Chapter 3

If Buffy had seen what would happen when she took the group to confront Caleb, she may have played her hand a little differently. In the end, two girls had been killed and Xander, her poor, brave Xander, had one of his eyes gauged out. Realizing the direct approach wasn’t working, they’d retreated in order to back up and regroup.

Battle weary, Buffy and a few of the others took Xander to the hospital. Spike, along with Faith, led the remaining girls safely back to the house.

Giles opened the front door as he heard the group returning. Immediately noticing the signs of fighting, and the more obvious losing, he exclaimed, “Dear Lord, what happened?”

“Preacher man is what happened. Threw us all over the winery like we were there for his bloody amusement.”

Spike moved aside and allowed the others to trail in after him, limping to the living room to fall exhausted into the seats scattered about the room. Spike moved to follow them to check on their injuries but Giles’ words stopped him in his tracks.

“Spike, might I have a word with you? In the kitchen?” he indicated with a jerk of his head in that direction.

Spike gave an abrupt nod and moved to the afforded privacy the kitchen provided.

“I have a mission for you,” Giles began without preamble.

“Oh, really? ’Cause, you know, sometimes your missions end up with you trying to kill me. I’m not fond of those,” he replied sarcastically.

“This is bona fide... with real ramifications. Take a look at this.”

“Looks like our boy’s been here. You want me to go check it out?

“I need someone who can take care of themselves in case Caleb has... left some souvenirs. Why don’t you take Andrew with you?” The pleading note of the watcher’s voice was not lost on the vampire. With a slight smirk, he said that he would.

“Does Buffy know?”

“I haven’t had a chance to inform her yet. Dawn discovered this bit of information while you were at the winery. I can let her know you left when she returns. Speaking of which, where is she?”

“The whelp got hurt. She took him to the hospital. She’s kinda shook up about it so go easy on her, alright?”

“Yes… yes, of course.”

“Right then. I’m gonna leave now, I just want to leave Buffy a quick note telling her I’ll be back tomorrow night… hopefully with some good news.” He walked to the door leading down to the basement and slipped inside. Downstairs, he made quick work of telling Buffy where he was going and why and that he would see her tomorrow night. He left the note on their bed, and hurried back upstairs. Daylight was fast approaching and he needed to be on his way. On the way out the door, Spike grabbed the boy that had been volunteered for this mission by the scrap of his neck and tugged him along. “Let’s go, boy.”

“Do be careful,” Spike thought he heard, but then shook his head. There was no way the watcher would wish him well.  

~*~*~*~*~

It was an hour before dawn when Spike and Andrew arrived at the location Giles had given him. They stepped inside the deserted church, their “hello” echoing back to them along the walls of the vacant hallway. 

“Spike!” Andrew cried out as he was suddenly attacked.

Spike quickly intervened, shoving the would-be assailant up against the stone wall.

“Tell me about the mark,” he demanded of the cleric.

“Uh…”

“Hey!” he began, noticing the similarity of dress between him and the Bringers. “Are you part of Caleb’s faction?”

“No… no!”

“Then, tell me what happened here.” Spike could smell the fear dripping from the monk, and allowed his arm to slip down from where it held him pinned against the wall.

“I’ll do better. I’ll show you. One night, some time ago, a man arrived at our doors.”

“And you said, ‘come in, do some damage’?” Spike replied sarcastically.

“We are… we are a benevolent order, and, yes, we welcomed him. We offered to feed him... but he had come for something else. Behind this, he revealed something even we didn’t know was here. A secret room. He was excited, talking the whole time... destiny, that sort of thing.”

“Yeah. We hear he’s a real smooth talker,” Spike muttered.

“He was going on about an ancient inscription… He read it... and he didn’t like what it said. His temper... He was the purest evil I’ve ever seen. He burned his mark upon me. And then I ran and I hid... and I listened to the others die.”

Spike looked at the inscription.

“It is not for thee. It is for her alone to wield.”

Since the sun was now full upon them, they accepted the monk’s hospitality to stay. Spike begged off from breakfast, just wanting to find a bed and sleep. Nodding, the monk lead him to a small room that had a twin bed and very few furnishings – best of all, no windows. Thanking the monk, he closed the door and stretched out on the bed, not even bothering to pull off his boots. Moments later, he was sound asleep.

~*~*~*~*~

As soon as the sun set, Spike was out the door and on his motorcycle. If he hauled ass, he could be back before midnight. His dreams were troubled – nothing he could put his finger on upon waking, just a vague sense of unease – and he had difficulty sleeping, which is why he stayed in his room until just before they left.  

Gunning the motor, he sped off towards home, and Buffy.

~*~*~*~*~

It was a few minutes before midnight when Spike pulled up before Buffy’s house. Andrew’s incessant chatter had started to grate on his nerves an hour outside the city and he’d been sorely tempted to leave the wanker behind to find his own way back. But, the soul had won out, and he’d sucked it up for the last hour’s ride home.

He’d have to remember to return the favor to the watcher. Spike’s eyes narrowed in contemplation on how he could repay the man. 

Rushing inside the kitchen door, eager to impart his news, Spike was met with the somber face of Giles and Faith.

“What? What is it? Is Buffy ok?” he asked in rapid-fire succession.

“Everything’s fine, Spike. It’s just… Buffy hasn’t left the cellar since she got home last night. You see… she blames herself about what happened… to the potentials… and Xander.”

Realizing that his girl was safe, just “brooding” for want of a better word, Spike relaxed his suddenly tense muscles. He moved to check on Buffy but was brought up short by Giles’ question.

“Were you able to find out anything of use?”

“Nothing concrete… but, it probably plays in to Caleb’s taunt that he had something of Buffy’s.”

“What is it?”

“Lemme get the Slayer first. She’ll want to hear this.”

“Yes, of course… we’ll wait for you in the living room.”

Spike nodded and went to see about his girl.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the stairs. Buffy was just…lying there didn’t even begin to describe her appearance. She looked broken, a former shell of herself.

“Buffy?” he called out, crossing the floor to kneel by the bed. She didn’t acknowledge him. Worried now, he got off the floor. Scooping her listless body in his arms, he turned around and sat on the bed, holding her close. “Buffy? Pet, talk to me.”

“It’s my fault,” she said softly, sometime later.

“There’s always casualties in a war.”

“Casualties… it just sounds so… casual. These are girls.... that I got killed. I cut myself off from them, all of them. I knew I was going to lose some of them and I didn’t… You know what? I’m still making excuses. I’ve always cut myself off, I’ve always… being the Slayer made me different, but it’s my fault I stayed that way. People are always trying to connect to me but I just… slip away. You should know.”

“I seem to recall a certain amount of connecting these past several weeks.”  

That got her attention.

“Now… you listen to me,” he told her. “I’ve been alive a bit longer than you and dead a lot longer than that. I’ve seen things you couldn’t imagine and done things I’d prefer you didn’t. I don’t exactly have a reputation for being a thinker. I follow my blood, which doesn’t exactly rush in the direction of my brain, so I make a lot of mistakes. A lot of wrong bloody calls. A hundred plus years and there’s only one thing I’ve ever been sure of. You. Hey, look at me. I’m not asking you for anything. When I say I love you, it’s not because I want you, or because I can’t have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I’ve seen your kindness and your strength. I’ve seen the best and the worst of you, and I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You are a hell of a woman. You’re the one, Buffy.

“Oh, Spike… I love you. I really do!”

He cupped her face with both of his hands, gently forcing her to look at him. To see his face so she would know how much he loved her, and always would.

“And, I love you. You’re it for me… I’ll love you forever and beyond.” The whispered words enveloped her like a security blanket, making her feel safe, cherished, and loved. Most definitely, loved.

Buffy didn’t know who moved first. Years later, if she paused to reflect on that moment, she would have to say it was like they were two halves drawn together in perfect tandem of the other. One head lowered, while the other lifted. Their lips brushed back and forth, the touch so light it was like butterfly wings whispering across their surface. They connected as only two people who had been to hell and back and managed to survive could. Each knew the other’s weaknesses and strengths, knew their likes and dislikes. Both used full advantage of that knowledge. Their lips continued to brush back and forth, until finally, Spike began nibbling on her bottom lip. Soft, teasing nips that created a burning ache, deep within her core. Sighing, pulling him closer, their delicate touch gave way as passion quickly erupted between the two.

Thoughts of Caleb, Spike’s recent discovery, the damage done at the winery – they all slipped away as the two became consumed with each other. 

Mouths opened and realigned. Tongues thrust to mate with the other, a prelude to the dance that was soon to follow. 

Spike leaned over, gently guiding Buffy back against the pillows behind her. He toed off his boots and shifted his legs so he could stretch out beside her. The whole while his lips never left hers.

The moment was bittersweet for Buffy. She instinctively knew it was just a matter of days before their final showdown was due to start. Their lovemaking was different from all the other instances they’d come together. Whereas before, it had been all about instant gratification followed quickly by self-mortification, this time Buffy allowed herself to love, and be loved in return.

They undressed each other slowly, the reverence of their movements coming as no shock to the other. They had said the words, meant it with ever fiber of their beings, now they were allowing their bodies to show one another how much.

Whispered sighs broke the silence, hands skimmed along bare flesh, affirmative sounds announced their enjoyment to the other. When neither could stand the pleasurable torment no longer, Spike slid home, words of love spilling forth from his lips. Slowly, he began to move. Showed her with his body how much he adored her, cherished her. 

Buffy, couldn’t get enough of him. Her hands were constantly moving: running through his hair, fingertips tracing the contours of his cheekbones, arms wrapping around his back to hold him close. All the while, her eyes were open, watching him. She refused to look away, wanting to see the love that was burning like a bright beacon in his eyes.

‘I’ll go to my grave with that look of his etched in my mind.’

All too soon, the pleasure became too much for either of them to bear, and holding each other tight, they sailed over the edge secure in the knowledge that they would catch one another as they fell. Collapsing together in a tangle of arms and limbs, they cuddled together. Whispered words of love and devotion filled the quiet room as they gently floated down from the peaks the two had attained.

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