On the Edge of Shadows (Little Girl Lost)

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Summary: After the events of 'Smashed', a new prophecy forces Buffy to make a choice that will
change everything... (Buffy's POV)

AUTHOR: Aurora
EMAIL: girl292@hotmail.com
RATING: R for dark themes and sexual content
PAIRING: Buffy POV; Buffy/Spike Angst
SPOILERS: Everything up through BtVS 'Smashed' and by extension also AtS 'Lullaby
DISCLAIMER: It's Joss's world, I just get to play in it for a little while.
CATAGORY: DarkAngst
DISTRIBUTION: It's yours if you already have permission, if not ask and it shall be given to you.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Warning: THIS IS NOT A HAPPY FIC. It deals with heavy themes that might be objectionable to some readers. If you don't like angst and woe, stop reading now. Everyone still here? Good, now get to reading!
DEDICATION: As always, my eternal gratitude is lavished upon the Queen of Angst herself: BehrBeMine, for her undying support and fearlessness in the face of beta'ing this somber fic. It's all her fault that my mind is working like this now anyway. Happy ending? Pshaw, I say make me sob, tear my heart out and make me love you for it dammit!!
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**
October 2002
**

I slow my pace from the unconcerned stroll I had carefully been projecting to a crawl, knowing that he will show himself now that I have left the crowds and activity of the main street behind. I come to a complete stop just outside the murky circle of light cast by the lone functioning streetlight in this crappy alleyway, ignoring the sudden rush of adrenaline released into my bloodstream in anticipation of the hunt, of the chase, of the kill.

I do not turn around but I know he will follow. I wait until I hear it: the sound of broken glass and gravel shifting underneath the trod of nervous and clumsy feet. I can't suppress an amused smirk as I cross my arms in front of my chest and speak, still not turning to face him.

"I know you're there. You might as well show yourself." My voice is calm, laced with the certainty of a predator who has done this many times over, though I can't conceal a hint of ironic amusement when I stop and think about it. After all, it *is* kind of funny. In a sick and twisted 'welcome to the nuthouse' way.

"I am. I've been searching for you." Wow. Color me amazed that he got all that out in one sentence with only the trace of a stutter. I guess you really can teach an old English dog new tricks. "I wasn't certain it was you. I wanted to be sure before..."

"Come to kill me, Wes?" I interrupt in a tone that registers in my mind as vaguely reminiscent of Faith and I quickly push that association aside. No time to lose focus. I turn around to find him standing under the dusty halo of light from the streetlamp, seemingly unarmed. Bad move on his part. I have at least three weapons hidden in my leather pants, and slightly more tucked inside the lining of my jacket. Always be prepared. He should know that, it's like the first rule of Watcher-dom.

I tilt my head to the side and regard him with irritation as he hesitates, clearly uncomfortable discussing my impending death. I know that I don't look like the me that he remembers. My hair is cut short in a bob that swings forward and frames my chin, still blonde but with bright red streaks scattered throughout. I am noticeably thinner, with no time devoted to training or even patrolling these days. And then there's my proudest alteration: a three-inch tattoo of a Celtic cross on the back of my neck. Keeps all kinds of unwanted attention at bay.

"Yes, well... I had rather hoped that we could..." Ah, there's the stutter. That's the Wesley I know and don't love.

"Hoped that we could what? Discuss this over tea?" I snort derisively at him as I close the distance between us in a single stride, causing him to take a step back. I halt at the edge of the light though, preferring to remain in the shadows, outside his antiquated notions of right and wrong. "Not to hurt your feelings but what exactly do you want? Hmm? The way I hear it you have only two sides to be on. You're either here to bring me back with you so that I can do what you all are too afraid to do, or you're here to kill me to keep me as far from the rest of you as possible. So which is it Wes? Who dies, me or you?"

I don't know why I bother toying with him; it doesn't make a difference to me. I'm not going to fight for my life. I haven't been alive in a while. Oh, I'm still technically living. Heart still beating, lungs still sucking in the sorry excuse for air in this city, for all intents and practical purposes alive. Except for where it matters.

You know, it's funny but I never saw this coming. Oh, I knew that someone would come after me, that's pretty much a certainty given the facts we're dealing with. What I mean is that I never saw things ending up like this. But then again, I never planned on dying twice and being brought back both times either so that shows you what I know.

It's been almost a year since the day that my life took this unexpected spiral off into uncharted and wholly unanticipated territory. That's why I knew that it would be soon. That the past would catch up to us soon. They're running out of time. We're running out of time. And I think that I am the only one on this earth who is glad about it.

**

If I want to be honest with myself, and I rarely am these days, things were not anything close to resembling fine when I received the phone call from Giles that started me down the twisted chain of events that led to this point. It was the morning after what I thought at the time had to be my worst lapse in judgment ever. Turns out I was just getting started in discovering my hidden ability for making poor decisions.

When the first rays of dawn filtered through the dust to land on my sore skin, I came to in the basement of the abandoned house that Spike and I had all but destroyed in our frenzy and managed, with some difficulty, to disentangle myself carefully from Spike's cold embrace. My head hurt, my body hurt, and I could feel the bruises starting to surface on my neck and back, and a few other places I didn't want to think about.

I really didn't want to think about any of it. I gathered the remains of my clothing as fast as I could without waking the undead next to me, and headed back home, ignoring the gaping numbness in my belly that my stupidity had only managed to keep at bay for a few hours. Now it was back with a vengeance and I had to stop several times and clutch at my stomach to keep from keeling over and retching on the street.

I made it home and into the shower thankfully unnoticed, and all I wanted to do was get into my pajamas, crawl under the covers, and slip into a coma. Anything to keep from facing the ugly reality that had somehow become my life.

I had just burrowed under the soft cotton of the sheets and flannel comforter, hoping that when I closed my eyes it would all go away, when Willow burst through the door babbling a mile a minute and clutching the cordless phone to her chest.

I groaned into my pillow and covered my head with the sheets, praying that she would take the hint and leave me alone, but it didn't deter her, and despite my attempts at hearing nothing a few key words landed on my ears. Words that sounded suspiciously like 'Giles' and 'phone' and 'prophecy'. Oh goody.

I unearthed myself from the cocoon of sheets and grabbed the phone from Willow's outstretched hand. She settled next to me on the bed, watching anxiously as I struggled to focus on whatever it was that had Giles so riled up.

I managed to wrap my tired mind around enough to make out that he was going on about some big group of prophecies coming together starting yesterday. Something about a child of darkness and light who was supposed to usher in the apocalypse of all apocalypses blah blah blah. I managed to get him to pause long enough to take a breath so that I could ask where I fit into all of this. His answer wasn't exactly what I was hoping for. Apparently due to the nature of this child there were several groups of varying shades of evilness searching for him. I was supposedly prophesied to be involved in neutralizing the child before he could become a threat, reaching his full power on his first birthday. It didn't sound so sunny and Giles' answer to my query about if the child in question was human didn't exactly make me feel any happier about this particular duty.

"To be frank, we... the Council and myself, have been looking into it for some time and we don't know. For everyone's sake I hope not, but the prophecy... it's just not clear. What is clear, is that this baby was born yesterday and that the sooner you take care of it the less chance there is that he will live to see his first birthday and fulfill the last line of the prophecy."

"Which is?" I asked as I gave up on the idea of sleep and climbed out of bed to head towards the closet.

"Utter annihilation of all life in this dimension."

"Oh, so the usual then?" I snorted and earned a stern reproach from Giles for my efforts.

"Buffy, this isn't a normal prophecy. Several ancient texts and scrolls which always seemed completely unrelated have all suddenly converged on this one fragment of time. It is unheard of. You must take this seriously."

"Fine. I'm serious. So where is this miracle child anyway? Slumming it on the Hellmouth or..."

"L.A."

"Oh." That certainly wasn't what I had been expecting. "Any idea how I find this kid? I don't think that I am going to be able to just waltz into the maternity ward and take out all the male babies." I didn't add the part where the very idea of slaying a human child wasn't exactly up there on my top ten list of things to do before I die again.

"Yes, there's a simple locating spell I've spoken to Willow about. She can cast it on one of the talismans from the Magic Shop so that the amulet will glow progressively brighter only in the presence of this child. And you needn't worry about finding him amongst other babies. He won't have been born in a hospital."

"Why not?" I asked as I slipped on a pair of jeans and dug through the bottom of my closet for my favorite pair of tennis shoes.

"Because his mother is a vampire."

"What!? Giles, how is that even possible?"

"We don't know and we don't know anything about her identity or what the father is. Just that the prophecy refers to life springing forth from the loins of the dead."

"Eww. Okay, enough with the disturbing imagery. Anything else I need to know?"

"That's all we have been able to confirm. I will phone with more info. Just be careful."

**

Despite the moral ambiguity of my role in this latest prophecy, it was a welcome diversion to have something Slayer-y to focus on: no thinking, no worrying about holding it all together for everyone else, just me and the baddie. Plus there was the added perk that it would get me out of Sunnydale for a while and away from the awkward questions and other unpleasant morning after-ishness I didn't want to face. So I was almost happy as I headed towards L.A., humming obliviously to the latest whoever it was that Dawn was so into on the radio, and generally trying not to focus on the mess that my life after the afterlife had become.

I wasn't entirely sure what I was facing. Giles hadn't had all the details, just enough for me to be a danger to myself and others as always. I managed to quiet whatever worries I had about the nature of this child with the misguided notion that he couldn't be all human if he was so evil. I know there's not a shred of credible logic in that line of thinking, but see what you come up with when you're faced with a similar task and then we'll talk.

The drive didn't take nearly long enough and Giles hadn't been able to give me a place to begin my search. So I dug the thin gold talisman, which was shaped like three of those Olympic rings all linked together, out of my pocket to see if it would suddenly spring to life and show me where to go. Willow had blessed it while I hurriedly stuffed a duffel bag full of weapons and a change of clothes before heading out the door. I studied it briefly; slightly worried that it didn't seem any different now than it had when I placed it into Willow's outstretched hands that morning. I gave up on my inspection of the amulet when traffic started to slow and set it on the dashboard in front of me.

If it didn't work I was seriously screwed because even I knew that the odds of finding one child who nobody wanted found in a city this size was more than impossible. Not having any idea where else to start, I headed toward the less tourist friendly areas of town to begin my search. The places where no one ever sees or hears anything and would never think to ask any questions about anything out of the ordinary. Like say, a vampire having a baby.

It was still early, and night being a good eight hours away, the streets were all but deserted. I circled several of the more seedy neighborhoods a few times and still got a big zero out of the baby locating system. I tried to think of what I would do if I had a child that lots of baddies were after and needed to hide somewhere we wouldn't be found, and soon realized that the last place I would be is in the very area where evil thrives. Score one for the evil baby. Score zero for Buffy.

I headed back to the freeway and decided to search the middle class areas and surrounding suburbs instead. More humans, less demons per square mile. Lots of families with babies. This prophecy sucks.

**

Three hours and one tank of gas later, I was exhausted from having not slept for almost 24 hours, not to mention starving and seriously irritable.

I pulled into a small convenience store to grab some cheetoes and a coke when the amulet suddenly started to glow. It was so faint at first that I wasn't sure if I was really seeing it glow or if I was so tired that I was hallucinating. I put the Jeep into park and grabbed my bag of weapons as I set out on foot, holding the amulet out in front of me like a metal detector.

It seemed to get brighter as I headed towards an apartment complex across the street. I was in a decent part of town, well lit, well maintained. Not really what you look for in a hotbed of demonic activity.

When I reached the main door of the complex, the amulet started to hum, and I have to say it made me jump. No one warned me about the sound effects, but I guess it was a sign that I was in the right location. I circled the first floor with no noticeable change in the glowing or the humming. When I hit the second floor, I had to cover the talisman with my hands. It was so bright that it would definitely gather a crowd of curious onlookers. Must be getting close.

I passed three apartments before the thing actually started to shake and I stuffed it into my pocket to keep it from leaping out of my hand. I stood still in front of the seemingly normal apartment. Same light blue door as all the others. Same gold letters. Same... baby crying at the top of its lungs and people shouting at each other. Must be in the right place.

I took in a solid breath to steady myself and tried to figure out just exactly how I was going to invite myself into some stranger's apartment and ask them to hand over their child because he happens to be the spawn of Satan.

Seriously lacking in the feasible plans department, I just stood there. The adult voices got louder, along with the baby's cries, as they neared the front of the apartment. I remained where I was and listened, hoping to pick up on something that I could use to my advantage.

The woman's voice was the loudest and as I listened I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew her from somewhere. Definitely not a good sign.

"Well what do you expect me to do about it? I don't know the first thing about babies and I am not its mother so don't expect me to act like one!!"

"Cordy, please. I don't know what to do..."

Cordy?? Cordelia? And the man's voice sounded a tad too much like... no, don't go there. I had to focus to tamp down on the flood of emotion that voice stirred up in my belly. It couldn't be... could it? But if it *is* them that means that they know about the prophecy as well, and if they already have the baby...

I breathed in a much needed sigh of relief. I wouldn't have to do this alone. We could take care of the evil spawn together.

I put my hand on the door and turned the knob, fearing that they wouldn't hear my knock over the noise of the screaming baby and shouting Cordelia. The door wasn't locked, a dangerous oversight, but as I entered the foyer and turned to shut the door it was yanked from my hands and slammed solidly by some invisible force.

Okay, I so was not expecting that. I just stood there staring at the door for a good fifteen seconds, while the sudden noise had drawn the attention of Angel and Cordelia, but did nothing to quiet the baby.

"Buffy?"

Angel's quiet voice hit me like a shock wave. Washing over me with that familiar comforting warmth. It made me sick to my stomach and I stayed where I was, not wanting to face him as the memories of my illicit early morning activities with his childe came flooding back to my senses, making my stomach knot and heave. Most of all I didn't want to look him in the eye. I didn't want to see the look on his face when he saw what I had become. Because he could always see me. No matter how hard I tried to hide the truth from him it was always reflected in his eyes. I tried in vain to swallow the lump of fear that had lodged itself in my throat as Cordelia spoke.

"Dennis, I told you to lock the door."

I had no idea who Dennis was, but had to vacate my hiding place by the door as Cordelia brushed past me and hurriedly slid the deadbolt into place.

I made my way into the living room and focused my attention on the furnishings, which practically screamed that we were in Cordelia's place, pointedly avoiding meeting Angel's gaze, which I could feel burning into the skin on the back of my neck.

Cordelia rejoined us and flopped down on the couch.

"So to what do we owe the honor of your visit Buff?" She bit out and I turned my eyes to her, confused at her hostility.

"I uh..." I didn't get any farther as the baby turned the crying up another notch from wailing to shrieking.

Angel helplessly tried to comfort the infant and paced around the room frantically as I managed to will my legs to work and settled into a chair across from Cordy, wanting to find out how much they knew, and more importantly, if they had a plan.

"See if he's hungry again," Cordy spat out and I could tell from the tension that hung heavy in the room that they were both past the point of being frazzled and were working on sheer exhaustion.

Angel disappeared into the kitchen and the crying stopped for about 4.2 seconds before it started up again. He re-emerged just behind the first wave of noise.

"It didn't help," he muttered and closed his eyes in frustration.

He continued to pace and Cordelia threw her hands up in defeat and covered her face with a throw pillow from the couch.

"I swear Angel I cannot take much more of this! You would think that your kid would have inherited at least a shred of your broodiness, but no he has to take after his mother. I never thought I'd say this, but I really wish Darla hadn't staked herself because she deserves to be here to endure this!"

Her words sliced through me as they landed on my ears. Tiny razors of pain and shock that bit into my skin and burned my eyes as the reality of what I'd really walked into settled around me. I opened my mouth to say something but no words came out and my throat seemed to have closed in on itself. I struggled to take in some air and watched with glassy eyes as the reality of what she'd just let slip surfaced on Cordelia's face and she turned apologetically towards Angel.

I didn't have time to worry over the impossibility that it was actually *DARLA* that was the mother of Angel's child. The logistics of it didn't matter because in my heart I knew it was the truth. I knew because of the chill that settled over my chest and spread through my veins with ruthless certainty, making me want to dig down into my arms with my nails just to stop it. Just to make it all stop.

Me, Spike, Angel, Darla, Angel's baby, this prophecy...I wanted it all to stop. To not be anymore. I wanted to go back and fix whatever it was that I did, whomever it was that I pissed off in a past life, that caused me to have be there in that moment.

I cannot tell you what Angel was thinking in the aftermath of Cordy's little slip because I couldn't bring myself to face him. I couldn't get past the sudden realization that I had been sent there to kill his child. Angel's child. Angel has a child. It didn't matter how many times I repeated it in my mind it still wasn't sinking in.

"Buffy?"

No. I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want him to say it because if I heard it from him... if his voice uttered those words they could never be taken back.

"No." My voice caught in the back of my throat and the word came out sounding more fragile than I had intended.

I willed myself to stand on legs that were not cooperating and faced the love of my life as he clutched the child I was sent to kill to his chest. There were so many emotions warring in his dark eyes that I had to look away, silencing his attempt to speak with a sharp wave of my hand.

It took me a second to find some measure of control over my own emotions before I could speak. I felt the tears beginning to surface in the corners of my eyes as I met Angel's concerned stare, but held them back. I had to get this out, and if I didn't do it that instant, I never would.

"Please don't talk. Just listen." I hoped that my voice sounded much calmer than the shaky broken words that echoed in my head, but somehow I doubted it. "I have to tell you why I'm here."

I met his eyes and he nodded his consent for me to continue before I looked away and began to pace slowly, deliberately as far away as possible from Angel and the still crying, but less frantic, baby.

"I had my day pretty much planned out when I crawled into bed just after dawn this morning." I shoved down the memories of Spike my words dredged up and swallowed hard before continuing. Trying unsuccessfully to ignore the growing dread in the pit of my belly that was making it increasingly hard for me to remain standing. "But then I received this insane phone call from Giles..."

I went on from there, my brain shifting into autopilot as my mouth babbled onward, brushing past the details Giles had told me and my fruitless search attempts that afternoon in the city. When I came to the part about the amulet glowing as I reached Cordy's apartment complex, I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled it out for their inspection. I stood there in front of them, clasping it desperately in my trembling hands as if its very existence was irrefutable proof that what I was rambling manically on and on about was actually true, and I wasn't rapidly going insane as I feared in my head.

It was uncomfortably silent, even the child had quieted as if he understood the gravity of what I was saying, and I just stood there clutching in my hands the blindingly bright talisman that was vibrating so furiously it was making my arms shake, watching as warring emotions played out in the brown depths of Angel's eyes. I saw him weigh his options in light of what I'd just revealed. I even thought I saw a trace of his love for me flicker by, but it was all gone, all irrelevant and in the past the moment that his eyes left mine and met those of his child.

His human child.

Because when he raised his gaze from the baby's and returned his attention to me, his decision had been made. I saw it etched in stone across the planes of his face. As that reality settled around me, every last shred of hope I had been clinging to shattered in the wake of the realization that Angel would die before he let me near his child. I would have to kill him. Again. He knew it. I knew it. He accepted it. There was no doubt and no apology in his eyes. He would not let me take his child, consequences be damned, and I can't say that I expected any differently from him.

In that fraction of a second when his decision became clear, I made mine too. I met his eyes one last time and nodded goodbye, tears biting at the backs of my eyelids when I closed them to keep him from seeing me cry. Then before he could say anything, and before I could change my mind, I turned and ran as fast as my trembling legs could carry me, letting the amulet slip from my fingers and shatter as it hit the floor.

**

I fled the apartment, ran out of the building and into my car, ignoring the battle that was waging inside me, threatening to tear me in two. The Slayer within me was rebelling with a vicious fury, screaming that it wasn't over, that I hadn't done my duty, that I needed to turn around and kill. But that small part of me that I still recognized, that was still Buffy despite all the loss of self that I had been battling with since I clawed my way out of my grave, forced me to keep going, to run and never look back.

I fumbled for my keys, managing to start the engine after the second try, and sped away from L.A. as fast as I could get the Jeep to go. I bit back the sting of tears that burned in my chest and ignored the pain that settled in between my ribs with a vengeance causing me to choke, because I didn't want to acknowledge the truth in my actions. I didn't want to have to admit to myself that this was the end. That the new emptiness swirling inside my chest was so much worse than what I had been living with because now even the one thing that I always had, the small hope that always survived somewhere hidden deep down in my very cells, was gone. Defeated in that instant that Angel's eyes met mine and the loss of it was too painful, too raw, that I had to will myself not to dwell on it for fear that I would collapse behind the wheel.

Instead I forced myself to focus on the dull gray of the road that stretched endlessly out ahead of me and tried not to dwell on the fact that my life as I knew it was never going to be the same. Tried to pretend that the entire world hadn't just fallen off its axis and was spinning wildly off into space along with the tattered remains of my heart. Angel and I had just condemned the entire world to a painful and horrific death and I couldn't seem to care. It didn't matter to me.

I should have known better. As soon as I heard his voice I should have run, because the moment I walked into Cordy's apartment I felt it. A nagging tingle that surged through my joints like battery acid, telling me that something was about to change forever. Something big. But I couldn't think about it then, there was too much to do, too much death spreading through my veins for me to see past it at that point. And later, as I raced away from L.A. towards an uncertain future, I didn't care to fight the pull of the darkness any longer. I just ran like mad, despite the fact that I was running from nothing more than the ghost of a past I couldn't remember, and I didn't stop until I hit Sunnydale and pulled the Jeep into the darkened driveway of a house that suddenly no longer felt like home.

I shut the engine off and pulled my weary body out of the car, knowing that if I let myself sit still even for one moment that I would be crushed underneath the weight of the sorrow hovering over me, threatening to drown me with each passing second. As long as I kept moving I wouldn't have time to think about it. It wouldn't have time to sink in, to be real. This couldn't be real.

I slammed the door, leaving my bag of weapons in the car, intent on being only a few minutes at the most. Just long enough to grab the few things I would need. I hadn't anticipated the interruption waiting for me on the front steps of the porch, bleached blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight, cigarette dangling precariously from the corner of his mouth, as I approached.

He was the last person on earth I was interested in dealing with at the moment so I didn't even pause to glare down at him as I stepped past his outstretched legs and headed to the front door without a word. I had the door open and was halfway up the stairs before I heard him enter the house behind me. I continued to my room and dug a large travel bag out of the clutter that breeds underneath my bed and began to mentally check off items on the running list in my head.

I had been working a good five minutes before it occurred to me that the house was unusually quiet. I hadn't stopped long enough to give any thought to what my friends and sister would think about my current course of action, but as soon as it registered that I was alone in a dark house, I paused. Spike materialized from somewhere in the shadows of the hall to lean against my doorframe and regard me curiously with an arched eyebrow.

"Where is everyone?" I cringed at the way my voice cracked from disuse and continued to shove things into the bag as Spike answered me.

"Willow, the RatGirl and the Lil' Bit went to see that wizard flick. You know, that one about the Harry Potter bloke and his magical friends?" He paused, waiting for me to respond and when I didn't slow in the quest to find my favorite patrolling pants within the mounds of clothing in the closet, he continued undeterred. "So how was the little trip to L.A.? Did you say hello to Peaches for me?"

That stopped me cold. If I hadn't known him better than that I would have thought that he was only trying to get under my skin about our naked trip into insanity land that morning but the tone of his voice told me otherwise. He knew something more than he was supposed to.

I stepped out of the closet to stare at him expectantly. I know that I looked like a crazy person but there must have been something in my eyes that got through to him, because instead of being cruel and toying with me, Spike stepped into my room and gently took the bag from my hands before grabbing my arm and leading me to the bed. I allowed him to sit me down without protest as the gravity of all that had occurred in the past 24 hours between he and I, and with Angel, suddenly hit home and I found that I no longer possessed the strength to stand.

Spike dropped the half loaded bag at my feet and stood in front of me, studying me for a moment before he spoke.

"So, I guess you know about Angel's little problem, eh?"

I raised my hand to silence him. I didn't want to hear that he'd known about Darla and the baby. It didn't matter now anyway. Nothing mattered now.

Surprisingly, Spike took the hint and remained silent, watching me carefully for any clue as to what I was going to do next. But I didn't do anything. I just sat there shaking silently as my body tried desperately to cry tears that my stubborn eyes wouldn't let surface. I sat there until the ache that throbbed beneath my chest died down into the same cold empty numbness that had resided there ever since my death. Numb was good. Numb was familiar.

I don't know how long I sat there: not moving, not speaking. But when I finally remembered myself and stood, I was surprised to find that Spike had not moved from where he'd stopped to watch me. I didn't say anything. I just walked out of my room to the bathroom and returned a few moments later with all that I needed. I stuffed everything into the bag and closed it. Taking one last glance around to make sure there wasn't anything I missed, I turned and headed down the stairs with Spike following right behind.

I reached for the front door knob and pulled to open it but found it forced shut in the next instant by Spike's hand. I turned to face him with blank eyes. Not angry, not sad, not anything but ready to leave.

"And just where do you think you're running off to?" I might not have been anything, but he was visibly pissed.

"Anywhere will do," I answered flatly, and tried to open the door again but found the way blocked. "Spike, get out of my way. I don't care what you have to say, I'm sure I've heard it all before. Now you can either move or I'll move you."

I tried to brush past him but he grabbed my wrists so tightly that the bones rubbed against each other, and pinned my body to his chest, glaring down at me menacingly. I could feel his anger at me rolling off him in waves of fury, betraying the cool blue of his eyes. He dug his nails into the tender flesh on the undersides of my wrists and I didn't even flinch. I knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to piss me off, make me hit him, make me react but I couldn't do that. I'd already tried losing myself in anger and all it got me was tangled up in him on the dirty floor of an abandoned basement. No, I didn't want to discuss this. I didn't want to feel this. I just wanted to go. I just wanted to run.

I know it freaked him out that I didn't react to him nearly breaking my wrists, and he pushed me away from him in frustration, still blocking the front door. He cocked his head to the side, trying to piece together my mood, and all I did in response was stare at the piece of trim on the hall rug that was starting to unravel. Just like me.

"Let me go." I had meant to sound more forceful but it came out flat to my ears.

Spike took a small hesitant step toward me, like he was afraid that I'd bolt if he made any sudden moves in my direction.

"No. Not like this. You won't last an hour out there like this. Have you even slept today Buffy?"

The concern in his tone made my stomach lurch, and I bit back the anger that was welling in the back of my throat, determined not to give into him and get mad. I shook my head no and inched closer to the door. He intercepted me and pressed his fingers cruelly into my shoulder to keep me from leaving while his other hand wrenched the keys to the Jeep out of my pocket and grabbed the bag from my shoulder. Then he let me go and pushed me towards the door.

I halted once I found my feet to keep from falling at the sudden momentum his shove had given me, and turned back to regard him in confusion. He slung my bag over his shoulder and reached around me to open the door, but I still stood there watching him uncertainly. Spike let out an exasperated sigh and mumbled something I couldn't hear under his breath before stopping to face me in the doorway.

"Look, if you've any hope of getting some distance between yourself and whatever it is that you're running from, you're going to need some help. And before you open that pretty little mouth of yours in protest, take a minute to think about it. You're running on pure emotion and adrenaline right now, but soon that exhaustion and lack of sleep is going to catch up to you and when it does, you're going to crash. And I for one would prefer that running off the road wasn't a certainty in your future. Now you can stand here gaping at me all night if you like, but the dark is fading fast, and if you dally too long Willow and the Nibblet will be back and you'll have to explain all this to them too."

With that he turned and brushed past me to head towards the Jeep. I watched him with empty eyes as he loaded my bag into the back and closed the hatch. He then headed to the driver's side and got in. When he turned the key in the ignition, I sighed and closed the door behind me. Truth was, at this point, it didn't matter to me if he came along or not.

I ignored the myriad of warning bells going off in my head as I climbed into the passenger seat next to a vampire who was more of a threat to me now than he ever was before my death. I shut the door and pushed down all the logical reasons why what I was doing was akin to insanity and fastened my seatbelt. It was too late now to worry about anything anymore. Worrying couldn't change the past 24 hours and it certainly wouldn't shape what lie ahead so, I buried those feelings deep inside with all things better left alone, and leaned my face against the smooth glass of the window, the chill stinging my cheek and causing me to shiver.

Spike shifted the car into gear and backed it out of the driveway, pausing as we hit the street. He looked over at me expectantly though I did not turn to acknowledge him.

"Where to Slayer?"

"North. Just head north."

It was all I said and he didn't push me for more, just turned the car to head north and drove on in silence. We stayed that way for several hours. Spike occasionally rolling down the window to smoke, and casting a glance or two in my direction as he fumbled with and cursed at the radio when we hit a town with poor reception.

I know he expected me to sleep but I didn't. I couldn't even close my eyes for fear of what lay in wait for me behind them. I just stayed curled up into a ball in the front seat, Spike's duster draped over me, my head resting against the window, and my eyes staring off into the same nothingness that I could feel swirling incessantly underneath my skin.

When the edges of the sky were tinged with the growing pink of the approaching dawn, Spike exited the freeway and pulled into the drive of a decidedly shabby Interstate Motel. He shifted the Jeep into park and reached over to fish a wallet, probably stolen, out of the pocket of his duster.

"I'll be right back." He paused to watch me for some movement or sign of life, which I didn't give him, and he quickly opened the door to disappear into the dimly lit lobby of this all night motel in the middle of I had no idea where.

I just couldn't seem to muster the desire to care about anything that was happening. I knew that it was out there, all of it, just hovering on the edge of my consciousness waiting to be let in, waiting to take root and tear me apart from the inside out. But as long as I didn't let myself think about it, as long as I remained a spectator to my own life, I was okay.

The sound of the door opening made me jump and I turned to find Spike regarding me seriously, expecting me to say something, which I didn't. He sighed and slid back behind the wheel long enough to direct us into the parking space at the end of the aisle.

I crawled out of the front seat and struggled to stand on legs that were solidly asleep, wincing as the blood that had pooled in my motionless limbs during the ride was suddenly and painfully jolted into motion. I reluctantly followed Spike through the peeling red painted door of room number 103.

Spike tossed my bag onto the floor and turned to head back out to the car as I settled myself into the lone chair in the room, tucked safely into a dim corner. I curled my legs underneath me, wrapping my body back under the worn leather of Spike's duster like some kind of warped and twisted security blanket, watching with strange detachment as he re-entered the room, clutching two new packs of cigarettes and tossing the keys onto the dresser, before shutting and bolting the door.

This was it. Here we were. Stuck together in this room for the next twelve hours, waiting for the sun to go down, while pointedly avoiding all form of communication that might bring up the one person neither of us wanted to talk about. It isn't as easy as it might seem. The notion of uncomfortable silence doesn't even begin to cover it.

Especially when you add to an already complicated and intertwined personal history the fact that just a little less than 24 hours prior to this we were beating the living (and unliving) shit out of each other before tearing each other's clothes off and rolling around like animals in the ancient dust that rose from the jagged cracks of that hard concrete floor. Also add the fact that I literally wanted to kill him last night *before* I tore all his clothes off and tried to lose my self in my (his) pain, and the fact that he thinks he's in love with me *and* the fact that we're both still in love with *HIM* and you might get a sliver of an idea of how heavy the silence in that room hung.

Spike, never one for beating around the bush, casually dropped his cigarettes onto the nightstand and began to strip off his clothes, starting with his black t-shirt. He must have a never ending supply of them considering the one he was wearing last night ended up in shreds. I quickly killed that train of thought before it could gain momentum and turned my attention to the rest of the room as Spike spoke.

"So Slayer, what side of the bed do you want?"

As his words registered, I turned my eyes to the bed that occupied the center of the room. The bed. As in one bed only. The only bed. I have no idea why I didn't notice it before but there it sat in all its by the hour musty motel glory, taunting me with the sick sad irony of my life.

Spike halted at the foot of it to look down at me expectantly as I quickly decided that it didn't matter where he slept I was not getting into that bed with him, even if I had to stay up all day in this creaky and wholly uncomfortable instrument of torture that was trying to pass as a chair.

"Doesn't matter." I managed to force past my dry lips, forgetting that it had been a good three hours since I'd last said anything at all.

Spike simply shrugged and continued to strip.

"Ahem." I raised my eyebrow at him as he went to remove his pants, knowing as I now did, that he wasn't one for underwear of any kind.

He actually laughed in my direction before ignoring me and removing every last article of his clothing deliberately. He then turned to hang the bedspread over the worn and faded drapes to ensure that no sunlight would find its way inside while he slept, the cover plunging the room into complete darkness.

I stayed where I was, listening as he made his way back to the bed and flopped down on top of it. The ancient springs groaning and shifting as they adjusted to his weight. I heard plastic rustling then a click before the room was lit with a flick of his Zippo then shifted back to the darkness, broken only by the tiny orange glow from the tip of his Marlboro.

It was silent for a while and I think I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember was feeling my feet moving of their own volition. I opened my eyes to find the room flooded with light from the twin lamps on either side of the bed. I squinted in defense of the sudden shift into brightness and my attention turned from the lamps to the vampire kneeling naked in front of me, carefully unlacing my tennis shoes and slipping them off my feet, before turning his attention to my socks.

"What are you doing?" I rasped out and yanked my feet from his hands. He set his jaw in irritation and glanced up at me, still kneeling on the tacky rust colored shag carpeting.

"You need to get some rest and you're not going to find it sitting in that chair all day."

He finished and returned his attention to my feet but I kicked out at him, forcing him to back away as I stood up and threw his duster at his face. He caught it and smirked knowingly at me. Proud at his never-ending ability to get underneath my skin no doubt.

"Leave me alone Spike." I gritted out under my breath through clenched teeth.

"For what, pet? So that you can retreat back within yourself and slowly go insane. I don't think so. If you hate me so much then show me. Whatever it is that's eating you alive on the inside right now, take it out on me. You have to do something or it will swallow you whole Buffy. And trust me when I say that it's not as welcome an escape as it looks to you right now."

There was no way I was going to let him drag me into a fight. I didn't buy his concern for one moment. He was probably just looking to get me all riled up again so that he could get laid and I would be damned if I'd give him the satisfaction of even making me angry, much less anything more.

I didn't want to dignify his answer with a reply, so instead I clamped my mouth shut and crossed my arms in front of me defiantly, daring him to try and get me into that bed with him.

He simply shrugged and closed the distance between us in a single fluid motion.

"Doesn't matter to me if we do this the hard way or not, luv. Either way you're going to get some sleep. In that bed. Today."

He waited like fifteen seconds for me to respond and when I didn't, frustration flashed briefly across the blue of his eyes as he reached out and grabbed me by my belt, jerking my body flush with his. Before I could register what was happening, he had it undone and off of my body, his hands settling on the waist of my jeans as he watched for me to attempt to stop him.

And part of me really wanted to.

Part of me wanted to fight him. Wanted to lash out and scream and claw at his perfect cheek bones and mar the smooth, clean lines of his face but most of me knew better than to give him the satisfaction of provoking me. So instead I remained perfectly still, not even flinching as his fingers deftly undid the button and zipper on my jeans, sliding them gently down my legs and detangling them from my feet. He removed my socks while he was down there, then slid his hands back up the sides of my body divesting me of my t-shirt, while I concentrated on fighting back the urge to shiver as his palms caressed my bare flesh. As my shirt hit the floor, it left me standing in front of him only in my bra and panties, and still I refused to give in.

He stood there and studied my face for a minute, until I looked away. He caught me off guard when one arm suddenly wound around my shoulders, the other behind my knees, as he lifted me off the ground and carried me to the bed. He dropped me unceremoniously onto the side by the window and shut off the lights before I felt the mattress depress underneath his weight as he settled in next to me. I heard him snort in triumph and I turned my back to him, yanking the stiff and scratchy sheets up to my chin, and staring out into the thick darkness.

I sighed and tried to focus on not thinking about all the things that were screaming at me with each beat of my heart against my bruised and tight flesh. Whispering to me that I was weak, that I was a failure for running, that Spike was right: that I came back wrong.

I closed my eyes against the unforgiving dark and struggled with my thoughts. I thought of Angel and the look that settled on his face as I stood before him in Cordy's apartment that morning, the determination in his eyes, and the way it felt like he could see right through me. See the wreck that I had become. See how far I'd fallen. I could almost taste his disgust, though I think it was more in my imagination, but it didn't matter. I thought of Giles and how disappointed he would be once he realized that I had deliberately failed. That I had turned my back on him and his teachings and run from my duty only to end up half naked in bed with a demon that he despises. I thought of my mother and how I was glad that she wasn't here to see what I had let my life become. That she couldn't see how I had failed her in my promise to keep Dawn safe. I died to keep her safe and it wasn't enough. It's never enough. There's not enough of me to go around.

I flinched when I registered the smooth, cool feel of Spike's hand on my arm and it took me a second to realize that I was crying, shaking violently as tears slipped past my ever-weakening resolve. It was the sensation of Spike's skin on my own that was the last straw. The feel of him was too similar to Angel's touch, that touch that is forever ingrained into the fiber of my being, stitched into the lines of my skin. When Spike wrapped his arms around me it caused those memories to surface with a blinding fury and I couldn't take it so I lashed out at him as he tried to comfort me.

I screamed and beat at his face with my hands, rolling onto my back and pushing him away as I choked on my tears. Spike tried to restrain me and my right fist connected solidly with his jaw, making his head snap back with a sickening crack. While he was momentarily stunned, I clawed my nails hard down the side of his face, his skin curling in slivers underneath my nails, his blood raining like drops of ice onto my face and making my fingers stick together. He hissed in response but otherwise remained silent. I rammed my palm into the gashes my nails had left, smashing his torn flesh into his cheekbone, and still he did not hit me back.

I wanted him to fight back. I wanted to feel my face crack and throb and bleed. I wanted to feel anything but that gnawing cold in the hollow of my chest. But mostly, I just wanted the anger to grow and expand and swallow me whole. Anger at myself, at my friends, at Giles, at Angel, even at Spike.

Spike who, thanks to his vamp senses, could see better than I could in the thick artificial night of the musty hotel room and used it catch me off guard and pin my hands above my head by my wrists. I was panting in anger and frustration, struggling to get him off of me while choking back the heavy sobs of pain that stung the back of my throat, making me cough. Spike's weight on my upper body made it hard for me to breathe and the extra effort it required to suck in a shallow pulse of air seemed to quell some of the fury that had threatened to split me in two. Spike never said a word nor made one move beyond restraining me once I stopped screaming. He remained draped across my upper body, pinning me to the mattress as I wailed and shook and sobbed like a maniac, suffocating as I gasped in the bitter mixture of my tears and his blood.

After what seemed like an eternity in the darkness I was able to calm down. Spike had stayed motionless, waiting me out. As my tears slowed to a steady trickle and my breathing began to hitch, I felt him shift his body slightly. His uninjured cheek brushed lightly across my angry damp face as he released his hold on my wrists, trusting me to refrain from attacking him further. I still couldn't seem to stop crying and I felt him place his hands on either side of my trembling shoulders, his palms angering the bruises his fingers had raised earlier. I jumped when his lips brushed against my right cheekbone, warily anticipating his next move as I still could not see a thing in the pitch black.

When his tongue began to trace the path of my tears, catching them before they dropped off the edge of my chin, I smashed my eyes shut to stem their flow even though the salt burned my eyelids and made me shiver. I held my breath when his mouth moved down the line of my jaw to trace the column of my neck. The feel of his flesh on mine burned and stung. It was as if my skin was turned inside out and lay raw and exposed to the heavy air and his slight touch. I knotted my fingers into the bedding as his hands followed his open mouth in its path with such concern and tenderness that I wanted to be split in half and pulled to pieces and ground to dust to be blown away into bits of nothingness right then and there because I couldn't bear it.

I couldn't take him being gentle to me. I couldn't take his hands softly caressing the very places that bruises still remained from his touch the night before. It was too much. I didn't want him to make love to me like he was doing. I wanted to stay angry. I wanted to be mad. I wanted to hit and claw and bite at him until he hurt like I was hurting, until he was drowning in the despair that clouded my brain and dug into my chest. I wanted him to feel lost and scared and I wanted him to mourn the death of the last sliver of hope within him that still believed things would always turn out alright in the end. I wanted him to rage at me for the cruel twists of fate that tore my heart to shreds the instant I realized that Angel was now lost to me forever.

Angel and his human child.

Angel and his child.

Angel's childe whose fingers were lightly skimming over my rib cage as I sobbed, teasing my skin into goose bumps even as my will to go on withered and died within my broken body.

I hated Spike for trying to take care of me. I hated him for being the only one who knew what I was really going through. I hated him for always being there, that constant thorn in my side. And most of all I hated myself for what he made me feel as his mouth and hands moved over my heated flesh and slid the last piece of my clothing down my legs leaving just the chill of his body pressed against my own. I bit down on my lip to keep from sobbing out loud and drew blood. Blood that ran thick and warm down my chin, mixing with his blood and my tears as they met his tongue when he moved to kiss me again, and I hated myself for kissing him back.

I felt so completely empty, so drained, that I was desperate to feel something, anything just to know that I was real. That I wasn't just a memory. That I used to exist once. Spike paused with his mouth pressed to the side of my neck, sucking achingly slow on the pulse that throbbed just beneath the thin barrier of my flesh, waiting for my decision and I hated him for making me choose. I hated that it didn't matter to him that I'd never love him, that he could make love to me a thousand times and I'd never see it as anything more than a mistake.

But none of it, the love, the loss, the pain, the despair, none of it was enough to make me stop him. It should have been enough. There were a million reasons on the tip of my tongue why it was not right that my fingers were tracing slowly down the taut lines of his back. Why I should not have wrapped my legs around his hips and bared my neck to his mouth, giving him permission to take my body and wanting it when he did just that.

But truth be told, in that moment when I laid there beneath him crying silently as his body entered mine, I wanted him there. I was so broken and so tired of fighting that somewhere in my frantic mind I thought that maybe if I let him in deep enough that he would invade my very cells and erase the person that I used to be. That by accepting him into my body I could trade my emptiness for his. I wanted him to fill me and displace the memories that pulled at the bloodied and bruised remains of my heart. I wanted him to hurt me and split me in two and tear me apart so that I wouldn't have to face what I couldn't even bear to look at in the mirror anymore. I wanted him to make me his, to change me into someone else, no longer Buffy but just some girl. Some thing, not a person, just a thing. Insubstantial, here one moment and gone the next, like dust. Like dirt from my grave.

I tried to ignore the reaction his body was creating within mine, tried to hold onto the anger, to the rage but it fled as the pressure grew in the pit of my belly and spiraled outward pushing me over that edge into oblivion and I cried even harder when Spike stilled and kissed my closed eyelids. He pressed my body into his as he whispered softly that he loved me and then let me go to rest beside me in the bed. I rolled away from him and choked on my tears as I whispered my answer back:

"I hate you."

He didn't say anything, he just wrapped his arms around me from behind and I passed out from sheer exhaustion only to be woken up some time later to find Spike fully dressed and standing over the bed telling me that we were leaving in an hour so I'd better get up and get ready.

We never spoke of that insane 24-hour span where our fists and mouths and bodies collided first in violence then in tenderness. We just went about each day like the next, quickly growing accustomed to the routine and the security it provided. We never stayed in one place for too long, just a month here or a week there depending on the city and what it had to offer. I never cried after that day and Spike was never that gentle with me again. It was a relief to both of us I could tell.

And that's how it is between us even now. He loves me and I hate him and we go through each day together alternately beating the shit out of and then clinging to each other because we're all that we have left in a world that is quickly spinning towards its fiery end as the one year anniversary of the birth of a baby that we pretend does not exist steadily approaches. We're two outcasts belonging to nowhere, suspended in this strange limbo land, like the discarded remnants of hope long since faded.

Occasionally we'll get word that some demon, vampire, or other baddie is after me because of my role in the prophecy, wanting to take me out to protect the child that I still have no intention of harming despite what it will cost the rest of the world. We always make quick work of any threat, but in the aftermath one thing still remains hovering between us in the silence. That unspoken 'what if' that keeps us moving just as we start to get too comfortable in one place.

'What if next time it's Angel?'

So it's always when we start to get settled in, when we start to let our guard down even just a fraction of an inch, that we move on. Sometimes picking a state at random based on the next license plate we see, other times choosing a city for a specific event. It's how we ended up here now. We traveled fifteen hundred miles from our last place in Connecticut to Texas because Austin is hosting a three-day non-stop punk festival that Spike just had to be here for, so here we are and here Wesley found us. Or me at least.

I'm not certain what exactly Wesley does and does not know about my life these days. If he even knows that I'm not running on my own. If he knows that Willow tracked us down about two months after I'd fled California and when I opened the door and saw her standing there, at first I was relieved.

I was glad because I thought it was the end of this way of life for me. I didn't see the changes in her. The way her body moved unnaturally like she wasn't the one in control of it any longer. The way her voice held no hint of the warm bubbly girl she once was. I couldn't see past the face of one of my best friends and it almost cost me my life. Spike saw the truth, and it was Spike that killed her. I can still hear the sound her neck made as it twisted and hung at an unnatural angle in Spike's grasp. That's when I knew she was no longer human. That whatever magicks she had tapped into had taken her soul in payment. I know it's the truth because we tested Spike's chip right after that and it still functioned. I stood in the shadows and watched as he stalked his prey and moved in for the kill. The chip went off, rendering him useless, and I had to pick him up off the pavement and help him into the car. We fled that city the same night, leaving behind one of the last ties to my former life crumbled and lost within the still and lifeless body of my former friend.

And now I find myself standing across from another ghost from my past, faced with the same dilemma: kill or be killed.

Now most people, when they find themselves in such a situation, would stop and wonder what exactly they did to bring their life spiraling downwards to such a low point. But me, I know exactly why I'm standing here face to face with one of my ex-Watchers, mentally running over at least seven different ways I can take him down before he can tell anyone else where I am.

I'm here because I couldn't do it again. It didn't matter the cost to the world. It didn't matter that it would mean my death as well. I couldn't kill *Him* again. I know it's selfish and it's wrong but it's the truth. I loved Angel enough to kill him once to save the world, and sometimes when I let myself think about him, I wonder if he loves me enough to kill me in return. I try not to dwell on it and push the thoughts away as soon as they surface because it's too close to the truth of our current situation.

I did ask Spike to kill me once. Just once. He wouldn't do it. He's selfish that way. He wants to keep me around no matter what it costs either of us. It wasn't a shock to find out that he doesn't love me enough to kill me; I don't care about him enough to let it bother me. But it bothered him that I'd ask. I still remember that day, it's one of the few things that I can still recall without flinching. One of the few memories that doesn't bother me when it surfaces from time to time in my dreams.

It was about three months after we'd left Sunnydale. One month after Willow had found us. We had settled into some small nameless town in Oregon for the time being. That day was unusually warm for winter and we lay together in bed with just the sheet on top of us. Spike's head rested casually against my chest while his fingers scraped lightly across my ribs, tracing each one in then following its path out to find the next.

"You've lost too much weight, ducks. You need to eat."

He rolled away from me and grabbed a cigarette off the nightstand. He lit it and leaned carelessly against the headboard. The light from the lamp in the corner spread his shadow over my pale flesh and I shivered involuntarily and pulled the sheets up around my body. Spike exhaled slowly and studied the ceiling as he spoke.

"When was the last time you ate Buffy?"

"I eat." I mumbled and tried to turn away from him to sleep. He grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me back to face him earning him a raised eyebrow and a warning glare from me.

"Don't lie to me. When was the last time that you ate?" His voice was careful, controlled. Pronouncing each word slowly before moving on to the next. I knew I was making him mad and I didn't care. Truth be told, I wanted him angrier. I wanted him stoked into a blind rage and I wanted him to take it out on me.

"What does it matter to you anyway Spike?" I yanked myself free from his grasp and rolled onto my back to watch the smoke from his cigarette curl into random patterns before it was lost against the dust that clung to the cracks in the ceiling.

He didn't want to hear that and his hands snapped across the sheets to jerk me upright in the bed, holding me face to face with him, his fingers digging into the flesh of my upper arms, grating against the bones that jutted out beneath my translucent skin. I didn't even flinch.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Do I have to have it bloody well tattooed across my forehead? I care about what happens to you because I love you, Buffy."

He let me go and I crumbled into a heap on top of the worn mattress. Ugly loaded silence hovered over us for a brief moment before I spoke.

"Spike?"

"What is it, pet?" He bit out as he stabbed his cigarette out against the nightstand.

"How much do you love me?"

He laid back down beside me and pulled me into his body, spooning my back to his chest and burying his face into my hair.

"With all my heart Buffy. I love you with all my heart." He whispered into my hair and ran his fingers lightly up and down my arms, trying to soothe the aches he'd just inflicted.

I swallowed hard and forced a stale breath into my lungs, knowing that there was no going back once I said what I was about to say. He didn't mind my silence. That was nothing new. I never told him I loved him back. I still haven't. He doesn't want to be lied to and it would serve no purpose for me to even try. We've never lied about what this thing between us is. He knows just as well as I that it's not based on love, though I know part of him still wishes it was.

"Would you do something for me Spike?"

I remember distinctly that as those words left my lips I no longer recognized my voice. I didn't know who that person was anymore. The girl I had become no longer resembled even the broken one my friends resurrected from her grave. The girl whose voice was so hollow as she said those words was someone I didn't recognize. Someone who shared her bed with a demon but not her heart. The girl who no longer cared to see the sun. The girl running in vain from a past that haunted her every moment that she closed her eyes.

"Anything Buffy. You know that there's nothing I wouldn't do for you." He tightened his hold on me, anticipating my response. But what happened next he never saw coming, though if he'd ever allowed himself to stop and really take honest stock of our 'relationship' there's no way he would have missed it.

"Would you kill me Spike?"

I remember how calm my voice was. As if I was asking him to turn off the lamp before he came to bed and not to please put me out of my misery and end this shell of an existence I now inhabited.

His entire body stiffened, went rigid with shock, and I remained still against him, uncaring about what came next. I was serious in my request. I really wanted to die. I still do. The one thing that was not so certain was what Spike would do about it.

It took him a full minute to process my words and when he did he jumped out of the bed so fast I might as well have been on fire. He started pacing frantically in front of the bed, throwing a horrified glance in my direction every six steps or so as he hurriedly threw on his clothing. He stopped and stared at me, anger evident in his blue eyes as he shrugged on his duster. He never said a word to me and he didn't have to, I knew from his body language that he was furious with me. I just sat there and watched him with a blank face, waiting for him to make up his mind. Then he turned and stormed out into the night without a word and I laid back down to watch the shadows crawl across the ceiling until sunrise.

He didn't come home that night or the next and when he finally reappeared, just before dawn two days later, he seemed surprised to find me curled up in a chair reading a book. Of course the shock on his face could have been due to the fact that I had gone out and gotten my long hair chopped off until it was just even with my chin.

He didn't say anything about it but I knew he hated it. He'd always said that he loved my hair. Sometimes, when we were stuck indoors during the daytime, I would lay on my stomach in bed while he put tiny braids into my hair and told me stories about his childhood and the early days of being a vampire with some notable omissions.

Neither of us ever mention *Him*. *His* name is taboo as is any subject relating to *him*. *He* is the unnamed ghost forever hovering between us. Whispering at us from the stale air that is exchanged when we kiss, staring down at me from above when Spike is deep inside me, constantly calling to us in the steady beat of my pulse and from the silent depths of Spike's blood. It's better if we don't talk about it.

I knew it would hurt him that I cut my hair and I *did* do it to spite him, but it wasn't like there wasn't a practical side to it as well. It's a lot harder to be yanked around by your hair when there's nothing to grab onto, and with the number of fights with vampires, demons and other uglies we found ourselves involved in, it was a good move on my part.

He stood there staring at me for a good fifteen minutes. His jaw silently clenching and unclenching in anger before he stalked across the room and hauled me up to his mouth, kissing me brutally. It would have gone further if he hadn't shifted his grip from my arms to my neck as he pulled me to my feet. The moment that his hands came into contact with the back of my neck, he hissed and dropped me back into the chair. I couldn't help but grin up at him as he nursed the burn on his palm and stared at me in shock. I stood and crossed the room to the sink, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it. I made sure it was soaked before I shut the water off and turned back to find him still holding his injured hand, but the shock on his face had faded into an amused smirk.

I smirked back as I closed the distance between us carefully and began to clean his wound. He ran his uninjured hand slowly through my shorn locks and chuckled.

"Nice tattoo you got there, pet."

I pulled the cloth back and examined the burn under the dim light in the room.

"I figured you'd like it Spike."

He dragged his fingernail lightly down the curve of my cheekbone to follow the slant of my jaw, and then carefully down the side of my neck to trace the edge of the low neckline of my shirt.

"Got any other new tattoos to show off?"

He eyed me warily as I laughed at him and headed back to the sink.

"No Spike. That's it."

He laughed too as he removed his duster and flopped down on the bed. We never spoke of my request that he kill me nor his refusal to acknowledge it, and we never will. We pretend it didn't happen just like we pretend that most of this isn't happening. But now... now that I'm standing face to face with reality it's a lot harder to keep pretending.

The irony of my existence suddenly hits me and I laugh out loud causing Wesley to take a step back from me. I'm such a hypocrite. I hate Spike but I sleep with him every night. I love Angel but I can't face him. I want to die but I'll kill to survive.

Maybe it's because I want to be here for the end. I want to see the destruction that my act of rebellion rained down on this earth. Maybe I feel that it would be cheating for me to die some other way. It's too easy and it's not nearly enough. I want to feel it, whatever it is that ends this world. I want it to swallow me as well. I want to close my eyes and know that this is it. That this is the last thing my friends and my Watcher and my baby sister are feeling before their life drains out of their bodies. No more running, no fear of coming back, just pain and death and then when it's finally over, the silence.

"Why are you here?"

It startles Wesley to find that he's the center of my attention once more as the hazy blur of my thoughts recedes into the background and I shift my focus to the now.

"Well, I mean, it's just that..."

"Spit it out already Wesley, your dawdling is killing the whole world."

He flinches at the words and the casual way they leave my tongue, as if it was all just a joke and not the ugly and naked truth staring us plain in the face.

"What do you want?" Irritated, I take a step closer to him beginning to invade his personal space, anything to speed this up, to get it over with.

"It's Angel."

His words slam into me like a brick wall, surprise surfacing on my face as I watch him carefully for some sign as to how he's going to finish that sentence.

"He wanted me to find you, to see if you were alright. To tell you that he wants you to come back with me."

His words jar me from my momentary shock and I resume my carefully detached façade.

"To do what Wesley? Kill his child because he can't bring himself to do it?"

I can tell by the sudden resolve in his stance that that isn't it. That they all must have chosen to stand beside him until the end, just like I couldn't. As I feel the familiar rush of shame wash over me, I suddenly realize what it is that Wesley's after. What it is that Angel wants. He wants me with him when we die. He wants to be near me as this world comes crashing down to its very foundations because of the choices we each made. Because we loved each other but it wasn't enough.

It's never enough.

There was once a time in my life when I would have gladly dropped everything and run to be at his side. Where the very idea of dying without Angel, of he dying without me there, was too much to bear even in my thoughts. But now... now I am no longer that girl. That person that he's longing for, that he feels is his equal, that deserves to stand by his side, no longer exists. Now I am nothing but a shadow of my former self. A walking shell of a person, just holding on until I can embrace death once more and finally be free of the burden my friends so unknowingly foisted right back onto my shoulders at my grave.

No, I won't be returning with Wesley to wherever it is that Angel waits out these last days, and I tell him so. It is not the answer he expects and it takes him a good second to process the reality that I have refused his request. He hesitates briefly, then begins to take a step closer to me, intent on changing my mind I suppose. But something just beyond my left shoulder draws his attention instead, rendering him speechless.

I know who it is well before a strong arm slips around my waist from behind and pulls my body securely into his. I felt him waiting in the shadows long before this confrontation with Wesley ever began. He watched carefully I'm sure, keeping an eye out for any others who might be lying in wait to cause us harm as I was occupied with the ex-Watcher.

Wesley's face betrays a variety of emotions as his scholar's mind takes stock of the overtly possessive way that Spike holds onto my body, and the casual way that I lean back into him without hesitation or fear. I can tell that the poor frazzled man is torn between the need to stay and finish what he came for and the drive to obey his instincts and flee the predator that's glaring at him from over the shoulder of the girl he was once charged with guiding away from the very darkness she now embraces. To his credit, his loyalty to Angel wins out, and he visibly swallows before sputtering out one last question for me.

"What - what am I to tell him?" He regards us warily, watching Spike as much as me, while he waits for my reply.

"Tell him the truth Wesley."

He looks genuinely perplexed about exactly which truth it is that I am referring to. Spike turns to lead me away from the solemn past that stands staring at us in the dim light of the alley and into the hum and swirl of the after-hours crowds. I pause at the edge of the street and glance at Wesley one last time over my shoulder.

"Tell him I'm dead."

My hollow voice bounces off the narrow alley walls, echoing long after I see him nod slightly and head quickly in the opposite direction.

I turn back and take Spike's hand as we wade through the throngs of drunken partiers towards the car, not really seeing the faces of the people that I've condemned to death as they brush against my skin. It's not about them or the world or even Angel any longer. It's just about the utter wrongness of me. About how I should never have had to face that choice. I should be lying still and silent, pressed underneath the eternal weight of moist earth, slowly being absorbed back into the elements that still swirl and hum inside my veins. I no longer feel anything when I think about those that I love and how I let them down. I feel no different than I did before this night ever took place. What I told Wesley is the truth. I'm walking around wrong, already dead. I have been for a long time.

All this: the running, the waiting, the killing. It's just a formality.

The end of the world is approaching and when it arrives I will stop running and stand still and smile as it washes over me. Hoping that I am seared into a swirl of ashes that are blown away in the next instant. Leaving no trace of who I have become. Leaving nothing behind.

Not even a memory.

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end

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Aurora - girl292@hotmail.com