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*Maybe you ought to call Dawn – let her and Mom know we’re okay,* Buffy suggested after they had been driving for about ten minutes. *They have to be scared to death right now, Spike…*

Spike did not respond for a long moment, apparently lost in his own thoughts, before nodding slowly. “Right,” he agreed aloud, taking the cell phone from his pocket and pressing the speed dial to connect him with Joyce’s phone.

It had barely started to ring for the first time when Joyce hurriedly picked it up.

“Is it them? Is it Spike?” he could hear Dawn’s tearful, anxious voice in the background, just before Joyce spoke into the phone, to him.

“Spike? Where are you?” There was a sharp, slightly angry note to her voice that betrayed her fear and concern.

“ ‘S all right, pet – didn’t mean to scare you so badly. Just had to get the Slayer away from the unsuspecting populace so we can finish this without anyone getting hurt.”

“What about *you*? And *Buffy*? *You two* could get seriously hurt!” The angry tears she had been shedding were obvious in her trembling, hoarse voice.

Spike was silent for a long moment, as Joyce waited for his response. Finally he answered in a quiet, heavy voice of resignation, “There’s not going to be much getting around that one, pet – one way or the other.” He paused, considering for a moment before continuing cautiously, “Maybe both ways.”

Joyce took in that difficult truth for a moment, before going on in a trembling voice, “Is she – is she even okay? After – after…” Joyce’s voice caught in her throat over the question, and Spike felt a pang of guilt come over him at the sound.

It could not have been easy for the woman to watch as he had shoved her daughter over a ledge a couple of stories above the ground – and he was convinced by now, that Joyce *had* been watching.

“She’s fine, pet…takes a bit more than that to do in a Slayer…”

**Spike!** Buffy hissed in his mind, horrified.

“…not that – anyone’s going to be *doing* that, tonight – or anytime soon, for that matter…” Spike sighed, realizing that his words were not anywhere near the realm of helpful. “…Joyce…love…it’s gonna be fine, I promise you…we’re gonna complete the ritual, and I’ll call you when it’s done – okay?”

Joyce was silent for a long moment – and then suddenly, the line went dead.

She had hung up.

“Well -- *that* was just bloody rude,” Spike remarked, a note of hurt to his voice.

*Give her a break, Spike,* Buffy said in a soft, tired voice. *She’s dealing with a lot here, too…she just needs a little time to deal with it.*

*Well, it’s not like I’m not dealing with it all, too, and times soddin’ ten, love!* Spike countered. *She could be a bit more understanding…*

*Of the fact that her *daughter* -- to all appearances – is trying to kill you…and you have to beat the crap out of her daughter and make her submit to you in order to save yourself and her entire family, maybe the world…yeah…*that’s* easy enough to understand.*

*When did *you* become the soddin’ practical one?* Spike demanded grudgingly.

He could almost feel Buffy’s soft, sad smile inside him as she went on encouragingly, ignoring his only half-serious question, *She’ll feel a lot better once we both get back, safe and sound – for the most part, anyway.*

Spike could not miss the faint sound of uncertainty and fear in her voice, and realized that the idea of what he was going to have to do in a very short time had to be a bit unsettling for Buffy as well.

*I’ll try not to hurt you anymore than I have to, love – you know that,* he assured her gently.

*No,* she said sharply, surprising him. *Don’t say that. You do whatever you have to do, Spike. I’m a Slayer – I’ll heal. You just do what you have to do to win this fight, Spike.* She was quiet for a moment, before going on with grim certainty. *And if it comes down to you or her – even then – don’t hold back, Spike. *Do not* let her kill you – even if you have to…even…*

*I am bloody well *not* going to kill you, Buffy!* he declared, shocked and aghast a her words. *No matter what happens, I *won’t* do that!*

*You might have to!* Buffy insisted, a bit harsher than she had intended the words to come out. *Spike – we have to consider all the possibilities.*

*Killing you is not a possibility…it won’t happen, love – period. I’ll bloody die first…*

*You -- and Mom and Dawn? Whoever else she decides to kill when she goes on her little happy spree of celebration over winning control of my body? And there’s another thing – if she kills you – she’ll probably kill me, too, Spike. I’m here in you right now.*

*But if *I* kill you – your body – then you’ll probably die, too – and I can’t do that…*

*Spike,* she cut him off gently, a courageous resignation to her mental voice that went a long way towards bridging the rift that had grown between them, and restoring some of his affection for her. *If she wins this fight – if she kills you – you, me, Dawn and Mom -- *everyone* she comes in contact with will die. She will use my body to do incredible damage. If you have to kill her to win the fight – then you’ll save my family, yourself – who knows? Maybe even me. We don’t know exactly how this whole thing works.*

*Buffy – I don’t know if I can do that…* he confessed after a long silence, as he took in the painful truth of her words.

*Don’t tell me that, Spike!* she snapped, her fear evident in her voice. *You *have* to win this. Period. There’s no getting around it, Spike.*

“Bloody hell, Buffy, would you just *quit* telling me what I have to do? You can’t do that anymore!” he shot back, his voice trembling with anger and frustration.

His outburst took her by surprise, and momentarily silenced her. Well – more than momentarily. The silence seemed to spread out between them, even joined as they were, and he could feel how his words had stung her. He knew that it was not really her fault – not completely – and he should care that he had hurt her with his words.

But he didn’t. Not right then.

*I – I’m sorry,* she finally whispered, tentative, uncertain and more than a little ashamed. *I – I didn’t mean to – I mean – I wasn’t trying to – to order you around, Spike…*

*Why not?* he shot back in his mind, knowing that he should stop, but somehow having no intention of it. *You always have…even *before* all this. This whole bloody thing started because you wanted me to have no choice but to *obey* your bloody orders – didn’t it? Because it wasn’t enough that I’d already been stripped of every semblance of mastery over my own life; you weren’t content until it was in *your* bloody hands!*

Buffy could not bring herself to respond, but her silence made it clear that she knew what he was saying was the truth. Still, it was painful to hear the anger, the resentment in his voice over what she had so thoughtlessly done to him. She knew she should answer, should apologize, even – but she knew if she tried to speak, she would only end up crying.

*I’m sorry, Buffy,* he finally relented with a weary sigh. *It’s just – I can handle this, all right? I’ll do what I have to do – but I *won’t* lose – and I won’t lose *you*, Buffy – all right?*

*All right,* Buffy agreed immediately, her voice small and cautious. She was silent for a moment, before continuing softly, *When this is all over – when we’re back home – we’re gonna need to – to work this out, Spike.*

*I know.*

*I mean – we’re mated now…that’s permanent. I know – I know this is all hard, and I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again after this…but…it’s not like either of us can just walk away now…*

*I know that.*

*We just – have to try to work through this…somehow…*

*I *know* that, Buffy,* Spike cut her off, his voice sharp and impatient and displaying the anger and pain that he was trying so hard to keep from showing completely – quite a feat considering that she was actually *in* his mind at the moment, and could hear his thoughts and feel his feelings. *Can we just -- *not* try to work it through right *now*? I’ve got quite a bloody lot on my mind as it is – all right, love?*

The pet name and slightly softened tone on the end of his words did little to soften the blow of those words. She knew that she had hurt him terribly, again and again, during the past few days – and it was going to take him a while to get past it, even enough to begin to deal with it.

They needed to talk it through – but if and when they did, it would be on Spike’s terms.

For better or worse, no matter what the cost to herself – Buffy was finished with trying to control him.

She had finally learned her lesson, well – and it was the most painful lesson she had ever had to learn.

She just hoped it would not cost her everything that she held dear.


Spike had been driving for about an hour when he finally stopped the car, in a clear, moonlight patch of open desert. He glanced at the clock on his cell phone as he turned the key in the ignition to turn the engine off.

It was 4:00 in the morning.

“We should have a few hours yet until Dawn, pet,” he told Buffy, speaking aloud without thinking about it. “This late in the fall, sun up shouldn’t be ‘til about seven,” he guessed.

*We’re in the middle of the desert…it might come a little earlier than you’re expecting,* she reminded him, anxiety rising in her voice.

*Don’t let that worry you, pet,* he told her, his voice much more optimistic and encouraging than it had been nearly an hour earlier. *I don’t expect this is going to take nearly that long…that Slayer thing in your body can’t take much pain, love – I’ll have her begging for mercy and willing to submit long before dawn…*

Buffy’s silence made her doubts clear, though she was hesitant to say what she was thinking.

He knew – and he knew that she had a point.

His over-confidence had cost him the victory in too many fights – many of them against the very same body, if not the same person, that he was about to face tonight.

But tonight – he intended to let it work *for* him, not against him.

He got out of the car and moved around to the trunk, readying his key to open it. He considered for a moment, preparing himself for what he would face when he did. Her silence concerned him; he thought it highly unlikely that she would still be unconscious after so long. She had already proved that she was stronger than Buffy usually was, physically, and he would have expected her to be fighting to escape by now.

Unless of course – she was saving her strength.

*Well,* he said with a grim smile of expectancy, *nothing for it but to open Pandora’s soddin’ box, and find out what it holds.*

He was not surprised when Buffy did not say anything in response; however, he could feel her own emotional tension and uncertainty as strongly as he felt his own.

He slowly inserted the key in the lock of the trunk, stepping back immediately to ready himself for the attack he was sure would quickly come. He knew that no matter how much better the Slayer was feeling now, he would have the advantage in this situation.

It just remained to be seen if *she* had figured that out yet or not.

He watched her carefully as the trunk lid popped open, and his excellent night vision revealed her still form to him. He knew it was highly unlikely that she was still unconscious – so he did not let down his guard a bit, as he waited for her to react.

After a moment, her eyes opened, and she stared out into the darkness, though he could not be sure if she could see him or not. It was a clear, moonlit night in the desert, but she was likely very disoriented from the events of the night thus far.

And then – he saw it, in the moment when her eyes locked on his, meeting his cool cautious gaze with defiance and anger. When she realized that he knew she was awake, and was waiting for her – she would not be able to fool him on that count – the Slayer began to climb awkwardly and painfully from the trunk of the car, until she stood on the ground – obviously favoring her wounded leg.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he said in a voice of soft mockery, a slow smirk spreading across his face. The blonde vampire’s gold-flecked blue eyes were narrowed in menace and cruel intent, as he began to move slowly toward her. “Sleep well?”

“Shut up and fight,” she snarled with bitter resentment, her body tensing in anticipation of the attack she knew he was about to unleash upon her. She was still weakened from their earlier fight, and had to know that he had the advantage in the scenario.

Still, she taunted him onward.

“You sure you want me to do that, love?” he taunted her right back, his voice low and menacing. His tone made it clear that he had no doubt in his mind of who was going to win this fight, as he took another couple of slow, measured steps across the sand toward her.

She did not respond, only allowed her body to take on a defensive fighting stance, one that came naturally to her after many nights of fighting such creatures as Spike – and as herself, now. She was ready for him, whatever the outcome of the battle might be.

Because there was something about her condition that *he* was not aware of.

She was determined not to allow him to send her back to her prison, no matter what the cost – and yet, he was just as determined to send her there. She began to move slowly, stiffly toward him, though her movements betrayed her pain.

The Slayer and the vampire, circling slowly in the sand, preparing for the battle of their lives, the battle for control – for dominance – for freedom – equal in their determination to win, if not in their ability to do so.

But only one of them could.

In the silver sands, in the few remaining hours of darkness – the struggle for mastery began again.





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