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A/N the first section of this chapter I added after April had sent the proofed version back to me so it hasn't been proofed. Any and all grammer and spelling error are therefore entirely the fault of TheBear and no blame can be layed at April's door.

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He will tell Carlotta as soon as soon as he gets back to their room, although this thought is enough to slow his brisk strides to a ponderous dawdle. He will tell her because she is his angel and they have never had any secrets, there is no rumination of the heart he has not shared with her, and she is under no illusions about his feeling for Buffy.

He does not attempt to reason that his honesty is in anyway selfless or noble, such virtues are far beyond him now and he goes in search as much of comfort as he does forgiveness. And he knows that she will offer it willingly, that she who has witnessed jealousy in all it's ugliest forms will no more let it touch her now that Buffy is real in their lives than she did when she lay with him on tangled sheets and listen as he told her of his love for the memory of a girl in a far off country

He wonders if Buffy will also confess her digression to her lover. He doubts it. Buffy has never been anything if not afraid of condemnation. Aside from the obvious possible ramifications of admitting her slight infidelity, there is the added shame that it was committed with a creature such has he. No. Buffy won't be making any confessions tonight, or any night.

There had been, up until the moment she whispered so fervently that she had missed him, a strange sense of anticlimax in her reaction to him. Aside from the brief flaring of her anger at his clandestine behaviour she has welcomed his return – and soulless at that – with an affectionate ease that is almost unnerving. At first he had attributed it the contentment he imagined she had found in her new life with Angel. But if that is the case - and her warmth towards him has it's roots in winsome indifference - then he is at a loss to explain why she has not once but twice kissed him in the few scant moments they have been alone.

And with thoughts of her kisses comes the unwelcome question of what it has meant to her, what he perhaps still means to her. He shakes his head, even if there were some crippled phoenix of affection buried in the long cold ashes of their relationship it is hardly likely to rise now, not now that she has Angel. And yet, he is compelled to ask himself, if she did want him…? No it is beyond ridiculous to even think of it, but if she did, then what would he want?

No he mustn't think like that, he has Carlotta and she is good to him, she is beautiful and vibrant in her love for him and there is no one he would sooner share his life with. Well no one but perhaps Buffy.

……………………………………………..

Her plan is morbid genius; it is heroic and it is madness, but most of all it is horribly desperate and so is her choice of accomplice.

She had come to her earlier, slipped away from her room while Spike was distracted, come to her with a plan knowing that she would offer her help, that she alone was powerful enough and reckless enough to help her do this unthinkable thing.

Lotta reasoned that their actions were not merely in the interests of saving their lovers, but for the good of all her sister slayers, but she is not fooled. She has seen the haunted, anxious look in Carlotta's eyes too often in her own bathroom mirror not to recognise that she is crazed with the need to protect her lover. And this is the girl's way: "If I perceive if that which I love is threatened, I will strike first and it will be decisive." Isn't that what she'd said? Oh, this isn't quite how she had anticipated the threat would pan out, but there is no denying that this pre-emptive strike will be nothing if not decisive, one way or another.

The plan is simplicity itself: a carefully-timed sleeping spell cast from the neighbouring room, a vial of stolen blood and a razor blade is all it will take. That and of course dauntless courage and a heinous crime of utter selflessness.

She hates herself for agreeing, hates that she has been driven to such abhorrent selfishness, but Kennedy is dying and she never believed Spike's blood would satisfy the spell.

Her hands shake as she sets up the spell. This is wrong; this is the wrongest thing she has ever done—well, ever done while in her right mind. But even that she questions. Perhaps she has actually become insane, been driven to this madness by Kennedy's worsening condition. She is so afraid for her girlfriend that she is willing to abandon totally her once treasured morality, but she is not so far gone that she can find the means to justify this.

She waits in the oppressive quiet of the room next to theirs, her heart thumping with dread slowness, nausea churning in her stomach. She heard him return a few minutes ago and now she hears his low rumbling voice, every word clear through the paper-thin walls of the old hotel.

"Luv, I got something I need to tell you," he says, and there is nervousness in his voice. "I, er... Buffy. She kissed me, and I..." Her eyes widen in surprise: why would Buffy do something like that? "I didn't stop her, pet. I should've and I didn't. I'm so sorry, baby."

"Hush amando, it's okay."

"No, it's not, pet. I just, she was there and she was Buffy, and I couldn't… God, luv, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, my love. I know. I know everything. Hush now. I promise everything is going to be all right." She hears the sound of their bedsprings creaking to accommodate their weight as Carlotta pulls him down to her. "Just make love to me."

And there is nothing she can do but wait, face flaming in embarrassment at the noises coming through the wall, and listen for Carlotta's signal. When it finally comes it is preceded by a loud feral growl. "Spike!" The pleasured scream sounds in her mind like a death knell. It is time to begin.

And once the spell is cast, there is nothing to do but silently clear away the ingredients and slip unnoticed to her own room, thankful that Kennedy is sleeping more heavily since she started getting the headaches, and wait for the tell-tale sounds that it is done.

She lies on her bed, counting the minutes till her spell will wear off, stomach churning with fear and guilt. And when it comes the sound shatters the silence of the hotel like a hammer on crystal. It is a howl, a raw, animalistic proclamation of pain like the cry of a wolf in agony, and she is certain that those on the other side of the building who are not woken by the sound will dream strange and frightening dreams in its wake. She pauses for a moment, having no desire to be first on the scene, telling a confused and sleepy Kennedy that everything is fine: "Stay, go back to sleep," then follows the tortured sound to its source.

Angel is the first person she sees, leaning heavily against the wall in the corridor, face ashen, eyes shocked and full of tears, a surprisingly human reaction to horror she knows he has seen within that room.

Dawn is just inside the bedroom, hand over her mouth, tears pouring down her face. Shocked blue eyes flicker towards her as she enters the room, then back to the bathroom door, through which she can hear that the agonised howl has quelled to a heart wrenching sobbing that sends grief and anguish resonating through the walls of the darkened room.

Another few shaky steps and the putrid fruit of her shameful labour is revealed. And oh god, she hadn't realised there would be so much blood, that the white tiles of the floor would be completely coated in viscous pooling red, that it would be matted in his platinum hair and streaked all over the alabaster skin of his bare chest.

Buffy is with him, kneeling helplessly at his side in that sticky sea of congealing blood where he rocks his lover’s cold limp body in his arms and begs her between racking sobs to come back to him.

"There's a note." Dawn’s shaky, tearful voice disturbs the macabre tableau of the bathroom.

Buffy studies the desolated vampire for a moment, her huge green eyes full of impotent sympathy. "Read it," she commands softly.

"'Spike, '" Dawn begins, voice small and broken. "'Love you always. See you soon.' That's all it says."

…………………………

Something sparks in her mind. The note is not right, everything here is not right. The slayer in her rises, strong and single-minded, and she is no longer just a woman shocked and sickened by a horrific suicide, she is more than just a girl paralysed in the face of a loved one’s pain. She is the slayer and she has work to do here.

"Spike," she whispers in his ear. "You have to let her go for a little while, okay? You need to tell me what happened." He shakes his head against Carlotta's silky black hair, but she insists, gently pulling him away. "Willow and Giles'll look after for a minute okay? Just come with me."

Dazed, he lowers her body reverently to the floor and kisses her forehead. "Be back in a minute, pet," he tells her as he straightens the large black t-shirt she is wearing to better cover her thighs.

"Giles," Buffy whispers to the man who has just arrived at the redhead’s shoulder. "You and Willow stay with her. Have a look around for anything suspicious, okay?"

"Spike, I'm sorry, but you have to tell me what happened."

Confusion is written all over his tear stained face. "I don't know. We were making love, and…" He shakes his head in helpless bewilderment. "I don't remember anything else. I must have fallen asleep."

It doesn't make sense. Spike doesn't just fall asleep after sex like some big useless Riley. He's always awake last, and even if he did—hello, vampire. No way he'd sleep through the sound—not to mention the smell—of his lover bleeding to death on the bathroom floor.

"Buffy." Giles appears in the bathroom door, a small glass jar in his hand, empty but stained with red. "We found this next to the b…" He trails off with a nervous glance at the vampire. "Next to her, and she has a fresh bite."

"Okay, thanks, Giles." she turns back to the vampire standing by numbly. "You bit her tonight?" she asks, consciously trying to ensure that the question cannot be mistaken for an accusation.

"Yeah, we do, most times." He shakes his head and the tears begin to flow again. "She likes it, always says it make her feel closer to me." He looks anxiously over he shoulder towards the bathroom. "I need to get back to her, she doesn't like me to leave her for too long."

And this bemused nonacceptance is the worst of all. She doesn't know what to do, how to make him understand without worsening the pain. But she needn't worry, because if there is one thing Spike understands, it is death. He stumbles to the bed and sits down heavily as if his legs have just stopped working, as though his body has caught up with the desolation in his eyes and simply acknowledged the pointlessness of maintaining the effort of function. And all she can do is watch helplessly as he runs his hand over the sheets where they had made love together such a very short time ago. "Why would she do it, Buffy?" he asks without looking up from where his hand smoothes the rumbled cotton. "I made her happy. I thought I made her happy."

"You did. I know you did." She shakes her head and bites her lip. There is a puzzle here, and the answer should be obvious but she somehow can't piece it together. The bite, the slashed wrists, the empty vile of blood, the strange note, Spike's uncharacteristic lethargy, the large syringe beside the bed. Wait, the syringe? Suddenly everything is clear, and she understands perfectly what has happened. Even as the powerful essence at her core recoils in horror at the very idea, her mind moves forward logically and she turns his arm to reveal the small red needle mark against his pale skin.

"Oh, God."

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A/N So sorry for the wait, I've been tweeking. I have two more chapters mostly finished which I want to get finished and off to April this week and hopefylly I'll have one or both posted before the weekend.

TheBear is currently aching all over, there isn't a muscle in her furry body that isn't sore. Just did my Kung Fu Black Sash grading this weekend, lots of sparring and more jumping kicks than anyone should ever be made to do. Two days of hell, an absolute beasting, but I felt great afterwards.


Thanks to the reviewers, sorry to do this to you all just as you were warming to Carlotta.

Thanks Heidi I've been struggling to find new stories to read (Kallysten, Kantarya and Eyridice (?) are updating regularly but it's not enouTh! I just discovered NihilistBear who writes great Spike/Buffy or S/D or S/T or S/... so if you haven't read any of that it's worth a go)

Hey Pin, Glad you like the difficulty of the situation and please don't worry the events of this chapter won't give anyone an easy way out, in fact things might get harder.

Scary growl Vamps, Bear tries to growl back but it comes out like a whimper and she hides under a big log!





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