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A/N big thanks as always go to April my fabulous beta who continues to put up with my extreme blondness ;)

And FYI April Birching is to be spanked with a birch twig. Very painful british public school discipline fun

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"Well, that was bracing." He steps back and regards the dead demon. Strange to think that this revolting thing might hold the key to Lotta's sanity.

"My God, it stinks." Buffy's bruised face is scrunched up in disgust. She tosses him her carved dagger without taking her eyes off the stinking mass of mutilated flesh at her feet. "You can get it. I'm not touching that thing."

"A minute ago you where hacking through its arm, now you can't go near it?" he asks as he drops to his knees by the creature's head and begins to dig at the bright blue crystal in its brow.

"Well, a minute ago it was trying to pull your head off. And, by the way, you're welcome." She sounds peeved but he knows better; she enjoys a good tussle as much as he does and that was quite a fight. The demon had been disinclined to die easily and they had virtually minced it with their pair of western broadswords before it finally keeled over. Strong, too. Probably would've removed his head if she hadn't stepped in. He grunts his appreciation noncommittally as he hacks at the leathery skin of its forehead.

"Hurry up," she gripes, impatiently tapping her booted foot. God, she's infuriating. But that's a thought he should avoid because that will inevitably lead his mind back to how infuriating she was in her room earlier that day.

He'd been so angry. Not with her, just with the unfairness of life, and of course with Willow. He'd been angry and she'd been there, all infuriating and beautiful, and there was only one way that could end. She'd felt so vibrant in his arms, so wilfully alive. All the things he has loved and hated in her for so long, all the things his Anjo has lost.

A sudden tide of grief makes his movements jerky and the knife slips across the crystal's hard surface to slice his other hand. "Bloody hell, that hurt." She's at his side in a moment, unbearably concerned as she gently takes the knife from him and resumes the task of prising the crystal from the unfortunate Rashmack's forehead.

Watching her now as he bandages his hand untidily in his own t-shirt, he is painfully aware of how much he still loves her. How, despite that everything is different now, nothing has really changed. She still shines brighter than any other woman he has ever met. Poor Lotta. She had shone, too—a different kind of brightness, warm and mellow, subtle shades of dancing lamp night to Buffy's scorching desert sun, but she had warmed his skin and illuminated his spirit just as surely.

His mind wanders to the Fortaleza club where they met, how her dark hair had sparkled like black gold under the flashing disco lights. He remembers all the thousand ways her ebony eyes had shone. With passion, love, and anger, with violent glee and so often with that guileless wisdom and understanding that was so uniquely hers. It is something she and Buffy have in common. Had in common. Lotta's eyes don't shine now; they glow with feral gold, or glint with madness, but they don't shine and he doubts even if they can restore her sanity that they will ever shine for him again.

"Ha!" A triumphant sound followed by a wet pop signals that the slayer has freed the Rashmack crystal. "Got it! Eww, gross. You take it; I'm not putting it in my pocket."

……………………………………….

"About earlier." Oh no. Damn it, he always has to do this. Can't just let her pretend nothing happened, never 'let's her hide from all the scary emotion she's become a master at avoiding.' "I…"

"No." She cuts him off. Whatever he has to say, it won't be good. "Don't. It's just… Forget it, okay? It was my fault." She can't bear the thought of hearing him say he's sorry. Doesn't want for him to be sorry. Sorry means wrong and she doesn't want it to be wrong.

"Bloody right it was." Her head snaps up in surprise, but there is melancholy teasing in his eyes. "Taking advantage, that's what it was. Flashing your blood at a vulnerable bloke. It's not nice. You should be ashamed."

She laughs and it's not as strained as she would have expected. He's letting her off again. Even now when it's his world that's crumbling, he's considerate enough to try and spare her feelings. "Yeah, well, I'm a minx like that."

"Ain't you just." It's a half-hearted leer but at least he's trying. Trying to re-establish their shifting roles.

She sidesteps the expected response. Their roles have changed. She doesn't want to play the stuck up bitch to his lecherous pig anymore. "You think it'll work?" she asks, gesturing towards his pocket with her broadsword.

"Guess we'll see." His voice holds a hopelessness that is out of place with the positive turn of events, and she struggles to understand it. Giles had been certain that the balancing properties of the Rashmack crystal could be used to create an equilibrium between Carlotta's dissonant natures. Willow is more than powerful enough to perform the blessing. She shudders slightly at the thought of her friend once again casting her misused magic over Carlotta, but they have little choice. There's no one else who can do it.

All in all it's looking a thousand times rosier for Spike and Carlotta. And she is glad about that. He just doesn't seem to be.

…………………………………….

Latin words wash over the suddenly quiet room, coating the raw silence left by the cessation of Carlotta's tortured cries with magical balm. She shivers with sensation as the energy makes the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She used to be so fascinated with magic, had watched Willow and Tara with awe as they wove their spells.

Thinking of Tara now makes her sad. So few of all the many people in her life that have loved her have actually been her friend. They had all been Buffy's friends, not hers. Oh, they'd cared about her—that was undeniably true—but only Tara and Spike had actually liked her back then.

Carlotta had liked her, too, and she'd liked Carlotta. She'd been so happy to be able to make friends with Spike's girlfriend, had pictured spending time with the couple when it had all been over. Messing about with Carlotta, teasing Spike. The two of them had even gone so far as to make plans. "You must come to South America," Carlotta had told her. "Spike and I have rooms on the jungle's edge. You will come and stay with us and I will show you the forest. And also the night life. We will go to Rio and dance with all the pretty boys." They'd laughed; it had sounded such fun. It wouldn't happen now.

Carlotta is quiet now and deadly still, and the bright blue crystal around her neck is glowing softly at its centre. They're all so sure that this will work and she hopes to God they're right. She didn't deserve what has happened to her. Nor does Spike.

A glance at the vampire tells her all she need to know about his feelings. His face is a mask of stoic calm, his posture rigid. She's seen him like this before and that thought is enough to bring the shudders back. She'd seen him like this when Buffy was gone.

Buffy's with him now, of course. Standing close by, her hand grasping his in a gesture of support. She knows the others wonder at her motives but she already knows. Has known for years, probably even before Buffy herself knew, that she is in love with Spike. She prides herself on her perception.

The crystal flares once with bright blue light then fades quickly to mirrored topaz. Lotta looks around them and her eyes say that she is sane.

……………………………………..

"Anjo?" He hates the hoarse hopefulness of his own voice. Hates that he has allowed himself for even a second to believe that she might be restored to herself again.

"Spike," she whispers, her voice filled with confused devotion. "My love, my sire."

He shouldn't have hoped, should have known she would be changed. Buffy's grip on his hand tightens and he feels a rush of love for her. He had been so wrong to think there was no reason to love her. She's been amazing since he came back, and he can almost imagine that this is what it is like to have real friends, people to support you when life pisses in your A Positive.

It's almost enough. To have her close to him like this. To believe that in some small way she has come to care for him. It's not the intense, burning love he feels for her, but it's something. He grips her hand tighter, trying to steal some of her incredible strength through the warm skin of her palm.

Carlotta tips her head to the side as if listening to a far off sound, her eyes distant, distracted by what she hears. "It is quieter now."

"The crystal around your neck," Willow explains, nervously gesturing towards her chest where the crystal hangs inches below the butterfly jewel he had given her that fateful night in that jungle town when Giles had come to destroy their carefully constructed lives. "It helps you keep balanced."

She looks confused for a moment then looks down at his stolen gift. "I will never take it off." She looks at him and her eyes fill with sadness. "You remember how we danced that night you took it for me?"

"I remember, luv." His hand slips from Buffy's as he steps towards his child, and he immediately feels the loss of her support. "You gotta keep the other one on, too, pet. It'll keep ya from going fruitcake on us again."

She nods pensively and moves weakly against the chains that bind her wrists. "End me."

For a moment he doesn't understand, just continues stroking her frigid cheek, then he realises what she is saying and denial rises in his mind. No. She can't be asking that. She's calmer now, better, the spell has worked. "Pet…"

"End me, I beg you," she implores, and he can't look at her, can't deny her anything and can't give her this. "Please. As you created me, you can finish me." She pauses for a moment and he finds himself captured by her pleading eyes again. "'And make a heaven of hell, to die upon the hand I love so well.'" They had read that play together one day in August, lying side by side on their love-jumbled bed, reciting lines, interrupted by kisses and playful arguments.

"No." He can feel tears escaping his eyes as he steps away from her, shaking his head in fearful rebuff. "No, please, Lotta."

He can hear the tell tale sound of Dawn's grief over to his right, soft almost silent sniffing, and when Buffy comes again to his side, key in hand, she, too, has salt-water crystals on her cheeks. It is as if his pain in the room is a physical thing, wrapping itself around each of them like a spider's web spun in mournful silk.

"Leave them," Lotta orders quietly when Buffy moves to release her chains. "At least until I have fed and rested. Leave me now, please, all of you. Let me sleep."

.................................................

A/N review thankyou time again. Cheers me dears

Pin - I can't resist S?B when they're violent and out of control. Quite a few reviews on BS central reffered to S6 as teh bad old days. Personnaly i loved the intensity of it. hate, love and passion. My more mature Buffy has grown up and realised that not all the people she saves deserve it.

Beth - Well Carlotta'a sane now and she agrees with you. More merciful for to kill her. What will they do?

Hey Cordykitten He's angry as well as sad, I'd found myself focusing on teh sad stuf then i thought . Hey how would demon spike react? Violently!


love to all. So who's ready for Christmas? I've been all finished with my shopping for months. How organised and smug am i?





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