Never before have I sensed one of our kind so purified."

"It's not by choice, I'll tell you that much," Spike growled. "So you can keep your sodding distinctions. I got a chip in my head. It's a little hair shirt in the noggin, applying the punishment for my transgressions. I can't hunt. I can't kill. I can't even bite people."

"Is the pain such that you are unable to take blood from a human even if it be dead already?" Saul asked, a little too innocently.

Spike's mind went back to the girl that Dru had killed for him almost two years ago. He had taken blood then without the chip firing. So he could drink the blood of the recently killed. Why hadn't he simply had someone else kill for him? Harmony had even offered. But after the first one or two times, he had stopped going with Harmony. Telling himself that he couldn't stand her blathering, Spike had stayed home with the butcher's blood.

"That's not the point," Spike grimaced, dismissing his conflicted thoughts with a sharp gesture. "The point is I'm not doing this for religious reasons, it's just a side effect of being used as a bloody lab rat."

"And what of your relations with the Slayer?" the monk asked, and this time there was very little innocence in the question.

"You lot stay away from the Slayer," Spike said, stepping forward aggressively and grabbing the monk's arm. "I mean it Saul, I know your games. You touch one hair on her aggravating little head and I'll..."

"So protective," Saul purred, as Spike left the threat hanging in the air. "So devoted! You are truly an inspiration to us all, my brother."

"Fine," Spike snarled, releasing his old friend and stepping away. "You cop off and be inspired, then, but mark my words. If you mess with this Slayer, you won't live to regret it. She and I will wipe out your merry little monastery," he pointed his finger for emphasis, "permanently! And then no one will be wearing the pretty costume jewelry 'round their necks, will they?"

Angrily, Spike turned and stalked off into the night without looking back. Several red robed figures melted out of the darkness to stand beside Saul. They watched Spike until he disappeared from view.

"He is very strong willed," one of the newcomers remarked, "full of fire and anger. Are you sure that he is the one?"

"Never have our prayers been closer to being answered, my brothers," Saul said, a fanatical gleam in his eye as he stared after Spike. "All that William needs is a push in the right direction."

♥ ♥

"I should go back home," Buffy said, firmly, starting to turn back, as she and Willow reached the cemetery gates, "and change ... into something ... else." The Slayer brushed, nervously, at her periwinkle colored silky layered skirt.

"You look beautiful," Willow encouraged. "That blouse is so right. The lace! And the cream shade really brings out your coloring."

"Maybe I want my coloring to be left in," Buffy said, biting her bottom lip. She gave a quick shake of her head and turned to leave, again. "Nope, Nope, No ... I can't do this..."

"Buffy!" Willow snapped, stepping into her friend's path. "It's just a date. A simple dinner date with Spike. What is there to be afraid of?"

"Besides the Spike ... and the dinner part?" Buffy queried, lifting her brows. She gestured to indicate their surroundings, "Well, there's the scary mausoleum and me with no pointy wood."

"I'm sure it will be very nice," Willow said and Buffy looked doubtfully back across the cemetery at Spike's place.

"You mean for a crypt?" she asked.

"Buffy, if you would feel more comfortable at my place," Willow offered, instantly. "I could take Dawn to the all night arcade, play some miniature golf, while you and Spike ... uhm..."

"No!" Buffy rejected, sharply, before moderating her tone to add, "No, I'm sure this will be just fine."

"Better a crypt than a Wiccan Love nest," the Slayer thought, "with the bed and the candles and the incense and the ... bed!"

"Okay," Willow agreed, perkily, turning Buffy around and giving her a push in the proper direction, "Off you go then."

The Slayer stood up a little straighter, pulled her shoulders back, put her chin in the air and headed across the grass between the tombstones. Halfway to the crypt she froze and Willow, waiting at the gate, groaned.

Buffy looked right and left. Something was out there. She sensed it. Something undead. She dropped into a fighting stance. Her Slayer instincts were on full alert as she searched the shadows. Quite suddenly, the sensation of being stalked abated leaving Buffy feeling slightly off balance. She hadn't felt the thing leave, whatever it was, but she knew that it was no longer close. It was no longer watching. After a moment more on alert, Buffy came out of her crouch and turned to look back at Willow. The witch gave her a friendly twiddle of the fingers. She waved back.

"Okay, so mental note...", Buffy reminded herself as she hurried up to Spike's door, "When dating someone who lives at the cemetery, always carry the spare stake."

Arriving at the crypt door, she gave it a delicate rap, which produced almost no sound, and she waited. After five minutes, there was still no response to her knock. Hauling back she gave the metal door a solid, if unladylike, thunk with her fist. Then she checked to make sure that she hadn't broken a nail. Within seconds, the door creaked open in an acceptably spooky fashion.

"It really is the little things that set the mood," Buffy thought, sarcastically. Then she stepped over the threshold and thought only, "WOW!"

There were candles. Hundreds of candles. They lined the walls and the window ledges. They graced the tables and overflowed the sconces. They filled the crypt with a golden warming light that turned Spike's white curls to an effulgent champagne. He was breathtakingly handsome, dressed simply in charcoal colored slacks and a deep purple shirt that brought out the midnight blue of his eyes. The top two buttons of the cotton dress shirt were open, exposing his ivory throat. His sleeves were partially rolled up to reveal the sculpted definition of his forearms.

"'ello, Buffy," he said, on a soft breath.

Giving her a small smile, he reached out to take her hand. As his fingers closed around her own, Buffy noticed that his nails were pale and free of polish. She stepped closer to him, drawing in a whiff of his signature scent, a delicate incense of dark amber and rain soaked earth.

"Damn," the Slayer thought, "Candles, incense..."

Her eyes were drawn inexorably toward the darkest corner of the room. Seeking and finding the final piece of the puzzle. It wasn't ostentatious but it was definitely there.

"And BINGO," she thought. "Bed ... and that's my cue ... time to leave ... time to say goodnight ... time to turnaround and walk back out that door ... definitely time for Buffy to go home ...."

"Can I pour you some wine?" Spike was asking her and she realized she was now well inside the crypt. Buffy looked back at the closed door in confusion wondering how she had come so far in without noticing. Then she looked down at the table in front of her and almost burst out laughing.

"This is our dinner?" Buffy asked, not believing her eyes.

The table was a round wheel of the sort that electric companies used when laying new cable. It was covered in a cloth that Buffy recognized as belonging to Willow. The crystal and dinnerware also appeared to be Wiccan in origin. It was the food itself, however, which had caused a surge of delight to wash over Buffy. There must have been a dozen small plates scattered on the tabletop. Each plate was graced with a different bite size delicacy. There were miniature cheesecakes and meat pastries and chocolate dipped berries and delicate flowers made from vegetables.

"Song Lee's Deli and the Fifth Street Bakery," Spike supplied, by way of explanation. "I tried to get things I knew you liked but not too much of anything."

"Well it's a lot better than the microwave popcorn and hot cocoa I was expecting," Buffy admitted, taking a seat in the chair he had pulled out for her.

He poured the wine, a well-aged port, into long-stemmed glasses and handed one across to her. Buffy was not a wine drinker but she took a small sip and was pleasantly surprised by the dark, full flavor. Spike walked over to set the wine bottle on top of his refrigerator. He turned on the portable CD player before heading back to join her at the table. Buffy cringed, internally, waiting for the musical assault of the Ramones or the Sex Pistols to blare out of the player. The first few chords were light and sultry and the male voice that came in shortly was rough but not abrasive. Buffy took another warming sip of her port and felt the tension begin to bleed out of her shoulders.

"Who is this?" she asked, nodding toward the player.

"David Gray," Spike answered. "Fellow Brit, well ... Welshman, album's called 'White Ladder'."

"Very nice," Buffy sighed, as she relaxed back into her chair. Tipping her glass at the spread she added, "All of this is ... very nice."

They ate with their fingers and Buffy began to get rather giddy with the subtle decadence of it. Fifteen minutes into the meal, she bit down on a fudge-tipped strawberry and was forced to lean forward quickly to avoid staining her blouse. She caught the red juice with her thumb before it ran down her chin. Then she had no other choice but to lick the stickiness off of her hand.

"Those famous Slayer reflexes," Spike teased. handing her a damp cloth, "just like lightning."

"That strawberry was unnaturally juicy," Buffy pouted, wiping her fingers on the cloth. "It snuck up on me and I could afford to show it no mercy."

"No," Spike countered, shaking his head, "I'm sorry but that was definitely faulty technique on your part."

He slid his chair over next to Buffy's and reached across her to pick out a berry for himself.

"You need to lean your head further back," he instructed. "Open your mouth wide and take in the whole fruit."

Buffy watched in fascination as Spike acted out his own advice. The pale column of his neck was bared to her as his teeth closed near the stem of the strawberry. Buffy could see the tiny crescent shaped scar on his throat where Dru had originally bitten him. She felt an unexpected hot rush of jealousy. Spike had his eyes closed as he savored the assorted flavors. He chewed once, twice, three times and then he swallowed. Buffy swallowed, too.

"Your turn," Spike challenged, opening his eyes to meet hers. He reached out and selected another chocolate covered fruit, "Tilt your head all the way back."

Just for a second, Buffy hesitated, staring deep into the midnight blue of Spike's gaze. Then she let her head fall back so that her hair formed a golden waterfall in the air. Exposing her own throat, she caught the berry he held up for her on the cradle of her tongue.

Spike watched the Slayer chew and swallow the fruit. Her eyes were closed and she seemed perfectly at ease. She was so vulnerable, so beautiful. The very sight of her filled him with a sanguinary desire. He felt the demon stir in his chest. Felt it conjure up a dark and horrible hunger. A hunger only Buffy's blood could sate. Spike turned away from her, quickly. He concentrated on the flicker of candlelight on the wine glasses and the feelings of devotion in his heart.

"How was that?" Buffy asked, playfully, her voice barely penetrating the fog in his brain.

"Better," Spike whispered, to the tabletop. He was afraid to look at her again. He was afraid of the monster that lurked inside of him.

Sensing his distress, Buffy leaned forward to lay one hand against his arm. Spike glanced down at the touch of her fingers clasping just above his wrist. He was always amazed by how fragile she seemed in light of how capable she was. She had such small delicate hands but the power contained in them nearly charred his skin. His love for her ignited from that point of contact between them and drove his demon back into seclusion.

"Much better," he said, taking a deep breath and meeting her eye.

"I don't know," Buffy mused, "I don't think I quite have the knack. Maybe I need to watch you do it one more time."

She picked up a tiny cheesecake and gave him a challenging look. He grinned and opened his mouth, slightly. Buffy leaned very close. Placing one hand around his shoulders for balance, she fed him the pastry. His teeth closed lightly on her fingers as his tongue worked to free the melting dessert from her grip. He was only partially successful. When he released her fingers there was still a residue of creaminess on her thumb. Spike went very still as he watched Buffy bring her hand to her mouth and lick away the sweetness. She ran her tongue slowly along her skin savoring the decadent taste of his saliva mingled with the richness of cheesecake.

She was watching him, too, with the steady predatory gaze of the Slayer. Spike loved that look. It spoke to him of a passion as untamed as his own. Buffy's eyes were the eyes of a hunter; she was no one's prey. Not his, not anyone's! Spike knew that. Unlike Angel or Angelus, he saw Buffy clearly. He knew better than to toy with her. He saw no need to shelter her from what he was and he took great comfort in her ability to fight him off should he ever lose control.

Drusilla had been vicious and cruel and capricious but Spike had always been her master. His was the stronger personality. He had cared for her, guided her, stabilized her and loved her. He had admired the quicksilver fluidity of her mind and the grace of her body. But Buffy was his equal, his other half, his perfect match and his true love. It seemed to him that he had always known that, from the first moment that they had come together in mutual animosity. He loved the fire, the wit and the passion in her. The way she countered every move he made, the way she struck at him and danced away.

"Do you wanna dance?" Spike asked, not knowing quite how he meant it.

"Very much," Buffy breathed out, responding to him on the same number of levels.

He stood and pulled her roughly up against him. The David Gray CD was on a continuous loop and had just cycled through to the beginning again. The song "Please Forgive Me" started and Spike and Buffy began to sway gently, leaning into one another. The lyrics and the vocalist's smoky tones seemed to speak directly to them.

"Please forgive me," the song played out, "if I act a little strange for I know not what I do. Feels like lightning running through my veins every time I look at you ... every time I look at you. Help me out here all my words are falling short and there is so much that I have to say, want to tell you just how good it feels when you look at me that way."

Buffy reached up to wrap her arms around Spike's neck. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the side of her head. Time seemed to fall away. Song blended into song as they danced. Selected lyrics stood out in bright relief as one or both of them found deeper meaning in the words.

"Like a stone I fall into your eyes, deep into some mystery -- Let go of your heart, let go of your head and feel it now, the love that I was giving you was never in doubt. ---looking back in time, you know it's clear that I've been blind, I've been a fool, I've been afraid to show you how I really feel. -- My oh my you know it just don't stop, I've tried to fight it, tried to turn it off -- and now my hands are shaking but I just can't stop," David Gray sang. He seemed to be telling their story in line after line.

They kissed. Then kissed again, slower and deeper. Sweet kisses that blended together and narrowed their awareness until nothing in the world seemed real but each other's touch. Neither of them noticed the thick mist swirling around them and forming itself into several distinct shapes. Buffy's senses were flooded with Spike, the taste, the feel, the scent of him and the sound of his soft moans on those few occasions when he abandoned her lips. She kept herself in darkness the better to savor those sensations beyond vision.

When she finally opened her eyes, it was to the sight of a vampire, his yellow orbs glaring and fangs bared in a snarl, just inches away from her face. A wash of adrenaline swept over her and she wrenched free of Spike's arms, startling him out of his own reverie. He stumbled back against another foe. They were surrounded by red robed figures. Before Buffy could react, one of the vampires blew a pungent powder in her face. She kicked out sideways snapping her attacker's knee, crippling him with one blow. Spinning she broke another's nose and twisted free of the hands reaching for her as she searched for a weapon.

The red robed figures were everywhere; five of them had grabbed Spike, holding him up off the ground. The blond vampire was cursing and struggling but there were just too many of them. Buffy brought her elbow down on the wooden wheel of the dinner table and broke off a jagged splinter. Flipping back and forth, she dusted two of the red robes in quick succession with her improvised stake. She had just turned to assist Spike when the numbness hit her. Without warning, her legs buckled and she slumped into the waiting arms of the high priest.

"SAUL!" Spike screamed, struggling so fiercely he nearly broke free. "You Bastard! What have you done to her? So, help me ... I am going to rip out your entrails for this! I'm going to slaughter every last one of you."

"Calm yourself, my brother," the vamp holding Buffy said, as he gently leaned her back against a marble column so that she was facing Spike. "The Slayer is merely incapacitated, we have not harmed her. We would not dream of hurting her. She is far too important to our plans."

Good, Buffy thought, they weren't going to kill her, at least not yet. Spike seemed to know them maybe he could stall for time. If only she could break free of the drug they had given her. She tried valiantly to move, to no avail, her body was totally paralyzed. Only her mind was still working but she could feel the first tendrils of numbness entering her consciousness. She watched helplessly as the one called Saul leaned down and took the wooden stake from her nerveless fingers.

"As you are important, old friend," Saul continued, straightening back up and moving toward Spike. "Surely, you will not deny what we all have witnessed here."

"I don't know what you're on about you filthy git," Spike growled. "But I am not going to participate in your plan for world domination so you can just sod off."

"But, my dear child," Saul said, with soft assurance, "you really have no say in this matter." And without further preamble, the high priest plunged Buffy's wooden stake into Spike's heart.

The Slayer felt her own heart twist in agony. The lovers locked eyes. They drank in the sight of each other as if they could somehow freeze time; stop it cold in their minds, never venturing beyond this moment when Spike was whole. The moment before he shattered apart into nothing more than memory and ashes.

Buffy's body could not scream so the sound existed only in her mind. She screamed inside as her true love died and she went on screaming silently even as the high priest caught Spike's chip out of the air. Saul walked over and knelt beside the Slayer. Reverently, he placed the chip in the palm of her unresisting hand and closed her fingers around it.

"A token for you, sweet Slayer," the red-robed high priest purred and Buffy, unable to cope any longer, slipped into unconsciousness.

3.

As the stake entered his heart, Spike's gaze flew to Buffy's face. He devoured every line of her, crystallizing her image in his mind's eye. He held tight to the memory of her as his body was transformed to ashes and bone.

He could hear Vladimir, Count Dracula, speaking from long ago, the voice clear in his mind, as if the ancient vampire was standing next to him in the crypt.

"There is one thing in this world you value," the Romany accented voice was saying. "You must know it ... and hold onto it. Make it more real to you than your own death. Keep the image of that one thing true within you, as your flesh is ripped apart. Let it fill your entire being."

"It can't be that simple," Spike had scoffed.

"It is not simple, my young friend," Dracula corrected. "It is far from simple. It takes more concentration than you can possibly imagine. If you would do this thing then you must practice for many years. I learned of it by accident while studying with the Rossi gli abiti and you would do well to join their number for a time."

"Monks?!?" Spike snorted. "You want me to join a poxy load of hood wearing pillocks."

"You are the one who wants to learn my secrets, young one," Vlad reminded. "I am merely suggesting one route that you could follow. These monks are able to turn themselves into a mist and enter where there is no door or window. It is a similar talent that you seek to master."

"Still, mist is one thing ... but the stake?" Spike said not believing yet, "If that's all there is to it, then why don't more of us come back from the staking? Why don't these Red Robed blighters of yours make a habit of it?"

"Who can say?" the Dark Lord shrugged. "Perhaps many are too afraid to even try, others may simply fail in the attempt. Perhaps they don't believe that it can be done"

He leaned forward and shoved at Spike's shoulder with one elegant finger.

"It is like killing the Slayer, yes?" he said, grinning. "Most of our kind haven't the imagination to conceive of the idea. Therefore most will fail."

Spike laughed then and, after killing the barmaid, they made a toast to the success of the younger vampire's upcoming trip to China. But Spike wasn't ready to give up on the topic. He was fascinated by the idea of reforming after a staking. He returned to the subject several times as the night wore on until the Romany Count grew impatient with the constant questioning.

"We are not this flesh," Drac snarled, at last, holding up one hand between them as illustration. "And wood? What is that to us? Nothing but ancient Druid magic!" He gestured elegantly as if tossing the objection aside. "Certainly it binds us, certainly it scatters us but when the stake is pulled away...

He brought his two hands together, interlacing the long fingers and clasping them tightly.

"It is possible to become whole again," Spike nodded, understanding the concept.

"Find that which is true to your heart and your mind," Vlad said touching Spike's chest and forehead in succession. "Let it anchor you in the world. Then you need only reform around that cherished image."

♥ ♥

"Buffy!" Spike thought, as he felt the pull of eternity. She was his everything; there was nothing else that mattered to him now, he repeated it in his mind, "There is only Buffy."

The monks were still gathered in a loose circle. Saul had removed the stake and leaned forward to catch the falling chip. Dying, Spike let all else fade away until only the Slayer existed for him. It was easier than he had expected and yet at the same time immensely difficult. William's soul was calling from the beyond, urging him to let go of their flesh. A vast gulf had opened up all around him and all sensation, all awareness faded into meaningless shadow. Only Buffy remained. Only Buffy was real. He wrapped his very being around that truth. And slowly Spike felt his body begin to reform around his consciousness.

There was a great rushing sound and an implosion. The door of the crypt slammed open and a swirl of leaves joined with the swirl of Spike's ashes. Several of the monks stepped back in superstitious fear as the blond vampire began to reform. Saul moved away from the unconscious Slayer and walked over to stand near the point of reincarnation. Bone and ash, merged at the high priest's feet creating an outline of a man and then miraculously became flesh. Spike gasped in night air, feeling the chilled bite of it in his throat. He lay on the floor looking up at Saul not really believing ... and yet knowing ... Dracula had been telling him the truth all those years ago.

"What do you know?" Spike said, to himself. "The black-hearted old welsher, finally, made good on that debt."

Gingerly, he turned his head. It was attached to his neck again. He pressed his hands to the floor, enjoying the solid feel of the stone under his fingers. Carefully, he sat up and, instinctively, his eyes sought out the Slayer.

"She is unharmed," Saul assured, noticing the direction of Spike's glance. "Of course, she is also helpless and you are in need of blood, my brother. No one will stand against you if you choose to feed."

The high priest's words were like a trigger for Spike's bloodlust. He realized all at once that he was ravenous. The effort of reforming had left him weak as a kitten. He was shaking with the desire to kill, to drain the life from someone.

Spike was moving toward the Slayer before he had time to consider what he was doing. He caught her up in his arms. Buffy's head lolled against his shoulder as he held her close. He could hear her heart beating; feel the soft warmth of her breath against his skin. He ran his one hand into her hair and tilted her head to expose the pulse at her throat. Buffy's lips were slightly parted. Looking into her face, Spike remembered how her beauty had sustained him in the echoing vastness of eternity.

Growling, the blond vampire dropped Buffy as if she had burned him. She hit her head as she fell and Spike reached out in remorse. But stopped short, afraid to touch her, as his demon cried out for blood again. Spike shrank back and then rose up spinning around to unleash his wrath on the gathered monks. He dragged one of them close and ripped out the red robed vampire's throat. The blood was cold and dead but it sobered Spike, slightly. He tossed the injured monk into the faces of the other faithful, knocking several of them to the ground.

"I won't kill her, Saul," Spike growled, as he dashed for the door, "I won't do it!"

Several of the monks made as if to follow the blond vampire into the night but the High Priest held up one hand to halt them.

"Let him go, my brothers," Saul said. "The work of this night is complete and as you have witnessed he is all that we could have hoped for. We must pray now and prepare ourselves for the wondrous events to come."

"What about the Slayer?" one of the monks asked, looking down at the unconscious Buffy.

"Leave her," Saul said, with a dismissive wave. "William will not return for her this night."

"But ... how can you be sure?" another monk asked.

"I rely on my faith, my brother," Saul smiled, gently. "I rely on my faith!"

He walked to the crypt door and, stepping across the threshold, evaporated into a mist. The other monks faded into an incorporeal state as well, leaving the fallen Slayer alone on the floor.

♥ ♥

Running blindly through the back alleys of Sunnydale, Spike was at a loss about where to go. He wanted to return to the crypt but he didn't trust himself that close to Buffy. More than anything, he wanted to make her his eternally and he was desperate for blood. He needed it to be solidified in his body again. He was straddling two worlds, still half incorporeal. He thought about breaking into the butcher's shop and stealing a pint or two, but he didn't think that goat's blood would do the trick. Human hemoglobin was what Spike really craved. He was headed in the general direction of the hospital when it came to him that he knew just where to find a few pints of the vintage stuff.

Skirting the populated areas, Spike made his way back toward the Summers' place. He had run in the opposite direction at first and it was nearly 11:30 by the time he reached the house. Lightening cracked across the sky as he came up the walk and a few heavy raindrops fell around him. Fishing under the flowerpots, he located the back door key and turned it in the lock.

Spike slipped into the darkened kitchen and stood quietly listening. The sound of slow steady breathing came to him. Dawn Summers was asleep upstairs. Young, tender, innocent Dawn was all alone in her bed. A sharp-toothed smile danced across Spike's lips as he padded toward the staircase.

Dawn stirred in her sleep. Turning on her side, she pulled one fist to her cheek like a tiny child. Spike stood above her still and horrible in his demonic mask. His eyes glowed yellow. Pale moonlight shown through the open curtains, it glistened off of his fangs. His fingers were curled like claws.

Spike's demon was talking to him, filling his mind with dark logic. All he had to do, it told him, was strike and he could have everything he'd ever desired. His hunger would be sated and he could remake Dawn as his true daughter, his daughter in blood. Once he did that Buffy would surely join them. They could be a real family.

Or the demon mused as it savored Dawn's lovely nubile curves; if the Slayer remained stubborn ... there were other possibilities. Spike's stomach roiled in horror as the thought came to him.

"NO!" he screamed, lunging away from the bed.

Dawn jerked awake. She sat up and looked around. After a confused moment, she saw Spike cowering in the far corner of her room. His face was turned to the wall.

"Spike?" she questioned, still drugged with sleep. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"

"It's okay, Bit," Spike said, shakily. He didn't look at her and sounded anything but okay.

Dawn turned away from him to look at her alarm clock. It was 11:47pm. She frowned trying to remember what was wrong with this picture.

"Your date!" she exclaimed, suddenly recalling. "How did your date with Buffy go? Did you just bring her home?"

"It didn't go so well, Niblet," Spike said, giving a hollow laugh as he turned strangely glowing eyes on her.

Dawn wondered if a vampire's eyes always shone like that if the light hit them at just the right angle. Spike looked like a cat in the moonlight. She thought that it was kind of creepy but didn't want to upset her friend by mentioning it, especially, if his date with her sister had gone badly. She started to get out of bed.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE," Spike barked at her, his voice a guttural growl.

She pulled her feet back under the covers and sat up hugging her knees and biting back the tears. Spike was edging toward the door. He was hunched over holding his stomach as if he was in pain.

"Is-is Buffy, okay?" Dawn asked, really worried now. "She's not hurt or anything?"

"Buffy is just ducky," Spike said, a little too quickly. "I just came to get something of hers. Thought I would check on you while I was here. Everything is going to be all right." He paused, took a deep breath and seemed to pull himself together, adding in a nearly normal tone, "You should go back to sleep, Snacksize! You can talk to Buffy about this in the morning."

He yanked the door open and was through it before Dawn could question him further. She lay back down and listened to the sound of Spike taking the stairs to the first floor. She heard him continue his decent, going all the way to the basement. There was a bit of slamming and cursing and he stomped back up to the kitchen. After another 20 minutes, there was a series of beeps and then she heard the outside door open and close behind him. Dawn looked at the clock again. It was 12:24 am. She listened to the rain slow and then stop and wondered what had brought Spike out in such weather. She didn't fall asleep again for almost an hour.

♥ ♥

Buffy awoke to the morning sun shining through the open door, warming her body. She still lay on the crypt floor. The wind had blown dead leaves all around her. She sat up, feeling groggy and confused. The hard plastic of the chip bit into her fingers and she opened her hand. Blissful emptiness pulled away like a curtain in her mind and all of the horrors of the night came back to her. She retched, her body trying to purge itself of pain and loss. When her stomach was empty of bile she simply curled up and wept, sobbing like a forsaken soul until she could not longer even bring forth tears.

And that was how Willow and Dawn finally found her in the early afternoon, laying in a fetal position in the sunlight among the leaves on the floor of Spike's crypt. Buffy was drained of emotion; barely able to move for the stiffness in her joints and almost past caring if she ever left the spot. She wanted to die. She wasn't up to explaining what had happened but Willow and Dawn pieced the story together as they coaxed Buffy out to Willow's waiting car.

Just before they could leave the crypt, however, the Slayer wrenched away from them and ran over to Spike's trunk. She opened it and pulled out his long leather jacket. Buffy hugged the duster close as Dawn's eyes filled up with tears. Then huddling into the coat to stop her shaking, Buffy let her two "sisters" help her leave.

They went to Willow's place first so that Buffy could shower and change. Dawn, her nose stuffy from crying, put the call in for the gang to meet at the Magic Shop and then went to fetch Buffy a change of clothes.

It was nearly 7:00 pm by the time they had all gathered around the research table at the Magic Box. Buffy was pale but no longer shaken and subdued. She was wearing black leather pants, a tan shirt and Spike's duster. She seemed to be filled with the dark light of vengeance.

"I want them all dead before sunrise," she said, simply, turning the chip over and over in her fingers like a meditation stone.

"Okay," Willow said, glancing around at the others, "Let's get started, then. What do we know? Who were they? What did they look like?"

"They were vampires," Buffy said. "They wore red robes. And one of them, this," she hissed out the name, "Saul ... was wearing a gold necklace with a huge garnet or ruby in the center of it."

"Rossi gli abiti," Anya said, entering the room with a cup of tea for Buffy.

"Rosie who?" Xander asked.

"And what's she got to do with anything?" Willow added.

"She's not a she," Anya corrected, setting Buffy's tea on the table. "She's a them! The Red Robes?" she looked around expectantly but the gang continued to stare in stupefaction until she continued, "In Italian that's Rossi gli abiti. This sounds like them to me. They're an ancient progenitor cult. And it would make sense, too, because of all the girl children missing lately. I have been sticking really close to Melanie just in case it was a cult sacrifice thing."

Xander, Willow, Dawn and Buffy exchanged glances and then looked back at Anya. They all began questioning her at once.

"You knew about the abductions? You know these guys? Sacrifices? A ... what kind of cult? How do you know...?"

The babble of voices went on until Buffy put her thumb and index finger to her lips and blew a loud whistle.

"Who are these Red Robes?" Buffy asked, into the sudden silence. "And where can I find them?"

"Like I said," Anya reiterated, "it's a Progenitor Cult made up of vampires. They worship the first ancestor, Lilith, the mother of all the children of the night."

"Wasn't she was supposed to be Adam's first wife?" Willow inserted. "Before Eve and the whole rib thing?"

"Did they name the Faire after her?" Dawn asked, ingenuously.

"Yep, that's the one," Anya nodded, patting Dawnie's hand. "I always thought that concert thing was kind of silly. Them making her a symbol of woman power and all and her not strictly speaking even female."

"Why did they ki..." Buffy began and her voice broke. She took a shuddering breath and tried again, "Why Spike? Why not me? They're vampires, right? So, why leave the Slayer there, all helpless and alive?"

"I don't know about the first part," Anya answered, "but they wouldn't want to kill the Slayer. You are a big part of their end-times mythology. This faction of the cult, Rossi gli abiti, traces back to 11th century Italy but the origins of the faith are pre-historic. They believe that the first Slayer and the first Vampire were created together. When the last of the Old Ones were driven from the earth Lilith refused to leave. She created the first vampire and..."

"Oh, I know this," Willow interrupted, "Giles told us ... a demon, Lilith, I guess, shared its blood with a man and created the first vampire."

"And as long as there's been vampires," Xander put in, snapping his fingers and pointing out his recollection of the tale, "there's been a Slayer to fight them. But nobody really knows where she came from, she just appeared one night."

"Well, that's one version of the story," Anya sighed, frowning at the inept human interpretation. "But according to the Rossi gli abiti, what actually happened was that a council of ancient Shamans used a gem called Cuore Della Notte, the Heart of the Night, a.k.a. Lilith's Heart, to split The Night Monster herself into two separate entities. One half, the first vampire, carried Lilith's blood and would prey on humans. The other half, the Slayer, carried the seed of Lilith's life force, and would prey on demons. The Rossi gli abiti believe that Lilith will be reborn when a vampire mates with the Slayer. And then it's look out world."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Xander reasoned. "I mean, assuming they want all this to happen, why burst in like that and, if you'll pardon the expression, kill the mood?"

"Xander's right," Buffy nodded. "If they wanted me to mate with a vampire all they really had to do was hang around outside for another hour or so. And anyway, been there done that! Can we say Angel? And while it wasn't exactly a party ... the world certainly didn't end, afterward."

"Well, Angel has a soul," Willow said, working it out. "So, maybe he didn't count ... somehow ... because Angelus is the true Vampire. And you never slept with Angelus ... or Dracula either."

"But that doesn't explain about Spike," Anya said, dismissively. "Spike is a vampire." She frowned over the puzzle for a minute and then shrugged, "I have no idea why they wouldn't want you to be with him. That really doesn't make any sense from what I know of their religious beliefs."

"What if they didn't think that Buffy could conceive this Night Monster by mating with Spike." Willow speculated. "And how's that even work? With the conception and all ... I thought vampires were sterile."

"It is a ridiculous superstition, when you really think about it," Anya admitted. "Vampires don't breed by having sex, in any case. So, why should it matter if they mate with the Slayer? But my impression is that they are expecting a divine conception of some kind. In fact, they don't even specify that the vampire be male ... so, maybe it's not a traditional mating at all. Maybe it has nothing to do with sex. There are lots of stories about rituals and invocations and sacrifices. They're big into purification and denial of their natural urges, going with out blood and such. So, maybe they DIDN'T want you to have sex with Spike because that would make you impure or something."

"Maybe it was because of the chip?" Dawn guessed, re-entering the conversation. "Because Spike wasn't like a real vampire. He couldn't hurt anyone with the chip in his head?"

"That's a good thought, Dawnie," Willow nodded, as she powered up her computer to type in the cult name. She hit the search button and waited for results.

"We aren't getting anywhere just randomly guessing," Buffy snapped, impatiently. "And I don't really care what their plans are. I just want to find out where their lair is, so I can kill them."

"Hey!" Xander said, sitting up straight, the two front legs of his chair returning to the floor with a bang. "I wonder if Oz could find them for you? He's gotten really good at the tracking thing since he came back from Outer Mongolia."

"I could call him," Willow said, already reaching for the phone. "You're right about his wolfie senses. Spreading the 'grrr' out over a whole month is really making a difference on the full moon days. I bet if he starts at Spike's crypt he could trace these guys back to their hideout in no time."

"I don't know, Will," Buffy said. "It's worth a try but it has been nearly 24 hours and didn't it rain last night?"

"Yeah, but that was before Spike died," Dawn pointed out, swallowing the sudden lump that came with saying the words.

"No, it wasn't," Buffy corrected, with a quick shake of her head. "Spike died at about nine or nine-thirty and it definitely hadn't rained yet. I was there, remember?"

"Buffy," Dawn sighed, impatient with her know-it-all sister. "You were drugged, remember? You might not be exactly clear on the times. But I saw Spike just before midnight, last night. I checked the clock a couple of times so I'm totally sure.... It must have been closer to one in the morning when he died."

"You SAW Spike?" Buffy exclaimed, sitting forward and grabbing her sister's arm, fiercely. "Last Night? Where?"

"At our house," Dawn answered, her voice trembling as she, suddenly, recalled how strangely Spike had behaved. "H-h-he s-s-said he came to get something of yours and..."

"AND?" Buffy prompted.

"Well," Dawn hesitated, shifting in her chair as everyone focused on her. "He WAS acting kind of funny. When I woke up he was in the corner of my room but I think that h-h-he had been standing over me. It felt sort of like he was watching me sleep or something."

The hair rose up on Buffy's arms as a chill shot through her.

"He couldn't have survived the staking?" she whispered, more to herself than to Dawn.

"Well, Dracula can do it," Anya chirped, helpfully. "So we know it is possible."

"Yeah ... but Drac is like ... Super-Vamp," Xander inserted, with only a minor touch of hero worship. "He could turn into a bat and become a mist and everything."

"These Red Robed vamps could do the mist thing," Buffy recalled. "I am pretty sure that's how they got so close to us without me sensing them. You know ... now that I think about it, Spike acted like he knew them, too. And I heard Saul call him 'my brother'."

"Then maybe Dracula isn't the only vampire with special powers," Dawn yelped, clapping her hands together, happily. "Maybe Spike is still alive!"

But Willow, Xander and Anya were far less enthusiastic in their response to this idea. They were all looking across the table, at Buffy, faces clouded with apprehension, as the Slayer sat studying the chip in her hand through dark haunted eyes.

"A chip-free, unstakeable Spike," Xander said it aloud for all of them to hear.

"Willow," Buffy ordered, her tone chilled and impersonal. "Call Oz. Tell him I want those Martini and Rossi guys scent traced back to their home lair from the crypt but ask him to meet me at our house first. I want to know if Spike has been there in the last 12 hours."

"And if he has?" Dawn asked, picking up on the drastic undercurrent of fear in the room.

But the Slayer didn't answer; she just turned the chip in her fingers, staring at it fixedly. She looked manic and dangerous. The room reached an uncomfortable level of silence. Then, with alarming abruptness, Buffy sprang up out of her chair and stalked toward the Shop's weapon filled backroom. Her body was wound tight with conflicting emotions and Spike's duster flared out behind her as she punched open the training room door, vanishing into the darkness beyond.

"Will," Xander urged, looking after the Slayer, as the door crashed violently closed behind her retreating form, "you better call Giles while you're at it."

The red-haired witch nodded her understanding, flipped open her cell phone and started dialing.

4.

"Oh, yeah," Oz nodded, after completing a circle of the darkened Summers' house, "Spikeage! Very recent!"

"So, he could have been here last night after the rain?" Buffy asked.

"I'd say he was here this evening," Oz clarified. "Just after sunset."

He looked long and hard at the Slayer, studying her in the light of the street lamps. He was wondering if he should mention the other scent that was coming to him.

"What?" Buffy asked, sensing that he was holding back. "What is it? You smell something else?"

"Blood," Oz said, lifting an apologetic brow. "There's a lot of blood. I think it's coming from the basement."

Buffy's body tensed. She felt sick inside. Spike was alive. A chip-free Spike was out there somewhere. He had been in her house. He had stood over her sleeping sister. Then he had come back to the house later and there was blood in her basement. Her hands shook with the thought that she was the only one who could stop him.

Memories of Spike kept coming at the Slayer, assaulting her mind's eye and driving her toward madness. Tender, loving images strobed together with images of dead Slayers, slaughtered families and unspeakable perversion. Spike was Buffy's true north, she turned toward him, yearned for him and she knew, now, that she would have to kill him. She just didn't know how to make herself do it.

"Is he still in the house?" she asked, not really wanting to hear the wolfman's answer.

"I don't think so," Oz said, shaking his head. Then, he amended, "Course, you should definitely check."

Buffy nodded, pulled her shoulders back and walked briskly to the front door. She edged inside and, after checking under the stairs, went into the living room and grabbed a double-edged sword from her weapons chest. She headed for the basement, clutching the hilt of her weapon in a white-knuckled fist. Standing to one side, she opened the basement door. When nothing happened, she peered around the corner and down the steps. There was a steady dripping noise from the dimly lit depths.

Tensed for trouble, Buffy hit the overhead light switch. She, immediately, noticed the freezer standing open. A puddle of defrosted water had spread across the concrete floor of the obviously deserted room. Hit with a sudden inspiration, Buffy stalked down the stairs. Crossing to peer into the freezer, she checked on her stockpile of Bargaining Blood, the high-grade mix of Slayer and Scoobie plasma she traded for premium supernatural information. The concept had been Spike's. "Red Gold", he called it.

All of the pint bags were gone. Buffy, searched and found one of them under the basement stairs. Apparently, Spike had dropped it in his rush to leave the house. The bag had burst open from the fall. As the blood thawed, it became a sticky pool, alerting Oz and probably enticing Spike back to the house. Buffy tried not to think about what would happen when the vampire's stash ran out. It would be her or Dawn that would have to satisfy Spike's appetite for Summers' blood then. Buffy was sure he'd take the easier kill first.

"How's it going?" Oz called, from the top of the stairs, making her jump.

"He's not here," Buffy said. "I'll do a quick check upstairs then we'll head for the crypt."

"Will that stop him?" Oz asked, nodding at Buffy's weapon as she came up the basement steps to his level. "Since, I'm thinking, the stake won't."

"I don't know," Buffy shrugged, looking down at the sword, dispassionately.

"That's what I thought," Oz said, just as coolly.

The werewolf and the Slayer left the Summers' house, heading for the cemetery. Spike watched them leave from his hiding place, beneath the neighbor's porch. He'd spent the day in an elevator shaft at the deserted Stafford Dorm but he had come back home as soon as the sun went down. Home to his girls and the fix he so desperately needed. The last of the bargain blood bags was empty beside him. He'd saved the best one for dessert, intermingled Dawn and Buffy, the straight Summers shot.

He licked their sweetness from his lips, as Buffy and Oz turned the corner a block up the street. Hugging the shadows, the vampire slipped from cover to follow them. They were very close to the cemetery with Spike a few hundred yards behind the Slayer, when a girl about Dawn's age dashed around a corner and careened into the vampire. He fanged up in surprise and she shrank away from him.

"Don't run," he cautioned, barely holding his demon in check in the face of such sweet temptation.

The twit of a girl gave a brilliant shriek and dashed toward the graveyard with the panicky flight of a prey animal. Spike's predatory instincts fired and he gave chase. Alerted by the teen's screaming, Buffy came running from the opposite direction. The young girl saw only an armed woman approaching and, imagining her another enemy, veered away toward the woods. That tangent brought her closer to the vampire than to the Slayer.

Buffy watched in horror as Spike hit the fleeing girl like a cheetah taking down a gazelle. The girl gave another shriek, as the vampire spun her violently around. His talons were buried in her back. Buffy skidded to a halt in front of the pair. She pointed her sword at them like a spear, her eyes searching for an opening. Spike wrapped his right arm around his victim's neck, lifting her bodily off the ground. He held her like a living shield in front of him, his fangs glistening above her jugular. Buffy knew, any further struggle would shut off the teenager's air supply.

"I'll kill her," Spike hissed, glaring at Buffy. "Come one step closer and I'll kill her."

"As opposed to taking her for a nice ice cream soda if I let you walk?" Buffy asked sarcastically. "Let her go and we'll talk."

"You want to talk, Luv?" Spike snarled, before morphing back into his human face. "You want to establish the meaningful dialog? Then you put down the bloody sword."

"Okay, so that's not happening," the Slayer said, casually. "Let's pretend that you are not really a night crawling monster and are still capable of understanding me. You kill the girl and I will lop your head off and scatter your ashes."

"Harsh," Oz declared, coming up on Spike's left hand side and drawing part of the vampire's attention. The werewolf gave a congenial nod as if he and Spike were meeting as friends, "Hey, Spike! Mexican stand-off night?"

"Sod off, Dogboy!" Spike growled, fanging up again at the possible threat. "This is between me and Buffy."

"Buffy? Buffy Summers?" the girl in Spike's arms squeaked. "Dawn's sister?"

All of the major players looked at her in surprise. It was as if the meatloaf had voiced an opinion during a dinner party debate. Oz recovered first and addressed the girl.

"You know Dawn?" he asked, his voice kind and casually interested.

"Sh-sh-She's my chem lab partner," the girl said, shaking with shock. "Fifth period. I'm Alice Peters."

"Don't worry, Alice," Buffy reassured the girl, "I won't let him hurt you."

"I'm not going to hurt you anyway, Alice," Spike said, in exasperation. Going all human again, he addressed the Slayer, "What are we doing here, Pet? You coming after me with a sword, threatening decapitation. I ain't hurt no one. Not you, not Dawn and I'm not going to hurt little Bit's buddy here. What makes you think I would?"

"Oh, I don't know ... The fact that you attacked her in the first place," Buffy answered simply. But she lowered the point of her sword, ever so slightly, as she added, "That and your chip is out."

"Not the chip keeping me on the short lead is it?" Spike commented.

"He's got a point there," Oz injected, in his casually objective manner. "Not like he was obligated to kill us personally."

"He didn't let me know he was alive," Buffy insisted, addressing the wolfman, "And he didn't tell me that he could survive the staking in the first place." She transferred her attention back to Spike, shooting him an accusatory look. "All these years I've been threatening you with the pointy wood and that never comes up?"

"Didn't KNOW I could do it, did I?" Spike shrugged. "Not the sort of thing you get to practice. And I couldn't see you until after I ate. Came back shaky with the low blood pressure." He indicated Alice with a dip of his head to stress his point, as he continued "Didn't want to go all primeval on you."

Buffy kept her sword up and Spike began to lose his temper. Loosening his hold, he dropped Alice to her feet with a bump and glared at the Slayer.

"See her, Buffy," he snarled, "make up your mind. You in love with me or that soddin' chip?"

"Ll-l-love?" Alice said looking back and forth between them in mingled apprehension and surprise, "Ah-Are you his g-g-girlf-friend or something?"

"That all depends on who he is," Buffy responded, meeting the vampire's eye.

"But ... isn't he a..." Dawn's young friend began. She glanced up at Spike and then shrank away, afraid to complete the question.

"Monster?" the vampire said, his voice low and menacing. He leaned in very close to her, delighting in her fear, "Is that what you were going to say, Pet?"

"Spike!" Buffy reprimanded, sharply.

Alice was trembling and tender, the very picture of what Spike had always savored in a kill. He could hear her young heart pounding in her chest. He could sense the blood rushing just under her skin. She made his mouth water. But she wasn't the Slayer and that was all that mattered in the end. Twisting her arm painfully, he yanked Alice into him and gave her an abrupt kiss on the cheek. Then, he spoke into her ear.

"When I let you go ... walk," he said. He gave her a pointed shake for emphasis, and repeated, "WALK! You understand me? Go toward Buffy. No running, no screaming, and no sudden moves."

With those words, Spike released his hold on the girl and stepped back. The Slayer shifted slightly to the left to keep the vampire in her sites as Alice came toward her.

"Keep walking," Buffy encouraged the girl. "Nice and easy. You're doing just fine."'

With maddening slowness, Alice inched toward the Slayer. Oz started to circle behind Spike but Buffy gave him the tiniest negative shake of her head. The werewolf was backing down when a multitude of Red Robed figures erupted from the woods. Alice gave another high-pitched scream and dashed for the trees. Spike morphed into fangs again and sprang after her. He caught hold of the girl by the nape of her neck and dragged her into the woods. Buffy rushed to follow but four monks armed with pikes blocked her way.

"Do not interfere," one of the Rossi gli abiti advised. "Our Brother must face this test alone."

The Slayer slashed through the monk's neck severing his head from his shoulders and reducing him to dust. With equal precision, she dispatched the other three Red Robed brethren in her path. Eager to go after Spike and Alice, Buffy looked toward the woods and impatiently turned away to help Oz. But the werewolf had morphed into his own version of savage and was rending his way through his two attackers. As quick as the attack had occurred, it was over.

"Get back to the Magic Shop," Buffy called, to Oz as she loped toward the woods, "I have to go after Spike."

Not waiting to see if the werewolf obeyed or even heard her, the Slayer disappeared into the trees in pursuit of the blond vampire and his intended victim. Pausing to listen, Buffy picked up on the crash of underbrush off to her right. She adjusted her direction accordingly, moving with extreme caution. Then she heard Alice scream in sudden terror. Spike's despairing voice called out "NO!" and the woods fell silent.

Casting all caution aside, Buffy began running again toward the location of that final scream. She burst out of cover, unexpectedly, just behind a mausoleum. Spike was sitting on the ground, cradling Alice Peters in his arms. His face was demonic and spattered with blood. There was no doubt that the girl was dead, her neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. Her eyes stared sightlessly into the night and a jagged wound had been torn in her jugular. Spike was drenched in her blood, it dripped from his lips and glistened in his hair and clung to both his hands.

"I didn't kill her," he said, holding up one crimson stained palm in supplication, even as Buffy rushed toward him, "I didn't..."

But Buffy's face was more demonic than his own. The primitive Slayer had stirred to life in her and rendered her deaf to his words. Her fury made her incapable of reasoned understanding. Without hesitation, she swung her sword in a powerful arc on a trajectory to pass straight through Spike's neck. At the last possible second, the vampire threw himself to the ground. The Slayer's blade whistled, harmlessly, over him and cut through a stone statue as smoothly as if the marble was candle wax.

"BUFFY!" Spike screamed, taking human form in hopes that his transformation would soften her. "LISTEN TO ME! I DIDN'T KILL HER ... IT WAS SAUL! This is some kind of test.... BUFFY?"

A half second later, the vampire was forced to roll, blindly, to one side as Buffy spun the grip of her weapon. Twirling her blade in the air like a baton, she brought the point down to impale him. Spike skittered sideways but he wasn't fast enough to avoid the Slayer's recovering uppercut. Pain lanced through him as the sword bit into his flesh.

"Bloody Hell," Spike spat, scrambling for the cover of the nearby mausoleum before Buffy took another swing at decapitating him. "I didn't kill her, Buffy, I swear to you I didn't," he called out, clutching his ribs as he leaned against the stonewall of the building.

Spike looked around, desperately, searching for a way to escape the Slayer without harming her. There was nothing, no cover and nowhere to run where she wouldn't be on him in seconds. Buffy came around the corner and Spike raised both hands, palms out, signaling surrender.

"Come on then," he said, "Let's get it over wi..."

The Slayer didn't even acknowledge him as she pulled back her arm for the death stroke. Spike stood very still, waiting for the end, as the blade came whistling toward him. At the last second, Buffy tightened her grip, tilting her wrist so that the tip of the sword swished harmlessly past the vampire's throat. If anything, she looked more shocked than he did by the development. She swung her arm over her head, whipping the weapon around for another strike. Before the Slayer could quite complete her swing, Spike stepped in and leveled her with a punch to the temple.

"Bad habit you got into," he told her, as she hit the ground, "not killing me."

Without another word, he took off for the woods again, leaping over Buffy's fallen form. In a matter of seconds, he disappeared into the trees.

♥ ♥

"Dead?" Dawn said, in a small voice. "But we were going to meet at the prom tomorrow. We were both on the decorating committee. Alice's dad was going to drive us to the Starlight diner afterward for cheeseburgers."

She fell silent as she contemplated the fact that her lab partner would never be eating at the Starlight again. Willow, Oz, Buffy and Dawn were gathered around the dining room table at the Summers' House. Willow had de-invited the place.

"Were you able to track the monks?" Willow asked Oz.

"Nada," he grimaced, with a shake of his head. "That mist is too insubstantial. There were traces everywhere but," he spread his hands out in a show of helplessness, "I wasn't able to focus in on them."

"Did Spike..." Dawn started, and then swallowed. "I me-m-mean are you sure that he was the one who...? I mean it was him and not those other guys that hurt Alice."

"Looks like," Oz replied, when Buffy failed to answer her sister.

The Slayer was holding a bag of ice to her temple. She had followed after Spike as soon as she recovered but his trail vanished in the middle of the U.C. Sunnydale campus. She hadn't told anyone about her failure to kill him. Everyone assumed the vampire had gotten in a lucky blow during the battle and escaped before she could recover her wits.

"Will she come back?" the Slayer's sister asked. "Alice? Will she be a vampire?"

"He doesn't sire them," Buffy sighed, with an impatient shake of her head. "You know he doesn't do that Dawn." The Slayer didn't look at the teenager as she spoke. She was staring into the middle distance, her eyes unfocused and bleak as if she was looking at some horrifying future event.

"That means she won't rise, Dawnie," Willow explained, patiently. "She's just dead."

"This whole prom week has been nothing but a disaster," Dawn said, resting her chin in her hands. "First I get dumped, then Spike turns evil and now Alice is dead. I'm glad I won't be going..."

"You will be going," Buffy said, fiercely, as she turned at last to look at her sister. "If Spike's going to surface I want you somewhere with lots of people."

"But Buffy..." Dawn started to protest.

"And I promised to protect the rest of those kids when I volunteered to chaperon," the Slayer interrupted, with intensity. "Do you want someone else to end up dead?"

"You don't think that he would..." Willow's voice trailed off as she looked over at Dawn.

"It's what he does, Willow," Buffy said, in a cold emotionless voice. "But this time, he's coming after me. I'm going to make sure of that."

♥ ♥

The ballroom of Elizabeth Hall on the U.C. Sunnydale campus was draped with colorful streamers. The vaulted ceiling was sprinkled with tiny glowing points of light, flickering like stars. Buffy and Dawn paused on the threshold surveying the room. Dawn was wearing a dark green, off-the-shoulder gown; her hair was dressed up and held in place with gold ribbons. Her large, black-lashed eyes looked luminous contrasted with skin as pale as cream. She was beautiful in her dignified innocence, a virginal goddess of the night.

Her sister was a marked contrast. Buffy's golden hair was also swept up off her neck but it was pinned and had a bedroom tousle to it. She was casually sexy, almost offhandedly so, in a light slip dress of soft blue silk worked over with a golden mesh. Her shoulders were bare. Her neckline plunged, provocatively, and the semi-sheer fabric clung to her skin. She was eye-catching and bright as a summer day.

The Slayer ran over the plan in her mind, counting the exits. The number of succulent young girls in the crowd was disheartening but Buffy felt sure she was drawing enough adolescent male attention to make her plan feasible. If Spike showed up there was a good chance that he would target her instead of some nearly ripe teen. If he went for Dawn or one of the other girls they could be back to a standoff. Willow, Oz, Xander and Anya were strategically placed around the perimeter. Weapons were stashed in a number of handy places. She was ready for Spike ... in theory.

And, in fact, Buffy was determined not to lose her nerve again. Spike was a vampire; she was the Slayer. They had always known that it would come down to this. Everything else between them was an illusion. Or so she told herself. But, the Slayer lurking in the back of Buffy's mind, was very concerned about her ability to finish Spike off. She had opened her heart to the enemy and she had failed in her duty. An innocent girl had died. Buffy knew that everyone was depending on her but it was becoming harder and harder to maintain the coldness of spirit that this work would require.

♥ ♥

From his place in the mezzanine, Spike watched the Summers' girls enter the ballroom. His attention was, immediately, arrested by Buffy's blatant sex appeal. A slow knowing smile spread across his face as he contemplated her.

"Dressing up for me, Baby?" he whispered, savoring the tantalizing tug of a multitude of appetites.

Spike knew Buffy all too well. She was trying to outmaneuver him. He knew that her goal was to draw his focus and keep him off balance. And she'd played the right card to do that. But he had no intention of letting her control their game. If he was ever going to reason with the Slayer, he needed leverage. And Spike knew just how to gain the advantage.

He wrested his gaze away from the provocatively dressed blond and studied the movements of her little sister. Dawn was beautiful tonight. Gracefully, she glided through the crowd, smiling at friends and stopping for a moment to talk before continuing on. Watching her, Spike felt a momentary rush of almost paternal pride. Angrily, he shook the feeling off.

He tried not to think about his last two years with the Summers' women as he slipped down the stairs to the ground floor. He blocked out his memories of family dinners, training sessions and late night walks along the beach; Dawn's ready laugh and the way blue moonlight lingered in Buffy's eyes. Spike knew he couldn't afford to have any sentimental attachments slowing his reflexes. Buffy would surely kill him if he couldn't get through to her and to get through to Buffy he needed Dawn's help.

Patient as a trapdoor spider, Spike waited for Dawn to come to him. He stood in the shadow of a potted palm, near the rear exit. When she was very close, he shifted, slightly, drawing her attention. Dawn's eyes widened and she looked over her shoulder toward Buffy. Spike, however, had made sure the Slayer was looking elsewhere before he showed himself. The vampire gave Dawn a small nod and an encouraging smile. Hesitantly, the teenager stepped closer but she stopped just out of his reach.

"Buffy will know that you're here," she said. "She knew you were coming and she won't let you hurt anyone."

"Same old song," Spike ground out, between clenched teeth. "What is it with you Summers' women? Can't a man change? Haven't I done enough, given enough for the pair of you? Who is it that's been there for you these past two years, Sweet Bit? Me, that's who!"

"But you had a chip in your head," Dawn argued, over the nag of her own doubt. "And Buffy says now you're just a vampire again. She says you'll kill people ... like you killed Alice."

"I DIDN'T Ki," he raged and then broke off, beginning again in a calmer tone, "I ain't here to kill anyone, Bit, I jus' need to speak to Big Sis. I need to tell her my side of the story."

"Tell me," Dawn pleaded, her eyes filled with a mixture of longing and dread.

Spike shot an apprehensive glance at the last location of the Slayer. She had faded into the crowd. He searched for her in vain, feeling panic rise in his chest.

"The Rossi gli abiti are in town," Spike began, as he cautiously edged back toward the door. "Load of mad monks that get off on child sacrifice. All waiting for the second coming of the First Ancestor or some such rot. Don't know what they're up to with me and Buffy but what I know of them it can't be good. I need to be working with your Sister, not running for my life every five minutes."

"But did you kill Alice?" Dawn asked her voice breaking.

"Like I told Buffy, already, that was Saul," Spike said, with intense exasperation, "The high priest of these Red Robed blighters. He pops out of nowhere and does your friend just as I let her go. Happened so fast I couldn't stop him. There was blood everywhere. I was holding on trying not to feed when the Slayer comes rushing at me. I knew it was wrong to feed on your pal, Niblet."

"That was darn insightful of you," Buffy said, from just behind him. Before Spike could react, she laid cold steel against his throat.

Spike, silently, cursed himself for letting her get the drop on him. He tensed and the blade bit into his flesh in warning. The Slayer twisted his right arm up against his shoulder blade, pulling him back into her body.

"We are going outside," she informed. "You back up nice and slow."

"Buffy," Spike said, turning his head gingerly to address her. "It's the god's truth. Saul killed that girl."

"And you seem to know him really well," Buffy muttered, shifting her weight to push open the outer door. "First name basis and everything. He called you brother and rescued you. Helped you to remove your chip. Why would he feed you? You can hunt. You can kill. The bastard made sure of that, didn't he?"

"I don't know," Spike said, genuinely puzzled. "I think it was a test. The dodgy geezer keeps going on about my destiny, like I'm the bleeding Chosen One instead of you."

"Anya says they want to bring back Lilith," Dawn said, from just inside the Hall door. "She said that you and Buffy would have to..."

"DAWN!" Buffy snapped, interrupting her sister, "I need you to find Willow and Xander for me, right now."

Dawn hesitated as Spike looked at her with imploring eyes. The young girl suddenly realized the vampire was about to die. She knew, in that moment, that her sister had no intention of letting Spike live two minutes longer than it took to get rid of the witness.

"Bu-uffy?" she began, her voice cracking. "Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe he's not evil anymore."

"Now, Dawn," Buffy ordered, her icy tone allowing no further argument. "Go!"

Dawn turned and ran toward the place where Willow was hiding. Buffy had gone mad. Her sister knew it in her bones. It was a dispassionate madness but there was no other explanation for such single-minded insistence on Spike's death. The conflict between love and duty must have become too much for the Slayer. It had drained all of the emotion out of her and blinded her to reason. Dawn's one thought was Willow might somehow stop Buffy from making a horrible mistake.

"Willow?" the Slayer's little sister yelled out, as she rounded the corner of the building.

Something pungent puffed into Dawn's face and she felt herself begin to fall forward. A red robed figure loomed up and the Slayer's baby sister opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out. The monk caught her up in his arms and, lifting her easily, carried her toward Stafford Dorm.

By the time Willow arrived, there was no sign of Dawn. The red-haired witch was sure she had heard someone calling her by name but after a quick check of the area she shrugged off the feeling and settled in again, watching her assigned exit. It was almost two hours before she checked in with Xander. It was then that the others discovered both Buffy and Dawn were missing.