Chapter 5: Dance into the Light.
“No!” Buffy covered her mouth in horror and ran towards Spike.
Illyria marched into the circle and waved a hand over Liam's prostrate body. The air around Buffy and Spike shimmered as she wrapped them within the confines of a force field. Outside its walls, time froze.
“Are you ready?” Spike handed Buffy Liam's sword.
She gazed at the blade, doubt flashing across her face.
“You can do this, Slayer.”
Buffy glanced at the smouldering fire. “The fire can’t go out.”
“That’s right, love, it can’t.”
Spike ripped Ambrogio’s sword from his hand and nodded to Illyria. Time wound back to the point where the two kings faced one another. Spike snatched the oak crown from the Immortal’s head, and tossed it to Buffy. He scooped the fallen holly crown with the tip of his blade and stood waiting in the center of the ring. “It won’t. If you dance - with me.”
“I thought we came to fight.” Buffy moved towards him, her sword raised in salute, the weapon inches from her face, the hilt pointing at the ground, the tip towards the sky.
“Dancing. Fighting.” Spike returned her salute. “It’s who we are.”
They took their places; the other dancers pointed their staffs at them, ringing them in as they resumed their silent dance, sweeping Liam and Ambrogio into its intricate pattern.
As they fought, Buffy and Spike moved in harmony to the silent rhythm, the langourous cadence of the dance directing them in graceful sweeps, mirroring one another in the midst of the whirling maelstrom of the other dancers. They danced closer, changing pace, following the beat of Buffy’s blood pulsing through her veins, a beat as deep as the ocean, as powerful and unstoppable as the tide, the heat from her body wafting her familiar scent, filling the night air with winter jasmine. They fended off the other dancers with outstretched hands; blades swooping, carving through the darkness, long arcs slicing the moonlight as they twirled; shaping the story with their weapons, etching archaic patterns in slivers of silver in the sky. Slow stride matched slow stride, block and slash, cross and thrust, each stopping on its mark, perfectly controlled.
A musician took up the bodhrán and sounded an accompanying pattern, the Uilleann piper joining him, taking his lead from the energy generated by the dueling couple. The fire blazed into life, lighting the sky with a rosy glow, driving back the dark.
“I could dance like this all night,” Buffy shouted.
“That’s what we’ll do then,” replied Spike. “We’ll dance the night away.”
He shifted his weight to the balls of the feet and lifted the sword hilt, his elbow curved defensively outwards. Holding the blade parallel to the ground and crossing his left foot behind his right, he turned, pivoting on heel and toe; the upswept blade scythed down and round in a sweeping arc, following the course his body took as he spun.
The other dancers threw down their staffs and watched as the battle of the Holly King and Oak King moved towards its climax.
Buffy blocked the s thrust, deflecting Spike's sword with her own, forcing him back against the standing stone. Their swords clashed, blade edge to blade edge, their bodies close together, upstretched arms touching. She lifted her face to his and kissed him, drawing him closer still.
“Welcome back Summers,” said Spike huskily, breaking the kiss. “Now do it.”
"I have slain my brother! Rekindled is The Fire's spark,” cried Buffy, striking the felling blow. "The Oak is King of the Forest once again!"
"The Winter King is vanquished. All hail the Summer." The Summer Queen stepped forward and took Liam’s arm. “Come, my Lord Summer. Lead us to the feast.”
Spike dropped to his knees in the shadow of the stones, as the new day's light glowed on the horizon. Buffy held her sword high, saluting the sun in triumph, the first rays catching her hair, blazing in a golden halo around her head.
As he watched her greet the sunrise, The Immortal spoke briefly to the leader of the Zampognari, handed him a heavy purse and directed the troupe into the portal.
“You do not return with them?” asked Illyria.
“Rome holds no more delights for me. Just as this world no longer does for you.” Ambrogio stared into the icy depths of her eyes. “But there is a place for us,” he said enigmatically, stepping towards Buffy.
“My work here is done,” he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “Take care, cara mia.”
From the shadow of the dolmen, Spike growled a warning. "She's not your cara anything."
“A truce," said The Immortal handing him a twig of mistletoe. "One favoured by the Immortals to whom I must return." He turned to Illyria. “Old One, you would be honoured among us should you chose to accompany me there.”
She nodded her assent, taking her place by his side beneath the portal.
“And Angel?” Buffy asked, as she watched Liam carousing with his friends.
“He lives.” Ambrogio stretched out an arm into the portal’s depths and grasped a delicate female hand. “Though not for long in this time.” He smiled at the woman who emerged from the dark. “There, beloved, you will find one worthy of your ministrations. Go now, we shall meet again ‘ere long.”
“Darla,” Spike chuckled quietly to himself and watched her follow Liam and his friends celebrating in the light of the Yule fire. “The wheel turns full circle.” He pocketed the sprig of mistletoe and stepped into the portal. “You comin’?” he called to Buffy.”
“Where to?” she asked, following him.
“Good point.” Spike murmured. “Hope this thing’s set to autopilot.”
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Acknowledgements
Inspiration for The Dark Dance – from Terry Pratchett’s Wintersmith.
Words used in the ritual adapted from from the Wiccan Pagan Times and poetry found on Aine Minogue
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Epilogue: Dancing to the Rhythm.
“How did we get back - here?”
“Blue must’ve ordered two return tickets,” Spike quipped, throwing his duster over the back of the sofa and surveying the room. A small Christmas tree stood in one corner, it's lights cycling through red white and blue, paper garlands criss-crossed the ceiling, glitter covered the lampshades, and the marble figurines on the side-tables were buried beneath mounds of tinsel. “You decorated.”
“Dawn’s idea.” Buffy checked her watch. “She’s probably over at Nadia’s. They were planning to hit the Mall early. Last minute shopping.” She took a step towards him. “Spike, I...”
The phone on the desk started to ring. Buffy picked up the handset and pressed the ‘loudspeaker’ switch.
“Buffy Summers."
“Buffy. At last. I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Or night rather, where you are.”
“Giles. I just got in. I….”
“You’ve been out dancing. All night. Yes. I know. Dawn was most forthcoming on the matter,” Giles interrupted. “And I have to say, I’d hoped that by now you would have outgrown this desire for...”
“Giles!” Buffy snapped. “Enough of the lecturing. What’s so important you couldn’t ask Dawn to take a message?”
The sound of Giles clearing his throat rumbled through the loudspeaker. “I thought you’d better to hear this from me first.”
Spike perched on the edge of an armchair and watched Buffy’s expression harden.
“It’s about Angel, isn’t it?” The handset trembled in her hand. “Is he...”
“He’s fine,” Giles reassured her. “But Buffy, you have to know, he’s not the same as he was. He’s...”
“He’s human.” Buffy glanced at Spike. He averted his eyes and stared blankly at the floor.
“How on earth did you know?” Giles asked incredulously.
“Long story. Giles, where is he?”
“Um. I have the number right here...” There was a sound of rustling paper followed by the clatter of the receiver hitting something hard. "Yes, I have it now. He's just outside Los Angeles, staying with someone called 'Connor Reilly'. Some connection with the old country no doubt."
Buffy scribbled the phone number Giles gave her on the memo pad. "Thank you," she said numbly, replacing the handset in its cradle.
“’spect you’ll be wantin’ an early flight to LA then?” Spike studied a wine stain on the carpet.
“You really are a dope.” Buffy yanked him to his feet. "After what happened tonight, you think..."
Spike drew back, grabbed his coat and strode angrily towards the door.
"Where are you going?"
"This the part where you tell me you couldn't have done it without me and then run off to Tall Dark and Bog-trotting?" Spike kept hold of the handle, his back towards her. "Not goin' there. Not again."
"No. This is the part where I tell you I couldn't have done it without Ambrogio."
Spike half-turned to look at her.
Buffy bent down and picked up the twig of mistletoe that had fallen from the duster's pocket and twirled it in her fingers. "If it hadn't been for what he did," she said softly. "I'd never have realised what I really needed."
"And what might that be?" Spike's features softened and he relaxed his grip on the door-handle.
She crossed the room and held out the mistletoe. "Not 'normal'. Not 'human.' " She lifted her eyes to his. "I'm still the Slayer. I need a little monster in my man."
Spike took the sprig from her. "The Immortal gave me this for a truce," he said, holding it above their heads. "It's not the only thing it's for."
There was no anger evident in the gentle kiss he gave her; none of the frustration that had made him head for the door. But for all it’s softness, something sparked between them as their lips lazily tasted each other and Buffy breathed him in like he was all she needed to live. His tongue slid between her lips and sought hers, tying a lover’s knot to bind them together. As the mistletoe slipped from his fingers, he held her closer, and they swayed to the silent rhythm of the fire dancing in her veins.
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Acknowledgements:
Chapter Titles.
Prologue : Dancing Alone (Ashlee Simpson)
Chapter 1: Dancing in the Moonlight (Thin Lizzy)
Chapter 2: Dancing in my Dreams (Tina Turner)
Chapter 3: Dancing in the Dark (Bruce Springstee)
Chapter 4: Dance of Death (Iron Maiden)
Chapter 5: Dance into the Light (Phil Collins)
Epilogue : Dancing to the Rhythm (Stevie Wonder)
Special thanks: to bogwitch> who came to my rescue and without whom the story never would have ‘ended with a kiss’.
: to bendy1 who made a winter banner for this LJ little realising how fitting the text would be for this epilogue.