CoF - Kallysten - Whose Destiny?

Summary: Slayers, Master Vampires, Potentials, Sires, Childer, and above all, choices.

AUTHOR: Kallysten
EMAIL: kallysten_fr@yahoo.com
WEBSITE: http://www.original-midnight.org/kallysten/
SEQUEL TO: Their Soul
RATING: NC-17, Bloodplay
PAIRING: Buffy/Spike
DISCLAMER : Of course they belong to someone else, I just play with them sometimes.
DISTRIBUTION : Sure, just tell me where.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Fourth part of the Childe/Sire series.
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Chapter 1: New Beginnings

The sun was glaring down on Sunnydale from perfectly clear blue skies. The summer heat was almost intolerable, but it didn’t touch the few people at 1630 Revello Drive. Two of them didn’t care in the slightest about excessive heat or cold, while the other three took great pleasure in what they had dubbed the greatest invention of mankind: air conditioning. And they appreciated it even more because soon all three of them would be on their way to LA, and at the Hyperion central air conditioning would only be a fond memory.

As she brought the dessert to the dining room, which, for once, had been given back its original purpose, a somewhat sad smile made its way to Buffy’s lips. She tried to push away the melancholy, but it was too late. Her Sire’s gaze had sought her immediately when she walked in, and he had noticed. His own grin wavered imperceptibly, his eyebrows twitched with concern, but she shook her head lightly before he could say anything that would alert the others. This was to be a joyous occasion, and she wasn’t going to spoil everything now. She was grateful, however, for the arm that casually curled at her waist when she sat down next to him, giving silent comfort even as its owner addressed one of the three humans at the table, continuing the previous conversation.

“Good thing you live in a hotel, though, with all these people shacking up with you. At least you still have room to hide and brood.”

As Buffy offered him a slice of cake, Angel’s only reply to Spike’s smirking comment was to roll his eyes. Steven, on the other hand, seemed to find the remark quite funny as he laughed quietly, earning a mild glare from his father for his trouble.

“That explains why you’re putting us all so far from each other,” the young man chuckled. “And here I thought you offered us that suite because it was so large!”

Having offered cake to all the guests, Buffy turned to her own plate, trying to give more than half her attention to the exchange.

“So, how many people live there, now?” Dawn asked. “Full time, I mean, not just passing through.”

“Lorne, Gunn, Fred, Wesley, Cordy, you, Steven, and me. Just eight. That’s not that many, seeing how many rooms we have.”

Abstractly, Buffy knew what she was eating was sugary. Cake icing, white with blue writing. She had the letters ‘awn’ on her piece. It was sugar, but it tasted awfully bland. The others didn’t seem to have the same problem, though, she noted idly. Her wandering gaze fell on the half gone cake, and her mind reconstructed the cut out message. Good luck in LA, Dawn!

“He was. He has just been too busy to find another place, and I think he likes being with us all. It looks like he will stick around a bit longer.”

“He has been rather depressed since Lilah went down,” Steven completed his father’s thought, all traces of laughter gone from his voice now.

There was a short silent pause. That particular battle was still fresh in all of their minds, even if it had taken place a few months before, and even if the two vampires had only heard about it, and not been there themselves. Dawn had been in LA at the time, completely by accident, and Spike had had a heated discussion afterward with both Steven and Angel about them having allowed her to take part in the fight, however moderate her contribution had been. Buffy hadn’t been so pleased herself, but by the time she heard about it, there was really nothing she could have done, and Dawn was safe. She only hoped it wouldn’t become a habitual occurrence now that Dawn would be in LA permanently. Fighting was not why she was moving there. She ought to have so much more than fighting, there had been too much of that in her short life already. But then, having Steven for boyfriend and now living at the headquarters of Angel Investigations, what were the odds that she wouldn’t at least hear of fights, demons and all of this? Buffy liked Steven a lot, but sometimes she regretted that Dawn had not found someone more… normal.

As usual, it was Spike who broke the quiet first, his smirk loud and clear despite the casual tone of his voice.

Angel choked on his cake, and by the time his coughing had subsided, his eyes were shooting daggers at Spike. The vampire brought up the topic just about every time he saw Angel, never getting a straight answer out of him, and very obviously taking great pleasure in making his Sire uncomfortable. Even after three years, it was still a wonder to Buffy how these two had finally laid to rest all the old demons that existed between them. At least, some good had come from the momentary loss of her soul. Or it might have been the fact that Cordelia, in between her constant coming and going to satisfy her bosses, had slowly moved into Angel’s love life, suppressing him as a potential threat in Spike’s eyes.

“I knew there was a reason why you invited me for lunch,” Angel commented dryly. “Curiosity will kill you, you know.”

“Why don’t you just answer, then?” Spike shot back with a widening grin. “You wouldn’t want to cause my death again, would you? I’m not even asking details…”

“And thanks for that,” Dawn cut in. “Because some of us can do without the visual of Angel boinking an angel, the sound is enough, thank you very much.”

Angel seemed mortified by Dawn’s casual revelation, and his eyes widened comically as he obviously searched in vain for something to say. Buffy couldn’t help smiling at the small wink her sister gave Spike, and apparently it was all Steven could do not to join Spike’s laughter. Feeling bad for Angel, Buffy added to the discussion for the first time in quite a while.

“Like you’re one to talk about sounds,” she teased Dawn. “You always complained about Spike and me, but you’re quite a vocalist yourself.”

Spike’s laughter redoubled, while Dawn and Steven exchanged an embarrassed look, both blushing slightly. As for Angel, he seemed relieved that his love life wasn’t the center of attention anymore.

“There,” he said smugly. “That’s the reason why you’re completely down the hall from my room. Because I can do without the soundtrack or visual too.”

Thinking that there had been enough blushes, Buffy brought the topic back toward safer grounds, which were related to Dawn’s new job in a small art gallery in downtown LA. She had heard it all before, but she didn’t mind hearing it again, so that she would be able to think of what Dawn was doing of her days when she was gone. Another wave of sadness ran over her, but this time she managed to hide it. It felt so strange that her sister was leaving. It still seemed like yesterday that she had been in high school, and yet here she was, college graduate for a month already, moving in with her boyfriend, and starting a new job in a new city. While Buffy herself remained in Sunnydale, as she probably always would, doing the same thing every night, following a path that had been laid down for her the day she had become the Slayer. Sometimes she envied Dawn. She wasn’t the epitome of normalcy either, but at least she was living her life as she pleased.

They remained at the table for a while after they had finished eating, all of them very much aware that it would be time for the humans to leave soon. The quiet discussion came to an end, though, when Angel’s cell phone rang. After he took the call and fumbled for a moment to turn the thing off, he ruefully explained, although without details, that his team was requesting his immediate return. Without needing more prompting, Dawn and Steven made their way up the stairs to grab Dawn’s things and Buffy followed them.

Dawn had begun weeks before leaving things at the Hyperion during her weekends or vacations there, and so there wasn’t much left to take now that she was truly moving out. Steven carried down a box of clothing, leaving only a suitcase and duffel bag for Dawn to take care of. She didn’t pick them up, however, and, sitting down on the edge of her bed, she patted it to invite Buffy to sit down next to her.

A corner of Dawn’s mouth curled up. “So you look all sad and depressed because you’re happy to see me go, huh?”

Buffy started shaking her head, ready to deny, but confronted by Dawn’s knowing gaze she only sighed.

“I’m proud of you, but I’m going to miss you so much,” she admitted. “The house is going to feel empty without you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Dawn assured her as she hugged her. “But I’m not that far, and we can visit each other. And phone. And email. So it’s not like I’m going to disappear completely.”

They hugged for a few seconds more, until Buffy’s senses warned her that they had an audience.

Dawn nodded as she rose from the bed, and noticed Spike leaning against the door.

“At his age, you’d think he would have learned patience,” Dawn commented, although without the harshness her voice had once held when she talked of Angel. She had learned to do more than simply tolerate him in the last couple of years, while spending so much time in LA with Steven.

She grabbed her suitcase, but Spike took it from her, while Buffy grabbed the bag, and they walked down the steps together. On the threshold, Buffy hugged her once more, then it was Spike’s turn, a few parting words, and that was it. From the safety of the shadows, the two vamps watched Angel’s convertible and its passengers disappear down the street.

Buffy had known for a while already that Dawn would be leaving in the summer, and yet the departure felt very sudden. Taking care of her, keeping her safe had been almost a part of her ever since their mother had passed away, if not before that, and it would truly be strange not to have her around any more. She watched Spike for a second, and knew that he would miss her just as much. He adored Dawn like a sister, he had made that clear more than once. He was grinning though as he closed the door and took Buffy in his arms.

“Empty house,” he pointed out softly. “Which means we can do what we want, where we want, when we want, and as noisily as we want.”

Chapter 2: Childer & Children

Spike waited until Buffy and the two kids had left the room before turning a now very serious gaze to his Sire.

“There was a reason why I invited you here today,” he said soberly. “Though it wasn’t to tease you about the cheerleader.”

Angel didn’t look very surprised, as if he had felt this was coming. “What, then?”

The brunette nodded. “I had guessed that much. I’ll do what I can, but I can’t guarantee…”

“Not good enough,” Spike interrupted him. “She’s not going there to be part of your little crew.”

“I know that,” Angel sighed. “But does she? She can be very stubborn when she has her mind set on something. And it’s not like she listens to me in the best of cases.”

Spike grimaced at that. Dawn had indeed picked up the habit somewhere to do as she pleased even when it was obvious that she was wrong. That had to be Buffy’s influence…

“Pull rank on her,” he suggested. “Or lock her up. But if I hear that you took her out where she could get hurt…”

The half threat was left to hang between them, and Angel raised an eyebrow questioningly, indicating very clearly what he thought of the empty words.

“I don’t want her to get hurt any more than you do,” he pointed out as he got to his feet. “And I’m quite sure Steven will be more convincing than me when it comes to keeping her safe. Why don’t you harass him, instead of me, for a change?”

Spike couldn’t help grinning. “Already did. Just thought I’d keep you on the same line.”

As Angel started complaining that they needed to be on their way, Spike went upstairs to get his ladies, and minutes later he was left with only one of them, his Mate and wife. As he took her in his arms, he could see once more her sadness, and decided to try to lighten the mood.

“Empty house,” he said quietly. “Which means we can do what we want, where we want, when we want, and as noisily as we want.”

Buffy’s clear laugh filled his mind, and Spike relaxed just a little. She hadn’t talked about it, but he had seen in the last few days how Dawn’s imminent departure was affecting her. He had a suspicion that it was deeper than simply the prospect of missing her sister’s presence, but he had become rather good in the last few years about knowing when it was useless to breach a topic she didn’t want to talk about, and this felt like one of those times. He would still be there when she was ready to talk, and until then he could still offer her his presence and whatever comfort she could take from him.

“And what is it exactly that you have in mind?” she asked in a too innocent voice that told exactly what she thought it was that he wanted.

Simply smiling at her, he didn’t answer and led her to the living room. She seemed somewhere between amused and puzzled when he lay down on the sofa and opened his arms for her to join him.

“Cuddle sounds good,” she murmured as she found a place against the back of the sofa, her body half draped over his, her face nuzzling his neck.

One of his hands covered hers where it was resting on his chest, while the other began playing in her hair. The motion was habitual, soothing, almost a ritual, and it wasn’t long until the stress of the last few days took their toll on Buffy. Breaths as irregular as they were unneeded tickling his neck soon informed Spike that his Childe was asleep. Her body falling back into old breathing habits was always a sure indication that she was sleeping. Either that, or a telltale sign of passion.

They had a couple of hours until they were supposed to be at the Magic Box, more than enough time for a nice nap, but, although he closed his eyes, he did not join Buffy into slumber. Instead, he kept stroking her hair, giving her unconscious mind the reassurance that he was still there, still looking over her, still protecting her. In this respect, at least, he was acting as a Sire was supposed to, but it might have been the only one.

His memories of being a Childe himself were very clear, and should have somewhat guided his actions toward her, but their relationship was just so immensely different to the one he had had with his own Sire. He hadn’t taught her more than the very basics of being a vamp and nothing of the lore, had very rarely imposed his will to her – and that had only been when she lost her soul - , was treating her in all things more as an equal than as a Childe, when he wasn’t simply following her lead. He had never been bothered by all that, because her strength had always been one of the reasons he loved her so. When he had turned her, he hadn’t been interested in having someone to dominate, that had truly been the farthest thing from his mind.

But in the last few months, his demon had started getting agitated. The quiet life they were leading was beginning to chafe, especially when she seemed to do everything to even forget they were vampires. Oh, they still shared blood; there was just no way around that. They both needed it. But that was just about the only time when Buffy gave any hint of what she was. The thing that was bothering him was, he didn’t know how to talk to her about it. He wasn’t too sure, either, if she had always acted so and he had never noticed until now, or if it had started recently. He was hoping that, now that they were alone, she would start letting go a little of her control. It just was not normal, not safe, to repress her demon so tightly. But the subject was delicate, and subtle hints had only been met so far with blank stares. He didn’t want to push her, but he might have to do just that, sooner or later, for both their sanity.

Buffy woke to the quiet murmur of her name, and enjoyed, for just a few seconds more, the tender embrace of her lover. She hadn’t slept much the past few nights, as she worried for Dawn, although it was hard to admit even to herself. It was stupid, Dawn was very much capable of taking care of herself, but she just couldn’t help it. Now that it was done, however, now that the young woman had left, her fate was out of Buffy’s hands, and, somehow, she knew everything would be alright.

As she quickly went to change into more slaying friendly clothes than her summer dress was, Buffy’s thoughts drifted to Min who, as Spike had said, was probably already in the shop’s backroom. They had changed her training hours, and were meeting her later in the day so as to avoid the hottest hours of the afternoon, but she was so eager to learn that she was always there before them, practicing by herself or with her Watcher until they got there. They would train for an hour or two and then go on patrol, the three of them together. Communication was much easier now that she spoke more English; the first few months they had had to rely on her Watcher to translate her Chinese dialect and on some very basic commands when they were sparring or fighting. She was going to start high school as an exchange student at the end of the summer and, by her excitement about it, it was clear that her desire to learn extended to a lot more than simply learning to fight. Buffy loved her enthusiasm, but something bothered her a little about Min. Sometimes it seemed that the too eager to slay teenager didn’t realize that what they were doing included a part of risk. She was even almost childlike at times, as if it was all nothing but a game of tag. Buffy had meant to warn her about it for a little while, but she wasn’t sure how to do it without scaring her.

As predicted, the Slayer was at the store when the two vampires arrived there, although for once she wasn’t training. Instead, she and her Watcher, Tomas, were going over books, looking at the demons’ drawn on the pages, obviously in research mode. Tomas quickly explained that Min had had a Slayer dream, and that they were looking for the creature she had seen in her dream to know how to kill it.

Just as they were about to join the research fun – with Spike already looking bored before having even opened a book – Anya called out to them, and Sire and Childe exchanged a glance before walking to the counter where she stood. Did she know yet? Buffy hoped she did, it was getting very hard to keep quiet about it. Crossing her arms, the ex-demon glared at each of them in turn.

Spike glanced at Buffy, smirking, pointing out without words that she had lost her bet.

Anya’s features softened slightly, although she looked like she was struggling to keep up a stern mask.

“Well, next time I demand that you tell me as soon as you know,” she admonished.

A huge grin split Anya’s face. “Half a dozen,” she said, matter of factly. “Unless I get Xander to agree to more than that.”

Extricating himself from his sleeping Childe’s embrace, Spike noiselessly got out of bed, sparing a glance at Buffy to make sure he hadn’t awoken her. She stirred a little, her movements making the sheet slide down her body to partially uncover her nakedness. With a smile, he brought the linen back up, an unconscious reflex – it wasn’t like she was going to be cold. As he did so, he had to fight the urge to touch the skin he was covering. Maybe later, he would wake her again. Right now though, she looked like she could use some sleep.

Grabbing the pack of cigarettes and spare lighter on the dresser, he pulled on the heavy drapes and opened the window. He leaned against the sill as he lit a fag, blowing the smoke out in the cool air of the last hours of the night. The sky was beginning to lighten, ever so slightly.

Flashes of the dream that had awoken him were coming back to his mind. Dream or nightmare, he couldn’t have said which it was. Pieces of a past that was long gone, of a present that he wouldn’t allow, of a future that was more than improbable. If he looked for the meaning of it, it wasn’t too hard to find. Talks of children, of kin, of moving on, all of this had awoken in his demon a hunger for something more than this quiet existence, for offsprings of its own. A longing for the times of minions, and his blood creating life – or rather, unlife. He had had a few dreams like this one in the past few years, ever since Buffy had lost their soul and they had come so close to leaving Sunnyhell. But it had never been so vivid, never felt so real.

It was a sign that he hadn’t hunted for too long, he decided as he finished his fag and ground the stub in the ashtray next to the window. Time for him to find a new prey, scare it half to death, and get a taste of fear-tainted human blood. And maybe this time, he thought as he closed the windows and curtains before slipping back into the bed, right against her, he would manage to convince Buffy to hunt with him. Because if his demon was this restless, hers had to be even more on the edge.

Chapter 3: On the Hunt

Every few nights, for the last couple of weeks, Spike had been out alone instead of accompanying Buffy and Min for patrol. Even if he hadn’t really said it outright, Buffy had no doubt about what he was doing. Scouting. Checking out, patiently, thoroughly, the culpability of a wrongdoer. It was almost funny how his impatience vanished when he was doing this. When he was getting ready for the real hunt.

There had once been a time when she had been ready to stake him for doing this exact same thing. Then she had extracted from him the promise that he would stop. And finally, after losing her soul, she had understood his craving, and had given as close to a blessing as she could make herself give. She wasn’t sure exactly whether it was his demon or his desire for redemption that was strongest when he hunted so, but she had a strong suspicion and wasn’t going to ask. As long as he didn’t admit otherwise, she could pretend to herself that he only had noble intentions.

He wasn’t doing it all the time. His last hunt had been a couple of months before. And he usually didn’t give her details. What he did, though, every time, was ask her to come with him once he had the proof he wanted. And this time was no different.

“Just this once, Childe,” he insisted as they were going to leave for the Magic Box. “Just come this one time and I won’t ask again.”

She hated when he pleaded like this. Hated it because each time it was so much more difficult to say no, and because this simple word, Childe, was reminding her all too clearly that it wouldn’t take more than a few words for him to make her do as he wished. Except, he wouldn’t.

“Just give up,” she replied with a sigh. “I don’t want to. My job is about vamps and demons, nothing more than that.”

She could see the way his jaw clenched and knew that more was coming. He started pacing across the living room’s floor and she simply waited. It didn’t take long. He stopped abruptly, standing just a few inches in front of her.

Had she been mortal, heat would have risen in her cheeks at the exasperated question. She hadn’t thought he had noticed, since he had never mentioned it before, but obviously he knew. And she couldn’t explain why she suddenly felt like a child at fault. It was her decision to make, her choice, not his.

“I don’t need it,” she said as strongly as she could. “Animal blood is just fine.”

He snorted. “It’s not fine, and playing your game of pretend won’t change anything about it.”

Confused by his words, she frowned, but he was talking again before she could say a word.

“Playing at being human, with human hours, human jobs, human friends, human food, it’s all very well,” he said, almost growling. “I’ve done it myself, so I can’t really say a thing. But you seem to completely forget what you are, Childe. You’re making yourself weak, and that’s the most stupid thing a fighter can do. Not drinking any human blood at all makes you weak. Fighting back against your demon all the bloody time makes you weak. You think I’m just going to watch you go insane and do nothing about it? Think again!”

Shocked by the violence of his words, Buffy could only watch as he strode to the kitchen and came back within seconds. He thrust a blood bag toward her. Human blood.

She made no move to take the package and crossed her arms. She certainly wasn’t going to comply, not when he talked to her like this, not when it was cold blood, not when she was scared that one little taste of human blood would bring back memories of sinking her fangs in warm human flesh and feeding from the source.

Her body reacted to his voice and words without her consent, and she had taken the bag, shifted to game face, torn the plastic with her fangs and started drinking before she had even realized what he had done. She tried not to let herself notice how much better this was than pig’s blood, tried not to drown in the sudden and immense satisfaction of her demon, and finished the bag in a few long pulls, all the while glaring at Spike. How did he dare…?!

“I’m your Sire,” Spike answered Buffy’s silent question, his tone calmer now that she was feeding. “That means I’ll do anything it takes to keep you safe. Even if you get mad at me because of it. At least I won’t be mad at myself.”

He hadn’t meant to do this, not at all, but her stubbornness and denial had suddenly irritated him beyond mere words. Had she really thought he wouldn’t notice how, since Dawn had left, or even a little before that, she had always been the one who got their blood warm, and how she would give him human blood while she herself only had pig’s? Had she thought he wouldn’t realize that she had to fight harder to maintain her level when they sparred? She should have known better than to think he would be so oblivious. Just as he shouldn’t have waited so long to talk to her about this nonsense.

“It’s my choice whether to drink human blood or not,” she stated icily when she had finished the bag and shifted back to her more human features. “You can’t take that away from me.”

“It’s not a choice, it’s stupidity,” he growled. “Why won’t you feed properly?”

For long seconds, she just stared at him with cold eyes. And then these same hazel gems filled with tears, and Spike reacted the only possible way he could. He stepped closer to her and wrapped her in his arms.

“I can’t,” she whispered right against his neck. “Please don’t make me.”

His voice had lost all of its harshness, all of its power, as her tears had disarmed him.

Her voice broke in a sob, and he tried to soothe her by holding her even tighter.

“It makes me feel inhuman,” she continued quietly. “I can’t do that. I’m a vampire, yes, but first and foremost I am the Slayer, Sire. How can I care about saving humans if I see them as food? I have a mission and it matters more than satisfying the demon.”

Her words left him speechless. She had called him Sire, acknowledging his power and rank, something she rarely ever did, probably because he had never cared for such demonstrations. But, at the same time, she had basically rejected the path he had chosen to be a vampire, and that he had tried to offer her. All that because she was the bloody Slayer. It had made her different, apart, when she was human, preventing her from being fully happy, and now that she was a vampire, it was still the same. And he still couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“But you used to drink human bags,” he tried to point out. “It never bothered you.”

There was no doubt in Spike’s mind what ‘it’ was, and he could only wonder at his blindness. Three years? Three fucking years that she had a problem with human blood, and he noticed only now?

“It has been gradual,” she murmured, as if answering his thoughts. “Slowly getting worse and worse. Now, when I taste it, it feels like my demon is going to take over, and just grab the first human and kill and…”

“Have you thought that maybe this is happening precisely because you repress it too much?” he tried to suggest. “Maybe if you came and hunted with me…”

“Please don’t make me,” she begged softly. “I’m sure it would make it worse. I just want to keep things like they were. Just want to be me, not a demon.”

Spike had to bite back the comment that she was a demon, that she had been for six years already, that it was part of what she was, not a separate entity, but he doubted that would help her now. Yes, she could push that part of herself down, control it, but she couldn’t suppress it completely.

“I’m sorry, luv,” he murmured, although he couldn’t have quite said what he was sorry for.

After Buffy’s breakdown, it was hard for Spike to get into the hunt. She insisted that he go, swore that she would be fine and that he had nothing to worry about, but he did worry. How could he not? What he had thought was simply a whim, a part of her desire to appear more normal in everyone’s eyes and her own, finally turned out to have deeper roots than that. Was she truly getting that close to losing control? He could hardly believe it. He had never seen her slip, not once, and give in to her vampire instincts. So it couldn’t be that bad. Could it?

He was still convinced that what she thought was the solution – not feeding off human blood – was actually part of the problem. But he had also come to the conclusion that forcing her to feed, as he had under the influence of his anger, wouldn’t help in the slightest. And he didn’t know what could help.

He hadn’t liked at all how she equaled being the Slayer to suppressing her demon’s needs and wants. It had always seemed to him like she had managed to come to grips with both, and combine them to be the best fighter she could be. And now… this. How could he show her that she didn’t have to give up on anything? Everything had been so fine until now, what had happened to change her view on things? She had said it had started with the loss of her soul, but was it truly all there was? It had been three years already since that time of their lives. Why was all this coming out so long after the fact?

He was suddenly pulled from his thoughts by the appearance of his prey. He had ways to draw them out of their houses when needed, but it was just much easier when they came out by themselves, just like now. Silently he stalked her, drawing on many decades of practice not to be noticed. He had learned to know her, in the few nights he had observed. After her violent episodes, she would usually go out and get the kid a treat or a toy. But not tonight.

Lengthening his pace, he made it so that she would notice him now. She glanced back toward him a few times, going faster too. He knew his looks rarely inspired trust – wasn’t it the whole point? – and played the bad boy image to its full extent. Deciding that it was time to get to the next level, he took a shortcut to reappear in front of her and steer her in the direction he wanted. When she started crying for help, he allowed his game face to come forward and put an end to the chase.

Fear laced blood was the most intoxicating, but he was always careful not to draw too much. He couldn’t make an unconscious person understand why he had come after them, why he would be back with worse if they didn’t amend their ways. Feeding was not the goal of this hunt, merely a ways to a mean. He wished Buffy could understand that, really understand, and not just claim she did. Maybe, then, she would accompany him, and be able to voluntarily, for just a second, relinquish the control that she so feared would slip away from her.

Chapter 4: Big Words

Spike had wanted to postpone his hunt, but Buffy managed to convince him there was no reason to. She had calmed down since their argument, and felt perfectly able to do her duty, be it train with Min or patrol. She wasn’t sure what to think about Spike now knowing about her difficulties with human blood. On one hand, she hated to keep anything from him and was relieved that she didn’t have to anymore. But on the other hand, she could see, all too well, that he didn’t understand. How could he? He had never been torn between a soul and a demon. He had only had his soul back for the few days they had been human, and if it had not been easy, far from it, at least he hadn’t had to fight the bloodlust at the same time as his guilt was so overwhelming him.

It wasn’t so much guilt that tore at her, because she hadn’t killed anyone during her little sociopath episode, thanks to Spike’s protection. It was more something like fear. Fear that it would happen again, and this time with worse consequences. Fear that the demon could be stronger than she was. Fear that she would cease being a Slayer to become the exact opposite of a Slayer. And as much as she had resented in the past this burden imposed on her, she just couldn’t let go of it, because it was the core of what she was.

From the human girl she had once been, very little remained. A house, which had belonged to her mother. A few friends, who were still around but who all had normal, busy lives. A sister, who had now moved to another town. The one thing that was the same, the one thing that wasn’t changing, would never change, and allowed her to remain who she was, was that she was a Slayer.

Not the Slayer, not anymore, not for a long time, but just the same, she felt more connected to this world because of this simple fact: she had a role to play in the grand scheme of fate, the universe, for the Powers That Be, or whoever was running the show. And this role was clearly defined. More than a role, it was a duty. A destiny. Something that was hers, wholly and forever, something no one could take from her. No one, not even her resident demon.

“You look like big thoughts,” a heavily accented voice suddenly chimed, pulling Buffy from her reflections.

Briefly turning to look at Min, she gave a little shrug. “Yeah,” she acquiesced with a lopsided grin. “Big thoughts.”

They walked a few yards in silence, and Buffy directed their steps to a nearby bench. Why were there benches in graveyards, anyway? It wasn’t like it was the nicest place to take a stroll and spend time.

“I was thinking about being the Slayer,” she told the inquisitive young woman. “It’s a big responsibility. A hard job, dangerous, but an important one too.”

Tilting her head slightly, Buffy considered the kid at her side. She would be sixteen in a couple of months. And she had been called less than a year before. Eight months, already, including six training on the Hellmouth with her and Spike. And she was as enthusiastic now as she had been when she first arrived in Sunnydale.

Eight months before, the previous Slayer’s body had been found, lifeless, in a graveyard in London. Chloe’s body. After being called, she had spent a couple of months in Sunnydale as Buffy and Spike’s first assignment for the New Council. She had finally left, as was her right, saying that she wanted to fight in her homeland. Not saying that every time she looked at Buffy, she still saw her as the soulless vampire she had been when they had first met. That was one mistake she was always very sure not to repeat with Min – the kid knew that she was a vamp, but she had never shown her game face to her, and never fed in front of her. She didn’t want to scare her off too, because in all likelihood that would only make her die faster.

Chloe had lasted barely more than two years, which, supposedly, was the average length of a Slayer’s life after being called. In other words, training with the two vampires had not improved her odds at living longer in the slightest and that was kind of depressing to Buffy. If Slayers were fated to die young, what was the point in training them? What was the point in having potential Slayers come by and spend a couple of weeks in Sunnydale every few months for early training? And why was Buffy still there, still fighting, still a Slayer, thirteen years after having been called?

Yes, there was something special about being the Chosen One – granted, it was more like the Chosen Three at this point, but still. Something that meant that a lot rested on her shoulders. And also, going hand in hand with that, a lot of power. Too much power, she sometimes thought. She had never asked for it and some part of her was sure that she didn’t deserve it. What had she ever done, to be chosen as a fighter for the good side? Not much that she could see.

It had all been decided for her, the path chosen; all she had to do was follow it. Sometimes it was harder than usual to keep following it, but she had always been going in the good direction. And, next to her, there were others, her friends, fighters who had not been chosen by anyone or anything, but who were doing the same thing she did, with their relatively limited means, simply because they were decent people, because they cared about making a difference. Did having powers make her any better than them? Certainly not. And yet, she knew she had often acted as if it did. She knew she still did, sometimes, too often, even if they had never said a word about it. And that was why she had to be strong. Because she had been chosen, and granted an extraordinary fate, she had to show herself worthy of it. And so she couldn’t let the demon get loose. Even when everything in her was screaming for blood, for the hunt, for her to just be a vampire, she couldn’t give in. Giving in would prove her weak. She couldn’t be weak. A Slayer could not be weak. And she was a Slayer before she was a vampire.

Like? Was there anything to like about being the Slayer? Special perks she had never been told about? One would think that, after so long, someone would have thought about showing her what the benefits package was.

“I don’t know,” she said, evading the question. “What about you? Do you like it?”

Min’s face brightened with a huge grin. “It is big honor,” she said enthusiastically. “I was not important before and now I can make good things. I like a lot.”

“Then let’s get back to it, shall we?” Buffy replied tiredly as she stood.

They returned to their patrol, staking a couple of vamps each, but mostly it was an uneventful night, which was fine as far as Buffy was concerned, but which seemed to leave Min slightly disappointed from the relative lack of action. As they were walking toward the apartment Min shared with her Watcher, Buffy suddenly remembered something she had meant to talk about with the girl.

“You know, you have to be more careful,” she tried to advise as she stopped the teen with a hand on her arm.

“When you patrol, when you fight. You take too much risk. You need to think more before you fight. You understand?”

The girl gave her a small bow, which Buffy returned awkwardly. “Careful. I understand.”

With that, she darted off inside the apartment where her Watcher was probably waiting for her report. She hadn’t looked very convinced when she said she understood, Buffy mused as she started in the direction of her home. A shiver ran through her and she unconsciously closed the duster tight around her, hoping that Spike would already be home when she got there.

Lying still on her bed, Min was listening very closely to the sounds in the apartment. Her Watcher was a good man, serious and kind, but he was utterly and conveniently predictable. It hadn’t taken long for her to learn his bedtime routine, and to know, from the sounds that filtered through her closed door, when he would be going to bed. She waited just a moment longer after his door had creaked closed, and then slipped out of bed, clothed and ready to go out. Her window was already open – because it had the nasty habit of creaking at the worst possible time – and she lost no time in getting out and jumping to the tree limb that was close to her room. With a quick glance at Tomas’ window, to check that it was indeed dark, she was climbing down the tree with practiced ease, and strode out in the night.

It was barely past midnight. Did they really expect her to just go to bed that early? When there were still vampires and demons and all sorts of creepy creatures out there? She was the Slayer! It was her honored duty to be out there and to make this town, these people, a little safer. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know them, that it was not her country, that no one but a handful of people knew about what she did. It was her world, and her job was to keep it safe. And that was exactly what she was doing.

She had patrolled through three cemeteries earlier with her elder. She patrolled three different ones by herself, finding only one vampire in each. Every night she went out by herself, and every night she added to her numbers. She knew, because she had heard them talk about it and had managed to piece the conversation together despite her problems with the English language, that the other Slayer and her companion were also doing some after-hours patrolling without her sometimes. It was only normal that she did the same. It was just a little trickier, because they could do what they wanted, while she might get in trouble if she got noticed. Thankfully, she had never come across them during her unsupervised sweeps.

When she was satisfied that she had done enough for the night, she returned to the apartment and climbed back to her room, drawing the curtains close so that she wouldn’t be awakened by the sun too early. She fell asleep with a self-satisfied smile on her lips, proud of having accomplished what was expected from her, even if no one but she knew about it.

As he was returning home after his little hunt, Spike, by pure habit, walked through one of the graveyards on his way, a cigarette dangling from his lips, a stake in hand ready for a quick dusting or two. He wasn’t surprised to feel the habitual shiver down his spine, warning him of a Slayer’s presence nearby, but the odd thing was that he knew, just as clearly, that it wasn’t his Slayer he was close to. Silent, he approached the girl, and observed her from afar as she patrolled. He followed her, undetected, through two graveyards, watched her dust a couple of vamps, before she finally returned home and got back inside by climbing a tree.

At no time did he make his presence known. It wasn’t the first time he had caught a kid Slayer patrolling alone at night, but it was the first time he caught Min. He wasn’t sure what to do about it. He doubted that telling her it wasn’t safe for her to do this would deter her. When had a Slayer ever been completely safe while patrolling, anyway? Telling her Watcher would undoubtedly be just as useless, the guy could hardly keep an eye on the kid all night long. Telling Buffy? She worried a lot about Min already, would it help at all to have her worry more? A few months back, she had taken the news of Chloe’s death rather badly, and he had heard her accuse herself of not having done enough for the bint, which was complete nonsense as far as Spike was concerned. It was just part of being a Slayer that mortal danger was always present, and no amount of training would ever change that. Yes, they could make the kids better at what they did, but in the end, there would always be a time when they needed to fight on their own. He didn’t like it any more than Buffy did, but at least he could accept it. For someone who had died twice in the line of duty, and once more at the fangs of a creature she was supposed to slay, Buffy still seemed to have some trouble accepting that Slayers rarely lived very long.

As he returned toward Revello Drive, the vampire came to a decision. He wouldn’t say a thing about Min’s solitary trips. It was her choice to make as to how she wanted to fight, and none of them had anything to do or say about it.

Chapter 5: Not Just a River in Egypt

A little amused, Spike was watching his Slayer string pink and blue ribbons together to decorate their living room. The Witches had offered to come by and help her, but she had assured them that she would be alright by herself since she knew they were both having some busy time with their jobs. He was surprised that she hadn’t enlisted his help yet, but watching as he sipped on a nicely warmed mug of blood was fine as far as he was concerned. Plus, who had decided on these horrible blue and pink pastel colors?

“What do you mean, horrible?” Buffy asked, indignant, and he realized he had spoken out loud. “They’re perfectly fine colors for a baby shower! Blue for boy and pink for girl, that’s traditional.”

He bit back the comment that it was a relief they wouldn’t ever been subjected to that freak show – it would have hurt her, he was sure, and he didn’t mean it anyway. He probably wouldn’t have found the colors so offensive if it had been their babies that were being celebrated.

“What time are they all coming?” he asked perfunctorily, more to change the subject than to get information he already had.

“They’re all supposed to be here by five,” she replied from her perch on the armchair. “Would you get the cookies out of the oven, please?”

As if on cue, the oven’s timer started beeping, and Spike went to the kitchen. Buffy had had a lot of practice baking chocolate chip cookies during Anya’s first pregnancy, and he decided to check if they were still as good. And promptly discovered that they were. Fresh out of the oven cookie dunked into perfect temperature O neg, one of the perks of unlife.

“Oh, that’s gross!” Buffy exclaimed as she came into the kitchen. “I hope you won’t do that in front of the gang. Plus, you’re not supposed to eat the snacks before they even get here.”

Puzzled, he watched as she transferred the treats from the baking sheet to a cooling rack.

“Blood and cookies, that’s gross?” he finally asked, a frown marring his forehead. That couldn’t be what she had meant, he had seen her do the same thing more than once…

“Well, yeah, duh!” she shot back, almost sarcastic, before darting back to the living room and her preparations, leaving Spike to a snack that had suddenly lost all of its appeal.

She just wanted to make the party perfect, he tried to tell himself. She didn’t want him to gross out their friends. That was all. She wasn’t trying to pretend that she was human herself. Not any more than usual.

He had talked to her about it, first when he had confronted her about not drinking human blood a few weeks back, and again more recently, but she denied she was trying to pretend she wasn’t a vampire. And yet, he had just gotten one more proof. Wasn’t she aware of what she was doing?

He was still standing in the kitchen, lost in his thoughts, with his mug in one hand and the remains of a cookie in the other, when she came back and started preparing food trays. She seemed to notice something was off.

“Do you regret it?” he asked quietly. “Do you regret deciding to be a vampire again?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “What kind of question is that?” she asked, clearly shaken.

She abandoned what she was doing to step closer to him, and he put away the vampire and human foods he still held.

“No,” she said strongly. “I am not regretting anything. Why would you think that I do?”

Unconsciously, he reached out to stroke her hair. She had curled it for the party, and it framed her face beautifully.

“You just seem to do everything to pretend you’re a normal girl,” he tried to say without sounding like he was accusing her of anything. “Do you even realize it?”

“If this is about the human blood again,” she started, but he stopped her with a finger on her lips.

“It’s not just about that,” he said quietly, although it was indeed one of his biggest concerns. “It’s about finding blood and cookies together gross. About insisting to go out in the middle of the day to get flowers and ribbons as if the sun couldn’t hurt you. About keeping the air conditioning on even when we don’t expect guests. It’s about a thousand insignificant things that put together spell out ‘Buffy wants to be human’.”

She seemed genuinely confused by his words, and a small crease on her forehead deepened in a frown. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times without a sound, as if she didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t do it on purpose,” she said at last, accepting that something was indeed going on. “I know what I am and I’m fine with it. I think.”

There was a slight questioning in that last part, and Spike repressed a sigh as he pulled her into a hug. If she wasn’t even aware of it, how was he supposed to make her stop before she hurt herself?

Night was slowly falling on Sunnydale, and the party was going quite nicely. Upon arriving, Anya had been delighted by Buffy’s choice of colors, and had lost no time in announcing to the assembled friends that she was expecting both a boy and a girl, which made the decoration twice as appropriate.

“It was rather funny,” Xander had commented while trying to prevent his two year old son Michael from popping a balloon, “the guy gets all mysterious as if he’s going to give us this big news, he finally says they’re twins, and we just look at him like, ‘what else is new?’. He was rather disappointed by our lack of reaction. But we couldn’t quite tell him how we knew, now, could we?”

He had glanced at Spike then, giving him an amused smile, to which Spike had replied with a somewhat strained grin of his own. Buffy had noticed the strain, just as she had noticed that it was his first smile since their talk earlier.

Coming back to the present, Buffy laughed along with her friends, although she had no clue what they were all laughing about. She had zoned out, for a moment, thinking again about what her Sire had brought her attention to. Was she really acting in all things as if pretending to be human? She had never made the conscious decision to do so. And why would she do such a thing, anyway? The demon in her was always there, always loud and clear, and there was just no way she would ever forget for a second that she was a vampire.

Deciding that she had brooded enough about that – Spike was seeing more in innocent actions than there really was, that was the only explanation – she turned her attention back toward the group. And noticed, almost instantly, that something was up with Dawn and Steven. It was a wonder she hadn’t noticed before, actually, seeing how both of their smiles seemed a little forced, and how Steven was standing a few feet from where Dawn was seated. Just about like Spike and herself, actually, and Buffy could only wonder if anyone had noticed that they were tense. No one was saying anything, in any case.

The two of them had arrived just about the same time as Willow and Tara, and Buffy hadn’t had the time for really chatting with Dawn other than briefly asking about her job and life in LA. It was the first time they visited since Dawn had moved out, but she had never hinted, over the phone or through emails, that things were less than perfect between them.

Catching Dawn’s attention, Buffy told her sister that she had something to show her upstairs, which earned her a small frown, but Dawn did get up and follow her out of the crowded room. They went to Dawn’s old bedroom, and sat on the bed, much as they had a few weeks back when saying goodbye.

“You don’t have something to show me, huh?” the youngest Summers asked with a tight smile.

Dawn’s hands started smoothing out the comforter on each side of her, as she found an interesting spot on the wall to look at.

“Like why you and Steven are giving each other the cold shoulder, for example.”

Buffy watched her worry her bottom lip with her teeth, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to comfort her.

“Not really that obvious,” she half-lied, “I’ve just been around you two too much not to notice. So, you want to tell me?”

“He got hurt,” she said quietly. “Four days ago. He went out with Angel and Wes and Gunn and even Fred, and he said I had nothing to worry about, that it was just routine, but I should have known something was up because they rarely ever go all together. He was hurt the worst, though they all got scratches and bruises. He couldn’t walk for two days. We weren’t sure we were going to come, but he insisted. He’s such a mule when he decides something.”

Despite the irritation and hurt in her voice, there was also a fondness in that last part, and Buffy couldn’t help smiling. Steven and Spike were very much alike on many points, their stubbornness included.

“I’m upset because he’s taking risks and pretending he doesn’t,” Dawn said grumpily. “I never liked knowing that he was out and maybe fighting some ugly nasty, but it’s even worse now because I know he’s not honest with me about it. He plays it down. He doesn’t care that I worry!”

“You know that’s not true,” she tried to reason Dawn. “It’s because he cares that he doesn’t tell you. And, you know, what good would it do if he actually told you what he was going out for exactly? You wouldn’t be able either to help him or stop him.”

“And why couldn’t I stop him?” Dawn retorted, now pouting. “Hasn’t he fought enough, already? He could find something else to do. Something less dangerous.”

“Yes, he has fought a lot,” she conceded. “But he just can’t stop like that. It’s what he was born to do, it’s in his blood, his destiny. You have to understand, Dawnie, he doesn’t have much of a choice there. He was chosen for a job, he didn’t choose it. It’s not easy for him either, all this power, all these responsibilities, and never a day off. Try to see things from his point of view, too.”

Dawn pulled away from her then, and considered her thoughtfully, frowning just a little.

Chapter 6: Choices

From where he stood, just on the edge of the circle of laughing friends, Spike was observing his Childe, and wondering how in hell he was going to get through to her and understand what was going on in her mind when she herself didn’t even seem to know. He was now convinced that he couldn’t let her do as she pleased as he had so far and just hope that she would resolve on her own whatever matters were preoccupying her. Because it was clear that it was only getting worse, not better. He had noticed, in recent nights, that she was taking less blood from him when they shared, and if by itself it wasn’t alarming, combined to all the rest it suddenly made too much sense. She was going to drive herself insane if she kept on this way. At some point, the demon in her would snap and take over, soul or no soul, and they would all be more than sorry if that happened. A souled but crazed vampire Buffy would certainly have nothing to envy from soulless but sane vampire Buffy.

As lost in his thoughts as he was, he still noticed when Buffy and Dawn excused themselves from the room, and couldn’t help but wonder what was going on with these two. He shot a glance at Steven, who looked particularly mournful – no, not mournful, broody, and enough so to make his father proud – and decided that whatever it was, it had to deal with him. There was just no way to talk to him alone right then, though, not with the two Summers ladies already gone, it just would have looked very weird to the Scoobies. The two women were soon back, however, Buffy looking pensive, and Dawn confused and as mournful as her boyfriend.

Excusing himself to their friend by saying he needed a smoke, Spike caught Steven’s eye with a raised eyebrow and a tiny nod before going to the backyard. For a moment, he thought that Steven had not understood the invitation, but he finally came out after a few minutes. Sitting on the steps, he didn’t say a word as the kid started pacing in front of him, a habit he knew Steven had picked up from him. He had a slight limp on his right leg – that was new. Spike had already finished his fag when the kid spoke at last.

Lighting another cigarette, Spike took a first drag on it before he asked: “Why?”

Steven kicked at a stone as he answered. “Because I got hurt and she got scared.”

“She got scared so now she’s angry,” Spike repeated, more for himself than for Steven. “Typical of the Summers women. How did you get hurt?”

Finally stopping his pacing, the young man came to sit next to the vampire and sighed. “We had this case. Very well organized gang of vamps, didn’t just kill but kidnapped people and used them as cattle. So we all went there…”

Spike’s head turned sharply to Steven, who held his hands up soothingly as he continued.

“All except Dawn, of course, and we did what we had to do. And I just got hurt. It wasn’t that bad, I’ve been hurt worse than that before, but she had never been there to see it until now.”

“Hence the getting scared part,” Spike said with a nod. “She suddenly realized that you’re not as good a fighter as you pretend to be.”

“Hey!” Steven protested loudly, before picking up on the teasing upturn of Spike’s lips.

“If I’m not that good,” he retorted with a smug smile, “maybe it’s because my teachers weren’t that great either.”

The smile disappeared as Steven sighed again. “She hasn’t really said it, but I know she wants me to stop working with Dad.”

Spike ground the cigarette stub in the ashtray he kept on the deck just for that and observed the young man at his side thoughtfully. He looked downright miserable.

Steven was staring at the space in front of him, but Spike doubted that he was seeing anything of the backyard.

“I want her not to be angry,” he said quietly. “I want things to be fine again between us.”

With a sad smile, the human shook his head. “It’s not that easy. I can’t just quit like that.”

Frowning, Steven turned his face to look at Spike, and the vampire returned the frown. What reason could he possibly have to risk losing the only girl he had ever been interested in?

“What do you mean, why not?” he asked, confused. “I thought if anyone could understand me it would be you.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I don’t get it,” Spike admitted ruefully. “You like the fight, I know that, but it’s not a reason…”

“It’s not the reason at all,” Steven interrupted him. “Yes I like it, but even if I didn’t it wouldn’t change a thing. I can’t quit because this is what I was born to do. It’s not for me to decide whether to fight or not. The fight is my life.”

“Your father is a wanker,” Spike announced as he got to his feet and came to stand in front of Steven. “I don’t know what nonsense he shoved into…”

“There’s nothing stupid about it,” Steven protested as he stood too. “That’s what Holz told me, and it makes sense. Why else would two vampires give birth to a child, if not to work on repairing the wrongs they did?”

“Oh, sure, we all know how reliable Holz was, don’t we?” Spike commented with a roll of his eyes.

The young man’s posture changed, suddenly very defensive and tense, and Spike raised his hands in an appeasing gesture, regretting from having talked without thinking first.

“Sorry, kid,” he tried to calm him. “I don’t want to be mean, but let’s face it, all that man taught you had one goal and one goal only, and that was to destroy Angel. You managed to see past that to make your own opinion of the poof, now would be the time to do the same thing about yourself.”

The rising anger disappeared from Steven’s features, to be replaced by pure confusion.

“But it’s what I am,” he insisted. “Fighter for the light. A male Slayer. Cordy said so.”

“Cordelia says what her bosses want her to say,” Spike commented, getting more and more animated as he spoke. “Her bosses want you to fight, and the best way for that is to have you think that you have no choice in the matter. But there’s always a choice. Nothing is ever set in stone. Hell, look at me! Soulless vampire. And what do I spend my time doing? Training Slayers and fighting the same fight as you do. Does that mean I became a vampire for that purpose? Please! I’ve killed more people than I’ll probably ever be able to make up for, and I could add to the numbers if I wanted. The thing is, I don’t want to. I choose not to. Not because it’s my destiny or something equally poncy, but because it’s my choice. And you have the same choice. I’m not telling you to change sides and fight for the other guys. All I’m saying is that if you fight, it should be because you want to, because you choose, consciously, for your own reasons, to do so. Not because you think that’s what someone else decided you had to do.”

Spike had started pacing during his tirade, and as it came to an end he stopped in front of Steven once more. And noticed, behind the kid, behind the screen door, his Childe. He had been aware that she was close by, but caught in his discussion with Steven he had not realized that she was right there. She turned away before he could make eye contact with her, and he could only wonder what hid behind her perplexed face.

“Let’s suppose you’re right,” Steven said, bringing back the vampire’s attention to him. “I’m not saying I agree with you, but let’s just pretend for a minute. That doesn’t help me with Dawn in the slightest.”

Spike cocked his head as he looked at the kid, wondering where he was going with that line of thinking.

“I mean, if I tell her I won’t stop fighting because I don’t want to, it will sound worse to her than saying it’s my destiny.”

“Unless you say it a bit better than that,” Spike replied with a faint grin. “Why exactly would you keep fighting if it wasn’t to fulfill a so called destiny?”

Steven’s brow furrowed at the question. “Why?” he repeated. “Because it’s the right thing to do. Because people should be safe and I can help them be safe.”

A small smile crept on Steven’s lips as he seemed to understand what Spike was saying. “For strangers, but also for her. Mostly for her. And our kids when we...”

“Wait a minute there!” Spike interrupted him, alarmed. “What kids? You’re both two young to have kids!”

Steven laughed, and clapped a hand on his elder’s shoulder. “Keep telling yourself that,” he chuckled. “But it will happen eventually, you know.”

The vampire had a lopsided grin. “Yeah, I know,” he said softly. “And talking about kids, we should go back inside for that baby shower, huh?”

Buffy was in the kitchen, getting more refreshments for the gang, when the voices from outside caught her attention. She had noticed that Steven had followed Spike outside, and had supposed they would be having the same kind of conversation as she had just had with Dawn. But as she came by the door to hear better, she realized that it wasn’t the same discussion, far from it. Where she had tried to show Dawn that Steven’s life was all about a mission and that she had to accept that, Spike was trying to convince Steven of exactly the opposite.

Choices? Who ever had choices? She didn’t. She had a duty to fulfill, she was the Slayer, and that was the end of it as far as she was concerned.

She realized something else, as she listened to her Mate talk about his own supposed choices. He didn’t believe that he truly had a role to play in this giant game of chess. And he didn’t really believe in his own redemption. He had killed more people than he could make up for, he had said. Was that what he truly believed? If it was, why was he bothering to keep up fighting? Oh, she knew the answer to that, alright. For her. Because he had promised. He was fighting down his demon to be by her side, and she was doing the same thing to keep being the Slayer. That was just about the one choice she had.

As he had apparently finished ranting, she realized that he had noticed that she was there. She turned away and went back to her refreshments, and tried to just forget about what she had heard him say. He was wrong. The only choices they had were small ones, about details. When it came to the big questions, fight or not, evil or good, the path was set for them to follow. That was why it was so important for her to be the Slayer. Because it was so much more than she was, because, as Min had said, it was an honor, that she had to be worthy of. And as such, she owed it to whoever had chosen her to do her best, to be the best she could.

Chapter 7: Anniversary

In the last couple of weeks or so, ever since the baby shower and the discussion during which he had pointed out to her how she seemed to be doing everything to pretend she was human, Spike had noticed that Buffy was being slightly distant from him. She denied it, of course, but the truth was, it was more than an impression. She was closing herself to him, as she hadn’t done in years, and he just couldn’t understand why.

All he wanted was for her to be alright, to feel good in her mind and body. He cared about her, more deeply than he could express, for the triple reason that she was his Childe, his Mate and his wife. So, of course, he worried about her. And that only seemed to annoy her. Any mention of human blood, any concerned look he gave her even, was met by the same statement. It was her choice, and he ought to respect that if he respected her. That word, choice, was taken straight from what he had told Steven, what he knew she had heard, but she hadn’t mentioned the talk otherwise, not even to say what it was that she had told Dawn about the same subject. And every time she said that one word, it was almost like a challenge, like she wanted him to try and convince her that she had no choice in the matter.

Unwilling to irritate her more, and unable to find a way to make her listen to his advice that did not involve robbing her of her free will, he tried to show himself supportive, and waited, as patiently as he could, for the anniversary of their mating to arrive. He wanted to make it special, and, hopefully, what he had planned would help bridge the drift between them.

Finally the day came. He had warned Min and her Watcher, out of Buffy’s presence, that they would not train or patrol with the kid on that day, and so the evening was theirs to do as they pleased. He had also arranged for Anya to call and request Buffy’s help in the afternoon, so that he could prepare his surprise in her absence. They had celebrated the occasion the previous years, but this time Buffy hadn’t said a word about it, so he couldn’t help but wonder if she was preparing her own surprise. He received his answer when she came back from the shop, found the house littered with rose petals and lit by dozens of small candles, soft music playing in the background and a dinner for two on the dining table – and asked with a delighted smile what the occasion was. He managed, with some difficulty, to hide his disappointment that she had forgotten.

“The occasion is about something you asked me three years ago,” he replied softly as he took her hand and invited her for a slow dance. “Do you remember?”

“Something I asked…” she repeated, puzzled, before suddenly realizing what it was. “Oh. Our mating. I’m sorry, I had completely…”

He cut her by brushing his lips on hers, a simple caress, and a promise for much more to come.

“I’ve had so much in mind lately,” she murmured as she rested her head against his shoulder. “I’m really sorry.”

For several long minutes, they swayed slowly to the music, and Spike could almost forget the tension of the last few days. Almost, but not quite. And now that she didn’t seem so defensive, it might be the perfect moment to try to know what was going on.

He had pulled out a little to look at her, and as he could see the flutter of doubt through her features, he couldn’t suppress a sigh.

There was a twinge of bitterness in his voice, and she must have picked it up because a look of guilt settled on her face.

She shook her head lightly. “I am not closing off,” she stated firmly. “I’ve just been thinking a lot, that’s all.”

The music came to an end, but they kept swaying, oblivious. He watched her, his forehead pressed to hers, as she worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Just thinking about what we’re doing here,” she said at last, whispering. “Training the Slayers and the Potentials, I mean. We didn’t change a thing for Chloe, she still died despite the help we gave her. And I’m afraid for Min, she’s so reckless sometimes. So if it’s already decided that they will die early, what’s the point of training them? And if Slayers die early, why am I still here? Is there another grand plan that I will have to fight through? It’s like the Powers are continuously testing me. Like if I make the smallest mistake, the most horrible things will happen.”

“Is that what this is all about?” he asked quietly. “You doing everything like a human, and barely biting me anymore, it’s because you think you’re on trial or something?”

What could he answer to that? What could he say to convince her that she didn’t have to be the perfect game piece for the damn Powers That Played, that being herself was more than enough?

“We trained Manon,” he reminded her. “And she’s still fine. So we can really help them. And we can do so by being ourselves. By being strong.”

“And that’s what I try to be,” she said with a nod. “Strong. Stronger than the demon. I know I can beat it.”

He was about to tell her that beating the demon would be exactly the same as taking herself down, but she didn’t let him. She pressed her lips to his, and when she let go, drew him toward the dinner table. He didn’t insist, because, if everything went as planned, she would soon know without him needing to tell her.

Neither of them needed real food, and truthfully, neither could benefit from the complete taste of it. But Buffy still enjoyed the muted flavors and the textures, just as she knew that Spike did. So when he was saying that she was trying to be as close to a human as she could, wasn’t he actually doing the same thing? And wasn’t this whole dinner, this celebration of one of their special dates, one more way to play at being humans?

Whatever it was, she appreciated the feeling. A lot. Because she sure could use the distraction

As she had told him, she had been thinking a lot lately, too much maybe, about what she was, what the purpose of her existence was. It had started with the failure of keeping Chloe alive, first a nagging thought, every now and then, and slowly coming up to the front of her mind. Always, it came down to one thing. Slayer. She was the instrument of the Powers That Be to eliminate demons, stop apocalypses, and things of the same kind. That she was herself a vampire didn’t change a thing about it, it just meant that she had to battle her own demon in addition to the others. What still wasn’t very clear was whether ‘things of the same kind’ included working on a nightly basis with another Slayer. Except for cases of emergency, a Slayer was after all a solitary predator. That there were several Slayers in activity didn’t quite change that.

What she hadn’t told Spike was that she disagreed with his own view of life, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about this. She had always had the deep feeling that he could understand her, that he knew her almost as well as he knew himself, but how could he if he believed basically the opposite of what she thought? And how could she tell him, without him laughing in her face, that she trusted, believed with all her soul, that he, too, had a destiny, a purpose that was bigger than he was by himself. Independent as he was, if he thought that something was expected from him, he was very much capable of doing the exact opposite. Especially since he had been rather annoyed – and it was an understatement – by the little test he had been subjected to when she had lost her soul. He was still diffident toward the Powers - Cordy’s bosses, as he called them – and she doubted that telling him of her beliefs would change anything about that.

The dinner went pleasantly, with small talk, smiles and flirting. Nothing that could hurt, nothing that could bring back on the table subjects that weren’t safe, that wouldn’t be safe for a long while yet. Things had been tense, lately. Buffy was struggling with redefining herself and her fight, and she felt like Spike was constantly observing her, his look reprobating when his words weren’t. The change was nice, even if it was only for the time of an evening. Afterwards, Buffy expected they would go for patrol, but Spike half-surprised her by announcing Min wasn’t expecting them. Only half, because she very much could see that all this preparation was leading to something, and this something would most certainly take place between the satin sheets of their bed. She didn’t mind, far from it, even though a little part of her felt guilty about skipping patrol.

Smiling, she took Spike’s offered hand, and allowed him to lead her upstairs. He made her wait by the door for a second, before ushering her in their now candlelit bedroom. Strangely, he had pulled the bed in the middle of the room, and there was a circle of sand and candles around it. She questioned him with a silent look, and noticed for the first time the expectation on his features.

“I would like to do something with you tonight,” he explained softly as he held her close and gazed into her eyes. “Something that will make us closer. Bond us even more tightly than we already are.”

She smiled at him. “I’m not sure that’s really possible,” she said a bit teasingly.

He smiled back and pressed his forehead to hers. “This is how it works. For just an instant as the ritual peaks, our two consciences merge. We still stay ourselves, but we become the other too. See through their eyes, heart and mind. Understand all they are, all they feel, all they think. Just a short instant, but supposedly the feeling remains with you forever.”

Buffy had to fight a frown from emerging on her brow, she wasn’t sure she liked where this seemed to be going.

“There are things I would like to tell you,” he continued as she wasn’t answering, “but that I don’t know how to express. When we do this, I won’t have to, because you will feel them. It is important for me.”

The last few words were a mere murmur, and told Buffy that he had sensed her reserve.

“You said it’s a ritual?” she couldn’t help but question. “What kind exactly? Did you ever do it before? Are you even sure it works?”

“I never participated in it myself, but I know it works. It’s something very old, part of the vampire tradition. It is rarely done, though, because few of us trust someone enough to reveal all that they are to them.”

There was a question, in that statement. Did she trust him enough? Obviously, he trusted her, or he wouldn’t have suggested it.

“A few customary sentences,” he said in a hushed voice. “We cut our palms and clasp hands. Then we make love. And as we peak, we share blood with each other. Just not the usual way. We share all of it. One of us drains the other, completely, and then return all of the blood taken. And that’s when the merging happens.”

A shiver ran down Buffy’s spine, and she turned her gaze to look at the already prepared scene in front of her. Obviously, it wasn’t a last minute idea. Knowing him, he had thought about it, had planned it carefully, waited for a special day, made everything before this delightful and romantic. It just pained her even more not to be able to say yes.

Chapter 8: Lessons in Blood

Spike knew. Even before she said no, he could see it in Buffy’s eyes, in the way she took her gaze off him, in the sad upturn of her mouth, in her whole posture and behavior. He knew, and yet he kept hoping that for once, she would take a risk over herself. That for once, it wouldn’t be only about what she wanted. He had given in a lot over the years, followed her choices. Not because she had forced him in any way, but simply because it was how he loved. And also because he had felt guilty, for a long time, about having chosen to give her fangs, despite her wishes. Well, this time had passed, she had renewed that choice herself by renouncing to her human life, and the guilt was gone. All that was left was his demon’s claim over her, which was usually silent, but that, with her increasingly odd behavior, needed to be reasserted. She was his only Childe, the only living vampire he had created, and by cutting herself from him, she had been unknowingly irritating his demon for too long already. That was partly why he had suggested this ritual, to show her all that he didn’t know how to put into words, to show her what it was to be a Sire and to care for a Childe. What it felt like to see her weaken herself, to know that she was heading right into trouble, but to be unable to make her see it. He didn’t know how else to make her understand.

That was it. No explanation. No justification. She didn’t even look at him when she said the words.

Reining in cold frustration and burning anger, he moved away from her and started gathering the nineteen red candles on the floor, blowing them off as he picked each of them. His bare feet were destroying the sand circle as well, and he couldn’t have cared less about the mess he was making. He had been preparing this for a few days, and had even needed to call Angel because he wasn’t sure about something in the ritual, and this kind of things just couldn’t be found in Watchers diaries or regular demon books, it was all oral tradition. Angel hadn’t questioned him, and supplied the few missing pieces that Spike didn’t remember, scolding him teasingly for having forgotten what he had once been taught. As far as he knew, his Sire had never performed the ritual – the only person Angelus had ever trusted completely was himself – but he still remembered everything about how it was to be done. In fact, Spike had never heard of any vampire actually doing this, which had often led him to wonder why Sires even bothered to transmit the knowledge to their Childer. He had stopped wondering when the thought came to him to do this with Buffy. It had seemed like the perfect idea. But now, he understood why it was so rarely done. What vampire would want to make the painful discovery that the person they trusted to such an extent didn’t return the sentiment?

They had spent years together, they were Mates, they had gotten married, pledged their lives to each other, but when it came down to the bare facts, he was still willing to give a lot more than she was. Just like he had always been, from the very beginning of their relationship to this day. And it hurt beyond words that, after all they had been through together, she didn’t trust him enough to do this.

Straightening, he turned to her, making no effort to control himself. She seemed a bit startled by seeing him in game face, but nonetheless took a careful step toward him.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she began warily, and he interrupted her with a growl.

“What is it, then, Slayer? Because from where I stand, it sure looks like it.”

In the wavering light of the last lit candle, her face lost its pleading look to get a much more stubborn one.

“If I listened?” he shot back, incredulous. “All I bloody do is listen! But you never bother to actually answer when I ask questions!”

“Then ask the good questions! It’s not about whether I trust you, it’s about trusting myself to let the demon loose in such a way!”

Exasperated, he threw the candles he had been picking up to the floor. This was getting ridiculous. She was being ridiculous.

“When will you understand that you’re just making things more difficult for yourself by not giving in! Can’t that simple fact get past your oversized, ‘I’m the most wonderful Slayer that ever was’ ego?”

Gold flakes danced in Buffy’s eyes, proof, if he needed one, that the demon lurked very close to the surface, however hard she tried to push it down. The slap came out of nowhere, and only fueled Spike’s rage. That, and Buffy’s eyes widening in surprise at what she had done.

“So, we’re back to kick the Spike?” he snarled, taking a step closer to hover right over her. “And you think I’ll let you get back to venting your frustrations on me? You think your Sire will let you do that, Childe?”

He had allowed it in the past, before turning her, and once after. But he wouldn’t. Not again. If she refused to play the game with the rules they had had so far, he would get back to much more basic rules. Much simpler ones. One more step, and she backed away, her retreat only stopped by the door behind her.

“But then,” he continued harshly, “when have you ever acted as a proper Childe? I guess I have my part of responsibility, but you’re pushing it too far. Enough of that already. My Mate is my equal. But my Childe will learn her place.”

With that, he crushed his mouth to hers, uncaring that his fangs tore at her lips, her blood seeping into the brutal kiss. His hands settled on her hips as he pressed his body to hers, holding tight enough to leave bruises. For the barest second, she resisted to his kiss and embrace, before pulling him even more tightly to her, rocking her hips into his, causing him to harden uncomfortably in the confines of his jeans.

Their tongues battled, fighting for a domination he wouldn’t, couldn’t grant her, not again, not this time. It was usually just a game, but right now, it was a lot more than that, even if he wasn’t sure she was aware of it. He pulled back very slightly from her body, without severing the contact of their mouths, and ripped her shirt off, sending buttons to fly across the room. He took hold of her breast, squeezing and massaging roughly, and she broke the kiss to let out a moan.

She started shaking her head, but he stopped her with a growl, his face just millimeters from hers.

Ignoring the anger that was battling the lust in her now golden eyes, he plunged back to her mouth, and this time it was both their bloods that sweetened the violent kiss. Meanwhile, he was working on the fastening of her pants with one hand while still kneading her breast with the other. Her own hands were busy pulling and tugging at his shirt, then t-shirt. She gave up on the later, and ripped it off him before running her hands and nails over the smooth skin she had bared. Having managed to push her pants and panties down her legs, Spike quickly divested her of the last item of clothing that covered her – the scrap of lace that hid her breast – before stepping away from her. She cried softly at the complete loss of contact, causing a satisfied smile to curl his lips.

A rebellious light flashed in her gaze, but she complied without a word. Stepping out of his pants, he went to where she was waiting, her lips set on an irritated pout despite the desire and lust that radiated from her.

“Afraid of losing control, were you?” he murmured as he crawled over her body, caressing her before settling between her thighs. “No fear of that, now. Because now you are under my control, Childe. Mine!”

With that last growl, he pushed into her in one long thrust, and she arched her back in pleasure under him. He set a fast pace, too angry for anything else, his hands holding hers in place above her head, his hips angled to repeatedly hit this spot that had her moaning his name. He kept his gaze on her as the pleasure built in both of them, looking for the signs he knew so well that would announce her imminent climax. And when he saw them, the widening of her eyes, the ragged breath, the tightening of her hands over his, he breathed one last command.

“You won’t come. Not unless you bite me, and drink as much as you really need.”

She blinked furiously, and tears trickled down her cheeks. She had been so close, and he was cutting her off from her release. Unrelenting, he bent down to licks the salty traces away, before burying his face in the crook of her neck, willing himself to last just a little longer, to give her the time to make her choice, since she thought that sharing blood with him was a choice. It wasn’t. She had known that, right after he had turned her, had known instinctively that she needed his blood, needed the bite, and understood that he needed the same thing. It seemed she had forgotten that. He would remind her, with whatever means necessary.

It was a struggle for him not to give in. And the mere fact that it was a struggle only renewed his irritation.

“The more you fight your demon,” he grunted, “the harder it will become to fight it.”

And the harder it will be for me, he added silently. The part of him that was demon was only getting infuriated more and more every day by her stubbornness, and this was the result of this fury.

With a roar of her name, he spilled himself in her, all too aware of the shaking of her body under his, of her unsatisfied need. Finally, she gave in. Cool lips found his neck, first a mere caress, then a hesitation, and at last her fangs sank into his flesh. He held her tight as she took deep, long pulls on his blood, and grazed a fang to her skin, barely breaking it. He felt her body tense at last in release; after a few more seconds, she pulled her mouth away, and he could hear the soft sound of her face morphing back to its human features.

Rolling his body off hers, he lay by her side, not touching her, staring unblinkingly at the darkness above him, oblivious to the two tears that had slid down his cheeks, mirroring her earlier ones.

“The traitor and his bitch are still in their lair, and it doesn’t look like they will be out tonight. So tonight is the night. We will wait until she goes out alone, and then you all know your roles. If I see one of you even look like he’s going to bite her, he or she will beg to be dust long before I’m done with my lesson. Is that clear? Good. Now everyone in place.”

Chapter 9: A Cry in the Night

Her two vampire instructors had taken the night off, for reasons that Tomas preferred not to know anything about, but that didn’t mean that the Slayer – his Slayer, as he liked to think of her – could not patrol. So patrolling they were. Well, she was patrolling, and he was… there was just no other word, he was watching. But wasn’t that what Watchers did?

He had been the girl’s Watcher since she had been called, and had come to care for her almost as a daughter, like he cared for his two sons, who were in England with their mother. He had known, when he had signed up for active duty, that he would probably be sent to another country if he was chosen, and his family had known that too, but they accepted it, as he did. Being part of this, working just behind the Slayer in her fight against the darkness, was worth some sacrifices. More than worth it, as far as he was concerned.

He had been in London when the old Council, the one that was run with a hand of iron, without the velvet glove, by Quentin Travers, had been broken down and rebuilt in something more human, something whose base was the Slayers and their well being, instead of the interest of the Watchers. The changes that had happened when Rupert Giles and Andrea Travers had taken over were what had finally decided him to request being assigned to a Slayer. Before that, he had only been a researcher, his nose stuck in books from sunup to sundown, and enjoying it very much. He had some basic combat training, of course, all Watchers did, but it was nothing compared to what he had learned, alongside Min, since he had come to Sunnydale.

He could admit that he had been slightly nervous, at first, to be around Buffy Summers and her Sire so much, but he had eventually come to trust them. After all, what was still being discussed in London three years after the new Head of Council had proposed the idea was true. These two vampires were incredible fighters, and very powerful allies by the Slayer’s side. Too powerful not to use their aid to the fullest. Summers was a Slayer herself, of course, but Tomas couldn’t help but thinking that Min was the Slayer, since she was the most recently called. Summers and the young woman in France were still Slayers, but somehow they were still alive by special circumstances, and… and it didn’t really matter, did it?

Not when Min was dusting three vamps without breaking a sweat, just like she had just done, and then looking at him with satisfaction shining in her eyes. He congratulated her for her kills, in her own dialect, before pointing out a small flaw in her technique that she would need to work on.

It was late, past midnight already, and they started walking toward the apartment they shared. If he knew Min half as much as he though he did, she would be out again less than a half hour after they arrived there. He didn’t know when exactly she had started her additional patrols, but suspected that it had lasted for a few months already. He had considered forbidding her to go out alone, but finally had said nothing. Min took great pride in being the Slayer, and she thought it was her most sacred duty to kill as many demons as possible. He didn’t feel like he had a right to decide for her how she was to fight. And also, she was far from being defenseless.

So he allowed her to keep on, without her knowledge that he knew what she was doing, and never falling asleep before hearing the small noises that announced each night that she was back in her room. There were some disadvantages to really caring for a Slayer as he did, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Her second patrol of the night was always more exciting for Min, for the simple fact that she was alone for it, and that it was her against all the demons that were out there – her alone, like it was supposed to be. There was just something immensely empowering for her about this feeling that she was in charge, of herself, of slaying, of saving innocent people’s lives. That was what she had been born to do, she just knew that much intimately. Had she not been called, she would have tried, despite the difficulties that came from being from a small countryside village, to become a doctor, and to help her people. She still planned on becoming a doctor, and her prospects of achieving that goal were slightly better now that she was in this country and with the Council’s money behind her. She still planned, also, on helping her own people, which she would do, eventually, when she had her medicine diploma and had learned all she could from Buffy and Spike, but right now she could gladly settle for helping humans by dusting vampires in a country that wasn’t hers.

She was walking through the park, all her senses focused on finding a predator who could become her prey, when she saw, and heard, in the distance, a woman being chased by what probably were two vampires. Without needing to think twice, she started running, still following the sounds although now she couldn’t see them anymore. Sounds were good. As long as the woman shouted for help, it meant that she was still alive.

The cries led her to a large mausoleum, which she entered with a stake in each hand, cautious now that she could feel the vampires close by. Something was wrong, though, she realized as she stepped deeper into the tomb. Her spider sense, as Buffy called it though Min couldn’t understand what spiders had to do with it, was warning her about more vampires than the two she had been pursuing. A lot more.

There was a clicking sound behind her, and then a voice, a clear woman’s voice echoed in the mausoleum.

The crypt was dark, too dark for Min to see very well, but she didn’t need her eyes to fight, she had been trained in using her other senses for that. And so she fought. She dusted a few vampires, she wasn’t sure exactly how many, and fought as well as she knew how. But it was soon apparent that there were too many of them, all coming at her at once. She tried to retreat, but only found a locked door behind her. It was clear that she had fallen into a trap, and just as she realized that she might not survive the night, a blow to the back of her head sent her down. As she strived to remain conscious, to regain her bearings, to keep on the fight, she was lifted and placed on a cold hard surface – a sarcophagus? – with her arms held down on each side of her. There were other hands on her, holding her still, too many hands for her to fight. She felt pain on her right wrist, then her left, blinding pain as her skin was cut deep. A dripping sound echoed in her ears, and it took her long seconds to realize that it was the sound of her blood leaving her body. She had the thought that she would never become a doctor, and with that knowledge came darkness.

For long, very long minutes, maybe even hours, there wasn’t a sound in the bedroom. Two vampires lay, naked, immobile, not touching each other, on rumpled satin sheets, both staring at the barely lit ceiling without seeing it, both silent. Their blue skies seemed dark in the faint ambient light, the white clouds turned gray, almost stormy, and it was more than fitting.

For the life of her, Buffy couldn’t understand what had just happened. Oh, she could understand that she had made Spike angry, angrier than she recalled ever seeing him, that much was evident. And she knew also how she had made him angry – she had hurt him, deeply, and trying to explain had only made things worse. But the way he had acted over his anger… And the way she had reacted… Was there a point behind all this, over than reminding her that she was powerless should he decide so? Over than forcing her to let the demon out, which was the very thing she had tried to avoid? He had said he would show her her place, but all he had proved was that she was his Childe. And that the demon held her more tightly than she wanted to think.

She had taken less of his blood in the last few weeks, because every time her fangs sank in his flesh, she felt like she was losing control, like she wouldn’t be able to push the demon back again. She felt the desire for warm blood, warm human blood, a human prey. And now that he had forced her to really feed, she felt… she wasn’t sure how she felt. She had managed to shift out of game face, but the demon was there, expressing its contentment at having tasted so much of Sire’s blood, more than she had allowed in quite some time, wanting more still, wanting this ritual he had offered earlier. And some part of her that was distinct from the demon wanted it too, because if they did this, maybe, she would be able to understand what had been the point of all this. And maybe he would understand that she did trust him, with her life and soul, but she couldn’t trust herself. The usual fear was there, always so loud, that leaving her demon free for something as big as this ritual seemed to be would obliterate all her efforts, all of the hard gained control she had over it. She couldn’t allow that, couldn’t risk it. Bad things happened when her demon had too much power over her, bad things like hurting humans, scaring Slayers and her friends, losing their trust, pushing them away to the risk of their lives.

The worst, in this state of deep confusion she was in, was that she had no clue what to do now. She was somewhat angry at Spike for using of his power over her, controlling her with a few words, and forcing her to feed when she had not wanted to. But at the same time, she had this feeling, this deep bone certitude, that she had brought upon herself, upon both of them, what had happened, by not being able to explain calmly, clearly, her reasons for refusing the ritual. A part of her, and not necessarily the demon part, understood that this had been both punishment and lesson, delivered from a Sire to his Childe, and as far as punishment went, it certainly could have been worse. Not that she knew about that first hand, Spike had never been much for demonstrations of dominance and such, but she had pieced together enough clues about his relationship with Angelus to know she was lucky. Which only proved how deeply she had angered him, if he had been pushed far enough to break his usual leniency.

Spike’s lack of reaction after she had given in was also deeply puzzling. What was he thinking, now, as he remained uncharacteristically silent? She turned her head to look at him beside her, and he mirrored her movement, almost as if he had been waiting for it. Their eyes met, and Buffy could easily see that she was not the only one who was confused and lost at that moment. Just as she could see the traces left by tears on his face. She frowned at that. Why would he cry?

A sudden banging on the entry door startled them both and put an end to the awkward moment. Who could it be at this time of the night? An emergency, undoubtedly. Without needing to talk, they both threw on some clothes and hurried downstairs. With Spike just behind her, Buffy opened the door, and fell to her knees with a cry at the sight that greeted her.

He could admit that he had been slightly nervous, at first, to be around Buffy Summers and her Sire so much, but he had eventually come to trust them. After all, what was still being discussed in London three years after the new Head of Council had proposed the idea was true. These two vampires were incredible fighters, and very powerful allies by the Slayer’s side. Too powerful not to use their aid to the fullest. Summers was a Slayer herself, of course, but Tomas couldn’t help but thinking that Min was the Slayer, since she was the most recently called. Summers and the young woman in France were still Slayers, but somehow they were still alive by special circumstances, and… and it didn’t really matter, did it?

There was a clicking sound behind her, and then a voice, a clear woman’s voice echoed in the mausoleum.

Chapter 10: Too Late

As he walked behind Buffy down to the door, Spike’s mind was elsewhere, thinking back on what had happened, how badly things had turned. He hadn’t let his own demon so free for a very long time, and having done so in this manner, to prove to both of them he was still her Sire even if she played at being human, was deeply unsettling. This was why he didn’t see as soon as she did.

Amongst the rose petals he had strewn on the floor earlier, his Slayer fell to her knees in front of the open door. Just past the threshold, lying in a heap, another Slayer rested. Whoever had brutally knocked on their door was long gone, and it was all too clear to the vampire that no heart was beating among the three of them. The scent of blood was there, but faint, as if there was little blood in that dead envelope, as if she had been completely…

“She has been drained,” he said softly as he lowered himself next to Buffy to pick up Min’s body and carry her inside.

He brought her to the living room, and gently placed her on the sofa. Unconsciously smoothing her silky hair, he examined her neck and was surprised to find it untouched. She had not fallen without a fight however. There was a small cut on her cheek, like a clawing mark, and her t-shirt was ripped at the shoulder. Both her wrists were slashed. These were her only serious wounds, and apparently that was how the blood had been taken from her body. With a sigh, he closed her eyes.

Why would anyone want to kill her like this? And why would they dump her body in front of the two vampires’ door? Obviously, whoever had done this knew who and what she was. So they had to be demons. Probably not vampires, because a vampire wouldn’t have wasted her blood, a vampire would have simply sunk his or her fangs in her, which had to be somehow easier than securing her long enough to slash her wrists and have her die this way.

As he observed the young woman in front of him, Spike realized what path his thoughts were taking, and was shocked by his own calm. A child was dead, a child that has been his pupil, a child he had been training the best he could exactly to prevent something like this from happening, and all he could think about was wonder who had killed her and why? How about mourning the kid? How about showing the smallest bit of compassion?

He turned to her, and saw her flinch as she took in the sight of the dead young woman in front of her. And then, something lit up in her eyes, something that looked too much like a cross between hope and desperation.

Even after Spike had picked up Min and taken her inside, Buffy remained where she was, staring at the concrete in front of her, that was stained with the smallest trace of blood. She had heard Spike’s words, but somehow they didn’t make sense until she finally rose to her feet and followed him and the girl in the living room.

The first thing she saw as she came closer was the deep slash on Min’s left wrist. And then she took in the whole scene, a woman lying dead on her sofa, and felt like she was going to be sick as memories flooded her mind. They had to do something. There had to be something they could do. Min was strong, she could be saved, they had to…

She looked at Spike expectantly, certain that he would agree. After all, he had turned her to prevent her from dying, this was just the same. If the girl had been drained, all they needed to do was for one of them to give her blood, to sire her, and then they would give her a soul with a little help from Willow, and that would be it. Finally being a vampire had an advantage that she could use! Min would be fine in just…

“It’s too late, luv,” Spike replied too softly, too gently, as if he was trying to calm an unreasonable child.

She wasn’t unreasonable. And she wasn’t a child. If he didn’t want to do it, then she would. She had never turned anyone before, but it couldn’t be that complicated, right? She would just make Min one of them, and she would be like her, an immortal Slayer, and everything would be fine. Everything had to be fine. It just had to.

That little insane light of hope changed, and Spike could see Buffy’s resolve even before she said anything.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” she announced with determination as she came closer and brought her wrist to her mouth.

He caught her hand before she could tear her own flesh, and pulled her in front of him, cupping her face in his free hand.

“I said it’s too late,” he repeated, a bit more strongly this time. “You can’t turn her.”

The simple fact that Buffy would even think of it was baffling to him. Hadn’t she been afraid, not that long ago, to lose herself to her demon? And now, she wanted to create another demon like her? Did she even realize what it implied? What siring a Slayer would mean for her, hell, for all of them? After so many years, he still was far from certain he was doing a good enough job of it, especially of late, and now she wanted to do the same while she had so many issues with being a vampire herself? The reason that had motivated him, six years before, that had made it possible for this to work, at least so far, was that he had loved Buffy so much – and, as she had later admitted, that she had loved him too. What would she have become, souled vampire and Slayer, if she had had no one to share blood with? What would Min have become, if it hadn’t been too late already, stuck forever in a sixteen year old body, without a Mate or any reasonable prospect for one, and for a Sire a vampire who was herself so confused about who and what she was?

“And then what?” he interrupted her, more harshly than he meant to, and tried to keep his game face under control.

Spike was wrong, he had to be wrong, Buffy was sure he was. He had probably never tried to turn someone that long after they had been drained before, that was why he was saying they couldn’t do it, but they had to, they had to try, they couldn’t let Min die, couldn’t let another Slayer die, not again.

“And then what?” he cut in, and his eyes were burning gold. “You will make her your Childe? The Witches will give her a soul? She’ll live with us and you’ll show her how to pretend that she doesn’t need human blood, doesn’t need to bite, doesn’t need to listen to her demon every now and then to remain sane? Is that what you’ll do?”

Buffy could only stare at Spike as the words slowly sank in. Said like that, clearly and almost brutally, it didn’t sound much like a gift to be given to anyone. But hadn’t she thought it was a gift, at one time? She remembered, suddenly very clearly, having thought so. What had happened that had changed the gift into almost a curse?

Just as she asked herself the question, she knew now what had happened. A Slayer had died, because she had been afraid of her, of Buffy being a vampire, of being turned herself, maybe. She had been afraid, and so she had gone away, and she had died alone in a graveyard, with no one next to her who could have helped her. If Buffy hadn’t been a vampire, Chloe wouldn’t have been so wary of her, she wouldn’t have fled, wouldn’t have died…

“But we can’t let her die…” she mumbled as her gaze pleaded her Sire to do something, anything.

“Buffy, she’s already dead,” he replied just as quietly as he pulled her close. “All we can do is cry for her, honor her, and avenge her. Nothing more.”

And so Buffy cried. Huddled in her Sire’s arms, holding him as tight as she could, her face buried against his chest, she cried. She cried for Min, the teenager who would never start high school as she had so much wanted to. She cried for the Slayer who had given herself completely to the fight for the few months since she had been called, only to die alone. She cried for her student, whom she hadn’t been able to save. And she cried for the girl she herself had been, and for the woman she was now even though she didn’t know anymore who she was.

Spike couldn’t have said how long he held his Slayer and allowed her to cry in his arms. It felt like hours, even days, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Eventually, he led her out of the room, and the simple fact of being away from Min’s body seemed to calm her a little, so that her sobs slowly subsided.

They had many things in front of them, a lot to do right away, and a lot to do later. But for the moment, he didn’t want to do anything more than give his beloved Childe all the support and comfort she needed. And as she cried, he couldn’t help thinking that she was shedding the tears he couldn’t shed himself.

He was sad that Min was dead, of course. He had liked her, much more than he had liked her predecessor, and he would miss her and her enthusiasm. But at the same time, he knew, first hand, how fragile Slayers were, how short their lives were, and the fighter in him could only honor Min from having fallen in battle. Honor her, and promise to find who had killed her in such a fashion. Cry, honor and avenge, he had told his Childe. He couldn’t cry, but he planned to do the rest.

Already, even as he threaded his fingers in Buffy’s hair in a soothing motion, he was making a mental list of what they need to do. First, inform Min’s Watcher – that would be a blow, the Englishman liked his charge too much not to be touched, and hard. Then, call the Council. They might already know, since they had ways of spotting newly called Slayers, but they hadn’t called yet, so maybe they didn’t. These were the most pressing matters. That, and Min. Spike assumed that her Watcher would take care of the details. Certainly, she deserved to be brought back home, if nothing else.

After that would come the time to find out the answers to a few questions. Who had killed Min. Why she had been drained in such a manner. Why she had been brought back to their house. Where her killers were hiding. And how long it would take for them to beg for death once Spike laid his hands on them.

Chapter 11: After Shock

From the corner of his eye, Spike was watching Buffy as she sat on top of the kitchen island, hands on her knees, gaze unfocused. She had stopped crying, which had to be good, but she looked terribly depressed, and he didn’t know what to tell her. An occurrence that seemed frighteningly frequent, lately.

He had called Tomas already, and the Watcher was on his way. He hadn’t said much when Spike had told him he ought to come to Revello. Just one word. His charge’s name. And when Spike had replied that yes, it was about Min, there had been a pause, a long pause, until he had asked, in a very quiet and composed voice, if Min was dead. Had the man been in front of him, Spike would have shaken him out of his too proper British reserve. Since he wasn’t, he had simply yelled at him to come to the house before hanging up the phone. Buffy had winced at the tone of his voice, but that had been her only reaction, the only clue that she was aware of what was going on around her.

“I am sorry, sir,” the too sweet voice answered his request. “Mr. Giles is in the middle of a conference and he cannot be reached at the moment. Can I take a message?”

“Here’s the message,” he growled. “If you don’t get Rupert Giles on the phone right now, William the Bloody will hop in the first plane and come to London for no other purpose than to bathe in your blood. Got that?”

There was suddenly a ringing noise in the phone instead of the secretary’s voice, and Spike started cursing profusely, thinking that the annoying girl had disconnected him, but found out otherwise when a dry chuckle answered him.

“Good morning to you too, Spike,” Andrea’s voice said quietly. “Although it’s not morning yet in California, is it?”

“Busy. What is so important that you had to scare our secretary half to death?”

She was still talking very softly, so Spike supposed that she was part of the conference too and trying not to disturb the person he could hear talking in the background.

“Yes, I said Min was dead,” he interrupted the Head Watcher. “Apparently, you lot didn’t pick up on that yet, huh?”

The rest was lost for Giles, as Spike heard him talk – not in the phone, though, but to whoever was with him – and ask in an utterly composed and cold voice why they were having a “bloody useless conference” instead of doing what they were supposed to and noticing that they had lost a Slayer. There were scrambling noises, chairs being pushed and the like, and after a few seconds Giles was back to the phone.

“Hmm, sorry about that,” he mumbled tiredly. “How did she die? Vampire?”

Giles had never met this Slayer – and now, he never would – because the task of reorganizing the Council, three years after the fact, was still an arduous work in progress and he hadn’t visited Sunnydale in more than a year. And yet, there was a touch of sadness in his voice, and Spike knew that, having witnessed Buffy’s death more than once, her Watcher was more deeply touched by Slayers’ passing away than some of his colleagues.

“I don’t know if it was a vamp,” Spike replied at last. “Her wrists were slashed and she was drained. Then they left her in front of our door.”

“That’s what I was thinking too. We’ll look into it, let you know when we find anything.”

Only nine months. The same time required to create a life had led Min to her death. A soft sigh crossed the line as Giles asked:

Spike’s attention returned to his Mate. She hadn’t moved one inch, was still staring at nothing.

“Badly,” he answered as he frowned at her. “I’m going to leave you now and take care of her.”

“Alright. I’d better go see if this incompetent lot managed to locate the new Slayer yet.”

“Spike? As I know her, she’s going to feel guilty. Please tell her it’s not her fault. The Council has been trying to help Slayers for so long, and still we can hardly do anything to save them, and it’s the same for her. For both of you.”

Buffy was aware of Spike being on the phone, she knew, abstractly, that he was talking to Tomas, then to Giles. Then she heard Tomas come into the house, heard him and Spike talk. But none of it made any sense. Nothing was making sense. There was a dead teenager in her living room, and because of that, nothing could make sense. And then, Spike was back, right in front of her, and talking at her. She forced herself to make an effort to understand what the moving lips were saying.

“Would you like to go to bed?” he was asking softly. “Rest a little? Clear your mind?”

She shook her head. Her mind was clear, no problem there. And she wasn’t tired. She was just fine right where she was. She was fine. Min wasn’t.

Soft fingers were caressing her face, and it was still a wonder to her that they were so soft. Shouldn’t they have been callused and hardened, with all this fighting, all this sparring? And yet, always so soft. She leaned into the touch, closing her eyes to enjoy it even more.

The Watcher’s voice trailed off as he entered the kitchen. Buffy didn’t open her eyes to look at him, she just kept focused on the touch of her Mate, and tried to forget everything that wasn’t it.

Of course, she wasn’t alright. She was dead, wasn’t she? So how could he even ask? Couldn’t the Watcher recognize death when he saw it? Was he even a Watcher still, anyway? His Slayer was dead, so his reason for being here was gone. Why was he still here? Buffy wanted him gone, suddenly, but she couldn’t have formed the words if she had cared to.

There was a sigh, but Buffy couldn’t have said whom it came from. And then the Watcher talked again, and why wasn’t he gone already?

No, she hadn’t been turned. Spike hadn’t let Buffy turn her. He had said it was too late. And it would have been wrong. Of course it would have been wrong. One couldn’t be both a Slayer and a Vampire. It just couldn’t be. And that was why Min was dead.

“Min is dead,” she mumbled, and the words tasted like ashes as they passed her lips.

The hand that has still been stroking her face stilled for a second, and Buffy opened her eyes to find her Sire looking at her with a pained look.

Spike shook his head. “No, it’s not. I don’t want to hear you say that again.”

“I should have been out with her tonight,” Buffy continued tonelessly. “Instead of staying here, I should have been out patrolling. She was my responsibility. She shouldn’t have been alone. She wouldn’t have died if I hadn’t left her alone.”

And why had she been alone? Because it was the anniversary of Buffy’s and Spike’s mating. Because they were demons. Which only proved that once more it was because Buffy was a vampire that the Slayer had died.

“Luv, listen to me,” Spike said slowly, and now both his hands were holding her face. “It wasn’t the first time Min patrolled alone. This could have happened anyway, whether we had been out with her tonight or not. Do you hear me?”

For a few seconds, she stared at him blankly, not understanding what he was saying. And then she blinked, and frowned.

“She was going out by herself every night for the past few months. I was patrolling with her, earlier, but she went out again by herself after we came back to the flat.”

With some difficulty, she pulled her eyes from Spike, and for the first time looked at Tomas. He was dressed impeccably, and it struck her as being odd that he would have taken the time to dress as neatly as usual to come here in the middle of the night. But then again, he hadn’t had a reason to hurry, had he? The other odd things were the red tracks down his cheeks. He wasn’t crying, but he had been. That wasn’t important, however. What was important was that he had known, they both had known, that Min was patrolling by herself, and neither had told her. Her gaze came back to Spike, and she saw him flinch slightly when she made eye contact.

“You both knew,” she said coldly. “You both knew she was taking risks. And neither of you said anything. You just let her go and risk her life and didn’t even tell me.”

“I was responsible for her! I was supposed to protect her! How can I do that if…”

“All three of us were responsible for her,” Tomas interrupted her. “And two of us decided not to do anything about her patrols. There was nothing you could have done to stop her, Buffy. She would have promised you to stop, if you had asked her, and gone right back at it as soon as you had left. There was nothing any of us could have done.”

His voice faltered by the end, and finished on a whisper. Buffy heard him step away, but she didn’t pay attention to him. Her eyes were locked to Spike, who was still standing right in front of her.

“We did all we could do to train her,” he said quietly. “We gave her the best weapons she could ever have, knowledge, training, awareness, understanding of her opponents. But in the end, she was a Slayer, luv. However hard we train them, we can’t be there with them all the time. Slayers are called, and then, sooner or later, they find their match. We can make it later than sooner, but the ending is never up to us. It’s all up to them.”

Mostly, Buffy agreed with that. Whatever they did to help the Slayers, it would never be enough, to the point that she was still wondering if they shouldn’t just stop pretending that they were helping the girls by training them. Weren’t they giving them false hope, rather? But there was something she disagreed on. They should have been out with her for every patrol. She had been their pupil, and they should have protected her. And tonight they hadn’t, and she had died. But Spike didn’t get that. And she doubted he ever would. Because, deep down, the only Slayer he cared about was her, and the others didn’t matter to him. Which only meant that Buffy was solely responsible for Min. And her death was her responsibility and no one else’s.

Chapter 12: Make It Better

Slowly, Buffy’s features hardened, closed, and Spike felt like screaming. She jumped off from the island, and just stood there, a step in front of him, arms crossed over her breast, chin held high in an evident defiant posture. She had seemed to find comfort in his presence so far, but now…

He absorbed the verbal blow and forced himself to calm down before he answered to it. Apparently, this was the ‘Buffy makes Spike angry’ night, and he wasn’t going to lash out again. Not when he wasn’t even sure what to think about what had happened earlier. Not when she was so obviously shocked by Min’s death that she didn’t know what she was saying.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said coldly, his fists flexing open and closed repeatedly.

“I don’t?” she shot back, just as icily. “Aren’t you the self proclaimed slayer of Slayers? Why would you care that one dies or lives? It’s just a job, to you.”

“It’s a lot more than that!” he snapped. “I’m as implicated in their training as you are.”

She snorted. “Oh, sure, tell me just how much you want your redemption. Tell me how you have changed and are one of the good guys now.”

Anger melted to be replaced by shock. She was the one who constantly pointed out he had changed. She was the one who had come into his dream, years back, when they were humans, and convinced him that he could make up for his killing years. She had said so, with all the conviction she had. So why did she sound like she was mocking him, now?

“The fact is, you don’t even believe in your own redemption, do you?” she said, eyes flashing gold. “I heard you say as much to Steven. So if you don’t think what you do is useful, I have to wonder, why do you do it? It could be for the money. After all, you used to help us just to get a few dollars, so it wouldn’t be any different. Or it could be that you like the attention. Of course you like the attention. Of course you like their eyes on you. The one thing better than killing a Slayer is to fuck one, isn’t it? Are you trying to see how many…”

The order was quiet, and filled with hurt. He knew, now, what she was doing. She was simply trying to pick up a fight with him. It was all too clear, because he had done the same thing, more than once, with his own Sire. And wasn’t that the way she used to favor to resolve her problems? When in doubt, in pain, in shock, hit someone. No, not just someone, but him. Because he could take the blows without permanent damage, and return them. He was the only one around her who had half a chance against a pissed off Buffy, and as such he had the incommensurable honor to be her personal punching bag. Or rather, he had been. Long ago, he had been. Since that long gone time, they had found much more satisfying ways for each of them to blow off steam. But it seemed that she was returning back to the basics.

He considered her for a moment, the anger that radiated from her, the gold in her eyes, her fisted hands, and… was that expectation? What was she expecting from him, when she was trying so hard to make him mad? And then he understood. In her own eyes, she was at fault for not being there for Min. She wasn’t trying to infuriate him to start a fight and hit him. Just the opposite. She was trying to get herself hurt, to get punishment for what in her own eyes was a failure.

“It’s not going to work,” he said quietly as understanding dawned on him. “I am not going to hurt you. It’s not your fault if Min died. You did what you could. And so did I. Whatever you think, I cared about the kid. I hurt, too, it’s not just you.”

With that, he did what was always so hard for him, and walked away from her. Pulling his duster from the closet, he slipped it on and, completely numb, exited the house, not allowing himself to hear when she called his name. It was barely past two in the morning, the night was still young.

As he let his unconscious steps take him toward the closest demon bar, he tried not to dwell on what his Slayer had said. She had not meant it. She had just been trying to hurt him, and the fact that she had managed so well to do it only proved that she knew him enough to discern what buttons to push to get a reaction. And after all, he could do the exact same thing to her, if he ever wanted to make her mad. Why would he want that, however? She seemed to manage to get angry with him without his help.

What bothered him most, however, wasn’t the way she had tried to deliberately upset him. It was rather the fact that, caught in Min’s death, neither of them had acknowledged what had happened before the kid had been dumped on their front porch. He didn’t know what she felt about it, but he suspected that it had played a part in her reaction to the loss of their pupil. And he still didn’t know how he felt about it either. He had never cared until tonight about asserting his dominance over his Childe. Minions, he used to command without a second thought, but she was different, she meant more to him than anything or anyone. And yet, when provoked, he had reacted by simply setting his demon, and hers, loose. And he wasn’t sure what was so confusing – the fact that he had let it loose, or the fact that he wanted to let it loose again.

The front door banged shut, swallowing the sound of Buffy’s voice calling her Sire’s name. As she stood in the kitchen, frozen, too many thoughts in her mind were slowly replaced by a single one: Spike had left. And then, another thought, more urgent, to which she clung as to a safe line: he would come back. He had to come back. He couldn’t not come back.

As if in a dream, she saw herself walk out of the kitchen and toward the living room. She stared at the sofa. Min’s body was gone, and it took her a moment to understand that Tomas had to have taken her. Turning again, she went as far as the staircase, and sat down of the steps, elbows on her knees, head in her hands.

It was all too much, too fast, and she didn’t know what was going on anymore. The evening had started so well and the flower petals that still littered the floor were a proof that it hadn’t been just a dream. But then, things had started happening all at once, it seemed. First Spike’s offer of that ritual, her refusal, the angry coupling that had followed, the awkwardness after that, Min’s lifeless body in front of their door, her sudden idea – God, had she really thought about that? – of turning the kid, the comfort she had found in Spike’s arms, the unexpected news that she was the only one who was unaware of Min’s solitary patrols, her anger against Spike, and Tomas, and even Min, but, above all, her anger against herself, Spike refusal to lay the blame on her even when she provoked him, and then, his departure.

She didn’t know what was happening between her and Spike, and it was frightening her. She loved him, more than anything or anyone, more than she thought possible to love someone. She was convinced, with her whole heart and soul, that he loved her just as much. Then why were things so difficult, lately? Why was it so complicated when, before, it had been so simple? Why couldn’t he accept that she was still coming to grips with who and what she was, and let her walk her own path as she wanted? He had had a century to become the vampire – no, the person – he was today. She had not even had a decade yet. Even in mortal years, she was still young. She had to make him see that. Had to get, if not his approval, at least his understanding of her need to discover her own limits.

For a long time, she reflected on this, tried to find a way to explain this to him. And then, she realized what she was doing. She was concentrating her thoughts on Spike, and refusing to think of what had happened to Min. As important as Spike was to her, she couldn’t let herself be distracted from everything else by him and their relationship. Not when something so dramatic had happened. Not when she had a decision to make.

Obviously, her work with the Slayers was useless. Manon had been mortally wounded during the opening of the portal and Hellmouth. Chloe had died not very long after deciding she didn’t want to be around two vampires anymore. And now Min, killed while she should have been under Buffy’s direct supervision. She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear to get attached to one Slayer after the other only to see them die.

Her resolution made, she walked back to the kitchen and pressed the phone button that speed-dialed Giles’ number. His secretary knew her voice for having heard it very often, and she lost no time transferring her call to Giles.

“Buffy?” Tiredness gave way to surprise. “Shouldn’t you be resting? It’s almost morning in California, isn’t it?”

It was her turn to be surprised. Where had the hours flown? Indeed, it was morning, the sunrise being only an hour and half, maybe two hours away.

“It is,” she acquiesced. “I just had to tell you something. Something important. I quit.”

“I quit, Giles,” she repeated. “I don’t want to train them anymore. It’s useless. Maybe I even make things worse, because either they get used to me and to vampires and get imprudent, or they’re scared of me and they ask to be sent away before they’re ready. It will just be better if I’m not involved with them anymore.”

Plus, if she didn’t know them, she couldn’t feel so guilty about not saving them.

“It’s just the shock talking,” Giles said patiently, calmly. “And it’s too soon to know if training with you and…”

She wanted to protest and tell him that she wasn’t giving up, but then she realized he was right. But it was alright to give up on something that was a waste of time anyway.

He wasn’t there, and sunrise was getting close. Where was he? What was he doing?

“Alright,” Giles said after a hesitation, now sounding a little irritated. “I’ll call you two tomorrow, or the day after, once you both have had time to think. Now I would suggest you get some sleep. Bye, Buffy.”

As if she didn’t have enough on her mind already, now Giles was disappointed with her, she thought dejectedly as she put the phone down.

Not feeling any better than before her call, whereas she had thought this decision would liberate her, she walked back to the staircase, and again sat on the steps. Sunrise was getting close, so Spike wouldn’t be long, now. She would wait for him, to show him she cared, to tell him she was sorry for saying these things to him, to tell him she didn’t mean a word she had said. To just ask him to hold her and make things better, like he always did, like only he could.

Chapter 13: Bar Fight

“I tell you, mate,” Spike drawled, leaning in toward Clem, as if confiding a state secret. “Women are the real evil. You shouldn’t get too attached to your bird. She’ll hurt you, she bloody well will.”

Clem sighed, looking at his friend with sympathy. He had probably drunk way too much already, and he didn’t look like he was going to stop anytime soon, seeing how he was downing the bad bourbon as if it were water. The demon had known, as soon as he had seen Spike walk in the bar, that something was wrong. Shoulders slumped, head down when he usually stood straight and proud, and that growl when he had thrown a few bills on the counter and asked for a bottle… Yep. Trouble, if Clem had ever seen it. It had been quite a while since the last time – years, actually, because as far as he knew all was fine between the vamp and his unlikely wife. But as soon as he had attracted his attention, as soon as Spike had sat down at his table, he had known what was wrong. Buffy. What else?

At first, the vamp simply had refused to say anything, and so Clem had made the conversation, and told him about what was new since the last time they had seen each other. Ever since he had started being so close to the Slayer, and maybe even before that, Spike had been on the look out for all sorts of rumors and information, and Clem didn’t mind telling about what he heard. Arrival of new vampires clans in town, departure of others, the latest rumors about whatever rare artifact was supposedly buried in Sunnydale, anything that might be of interest to the Slayer.

After emptying his first bottle, Spike had admitted that yes, it was trouble with Buffy that had brought him there. Clem had not pushed to know more, very aware that the vamp would spill, sooner or later, and that pushing wouldn’t make it any sooner. A few glasses later, and Spike was mumbling something about being either too much of a demon, or not enough, which didn’t make much sense to Clem. The explanation that followed, along with gestures and appropriate curses, wasn’t any more enlightening. The only clear thing was that Buffy was making Spike crazy, and he didn’t know whether to shag her senseless, as he so elegantly put it, or get back to what they had once been so good at, namely fight like there would be no tomorrow. Clem had no advice to offer there. He had often thought, although he wouldn’t dare say that to Spike, that getting that close to the Slayer was dangerous for any demon, and particularly for one with the kind of temper that Spike had. He was still surprised that neither of them had killed the other yet.

As time passed and morning was approaching, the bar slowly emptied, until only a few vamps, in addition to Clem and Spike, were left in the bar.

“Come on, Spike,” Clem said jovially. “The missus is going to get worried if you don’t get back to her before sunrise. I’ll help you get home, alright?”

Forgoing glasses, Spike picked up the nearly empty bottle, and finished it in one long gulp.

“Yeah,” he said when he was done, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his coat. “Guess you’re right. ‘Don’t want the bloody Slayer to…”

As he was getting up, the vampire leaned on the table, which tilted over, sending both him and the empty bottles and glasses to the floor in a loud crash of broken glass and muffled curses. The bartender barely looked up, and shook his head, resigned.

With a little help, the vampire was back to his feet, a faint line of blood on his cheek where he had been cut by broken glass.

“Spike?” a voice questioned as its owner approached. “Did you call this pathetic loser Spike?”

The four vamps that were the other only patrons were coming closer, and Clem was suddenly sure he should have left a while ago, already. They didn’t look friendly in the slightest. At least, Spike seemed a little more aware of his surroundings, some sense shocked back into him by his fall. He glared at the approaching vamp, his bloodshot eyes now infused with gold.

“You have something to say?” Spike asked with something that was very close to a growl.

“To you?” the vamp chuckled. “Not so much something to say as something to show you.”

And with that, the vampire swung his fist at Spike’s face. Usually – that was, sober – Clem was sure that Spike would have had no trouble avoiding the blow. As it was, it caught him in the jaw, sending him to fly backward, right into Clem who was behind him, and they both fell to the floor. Clem knew he should have stayed home to watch the Firefly marathon. He just knew it. A bit late, now, though.

The wanker’s fist crashed into his jaw, and blood flooded Spike’s mouth as he stumbled back into Clem. The blow dissipated all too quickly the very nice drunken feeling he had been nurturing so far, effectively making useless his excessive consumption of bad booze. In other words, he would get the hangover without having fully enjoyed the effects of getting drunk, which were to forget, for a blessed if too short time, about the mess Buffy was making with both their lives. Being robbed of his relief made him as mad as the unprovoked hit. He got back to his feet, shifting to game face thoughtlessly, and threw himself at his attacker, getting in a couple of hits before the vamp leaped back, laughing.

“Is that all you can do?” he said mockingly, and for the first time Spike noticed his accent, British, unmistakably. “And here I thought you were a Master Vampire! You’ve been coddling Slayers for too long! Gotten soft, and slow. Pathetic!”

“’Ll show you pathetic,” Spike growled as he once more charged the black haired man.

One to one. Even drunk, Spike could have staked that wanker in a minute. But in his anger, he hadn’t paid attention to a small detail. The guy had friends, three of them, and they didn’t just look at the fight. They jumped in.

Four to one. Spike had had worse odds, more than once. And in such a small place, with the tables and chairs crowding the area, they couldn’t really take advantage of their number superiority as they got in each other’s way rather than get good shots at Spike.

Four to two. Clem had finally pulled himself from his stupor, and was now joining in the party, brandishing the broken leg of a chair more like a club than like a stake, which would have been quite more helpful. The demon could fight, but he needed a crash course to remind him on effective ways to kill vampires, Spike noted wryly.

Three to two. Seeing Clem unproductive use of piece of wood had reminded Spike that he himself had a stake in his duster’s pocket, and that he might as well use it rather than his fists. The vamp – not the leader of the group, unfortunately – never saw what struck him. His dusting brought a sudden halt to the fight, as his three companion jumped back in surprise, one of them growling:

“No,” the one Spike had dubbed as the leader snapped. “We’ll get into even more trouble if we kill him now.”

Having assured himself that Clem was alright, Spike turned back to his opponents, ready to keep on the fight, but was met by three retreating vamps. It was more than annoying. First, they pulled him out of his drunken daze, and now they stopped playing?

“Come on! Don’t tell me you’re running away just because it’s only three of you, now!”

“We’ll meet again, don’t worry,” the leader said with a wicked grin. “Sooner than you think, and it will be painful for you, and even more for your cursed Childe!”

The last word stunned Spike, and finished to sober him completely. For a moment even after they had left, he just stared at the place where the vamps had been. They knew. He didn’t know how, but they knew about Buffy. They knew she was his Childe. He had never had any Childe before her, so the wanker couldn’t have been talking of someone else. But how could he know? In six years, they had managed to keep in a secret, managed to kill all demon witnesses before they could talk when, by accident, a couple of times, she had shifted to game face where she could be seen.

“It’s not any of my business,” Clem started, hesitant, “but when he said your Childe…”

Spike turned dead eyes to Clem as his friend dispelled the frail hope that he might have misunderstood the vamp’s words.

Looking around them, Spike was suddenly glad that the bar was empty. Except for the bartender, who knew better than to listen. Or should know better. Just in case, he motioned for Clem to follow him out. Once in the back alley, he pulled out his cigarettes, taking a long drag before he finally answered Clem’s question.

Clem’s surprise only increased. “Wow… that’s… but you two still patrol and everything, how…”

“She has her soul,” he said in a sigh. “Her shiny and beautiful Slayer soul.”

“Wow…” Clem repeated, clearly stunned. “How come that guy knows and you never even told me? I thought we were friends!”

There was now a bit of disappointment in the demon’s voice, as well as on his features, and Spike smiled apologetically.

“Nothing against you,” he explained. “We were just trying to keep it a secret. I guess the cat is out of the bag now, though. Unless we manage to dust these guys before they can spread the word. You know them?”

Clem shook his head. “First time I see them. I think they’re new in town, maybe part of that new clan I was telling you about. But if they’re new, how can they know about your little secret?”

Spike could only frown at that, having no answer to give his friend. All he had was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Everything seemed to be going to hell at once.

As dawn slowly approached, Buffy’s discomfort only grew. Spike still wasn’t home, and she was getting more than a little worried about him. Where had he gone, in such a fury? What was keeping him away from her, maybe outside where the sun would soon be an urgent problem?

In her mind, she had practiced her apologies, had tried to form clear sentences that would tell him all he needed to hear, all she needed to say, so that he could understand what was going on in her head, in her heart. But as she became restless, all the words slowly were lost to her, until all was left was a fear, deep inside her, for her Mate’s life. Since he had been kidnapped, he had always made a point of always letting her know where he was whenever it was required from them to be apart for a little while. But now, she didn’t know where he was, and anything could have happened to…

The sixth sense that always warned her when he was close was suddenly triggered, and she bolted to the door, opening it to see her Sire running down the street as the sky was slowly lightening on the horizon. She could only bite the inside of her cheeks, urging him on mentally as her gaze went from him to the sky and back. He was finally inside, with maybe a couple of minutes to spare, and she literally assaulted his mouth as soon as she had closed the door, tasting alcohol on his lips, pouring into the kiss all of her fears, cupping his face in her hands… only to have him jerk back with a hiss.

She was trying to swallow her tears to ask him what was going on, when she noticed the discoloration on his jaw, on his left eye, the trace of blood on his cheek…

“I’m alright,” he said softly, probably noticing the panic in her widening eyes. “Nothing to worry about, luv, really.”

Careful, now, she traced her fingers to his bruises, before running her eyes over his body in search of more wounds.

He shrugged out of his jacket and pulled her into the protective circle of his arms.

“I’m sorry, luv, ‘didn’t want to scare you…” he whispered against her hair.

“I’m sorry too,” she murmured, her eyes filling up with tears. “I didn’t mean it, not any of it, and I’m sorry, and…”

And with these simple words – he knew – things were already better. And there would be quite enough time later to ask him what had happened, where he had been, to tell him about her decision concerning the Slayers, to talk with him about their relationship and everything else. Right now, he was here, right against her, and that was all that mattered.

Chapter 14: Too Good to Last

His Slayer’s arms closed around him, and Spike could only let out a soft contented sigh. He had been afraid that she would still be upset and would still try to pick up a fight with him as he returned, that her anger would have increased with his departure, but it seemed to be exactly the opposite.

Too soon, she broke the embrace, but only to take his hand and lead him to their room. With quick but gentle gestures, she helped him out of his clothes and under the sheets. The odd position of the bed in the center of the room as well as the sand spread on the floor were reminders of what had happened – and failed to happened – only a few hours before, and Spike just closed his eyes, unwilling to think about that now. He needed rest before he could even try to clear the mess of the night. He was startled by a sudden wet and warm touch to his cheek, and cracked an eye open to see Buffy hovering over him, a washcloth in hand, washing softly the blood off his face. She then took his hands and washed the bloodied knuckles too, before placing a kiss in each of his palm. Then she was gone, but he was only robbed of her presence for an instant, as she returned, turned off the lights, and slipped in the bed next to him. Tugging gently but insistently, she incited him to drape his body over her equally nude one, and then surprised him once more.

“You’ll heal faster if you take some of my blood,” she whispered, and the hand that had been stroking the nape of his neck pulled his head closer to her.

Part of him wanted to protest that the bruises would be gone in a matter of hours, with the help of Slayer blood or not, but he wasn’t about to pass such a nice offer.

He shifted to game face right against her skin, and slowly, carefully inserted his fangs in her willing flesh, taking delight in the powerful and intoxicating blood that was so purely her. After taking a few mouthfuls, he licked the punctures until they stopped bleeding, and moved slightly down her body to rest his cheek against the top of her chest. One of her hands captured his and held it above her still heart. The other was stroking his hair softly, rhythmically, and he let her lull him into sleep.

As her lover slept in her arms, Buffy tried to clear her head of all thoughts. For a little while, she didn’t want to think about vampires and humans, slayers and watchers, Sire and Childe. She didn’t want either to think about Min, about Chloe, about the new Slayer who, somewhere out there, had just been chosen to die an early death.

All she wanted to think about was this man against her, the softness of his skin everywhere it touched hers, the silkiness of his bleached locks under her fingers, the tickle of his irregular breaths against her chest. She wanted to pretend, for just a few moments, that it was him, and her, and no one, nothing else in the world. She would be reminded soon enough that it wasn’t true, but until then she could pretend.

She knew he sometimes spent whole nights simply watching her sleep. She knew, because she would fall asleep with the image of his tender gaze worshipping her, and would wake up to find the exact same picture in front of her. These nights, with him watching over her, she always slept somehow better, more deeply, a part of her feeling so completely protected and safe. It was only fair that she returned the favor.

Hours passed, and it was impossible for her not to know that the sun had risen. Slowly, indirect light seeping from under the heavy drapes chased away the darkness, but she didn’t move, and just kept stroking Spike’s hair, watching him sleep, letting him get the rest he obviously needed. She knew exactly when he woke, even though he didn’t move at all. There was just a sudden change in him, his muscles having lost the limpness of sleep, his reflexive irregular breathing suddenly stopping.

“I love you,” she whispered with a kiss to the top of his head, and he drew a long breath.

As he remained immobile in her arms, Buffy let her hands wander softly on his skin, caressing along his arms, back and sides, even more elusive stroking on his shoulders and neck. It wasn’t long before the half aroused hardness against her thigh began pressing against her more insistently. Spike shifted slightly, bringing his head next to hers on the pillow, and opened his eyes to look at her. There was so much love in his gaze that Buffy felt like she was drowning in him. If only things could always been as easy as this…

If she had allowed herself to think, Buffy would have commented that, only a few hours before, he had said just the opposite, and claimed her as his. She didn’t want to think about that, though. She didn’t want to think of anything. She just wanted to feel. Feel him. Feel his love. And to make him feel hers.

She started with the ghost of a kiss to his mouth. He tried to deepen it, but she eluded, and trailed her lips along his jaw, right where it had been swollen when they went to bed. The bruise had all but faded, now, and she was more than ever grateful for vampire’s healing. The flesh around his eye was still a little swollen, now somewhere between purple and red, and she caressed it with her lips as delicately as she could.

Absorbed as she was in the feel of his skin, she didn’t notice his hand until it began moving along her side, starting at the hip and slowly traveling up to her breast. She let out a quiet gasp against his throat when his thumb flicked her hardening nipple lazily. Not to be outdone, she latched her mouth to his neck, right over old scars that were still very erogenous even more than a century after he had received them, and suckled, hard, pulling back only when he started squirming against her. She looked at the deep red mark she had left, satisfied with herself, and moved on along his collarbone, nibbling and kissing, using her hands to push him so that he rolled to his back. She followed the movement, now resting on top of him, enjoying for a second the feel of his hard body all along hers.

She slid down just enough to tease his flat nipples, first one then the other, lips, tongue and blunt teeth alternating in a maddening dance until he pulled her back up to his mouth. He gave himself, all that he was, in a toe-curling kiss, and she could have sworn she could taste his long gone soul on his lips.

Only when his hips started thrusting lightly against hers did she realize that she doing the same thing in search of the friction they both craved. Pulling away from his mouth, she knelt over him, intent on teasing him, and herself, a little more by rubbing her wetness to his hardness. A single look at his face, eyes wide and gold flecks in the deep blue, need and want all too obvious in the set of his jaw and his arched neck, convinced her that teasing could wait for another time.

“I’ve got you, love,” she whispered as she raised herself above him and slowly guided him in her depths.

They both sighed when he was sheathed in her to the hilt, and for a blissful second they remained immobile in this most intimate embrace, eyes locked, fingers easily finding each other and intertwining. Then, as one, they started moving, thrusting, rocking, movements that complemented each other, perfectly attuned to each other’s needs and actions. Never breaking the slowly increasing rhythm they had settled into, she left one of his hands to her hip, where it started kneading and grasping, reinforcing his movements.

Holding his other hand in hers, she guided it on her skin, first on her thigh then up her stomach, on one breast then the other, then upward still to her neck and face, delighting in the glazed look that was settling in his eyes. Always keeping an eye on his reactions, she kissed his fingertips, then his palm, then glided to his wrist and the marks that had made him her mate. His thrusting became slightly erratic as she started laving the two round scars with her tongue, and she could tell he was close, very close. And so was she, because his free hand had glided from her hip to the apex of her legs, and he was stroking her clit, intensifying the sensations that having him so deep inside her were already igniting in her core.

His eyes were completely gold, and as she scraped her teeth against her mark he groaned and shifted to game face. She did it again, still with blunt teeth but almost a bite now, while at the same time tightening her inner muscles around him. His eyes squeezed shut as he cried out her name, his hips thrusting up one long last time. The feel of his release against her sweetest spot, or maybe the sheer beauty of his pleasure, were enough to send her flying right after him.

She collapsed on his chest, needlessly panting, and after a second his arms closed around her. And she could only wish this moment would never end.

Walking down the steps behind Buffy, Spike glared at the woman that was just coming out of their living room. Things had just been too good, he thought bitterly, he should have known it wouldn’t last.

Waking up to Buffy’s tender attentions had been a pleasant surprise, only spoiled – so slightly it didn’t even matter, not really – by the fact that they hadn’t shared blood. As they lay in each other’s arms, he had told her about his fight, about these unidentified vamps’ knowledge that he had a Childe, and the quasi certainty that they knew who exactly his Childe was. He had expected her to freak out at the news, but she had taken it surprisingly well, saying that they couldn’t have kept it a secret forever anyway. He supposed that finding Min on their front door was putting a different light as to what mattered or not. That, or she was still on a high from their lovemaking. They didn’t talk about the kid, although he knew they should have, if only to clear out her guilt issues. It was just too painful to touch the subject so soon.

They had stretched their quiet peace by taking a long bath together, but, eventually, they had needed to get back to the harsh reality. It was already the end of the afternoon, the time when usually they went to the shop to train the kid, and the fact that she wasn’t there waiting for them was a weight on Spike’s mind. They had to start looking for her murderers, and maybe enlist the help of the Witches… Or so were his thoughts when they walked down the steps, and came upon Cordelia.

The angel had taken the very annoying habit of appearing wherever she wanted at whatever time she chose. At least, she knew enough not to do her little trick in their bedroom. Judging by her annoyed expression, she had been waiting for them for a little while, already. Good. They weren’t her puppets, and they certainly didn’t have to forget everything because she came to bother them. At least, her presence might prove useful…

“I see your manners aren’t improving,” she said reproachfully. “Even if you’re not happy to see me, you could at least pretend.”

“Pretend what?” he shot back. “That every time we see you your bosses don’t screw up with our lives? That you never even have useful information? That they play…”

Buffy’s hand resting lightly on his arm, as well as the pleading look she gave him, stopped Spike in the middle of his rant. He didn’t really dislike the cheerleader; it was just that her presence was rarely a good sign, and they already had too much on their plates as it was. Unless, for once, she was there to really help.

“I already explained that to you,” she said with an edge of impatience. “I’m too close to all of you, and as far as you, the Scoobies and A.I. are concerned, I’m just a seer, nothing more. And to answer your question, no, I don’t know who killed Min. But I know that whoever killed her won’t stop there.”

Spike listened, and tried not to scowl, as she explained her vision. She had seen girls, dozens of them, dying. Not just any girls. Potential Slayers. Slayers, too, Manon, and the new one. And even an ex-Slayer. And although she didn’t know who or how, she knew that they would all die because of the same person who had killed Min.

“I only knew after it was too late,” Cordelia replied with a pained voice. “Slayers lives are so complicated… so fragile… even the Powers can’t do anything to help them, sometimes.”

Spike bit back the bitter comment that it wasn’t that they couldn’t help, but rather chose not to, like they had chosen not to help when Buffy had lost her soul. Instead, he observed how Buffy was taking the other woman’s words. If she could see that, if even the so-called higher beings hadn’t been able to save the kid, it was unlikely that she would have been able to… He couldn’t see what she thought, however, her features too closed for him to guess.

“You have to find whoever killed Min,” Cordelia said urgently. “And find a way to protect the Potentials and the Slayers.”

Spike snorted. “That’s all you had to say? As I was saying, very useful. We would never have guessed by ourselves that we have to find her killers.”

The angel glared at him, her eyes made of pure ice. “Here’s something you don’t know, bleach boy. One of the girls that I’ve seen dying is special. While the others may become Slayers, she will, eventually. It was decided at the instant she was conceived, and unless she dies prematurely nothing will prevent that. But if she dies from this threat, all the others will, too, there’ll be nothing left for any of us to do to save them.”

This was stupid, and Spike wanted to say so quite explicitly. What was the point of deciding, before even a child was born, that she would be offered such a cursed gift? How could the big players know that she would be up to the job? Because he couldn’t, wouldn’t believe that everything was already written down for all of them. If it was, what was the point of living at all?

And when Cordelia told them, Spike could do nothing but laugh, so hard that tears came to his eyes. Tears that were strangely bitter. He knew someone who wouldn’t be happy about this turn of events, not at all. And it was just one more proof that they couldn’t trust the damn Powers.

Chapter 15: Messages

Cordelia didn’t linger after having delivered her grim message, and Buffy could easily understand why. Ever since the soul incident, and the explanation that had followed, Spike had been very wary about the Powers That Be and their messenger. And with him, wariness often turned into outright hostility.

“We have to tell your Watcher,” he said as he turned to her. “So he can warn the kiddies and organize some kind of protection. Then we’ll need to plan about finding Min’s killers.”

Buffy nodded, although she was having more than a simple bad feeling about all of this. They had been unable to prevent one Slayer’s death, how where they supposed to protect so many girls at once? Especially when they didn’t know how many there were, let alone where they lived all around the world. Spike seemed to notice her mood because he cupped her face in his hand and gave her a small smile.

She wanted to believe him, more than she had ever wanted to believe anything, but it was more than difficult.

She shook her head, and his hand fell down from where it was still touching her face.

“I talked to him last night,” she said. “I told him I don’t want to train Slayers anymore.”

“Don’t tell me it’s because of what happened to Min,” he said, a bit too heatedly. “Because it’s not your fault, and…”

“Don’t,” she interrupted him with a sigh. “My decision is made, and it’s final. Training them doesn’t do any good anyway.”

“Of course it does!” he exclaimed, sounding incredulous. “Every bit of training…”

“I said don’t,” she cut in again, crossing her arms defensively. “I won’t do it anymore, and that’s it.”

His eyes narrowed as he considered her, and she could tell he still wanted to try to convince her. In the end, he didn’t say anything, though, and simply shook his head before striding to the kitchen and its phone. She followed, and sat on one of the bar stools, wanting to see how the call would go.

She couldn’t help sighing softly as she noticed the tension in his back. Things had been good between them since he had came back the night before, since she had realized she had been venting her anger, frustration and guilt on him and made a conscious effort to stop. But they seemed to be back to square one, now. First Cordelia’s news, then the way he was reacting to her decision not to train Slayers any longer…

“Feeling peckish,” he said blankly as he was dialing Giles’ home number. “Warm me some blood, please?”

It didn’t take her long to pull out a blood bag from the fridge, empty it in his favorite mug, and pop it into the microwave.

Was he keeping tabs on her, now, she wondered, annoyed, as she turned to face him.

His features closed at that, but before he could reply anything Giles finally answered the phone.

“Yes, I now what time it is in bloody England,” he said gruffly. “And I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.”

“We had a visit from Cordelia. She had a vision, and according to her the Potentials and the Slayers are all in danger. Whoever got the kid is after them, too.”

Buffy could hear the curse that answered that statement, so it must have been really loud.

“No, we don’t know who yet, but we’ll start to investigate as soon as we’re done here. See if Red can do a little location spell or something. I guess it wouldn’t hurt if you do research on your side, too.”

“Don’t ask me,” Spike replied wryly to whatever Giles had said. “You’re the big boss, remember? I’m just an employee.”

As she pulled the now warmed mug from the microwave and handed it to Spike, she gave him a questioning glance. Giles must have asked the same thing she was thinking, because he answered after taking a sip of the blood:

“Yes, I know she’s quitting. And no, I’m not. Why do you ask? You want me to quit, too?”

By the way he was looking straight at her as she spoke, she could see that the words were just as much for her as they were for Giles.

“You’re a big boy,” she murmured, shaking her head. “You do whatever you want.”

His features became grimmer at that, but he buried the expression in his mug as he listened to whatever Giles was saying.

“Yeah, I guess it would be a good idea. ‘T’ll be easier to protect them. Speaking of which, you wouldn’t happen to know where Faith is hiding, would you? ‘Cause the cheerleader said she’s on the list, too.”

Oh, Buffy could just imagine Faith’s face when they showed up on her door and told her that no, she hadn’t completely escaped from slayerness and its untold perks as she had thought. That promised to be a lot of fun.

“Didn’t think so,” Spike was saying. “We’ll have to find her, though. What about your new Slayer, did you find her?”

Despite herself, Buffy flinched. One more had been called, one more who didn’t realize yet that her easy years were behind her.

“At least she knows the basics,” he answered with a nod to whatever Giles was saying. “You’ll bring her here, too?… Alright. We’ll see you in a few days, then. Call if you have anything new, right? ‘Night, Watcher.”

Finally, he hung up the phone, looking very thoughtful. Buffy simply watched him as he finished his blood, knowing he wouldn’t be quiet for long. He never was. And indeed, he soon spoke, but it wasn’t what she had expected. He seemed to pick up their conversation right where it had stopped when Giles had answered the phone.

“Even with what you took from me,” he said with a frown, “you can’t possibly not be hungry.”

For long seconds, he stared at her. Then he went to the fridge, filled his empty mug again, and put it to warm.

“The Watcher is coming here,” he commented as the microwave buzzed softly. “They’re going to gather all the Potentials they know about in a few places of the globe so they can set up some protection until we find out what’s going on. He’s making Sunnyhell one of these places, how surprising, and he’s coming here, along with his girl and the new kid. She was one they knew about, so she knows how to fight already. We’ll have to find out as much as we can about what’s going on before they arrive.”

The oven beeped, and he pulled the mug out and settled it on the counter next to Buffy. She eyed it, then him, ready to repeat again that she wasn’t hungry – and in truth, she wasn’t – but he spoke before she could say a word.

“Even if you’re not hungry, you still need to feed. And I’m not going to let you starve yourself. Whatever the means, even if I don’t like it any more than you do.”

The threat was clear, if unvoiced. Either she drank by herself, or he would make her drink. Scowling at him, she picked up the mug.

It was a little after sunset that Willow and Tara walked in the Magic Box, uncaring for the ‘Sorry, we’re closed’ sign. They had received a little earlier a phone call from Spike, asking for their help with some localization spell, and possibly more. It was Buffy however that they found at the research table, very much alone, and looking somewhere between upset and bored.

“Hi Buffy!” Willow said cheerfully as they approached the table. “Where’s everyone?”

“Hey girls. Anya had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, she and Xander went straight home after that.”

Like all couples, the two vampires argued, but they were usually very upfront about it, and it rarely lasted long. This seemed different, though, and Willow could only wonder what was going on, and whether Buffy needed a friend to talk to. It didn’t look like a good time to ask, though.

“So, who are we looking for?” she asked, settling a spell book and a map on the table.

“Why don’t you two sit down?” Buffy suggested, and there was a lot of stress in her voice, so much that it was clear something had happened.

“Last night, Min… Min was killed. We don’t know by whom. We need to find out, because Cordy said they’re going after the other Slayers and the Potentials next. As well as Faith. That’s where we need your help, to find out who killed her, and to find where Faith is to protect her.”

As Buffy talked, Willow instinctively grabbed Tara’s hand, taking comfort in her presence and strength, and offering her own. She had liked Min, the kid was just too sweet not to be likable, and to hear that she was dead was really a shock.

“Finding Faith shouldn’t be too hard,” she managed to say after a few seconds. “A simple localization spell.”

“But it might be harder to know who… who killed Min,” Tara continued in a pained voice, completing Willow’s thought as she often did. “There’s no specific spell for that.”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to think about it, do some research. Don’t get your hopes too high, though.”

“Fine. I’ll go see if I can catch any rumors of someone boasting they killed a Slayer. Don’t wait for me.”

Just like that, he was gone. And Willow could only notice the half annoyed, half hurt look in Buffy’s eyes, and realize that the two blondes had not even glanced at each other since Spike had come in the shop. There was definitely trouble in paradise.

The spell to find Faith hadn’t taken long, and Buffy now now knew roughly where to find the ex-Slayer. A small town, maybe three or four hours north. The other thing, however, wouldn’t be as easy, as her two friends had explained. They needed time, and even then it wasn’t sure they could do it.

They had closed the shop, and Buffy had walked to the closest cemetery while Willow and Tara drove to their apartment. She needed to kill a few vamps, that would clear up her mind. And her anger, too, hopefully.

It didn’t work quite that well, however. Because, after half an hour, she stumbled on the source of her anger – no, not the source, just one of the sources, but the most easily accessed one. They observed each other in silence for a few seconds, and then started patrolling together. Still silent.

She knew Spike was angry with her, and she supposed it was a combination of several things, the most important one certainly being her attitude concerning feeding. In return, she was angry with him, for treating her like an irresponsible child. She had never said she would stop feeding completely, had she? She just hadn’t been hungry. Did he have to make such a big deal of it?

They patrolled late in the night, taking turns as to who got to dance, and who simply watched. Once they were back home however, back in their bed, things changed. It was as if they had never left the comfort of the sheets, and had stayed there after their earlier lovemaking.

Spooned against Buffy’s back, Spike explained in hushed tones that the fact that she was his Childe, and souled, was now common knowledge amongst the town’s demons, and they therefore refused to talk to him at all, calling him, even more than usual, such kind names as traitor to the demon world and disgrace to the name of vampire. And so he hadn’t found anything useful at all. In return, she told him about the spell, and Faith’s location. And then she asked:

“What is going on? Half an hour ago, you could have staked me simply with your eyes, and now you cuddle me like nothing happened?”

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he said at last in a murmur. “I just want to protect you and love you. And it makes me so mad when you won’t let me… I need to know that you’re OK. It’s more than just caring about you, it’s in my blood. In your blood. In everything that ties us together. Don’t ask me to watch you hurt yourself and do nothing, because I can’t.”

“But I’m not hurt,” she tried to reason him. “I’m fine. And I need you to see it, see that I can take care of myself. I’m not a child.”

“You’re not a child,” he agreed. “But you’re a fledgling. It takes a lot more than six years to change that.”

“I might be a fledgling,” she acquiesced slowly. “But I’m also the Childe of a very strong Master, and the Slayer. Both things make me stronger than just any vamp. Can’t you see that? I have to find my own place. Find how I can be both. You can’t help me define who I am, I have to do it myself.”

There was a pause, and she turned again in his arms, fitting her back snuggly to his chest, pulling his arms more tightly around her waist.

“Not drinking human blood,” he whispered against her hair, “not sharing my blood, not allowing the demon out, that’s not defining who you are. That’s denying that you’re a vampire. It can only make things worse.”

Neither spoke again. Neither fell asleep for a long time. Both knew they hadn’t convinced the other.

Chapter 16: Not So Welcome Guests

Three nights had passed since Min’s death when Buffy opened her door, one particularly gloomy afternoon, to find Giles, Andrea, and four teenage girls on the threshold. She was glad to see her Watcher – because he would always be her Watcher, whatever either of them now was. But there was something on his face, as she ushered them all in, that she hadn’t seen in a long time, and that she could very well have done without seeing ever again. Disappointment, on the edge of reprobation. She repressed a sigh as she led everyone to the kitchen, all too aware of the wide-eyed looks three of the girls were giving her. The fourth Potential – Michelle, she thought her name was – already knew her, having come to train with a couple of other girls a few months back. They made small talk for a few instants, questions about flights, airplane food, jetlag and rental cars. Then they left the girls in the kitchen, with the permission to help themselves to whatever snacks they could find, and walked to the dining room for some more serious talk.

Spike was in there, his chair leaning at a precarious angle against a wall, his bare feet on the table as he flicked through the pages of a moldy old book. A dozen or so more where spread on the table, remnants of an all-nighter Scoobies research party that had not yielded any useful information. There just didn’t seem to be any logical reason why a Slayer would be drained through slashed wrists, and there wasn’t anything they could find that would explain how anyone could kill hundreds of Potential Slayers at once, as Cordy’s vision suggested.

“Nothing big,” Buffy replied. “The only new thing is that the word is out that I’m a vamp, but that has nothing to do with Min and the Potentials.”

“No one is bragging,” Spike said gruffly as he noisily put the book back on the table. “So my bet is, we’re not up against vamps, because a vamp would have made sure everyone knew he had killed a Slayer. No clue who we’re up against other than that.”

There was strain in his voice as he said this, and Buffy was sure that the two Watchers could hear the implied words as well as she did. He knew a vamp would have bragged about killing a Slayer, because that was what he had done. Twice. Long ago.

“We’re still searching as well,” Giles said as he pulled a chair and sat down, his glasses in his hand, ready for some mandatory polishing. “There are more than a few uses known to Slayer’s blood, but they’re in heavily restricted books, which means older than the majority of the Council’s collection, rarely ever studied by anyone, therefore badly, if at all, translated, and mostly ready to crumble to dust. It seems that some people thought it would be safer if this knowledge was lost.”

“We’ll get to it, though,” Andrea said with determination. “Given a few days, we’ll have a list of reasons why anyone would want a Slayer’s blood, other than to feed.”

As she listened almost absently, Buffy couldn’t help noticing the soothing gesture of Andrea’s hand squeezing Giles’ shoulder. Her eyes flickered to Spike, and she regretted once more that things had gotten so tense between them. He was still pestering her to feed more, although he hadn’t forced her again to anything by using a Sire’s command or by threatening to do so. If anything, his constant surveillance was encouraging her to follow the path she had decided to try to control the demon, just to prove him wrong. She was fine, would continue to be fine, and would only be better if he stopped treating her like a child. The only thing she was clinging to was that, by an unspoken agreement, they left whatever they disagreed on at the doorstep of their bedroom, and didn’t speak of it while under their very own blue skies.

“Do you mind if we stay here for a few days? We’re going to rent something large enough to host all the girls and Watchers that are coming, but we need to find the place first.”

“Sure,” Spike answered with a shrug. “Two empty bedrooms, have fun figuring out who gets the beds.”

She frowned at him from the other side of the table, and he seemed to notice her disapproval. He arched an eyebrow, asking wordlessly what was wrong, and she only shook her head. She wasn’t going to make a scene in front of Giles, but she didn’t like much her husband agreeing to host all these people without checking first with her. She had that definite feeling that it was just a plan to make her get to know the girls and help train them. She wouldn’t fall in that trap. She didn’t want to know them, didn’t want to care for them any more than she already did, and if she had to, she would move out of her own house.

At the instant he offered their spare rooms to the Watchers and their charges, Spike saw Buffy frown. What was it, now? He was just being nice to her Watcher, having assumed she would be happy to have Giles around, but apparently she didn’t like the idea, if he was to judge by her expression.

He wanted to ask her what the problem was, but she seemed reluctant to talk around the others, so he didn’t mention it, deciding to wait until they would be alone, which only happened once they left the house to go patrol. Two of the Potentials asked to come along, but Buffy refused, with the excuse that things were too dangerous with an unknown foe out there. Spike said nothing, but had this quiet certitude that she just didn’t want the kids with them. Not that he minded being alone with her, far from it, even if things weren’t exactly perfect.

Things had only gotten more strained in the last couple of days, as he could do nothing to convince her to drink more. Not drinking anything human was bad enough, not sharing with him was absurd, but not drinking her fill of animal blood – as he was sure was the case, even if she denied it – that was more than he could endure to watch her do. It was as though she was trying to provoke him into controlling her again, and that was the only reason he wasn’t doing it. Despite the tension, they kept to a mostly habitual schedule. Patrols until early morning, rest until noon, research in the afternoon, and all over again come night.

Had his heart been beating, Spike was sure it would have stopped at her words. He caught her arm, forcing her to stop walking and to look at him.

“Just until Giles gets a place for them,” she explained as if it made perfect sense. “I just don’t feel like being around them all. It’s no biggie.”

“No biggie?” he repeated, incredulous. “You’re leaving our home and…”

He snorted. “Allow me to think otherwise when I’m alone in our bed. And where exactly are you going?”

Her teeth caught her bottom lip, and he watched as she thought, wondering what was troubling her.

“I was thinking of using the mansion,” she said at last. “It will just be for a few days.”

So, he thought glumly, she’d rather be in a place where she had been tortured, a place where she had sent Angel to Hell, rather than being in their home with just a few guests. Oh yeah, no biggie.

“Why?” he asked softly as he tilted her head up with a finger and tried to find the answer in her eyes.

She shook her head, but didn’t reply. Before he could insist, they both turned to face the approaching group of vamps. Five of them, walking straight toward the blonde couple through the deserted graveyard. That wasn’t exactly new, they had been attacked before by groups that thought they could take down the Slayer and her traitor of a sidekick. What was new, however, was that they all had stakes.

“You’re ready for this?” he asked, sotto voce, “Or do you want to retreat?”

A simple look at her, eyes flashing gold and indignant expression plain on her face, told her what the answer was.

“Right. Back to back, then. And no playing this time, stake as soon as you have an opening.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Remind me which of us is the Slayer, Spike? I still know how to stake a vamp, even if he wants to stake me back.”

With that, she was off to battle, and after two strides he was right along her. Oh, he knew she could stake a vamp, no problem there. But she had developed the habit of playing with her prey, which was probably a manifestation of her demon, and while Spike usually had nothing against it - he did the same thing more often than not - it wasn’t exactly the time to play that game.

Spike didn’t have much more trouble with these, which were obviously barely more than fledglings, than he had with any vamp, simply because he was used to fighting someone who had a stake in hand, and it was just instinct to constantly keep an eye on the simple but so dangerous piece of wood. He noticed, however, that his Slayer was fumbling a little, as if more wary of her adversaries' weapons than she had ever been about a sword or the like. He didn’t step in to help, however, he knew her better than that. Any intervention would have brought him nothing but recriminations and protests that she could still do her job. Instead, he managed to disarm his last opponent, and pressed him to the ground, arms pulled tight in his back, a knee held hard enough against his spine to discourage any movement. Just then, Buffy dusted her vamp, and she turned an inquisitive eyebrow to him.

“Not playing, luv,” he said as he considered the vamp under him. “I just have a couple of questions for out new friend. And if he doesn’t want to talk, a bit of torture might be nice. You want to help?”

He raised a pleading look to her at that, silently asking her to play along, and she seemed to understand what he was doing.

“It might be fun,” she agreed. “Just ask him so he can refuse to answer and we can play. There’s that church just a block away. Holy water and crosses. We could…”

The vamp had started shivering at the simple word of church, and he didn’t seem too inclined to hear what Buffy thought they could do there because he cried out:

“How did you know she’s a vamp?” Spike interrupted him harshly. “Who told you?”

“I swear I don’t! That girl from my clan, she said there were new vamps in town, and that they were saying the Slayer’s a vampire. I swear that’s all I know!”

Spike pondered about that. It wasn’t like they could even be sure their hostage was telling the truth, so why bother? It had first seemed like a good idea to interrogate him, but now he realized that he shouldn’t have expected much from the fledgling. He asked nonetheless, if only to satisfy Buffy.

There was a flash of surprise in the side of the vamp’s face that wasn’t pressed to the ground, and Spike knew his answer before he even spoke.

Releasing his prey’s arms, Spike thrust a stake through his back before he could finish and got back to his feet.

“So, when are we moving out?” he asked after a moment, continuing their previous conversation.

“Of course, we. You think I’m going to let you go to that damned place alone and get stuck with these hormone bombs? I’d rather take a bath in holy water.”

She laughed softly at that, and snaked her arm around his waist, leaning against his shoulder.

He only replied with a kiss to her temple. He didn’t particularly like the mansion, because it held a couple of bad memories for him too, but he had stayed there before, and he would again, if that was the way to be with his Slayer.

Chapter 17: Running Away

As he had witnessed the slow changes brought along by a century, Spike had come to appreciate many new things. Cars, the telly the blooming onion, the Ramones, were just a few perks that had made unlife better. One that certainly wasn’t on the list, however, especially when he was awoken by it at indecent hours, was the telephone.

“It’s almost ten,” an impatient voice cut off his growl. “More than time for you to get up.”

“’M a vampire, Peaches,” he replied with a yawn. “’M supposed to sleep during the day. Or have you forgotten already?”

At his side, Buffy pulled up the sheet over her head, apparently not enjoying any more than he did to be awoken so early. They had been out really late, and both could have used some more sleep.

“Fascinating,” he says sarcastically. “Let me find something to write…”

Pulling himself to a sitting position, Spike swung his legs over the edge of the bed, but Angel stopped him.

That wasn’t part of the plan. They had only asked him to find the girl’s address, since all they had was the name of a town, but it had never been question of him coming along.

“I’m probably the only one she will listen to,” he pointed out when Spike said they didn’t need him. “I doubt she’ll just take your word and follow you.”

Spike sighed. He had thought as much before, and wondered how they would convince the bint. She had made it clear after the last near-apocalypse that she was done with vampires and everything that was Slayer related, and she certainly wasn’t going to like the news they had for her. None of it.

Spike was about to hang up and get back to sleep, but apparently his Sire wasn’t done.

The words froze Spike as he was lying down again. He threw an arm over his eyes, and mumbled:

There was a pause, and the vampire could almost hear the wheels turning in the human’s brain. He was thinking too much, as usual.

“Just forget about it,” Spike said tiredly. “It was a bad idea to begin with, and I shouldn’t…”

The wheels were turning faster, now, and there was certainly smoke coming out of his ears. Spike almost regretted not to be able to see that. Almost, but not quite, though. Because if he had been in front of Angel, his Sire could have seen how much he was hurt, still, by her refusal, and the last thing he needed was pity.

“She’s an idiot,” Angel said at last, grumbling. “I love that girl, but she can be really thickheaded sometimes.”

Spike laughed joylessly. She was even more so than Angel knew, but he wasn’t about to discuss her new feeding habits right now.

Just talking about it, just trying to pretend that it wasn’t a big deal that he had offered to his Slayer the ultimate proof of trust and that she had declined to reciprocate, was bringing Spike back to his anger of that night, and it was hard to contain it. Too hard. So he let it out.

He cut the connection before Angel could reply to that, and dropped the phone on the floor.

He didn’t want Angel’s sympathy. He didn’t want to awake the pain and anger again. They had too much to do and think about, so much that this, in comparison, was nothing. He had made a bet, and had lost. Not the first time in his life. Probably not the last either.

“Why did you call him Angelus?” Buffy asked sleepily as she emerged from under the sheets.

“Because he’s a bloody idiot, that’s why,” Spike replied brusquely, annoyed that she had been listening.

She didn’t say a word after that, and he supposed she had heard in his tone that he was upset. He expected her to ask what was wrong, to try and cheer him up, but nothing she could say would make anything better – no, that wasn’t true, there were words that would have helped, but he knew she wasn’t going to say them, wasn’t going to accept now anymore than she had a few days before. He pretended that he was sleeping again, and after a few minutes, she slipped out of bed, got dressed and left the room, leaving him alone to cope with memories and demons he couldn’t slay.

When Buffy came downstairs, Giles was in the kitchen, watching Andrea in the backyard where she coached the four Potentials through fighting motions. After long discussions, they had decided not to tell the girls exactly why they were being gathered, and as far as they all knew this was just a training retreat, only exceptional because they were waiting for seven more girls to join them, one of them the newly called Slayer, who was on her way from South America. There were going to be eight gathering points worldwide, each with between ten and fifteen potential Slayers, under the guard of seven to nine Watchers. They hadn’t told them it was more serious than they thought because they still didn’t know who or what they were up to, and it seemed useless to have the girls worry about something they could do nothing about. Once they discovered what was up, then, they would tell the Potentials.

There had never been such an operation before, and Giles was more than anxious that this was happening while his position in the New Council – and the New Council itself - was still so fragile. After the elation of the first few weeks right after Travers’ demise, the Watchers had awoken with a collective hangover. No one had exactly challenged how he had been nominated as Head Watcher, at least not yet, but there was resentment, especially from the older members of the order, and even more so now that they had lost their second Slayer in less than a year. They all knew, of course, that it had always happened like this, that no one could predict how long a Slayer would survive, but it didn’t prevent them from wanting to blame someone. At the moment, this someone seemed to be him.

It was as though they had expected him to have a miracle recipe for keeping Slayers alive. And he knew where that ridiculous idea came from, of course. Wasn’t he the Watcher of one of the longest living Slayers? Wasn’t she still working with them, even though she was now a vampire? Of course, what they all seemed to forget, was that he had failed her, again and again, and that it wasn’t thanks to him, far from it, that she had lived so long. But he wasn’t forgetting. He would never forget.

He buried a sigh in his cup of tea as she walked in and didn’t meet his gaze. She had been distant, the day before, and it didn’t seem any better now. She paused for the briefest instant next to the back door, glancing at the girls training outside, but didn’t comment or say anything about them.

“How are you doing?” he asked her softly as he observed her help herself with some of the tea he had made.

She nodded, and busied herself with her tea, making a face before adding sugar to it. Still no eye contact with him.

“Any news about Faith?” he tried again to make her talk. “Spike mentioned we have to find her.”

This was getting as painful as a tooth extraction… He gave up subtlety, and went instead for bluntness.

“What’s wrong, Buffy? You’ve barely said a few words to me since I arrived. Did I do or say something?”

He had been pretty annoyed when she told him she was quitting, and maybe had talked to her more harshly than he should have, but it was certainly no reason to treat him so coldly now. She finally looked directly at him when she answered.

Belying the words, he could see the look on her face. He had seen it before, and there was no way for him to mistake it for anything else. Guilt. She felt guilty. And it wasn’t hard to guess about what.

“It’s not your fault,” he said gently, trying to put in his words and gaze all the conviction he could muster. “And beating yourself over her death won’t help her, nor will it help the others.”

“I am sure you do. Being the Slayer doesn’t mean you are responsible for everyone’s safety, Buffy. There are limits to what you can do.”

She shook her head. “She wasn’t just anyone. She was my student. She was a kid. And I should have been there for her.”

“So you blame me for not managing to save you from the Master? And Glory? And even Spike? You were my student, and a kid, and according to what you say…”

He blamed himself, of course, but he had never thought before that she felt resentment toward him, at least not about that. She tried to deny it, interrupting him, eyes wide in surprise, but he had understood all too well.

“I didn’t say anything like that! It was different, there was nothing you could have done…”

“But there had to be,” she said with force. “There’s got to be a reason I’m still here after all that happened to me. I’m still alive, or almost, and that’s to take the burden away from them. They don’t need to take so many risks, because I’m here. They shouldn’t die as long as I’m doing my job.”

Giles couldn’t suppress a sigh. “That’s not how it works. If it was, no new slayer would be called as long as you’re here. And yet they keep coming…”

“And they keep dying,” she cut in. “It’s ridiculous. You should just keep them out of danger and let me do my duty.”

With that, she put her empty cup in the sink and walked out and into the dining room. That was when Giles realized they weren’t alone anymore. Spike was by the kitchen’s entrance, leaning against the wall, arms crossed and a frown on his face. He expected the vampire to comment of his Mate’s words, and in truth would have liked to know what he thought of them, but instead Spike asked something quite startling.

Manon gave a nervous smile to the Immigration officer who was inspecting her passport. What could she answer to that? ‘I’m trying to escape a bunch of vampires who tried to slaughter me like an animal’ just didn’t seem like an acceptable answer.

Or maybe a couple of months, depending on whether they could help or not. Maybe she should have flown to London, or called Andrea, or done something else, anything else but run. But she had needed to act, and fast. She had been supposed to leave with her Watcher the following day for some kind of Slayer retreat in Italy, but she didn’t know where exactly, and she figured that, for one thing, it was better not to lead the vamps to a gathering of potential Slayers, and for another it was safer to put as much ground as possible between her and her would-be killers. The vamps had made it clear that all they were interested in was her, her blood, and that they would do anything to get her. Even kill whoever was helping her. She would be dead, too, if not for the fact that instead of simply draining her, as they had her Watcher, they had tried to slash her wrists. She still had a nasty cut along her forearm, concealed under her light jacket. All she hoped… no, she wasn’t hoping. She knew he was fine. She was going to call him as soon as she cleared immigration and customs, and he would tell her he was fine.

After looking at her a little longer, as if trying to decide whether to send her home just for the fun of it, the officer stamped her passport, muttering something about ninety days and deportation rules. Clearing customs was easier, since she only had a small suitcase, and then she was free to wander in the airport while she waited for her connection. She lost no time using her emergency, Council issued credit card to call Axel. Once she was reassured that he was fine, as well as her family, she told him where she was going, and promised to call again once she got there. Then she made another call, to London, this time. Apparently, Andrea wasn’t there, nor was Giles, but she managed to leave a message to be delivered to them, informing them that she was on her way to Sunnydale.

She didn’t know Buffy’s phone number, and hadn’t thought of asking it from the Council’s secretary who had answered her call, so she couldn’t warn the vamps of her arrival. All she could do now was wait for her connecting flight to Los Angeles, and try not to think about her Watcher’s lifeless eyes staring at her accusingly.

Chapter 18: Sires

An hour and half after sunset, two vampires arrived at the Hyperion. There hadn’t been much talk in the car. There hadn’t been much talk at all during the whole day, in fact. In the morning, as she was leaving the kitchen, Buffy had apparently heard Spike ask her Watcher if she had fed, and she had been glaring at him ever since he had joined her in the living room with two mugs of heated blood. To his dismay, she had refused the blood, claiming, yet again, that she wasn’t hungry. He knew she had to be, and he itched to force her to feed. That hadn’t helped so far, however, and he doubted it was the solution. But he didn’t know what the solution was.

Giles had come into the living room, and although he hadn’t said a word, his whole demeanor had been expressing curiosity, or rather concern, about what was going on with Buffy. Another pointed glare had convinced Spike that it would be better not to tell anything to the Watcher within his Childe’s earshot.

He was getting tired of her behavior. Tired in a very angry way. Angry as a Sire was entitled to be. The thing was, he just couldn’t let himself act on this anger again. He couldn’t bear to think about acting with Buffy the way Angelus had once acted with him. Not only was the thought sickening, but it seemed utterly useless, too. She didn’t know about discipline and punishments amongst vampires – she didn’t know much about vampires’ night-to-night lives at all – and he doubted she would understand, or even accept, if he suddenly was to bring this kind of practices in their relationship.

She walked inside the hotel first and he followed, frowning slightly as he thought about the mess they were in. Why did it have to happen when they had a major problem with the Potentials too? He was startled out of his thoughts by a barked order.

Unconsciously standing straighter, he stared at Angel who was striding toward Buffy and him. On the side of the hall, Fred and Gunn, who were talking with what was probably a prospective customer, turned to look at their boss, puzzlement plain on their faces.

“We don’t have time for…” he started, trying to keep his voice calm despite the irritation he felt rising in him.

“We’ll make time,” Angel interrupted him sharply, before turning his attention to Buffy. “Why don’t you go see Dawn? I’m sure she’d love to show you what she did with the suite.”

His tone was cool as he very clearly dismissed her, almost cold, and she seemed to realize it as she glanced back and forth between the two men. Angel gave her directions to Dawn and Steven’s suite, and she walked away, after a last questioning look at Spike that remained unanswered.

For a couple of seconds, Spike seriously considered turning his back on Angel and simply walking out. He was in no mood to handle the brunette right now. They had a job to do, however, and that was to find Faith and assure her safety. And they needed Angel for that, so he might as well confront him now so that they could be on their way in the best delays.

Suppressing both a sigh and a growl, he walked to the designated office, all too aware of Angel’s presence behind him. He sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk and pulled out his cigarettes. Angel was already mad, so he had no reason not to light a fag. The sound of the closing door was ominous.

His gaze followed the brunette as he walked around the desk to sit behind it. Had Angel still been a vampire, Spike was sure his eyes would have been gold now, judging by both his voice and the anger that came from him in almost visible waves.

Oh, he knew what this was about. It was fun to play dumb, though, and watch Angel’s ire grow a little more. It was far less fun, however, when Angel pulled a silver and onyx ring from his finger and threw it on the desk.

“You said you still considered me as your Sire,” Angel said coldly. “You gave me this. If it doesn’t mean a thing to you, you might as well say it straight out.”

“I’ve yelled at you before,” he said carefully. “And done far worse than tell you to go to hell.”

Angel shook his head. “You have. But never when all I was trying to do was help.”

“That’s not what I heard this morning. It sounded to me like you were hurt, just like I know I would have been hurt in your place. And if you can’t accept that as your Sire I care about whatever is going on in your life, then you might as well take that ring back now and stay out of mine.”

Spike didn’t reply, too shocked to force a word past his lips. Shocked because of the words that had been uttered. Shocked because of the pained tone in which they had been said. And shocked because he had said something very similar to Buffy, not that long ago – except for the staying out of his life part, he would die rather than be without her. In this instant, he could suddenly see very clearly how similar his behavior and Buffy’s were, both of them closing off from the one person who could have helped. It would have been comical if it hadn’t been so sad.

Leaning toward the desk, he picked up the signet, and couldn’t help noticing the hurt look that fluttered on his Sire’s usually so inexpressive features. The hurt disappeared however when he silently presented the ring to Angel in his open palm. Angel nodded lightly, and placed the symbol of their link back on his finger.

“So, what’s wrong?” he said, all anger gone and forgotten. “Is it only because she refused the ritual, or is it more than that?”

Spike threw his head back, closing his eyes for an instant. And then he gave in.

The phone started ringing, and he wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or relieved about being interrupted. He had that strange feeling of inadequacy about being Buffy’s Sire, since he obviously wasn’t finding the way to help her, and to let his own Sire know about his shortcomings was painful to say the least. Angel gave him a half apologizing look as he picked up. After a second, however, he was handing him the phone.

Spike frowned as he took the receiver, wondering what hell had broken loose in Sunnydale since they had left.

“Spike. There’s a slight change of plans. You need to get to the airport. Manon will arrive there in twenty five minutes, and she could be in danger.”

Absently putting out his cigarette in the ashtray on the desk, Spike asked for details

“I didn’t speak to her directly,” Giles replied. “All I know is that her Watcher is dead, and she was scared enough to jump in the first plane to California. She might be followed or have a not so welcoming party for all we know, so I’d like you and Buffy to go pick her up.”

“I don’t know, I guess we’ll have a better idea once she tells us what happened exactly.”

“Good. Her plane comes in from Detroit at 10:05. Oh, and Spike? If you and Buffy were kind enough not to leave the receiver off the hook, maybe we could get time sensitive information on time?”

Spike shook his head as he gave the phone back to Angel. Had he left the thing on that morning? Or maybe it had turned back on when he had dropped it on the floor. It didn’t matter now.

“Manon is arriving in half an hour,” he informed his Sire. “We need to go pick her up.”

“That would mean that we can’t talk to her until tomorrow night. And what are we doing with Manon in the meantime?”

Spike frowned, once more wondering why everything needed to happen at the same time. They needed to protect both women, and he wasn’t going to pick whose safety they were to assure first.

“Right. Doesn’t work so well. We have to get Faith as soon as possible, and we have to get the kid too. Let’s just split up. You go for Faith, I go for Manon. Meet up in Sunnyhell.”

The brunette’s frown only deepened as he looked at Spike with a surprised look.

“And Buffy?” he asked at last, as if not believing that Spike hadn’t mentioned her.

Buffy. Spike closed his eyes for an instant, and made his decision. She wanted space? Fine, he would give her space. Maybe being apart for a few hours would calm both of their tempers.

“With you. If you touch her, I’ll kill you,” he said with a warning glance at Angel, who rolled his eyes at him in reply.

“You could change your tune, it’s getting old,” he commented. “Let’s go tell her and…”

“You tell her,” Spike interrupted him. “I need to hurry to be at the airport on time.”

He got to his feet, and, fishing out his car keys from his duster’s pocket, gave them to Angel.

“Better if you two take my car,” he explained, “in case you have to travel by day.”

Another frown, and a mumbled agreement, and Spike was giving both thanks and goodbyes. The vampire could see that Angel was going to add something, but he decided that it could wait, and walked out of the room. He heard however his Sire’s parting words.

In a large mansion on the outskirts of Sunnydale, the night was only beginning, and it promised to be long. Most of the minions had trickled out already, sent to hunt for their dinner with strict orders about when to be back and not to make themselves noticed. It would have been pointless to keep a low profile and protect the house if the dozen minions were allowed to hunt together and bring attention to themselves. One of the High Mistress’ Childer was out, too, Sylvyan, the youngest one, and his orders were to keep an eye on the minions and report any transgression. She doubted any of them would act out, though, not after the demonstration she had inflicted on the three idiots who had ignored her orders and approached the traitor. Knowing Sylvyan, he would also bring back a succulent little treat for his Sire, as it usually granted him access to her bed for the day. Tonight, however, she was irritated enough that he might not enjoy her attentions so much. Not that he would dare say so, of course, he was well trained.

“So, she escaped?” she repeated what she had just been told by another of her Childer, Ada. Her tone was only conveying carrying half of her anger, but it was already harsh enough to make everyone within hearing distance flinch.

“Yes, High Mistress,” Ada said meekly, bowing her head a little more. “That is what Orion said. They killed her Watcher, but the Slayer escaped. He thinks she left town but doesn’t know…”

Ada fell silent, her eyes still on the floor. Orion was the High Mistress’ oldest Childe. A little over three hundred years old, now. He was currently her favorite, which was why she had entrusted him with the task of bringing back the French Slayer’s blood. Obviously, she needed to decide on a new favorite Childe. Maybe Ada? Her little spells were sometimes handy, and if she could use one of them now, she would definitely gain back some of the favor she had lost nine months before with the stupid mistake of trying to prove herself by taking a Slayer.

“Find her,” she ordered her Childe. “Find the Slayer for me, and you may hunt again.”

Hope and devotion shone brightly in Ada’s pale gray eyes as she briefly looked up before bowing once more and scurrying away to her room and spell books. For nine months, she had been forced to feed off minions, or from the other Childer when they agreed to it, which wasn’t often. Being denied fresh blood was her punishment – part of it – for having thought that she could kill a Slayer without her Sire’s approval. She had learned that lesson very effectively. She wouldn’t touch a Slayer ever again without the express permission to do so.

Of course, there soon wouldn’t be such a thing as a Slayer anymore, so it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Chapter 19: On the Road and Off

Spike had left. Without her. Without even telling her. He had left her alone with Angel, and had gone by himself to pick up Manon. Not just anyone, but the Slayer who was head over heels in love with him. Why did it seem so much that he had preferred to go meet the younger Slayer rather than stay with her? And why did she feel jealous, when she never had before?

She really couldn’t believe it. When Angel had come up to find her, and had explained to her what was going on, she had stared at him for a few seconds, almost expecting him to say that it was a joke, a really bad joke but just a joke. But apparently, it wasn’t, since they were on their way to Faith, in Spike’s car, and Angel was still awfully cold toward her, and quiet, just as Spike had been all day. She had a suspicion that what the two men had talked about while she was with Dawn was her – there was no other explanation to Angel’s behavior – and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what had been said exactly.

“Can I ask you a question?” Angel said suddenly, startling her a little, his eyes never straying from the clear patch on the windshield.

“God, you two are just the same. Playing dumb even when you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She didn’t reply to that, wondering if Spike had said anything, after all, since Angel didn’t seem to know…

“I know about the ritual,” he said coldly. “I know you refused it, and I know how much it hurt him. I’m not going to ask why you refused, it’s not my business, but…”

“That’s where you’re mistaken,” he snapped back. “Spike is my Childe, you’re my GrandChilde, and everything the two of you do is my business. Especially when it implies hurting each other.”

Crossing her arm, she stared ahead at the painted windshield and refused to answer. Because if she did answer, she would just tell him that he was human, and no one’s Sire any longer, and that wouldn’t help a thing. Spike still called him his Sire, and as long as he did she had no right to say otherwise, or so she felt. He let out a deep sigh, and from the corner of her eye she could see him glancing at her again.

“I’m just trying to help,” he said, sounding more sympathetic now than he had been before. “A few years back, I would have jumped on the occasion to try to break you apart. But I’ve seen the two of you together. You belong together, and whatever is pulling you apart…”

“Nothing is pulling us apart,” she mumbled. “We’re just disagreeing on something, but it’s not important. Nothing for you to feel concerned about. We’ve fought before, and with eternity in front of us, we’ll fight again, that’s a given.”

She looked briefly toward him, then, and crossed his gaze. He seemed very much skeptical about what she had said, but for a long moment he kept quiet.

“Eternity might be yours,” he said at last. “Just remember that it’s an awful lot of time to spend alone.”

Pulling her carry on luggage after her, Manon walked along the concourse, mindlessly following the flow of people that guided her toward the exit. She hadn’t been able to sleep in the plane, and was completely exhausted. She was trying to decide whether to stop at a phone and call the Council again or to go find a cab to drive her to Sunnydale when she spotted him. It was difficult not to notice him, a lone figure immobile in the middle of the moving travelers, uncaring that he was blocking the way. Just like she remembered him, he was clothed in black and crowned by that shock of white blonde hair. As she walked toward him, she instinctively looked around for Buffy, as she couldn’t remember ever seeing them willingly apart. She didn’t see her, though. What she did see as she reached him was the tension in the vamp’s face even as he smiled at her.

Her own forced smile wavered, and her eyes were stinging with tears she refused to shed. His brow furrowed, and she just knew he was going to ask her what was going on, but she couldn’t take it, not now. If he made her talk now, she was going to start crying her heart out in the middle of the concourse.

Still frowning, he nodded and pried the suitcase’s handle from her fingers. The hand that closed on her shoulder startled her, but the contact was soothing, and she welcomed it. Too soon, it was gone, as Spike turned around and led her out of the airport. He made her climb into a convertible, placed the suitcase in the backseat, and still silent he put the car in motion. She was thankful for the quiet, for the time he was giving her, and after a long moment, as they were on the highway, she could finally talk to him.

He glanced at her, very briefly, before turning his attention back to the road. “I know.”

These simple words broke her last barriers, and she let go of the pain and tears she had been containing since she had escaped her attackers. Almost immediately, a hand curled at the back of her neck and drew her to rest her head against his shoulder.

The kid had fallen asleep halfway through their trip toward Sunnydale, and it almost pained Spike to wake her when he pulled on Revello Drive. He had to, though. She followed him inside, and they were greeted by Giles and Andrea. The later pulled the kid into a hug, and fussed over her like a mother hen, ushering her toward the living room, asking her if she was hungry, or if she wanted tea maybe. A still too British part of him agreed that a good cuppa could help anything. A more cynical part added that it helped even better with a shot of good scotch to flavor the tea.

With a half smile, Spike nodded at Andrea, telling her wordlessly he would take care of it, and then strode to the kitchen. He wasn’t very surprised when Giles tagged along.

“Whatever you do,” he advised the Head Watcher, “just be sure to make her understand it’s not her fault. The last thing we need is another Slayer blaming herself for everything that goes wrong around her.”

Giles stopped in the middle of some glasses polishing, and looked up at Spike, unrecognizable feelings fluttering on his features. The vampire turned back to the stove, and added chocolate to the milk, stirring the mix with a wooden spoon.

And wasn’t that hilarious? Not that long ago – a few years were nothing for a vampire – Spike would have fought with fangs and claws not to leave these two alone. And today, he had just sent them on a road trip together. Hilarious, indeed.

The question had been predictable, and yet Spike wasn’t sure how to answer it. Just like earlier with Angel, he was reluctant about sharing his problems concerning Buffy. He had to, however. Even if he hated it, he needed help with her, and maybe the Watcher would have an idea. He had known her for longer than Spike had, after all…

“She had been acting a bit strangely for a while,” he said very low, “and it got even worse with Min’s death and her blaming herself for it.”

“It’s like… like she’s trying to convince herself, and everyone around her, that she’s still human. It was just little nothings at the beginning, but now she barely feeds, she refuses human blood, she…”

“She refuses to share with me. She says she’s trying to control the demon, but all she’s doing is making herself weak. And I don’t know how to help her.”

The hot chocolate was ready, and Spike absently filled out two mugs, more by habit than by real desire to drink any. Realizing what he had done, he frowned at the offending extra mug, and wondered where Buffy was exactly, and what she was doing. What she was thinking. Leaving her for a few hours had felt like a good idea at the time, but he was now regretting it. Angel didn’t know what was going on with her, he wouldn’t pay attention to whether she was feeding or not. Leaving her had been a mistake. Even if he didn’t know how to make things better for her, Spike felt like he should at least have been with her. Both his blood and heart were screaming so.

Spike’s voice was blank as he explained what was wrong with Buffy, but even so Giles could hear his anguish. Years before, he had had more than a few doubts about the vampire being a suitable partner for Buffy, but the doubts were long gone.

“She says she’s trying to control the demon, but all she’s doing is making herself weak. And I don’t know how to help her.”

Immediately, these words triggered a memory in Giles mind. More than half forgotten, words that sounded as what Spike had just said, though different. A prophecy? It definitely felt like something he had read, he could almost see the printed words in front of him, could see himself just skimming over them, but the little he thought he remembered didn’t sound remotely like a prophecy.

“… controlling her demons… might weaken her if she doesn’t find… help her by showing her how to…”

How to what? Where had he read that? He knew it would come back to him, eventually, that if he gave it time, his mind would remember where and when he had obtained that bit of information. But it didn’t look like they had time to spare, and he wished he could remember right away. It was useless to concentrate his thoughts on that, though, it would only block the memory from becoming accessible. Useless, also, to tell Spike before he could remember the rest of that text.

Blinking a couple of times, Giles realized that while he was lost in his thoughts Spike had moved away from the stove. He now had a mug full of chocolate in hand, and was apparently ready to go back to Manon.

“Still here, just thinking,” he said with a weak smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you about Buffy…”

Spike shrugged, but his nonchalance felt very much like a mask. “Didn’t expect you to know,” he said quietly. “Shall we see what’s up with our other Slayer, then?”

And so they returned to the living room, where they found Andrea cleaning a long cut on the inside of Manon’s arm with the first aid kit she had presumably retrieved from upstairs. The two men exchanged a bleak look, and Giles could see that, like him, Spike was thinking of the way Min had died. Neither said a word, though, until Manon had started taking sips from the mug Spike had given her.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Giles asked her then, sitting in the armchair across the sofa were she was.

Andrea shot him an annoyed glare, that was saying very clearly ‘can’t you see she’s tired and hurt, you insensitive man?’, but she didn’t express the thought out loud. She was more protective of his image of Head Watcher than he was himself, and if she didn’t hesitate to berate him in private whenever she disagreed with him, she rarely ever did it where anyone else could hear.

“There were rumors of a new clan in town,” the Slayer said quietly, looking at no one in particular. “Tony suggested that we took care of it before leaving for the retreat camp, and it sounded like a good idea. Except that they were waiting for us, as if they had known we were coming, but they couldn’t know, it was just the two of us, no one else knew…”

A dry sob shook her body, and she calmed it with a sip of chocolate before continuing.

“We went to the castle where their lair was supposed to be, and as soon as we got in they threw a net over me. I’m not sure what went on while I was trying to get free and fight them off at the same time, but when I got out of it I saw… Tony was on the ground and… he was dead. I was so stunned… they caught me, and I tried to shake them off, but I couldn’t, there were too many. I could hear one of them talking, giving instructions, he said they needed all my blood so if they spilled any he was going to dust them, and then I felt the blade on my wrist…”

Once more, Giles’ gaze sought out Spike’s, and the vampire gave a short nod even as he frowned. Now, they knew. It sounded like the same people who had killed Min, and, despite what Spike had thought, they were vampires.

“… and I fought as hard as I could and the blade cut me and he was so mad he was screaming at the others. I don’t know if they got scared or what, but I managed to get free, and I ran, I just ran, I didn’t want to die too…”

Her voice ended on a whisper, and she closed her eyes. Andrea had finished bandaging her arm, and she was now holding her free hand. For a moment, they all remained quiet, then Giles cleared his throat.

“Manon,” he said softly, “there was nothing else you could have done. It very clearly was a trap, and it’s a miracle that you got out of it alive. You did the right thing by running away.”

“Getting yourself killed wouldn’t have brought him back,” Spike interrupted her. “He knew the risks when he became a Watcher, and he accepted them. You are in no way responsible for his choices. Or his death.”

He indicated with his head the staircase, and Giles could hear scrambling sounds coming from upstairs. Apparently, the Potentials had been listening. They might as well call them and explain to them, and to Manon, what was going on, or at least the little that they knew.

Chapter 20: Game Mask

After his first attempt at finding out what was wrong between his Childe and Buffy, Angel didn’t insist. She obviously didn’t want to talk about it, not anymore than Spike had wanted to, but whereas he had ways to put pressure on Spike, Angel was more often than not unable to convince Buffy to do something she wasn’t inclined to do by herself. Even something as simple as talk to him. And so they both kept quiet until they arrived to the town where Angel’s sources had localized Faith.

It was a little past midnight when he parked the car in a nice suburban driveway. Not exactly the perfect hour to visit, but they had decided that it would be best to tell Faith what was going on and to take her to safety as soon as possible. The house was dark and quiet as they got out of the car and walked to the front porch. Buffy knocked on the door, and after a few seconds there were sounds inside, then they could see a light turning on from the nearby window. Finally, the door was cracked open, with a heavy chain on, though, and through the narrow space they could see, or rather guess, a man, who seemed to be holding a baseball bat in hand as he looked at them. They exchanged a glance, and Buffy’s eyes were clearly asking whether this was the correct house. Angel was sure it was, though, and when the guy asked what they wanted, he replied:

The man didn’t move from behind the chained door, but his look changed, became almost appraising.

They could hear a woman’s voice calling from inside, and the man turned around after a last frown at Buffy.

Faith’s voice was clearly recognizable, or rather Lauren’s, as she was now called, and she appeared in the crack of the door, hugging a night robe around her.

“Nice to see you too, Lauren,” Buffy said dryly. “We have to talk to you, it’s very important.”

The guy reappeared right behind Faith, a hand on her shoulder, and they could hear him saying softly:

“Yeah, she’s my sister. Or rather she was, in another life. And no, we’re not going to invite these people in. I don’t want to have anything to do with them ever again, and they know it.”

The way she said ‘invite’ was all too clear – she thought they were both vampires again. That was rather strange, because she had left right after the last prevented apocalypse, and as far as Angel knew she hadn’t known about Buffy choosing vampirehood again. In any case, they couldn’t let her close the door to their face.

“Faith, you’re in danger,” he said urgently. “If you would just give us a minute…”

“You have a minute,” the man behind her – her husband, according to the information Angel had – interrupted him, “to get off my property before I call the police. She doesn’t want to talk to you, now leave.”

He turned to face her, and instantly knew how Faith had guessed at least one of them was a vamp. Buffy’s eyes were shimmering with gold, which was even more obvious in the semi darkness.

“Let’s go,” he said calmly. “Staying here now won’t help, and neither will getting angry.”

She looked a bit puzzled at that, and even more so as he asked her, once they were in the car:

“I know you never liked Faith that much,” he said coolly, “but I thought we were supposed to help her, not scare her. If you could keep the demon a bit more in check next time we see her, I’m sure it would help.”

She didn’t answer to that, but he could feel her eyes on him. He glanced at her as they were stopped at a red light, and again her eyes were golden as she looked at him, seemingly in shock.

For a couple of seconds, she simply stared at him as if she hadn’t heard him, then nodded slowly.

“And we will do that tomorrow,” he acquiesced. “But in the meantime, I guess we should find a place to stay.”

She nodded again, and he drove in silence to a motel on the edge of town. They took two rooms, and Angel left Buffy to hers while he went and put his overnight bag in his. It was a good thing they had thought of the possibility that Faith wouldn’t be easy to convince and that they would need to spend a day or two in this town. He returned to Buffy’s room, then, intent on planning with her what they would do, and when they would try to talk to Faith again. Maybe he ought to go alone during the day, she might be more receptive if she saw he wasn’t a vampire again. They would need to call Spike and tell him of their plans, also. And see what was going on with Manon.

After knocking briefly and hearing her reply, he entered Buffy’s room. And stopped dead in his tracks as she looked at him from where she stood by the bed. Again, her eyes were gold. But now, she was in full game face. It wasn’t the first time, far from it, that he had seen her demon visage. At this instant, however, this particular face and the look in her eyes were freezing his blood as cold sweat trickled down his back. And he had the very disturbing thought that, if she wanted to kill him – or turn him – Spike wasn’t there to stop her this time.

As she unpacked her overnight bag – in which were also some of Spike’s clothes, and a flash of renewed irritation ran through her as she saw them – Buffy couldn’t help thinking that things could hardly have gone any worse than they had. Not only had Faith refused to listen to them, but she had apparently guessed, and Buffy wasn’t sure how, that she was a vampire again. Three years before, the ex-Slayer had left Sunnydale without being aware of Spike and Buffy’s return to fanginess, having made clear that she wasn’t interested in knowing about vampires, demons, or anything of the kind anymore. Apparently, she still thought the same way.

And yet, they had to find a way to talk to her, to make her see that she couldn’t ignore this threat, Buffy thought angrily. There was more at stake than her own life, much more, and as soon as they explained that to her, Buffy was sure that she would understand. They just needed to talk to her long enough. And seeing how stubborn Faith had always been, it promised to be a lot of fun.

A knock on her door, and Buffy called for Angel to get in. She hoped he had an idea about how to reach Faith, because at this point she was very much of the opinion to storm her house and simply kidnap the two humans. It might be a bit difficult, seeing how she had no invite, but she…

She looked at Angel, who had stopped just on the threshold, and frowned at the look on his face. He looked… He looked scared, there was just no other word for the wide eyed expression he was displaying. He was looking at her, and he was scared. What the hell was wrong with him?

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he replied warily. “Any reason I should know about why you are in game face?”

She was startled by the question, and stared at him, not understanding what he meant.

“I am not in…” she started, and was stopped by a sudden and awful doubt. She wasn’t, was she? She couldn’t be. She hadn’t wanted or even thought of…

She raised trembling hands to her face, and sure enough, the telltale ridges and bumps were there. As were her fangs, and she couldn’t understand how she hadn’t noticed until now. She couldn’t understand either how she had shifted without even being aware of it. That hadn’t happened to her since her very first months as a vampire, so how could it happen now, now that she had such a good control on her demon, how could it be that she wasn’t succeeding in bringing her human mask back, how could she not take control again…

Angel’s voice, suddenly much closer, as well as his hand on her shoulder, startled her. She looked at him through the fingers still covering her face. Still scared, but over the fear there was now concern, concern for her, as if he could guess that something was so terribly wrong.

“I can’t shift back,” she heard herself say in a panicked tone. “I just can’t, I’m trying but it won’t change, it just…”

The pressure on her shoulder accentuated, and she fell quiet. Still, she was looking up at him, and he seemed to be thinking very hard. A faint hope calmed her – he had been a vampire for so long, he would know how to help her. He had to know. Oh, how she wished Spike was there…

She shook her head, not understanding what that had to do with her demon face refusing to recede.

“I am trying to help,” he cut in. “What do you mean, you don’t know when you fed? Was it that long ago?”

She managed a small shrug. “Yesterday. Or maybe the day before. I’m not hungry.”

He looked incredulous now. “Not hungry?” he repeated. “Why do you think you can’t shift back? I can’t believe…”

His lips pinched tight, he just looked at her for a few seconds. All his fear seemed to be gone, now. The concern was still there, but mostly it was anger that his face reflected. His gaze moved to the bed, and the contents of the duffle bag she had spread there. He grabbed the thermos bottle, uncapped it, and gave it to her.

“But I’m not…” she started, but stopped herself as his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“If you don’t feed now,” he said very low, “I swear on my son’s life that I will tie you up and force feed you.”

Stunned by the force of his words as well as by the threat, she shakily raised the thermos bottle to her lips and took a mouthful. The blood was still warm, and very much human. She wasn’t really surprised that Spike had tried to sneak that on her, that was just like something he would do. As the thick liquid coated her tongue and slid down her throat, her demon, just like she had expected, sent thick waves of satisfaction through her, and requested more. She forced herself to stop, though, she couldn’t allow it to rule her, couldn’t…

“Keep drinking,” Angel said with a good imitation of a growl as she took her mouth off the thermos bottle.

“Don’t you dare say you’re not hungry,” he interrupted sharply. “Why do you think you can’t shift back? Because the bloodlust is too strong, that’s why. Now drink.”

He didn’t reply to that, but the severe look he gave her reminded her of his threat. She truthfully didn’t feel any hunger for the blood, just the desire of the demon that she usually stifled. She didn’t want to remain in game face, however, and if Angel was convinced that feeding would help get rid of it… Once more, she brought the bottle to her lips, and this time took long gulps, until it was completely empty. The demon was ecstatic, roaring its satisfaction inside her, but, she was surprised to discover, not trying to take control completely, just accepting what she was allowing without requesting more, without suggesting that she sank her fangs in the human’s flesh she had once tasted. All the while, Angel was watching her, his brow furrowed, less angry, now, but still worried.

“Try shifting back, now,” he advised as she put down the empty thermos bottle.

She tried, and finally could feel the human mask slide back over her features. She heaved a sigh of relief, and let herself fall onto the bed, her knees suddenly too weak to support her.

“That’s also what I’d like to understand,” Angel replied blankly. “Although now I see why Spike was so upset. Would you be kind enough to explain to me why you’re starving yourself?”

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Kallysten - kallysten_fr@yahoo.com

Whose Destiny?