The future just aint what it used to be.
After

When she woke, her sudden and unexpected lucidness was coupled with the most poignant sense that she was not herself. That she had been asleep for a very long time. Almost a lifetime, or so it seemed.

Her stomach ached with hunger, and her whole body seemed a brutal network of flaming veins. She’d never known such pain, and worst of all, she’d expected it to be over by now. When the masses of faces- more faces than she could remember seeing in such a long time- when they closed in on her, all grinning with their hideous fangs, and their clawed fingers, ridged brows- she’d been certain that death was imminent. And in those final moments, she’d wanted it. Selfishly, she’d almost relished the thought of a release from this agonizing world.

But those thoughts had not lasted, and it was moments later when Dawn and Spike’s faces shivered before her closing eyes. They would have to cope without her now. The planned meeting would never come to pass. They would be there, they would wait, and then they would realise and it would all be over.

Except that it wasn’t. Somehow, those clawed fingers and rigid brows had not lead to comfortable death. Something must have driven them off, because she was still here. Still feeling, thinking, and aching.

Immediate thoughts tore through her, and she raised her hand to the single pair of puncture wounds on her neck. They throbbed when she touched them, and she sucked in a sudden breath. Puncture wounds meant only one of two things- death, or undeath. Did that mean…

She was one of them. The memories flashed back, and she felt, rather than remembered, the terrible slowing of her once-rapid heart beat. The desperate thoughts of her sister and lover, as her hot blood was drawn out of her body by cold, cold lips. All she’d been able to do was long for death. Anything other than the change, that would carve her out like a pumpkin, and place something else inside. Something black, rotten, and evil- that would lead the other vampires back to their hiding place. The thing that would happily offer Dawn and Spike both up for the taking. For the eating. For the change.

Buffy raised her fingers to the puncture wounds once more, and she shivered. They were cold. Her whole body was cold. What was she?

Finally, she opened her eyes.

“Aghh!”

For the first few seconds, all that she saw was blood. Everywhere, coating the street and the walls and the world around her. She wanted to flee from the sight, it was so traumatizing. So deeply, deeply disturbing. But suddenly she couldn’t coax her muscles to move. It’s like she really was an inanimate corpse, lying there in a smattering of violent red, and unable to move. Unable to lift her cheek from the blood-stained concrete.

What had happened here? She wondered, through her paralysis. This blood couldn’t all be her own, surely? Something more than just her murder had taken place here. Something violent, and terrifying.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember, but her memory was blank. She wasn’t here. She hadn’t seen this. She’d slept through the sounds of guttural ripping, of blood-sodden tearing. What could have done this? What on earth could have created such bloodshed?

Finally, she felt some of the sudden numbness ease from her fingertips. She was able to feel the wetness of the blood again. She reached up to touch the puncture wounds on her neck. Hadn’t imaged this: they were really there.

And just like that, she was crying. Rolling onto all fours and clutching the ground as gut-wrenching sobs ripped through her, taking a hold of her, and wracking through her body like tremors. She wanted to be sick, but there was nothing inside. She was hollow. Was it gone?

Was her soul gone?

She reached inside for that part of herself that she’d never really given much thought to before. She tried to find it, but it slipped through her grasp. It made her gut clench in panic. Was it gone? Everything was over, if her soul was gone.

He wouldn’t love her anymore. And worse. Would she want to hurt him, when she saw him? Would she try to hurt Dawn? Would she give their hiding place away?

No, no, no. Spike wouldn’t let her do any of those things. He’d keep Dawn safe. She couldn’t have left her little sister in better hands. Spike would sooner die than see Dawn hurt. She wished that she could still die for Dawn, now. For William.



Before


Buffy could feel every crevice in the cracked concrete beneath her squatting body. Her hands were numb, braced against the ground, but she couldn’t afford to move. She couldn’t afford to give herself away.

She knew how to be invisible, though it had taken two years of near-misses and lucky escapes. Now she knew the exact distance she needed to be from a vampire, in order to remain undetected. She knew how to silence her footsteps, how to keep her empty stomach from roaring, and most importantly, how to spot one of Them without being close enough to see its teeth, or to feel them in her jugular.

Buffy raised a hand to her throat, and felt its smooth surface. Then she pulled up the collar of her jacket, yanking up the zipper to hide her unmarred flesh. Just incase. An unnecessary precaution that was more of a habit than a smart move: if a vampire was ever close enough to check her throat, he’d be able to hear the wild thudding of her heart, anyway.

Footsteps echoed along the sidewalk. More than one set. Buffy inhaled deeply, willing them to pass her by without stopping. Because if they stopped, then she was done for, and by extension, Dawn was done for too. Her poor, helpless sibling. Nine years old, and completely helpless.

As often as she could bear it, Buffy would tuck her sister into the closet of their dilapidated home and head out into the dangerous world in search of food. On these expeditions she tried to gather as much as possible, in the shortest amount of time. She hated to leave Dawn alone for too long, but she also hated having to leave her too regularly. If it was a choice between starving herself, and staying with Dawn, she knew which she’d choose. But she was practical- thankfully. She knew that starving herself wouldn’t help Dawn in any way, so she threw herself out into the bleak world, and each time, prayed that she would make it back.

At least inside of their home, Dawn was safe. The vampires could not cross the boundaries of a household, and as long as she and Dawn remained the owners of their crumbled home, they were safe. Too bad food didn’t grow on indoor trees.

Buffy shivered, wrapping her arms around her hollow stomach as the vampires passed. They didn’t detect her, too wrapped up in themselves. Buffy thanked God, and watched their feet vanish into the distance. She waited twelve heartbeats, before pulling herself out of her hiding place.

Then she threw herself into the nearest house, tearing soundlessly through its dark rooms in search of the kitchen. Only the thought of food propelled her, and she found it with ease.

She wasn’t safe here, so she worked fast, filling her opened sack with the non-perishables that still lined the shelves. She was well aware of the fact that the vampires could enter this house, just as easily as she herself could. Because it was no longer a home. The owners had either fled, or were dead. Either way, this house was no safer than the street, or the wide open plains that offered no cover, and no hope of concealment.

Buffy tried not to think about how easy it would be for a vampire to find her here. That was the only way she managed to keep going- by ignoring her gruesome thoughts, or by thinking of Dawn. Beautiful, helpless Dawn.

The front door crashed open, and Buffy dropped her sack in fright.

“Shit!” She hissed, as a sudden panic gripped the heart inside her chest. Fear froze her where she stood, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Her heart felt like a wild bird, desperate to be freed from its cage, and her whole body felt suddenly cold as she waited for him to come.

Her ears strained to follow the sound of his light, almost inaudible footsteps. She did not try to hide. If he heard her, then there would be no point. Her only hope now was that he might bypass this room. Might be looking for something, other than herself.

She heard him creep along the hallway, pushing open doors with quiet purpose. He stopped outside of the kitchen door, and she held her breath. Her whole body ached through the numbness of her stance- the rigid tenacity of her willful limbs.

Slowly, she saw the handle turn lower. Inch by inch, as if in slow motion, and with it, all the air sank from her body. Her frozen legs seemed to melt, as a cold and awful acceptance washed over her. This was it. This was the moment that had been inevitable, ever since the earth had fallen into this eternal darkness. She’d always been foolish to think otherwise. To expect survival, when so many others had fallen and perished.

Her fingers gripped the half-filled food sack, and a sharp stab of regret tore through her body as she thought of Dawn. The child would crouch inside that closet until she withered to nothing. Vampires would find her eventually, after she died and the barriers to their home fell. But perhaps by then her small body would be too wrought for them to even bother feeding from. Buffy didn’t know whether this thought were a comfort, or something much worse.

She was numb.

The door handle clicked as it reached full hilt, and then the door flew open and she was face to face with the one who would be the end of her. He was beautiful, of course. They all were, when they took their human forms. In the early days, that beauty had been a necessary component for their attraction of prey. Now it was just a sick irony. Their beautiful faces, like angels, which would morph into the hideously demonic truth.

He stared at her, seeming just as surprised as she was to find himself opposite a creature of another species. For a moment, they both just stared, hazel green eyes boring into icy blue, daring him, and begging him not to, both at the same time.

And then Buffy’s survival instinct reared its precious head for one last time.

She turned abruptly on her heel, and dashed for the back door. She slammed into it, hoping and praying that it would be unlocked, though running would grant her but a few more seconds of life. He would be faster than her anyway, and she couldn’t hope to outrun him. Really, running through the door would have no impact whatsoever upon her inevitable demise, but she had to try. It was human nature.

As it happened, there really was no point.

The door was locked, and she crashed into it hopelessly, letting out a distressed cry as she realised. A moment later, she felt him behind her- his body was hard and fatal as it crushed her into the door, pinning her there like a doll. She was helpless, and it was awful.

Maybe if she’d eaten, or if she hadn’t been away from home for so long, she might’ve been stronger. She might’ve been able to put up at least a bit of a fight. But as it was, her body betrayed her, and she slackened in his hold. Giving in. Giving up. His hold tightened, and he turned her, his blue eyes as dark as indigo now as he glared down at her.

“Why d’you run?” He asked, a thick British accent making his words seem harsher, like gravel. Buffy stared back at him, her eyes flitting to the two puncture wounds on his neck. They were messier than the others she’d seen. She shivered as his grip tightened, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to see his face change. “Look at me you filth.” He said, giving her a hard shake to match his words. “I want you to look at me as I kill you.”

Buffy choked on her breath as he forced her chin up with hard fingers, her eyes opening reflexively, spilling unwanted tears down her cheeks. He sneered at her pain, and she tried to blink it away. She wished she could be strong. She’d always hoped that she’d be strong at the end.

“Please-” she tried, as if their might be mercy in his repertoire. There wasn’t. His eyes darkened even further, and he seemed disgusted by her pleading. Instead, his brutal fingers moved to the collar of her jacket, and he yanked the left side down to inspect her neck. To peruse it, before delivering his lethal bite.

Buffy watched his expression as he examined the unmarred white column of her throat. He frowned, touching it, before abruptly pushing her collar down on the other side. His hands encircled her throat, and he frowned more deeply. He tilted her chin up, turned her face this way, and that.

Then he let out a loud and resounding gasp, which rattled through his lips and seemed to physically force him backwards.

Buffy didn’t know what had happened, but somehow she had been granted the reprise that she longed for. He staggered back from her, so unlike a demon, so much like a man. And she grabbed the lock on the door, twisting it so hard that she half expected it to come off in her hand. The back door flew open and she plunged out into the darkness without giving the angel-faced demon another thought.

“Wait!” He called after her, as her suddenly revived body broke out into a run that was more powerful than she had considered herself capable of. Her feet pounded against the cold pavement as she flew from her assailant, and victory was a taste on her tongue. If he gave her just a moments head start, then perhaps there was hope for her after all. Perhaps-

Hands closed around both of her arms, and she fought against them as they dragged her down, pulling her hope away all too soon. “No!” She cried, battling with all of her regained strength, “No! Not now!”

Two monsters held her firm, the demon faces replacing their human guises. Their eyes were a bright amber, and she wondered which hideous face belonged to the one from the kitchen. They grinned wickedly, pushing her down with brute force, so that he body was flat against the ground and they could crawl over her like wild beasts. Buffy’s heart was beating wildly, and she cried out as their teeth pierced her flesh. One of them at her shoulder. The other at her thigh. She cried out again, desperate for rescue, but knowing that it wouldn’t come. Desperate instead, perhaps, for an ending.

And then it was over. The two creatures were torn from her with incredible force, and a firm set of hands were hauling her back to her feet. Her gaze clashed with icy blue when she was standing once more, and she was surprised to see him- not one of the two, but different. Instantly she knew that he had saved her in order to take her for himself. She felt sick as hope dashed itself into fear again so abruptly.

The two creatures were crawling back towards her again with astonishing speed. He kicked one of them away, then turned to the other. It clawed at Buffy’s leg, though the blue eyed monster snatched her free.

“Can you run?” His question was quick. Unexpected.

She just stared at him, and he shook her shoulders- hard.

“Yes.” She said quickly, not sure whether running with him would be better than being torn apart by these creatures. But before she even had time to consider it, they were running. Her feet were pounding against the ground once more, and his hand was firm in hers. She lost her footing, but he didn’t let her fall, or lose pace. The air flew past them, like two birds streaming through the night sky. Buffy looked over her shoulder, and saw the other two hot on their heels. She wished she was strong enough to break his grip, but even now, she knew that she’d fall without his support. The pounding of her feet was as hopeless as anything else.

“Up here.” He commanded, his voice tight with exhaustion. She looked at the house he was tugging her toward, looked back at the monsters snapping at her heels, felt herself flying up the steps, heard the door smash open and let herself be dragged through. He tripped over the threshold, bringing her down on top of him, disorienting her.

She looked up in time to see the two vampires smash into the invisible barrier, recoiling with pain as it forced them back down the steps. They snarled, climbing back up to the doorway again, and slamming angry hands against the invisible wall.

Their menacing faces glared at her from only inches away, but Buffy no longer feared them. As long as the barrier was there, they could not enter. And the existence of that barrier meant something much more profound: the existence of another human being. Another survivor, still fighting on. Inside this house, right now, waiting for her.

She pushed herself up from the forgotten body, wondering where that other human could be, before feeling the rapid heartbeat beneath her flat palm.

With a sudden gasp, she looked back down into those startling blue eyes, and felt her own widen with genuine shock. “You’re…” She started, unable to find a word suitable enough for conveying what he was to her- who he was. “You’re…”

“And so are you.” He said with a sigh, his head falling back against the wooden floor of the house’s entryway. Buffy saw a tear squeeze its way out of the corner of his eye, and she almost couldn’t breathe. He existed. He was right here, beneath her finger tips, another person. She and Dawn were not the last.

For a very long time, neither could move. Buffy’s palm remained upon his heart as its wild beat gradually slowed, and her eyes remained glued to his wonderful human face. She couldn’t look away from his lips, which parted for every necessary breath. The awe in her expression was justified. The overwhelming feeling in her chest almost caused her to collapse against him in euphoria.

Eventually, his eyes opened again, and he gazed back up at her with an expression which she was sure would mirror her own. He opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it again, shaking his head.

Finally, he sat up, and Buffy’s hands fell away from his chest. He urged her from his lap, and the sense of loss was astonishing. They both stood, ignoring the snarling vampires still clawing stupidly at the barrier that kept them from entering the house. They simply gazed at each other, as if mesmerized. As if everything else had fallen away now.

“I thought I was the last.” The man eventually admitted, a tremble to his voice. “I’d given up hope.” Buffy merely nodded, unable to force her lips to create words. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, and her throat felt like it was on fire. His gaze was like water. “I’m sorry that I hurt you: that I frightened you. I thought you were…”

“I thought you were, too.” Buffy admitted, barely able to choke the words out. His gaze lowered at that, and then travelled up the length of her. He drank her in, over and over, as if unable to fully accept that she was here. In front of him. A perfect stranger, and yet, his only remaining friend on the entire planet.

“It’s been so long.” He choked out, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “I…”

They reached for each other at the same time, arms encircling one another in an instinctual need for comfort. He pressed her small body against his, burrowing his head in the crook of her neck and shuddering with the sudden wave of emotion. Buffy’s aching heart was filled with an emotion that she’d almost forgotten about. An emotion that she hadn’t felt for so very long- that she’d hadn’t seemed to have space for, with all of the fear that bubbled inside of her. But here it was again, circling her heart and making her feel warm- as if the sun had come back for good.

Happy. She felt happy. And more than just that, she felt hope. The sharp and undeniable burn of hope.

They held each other for a very long time, but eventually he pulled back. When she looked at him now, the tears were gone. His face was smooth and beautiful, and he grinned. “Hello,” he said, his tone rueful, “I’m Adam. You must be Eve.”

And abruptly, he kissed her.

That kiss quickly escalated into something else. Something more fervent, and laced with a lonely kind of desperation. The man, Adam – she knew that he had been joking – was clutching at her shoulders like a safety harness as he assailed her mouth with his own, plundering her warmth mercilessly, like he might’nt ever be given the chance again.

Buffy moaned in bliss at his closeness. His solid realness. “Oh…” She whimpered as he kissed her, feeling weak with a longing she had never felt before. The feeling tore through her so swiftly that she was left feeling like nothing more than a quivering mass of nerve endings. “Oh…” His lips were like a salve on her invisible wounds.

He lifted her into his arms, and she collapsed into him willingly. Already, she had forgotten that it had been less than thirty minutes since he had attempted to end her life, and less than fifteen since he had saved it. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as he carried her to the staircase.

She felt like she was flying, and after so many years of drowning, it was an odd sensation to say the least.

He carried her swiftly up the stairs, then over the dirty carpet, to the darkened bedroom at the end of the hall. He didn’t bother trying the light switch. Electricity had been out for almost three years now, and the short hours of sunlight which the earth received each day meant that both of their eyes had grown more than accustomed to the darkness.

He set her down upon the upholstered mattress he’d been sleeping on for three weeks now, then knelt above her, looking down with wonder.

Just a moment of looking- it was all that he could bear without touching- and then he swooped down and pressed his lips to hers once more. She responded gratefully, like the mere moments that their lips were apart had already been too much. She felt molten beneath his hands, and he wondered if he should worry about her having a fever.

Already. Already he worried about losing her, and he didn’t even know who she was, yet. It was like a river flowing deep underground, deep beneath the surface.

For a second, he flashed back to his last memory of Drusilla. The way she’d laid so very still, and taken her last breath, staring upwards at the ceiling. Because in the end it hadn’t mattered how hard he tried, or how much he loved her, it still hadn’t been enough. At least it wasn’t the demons that took her. At least he hadn’t had to endure her face belonging to the hands of a soulless killer. Still, watching her slow descent into delirium had almost killed him, too. It was a wonder he had made it here.

Two years later, and he could still feel the stiffness of her body as he buried her. Didn’t want them to find her, and hurt her body, even if the mind and the soul were long gone.

Buffy felt tears on the man’s cheeks, and she kissed them away, with no idea of what she was giving him. No idea of the freedom that he was seeking, and recognizing in the green of her eyes.

Her lips on his skin brought him back to the present: to this small, dark room, and the small golden girl beneath him. Memories of Drusilla flitted back into the past, where they belonged.

He touched her cheek in wonderment. This tiny, precious human. She gazed up at him, and he already knew that he would give his heart to her. Was it crazy to know that already? He didn’t think so. He hadn’t seen another human face since he’d buried Drusilla’s, but now here she was. Tiny, vulnerable. He pressed his hand to her chest, and her heart pounded fiercely. She would love him, too. He could feel it in the thumping of her heart.

A sudden thought of time made his desire all the more frantic. Images seemed to flash before his eyes as he leaned down to kiss her again: a wildly beating heart, the stillness of Drusilla’s frozen eyes, pounding feet which fled, the rise and fall of the sun, clock hands spinning, spinning, spinning.

He slipped the tattered old shirt over her head, and she arched upwards to meet his lips, fingers desperate as they trailed over his taut body, like they were looking for something- she didn’t know what. She had no idea. But they seemed to know. Like they had minds of their own.

“What is your name?” He murmured into her mouth, as his palms coasted down either side of her small body. He felt like he could hold the whole of her against him with no effort at all. Like she really was just a china doll, and he’d gone as crazy as his Drusilla had done. He almost shivered at her memory, before feeling the warmth of the girl beneath him, once more.

“Buffy.” She murmured back, with a rueful grin, as if she knew what he might say about such a name. He grinned, despite himself, meeting her lips with an increased desire.

“That’s perfect.” He whispered, “So sunny. So beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She whispered, touching the hair at the nape of his neck. Soft. Downy. Vulnerable. “What’s your…”

“Spike.” He said quietly, reaching back up to take her shoulders. Pulled her upwards, then wrapped his arms around her naked back. “It’s William, really.” He added, nestling his face in the smooth crook of her neck, then kissing a trail over her beautiful, unmarred skin.

“Mmm, William.” She whispered, shivering.

“No one’s called me that in years.”

“It suits you.”

He pulled back then, to gaze at her. She really was beautiful: it was no wonder he’d mistaken her for one of them: one of the damned. They were all so god-damned beautiful. But there was something about her beauty that theirs could not hope to compare with. Because she had something else shining on her face; something wonderful, that he hadn’t seen for years and years and years.

Innocence. Purity. Fragility.

He could break her, if he wasn’t careful. His hands would leave impressions on her skin, because it was soft: soft as petals. But their skin was hard as granite. Their eyes were hollow, and their beauty was a façade. But she… This girl… This Buffy: she was real. She was a real girl, with real thoughts, and real beauty.

He couldn’t help kissing her again, with those thoughts. He would’ve kissed her, even if she had been the most hideous woman he’d ever laid eyes on, because she existed. And her existence was beauty in itself. Her heartbeat was evidence of hope. A promise of the future.

She was a seed. She was a rose.

She was… A child.

And it was this thought that had Spike freezing in his momentum. His fingers were tangled in her golden hair, and her bare breasts were touching his own chest. He pulled back slowly, assessing her soft features, her wide eyes. So innocent.

“Buffy…” He started quietly, unsure of whether he really wanted this illusion to spill from all around him. He felt a sigh building. He already knew. “Love… How old are you?”

She looked up at him very carefully, her brow slowly creasing into a frown. His fingers didn’t fall away from her hair, and her fingers didn’t leave his torso. Her eyes were so green.

“Seventeen.” She said eventually, and there was a tone to her voice that suggested she already knew that he would pull away at her admission. He did. Then he reached down to retrieve her shirt, handing it to her gently, without looking at her body again. She pulled it back on, looking down. “I don’t see why my age matters.” She said, voice quiet.

Spike smiled. It was a strangely wistful smile. “Some things are still important, pet.” He said, gently. Because, despite the panic he had felt, there was time. Now, there was time.

“I’m not a child.” She stated. There was no bitterness in her voice- just a certain kind of disappointment.

“I know that’s true.” Spike replied, taking a hold of her chin and turning her to face him. She met his eyes unabashed. “Buffy, love, I just…” He found it difficult to speak, with her eyes in his. He took a breath, then tried again. “I’m twenty six.” He said. “I shouldn’t have let myself get so carried away.”

“I didn’t mind.” She tried, giving him a small grin. He smiled back.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love.” He said. “Ever. You’re a bloody miracle, s’far as I can tell. And this-” he moved his finger back and forth between their bodies, to indicate the act that had almost come to pass, “This isn’t me saying no. It’s me saying that I’m willing to wait. Because, like I said… Some things are still important.”



That first night, there was no silence until sleep took them. Spike insisted on cleaning the wounds Buffy had gathered while they were outside, and she closed her eyes as he dabbed at the jagged tears which would become jagged scars with time. Buffy told the man about Dawn, about their struggle for survival, and about the routine their empty existences had become since the world had fallen into almost endless night. Spike told her about the two years of solitude he had been suffering through, and his adamant belief that he had been the last human on the face of the planet.

“I’ve been settled in this house for almost a month now, but I move from place to place. Checking. Always hoping, but never finding.”

Buffy shuddered, imagining his life. To be just two had seemed bad enough, but she understood now that she had been lucky. Being one alone would have driven her to madness. Being one alone would have made her long for death. She marveled at the strength of this unlikely man.

“Dawn and I stayed at home.” She said, her voice quivering in the silence. “I leave about once a month to find supplies, but as long as we’re behind that barrier, we’re as safe as we can be. I never… I never even considered that there might be someone else out there. We’ve been alone for so long.”

Spike sniffed sharply and Buffy worried she had offended him by comparing her lonesomeness to his own. Of course it had been worse for him. Of course. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” He shook his head, reached out to touch her face almost subconsciously. “It’s just so hard to believe that you’re real. Who knows- maybe I’ve finally cracked.”

Buffy laughed at that. A strange, foreign sound in this new world. She lifted her hand to touch the one that rested on her cheek, and electricity passed between them. A sudden jolt. A feeling from a different life- past lives- life before these horrors, when a man and woman would meet and sparks would fly. How Spike longed to have that world back.

He sighed. “How far to get back to your house? To Dawn?”

Buffy thought. “Two hours.” She said. She measured her distances in time, these days. “That doesn’t give us long enough to get there during the daylight hour.”

Spike didn’t say anything for a moment, and Buffy jolted as she realised she had said “us”, as if it were only natural that he would come with her. He dropped his hand from her cheek, and she felt nauseated by the idea that he did not intend to accompany her. Now that she had found him, she couldn’t stand the thought of going on without him. But what if he didn’t feel the same way?

“I’m sorry.” She said quickly, “I shouldn’t assume… I… You don’t have to stay with me. It’s insane of me to-”

He looked startled, “You think I’m going to leave you?” He asked, eyes wide with surprise. “No. No. Not now that I’ve found you. No, love. It’s me and you, now. I’d follow even the most ridiculous of characters, if it meant a break from the loneliness.”

Buffy felt relief wash over her. “Okay.” She said, like they’d just settled a deal.

“Sorry.” He said abruptly. “My manners aren’t what they used to be, these days.”

“I guess that’s to be expected.” Buffy tried to smile. She looked out of the window at the dark, dark sky, then asked “We should stay here until the sun rises. The hour of daylight will at least give us a head start.”

Spike nodded firmly. Then he gestured to his bed. “You should get some sleep. We both should.” He headed for the dark sitting room, calling back to her “I can take the couch.”

“No, please.” Buffy replied, her heart beating a little faster in the wake of his presence. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you… Would you stay with me- sleep beside me? I think I’d like to hear your heart beat.”

Spike turned, and looked at her intently. Then he nodded simply, and followed her over to the bed. She lay down, her back pressed against the wall so that there was space for him beside her. They lay side by side for no more than a second, though, because when he touched her hand she curled into his side reflexively, her cheek coming to rest upon his chest, directly above his steadily beating heart.



Later

A toe nudged her side, and Buffy groaned softly. Everything hurt, and still she wasn’t dead. Her stomach felt concave, like she was withering away upon her bones. One day they’d find her shrunken, stiff remains, and maybe then she’d really be gone. She’d get the rest she so desperately wanted.

The toe nudged her again.

“Is she dead?” Asked a voice. She felt a human kneel beside her, and then groaned again as she felt two fingers on her neck, seeking out her pulse point.

“Undead.” Was the response.

“Right.” The first voice sounded. “Let’s keep moving.”

Buffy sighed to herself. She hadn’t even had to open her eyes to know that these two voices belonged to human men. Two more survivors, and two more stars of hope on Spike and Dawn’s horizon. She almost smiled, but her chapped lips would allow nothing above a slight grimace. As long as there was hope for her family, she could die in peace.

“Wait.” Said the second voice, interrupting her tranquility. “I recognise this…” The voice trailed off as its owner seemed to realise something. “This is-” he cut himself off abruptly, “-was Buffy Summers.”

The first voice seemed suddenly a lot more interested. “Spike’s girl?”

There was pain in the second voice. “Yes.” It conceded, taking no pleasure in the discovery. “I guess now we know why she never made it to the meeting point.”

“Should we tie it up: wait for the sun to rise?” The first voice asked, no qualms.

The second voice was hesitant. “I…” It faltered, uncertain. “She’s weaker than I’ve ever seen one before. I didn’t realise they could still get to be this weak.”

The first voice was hesitant now. “Is… That significant?”

“I don’t know.” The second voice admitted. “It’s certainly of interest. If we were to attempt it now, we could hurt her without any exertion of effort. I’ve never come across such a case. Every confrontation I’ve had with these things has been a… Struggle for survival.”

“So we thank our lucky stars and put it up against that tree until morning?” The first voice asked hopefully.

“Eventually, perhaps.” The second voice agreed. “But I think that maybe… she might be of interest to us now. The advantage we’ve been looking for.”

“You’re serious?”

“I am.” The conviction in the second voice was almost frightening to Buffy. The thought of death had been a comfort, and the prospect of being the experiment of this man made her tremble deep inside. “I’m almost certain that these creatures are turned with the knowledge of how they can be killed. If we could get that information from her, we might actually have a chance in all this.” The voice quivered, though whether it was with excitement or fear, Buffy did not know. “Roll up your sleeve. She’ll need blood to carry on.”

“What?” Voice number one protested, astonished. “You’re kidding me?”

“Not at all. She’ll be too weak to kill you now, so consider this our first experiment.”

“I’m not giving her my blood.” The first voice said, sounding convicted. “No effin’ way.”

The second voice sighed, “Fine,” and then Buffy heard the sound of a sleeve being rolled. The strangely clear sound of a knife being dragged across flesh, then the suddenly wonderful aroma of fresh, warm blood.

Buffy felt disgusted with herself. She wanted to die.

The aroma was wafted beneath her nose, but she kept her lips clamped shut. “No.” She managed, in a strained voice. She kept her eyes tightly closed, knowing she’d lose it if she saw the beautiful iridescent red of the second man’s blood, dripping from his wrist. “Please, no.”

“How queer.” The second voice mused, while the wrist continued to gyrate beneath Buffy’s nose. “She seems to have phenomenal self control, considering how young she certainly must be.” Eventually, he pressed the wound against Buffy’s tightly clamped lips, and she choked, struggling to keep herself in check. She didn’t want to hurt this kind-sounding voice. She didn’t want to give in to the creature she didn’t want to admit that she’d become.

She shook her head hard, and finally the wrist was pulled away.

A bottle of water was offered to her instead, and she took it, drinking from it gratefully and feeling a little better for the gratification it provided. “Thank you.” She murmured, slowly blinking her eyes to look up at the two faces looming over her. One face she did not recognise, the other she was surprised to discover that she did.

Spike’s father- she knew him instantly from the photograph Spike had always kept with him. She knew him from his familiar, kind blue eyes, that looked so much like the man’s son’s.

“Spike?” She choked out, hoping she wouldn’t startle the older man, but also hoping he might offer her some kind of answer. She felt tears fill her tired eyes, then pool over. “Is he okay? Is he alive, and safe?”

The older man looked at her with some surprise, but he controlled it, and after a moment or two it melted away into mild interest. “And Dawn, too.” He conceded, watching with interest as the vampire girl seemed to deflate with absolute, undeniable relief. The older man glanced at his companion with a significant expression, but the other man seemed less convinced. Buffy knew that if she were in his position, there was no way she’d ever trust a vampire, no matter how well-behaved it appeared.

“You want to help me get her upright?” Spike’s father asked, and the other man shrugged, half-nonchalant.

“You know he’s going to flip his lid if you bring this home with us.” He said, his voice tacked with a sincere warning. “He’s not going to thank you for bring her corpse back.”

Spike’s father just ignored the other man’s words, taking both of Buffy’s shoulders into his grip, and hauling her much too easily to her feet. She must not weigh anything, these days. “Steady, there.” He said, as she swayed dangerously, leaning back into his chest.

The feel of him was so familiar, like he really was Spike. He almost smelt like him, though there was something different. Something older, about this man. Wiser. Spike was always so reckless, so free.

“Giles, I don’t want any part of this.” The first man warned, even as he took one of Buffy’s arms and locked a tight hold around her frail wrist. “If Spike flips out, I want your word that you’ll tell him I was against this from the start.”

“Certainly,” the man called Giles affirmed. “I wouldn’t dream of passing the blame upon anyone else. Besides, I have the upmost faith in William’s rationality. He knows how important it is for us to ascertain a way to kill our foes.”

“But, his girlfriend…”

“Unfortunate coincidence.” Giles was shaking his head, and he glanced at Buffy then. Her eyes were wide as she looked between them. They wanted to use her to find out how her kind were killed? She wondered just what that would entail. Endless torture sessions? Hit and miss attempts upon her life?

She mused over the fact that it would almost be worth it, if it meant seeing Spike and Dawn with her own eyes. Visual confirmation that they were alive and well.

And of course, at the end of the day, she knew that a stake through the chest would do it. If it all got to be too much, at least she could offer them that. Then maybe they’d put her out of this miserable existence.

Oh, was she glad she’d been captured? Most definitely.

“This way then, Buffy.” Giles said, his voice soothing and warm. Buffy wondered at that as she took her first step out on wobbly legs. Surely he didn’t have to be nice to her? It upset her balance. “Easy. You’re alright. Do you want more water?”

She accepted a fresh bottle gratefully, noting the other man’s look of disgust as she drank it down fast. Also noting Giles’s look of interest and curiosity.

“Most curious.” He said again, when she handed the bottle back to him. “And food?”

She accepted a tuna-mayo sandwich, made on wheat bread, and it tasted heavenly as she scoffed it down. Giles gave her another, his expression of interest never lifting.

“She’s certainly a nonconformist.” He mused to himself, while his companion shook his head.

“An abomination.” He suggested, instead. “Or a good actress.” He squeezed her arm a little more tightly at that, and Buffy inadvertently dropped the last corner of her sandwich. She looked at it regretfully but said nothing.