Chapter 2

Buffy wandered aimlessly throughout the remainder of the night, not wanting to meet up with her friends and see their forced looks of compassion. She thought about going home, but didn’t want to have to deal with her mother right now. Then she remembered that she was out of town buying stuff for the gallery. 

Still, she didn’t want to go home; instead, she walked listlessly through the darkened streets, uncaring about anything or anyone. 

She wasn’t surprised when she found herself standing at the front door to Angel’s apartment several hours later. It was here, after all, that she felt his presence the most. Sighing with resignation, she twisted the knob and opened the door, not surprised in the least that it turned easily in her hand. 

Quietly, she slipped inside and closed door, then rested her forehead against the cool metal surface, not quite ready to turn around and face the eerie silence of Angel’s home. 

Silent sobs shook her tiny frame and she clutched Angel’s ashes to her chest, knowing that he’d never come back. That she’d never watch his face light up when he opened the door and saw her standing there.

Time passed - minutes, hours, days... Buffy wasn’t sure. She was bone weary and reluctantly pushed herself away from the door and forced herself to turn around.

Everything was as she had left it earlier: papers scattered on his desk off to the left, his chair pulled out like he had found out something important, stood up hurriedly, and left.

Her booted feet clicked softly on the hard flooring as she moved further into the room. She ran her hand lovingly along the arm of his couch as she made her way towards his bed. Nothing had changed here either. The covers were still thrown back from when she had awoken earlier, dazed and wondering why he hadn’t returned home. 

Buffy lay down on the bed, curling into a tight ball as she cradled the box holding Angel’s remains close to her side. Feeling somewhat safe, she allowed her grief to overtake her and she poured out her heart into the pillow as she lay in his bed. Sobs wracked her body and she cried for what seemed like hours before finally falling into an exhausted slumber.

~*~

She walked barefoot along the beach, her blonde hair and red sundress blowing softly in the wind. Eyes closed, she lifted her face to the breaking dawn, allowing the peace of the setting to envelop her. She felt strong arms slip around her waist, pulling her back against a hard frame. Her own hands slid down to wrap over his as he held her close.

His face leaned down over her shoulder, and she turned to see his dark features.

Her hand lifted to caress his cheek as she asked softly, “How did you find me here?”

“If I was blind I would see you.”

She smiled softly at his fervently whispered promise, snuggling closer to him.

“Stay with me?”

“Forever…That’s the whole point. I’ll never leave.”

Her eyes flew open as she was startled awake, pulled from her dream by some unknown noise… or sixth sense. It wasn’t a vampire. No, this was something else. She lay there on the bed unmoving, her breathing deep and even as if she still slept on.

She didn’t have long to wait before the battle cry reached her ears – her attacker’s mistake – and she rolled to the far side of the bed just before the two axes imbedded deep in the mattress where her body once lay. A quick kick by her forced the attacker to release the weapons that remained stuck in the bed and he went flying out into the main living area. Holding tight to Angel’s container, she vaulted off the bed and raced towards the door and out into the night.

Apparently, the Order of Taraka hadn’t given up on her yet. She was going to have to have a word with Spike and get him to call off his goon squad.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike looked at the container that held his sire’s ashes. He was still in shock that the Slayer had done it, had given him some small piece of his Dru. He made his way through the various cemeteries of the hellmouth trying to find someplace to crash for the night. He didn’t want to go back to the factory, see all the reminders of his sire: the frilly dresses she wore, her dolls, the empty birdcage. He needed some place where he could think… and grieve. For even though he was evil, he’d loved his Dark Princess.

His sire.

He finally came to a stop in front of a crypt, his eyes lifted to take in the name etched in the stone. Le Morte. How appropriate. He pushed his way inside, his sick sense of humor caused him to laugh at the name. Death, indeed, was the place he wanted to be tonight.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat inside the crypt staring down at the container gripped tightly in his hands. His jaw worked and he allowed his rage to consume him. He was alone. Drusilla. Angelus. Darla. The Master. They were all gone now, leaving him the head of Aurelius. He smirked at that. The head of one. The once great Aurelius line was now reduced to a lone master. Oh, he was sure there were others in the line floating around the various continents, probably even some other masters that he was unaware of. But, he was the direct descendent of the master’s favored childe… not that it mattered anymore.

His eyes narrowed as a sudden thought came to him. He’d make it matter. Make the Order regret ever killing his sire. He’d rebuild the Aurelius Empire and take on the Order of Taraka himself. 

Spike cocked his head to the side as he sniffed the air. Someone was trying to sneak up on him. Well, weren’t they in for a bit of a surprise.

He placed the container holding Dru’s ashes behind the sarcophagus and listened as the crypt door creaked open. The person was obviously human, yet there was no hint of fear that he could smell. That had him slightly confused. What human would be out in the early hours of dawn and not have a trace of fear running through them? For a moment, he thought it might be the Slayer, but his vampiric senses didn’t detect anything. 

Shrugging, unconcerned, he waited for the human to make his presence known. 

His eyes widened when he heard the crypt door shut behind the human. Brave git, wasn’t he? Faint sounds of metal clinking could be heard as barely-there footsteps moved about the open space, and Spike’s brow drew down in a frown before he suddenly figured out what it belonged to.

Right about the time he smelled the gas.

Bloody hell!

Peeking his head over the sarcophagus, he cursed under his breath as his suspicions were confirmed. Swathed from head to toe in black, a silver canister strapped to his back, stood a huge behemoth of a man. The ring on his left hand gleamed against his dark skin as the man scanned the surroundings for his quarry.

Bloody buggerin’ hell! The bastard had a flamethrower!

He needed to get out of there. Vampires and flames did NOT go together. Decision made, he waiting until the man had walked further into the crypt, away from the sarcophagus he was crouched behind. Grabbing Dru’s container, he made a mad dash for the crypt door. He managed to pull it open, scramble through the opening, and slam it shut before the whoosh of the flamethrower resounded in his ears – the flames slamming harmlessly into the steel door.

He needed to get out of there, and fast. Spike had no destination in mind as he took off running deeper into the cemetery, determined to put as much distance between himself and his would-be stalker. It was probably better that way. By picking a random destination, someplace he’d never been before, whoever it was that wanted him dust would have no way of pinpointing his location. 

Spike was so deep in thought that he never heard the footsteps on a collision course with his. Never felt the vampiric senses that were screaming “Slayer” in bold letters until she slammed into him.

“Bloody hell,” he roared when the Slayer crashed into him like a rock, momentarily unbalancing him.

“Spike!” Buffy yelled, after she made sure the container she carried wasn’t disrupted in their bone-crushing collision. “What are you doing here?”

“Could ask the same thing of you, Slayer.”

Her eyes narrowed on him at his flippant response. Anger. Anger was good; it took her mind away from her heart-wrenching loss. 

“I… uh… it’s no business of yours what I’m doing. And where are you off to in such an all-fired hurry?”

“Just putting a little distance between me and the giant back there.”

“Giant?”

“Yeah, some bloody wanker that thinks the Big Bad would make great target practice… and with a bloody flamethrower, no less. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be shoving off.”

“Wait! Before you go… you need to call off the Order.” She watched as he turned around, a puzzled look on his face. “I think it’s the least you could do…”

That’s when the light bulb went off in his brain. The ring. The bloody ring! Looks like he’d just been placed on the Order’s hit list. Great! This was just what he needed.

“I wish I could, Slayer.” He cut her off before she could shout her protestations from her opened mouth. “I think yours truly just got added to that list.”

“Crap.” She moved and sat upon a headstone as she contemplated the downhill spiral her life had suddenly become.

“In a word, yeah.”

Spike leaned against a tree and watched as the Slayer seemed to deflate before his eyes. His head whipped around at the sound of footsteps coming towards them. Apparently, he hadn’t backtracked enough. He pushed himself away from the tree and crossed to the Slayer. Slipping a hand underneath her arm, he hauled her to her feet.

“Come on, Slayer, we’ve gotta get outta here. He’s tracked me. And, I don’t think he’s gonna be too particular if he comes across you first.”

“Huh?”

“Behemoth. Flamethrower. Ringin’ any bells?” Not waiting for her mind to hear what he was saying, he hauled her after him, not letting go until she matched his pace.

“We need someplace to hide… and quick. Someplace no one would think to look for you, or me, for that matter. Sun’s gonna be up soon, and as much as it pains me to say it… the two of us together are much better odds than us going it alone right now.”

“What are you saying? That we form a truce?”

“I’m all you’ve got, Slayer. And, apparently, you’re all I’ve got right now, too.”

“Alright. Just for today. Come dusk, you’re on your own. Giles will figure out a way to stop them…”

“You don’t get it! They’re never going to stop. They’ll keep coming and coming, until the job is done.” The two continued to run side by side, their gaze scanning over the area for possible hiding places. They’d managed to run back into town and still couldn’t think of a place where they could go and be safe. And dawn was quickly approaching…

“I think we should hit the sewers.” Buffy couldn’t believe the words she’d just uttered.

The two had come to a stop in deserted, downtown Sunnydale. The idea had come to her as she’d gazed across the street and glanced at the gutter.

Spike had to agree with her logic, and he found a reluctant smile cross his features.

“Right! They’ll provide us a means to move around and not allow us to get pinned in one place. Slayer, I like the way you think. I know of a couple different hideaways. We can spend a few hours in each place and take turns resting.”

Spike grabbed her free hand and hauled her towards the nearest access. His demon was hollering at him to get indoors, and quick. She didn’t say anything, just raced after him towards the entrance. Crouching by the manhole, he handed her his box, and easily lifted the lid back, exposing the dark, watery tunnels below.

“Gimme those and get down the stairs. I’ll drop them down to you once you’ve reached the bottom.”

Buffy nodded, handing him her container. She flew down the stairs and easily caught the metal boxes when Spike dropped them down to her. Watched as he came down the first few rungs before pulling the lid over top of him. She wasn’t surprised to see his game face when he descended the last few steps. It was dark down in the tunnels, and he’d need his enhanced vision to guide them until the sun was able to provide some feeble form of lighting.

She didn’t even protest when he took one of the containers from her, using his other to grasp her free hand in his. After all that had happened recently, holding hands with a killer didn’t seem the least bit strange. 

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