The Quintessence of Love
by SpikesKat
Spike wasn’t sure where he was when he opened his eyes.
Memories were flashing through his brain, too fast to crystallize… almost as if someone else was trying to access them. His brows knit together, and something, like tendrils of a caress, touched his cheek, soothing him.
‘Where am I?’ he thought, seeing nothing but a searing whiteness, blinding in its intensity.
The light eventually faded to an acceptable level and Spike found himself on a raised platform in a sparsely decorated room, kneeling before two beings - one male, one female.
Having draped his duster over the Slayer’s body, he felt devoid of his natural armor, and with it, his snarky attitude.
Then again, it didn’t much matter where he was, or what came next; Buffy was dead – back where she rightfully belonged – and he didn’t feel like living without her.
The fiery pits of Hell had nothing on the pain he was feeling.
‘Do your worst. Don’t rightly care, now do I?’
The male suddenly seemed pleased – like he’d heard Spike’s thoughts and seemed eager to do just that. The female frowned.
“Your actions confuse us, vampire,” she informed him. “You behave as a champion would, but are one of the Devil’s own.”
“Why?” the male asked abruptly. “You possess no soul. You desire no redemption for your past sins. Explain yourself.”
Spike opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He didn’t feel much like a champion. He felt old, felt every one of his hundred plus years.
“I’m tired, Spike.”
“I know, luv.”
“You hurt me.”
“Yes.”
“You could—”
“Yes.”
“Please, Spike.”
Spike closed his eyes and silently wept. Clutching the Slayer tightly to his chest, he nodded.
“You know the answer, brother. It is why we brought him before us. The quintessence of love.”
The male scoffed. “Such an emotion is not possible by demons.”
“Yet here he is,” she waved a hand in Spike’s direction. “In our august presence.”
“Very well.”
“A wish, vampire,” the female commanded.
“A wish?” Spike looked askance between the two, first the female, then the male.
“It is a gift we bestow upon you,” the male replied; his face was pinched, galled to be granting something to one such as himself.
“Your heart’s desire,” the female elaborated. “What is it you want?”
‘Buffy,’ came immediately to Spike’s mind.
“Ah, but to have her now would be undoing everything you have done. Are you so selfish—?”
“Let him finish his thought, brother.”
‘… every night I save you.’
“Impossible,” the male snapped. “We cannot change the fabric of time.”
“Not only possible,” the female contradicted. “But, a deserving reward.”
“Reward?” Now Spike was confused.
“You have righted a wrong, vampire, and in doing so, have restored the balance between good and evil. All at great sacrifice to yourself,” the female explained.
“The true meaning of a champion,” the male reluctantly agreed.
“Look, all I wanted was for the Slayer to be happy. It wasn’t right what they did, bringing her back… from heaven.” He swallowed around the last. “Is… is she, I mean—”
“She is where she belongs. Resting,” the female confirmed gently.
“Good,” Spike choked out a reply. “Ah… that’s good, then.”
“Now it’s your turn.”
“Wha—? Huh?”
A flick of the male’s wrist and Spike was gone. He blinked, and when his eyes opened, he could do nothing but stare in shock at the chaos around him.
Then someone screamed.
His eyes flew to the top of the tower.
Dawn!
The Slayer was busy fighting Glory and hadn’t heard her. Her friends and watcher were occupied dealing with her acolytes and the mind-sapped humans. None of them would reach her in time.
Dawn’s fate – Buffy’s fate – was in his hands.
It mattered not where he was, or why. He had a job to do, a life to save.
His own wrong to right.
His eyes narrowed. He knew what he had to do.
Armed with the knowledge of what had happened before, Spike knew to take no chances.
He would save the Bit… and Buffy would get to live.
~*~*~*~*~
“You are too sentimental by half, dear sister.”
“Do not tell me you are not pleased that there will be a shift of power in that particular dimension.”
“Of course not.”
“Then do not be so foolish as to mistake my actions for sentiment, dear brother.”
The End
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