DARK REFLECTION

Chapter One
Love and Jack Daniels

Disclaimer: I don’t own Buffy nor any characters except an original character featured later on. This is a response to challenge 319 on BSV.

A/N: Much thanks and appreciating to GoldenBuffy, Dead Man Walking, and DreamsofSpike. It means a lot to me that you took the time to beta this.

He poured the Jack Daniel’s into the glass, already savoring its taste before it even reached his mouth. Aged over time, it was not the highest quality alcohol, but he knew that it was just good enough to do the trick. The dark liquor slid down his throat as he tilted the glass back, feeling the slow burn of the liquid as it flowed into his stomach, barely beginning to ease his pain.

It was odd how something so dead could feel so alive, without the benefit of either a soul or a heartbeat.

Sometimes, he wished that he *didn’t* feel so alive.

His body, unaged over time, was still recovering from a fight he had had with a Fyarl a little while earlier, his alabaster skin bruised and sore. The Fyarl had fought hard, and Spike had even momentarily felt a slight tremble of fear that he would be dusted -- and yet, a part of him had welcomed it. The end to his eternal search for peace, the kind of darkness his Sire never could have offered him – at this point, death would be a welcome release.

All he really knew was that he could not live like this, not anymore.

The Fyarl had knocked him to the ground, its huge hands wrapped tightly around his throat, apparently intending to rip his head off. Whether he could have thrown the demon off or not, Spike didn’t know – because he hadn’t tried.

Yet, the killing blow did not come.

The soddin’, holier-than-thou Slayer had arrived, and as she had snapped the demon’s neck, Spike felt more disappointment than relief. It had been the first time he had seen her since his little fling with Anya. Spike knew that it had hurt Buffy’s pride, finding out that he wasn’t as whipped as she thought, finding out that after she had told him that she could never love him, shattering his hopes and his heart, he’d turned around so quickly and slept with Anya.

Bloody bint should have known it was a nothing more than a healing sort of thing. There were no feelings between the ex-demon and himself, just alcohol and the fragments of two broken hearts -- two broken hearts shattered by the people they had loved more than anything. A vampire, broken by his love for a Slayer, and an ex-demon, whose heart had been shattered on her wedding day.

Now he spent his days drinking alone, staying out of the Slayer’s way.

He’d show her who was a bleedin’ lap dog.

Spike wished that he would have dusted in the fight with the Fyarl, that his animated corpse had combusted, leaving nothing but his ashes scattering into the air -- because anything would have been better than living like this…loving her, wanting her, yet never having her, nothing more than her sidelong glances, and her eventual rejoicing at his dusting.

But the memories, those were what killed him the most – memories of touching her golden body as it writhed in ecstasy beneath him, burning him, etching a mark into his mind like a brand of her ownership, unwilling to let him ever forget the feel, the taste of her.

The alcohol numbed the pain a bit, yet it was still hard to bear the familiar scent of her, all over his desolate crypt. Even the charred scent of smoke that pervaded the room after the explosion, courtesy of Captain Cardboard, couldn’t rid the crypt of the distinctive, intoxicating scent that was Buffy.

A broken home, filled with memories that he longed to forget, and yet, somehow didn’t want to forget, because those memories were the closest Spike would ever get to touching heaven. She was his purgatory, her body taking him to heaven and hell all at the same time. More so the latter, he reflected bitterly, as she had always seemed more willing to give him hell than heaven.

After all, he didn’t *deserve* heaven; he didn’t have a soul.

And what would a soul do for him, anyway, he wondered with frustration, besides providing him with a superficial conscience to plague his already conflicted mind. He was already a demon so broken that he didn’t even want to attack humans anymore, so broken that he had no choice but to accept that he loved a slayer for all eternity, and never would have her love in return.

The government may have put the stupid chip in his head, forcing him to change his nature, but the change in him, the nagging beginnings of conscience and good that had slowly crept into Spike’s psyche weren’t results of the chip, but rather of his love for Buffy. Yet she’d never accept that, because in her eyes he wasn’t in her league, was not on her level.

Beneath her.

What Buffy thought she truly needed was Peaches.

To her, Spike’s body was nothing more than a scapegoat for her anger at being the Slayer, and being ripped out of Heaven – not to mention the anger she felt at Angel’s abandonment, and the love she had refused to let go.

Because Angel was no longer available, she used the next best thing -- Spike.

His body was a vessel into which Buffy poured her own outrage and torment, torturing him for simply being what he was, for the comfort he offered her, for everything that he represented in her mind. Angel couldn’t love her without a soul, but Spike could. And as punishment, she tortured him with her touches, both gentle and violent.

Buffy seemed to have truly lost the concept of love completely. If she still knew what it was, what it meant, then surely she wouldn’t have used him like she had. Perhaps she would even have realized that he truly loved her with all his being -- but she hadn’t.

To her he was just a thing…nothing…beneath her.

He poured himself another drink, but before he could even swallow this one down, a familiar scent caught his attention. The Nibblet was in his crypt -- probably on her way to judge him as well as the others. He hadn’t seen her in a while; he’d been to busy shagging her sister senseless.

Dawn had been busy with the witches. She had been a victim of Willow ’s addiction to magic, had witnessed Tara’s breaking up with Red, and had been caught in the middle of the tension and pain between the two of them. He poured himself another drink, tears stinging his eyes.

The Nibblet didn’t deserve to see him like this.

“Does it help?” Dawn asked flatly.

“Doesn’t hurt,” Spike replied, as he tilted back the glass and swallowed.

“Everybody’s still mad at you.”

“Can’t say I blame them.” He looked at her, eyes red from tears and alcohol. “Planning a campout, kitten?”

“No, I’m sleeping at Janice’s tonight. Thought I’d give Willow and Tara some alone time…”

“So the birds are flying again?” Spike questioned, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “That’s nice.” He reached into his jeans and pulled out his pack of cigarettes, slipping one out of the box before taking out his silver Zippo to light it. That accomplished, he took a deep drag, expelling it with a weary sigh.

“Why’d you do it? Hurt Buffy like that. Cause if that’s what you meant to do, congratulations. It worked.”

“Pity party for Buffy, and I wasn’t invited,” Spike spat the words out with sarcastic sympathy.

“It wasn’t right what you did, and you know it, Spike.”

“And big sis was treating me so well up until that point. Points for Spike, must be some of that evil left in me after all.”

“I don’t know what happened between you two, but you really hurt her, Spike. Maybe you should try making up?” Dawn suggested eagerly.

“Can’t do that pet. There’s nothing I should be apologizing for,” Spike stated firmly, taking another drag off his cigarette.

“What you did with Anya hurt her badly. Do you really love her?” Dawn persisted.

Spike didn’t answer right away. “Anya? No. We had been drinking, and we were a bit lonely, and stuff happened…”

“No, doofus, I meant Buffy.”

“It’s not about whether I love her or not, Nibblet, I just can’t do this anymore,” Spike said, running his fingers through his disorderly curls in frustration. “I love her, but she’ll never love me, because clearly I’m supposed to have a soul, or else I’m just a bloody monster. How do you want me to deal, Dawn? ‘S not like I can go ask some mystical wishing demon and get it. A soul -- do you know how that would kill me? I’ve done a lot of wrong, pet. I’ve been a vampire for over a century -- that’s decades of bloodshed on my non-existent conscience.”

He flicked his cigarette across the room angrily to punctuate his words.

“You’re wrong, Spike. You are good enough for her, but you’ve got to make her see that,” Dawn insisted, as she set her stuff down at the edge of the sarcophagus and sat on the lid.

“’S not like I haven’t bloody tried to. I’ve helped the Scoobies time and time again, but all she’ll see me as is just an evil, soulless monster. Buffy could never be my girl,” Spike said, his voice quiet and despairing.

“Why not?”

“Cause I’m ‘evil’, cause I’m not normal enough for her. She realizes with me there’s no fat little sprogs, no white picket fence, no -- sunbathing. What I have to offer, it’s just not good enough.” Fat tears slid down from Spike’s eyes, a testament to the painful emotions weighing on him. He had bared his heart to her over and over again, just to be rejected and kicked away like filth, like trash to be picked up by someone else.

She was everything to him, the love of his unlife, his sunshine, his redemption -- a redemption that he’d seen, but could never touch, because it didn’t belong to him. He could see just enough of her brightness to leave him hopeful, but never enough to fulfill those hopes.

“How normal do you think Buffy is?” Dawn asked. “She’s the Slayer, chosen and all to fight evil. Not so much with the normal,” Dawn pointed out.

“It’s what she wants, though -- to be normal -- and she’ll strive for it, dating idiots like Captain Cardboard and such just to try to get there. She doesn’t care if she breaks my heart in a momentarily lapse of loneliness.”

“Because you let it get this way. She was using you and you knew it and didn’t stop it. She’s not the only one at fault.”

“It was the closest I’d ever get to the chit. I couldn’t help it, I loved her.” As he admitted the truth to Dawn, to his horror, he found himself breaking down completely, his tears overwhelming him in the wake of his heartache and despair.

For a brief moment he had held her – but now she was gone, and he had nothing.

She was that effulgent prize he had sought – and now she was gone.

The alcohol and the emotional suffering combined to overwhelm him completely – and there in his chair, right in front of a very startled, alarmed Dawn -- Spike passed out completely.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Dark Reflection
Chapter Two: Red Rum

Spike rolled around on his bed, sweaty sheets stuck to his pale skin. He flailed in his alcohol-induced dream, and cried bitter tears, sliding down his cool cheeks. He wanted her so badly that he could almost taste her, her exquisite scent smothering his senses even in sleep. He felt her heat, her warm body pressed against his, responsive, doing exactly as he desired.

Just a dream…

He felt a sudden sting across his face, and heard Dawn cry out indignantly, as he shot up in the bed. The lights were on, and he groggily realized that he was on the couch in the Summers’ house.

His eyes half-closed, eyelids trying to block out the blinding light, he leaned back on the couch – and saw her, the goddess that was Buffy, the redemption that he’d never hold, not truly, yet had already had a small taste of. She meant so much to him, affected him so deeply, it felt like his stomach was all tied up in knots, anytime she was present.

But at the moment, those knots were for a slightly different reason than usual.

She had a steely glare on her face, cold green eyes staring into his with fury, and he knew he was in for it.
“Buffy?” He spoke, unsure of how to respond to her in this condition.

She ignored him -- not that it surprised him -- and turned to Dawn. “Go to your room, Dawnie.”

“But Buffy…” Her cries of indignant protest fell on deaf ears.

“Go, Dawn.”

Dawn shot her a dirty look as she headed up the stairs to her room.

“What do you think you’re playing at, Spike?” she asked coldly, staring him down as she practically spat his name at him.

“What do you mean, Buffy?” He replied sarcastically.
A look of anger flashed across Buffy’s face at his words.

“Getting drunk around my little sister, sleeping with my friends -- just what are you playing at Spike?” She hovered over him, arms folded over her chest, looking righteously furious.

“Sod off, Slayer, I’m not here to play twenty bloody questions,” he responded, earning an attempted punch to the nose, which he caught before it could connect. “I don’t think so, pet.” He pushed her away from him and got up off the couch.

“Well, guess what, Spike? If you don’t answer me, I will fucking stake you.” Buffy snapped back, stepping even further into his space in an intimidating way.

“Try to do so, pet, and I will make you remember I’m not as toothless or as whipped as you seem to think. Maybe you can scare off Angelus or G.I. Jackass, but your threats do not scare me. I have killed two Slayers already, and I can still make you my third,” Spike declared, his voice trembling with repressed rage. “And since you really want to know the answers, I’ll bloody well tell you, ‘cause after tonight, there’s no more kick the Spike for you, love -- I’m out.”

“What do you mean ‘out’?” Buffy asked, her voice faltering, her lower lip trembling.

“I’m leaving Sunnydale for good. I’m done being your whipping boy.”

“You’re just going to leave me here?” Buffy asked indignantly.

“Yeah, sounds just about right, love. You want me out of your life so fucking badly, you got it! I can’t be around you anymore. I’m sick of you being such a bloody bitch to me. Do you want to know what happened between me and Anya? Do you remember your ‘real for you’ speech? After that I cried so fucking hard I had to get drunk just to stop -- so yeah, I went to the Magic Box to find me a spell to make me forget about you, anything that would make me feel better -- something that could take the pain away, the pain of knowing what you smell like, what you taste like, and not being able to touch you, to be near you. Anya whipped out a bottle, and me and her got drunk. I s’pose the alcohol blurred our minds a bit, and we did it – but it was nothing more than a drunken attempt to forget the two people we really loved so much, who hurt us so bad.
Spike was quiet for a moment, his head bowed as he tried to recover his composure. “You hurt me so bad, Buffy,” he finally confessed, his voice soft and trembling slightly, “using me for months, taking and never giving, letting me love you without ever returning anything. I hate you for what you did to me those months, fucking me and reminding me of everything I was – nothing but a soulless, evil thing to be used by you, you hateful bitch!”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like that,” Buffy sobbed, surprised by the pain she felt at hearing her old lover curse her name.

“You think I have no feelings, no dreams, no aspirations. Well, I dreamed of you, Buffy, for quite some time -- of you letting me love you -- just once, you letting your guard down and letting me love you like I’ve wanted to for years. But instead, you gave me a crumb, while you took everything I had to give.”
“I’m sorry, Spike...”

“No, you’re not. You don’t regret what you did, not really. I was there to make you feel alive, because no one’s else could really understand what you’d been through – no one else could make you feel anything. I realize that, but I would rather never have been with you, than to taste you, without truly having you.”

“Have me, then,” Buffy pleaded. “I’m here.” She opened her arms wide in a feeble attempt to keep Spike from leaving.

“I’ll pass. You could never be my girl.” Spike turned his back and headed out the kitchen door.

Buffy followed him. She refused to let him go, not like Angel and Riley -- not again.

“Spike, wait!” she yelled. It was raining outside, and Spike was unharmed by the sun, which was blotted out by the clouds. The rain was pouring hard, matting Buffy’s hair down to her skull as she rushed out into it after him.

“Go save the day or something, hero,” Spike spat at her bitterly.

“Already kinda did. I stopped the nerds from robbing a bank. Warren got away, but his buddies are in jail,” Buffy stated, rushing towards him.

“Where was I?” Spike asked, taking in the scent of her, soft vanilla permeating the air, even through the rain, as almost against his own will, he slowed his pace to allow her to catch up.

“Passed out drunk, if I remember correctly.”

“Really. Damn, I missed out.”

“Nothing much, just the balls of Nissen Ramen or something…” She shrugged carelessly as she finished, “I beat them senseless.” Moving quickly to stand in front of him, blocking his path, Buffy wrapped her arms around Spike. “Please don’t go,” she pleaded, her voice suddenly serious, tears in her eyes, her bottom lip quivering.

“I can’t be your lapdog anymore, Buffy. I love you to death, but I’ve gotta have some pride,” Spike insisted, his eyes low to the ground, knowing that if he looked into her eyes, he’d falter, for her.

He loved her too damn much.

“Fine, let’s make this work. I’m not ready for you to not be here,” Buffy said.

“It’s not that easy, pet, you don’t just jump right back into things,” Spike said. “I need to figure out if I even want to give this another shot. I love you, Buffy, but I’m not ready to have you break my heart again.”

“I’m so sorry, Spike…”

“Don’t be. I’m just as much to blame as you are. What happened, it’s too late to change it. All we can do now is learn from it, and try to make a better future for us, whether we’re together or not,” he replied slowly, the words coming with difficulty, the prospect of not being with Buffy killing him inside.

“What if your future is with me?” Buffy asked softly, staring into his blue eyes.

“And you what, decided that in less than two minutes? How can you expect me to forget all these years of humiliation, Buffy? I loved you, and you spat it back in my fucking face. I know, I didn’t go about it the right way sometimes, but you locked me out, Buffy, I had no choice in doing what I did. Sure as hell didn’t want to, but you wouldn’t let me love you,” Spike replied.

“Don’t go! I need you here!” Buffy pleaded.

“To shag you senseless? Is that what you need me here for?” Spike demanded.

“No, its not gonna be like that anymore! I need you here.” Buffy said, sobbing in pain.

“Tell me then Slayer, how is it going to be? Can you really go and tell the Scoobies what you’ve done, what you’re going to keep doing? Me? I’m not going to be your bloody secret any longer. If I stay, it’s gotta be real, not just some halfway thing,” Spike replied.

“I’m not ready to tell them. Give me some time.”

“Time to what? To let me love you? To let me be that guy that doesn’t go away like Peaches or Whitebread? What is it you want from me, Buffy?”

“Love. Is that too much to ask?”

“’S what I’ve bloody given you all this time, and you couldn’t accept it, ‘cause I’m not alive, I’m supposed to be some dead thing with no feelings. Well, guess what Goldilocks? I’ve fucking loved you all this time, asking for just a crumb, and you gave me nothing!” Spike snapped.

“It just wasn’t the right time,” Buffy said weakly, her eyes downcast.

“And you want me to wait for what? Wait for you to finally get over Peaches and feel alive? For you to finally grow up and be the woman you want to be instead of the girl your friends try to mold you into?” Spike spat vehemently.

Buffy shut her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please, Spike, don’t go.”

“Sorry pet, I just don’t have time for this.”

“You’re a vampire, you’re immortal. You have all the time in the world,” Buffy persisted.

“Not really the point, love,” Spike responded, and for once she didn’t complain about his automatic nickname for her.

“Before you go, tell me if it’s real, what you feel. If it’s not, then go. But if it is, just give me a chance.”

“It’s real.”

“Do you mean that, Spike?”

“For you.”

Spike turned to leave, when suddenly something slammed hard into his chest, spinning him around and sending him flying into Buffy’s fence. Blood stained the fence, and Spike looked down at the small hole in his chest in shock. “Bloody hell.”

“You stupid bitch! You think you can do what you did and get away with it?” Warren stepped out of the bushes with a nine millimeter in his hand.

Buffy stared at Spike in horror, before slowly turning her head, her green eyes blazing and narrowed at the shooter.

“Warren. You’re such a coward. It’s pathetic, really, when you think about it,” Buffy quipped, eyes warily watching her ex-lover, lying against the fence. She knew that the bullet would not kill him, and at the moment, though she wanted to go to him, she knew that she had to focus on Warren.

“Shut up, you stupid bitch. I’m not a coward, I just don’t happened to be supernaturally blessed like some.”

“No, you aren’t, you just cheat your way to power. You really plan on shooting me with that, Warren? Do you really have the balls?” Buffy asked, her Slayer senses buzzing in alarm.

“Yeah, I think I do.” And with that, Warren lifted the nine millimeter to the level of Buffy’s chest.

He squeezed off a couple shots – and everything seemed to go in slow motion from that point. Spike’s eyes went wide in horror, and he leapt toward Buffy. Her eyes were wide with disbelief as a bullet tore through her stomach, burning past her intestines and out her back. Before the other bullet could hit her, Spike covered her body and shook as his body was riddled with more bullets. His neck went numb as a 9mm bullet tore the flesh away, along with splintered bits of bone. He shifted into his game face, his demon weakened by the injuries, but angry and defiant, even as both Spike and Buffy fell to the ground, exhausted, bodies weak and swiftly growing numb from the bullet wounds they had taken.

Warren walked up to the two of them, and shot Buffy through her chest. Her eyes closed, her body ready to shut down. Warren walked over to Spike and emptied the clip into his face, leaving his cheek torn, ragged, from the impact of the blast.

“No!” Dawn came running out of the house just then, with Tara just behind her.

Warren reloaded and took aim at them.

Two shots were fired.

Buffy’s eyes opened once more, and the last thing she saw was Dawn, falling to the grass, one hand clutched over a spot on her neck from which bright red blood ran freely.

Dying -- and Buffy could do nothing but join her.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer:
Dark Reflection
Disclaimer: I don’t own BTVS.

Previously: Warren Meers showed up at Buffy’s house and shot her and Spike before they could finish making up. Just before Buffy lost consciousness. she saw her sister Dawn, shot in the neck and bleeding from another of Warren’s bullets.

A cruel smiled lit Warren’s face as he saw the Slayer and her pet vampire lying on the grass, one already dead, and the other close to death. His eyes were open wide, gleefully laughing like a lunatic. Then he saw them, the wiccan and the kid sister. He reloaded the Desert Eagle and took aim at the Wicca.

The first bullet whizzed by the Wicca’s ear. Her eyes were bulging in fright as the bullet missed her, yet passed close enough for her to feel the heat of the bullet on her face. The second bullet was fired just as Dawn charged toward her fallen sister and friend, and it caught her in the neck, close to her jugular. The tall girl fell backward, a spray of her blood shooting into the air from the pulsating wound at her throat.

Warren aimed at the Wicca again, intending to be sure that she died as well, but she had already charged into him, her small shoulders plowing deep into his gut and sending him flying backward into the fence. The gun was dropped in the quick scuffle, and Warren attempted to get it again. Before he could reach it, a blinding power seized him and sent him flying backward into the street, his face scraping against the curb, drawing blood.

Tara looked at Dawn, lying on the grass bleeding to death, and immediately ripped the blue sweater she had been wearing off and wrapped it around Dawn’s neck in an attempt to stem the flow. She reached into the pocket of her jeans and grabbed her cell phone, dialing a short number with trembling fingers.

“Nine one-one. What is your emergency?” a bored voice said on the line, as if he was expecting it to be either a prank call, or something as boring as a cat stuck in a tree.

“Warren came into Buffy’s backyard and shot her and her sister and tried to kill me, too,” Tara blurted out in a rush, unsure of what to do or say.

“Where are you, ma’am?” the no longer monotonous male voice asked.

“I’m at 1630 Revello Drive. Please hurry,” Tara pleaded.

“I just dispatched an ambulance. Please, ma’am, stay on the line and tell me how bad the situation is.”
“Pretty fucking bad or I wouldn’t be calling you!” Tara yelled into the phone, angry at the person on the other line for his stupidity. Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto the plain white tee shirt she had on.

“You’re going to have to cooperate if you want us to help,” the voice droned on. “Please tell me if there are any visible injuries on the victims.”

Tara strode over to Buffy on trembling legs. “Buffy, she has three bullet wounds, one through her stomach and two through her chest,” Tara said. “And Dawn was shot in the neck, possibly in the jugular.”

“Shit,” the dispatcher said on the line, alarming Tara with the shocked sound of his voice.

Tara put more pressure on the sweater, now drenched in Dawn’s blood. “Please hurry. They might not make it.”

“Anyone else hurt?”

Tara looked at the fallen vampire, but realized that it would be pretty hard to explain a vampire’ s situation to medical staff. Still, Spike was in need of medical attention, attention far more advanced than any she could provide. “Yes. Randy Giles. He’s been shot multiple times in the face.”

“Is he dead?”

“Um, I think he’s still alive,” Tara sobbed into the phone; her tears driving home to the operator the extent of the emergency.

Tara still held the phone, and , never stopped the pressure onto the sweater wrapped around Dawn’s neck. The lanky teen was unmoving, except for the faint rise and fall of her chest. The panic suddenly became too much for Tara, who froze, at a loss as to how to assist her fallen friends. The mystical stuff was no problem, but watching her friends get shot -- watching Dawnie bleeding so horribly from the throat -- was more than the Wicca could handle.

She did not know how long she cried, but finally she heard the sound as the back door of the house was slammed, and suddenly,medical personnel were storming toward her with three stretchers. They ran past her and began laying Dawn on one of them, then rushed her toward the ambulance that was waiting right behind the Summers’ fence. In fright Tara ran toward the ambulance, but was grabbed and held back by a tall man with curly blonde hair.

“Please, ma’am. We got her. We can take you to the hospital, but Dawn is going to need some emergency assistance, and you can’t be with her right now.” Tara struggled against him, and he released his grip.

“I understand, sir.”

“Keith.”

“Huh?”

“My name’s Keith. Will you need a ride to the hospital, or do you have a way of getting there?” Keith asked.
“I’ll have a ride.”

Two other medics laid out the Slayer and Spike onto other stretchers and took them to the ambulance as well.

*Xander…*

Tara grabbed her phone and dialed the carpenter’s cell phone number. The two rings that sounded before it was picked up felt as if they lasted a lifetime.

“What’s up, Tara?” Xander spoke into the phone, obviously having recognized her number.

“Buffy and Dawn were shot by Warren. I need you over here now.”

“What?” Xander nearly screamed.

“Please, hurry up, Xander.”

“Be there in five,” Xander responded, his voice taut and trembling with fear and shock.

“Your ride’s coming?” Keith asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

“Yeah,” Tara assured him with a shaky nod.

“Randy Giles. He’s a vampire ,isn’t he?” Keith asked.
Tara’s eyes widened, startled. “How do you know?”
“Come on, ma’am, this is Sunnydale.”

“It’s Tara. Take care of him, make sure he gets a package or two of some blood.”

“Will do, Tara.” Keith headed off with the rest of the medics, and they drove to the hospital, hoping that all three victims would be okay.

Later, at Sunnydale Hospital

Spike’s eyes fluttered open. How much time had passed, he was unsure. The pain in his jaw was horrific, though he could tell it was healing, his vampire abilities slowly yet surely regenerating bit by bit the large piece of flesh that had been blown from his face. His chest and back hurt too, but it wasn’t the first time that he’d been shot through the chest. But never had he been shot in his face, and God, it hurt! But now that he was over the initial shock of being shot, there was only one question on his mind -- how Buffy was doing.

He was a vampire – but she was only human. Even though she was the Slayer, Spike knew all too well that she could still die. Spike had seen the initial bullet that went through her stomach, as well as the two that had gone through her chest. He tried to stand up, but was in too much pain, and was forced to simply lie there, succumbing to the horrible thoughts that went through his head.

*I failed… I failed to protect her, and now she could die. I could lose her again, because I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t strong enough, smart enough…this could be twice that she dies on my watch. Because I failed…*

Tears blurred his vision, and his heart demanded that his body stand, the demon residing within him vowing to break free of the broken constraints of his flesh. Mustering all his strength and concentration, Spike pulled himself up, ripping off the useless needles piercing his body. But when he tried to stand, he only fell off the bed and onto the marble floor, hurting even worse than before.

He reached out with his hands, fingernails digging into the marble floor as he dragged himself across it, tears pouring rapidly onto the tile. He knew he had to be a mess, covered in blood and tears, his normally slicked back hair a rumple of bloody curls, but that wasn’t important at all right now -- Buffy was. As he struggled toward the door to the room, a nurse noticed him and yelled for the doctor.

The white clad doctor stepped into the room, gripping Spike’s shoulders to lift him to his feet and set him in a wheelchair. Spike fought against his grip but was too weak, though he noticed with surprise that he felt no shock from the chip at his attempt.

“Mr. Giles, we know what you are, and you’re going to need a lot more blood before attempting to walk around. Your wounds haven’t healed completely, son.”
“Son…I’m probably older than you,” Spike scoffed bitterly.

“Or so you think, Mister the Bloody. We deactivated the chip in your head; apparently it was about ready to self-destruct when they got you here. Kinda looks like they gave you an expiration date. And it was today.” The doctor extended his hand toward a stunned Spike in introduction. “Dr. Harrison.”

Spike silently shook his hand, watching him warily for a few moments.

“How’s Buffy?” he asked. He voice trembled and for a second Spike felt more vulnerable than he ever had, even when he was stuck in the Initiative.

“A master vampire in love?” the doctor observed with a knowing smile. “That’s hard to find. Your Buffy’s stable. She hasn’t awakened yet, but she’ll live. It’s her younger sister I’m worried about.”

“Dawn!” Spike gasped in shock.

“Yes, she was shot in the neck. And while your friend Tara did all she could to stem the flow of blood, Dawn still lost a lot.”

Spike shot up and grabbed the doctor by his lapels and lifted him in the air . “How is she?”

“The sudden loss of blood made her go into a coma. We don’t know if she’ll ever wake up,” the doctor admittedly softly.

Spike let him go and fell out of the chair to his knees, crying. He had failed again. He had promised, and he had failed. His body shook as the sobs racked his body. The doctor could do nothing more than pat his shoulder sympathetically, as Spike had once done for Buffy.

“Please save her,” he begged, his voice hoarse from crying.

“We’ll do our best Spike.”

With that the doctor stepped out of the room, and Spike collapsed onto his bed, his body spent and exhausted, pumped up with drugged blood. His body wanted nothing more than to sleep, though his heart longed to find Buffy. He fought against the lure of sleep, but before he could even process the thought of how to fight it, his eyes were closed and sweet unconsciousness had mercifully taken him.
Hours later at Willy’s Bar…

Warren Meers still couldn’t get over the initial shock of what had happened.

He, a mere human, had killed the Slayer. He had killed Buffy Summers. And all it had taken was a bullet to her chest. Even funnier was that he had killed Spike, and her bratty sister, too. Sure he hadn’t seen Spike dust, but there was no way that Spike could have survived the onslaught Warren had bestowed on his face with the Desert Eagle.

He sat down on a stool by the bar, and clapped a vampire on the back. Seeing two angry yellow eyes looking at him, he hurried to explain his friendly good cheer. “Hey, didn’t you hear the good news, bro? The Slayer’s dead.”

The vampire merely laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m serious. Today I killed that bitch of a Slayer, so Willy, grab me a pitcher of beer, it’s time to celebrate,” Warren declared, eyes shining madly.

“You killed the Slayer?” The vampire finally spoke, raising his eyebrow doubtfully at the human.

“Didn’t I just fucking say that, bro? You should buy me a shot,” Warren replied, his arrogance and cockiness building.

Willy brought Warren a pitcher of Budweiser.
“Thanks,” Warren replied as he gave Willy two twenty dollar bills. “Just keep ‘em coming.”

“So how did you off the Slayer? What did you do that we vamps can never seem to figure out before she stakes us?” The vampire spoke calmly, not betraying the fact that he had nearly just eaten the kid for touching him seconds before.

“I shot the bitch. Really effective, guys of the undead. You should look into modern technologies, work wonders I tell you,” Warren said, snorting contemptuously as he grabbed the pitcher and poured some beer into his glass.

“Really. Did you make sure she was dead, shit for brains?”

“No,” Warren stuttered, foam trailing down his chin.
“Slayers regenerate quite quickly. And it’s funny that you come down here bragging and shit. About twenty minutes ago on the news it said someone shot Buffy and her sister in her backyard, and that Buffy was recuperating but her sister was not. Her sister’s in a coma, not really dead, not really alive, and the doctors, they don’t think the kid’s waking up – ever,” the vampire informed him. “I was gonna kill you, right after I finished my beer, but I think I’ll let the Slayer finish the job for me.” The vampire shoved Warren to the ground. “What with her sister and all, I’m sure she’ll be much more creative about it than I could be!”

“You’re wrong,” Warren stuttered, suddenly pale and wide-eyed with fear.

“You calling me a liar, boy? Cause I just might change my mind and eat you myself.”

Warren whipped out the 9mm and shot the vampire in the head, dead center. The vampire,fell over, but did not dust. Warren stood up and staked the prone body, feeling a brief sense of satisfaction as the dust flew. Finishing his pitcher of beer in a matter of seconds, he said defiantly, “I gotta go. I got a job to finish,” as he stalked out the door of the bar into the night.

Dark Reflection

Chapter 4: A Slayer’s Rage

Much love and appreciation to an awesome beta, and an even better author. Thanks Dreams of Spike.

Xander Harris paced around the Magic Shop. Conflicting thoughts ran wild through his head, and drowned him in a sea of confusion. There was so much going on right now, it was hard to focus on the issue at hand.

Glory was running around rampant, sucking people’s brains and all. Willow was pretty much off the deep end since Tara had been attacked by Glory. She really didn’t talk to anyone, just sat around, pretending to do research while her eyes remained distant and vacant.

He didn’t blame her.

If it had been Anya attacked by Glory, he knew he would have gone crazy

He really didn’t blame Willow for attacking Glory on her own. He would of done the same for Anya.

Love made you do the wacky, Buffy had once said.

Maybe that was why he could forgive Anya for being the vengeance demon that she had been. She had slaughtered and tortured men for their crimes, in so doing, becoming somewhat of a criminal herself. Yet she had changed, forced as it might have been, but she had changed. Forced to become a human and adapt to her new life, she had fallen in love with him. She had given him a chance when others hadn’t. She had loved him when others despised him. And for that reason alone, he admired her, even if she was blunt and tactless.

So now he paced around, an engagement ring in his jacket pocket. He wasn’t sure if he should propose to her now, with the badness that was Glory and all. But what if he died, and never really got to let her know how he felt about her. He loved her, after coming to his senses and knocking Buffy off the pedestal he had had her on for so long, and saw her for what she truly was -- one hell of a woman.

He wanted to propose to her badly, but nervousness tugged away at his mind.

What if she thinks I’m only doing this because I might not make it to the actual wedding alive? What if she doesn’t even want to marry me?

As Xander Harris angrily pushed the thought out of his mind, Dawn stepped into the Magic Shop, a cheery smile on her face, blue eyes shining brightly. She walked towards him sensing something was wrong, brown hair bouncing in her haste. She stopped in front of him, her left eyebrow arched high as she asked, “What’s wrong Xander?”

“Oh nothing, Dawnie, just can’t decide whether I want the goodness of a jelly donut or glazed. Hard choice, isn’t it?” he said, a little too casually -- which she perceptively picked up at once.

“So you’re walking aimlessly around the Magic Box, sweating, on the verge of tears -- and it’s all over a donut?” Dawn asked, her lips setting in a skeptical line.

“What can I say, they’re some great donuts,” Xander insisted.

Noticing the slight bulge in his jacket pocket, Dawn reached over and snatched it out. “What’s this?” she remarked with surprise when she saw the tiny black velvet box. Her surprise only increased when she opened it and saw the engagement ring inside. “Oh my…”

Xander covered her mouth with his hand. “You can’t tell anyone, Dawn. Please don’t tell anyone. I kind of want to keep it as a surprise and look all romantic when I present it to her.”

Dawn giggled. “So what do I get out of this situation?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Xander asked.

“You don’t want me to tell, so I’m gonna have to ask you for some sort of payment. You know, just to make sure I keep my mouth shut.” Dawn informed him, a sly smile lighting up her face.

“So what do I have to do to keep you quiet?” Xander thought about it for a second. “I would like it if you didn’t open your mouth to anyone but me.” A bemused look crossed Dawn’s face. “Wow, that sounded less perverted in my thoughts.” He said as an afterthought.

Dawn raised her eyebrow. “Double eww, with a side of ice cream.” She replied. “Dairy Queen.”

“Some ice cream, that’s it?” Xander looked doubtful.

“Yeah, I think that covers it.” Dawn smiled evilly at the carpenter.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Xander wrapped his arm around Dawn and they began to head out of the Magic Box. A shrill voice cut the air. “Hey, you’re only supposed to grope me, Xander.” Xander’s eyes went wide, and Dawn could not help but burst out laughing. “You can’t give us both orgasms.”

Dawn stopped laughing, her own eyes going wide at those startling words.

“And on that note, Dairy Queen it is,” Xander whispered in her ear.

Alexander Lavelle Harris was scared. Then again, scared didn’t exactly cover it. He was terrified, horrified that Warren could actually have shot Buffy and Dawn. Personally he didn’t really give two shits for Resident Evil, he was just a soulless monster that should have been staked eons ago. But Buffy – well, it hadn’t even been a year since Willow had done her mojo to bring her back, and she was nearing death again. It wasn’t fair to her, nor was it fair to Dawn. The younger sister had just found out the hard way that she was not really Buffy’s sister, only a key, a green mystical ball of power that if unleashed could open dimensions.

That was a couple of months ago

She had found out that she had only been a couple months old, and that all her memories prior to the Dracula incident were fake. That she wasn’t really a normal teenager, but a glowing ball of energy, of possibly evil origins. That had to have been hard on her to begin with, even without adding an ounce of psycho hellbitch to the mix.

And now, this.

Xander wanted to kill Warren. If anything happened to either of the Summers girls, he would kill Warren, without mercy. Xander walked up to the receptionist with a wary smile on his face. “Do you think I’ll be able to see Buffy or Dawn anytime soon?”

“No, they are in critical condition, I wish I could let you, but no visitations are allowed. I’d get fired,” said the receptionist, a short, chubby woman with a kindly, sympathetic face.

Xander’s wary smile broke and a flood of tears began sliding down his cheeks uncontrollably. “Please help them,” was all he seemed to be able to say.

“We’re doing our best, sir. Did you need anything else?” the receptionist asked.

“Possibly some tissues. How is Spike doing?” Xander asked, surprised that he even cared. He wiped away at his eyes with his shirt, his face reddening at the fact that he broke down so badly in front of everyone.

“Spike? Oh, you must mean Randy Giles?” she asked.

Xander laughed bitterly, with no real emotion behind it. “Yeah, could I see Randy?” Xander asked. The nurse nodded and gave him the room number in which Spike was being held. Xander headed off to the room, not really sure even as he went why he was going to see Spike at all.

He stepped inside, and the sight of Spike’s body laid out on the hospital bed was enough to bring tears to Xander’s eyes. He strode over to one of the chairs and sat down for a second, breathing hard. After catching his breath he stood up and stared at the broken vampire. Right about his jaw line was a ragged tear, a couple inches in diameter, crusted by black congealed blood. The sheets that covered his chest were marked with blood above the places where Spike had been shot.

Seeing the proud, cocky vampire reduced to this, caused the tears to silently fall from his eyes. He normally didn’t care about the vampire, but the fact that he had taken the bullets for Buffy and ended up like this was a testimony to the love he proclaimed. All at once, it hit Xander, the power of Spike’s willingness to make such a sacrifice for the Slayer.

Maybe I’ve been wrong about him.

“You shouldn’t cry, you know. I’ll heal in no time.” Spike’s voice came out raspy, evidence to the severe pain he was in.

“I know, but it’s hard seeing you like this. I’m used to your smart mouth and witty comebacks, and now you’re all like -- dead and stuff,” Xander said weakly.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Whelp, I’ve been dead for over a century now,” Spike replied, a measure amount of snarkiness in his voice, though also a teasing note that let Xander now he was kidding.

“I just can’t believe Warren. He just shot the three of you, like it didn’t even matter.”

“I don’t matter, not really.” Spike said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, you do, Spike. I know I haven’t really treated you like you deserve, but you’ve been a great help to us, even before Buffy’s death. Sure, you’ve done stupid things, but there are other things that make up for it. Like today, for example. I was too scared to get married to the woman I loved, but you -- you took a bullet for yours. And that makes you a man in my book,” Xander stated boldly.

“Sometimes I wish I could start everything over, that I would have dumped Drusilla a long time ago, come to Sunnydale and fell in love with Buffy without trying to kill her, and maybe things would be different. But we can’t go back. I’ve just got to accept things for what they are now, even if they aren’t the way I would hve liked,” Spike replied sadly, his throat constricting suddenly.

“We could start over, Spike. After this is all settled and Warren is taken care of, we will. We’ll start over,” Xander assured him quietly, remembering all the bad things he’d done to Spike over the past few years, even when the vampire had not been capable of getting back at him for it in any way.

“Xander, there’s something I’ve got to tell you,” Spike began, his voice grim.

“If it’s homoerotic in any sense, I don’t wanna know, Spike.” Xander said with a dark, wary laugh. “Because this particular conversation is already way too wigsome for my liking.”

“Shut up, boy. The doctor removed the chip in my head,” Spike finished abruptly, waiting for the threats and the stake to come out. For a couple seconds, Xander just stared at him in disbelief.

His chip’s out; he could attack us at any moment…

But when Xander saw the broken look on the vampire’s face, his fears melted away.

A moment too late.

“You don’t trust me, do you?” Spike asked. “After all I’ve done, you Scoobies will just keep pushing me away, no matter what happens.” Spike stopped, looking away from Xander so he wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes. “Just go, whelp. You talk about starting over, but you really don’t mean it.”

Xander bowed his head, lifting his eyes one last time to look at the vampire, before stepping out the door and walking back toward the waiting room.

Outside the Hospital

Warren Meers grinned evilly.

It was time to finish the job he had started, and put the Slayer out of commission. Once she was dead, then he’d be free to create as much havoc and destruction as he wanted. And there’d be no one to stop him. The nine millimeter was in the pocket on the inside of his puffy black jacket. He had one full clip, more than he needed to take the life of one stupid whore.

Smiling once again, he stepped into the hospital.

Elsewhere in the hospital

Eyelids fluttered open, revealing emerald eyes to the rest of the world. Buffy sat up on her hospital bed, trying to gather her memories of what had happened. Everything was still kind of blurry and muddled in her mind.

Suddenly, it hit her with the force of a head-on collision. Warren had shown up at the house with a gun. She now remembered why she was hurting the way she was. She had been shot, and Spike had been shot as well. Concern for the vampire made her jump out of bed, but a fragment of a memory filtered into her mind, freezing her in her tracks.

Dawn.

Dawn had been shot.

She tore out of her hospital room, ignoring the pain in her abdomen. One of the doctors tried to stop her, and she slid out of his way. “Where’s my sister, Dawn?” she cried out to anyone who might answer. Another doctor tried to stop her and she grabbed his arm and spun him around to face her. “Where’s my sister? How is she doing?” Buffy demanded.

“Dawn Summers?” The doctor asked nervously. He was tall and lean, and in complete shock that a girl of Buffy’s size could lift him up as she had done.

“Yes, Dawn Summers. How is she?” Buffy asked through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but she just passed away. She lost too much blood and was in a coma, and there was nothing we could do for her. It was too late and the damage to her brain was done. She’s dead, Miss Summers – I’m sorry.”

Buffy released the doctor, her strength failing her instantly as she fell forward onto her knees. Tears began streaming down her face. Her little sister Dawn was dead. She had failed to protect her, and now she was gone forever – all because Buffy had pissed off a geek and his buddies.

Her body was racked with sobs. Things couldn’t get any worse. She had lost her mother, died and got yanked out of heaven by Willow -- and now, she had lost Dawn, too. Poor little Dawn was gone, and she’d never come back. Buffy wrapped her arms around herself, shaking uncontrollably as tears continued pouring down her smooth cheeks. She couldn’t have spoken even if she had wanted to, her constricted throat currently limited to primitive, guttural sounds.

“Dawn,” She finally choked out her sister’s name, remembering the times she had spent with her, all the sacrifices she had made so Dawn could grow up and be somebody – all had been destroyed, by Warren.

“NOOO!” she screamed, her voice barely sounding human, the Buffy in her receding into the dark recesses of her mind, as the Slayer burst through. Power above anything she had ever felt came forth, as the grief of losing her sister was enough to enrage the power of the Slayer within her. Buffy Summers felt like she was being sucked into something much more larger than her, as if she was being consumed by something. Something indescribable took over her. And the woman that was Buffy Summers was gone, caught up in the raging storm that was the Slayer residing in her.

Doctors stood in her way, trying to prevent her passage, but not for long. A quick jab to the first doctor sent him flying into the wall, laughing as the wall broke, and he was knocked unconscious. Another one stepped in her way, a fat, cheeky male who was kicked in the chest flying across the room.

Realizing they didn’t stand a chance against her, the rest of the doctors ran away, headed towards the stairs and elevator doors. Their fright aroused her, and hopefully her pet vampire Spike would prove to be useful.

Xander was in the waiting room, when there was an uprising of some sort. He didn’t get a good look at what it had happened, but suddenly he found himself knocked backwards into a couch like a useless puppet. And now he saw what it was that was causing this.

Buffy Anne Summers.

His eyes widened in shock seeing the anger burning in her eyes. He considered running away. Even if she was his best friend and all, but that didn’t stop her from looking any scarier or more homicidal at that moment. He saw an elevator shaft and planned on running towards it, but realized he’d leave Spike alone in the hospital. Spike would probably their only chance to stop Buffy from hurting them, Spike was the key to his survival. Xander charged forward, ducking a chair that was kicked at him by the Slayer. He ran and slid across the floor and opened the door to Spike’s room.

Spike was sleeping peacefully, getting the rest he needed to heal his wounds. Hastily, Xander grabbed the vampire out who woke with a start, and immediately the vampire realized something was wrong, his eyes flashing golden.

“What’s going on?” Spike asked, working the words around his broken jaw.

“No time to explain.” Xander replied. The two charged out of the room and were immediately sent flying into the air slamming into the elevator shaft. Spike’s eyes widen up seeing the love of his life suddenly homicidal, but he had no time to react. The elevator door opened, and Spike looked back to see who dared come up now.

It was Warren.

He had showed up with a nine millimeter in his hand, ready to kill the Slayer. And with that the Slayer let out a primal yell that shook the hospital.

Dark Reflection
Chapter Five: Unlikely Choices

A look of fear crossed Warren’s face before it twisted with anger. “Slayer!” he yelled.

The Slayer’s face matched his in its anger. She gave him a cruel smile and he hesitated, but kept aiming the gun directly at her head.

“Are you daft?” Spike demanded from the Slayer’s side, and Warren swiveled the gun toward Spike’s face.

“You might want to shut up, Spike. I just might shoot you in the face,” Warren warned, his voice taking on a dangerous edge.

Spike’s eyes flashed gold, warning Warren to step away but Warren didn’t listen. Spike wanted to rip his throat out. He had actually thought about it several times since he found out his chip didn’t work, but if he did that he knew that Buffy would never forgive him.

From the looks of it now, she probably wanted to save that particular pleasure for herself.

“I’m so scared! Spike, the chipped vampire might attack me. Should we get the Tylenol ready for the migraine afterwards?” Warren mocked.

“You might,” Spike growled, his fangs bared and dripping saliva. Warren was about to pull the trigger when thankfully Xander stepped in and swung a hard punch toward the nerd’s face. Warren’s head snapped back as he tried to regain his balance and shoot at them, but Spike used his last reserves to grab the boy by his hair and slam his knee into his face, breaking his nose. Blood sprayed Spike in the face as his knee met cartilage.

Xander pressed the down button on the elevator and got it opened, yanking the vampire along behind him by his arm. Warren lost control of the gun, dropping it to the deck.

The last thing Spike and Xander heard as the elevator went down a couple floors, were Warren‘s terrified, agonized screams.

The Watcher’s Council, England

Giles picked up the phone. It had awakened him from his personal hell called a hangover. He had been lying there in the bed in his room when the sharp ring tore though his senses, alerting him in his sleep. His room in the Watcher’s Council reminded him of a barracks in a military instillation. Not too small, but never big enough.

“Rupert Giles,” he croaked groggily into the phone, his voice revealing how drowsy he still was.

“Rupert, this is Doctor Harrison.” The voice on the other side of the phone was saddened, and Giles contemplated what could possibly be wrong right now.

“She’s snapped…She’s gone, Rupert,” Dr. Harrison said, a rising anxiety in his voice.

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Rupert demanded loudly into the phone, irritated by the cryptic message.

“Buffy. The Key just died half an hour ago and the Slayer didn’t take it too well. She’s tearing through our doctors like nothing and she just doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck.”

“Dawn died.” Giles choked, finding himself damn near unable to say it. Tears threatened at his eyes, and he bowed his head, refusing to believe the doctor.

“I’m sorry, Giles.”

“It’s can’t be. There must be something wrong, a technological mistake of some kind. Dawn can’t be dead. I could have protected her, but I left them, when they needed me the most.” Giles whispered, tears falling down the rough planes of his face. “God, I’m such a bloody wanker. Buffy was right, I should have never left.” He dropped the phone to the floor, too consumed by his misery and grief to even care.

Dr. Harrison waited for a couple seconds before hanging up the phone himself.

“I have to do something. Maybe the Council can help…”

**********

Tara lay next to Willow, the two of them still fully clothed, unable to even think about any physical intimacy until they found out how Buffy and Dawn were. Willow’s head was snug in the crook of Tara’s neck, her arms wrapped around Tara’s waist for reassurance.

“I just can’t believe it, how could Warren do such a thing?” Willow asked angrily, still unable to formulate an answer as to why Warren would attempt to take Buffy’s life.

“I don’t know. He was a geek most of his life; he was probably always getting bullied around by people and he finally let it all out, all this pent up rage. To him, the Slayer was just another bully.” Tara offered the best explanation that she could muster up right then.

“Well, what about Dawn?” Willow asked.

“Just an innocent bystander. And I’m sorry if I sound like I’m quoting statistics but he hadn’t meant to shoot Dawn. It could have just as easily been me,” Tara said sadly, shivering at the thought, though it was pretty warm in the room.

“It doesn’t make it right…” Willow said, her eyes widening as an idea hit her. “What about magic? Could we take back time?”

“No Willow, we can’t. We use our powers for good things, but we can’t interfere with the course that has been planned out before us. Haven’t you learned anything yet?” Tara asked, repressed anger rising in her voice.

“But this is a good thing.” Willow insisted.

“You haven’t really changed. Have you?” Tara asked, getting out of the bed hastily.

“Baby,” Willow pleaded, “I just want to help.”

“God…Willow you just don’t get it. We have to be responsible with our magic. What if this spell doesn’t work and it causes you to go off into the deep end again? I really couldn’t be with you then, and maybe this isn’t supposed to work out. You and me, we’re so different, Willow. Rules are made for a reason, as well as our powers. You‘ve got to realize that the world doesn’t revolve around you, or anyone else. We just have to live life and do the best we can, even if we lose the people we love. It’s kind of what life’s about.”

Tara spoke softly, tears running down from her eyes. “I want Dawn back, too, I loved her so much, but that doesn’t give me the right to abuse magic to bring her back. I thought you’d learned your lesson with Buffy, but I guess you never did.”

“You don’t know what it feels like to lose someone you loved. I’ve known Dawn for so long. You didn’t, you don’t have all these memories of someone like that.” Willow spat vehemently at her.

Tears streamed down Tara’s face. She had a look of disgust and shock cross her face. “In case you forgot Willow…I lost my mother.” And with that Tara strode out of the room, leaving Willow by herself.

Willow wept, with no one to soothe her.

Sunnydale Jail

Andrew paced around the room, paranoid, his eyes wandering all throughout the jail, as if someone would pop out and strike him at any moment. Jonathan was laid out asleep on his bunk, snoring softly, with absolutely no worries on his mind. Andrew knew Warren was coming, he could feel it in the air.

It was the Force.

Warren was the Dark Sith and Andrew was his apprentice. Anytime now he’d return for him; he wouldn’t leave him stranded in Sunnydale’s jailhouse to be somebody’s butt monkey.

Jonathan woke up with a start, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked around the room and saw that all was clear before laying his head down again on the pillows. Andrew stared at him with a look of indifference. He was not the apprentice, so he did not matter. He was just another lamb that needed to be sacrificed in order for Andrew to ascend.

After watching the other inmates for another hour, Andrew fell asleep.

Sunnydale Hospital

Xander and Spike got out of the elevator on the second floor. The weakened vampire had his arm around Xander for support, and they were off to go look for some blood bags to help Spike heal his wounds. He wouldn’t be of any use to them right now if he couldn’t last two seconds with the Slayer. They walked for a couple of minutes, searching, and as they turned one of the corners, they bumped into Dr. Harrison.

“Sorry about that, mate,” Spike mumbled to him.

“Don’t worry about it. Is there something you need?” Dr. Harrison asked, arching an eyebrow at the two of them.

“To get away from a potentially homicidal Slayer,” Xander said, instantly realizing he had revealed Buffy’s identity to a complete stranger. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell. I’ve known for a while who Buffy was,” Dr. Harrison said.

“How do you know so much?” Spike asked suspiciously, exerting some energy into pulling his pack of smokes from his duster. He pulled one out of the box and lit it, dragging deeply of the rich tobacco smoke.

He blew some of it into Dr. Harrison’s face, who promptly coughed at the invasion of the tobacco smoke into his lungs. “I’m a demon who works for the Council. I was told to watch over Buffy after the whole Glory incident,” Dr. Harrison explained, grimacing at the look Xander and Spike were giving him.

“You’re a demon who works for the Council? That’s kinda hypocritical, isn’t it?” Spike asked.

“Why do you say that?” Dr. Harrison asked.

“Because for years the Council of Wankers made the Slayers believe that all demons are soulless and evil and should be killed without second thought. And yet you’re a demon and you work for the bleedin’ Council,” Spike snapped angrily, thoughts of the beating he had received in the alley drifting into his mind.

You can’t love, you have no soul. There is nothing good or clean in you. I could never be your girl…

Each word punctuated with a sharp punch to his face, breaking his jaw, caving his face in…

Tears of anger and humiliation welled in Spike’s eyes. With deceptive speed Spike grabbed the doctor by the front of his shirt, lifting him in the air. His eyes began turning golden, and his face elongated without completely going into gameface. “Give me one soddin‘ reason why I shouldn’t rip out your fucking guts,” Spike demanded harshly, the rest of his demon face coming up to the surface.

“Because it’s the wrong thing to do. You’ve been in my position before, haven’t you, William? Being a demon, yet pretty much useless in a fight,” Dr. Harrison said.

“I wasn’t useless. I fought demons and helped the Scoobies from time to time,” Spike shot back defensively.

“Yeah, for a paycheck.” Xander tossed his two cents in.

Spike raised his scarred eyebrow at him and Xander immediately shut up. “I can’t beat you, Spike. You’re a Master Vampire. Me, I’m just a Slovakis demon. I’m pretty useless in battle.”

“Aren’t you tired of fights you know you’re going to win?” Spike had once asked Angelus.

“You do have a point, mate. I won’t kill you,” Spike mumbled, releasing the doctor.

“I don’t mind killing him.” Xander said, earning a scowl from Spike.

“But before I let you go, doc, I’m going to need a little bit of help from you,” Spike said, a malicious grin creeping onto his face.

“I’ll give you anything. You just tell me what you need.” Dr. Harrison exclaimed hastily, panicked and wanting to be as far away as he could from the Master Vampire as soon as possible.

“I’m going to need blood, and lots of it.”

The doctor nodded and the three of them headed off in search of some blood bags.

Upstairs in the Emergency Room

Warren was backing away.

Perhaps this was more then he had bargained for, now that he was no longer invincible and no longer holding a gun. If only Spike and Xander hadn’t interfered, he’d still have his gun and he’d dispose of her quickly. Only he quickly realized that that wasn’t going to happen as he was flung across the room into a computer monitor, knocking it over.

He was in pain, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he’d die today at the Slayer’s hands.

And that sucked.

Buffy slowly walked toward him, hips swiveling seductively, a malicious glint in her eye.

“Don’t you wish you had your gun Warren?” With lightning speed she charged him and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the receptionist’s desk.

“Let go of me, you bitch.”

“I would, but you kinda killed my little sister. And now I owe you one,” Buffy replied, the anger in her soft voice coming through loud and clear.

“I’m sorry, all right? Please, I’m sorry,” Warren pleaded.

“Sorry isn’t gonna bring her back,” she spat, punching him in the face and sending him flying across the room into a wall, the drywall caving in from the force of the blow.

“You don’t wanna do this, Buffy. You’ll be a killer too if you kill me, and you don’t want that for yourself. You’re not like me, Buffy. You’re not a petty criminal,” Warren babbled, his beady eyes searching the room for some sort of escape.

Buffy grabbed the discarded gun that was laid out on the floor. “So you think murdering my sister was petty?” Buffy asked.

“No. I didn’t mean that…” His voice was cut off by the cracking sound as the 9mm was fired, followed by his screams.

He slumped the floor, screaming still as the bullet was buried deep into his abdomen. “Let’s play doctor.”

There was no doubt in the Slayer’s mind that her sister’s killer would die tonight…along with a precious part of herself.

Dark Reflection
By: Jose Gonzalez

Chapter Six:
By the Candlelight.

Author’s Note: There is a lot of violence in this chapter, if brutal violence turns you off, feel free to skip through the violent parts. There is a lot of graphic violence and death, so you have been warned. Also much thanks to my beta Spike'z_tart.

19 The avenger of blood shall himself put the murderer to death; when he meeteth him, he shall put him to death.
20 And if he thrust him of hatred, or hurled at him any thing, lying in wait, so that he died;
21 or in enmity smote him with his hand, that he died; he that smote him shall surely be put to death: he is a murderer; the avenger of blood shall put the murderer to death when he meeteth him.
Book of Numbers, Chapter 35

Watcher’s Council, England

Isaiah Morrison considered himself a relatively a good man. He had no vices, didn’t smoke, he didn’t drink and didn’t indulge himself in the act of fornication like so many lost souls in the world. He was a man of God, used by the Lord to vanquish the evil that threatened to overtake it. He was destined…

He was chosen.

Unlike Buffy Summers, he had no supernatural strength. He didn’t need it; he was blessed. For years he used the blessings he had and fought on the side of the Council, surviving cruel and harsh tests to become a demon hunter. He was a lucky man, and now the Council chose him to be their first test subject.

He was given power so great, it snuffed out the light of the one little girl who was too self righteous for her own good. Now, he’d be stronger than her, beyond her equal.

He’d become a Slayer.

Candles were lit all around him, giving Isaiah an eerie, yet powerful glow. He was chained to a wall in the Council’s basement, while he waited for the ceremony to commence. The chains were for the Council’s protection. His very first moments as a Slayer would be disorienting as well as aggressive.

He tentatively yanked on the chains holding him in place, and found them to be a bit restrictive. A little too restrictive….

Quentin Travers, followed by a pack of Watchers descended the steps of the basement. There were five Watchers forming a circle around Isaiah, each of them dressed in tweed suits. Isaiah only recognized two of them, Lydia Chambers and Quentin Travers. The other three Watchers looked nervous, their eyes paranoid, swiveling around the room and peering at Isaiah closely. Travers held a black book in his hand, and passed a crystal to each of the Watchers and they held it up in the air.

They began the ceremony. The crystals began to glimmer as Quentin began chanting in Aramaic. Years ago he had graduated from Cambridge and had picked up a little bit of the old languages. He only caught a few words, but there were a string of sentences that didn’t sit well with him, their words frightened him, which was bad because he only feared God alone.

Reside in him, demon, make his nature like yours and vanquish the world of evil.
Reside in him, demon, curse him with your demonic strength and let yourself live through him.
Reside in him, demon, sleep in his temple and become as one.
Reside in him, demon…

As Travers finished chanting, a beam of light emitted from each of the crystals, focusing into one beam that went through Isaiah. Swirling around the beam was a dark essence, wrapping itself around it like a coy snake. Bright yellows eyes stared at him, and Isaiah screamed.

*They’re imbuing a demon into me.*

Isaiah struggled against his bindings, he couldn’t allow them to finish. This was an act of blasphemy, a demon residing in his temple that he kept sacred for his Lord.

“Stop! This is blasphemy! I can’t allow this demon to reside in me, it’s impure, stop it now.” Isaiah cried out and fought against the chains that held him in place.

“My dear boy, this is necessary to become the Slayer. Where do you think its power comes from? God? No, there is no such thing.” Travers spat harshly, his mouth curling up into a snarl.

Isaiah continued struggling, but it was useless. He passed out from exhaustion and the demon merged with his soul, binding his power to Isaiah, making him new.

When Isaiah awoke, the world felt different. Never had he felt power like this in his entire existence, the power he was wielding was surreal. A powerful burning aura surrounded him, engulfing him in its power. He flexed his muscles, and ripped himself off the chains that had been previously holding him still.

*Stupid fools. They shall have their comeuppance; especially that geezer, Travers.*

Lying next to him was a small meal. At the sight of food, his stomach rumbled. He reached out and grabbed a slab of steak off a plate that was next to him and shoved it into his mouth, washing it down with a little bit of water from the tall glass next to the steak. After finishing his meal, he contemplated what he would do next. He wanted to strike the Watchers where it would hurt them the most.

They had raped him.

They had defiled his temple and thrust upon him a powerful demon essence to corrupt his body and soul with its dirty seed. It had given him power, and new life, but the power could not wash away the feeling of wrongness that came with it.

The stupid Watchers believed that the Slayer was the tool that they used to do their work; they hid behind desks and played political games while the Slayers fought, battled and suffered.

He would take them out, every last one of them. Afterwards he would go to Sunnydale, and send the little girly Slayer to heaven to receive her judgment. He’d be the executioner, the left hand man of God.

He would be the avenger of blood.

Would God save him, even though the Watchers had forced this gift upon him?

Did God still love him?

For the Watcher’s sake, he hoped God did. Though it didn’t really matter, they would all die.

*Anyone arrogant enough to reject the verdict of the judge or of the priest who represents the LORD your God must be put to death. Such evil must be purged from Israel.*

He sat in silence until he heard the soft footsteps of someone coming down the stairs. It was a female Watcher; he recognized her scent from earlier. As she stepped down the stairs, his green eyes were locked on hers, “What do you want?”

She lowered her eyes. “I was sent to ask you a couple of questions about how you feel after the ascension.”

“What’s your name?” the Slayer demanded. He already knew who it was, he just wanted to her voice laced with fear.

“Lydia Chambers.” She responded softly, her fear and nervousness undeniable. She stared at him, he was unbelievably attractive. He was tall, around six and a half feet, with spiked, close cropped hair. His jade eyes were hypnotic, his curved mouth made her want to come on herself despite the fear. He was shirtless, his body ripped with a six pack, his biceps as thick as her thighs.

“How do you feel about my ascension?” Isaiah asked. He crooked his mouth into cruel smile on his face.

He scared the hell out of her.

“I think it was wrong. When you realized that the power of the Slayer was from a demon, you asked them to stop, yet they continued. It was wrong of them to do that.” Lydia said.

“How many other Watchers agree with you?”

“None. The only other Watcher who would agree with me would be Rupert Giles, but he’s off getting pissed and ornery because it’s his Slayer you’re being sent to kill.” Lydia replied, a disgusted look crossing her features as she thought of that old man getting drunk.

“What would you like to ask me?” the Slayer questioned, arching his eyebrow in disdain at the thought of having to answer the Council’s questions.

“How do you feel about being a Slayer?” Lydia said, backing up a couple steps as Isaiah stepped towards her.

“Powerful. I have never felt a power this immense. It’s bloody overwhelming.” Isaiah said. “I have a desire to vanquish evil. That’s what I feel, Chambers.”

Lydia wanted to correct him for addressing her the way he did, but instead asked another question, “Evil demons and such, you mean?”

“No. Every bit of evil, demon or not. Your Watchers, especially Travers, they’re all going to die. Nothing is going to stop me from doing my mission.” Isaiah said laughing. “I’m going to become immortal. I will slay the Slayer in Sunnydale and through her blood I will open the gates of Balzabar and receive my gift. This is my destiny.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No. You’re not evil, Lydia. Not at all.” Isaiah walked up to Lydia and cupped her face.

Her eyes got wide and she turned and ran.

Quentin Traver’s Office

Lydia Chambers stormed into Traver’s office. He had been quietly sipping his tea when she rudely interrupted his thoughts on the new male Slayer. He looked up at her and glared. “Can I help you, Miss Chambers? Or, are you planning on bothering everyone else too?” Quentin said.

“I apologize Mr. Travers, but this is urgent. I did as you asked and interviewed the male Slayer. I recommend that he be confined for a bit until he stabilizes himself and can assume his duties as a Slayer.” Lydia replied sharply, earning herself a look of disdain from the older Watcher.

“Why do you feel that way Miss Chambers?” Quentin asked, his interest rising.

“He’s crazy. He’s deluded himself in visions of grandeur and immortality. Not only that, but he wants you dead Mr. Travers.” Lydia explained, watching as the old man’s eyes lit up in fury at that.

“Don’t worry Miss Chambers. He’ll be in good shape in no time. He’s just a little aggressive because of the spell we had to perform, but I wouldn’t worry too much about him.”

“I disagree with you, sir.”

“I guess it’s a good thing it’s not up to you then, Lydia.”

Travers left to give the male Slayer his first mission.

Hours Later

Lydia paced around in the Council’s conference room. She had been called in for The Meeting. The meeting, in which all the top Watchers would discuss topics and decide how to solve them. Normally, they would sit down and discuss important things over a good cuppa, but not today. Today was the emergency meeting, they would all discuss what actions to take on the Slayer residing in Sunnydale, California.

According to the desperate Rupert Giles, a human foe of the Slayer had taken the life of her younger sister and now Buffy Summers was definitely into some payback. Dr. Harrison, a demon agent that the Council sent to Sunnydale, had called Rupert informing them of the events unfolding there.

Quentin Travers burst through the door, sweat dripping off his face as he shakily carried a glass of scotch. He had aged years in the past minutes. His eyes appeared haunted, and more wrinkles appeared shamelessly on his face.

Rupert Giles filed in behind him, followed by other well-respected watchers. Rupert was most definitely not sober; he carried a stench of scotch as he walked pass Lydia. He sat down, dressed in a wrinkled collared shirt and black slacks, his hair slightly disheveled. He had definitely not shaved; the beard on his face was testimony to that.

Why there was a drunken has-been watcher in the meeting, she didn’t know. While he was Buffy’s Watcher, Lydia was not sure how much of a help he’d be in his drunken state.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we all know why we are here.” Quentin Travers began, arrogance dripping from his words. “As you know, Buffy Summers, our currently active Slayer has gone rogue, most likely on a path of vengeance. She has proven herself to be our strongest Slayer, as well as our most resourceful, she has not been beaten. Anyone and anything in her path will be annihilated in her anger.” Quentin Travers paused to sip on a glass of scotch.

At Quentin’s description of Buffy, Giles swallowed down the rest of his glass. His eyes were already red, and now they began to water up again.

“We all know that Rupert Giles was an extraordinary watcher to her, even if his methods happened to be somewhat unorthodox, but her actions are not without consequences. Here’s our solution.”

Hotel Howard Johnsons, London

A man awoke in a dark, damp hotel room. His name was Alexis Bailey, and he was in a world of trouble. He was a short, pudgy man, and he loathed running. Brown, beady eyes scanned the room, paranoia getting the better of him. The world seemed a lot different to him than what it used to be, he reflected as he slowly got up from the bed.

Everything used to be so bright, but now the world seems to be shades of gray. He used to be a Watcher, working diligently for the Watcher’s Council, until he found a text no man should ever have found.

It was a scroll with the origins of the Slayer on it. He had been researching in the Council library when he found the small, brown scroll amongst other books. The language had been in ancient Babylonian, and had taken him hours to figure out.

He had been arrested for trespassing. A group of guards had brought him into the Council court; he had been caught trying to burn the scroll. In the non judicial court, it was where Travers had fired him, humiliated him in front of his peers. After the trial Travers had tossed him in jail to suffer.

Quentin Travers threatened to have him killed, for finding out about the scroll, put a noose around his neck and hang him. Yet, the old man said he had something else planned for him.

Paranoia gripped him and he wondered why he was still alive. Why did that evil bastard let him live for now? Would something else kill him instead? He knew Travers wouldn’t let him live, the information contained in the scrolls should never be found. If he were to contact the Slayers and notify them of the scrolls existence and of its contents, it would irrevocably change how the Slayers cooperated with the Council.

The growling in his stomach let him know he was hungry. The only problem was the he knew he didn’t have time to eat; he had a lot to do, in such little time. He had to contact Giles and the Slayers of the contents of the scroll.

He didn’t know, but something waited for him in the darkness. A predator, something that was supposed to be for the Light, yet reveled in its darkness.

Dark green eyes peered at the Watcher in the dark, waiting for the best time to strike and make this a painful death. He had been ordered to kill the man, and that he would do.

He was a male, tall and muscular, muscles bound tightly in a taut body. A creation of the Council, his body genetically enhanced to be the perfect killing machine. And, that he was.

The Watcher saw the Slayer’s shadow as he moved to kill him. Alexis screamed as Isaiah swung a wicked katana at his face. Alexis ducked, the katana swishing through the air and missing his bald head by inches. He tried to exit his door in an attempt to get out in the open, where he hoped the killer would run off scared.

He yanked the door open hard, stumbling into the balcony of the fifth floor of the hotel. He tried to run, but it was futile. The killer threw his katana in a wicked arc, decapitating Alexis. His head fell to the deck, sending a spray of blood in the air. The decapitated body stumbled and fell off the balcony, five stories later, and landing to the pavement with a sickening splat.

People below began screaming.

The Slayer didn’t care.

*Amen.*

Sunnydale Hospital

Spike viciously tore into another blood bag. He downed its contents quickly and grabbed his fifth bag, the blood healing his aching body miraculously. The hole in his jaw from Warren’s gun shot him closed up, fading into nothing more than a scar. He needed to be as strong as he could for the fight against the Slayer.

Her sister’s death sent Buffy spiraling into an abyss one in which the human Buffy was swept up into the predatory Slayer side.

She would kill him; unlikely that he’d survive this debacle. Fighting Buffy would be like taking on the full demon essence of the Slayer in Buffy’s powerful, lithe body. He was just a vampire, a Master Vampire who’d be dusted all too easily by her power. He hoped that his sacrifice would be worth something, that somehow he’d be able to reach the soul of a grieving sister and bring her forth. He didn’t want to fight her, but he wouldn’t let her kill any humans, Buffy didn’t need blood staining her soul. He needed Buffy back. He didn’t care if seeing Buffy back was the last thing he saw before he died.

“Hurry up Fang Face!” Xander said anxiously, he wanted to find his best friend as soon as possible. This fight was important, the apocalypse no one saw coming, and he needed to be there.

“Listen Whelp, unless you want to offer your scrawny neck for me to snack on, would it be too much to ask for some silence?” Spike asked.

Xander sucked his teeth for a second. He thought of coming back with a snarky comment, but decided against it. In light of their new friendship, he needed to make up for all the times he had insulted Spike.

Dr. Harrison interrupted. “Are you well enough now, Spike?”

The blonde vampire glared at the doctor before slowly nodding his head. “Okay then, let’s go find us a Slayer.”

Council of Watchers, England

Quentin Travers revealed to the congregation of Watchers what he had done.

A demon’s essence, similar to the one that was imbued into the first Slayer, was now weaved into the body of a male. A stealthy demon hunter who worked for the Council, who went by the name of Isaiah, they forced a very primal, power demon into his, essential creating the male slayer bloodline.

Most of the Watchers agreed, but Rupert Giles was completely outraged. His bloodshot eyes lit up as he slammed his empty glass of scotch on the conference table.

“This is a bloody outrage. You remember what happened last time, Quentin? This can’t turn out well.” Giles shouted, frustrated by how hot he was in the tweed suit, as well as by Travers’ stupidity.

“Rupert, do shut the hell up. I am not some amateur who can be coerced into listening to you. If you had been a good and proper Watcher from the start, this would have never happened. Blame yourself for being such a lax Watcher.”

Giles shut up. It was useless to argue with the Head of the Council, he was too stubborn to listen, and was pretty much the head honcho. If Giles continued ranting, Travers could try to charge with insubordination.

He must return to Sunnydale tonight. He was needed there. He had to help Buffy recover from her recent trauma, and he needed to save her from the Slayer assassin they were sending to exterminate her.

“Fellow Watchers of the Council, let me introduce you to our very first male Slayer, Isaiah.” Travers ordered one of his lackeys to open the door.

The Slayer walked in.

*He is our salvation, he is our savior.* Quentin thought, grinning widely as Isaiah walked in.

“Lydia, could you please get Isaiah something to drink. Some scotch, if it’s not too much to ask.” The tone of his voice left no room for arguement.

*I’m not your bloody servant.*

She left the meeting hastily, rushing to the kitchen to fetch Isaiah his drink.

“Damn it, Quentin, you cannot do this.” Rupert Giles snapped, gulping down the rest of his glass.

“Please tell me why I, the Head of the Council cannot do this?” Quentin said, spittle flying in the air.

“Do you remember what happened when you forced the demon essence on the Christopher Wakefield? He couldn’t handle the power, it was too much for him; he committed suicide within the hour.”

“He was a bloody nancy boy!” Quentin raged on.

“Let’s not forget how hard the ascension was for Senaya, the first Slayer period. It The demon changed her completely and she attacked humans as well as vampires. It’s even in our sodden records in the library.” Rupert finished.

“She was a bloody cavewoman, that’s why. If you have nothing else to offer Giles, would you please get out of my office? Make yourself something to drink, you drunkard. You’re a worthless Watcher. If you had given your charge any discipline, this would never have happened.”

With tears and alcohol blurring his vision, Giles stepped out of the office, giving the male Slayer one last saddened look.

“Thank you, Quentin, for this power you have given me.” Isaiah said, his eyes surveying the room, speaking after Giles left the room.

“That’s Mr. Travers to you. Isaiah. You’ve worked for the Council for years. You are just our tool; you don’t get to talk to us like that. You will address me as Mr. Travers, and speak to my colleagues with respect.”

Isaiah’s eyes narrowed in anger. His lips formed a dangerous smile, and he gave Travers a toothy grin. “Right. I promise to do better, Mr. Travers, ” he said, his deep, sultry voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I think I need to remind you of your place before you begin your mission.” Travers warned him.

“I’m trembling in fear.” Isaiah said sarcastically, digging his right hand dug into his pocket, as if searching for something.

“What are you doing?” Muhammad Lien, a Watcher of West Indian origins, asked. He walked over to Isaiah and grabbed his shoulder threateningly.

The look that Isaiah gave him nearly made Muhammad faint in fright.

“Showing you who the tool is!” Isaiah said, his left arm swinging, fist slamming into the Watcher’s face. The force of his blow knocked out all the Watcher’s front teeth as he flew backwards into the wall.

“Stop this at once!” Quentin yelled, shock revealed on his face.

“Sorry mate, not happening.” Isaiah laughed as another puny Watcher tried to stop him by sprinting towards him. The Watcher was spun around and the Slayer efficiently broke his neck.

Pandemonium broke out in the room as Isaiah pummeled his way through all the Watchers that stood in his way to Travers. Some tried to run, but a katana made sure they didn’t escape. Several of the more daring ones, jumped him and tried to take him down. He fought them back, hard, harshly stabbing them until they faltered and died.

One of Traver’s guards shocked him with a taser, but it didn’t affect him. His body far too strong to be fazed by some taser. He grabbed the taser and put the stunning weapon to the guard’s mouth before unleashing a wave of electricity into his system. The electrocuted man fell to the floor, sizzling.

“Guess he liked it extra crispy.”

Quentin began to run Isaiah kicked him in the back of the head, slamming his face into a wall. Upon impact, Travers’ nose shattered, rivulets of blood flowing from his nose. He screamed as Isaiah pulled out two wicked blades, and stabbed him through the back of his hands, pinning him to the wall.

“Just so you can’t run, I’m going to need a bit of collateral.” Isaiah said dangerously, before grabbing Quentin’s left leg and snapping it to the side. Quentin screamed as his leg bone fractured and tore through the flesh of his leg. The Head of Watchers screamed, vomit curdling up from his stomach, and spewing from his mouth as The Slayer broke his other leg. “Don’t move. Or, I’ll make it hurt so much worse.”

Isaiah pulled out a collapsible katana from the sleeve of his coat and went to work on the Watchers who were barely alive, trying to escape. The katana was long, curved, and single-edged. Isaiah had stolen it from a demon who posed as a modern samurai in Akagi, Japan. Heads and other body parts came off as the psychotic Slayer hacked away at them. Most of them didn’t fight, they were already dying. One of the Watchers stood to his feet, blood dripping around him, and tossed a chair at him, which Isaiah ducked. He fell to the floor and breathed his last.

***
Rupert Giles sat in the kitchen with Lydia Chambers, the two of them sipping on scotch until they heard the screams coming from the conference room. Giles sprang up from his chair to run there by instinct, when Lydia grabbed his arm.

“Don’t. If they are all dying in there, what difference can you make?” she asked.

“None, most likely, but I still have too try.” Giles said, taking off in direction of the conference room. Lydia wanted to run, but instead, she decided to follow him.

Quentin screamed for help, his two broken legs dangled, broken bones tearing through flesh.

Isaiah walked over to the screaming Watcher. “Shut up, you useless maggot.” he said angrily, landing a blow to the side of Travers’ face, mashing the Watcher’s face harder into the drywall.

Quentin Travers whimpered in pain.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about this Slayer gig you volunteered me for. You claim that humans are good and vampires and demons are evil. Yet you and I are both as evil as them. You say they’re soulless, yet you and I have souls. We both kill, we both maim. How are we any different from them?” Isaiah walked around the room.

“We’re not. We just try to do good at any cost.” Travers whispered, his voiced pained.

“You send me to California to kill off one little girl who went psychotic because she’s about to kill some guy who killed her sister. Good on her I say. Bad for you. Evil is as evil does, Mr. Travers, and without any doubt in my mind, you are one evil, twisted fucker.” Isaiah grabbed the back of Quentin’s head with one hand and with the other he grabbed his chin.

“If anyone deserves to die Quentin, it’s you.” Using his supernatural force, he yanked the Watcher’s chin sideways, ripping his mandible off, sending the unhinged jaw flying uselessly in the air. Blood sprayed the wall where Travers was crucified.

He was about use his katana to finish of the job and kill the bleeding Watcher, when Rupert Giles and Lydia Chambers stormed into the room.

Giles charged at him, his hand cocked back and ready to knock the Slayer out, but Isaiah slammed his elbow into the Watcher’s face, rendering him useless. Isaiah pushed Lydia to the side before she could even think about doing anything and ran out of the room.

“You knew this would happen?” Rupert responded harshly, grabbing Lydia’s arms.

She gave him an annoyed look. “Of course. I interviewed the Slayer immediately following his ascension.” Lydia replied, pulling her arms away from Giles.

“What did he say?” Giles snapped, throwing his glass across the room, sobering up slowly and frustratingly so.

“That he’d kill the Slayer, as well as anything standing between him and immortality. That even though being the Slayer was promising; he could no longer stand being in the mortal coil. He spoke of an artifact that would be unleashed through a dead Slayer’s blood, giving him his much desired immortality.” Lydia finished, swallowing the bourbon quickly.

“Travers didn’t listen, I take it?” Giles asked gently. Tears slid down Lydia’s cheeks and Giles’ hand unconsciously reached up to brush them off.

“No, he didn’t. He refused to listen to me and said I didn’t know anything because I was a woman. Afterwards he made me his servant; he made me do all the crap jobs and such.”

“Mrs. Chambers, with all due respect, I have to help. The Council has dug themselves into this mess, but they aren’t going to be able to get themselves out.” Giles took her hand.

“It Missus, Mr. Giles. I never married. Where shall we go?” Lydia asked.

“We’re going to Sunnydale. Where we’re needed, I have to try to stop the Slayer before he does any more damage.”

***

Sunnydale Hospital

Tears of pain slid down Warren’s cheeks. His guts hurt beyond anything he felt in his life; his insides were filled with a white hot pain, searing him from the inside out. He looked up at his attacker, the beautiful blonde Slayer that went by the name of Buffy Summers. Gone was the small wisp of a girl he met in high school, and the woman presented before him was a goddess, an enormous vibe of power radiating from her golden skin. No one could save him now, not even his useless pleas would get through to her.

“Please.”

“Enough talking.” she snapped at him, sending a harsh kick to his face, leaving him on the ground a bloody, whimpering mess.

“You can’t kill humans, you’re the good guy.” Warren pleaded.

“I’m not a ‘good guy’ Warren …”

The Slayer put the muzzle of the gun to Warren’s mouth.

“I’m the Slayer.”

Warren’s eyes opened wide as she smiled cruelly, and pulled the trigger.

Dark Reflection
Chapter Seven: Love hurts

Author’s Note: Incase anyone was offended by the gruesome attack that Isaiah reveled in Chapter 6, I apologize. I write to provide readers the same satisfaction that other authors gave me when I read their works. Most likely, that will be the most gruesome chapter, but there will be lots and lots of violence still. If you’re not into that, stop reading as of now so I don’t get pestered with annoying reviews. The disclaimers are there for a reason.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Buffy, sadly Joss Whedon does. I just use them and make them play with friends of mine.

Sunnydale, Hospital

Warren closed his eyes in anticipation of the bullet that would probably blow his brains into oblivion. He heard the distinct click of the trigger being squeezed, the sound so horrifying, it unconsciously made him piss himself. Urine covered his pale, blue jeans and his bowels opened up as well.

He opened up his eyes and saw the hooded green eyes that belonged to the Slayer. She laughed harshly, pulling the gun out of his mouth, and Warren saw that the safety was still on. He hung his head in shame, realizing that he had literally shat himself.

“Didn’t think it’d be that easy did ya?” Buffy asked dangerously, grabbing Warren’s hair and lifting him up off the ground. His lips quivered, teary eyes begging for forgiveness. But there was none, her distant, vacant eyes a black hole, sucking the very life out of him. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, her anger burning so brightly, it darkened her eyes. It was a bottomless abyss, and he was lost in it.

There was no escaping…

Buffy lowered the gun to Warren’s left kneecap and shot him twice. Warren’s leg bucked and he stumbled to the floor in a flood of tears and blood. “Jesus!” he cried out exasperatedly, clutching his destroyed knee. She brought her leg back and snapped a harsh kick to his bloody face, knocking him unconscious.

*It’s only fitting. Dawn was unconscious when she passed.*

The crazed Slayer pulled out a stake out of her waistband. *He’s just as evil and sick as any vampire I’ve staked.*

Just as she was about to stake his prone form, a blur of black and platinum slammed into her, knocking her into one of the sofas in the waiting room. As she fell back, she saw Xander grab Warren’s unconscious body. She jumped back to her feet, slamming her elbow into Spike’s face, the bruised vampire slumping to the floor.

Buffy grabbed her stake and aimed it at Xander’s face. Her dark eyes shined with malevolence, her lip curling up into a sneer. As she went to through the stake, Spike swept her legs out from underneath her, knocking Buffy on her back. He slid into his demonic features and like the lithe cat he was, he pounced.

He began to savagely punch her in the face, unable to wipe the smirk off her face. “I just get my third Slayer yet, pet.”

Using his weight as advantage, she flipped him over her, and he was sprawled out. She straddled him, pressing her stake against his chest. “I don’t think so, Spikey.”

He scowled, sliding out of his demonic face and peering at her with ice blue eyes. “If shagging was what you wanted, you should of told me earlier.” Spike said, but Buffy laughed in contempt.

“What else could I want from you?” Buffy replied sharply, her words watering his eyes in newfound shame.

“The beating of a lifetime.” He responded, his anger getting the best of him. “Bitch!”

Xander laid Warren out on the floor and grabbed a fire extinguisher. Apparently, Spike needed his help again. Buffy raised her arm in the air, clutching a stake, and as she went to bring it down into Spike’s undead heart, Xander pitched the fire extinguisher as hard as he could.

It slammed into the back of her head, giving Spike the momentary advantage. He grabbed the metallic cylinder as well and slammed it into her face, knocking her clean off of him. He rolled over and stood to his feet and kicked her across her ribs as she bent over. The ferocity of his kick sent her spinning and crashing into the wall.

“Don’t kill her for real. She’s still Buffy.” Xander snapped.

“She’s the love of my bloody life, I don’t plan on killing her you insufferable git.”

“Funny way of showing it.” Spike turned around, and walked right into the Slayer’s fist. He landed hard on the tiled floor and didn’t stir.

She swiveled her head and turned to Xander. “Buddy.” She said sarcastically. She strutted over to him and calmly placed her hand on his chest. He shivered uncontrollably, staring at her, Spike, and Warren, both of them unconscious.

“Buffy. I’m sorry about Dawn. You know I loved her too, she was a special kid, all bright and full of life. I know Warren deserves to die, he should, but if you kill him, that’s his blood on your hands, and you’ll never wash them clean. I know you’re all marine like with the ‘kill, kill, kill’, but what’s going to happen when you calm down and you realize you just killed a man. Do you want that?” Xander asked, his tone pleading with her to stop.

“What do you want Xander?” She spoke seductively, slamming him against a wall, pressing her breasts against his chest.

“Buffy stop. This is insane, this isn’t you.” Though he begged her to stop, her closeness send a wave of heat to his groin, his jean clad erection rubbing against the crotch of her jeans.

“You’ve wanted me for years haven’t you; you thought that if you could love Anya you’d forget about me. I’m going to have to punish you Xander.” She lowered her hand to his straining cock, squeezing gently through the jeans. He let out an involuntary moan, his wildest dreams now coming true.

Speaking of coming, if Buffy didn’t stop, he’d be there pretty fast.

“You took my heaven Xander. Now I’m going to take yours.” With that she grabbed his crotch harshly in an unrelenting grip, and Xander howled in pain.

“We did it because we loved you. We thought you were in hell, and we wanted you out.” Xander begged, and she released him.

“And if I told you I’ve been sleeping with Spike for the last couple months, would you love me then?”

“What? You’ve been boning Resident Evil, that son of a bitch!” He barked angrily.

“Didn’t think so.” Buffy shifted to the left of Xander and landed an uppercut to his chin. Xander fell flat on his face, and he too passed out.

***

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

Rupert Giles sat in his seat on the plane, wiping off his glasses out of habit. He feared of what he’d see in Sunnydale, the sad destruction of what used to be his Slayer. Worst part was that it was partly his fault. He had abandoned her when she needed him the most, leaving her behind to fend for herself.

He’d never forgive himself for that.

If he had stayed, he might have been there to support her in her time of crisis. He might of taken out those geeks before they ever shot Dawn.

*But then again, if I had never left, Lydia Chambers wouldn’t be laying on me right now.*

Giles looked at Lydia, who was sleeping peacefully, her face buried in the crook of his neck, her soft breath cooling, yet tantalizing him at the same time.

*God, she’s beautiful.*

***

Buffy strode over to Warren’s prone body and lifted him up by the collar of his shirt. He was near death, the bullet wound had cause him to lose a lot of blood. If she was going to kill him herself, she needed to start now. Warren stirred, his mouth opening into a blood curdling scream but Buffy covered his mouth with her hands.

“Shhh.”

His muffled cries meant nothing to her. Whenever she felt like letting him go, all she could see was her little sister lying in the grass bleeding to death. Poor Dawn, bubbly personality, tall, and lanky, the best sister a girl could ask for. Rivulets of bright red blood spilling down her neck, the life leaving her eyes, eyes glazing over, and now Warren wanted to live.

She tossed Warren clean across the room, Warren going headfirst through the receptionist’s glass window, his head stuck, a large glass shard penetrating his throat. Blood began running down the window, and Buffy knew she had little time to do what she needed. She needed to kill him, if he died now, she’d never get the satisfaction of killing the son of a bitch.

She entered the receptionist’s office and strode over to Warren, grabbing his thick mane of hair. “No.” He pleaded, the words gurgling in his torn throat. With a disgusted laugh she yanked his head down, decapitating him on the glass. The separated head fell to her feet and she picked it up, her hard earned trophy. She left the office carrying the head and dropped it down on Xander’s lap and walked off, she still had the two remaining geeks to kill.

“Ssslayer.” Spike said, groaning in pain.

“Baby. I thought you liked it rough.” She turned around and headed over to Spike, lifting him to his feet by his throat.

“Sometimes, pet.” Spike stared into the black depths of her eyes and shuddered. It was like she was soulless, hollow even. “No matter what kitten, I still love you.”

Her green eyes sparkled with life. “Spike…” Her green eyes began flickering from green to black and void. “I got work to do. Join me and I won’t hurt you.” Buffy said, her tone gentle.

“What about you friends Buffy?”

“I’m not Buffy. I’m the Slayer, there is no Buffy here. She died when Dawn did and there’s nothing you or anyone can do to bring her back.” She let go of Spike’s throat and slammed her knee into his gut.

She turned away and began walking.

Spike began fading in and out of consciousness. He could have sworn he heard her whisper, “I love you too.”

Darkness overtook him, and he the pain stopped, feeling nothing.

Sunnydale Jail

“Ow.” Jonathan cried out angrily after Andrew kicked him in the shins.

“Warren will come to get us out of here. You just need to have faith.” Andrew said disbelievingly, as if he was trying to convince himself rather than Jonathan.

“What with his powers of great escape? Or maybe he’ll fly here in his little chicken wings and get us out, oh wait, chickens can’t fly, doesn’t that suck?” Jonathan replied, shoving Andrew up against the wall. “He’s not coming to get us, not him, not anyone.”

“I called my aunt and left her a message.” Tears blurred Andrew’s vision. He was too young to go to jail; he’d be eaten alive in this place.

“That was last night, she isn’t calling back you idiot. She doesn’t care either, we’re going to pay for our crimes.” Jonathan pitied Andrew, but he had to face the cold hard facts, they had to suffer the consequences of being a criminal.

“Warren’s just testing us. If we pass his tests, he’ll get us out of here. He’s probably placed a locator chip on us so he can arrive in the nick of time, just like in the movies.” Andrew denied Jonathan’s statement vehemently.

“Get it in your thick head, Warren isn’t coming.”

“Yes he is and I’ll search every part of your body in finding that chip.” Andrew grabbed Jonathan and began speaking into his chest, “Can you hear me Warren.”

“Get off me.” Jonathan shoved Andrew off him, sending him backwards into the wall.

Andrew broke down and began sobbing, tears streaming down his face. “He’s not coming… but he said he loved me.”

“Well he loved his ex-girlfriend too and look what that got her. You should wish that he didn’t.”

“I wish we weren’t in jail.” Andrew cried out to no one in particular.

There was a whoosh of air and Anya appeared before them. “Dammit, you sad little monkey. Wish done.”

Andrew and Jonathan disappeared; the only evidence left behind was Andrew’s tears on the ground.

Magic Box

Tara knew there would be a fight coming up. She didn’t know what she’d be facing, but she felt it in the air, her instincts had fired up. She had rushed to the Magic Box after her fight with Willow, in search of Anya. Just as Tara got there Anya had disappeared in flash of light, so Tara sat down at one of the tables and made herself comfortable.

She began researching for all the powerful spells she’d be able to use in the upcoming fight; she knew she’d need them.

Suddenly she felt like she was choking in darkness. Something was headed here now, something ancient and primal. The door of the Magic Box was kicked inwards, sending it crashing against some books.

“Hey sweetie.”

Buffy walked in, and Tara’s mouth opened up and she screamed.

Dark Reflection
Chapter 8: War with God


AN: A lot of people have asked me if I plan on hooking Giles and Lydia up, frankly I don’t know. I’m setting up the stage for it, but I would like your opinion on whether you would or wouldn’t like to see that happen. Thanks to my awesome beta Spikez_tart.

Deuteronomy 7:1-2 When the Lord your God brings you into the land . . . you must destroy them totally. Make no treaty with them, and show them no mercy.

20:10-17 When the Lord your God delivers it into your hand, put to the sword all the men in it. As for the women, the children, the livestock and everything else in the city, you may take these as plunder for yourselves. . . .as the Lord your God has commanded you.


Outside Sunnydale Airport

Isaiah Morrison stepped off the airport, the bright California sun beaming down on him. His eyes closed from the brightness as well as spiritual rapture. He felt like Jesus being baptized by John, with God beaming down on him baptizing him with His power and love. Sighing, he walked over to a water vending machine and purchased an Aquafina, twisted off the cap and poured the cold water over his head, the water sliding down his face and the back of his neck. He enjoyed its coldness, sighing as he reveled in his personal spiritual experience.

He was headed to the Promised Land.

A land overflowing with milk and honey, with demons…

And, her…. The Slayer, Buffy Summers.

She was no longer the single Slayer. He and Faith were living proof of that. He knew of the raven-haired beauty, of her evil deeds and sins, and her promiscuity. He was not weak like Faith or any of the males she slept with; he was the son of God.

He would make his way through the Slayer and he’d be in the Promised Land. He’d make miracles like never before seen.

Back in London, he had spoken with his Pastor, who had happened to study some wiccan spells. Magic was genetically passed down to him from his wiccan parents and he learned some pretty nifty spells. Reverend Kingsley had teleported him from London to Houston International Airport, where he caught a flight to Sunnydale.

He had much to do in such a little bit of time.

The sandglass had been turned upside down, and it was time to go to work and cleanse the world of the filth that clung to it.


1630 Revello Drive

Willow sat at the edge of her bed, sobbing. She had messed up with Tara again, and they’d just gotten back together. After Rack introduced Willow to even darker arts, she had accidentally broken Dawn’s arm due to her magic-induced high. It was her fault and she had a lot to make up to do. She swore she’d never touch magic again, but this latest tragedy pushed her too far.

Warren killed Dawn, and nearly killed Tara in doing so. Buffy nearly died as well. She wasn’t too sure on Buffy’s condition at the hospital, all she knew was that Warren was on the loose, and Dawn was dead. Willow would never get a chance to make up for her mistakes; Dawn wouldn’t hear her from beyond the grave. Sadly, Willow had to leave her there, she remembered Buffy’s pain and didn’t want Dawn to go through that. It hurt Willow because Dawn didn’t deserve her untimely death.

Now, he was a free man to do as he pleased. The cops didn’t have a clue as to where he was at, they searched his house and went to all his favorite spots. Warren didn’t turn up anywhere. But Willow could find him, but she shouldn’t. She swore to not touch magic anymore.

Willow’s eyes turned black and crackled with electricity at the thought of Warren killing more innocent girls.

*There’s no way he’s getting away with this.*

Willow grabbed a plain, white tee and laid it out on the floor. She was still powerful enough to do a locator spell without using any materials. She grabbed a jar of sand and formed a circle around the shirt. She laid out a piece of sage on the shirt and began. “Encontrandius.” The sage lit up and touched the shirt. A map of Sunnydale was crudely drawn on it. Drawn in blood were lines crisscrossing the shirt, and Willow waited anxiously for the spell to work.

“Show me Warren Meers.” She stared at the map and nothing happened. There was no light on it to show her where Warren would be.

A spell came to her mind, it was a little bit dark though, but it would do the trick. It would show what had happened to Warren in the last couple hours or so.

“Redunducio.” She chanted and used Warren as her focus.

Images flashed through her head and she saw Buffy decapitating Warren in the hospital. Willow gasped.

*It can’t be. Buffy wouldn’t do that.*

“Encontrandius.”

“Show me Buffy Summers.” She waved her hands towards the tee and a black stain hovered over where the Magic Box would be on the shirt. That couldn’t be Buffy, the mark was too dark. It resembled what a demon should look like, except there were gold speckles, miniscule in size surrounding it.

*Something bad must have happened.*

Willow grabbed a few items and rushed out of the door.

Magic Box

Tara stepped back.

She could see Buffy’s aura and it scared her. Before she died, Buffy had a golden aura, but lately it was tainted with black. Tara had just assumed the change in Buffy’s aura had been because Willow brought her back from the grave, but now Buffy’s aura was seriously wrong. It was black, with little speckles of gold, scattered around her. Buffy was evil…

Tara stared harder and realized the two auras were fighting each other, swirling around Buffy, the black part forcing the gold down. The woman in front of her held two different entities, the darker part of Buffy, the Slayer, was in control. And, that terrified Tara.

“What’s wrong, Tara?” Buffy twisted her lips into a mockery of a smile.

“Nothing, Bb-uffy.” She stuttered, her fear getting the best of her.

“Slayer got your tongue?” Buffy raised her eyebrow at the Wiccan. She moved quicker than Tara could imagined, and wrapped her fingers around her throat.

“P-p-please, Buffy…”

Buffy tossed the frightened witch across the Magic Box. Tara landed on the glass counter. It broke underneath her and shards of glass cut into her leg. Blood gushed out.

Buffy broke a glass display that held a sword, and walked towards Tara again.

“I need something from you. So, either you give it to me, or I’ll kill you.” the Slayer said.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to help you.” Tara sobbed.

“I need a spell, one that will make me not love someone.” Buffy said. She had lowered her eyes in shame for a split second before her pretty emerald eyes stared back at Tara. “I need to not love Spike any more.”

“You don’t want to love Spike?” Tara asked. She slowly getting lifted herself off the broken glass and pulled the shard out of her leg with a pained moan. She took off her blouse and wrapped it around her calf to stem the flow of blood.

“Yeah. I just realized it today, and I refuse to love him. I’m the Slayer. He’s a vampire. We kill each other. Nothing more.” Buffy said.

“There isn’t a spell to make you stop loving Spike. It wouldn’t work.” Tara said. She feared Buffy’s reaction.

“Why not?”

“In order for the spell to work, I’d have to magically sever the connection between the two of you, but spells don’t really work with vampires. Their demon has some sort of anti-magic barrier surrounding them from most of the stronger spells.”

“Spike and I are connected? Is there any way to break this connection?” Buffy asked.

“Hypothetically, yes.” Tara nodded. “Something ties you to Spike. Something that’s stopped you two from killing each other plenty of times. When you and Spike consummated your relationship, it meshed your auras together, creating a connection similar to vampires who’ve mated.” Tara hesitated for a second, and then continued, “While you where dead, Spike and I patrolled sometimes and I’ve seen a few nests that had mated vampires in them.”

“Spike never bit me.” Buffy stood there, anger etched on her face. “God, this is sick. I’m stuck to Spike.”

“It doesn’t have to be a bad thing…” Tara spoke, putting her hand on Buffy shoulder. She flinched for a second, afraid at what Buffy would do.

“How do you know that?” Buffy stared at Tara’s hand coldly before shoving it away.

“I can see auras. You and Spike’s look mated vampires.”

“How do I stop it?” Buffy asked, trembling with rage, she grabbed the sword she had grabbed and tossed it, breaking another glass display.

“I don’t know Buffy. I’m not sure,” Tara lied. “I’m not sure you should.”

“I can’t have this connection with him. If it develops…” Buffy said. Her mouth formed a sinister smile.

“There’s nothing I can do to help.” Tara said, eyeing the door for an escape.

“Well, I guess there’s no use for you alive then. Wouldn’t you agree?” Buffy asked

“That’s where you’re wrong Buffy.”

Willow entered the magic show, a blaze of light surrounding her, her eyes black as midnight.


Sunnydale Hospital

“Wake up, Spike.”

Spike’s eyes shifted back into focus, and he saw the carpenter hovering over him, a dark bruise spreading under his jaw. Spike stood up and brushed off plaster dust off of his coat, stumbling from the pain he felt.

“So much for stopping her, Spike.” Xander said, earning himself a glare from the vampire.

“I didn’t think she’d be that strong I feel like I’ve been run over by a bloody mob)” Spike looked up at Xander just in time to see the punch coming to his face. Xander’s fist connected to his jaw and Spike fell backwards, against the wall. Gold eyes replaced his blue ones and his fangs elongated.

“What the fuck was that for, Whelp?” Saliva dripped from his fangs and he bared them at Xander.

“You slept with Buffy. Why didn’t you tell me?” Xander spat at him, “I thought we were gonna start fresh, but you’re still the same lying dead guy.”

“Listen you git, it didn’t happen to be top news at the time. There was the pressing issue of Psycho Slayer to deal with.”

“You could have told me.”

“So you could stake me, you ninny? Buffy kept it secret because she was afraid, afraid of how you’d react. And , she was absolutely right.” Spike said. His golden eyes never left Xander’s brown ones.

“I wouldn’t have tried… Yeah, I would have, but it’s not every day your best friend sleeps with one of the cast from Dawn of the Dead. I’m sorry, but after Angel and Jesse, I learned I can’t vampires anymore.” Xander sighed.

Spike pulled a pack of Morleys from his pocket and lit one up with his silver Zippo. He blew smoke in the air.

Xander motioned for Spike to give him one.

Spike arched his eyebrow at him and tossed him the pack.

“After the day we’ve had, I’m going to need one,” Xander responded to Spike’s unspoken inquisition. “How did you and Buffy start… you know…with the humpage?”

“It started after Footloose, that dancing demon fellow took over town. But the rest, I’ll have to tell you over a few pitchers.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Xander said.

“You want to hold me, Whelp?” Spike said, running his tongue across his teeth suggestively. “Dracula told me you like vampires.” Spike laughed, pulling on his cigarette some more after he stopped laughing.

Xander turned red and turned away. He lit his cigarette up with a cough.

“So, what do we do now?”

“We find the Slayer.” Spike smelled the air for her scent and took off, Xander on his heels.


Magic Box

The room was deadly silent…

… Then, Anya teleported into the room with Jonathan and Andrew.

“I feel like I’m in Dragonball Z,” Andrew said. “And, Anya just did the instant transmission like Super Saiyan Goku.” Anya stared at him, a confused look on her face. “It’s like you’re Storm in X-Men.”

A look of disgust from Jonathan shut him up quick. Andrew surveyed the room and saw Willow and Tara, and then Buffy. He screamed shrilly and tried to run, but Buffy grabbed him by the back of his shirt.

“Where are you running to Andrew? Don’t you want to have fun?” Buffy threw him across the room into a shelf of books. She stormed after him, but a bolt of power smashed into her back. Buffy landed in front of Willow, her green eyes flashing.

“If you want them, Buffy, you’ll have to go through me,” Willow said.

“I guess this won’t take long, then.” Buffy said.

“Buffy, I’m not in this fight. Don’t hit me and cause broken facial bones.” Anya offered bluntly.

Buffy sprinted towards Willow, who was charging up her limited magicks. Willow threw another green bolt of light. Buffy jumped over the lightening bolt and landed a kick to Willow’s face. Willow’s head snapped back. Buffy swung her fist. Willow ducked, but not in time to avoid Buffy’s knee to her face, busting her nose open. Willow shoved Buffy back with her energy, knocking her back some.

Blood streamed down Willow’s chin and her eyes black.

“You really didn’t wanna do that.” Willow said, forming a yellow barrier of light around herself. She focused her magic into her outstretched palm. Willow powered up a large ball of energy, yellow in color that left the air sizzling with electricity. It was large enough that Buffy wouldn’t be able to deflect it.

“I think I did, Willow. Or, should I call you Magic-Holic Anonymous?” Buffy grinned.

Willow ignored her and poured all the magic left in herself to form a massive ball of energy. Sparks began to fire from it, shooting off in random directions. Tears of anger streamed down Willow’s face. A spell this powerful could hurt Buffy, but she had to take the risk. She couldn’t let Buffy kill anymore; it would destroy Willow’s consciousness.

She launched the ball of energy at Buffy.

Tara saw the size of the spell Willow performed and knew if the energy ball, the electrificus maximus hit Buffy, Buffy would die. Tara had to try to stop it. Tara cried out to her emotionally charged lover, chanting words under her breath to form some sort of counter spell. Tara wasn’t quick enough.

Before the energy ball could destroy her, Buffy grabbed Andrew and tossed him into the incoming blast.

The spell hit Andrew, and the smell of burning flesh reached Buffy’s nostrils. Andrew caught on fire, running around screaming, as the spell began to melt away his skin, he tried to put it out with his bare hands. He fell to the deck screaming, rolling around to put out the fire.

Tara yelled and thought of the first spell she could to put it out. She tried several spells but none would work against the spell Willow had created. Tara ran frantically across the room towards Andrew, while Jonathan grabbed several vials of Holy water to pour the fire out.

The spell being magically induced didn’t burn out, instead it continued burning, the hair being burned away, leaving an awful smell in the room. Buffy smiled, her Slayer side appeased.

Andrew was charred to a crisp, his body dissolving into ashes, as well as his future.

Buffy smiled, enjoying the sight, and then looking back across at Willow.

*Stupid witch bitch tried to kill me.*

Willow had a horrified look on her face. The spell she had created had backfired due to her personal anger at Buffy, and in the end would have killed her. Instead she ended up killing Andrew, one of Warren’s buddies.

*Good riddance.* Willow thought in the darkest vestiges of her mind. Meek, shy Willow fell to the ground sobbing. “Oh god, I’ve killed a man.”

“Time to die.” Buffy said, walking up to Willow.

“You’re right about that.” A voice said from outside the Magic box.

The door to the Magic Box was kicked in….

Isaiah charged at Buffy, a wicked katana held in his hand.

Chapter 9 – Cruel Emergencies Part One

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy and never will, enough said.

AN: This is the first part two a two part arc, the first being an attempt to keep you up on the Giles/Lydia relationship. A full chapter dedicated to them, the second part being what happens after Isaiah arrives in the Magic Box.

Sunnydale Airport

Giles hopped into the rental car. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He had barely been able to get a car. There was a massive crowd at the airport. Thousands of people were trying to fly out of Sunnydale, others tried to rent a car and drive. Before he could close the door, a large fist connected to his face.

“Give me the car and I’ll let you live,” a heavyset black man wearing a du-rag snarled at him.

“Stay away from me,” Giles kicked the man’s face as he tried to force his way into the car.

“Giles, look over there at the crowd,” Lydia pointed towards the airport’s entrance. A stampede of frantic people headed towards the car. All the flights were booked out of Sunnydale, and the rental agencies had run out of rental cars to give out.

The crowd attacked each other, trying to prevent each other off from taking any cars out of Sunnydale. Giles cringed as an elderly woman was tackled to the ground as she got into a car. Her attacker was a long haired hippie, crazed as he banged her head against the window. She screamed and tried to push him away, but he grabbed her by the legs and dragged her out. Lydia gasped in horror as the hippie reached for the old woman’s face and snapped her neck.

The crowd surrounded the car that Giles had paid for and pounded on the windows.

“Get off the bloody thing,” Giles shouted. He fumbled with the keys as he shoved them into the ignition. A large, obese woman wearing a yellow summer dress climbed onto the hood and pounded on it and screamed.

Giles stared up at her in horror. “Get off the fucking hood, you daft cow,” Giles screamed at her.

“Get out of the car,” she said.

Giles looked over at Lydia. “Forgive me for this.” Giles flicked on the car’s cigarette lighter and wrenched it out, and reached out of the sunroof of the Chevy Impala. He burned the woman on the forehead with the scorching hot lighter. She screamed and fell off. Lydia turned the car on and Giles slid down on the seat and revved the Impalas engine at 4000 RPMs and slammed the transmission into drive, shooting the car forward.


The crowd chased him, but Giles accelerated the car as hard as he could. He sped the car through the street, turned on I-70 and drove towards Magic Box as fast as he could.


“Call Xander. If he doesn’t pick up, call the Magic Box,” Giles fumbled around in his pocket for a second and pulled out a silver Nokia and tossed it at her, keeping his eyes on the road. The Impala was the only car heading south on I-70, towards Sunnydale, the other side was packed with cars trying to pile out of the town.

Cars crashed into each other, front and rear bumpers mangled as hundreds of cars left Sunnydale and headed towards Nevada.

“I wonder what’s causing them to leave like this?” Lydia asked.

“I don’t know. It couldn’t be just Isaiah. Sunnydale is used to its fair share of terror. Something else must be causing them to uproar like this.”

“It reminds me of Dawn of the Dead. They’ll do anything to get out of here, and we’re going into the danger.” Lydia paged down the contact list on the phone until she found Xander’s name and pushed the green button to call him. The phone rang for a couple of times, but there was no answer, instead sending Lydia to Xander’s voicemail. “He’s not answering.”

“Call the Magic Box. Anya should definitely pick up. She loves to talk,” Giles said. He throttled the car a little more, sending the car flaring into fifth gear.

Lydia called the Magic Box next, her forehead wrinkled with worry. “The number you have just dialed has been disconnected. Please hang up and try again.” A message interrupted after the first ring.

“The phone’s disconnected,” Lydia said. She ended the call and placed the phone on the center console.

A blue Mazda RX-7 raced north on I-70 fishtailed, sending it crashing into the guardrail that separated the northbound from the southbound lanes. The RX-7 flipped over the guardrail into the air. Giles stared at it in wonder and eased the brakes on the Impala.

“Hang on, Lydia,” Giles said. He slammed on the brakes and spun sideways, as the RX-7 crashed next to them, landing upside down on the freeway. Blue gas leaked from the sides of the hood. Giles placed their car in park and stepped out. He sprinted as hard as his body would let him. He reached the RX-7 and tried to pry the door open, but it was jammed shut.

Covering his mouth with his sleeve, he stared into the heavily tinted windows to check for signs of life, but the dark glass prevented him from seeing. He pulled his foot back and sent it towards the window, cracking it.

“Rupert, get away from the car, it’s leaking nitrous. The car’s going to blow up,” Lydia screamed, as she ran towards him.

Giles kicked the window again and shattered it. He looked inside at the driver, but his rescue efforts were useless, the driver had crushed his skull in the crash. Seeing he was too late, Giles turned and ran towards Lydia. They hopped back in the Impala and Giles revved the engine and brought it down into drive, and straightened the car out on the road.

As he was pulled away, the blue Mazda exploded in a blue-green ball of fire, hurling car fragments scattering everywhere. Afraid of being caught by a fragment, Giles throttled the car hard, surging the silver Chevy forward.

They didn’t speak for a bit.

Lydia, tired of the awkward silence, reached forward and grabbed the black knob for the car radio. The local Sunnydale station KISS FM blared.

“This is Megan Nicholson from KISS FM. Police are searching for a serial killer in Sunnydale believed to have perpetrated sixteen murders last night. All sixteen victims were found dismembered, decapitated and eviscerated. Luigi Ferdanin a man known for his generous donations to cancer charities, and the owner of Luigi’s Pizzeria at the mall was found decapitated, with his head left in a pizza oven. There was also a double homicide at the hospital, people savagely beaten to death. Warren Meers, a sophomore at Dutton Technical Institution was found decapitated with glass. Please beware if you’re still in Sunnydale. I know many citizens have evacuated, but for those who are still in town, please take care. Now, here’s the Chief of Police, Captain Damme.”

“Thank you, Megan. Whoever the criminal is, he’s no ordinary killer. He has no feelings, no concern for the fellow man. Stay away from alleys and people who look like they don’t belong. Please remain in your homes, stay safe, or evacuate.”

“Thank you, Captain. We’ll be temporarily going off air due to a shortage of staff, but we’ll be back after things smooth over here in bright Sunny D.”

Giles glanced at Lydia, who had tears welling in her eyes. “We’ll be alright,” he said. He took her hand and held it gently for a second. “We’re going to drive over to the Magic Box to see if we can find the rest of the gang. Then, we’ll stop Isaiah before he can do any more damage.”

Lydia nodded.

“Are you ready for this? You haven’t had much field time,” Giles said.

“I have to help. It’s the right thing to do. Even if it means dying in the process, a real Watcher doesn’t stop in the face of evil,” Lydia said.

Giles looked at her for a second, losing himself in the blue depths of her eyes. He let out a shaky breath, “I love Buffy. She’s like a daughter to me. I watched her grow over the last six years. She’s the daughter I never had,” Giles said. His eyes welled up with tears and glazed over with bottled-up emotion. “I have to save her… I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t do what was necessary. She needed me this year, and I deserted her. I have to save her from herself…”

Touched by his affection, she reached over and touched his arm, giving him the unspoken support he needed.

After a few seconds she spoke, “Rupert, you’re here now. That’s what counts. You’re a good man, and a good father,” Lydia said. She leaned over the center … and kissed his cheek.

Giles blushed for a second, and realized he had to turn on the next intersection. He slowed the car down to about 35 mph and turned into I-565, the intersection that led to Sunnydale. The Magic Box was twenty miles away, and Giles would make it in time, even if it was the last thing he did.

Deep lines creased his forehead. Buffy’s welfare was not his only worry. He was getting too emotionally attached to Lydia. After losing Jenny, he hadn’t wanted another woman to get close. He feared the hurt that would come of it. He’d avoided almost every woman who he could have been intimate with. Yes, there had been a few friends with benefits, but never anyone serious, and there was never any relationship that lasted too long. The emotions he was beginning to feel were scaring him.

When he was the Ripper, he never had allowed anyone to get emotionally attached. There was lust in his youthful days, but never anything remotely close to love. He had closed himself off to the idea of it; it nauseated him. He needed to be stone hard, unbreakable, so nothing could interfere with his search for power.

A few years later, he’d become a few fledged Watcher. He’d been in charge of Buffy, and at first, he honestly couldn’t stand her. She had been fifteen, and materialistic. She hadn’t wanted any part of her Calling. She just wanted a normal life. Watching her grow and mature in her high school years, he realized that his relationship with her had become unorthodox. They had gone from a Watcher to his Slayer, to father to daughter. Then Buffy died. He couldn’t bear losing another loved one, so like a coward, he ran away, fearing the pain of losing another person he loved.


He was a middle-aged man. He had experienced the devastating losses of three of the people he cared about.


Jenny, Joyce, and Buffy.


Now, there was Lydia, a woman he had only known for a short amount of time. She had an inner strength that intrigued him. He felt entranced by her charms. She was beautiful in an old-fashioned sort of way. She was far from plain looking, but she was attractive in a traditional way. Middle length hair wrapped into a French twist, no make up to make herself look prettier and deep blue eyes hidden behind plain looking glasses.

He didn’t love her, far from it, but, it sickened him to think of her dead. To think of her, dying in the arms of a vampire, as the fiend fed off her and drained her blood.

It actually scared him to think about it.

That was the scary part.

“Let me get you a hotel room where you’ll be safe,” Giles said. He turned into Sunnydale Inn, slowly pressed on the brake, bringing the car to a stop.

“No, Rupert. I have my duty to the Council, and you have yours. I’m not hiding away in a posh hotel while you risk your neck to stop Isaiah,” she said. She waved her hands about in frustration at the thought of being tucked away while Rupert did all the field work.

“There is no bloody Council. They’re all dead except us and maybe a few wet-behind-the-ears juniors from the academy,” he snapped. He stepped outside the car, and slammed the door.

Lydia opened the passenger door and followed Giles to the front of the car.

“We knew the risks before entered the Council. We could die just as easily as the Slayer, yet that doesn’t matter as long as we die for a cause… a purpose. My purpose is to help you, Rupert, and maybe a little more…” She trailed off, her lips ghosted over his.

“Don’t do this to me, Lydia,” Giles begged. Painful emotions were raw in his smoky eyes, a combination of sadness and lust in their blue depths.

“Don’t do what?” she asked. Her kisses trailed down to his jaw, then to his neck. “If I die, at least I’ll know I had this,” She nipped softly at his earlobe.

It was hard for him to not take her right now on top of the car hood. She leaned in and kissed him, and he grabbed her hips and pulled her flush against him.

After a few seconds, he stepped away from her.

“Promise me this. Stay at the hotel tonight while I assess the situation with the two Slayers. I’ll be back in a couple of hours and we can finish this conversation. As much as I’d love to be with you, Lydia, there is much work to be done if we’re to save Buffy from Isaiah.”

“Do you need me to do anything while I’m at the hotel?” Lydia asked, her skin flushed and nipples hardened against her bra, the only visible evidence of her arousal.

“I’ve heard you are exceptional at magic. Do a locator spell on Buffy as well as Isaiah. Give me a call on my cell phone and give me the status on the situation.” Giles popped the trunk and pulled out Lydia’s suitcases, and between the two of them, they brought all the bags in the car and into the hotel.

Lydia checked into the hotel and ignored the stares from the pimply adolescent clerk.

“Do you need help with your bags, ma’am?” he asked and smiled so widely, she thought the strain itself would cause his pimples to explode.

“Yes, thank you.”

Giles, deliberately ignored the boy’s instant infatuation, walked up to Lydia and kissed her lips chastely. Giving her a curt nod, he exited the hotel doors. He rushed over to his car, and hopped in, thrust the keys into the ignition and pulled out of the hotel driveway.

“Let’s get on with it,” he said.