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 woul