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Author's Chapter Notes:
read the warning of this story before you read this chapter, if you dont like ANY of them then DO NOT READ. what happens needs to happen. no flames please
Immortal(ity)

The trunk reeked of cheap perfume and Buffy wondered briefly if she wasn’t the first woman to have upset the Immortal. How long she was in there she couldn’t tell, but she had screamed until she was sure she tasted the metallic tang of blood in her throat. It had to be soundproofed, or, she was somewhere where it didn’t matter no matter how much she cried out for help – it wouldn’t come. Maybe it was both, either way she was screwed.

She was only slightly surprised at its strength – unharmed after a series of kicks and punches - but it would figure that someone who had been around when Rome was being built and for the premiere of all the Godfather movies would have a reinforced car…fucking Italians. The trunk was, of course empty, no tire iron or wrench kit, nothing but lint and sand and that smell of cheap perfume that was making her nauseous. Her legs were aching, her knuckles bleeding, and with a thought that left her pale and shaking she remembered her coffin and the subsequent events that had followed…the way his eyes had gone from disinterested to awed the moment he released she wasn’t the Buffy-Bot, the way he’d held her hands careful not to touch the wounds, the way he knew exactly how long she’d been gone, minus a day, because that day couldn’t count now, could it?

When panic started to grip her heart and she started to hyperventilate the car mercifully slowed to a stop. She could feel the doors of the car open and close, counting the seconds until she heard the trunks latch pop. Buffy was momentarily blinded by the sun rising over the horizon before 5 huge shapes loomed into view effectively blocking the bright light.

Squinting up at them she saw Drago first, the immortals head goon, motion to the two demons closest to the car. They moved slowly up to her, fear making them cautious and when they were positioned over her at either end of her trunk she lashed out, her left foot connecting squarely with the jaw of the man near her feet. She spun up quickly, maneuvering onto her knees before leaning toward the one near her head and slamming him with a hard right hook, biting back the ghost of a satisfied smile she felt the bones crush under her assault, but she wasn’t satisfied – wouldn’t be until she could get to Spike.

As soon as her fist had met flesh, she felt a sharp sting followed by an intense pain radiating from the left side of her body. Looking down she saw a small, thin hypodermic needle protruding out from between her ribs. Wondering for split second why Slayers didn’t have stronger skin while the words “Well that’s not good” tumbled from her lips before she lapsed into unconsciousness.

***

When she came to she was in an opulent room on a large, luxurious bed. Glancing from side to side she realized that whatever drugs they had put into her system were still present, her movements jerky, uncoordinated. Her head collapsed back into the pillows hoping to alleviate the dizziness she was feeling. Several deep breaths later found her slightly more calm and able to hone her senses, to take in her surroundings with clearer eyes. The room was light, airy, and held a hint of ocean salt; giving her the impression she was captive in a mansion on a secluded island. The walls were covered in cream colored silks and a large mahogany armoire was placed next to the door she assumed led to the bathroom. Sliding to the edge of the bed, wary of how her body would react to sudden movements, she moved slowly to the open balcony doors and she hatefully realized the view was breathtaking. The sun seemed to be drowning slowly in the gently moving waves and she bit back tears, this place too beautiful for the darkness it concealed.

She stood there for a few moments, contemplating her next move while looking out onto the now blood colored sea. She was so caught up in her musings that she hadn’t noticed that the door ‘her’ room had opened. It wasn’t until her ‘spidey senses’ started to tingle that she realized she was no longer alone.

Spinning quickly she found herself face to face with her captor. He smiled down at her cruelly as he folded his arms against his chest, a weak gesture of power from a man who needed to resort to kidnapping and poison to get the woman. The Immortal stood there, eyes practically licking at her body: she was a delicacy just waiting to be devoured; she was the flavor of the month and nothing more. The old adage ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ flitted through her mind and she fought back the urge to vomit, his unwanted attention both repulsed and sickened her.

“What do you want asshole?”

“Bella, such a foul mouth you have, is that anyway to talk to the man that is your savior? The man that will raise you up on a pedestal?”

“I don’t think savior is the right term to associate with your kind of filth.” She spat back taking a step away from him, covertly glancing around for an escape that didn’t involve the long jump from the balcony that Slayer or not, would shatter her legs.

“Cara Mia, there is no way out. I told you…YOU belong to ME. You will not leave this place until you realize that I own you and that you are mine.” He gave her one last look before turning and heading back to the only way out of prison cell. He stopped in the doorway and looked at her, “The sooner you realize that the faster you and I can get on with our eternity – or until I tire of you in the very least. Forget about Spike, he is gone forever. It is only you and I now. I do not care for, how do you say? Competition. Good night my Bella, sweet dreams.” He reached into his coat pocket pulling out a small compact snuff box, placing it on the entry way table.

He gave her one last look before moving out of the room, the door shutting behind him with an audible click.


She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look. How was Spike gone? HOW?! How could he be gone when she had just found him? How could he be gone before she had the chance to make things right between them, to tell him, show him, just how much she loved him. She had a sinking sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. A small box – it didn’t seem right that it would contain a champion – her champion, how could it be right that over a hundred years of life was locked inside it? She knew what she would find in that box; ashes. Not cigarette ashes or ashes from a fireplace. No they would be the ashes of her true love. The ashes of the man that had gotten a soul for HER for fucks sake.
Had his soul felt the burn too she wondered, did it feel his screams as his body crumbled into embers?

On unsteady legs she slowly walked across the room to the small, seemingly unimportant, snuff box resting on top of the table. Her hands shook as she reached for it, a sob tearing through her throat and echoing around the room as she opened it. She sank to the floor hysterical tears obscuring her vision, dripping onto the remains of her love. The box tumbled from her shaking hands onto the impeccably clean floor, soot and ash covering it in a fine gray film.

At the end the tears and the pain and the love didn’t matter, all that mattered, and all that would ever again, was vengeance.

Focusing her rage until it was almost tangible she vowed to make the bastard pay for the rest of his so-called immortality. ‘That bastard will PAY! The Powers That Be help him when I get my hands around his filthy, greasy, Italian neck. Immortal huh? We’ll see how fucking immortal he is when he gets a taste of THE slayer.’

Maddening thoughts rampaged through her head while her hands showed a gentility she couldn’t even begin to process while she swept up her one-time lover’s ashes before putting them back in the tiny box they had been delivered in. She couldn’t feel the tears pricking at her eyes, or the path they followed down her cheeks, but she knew they were there.

“Don’t worry Spike, I’ll keep on living…so that one of us is living, even if it kills me. I’ll get my vengeance, that bloody Italian fuck will pay for taking you away from me.” she whispered to the air around her, hands cradling the box to her heart.

She stood up straight when the air began to shimmer and thick swirls of smoke seemed to come from nowhere, trying to get a feel for what was in the room with her. Placing the box back onto the table by the door she kneeled into a fighting crouch, hoping to catch whatever was here – or coming – off guard. When the acrid smoke cleared she was surprised…no, more than surprised, to see D’Hoffryn.

“Miss Summers, I could hear your call from miles away, I couldn’t believe my ears, a Slayer seeking out a demon…but then, that seems to be your pattern. What is it you wish?

She looked at him quizzically for a moment, contemplating what to do.
‘let him have my vengeance or watch the Immortals blood spill over my own hands as I tear him limb from limb…choices choices…?’ The answer was ridiculously easy.

“Sorry, this is my fight, and I never called for you.”

“You didn’t have to Miss Summers, your pain did.”

She waved her hand, as if trying to swat away a fly. “Thank you, but no thank you.”

“Now slayer, what kind of vengeance god…I mean demon, would I be if I just left you alone? Let me sit with you perhaps we can come to a suitable solution. The Immortal must have done something terrible for you to be so outraged that I could hear your pleas from deep inside my realm.”

He motioned for her to sit at the small coffee table he had morphed into existence. He waved his hand again and a small oval decanter of pink liquid appeared on the table accompanied by two small glasses that matched the bottle he had conjured.

Buffy looked at him skeptically before deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to at least talk to a master of vengeance, if not for help in the actual vengeance itself then for help in figuring out what was the cruelest way for someone to die, at the very least. She was confident that she would remember not to say the word ‘wish’ anyway – if Slayers had anything it was discipline.

She sat at the small table and eyed the rosy crystal bottle.

“What’s in that? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

D’hoffryn laughed before responding, “Demon alcohol. Its enchanted to taste like your favorite drink.” He looked up at her as he poured them each a sizable measure, a grin tickling the sides of his mouth when he noticed her questionable look.

“Demon…Alcohol?”

“It’s not any more potent than your average spirit here in the mortal world” he said as he raised his glass.

“I have nothing left to lose.” she mused aloud as she promptly picked up the proffered glass and titled it towards her demon companion before downing the contents.

**
Several drunken hours later:

“I mean…I know what your shayin, but really, how much entertail, tentrails…entrails can you really shee before it gets boring and grosh?” Buffy was sitting bent over the table staring intently at the bottle of never ending liquor she had been heavily consuming for the past 4 hours. She stared at it some more, wondering how it was still full when she knew she’d drunk nearly the whole bottle by herself.

“Why doesn it sheem empty? I know I drinked more than just a few sips…hehehehhehehhehe.” She finished with a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

D’hoffryn looked at his drunken companion warily, almost regretting his decision to break out his special liquor. ‘Keep giving her the liquor D’hoffryn; you’ll get her to make a wish, you’ll be a legend in the vengeance world – the whole underworld really - the only demon to EVER get a SLAYER to make a wish’. Boy had his conscious screwed him this time – he hadn’t expected to sit here for half the night. Well, at least he could say that he was the only demon that had gotten the slayer drunk and still managed to tell the tale.

“I want vengeance D’hoffer…D’heffer…demony thing.” she hissed while swinging her glass around crazily, pink alcohol sloshing over the table and just about everything else within a three foot radius, herself included. “I just…I just don’t know what to do… I want him to die the most antagonizing death the world will ever know, I want to give him – fuck that, I want to give everyone what they really deserve – pain! Everyone has hurt someone…I know I did…”

Buffy took a moment to try to compose herself, to try to block the flood of tears that threatened to spill at the mere thought of even just the small injustices she had done to William…William the monster, the man, the poet, the beautiful amalgamation of everything she needed in her life.

I just…I almost…I just wish I could grant instant vengeance to those that need it mosht, ya now? You’re all demony and can just shnap your finger…claw like thingies and make people get what they desherve…I have to go out there and bleed, and suffer, and lose…lose so much, all the time…”

Buffy continued to prattle on and on, the pain in her mind temporarily muted bythe pain in her soul – that was still radiating waves of remorse and revenge, never once realizing that D’hoffryn’s horns had momentarily glowed as he’d whispered “wish granted”, and that a small yellow pendant had materialized around her slender neck.


Chapter End Notes:
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