(Author’s note: I used my creative liberties in Buffy’s transit fiasco. Please don’t fret if the bus numbers don‘t exist... It’s all part of my own little world)

Buffy grimaced as she pulled her shoe out of a puddle of... well, she didn’t know what it was, but it was green and oily-looking. Probably not good for her leather boots, though. Her mantra, ever since embarking on her little solo mission that very morning, was ‘Spike was right’. Not something she would admit out loud, and especially not in the vampire’s presence, but each and every step of the way had been peppered with aggravations.

She had started off well enough, calling transit information to find out which bus to take to the Tower Bridge from the hotel. Giles would have been proud--Buffy, action girl, actually took the time out to plan before heading out.

Well, that had been the intention. The woman at the transit help desk, as helpful and cheery as she was for such an early hour--Hey! 9am is early!--explained that Buffy needed to take ‘bus number 24’ before the Slayer thanked her and hung up. In retrospect, Buffy was pretty sure that, had she listened to the whole of the woman’s instructions, she would have arrived at her destination two hours earlier.

When she had stepped onto the platform at the small bus terminal, she’d quickly found bus 24A. That was easy! She walked over to the vehicle and hopped on, proud of her independence. It was when the bus returned to the same terminal--without, of course, having reached the Tower Bridge--that Buffy began to have her doubts. Maybe she’d missed it. Maybe she’d been looking the other way, at some old church or a cool house, when the bus had driven by. This time, the young woman was prepared--she wouldn’t miss a thing.

Same terminal, no Tower Bridge. Crap.

The bus driver must have noticed her confusion--that or he was tired of seeing her sitting there--because he walked over to her after the last passenger had left. “Excuse me, miss? Is there something I can do for you?”

Trying to steady her breathing--she certainly didn’t want to come across as an idiot--Buffy opened her mouth and... everything came out at once, words tripping one over the other, a hundred miles an hour. “I’m supposed to get to the Tower Bridge, and I called this morning so I’d be prepared, cause I don’t usually do that--I usually get lost and everything, and the lady--who was really nice, by the way--told me I needed to get on bus number 24, and I did, but you haven’t gone there yet and...” Embarrassed at her frustrated outburst, she pouted. “And I think I’m on the wrong bus.”

The driver held back a smirk. This one was a real charmer. “Don’t worry about it. You’re certainly not the first to make that mistake. You need to be on bus 24B. This is 24A. We do mirror loops of London--you’ve been taking in the city’s West side. 24B is just over there,” he pointed to the bus behind them, “if you hurry, you should be able to hop on.”

Buffy shot up out of her seat and flew out of the bus’s rear doors. Five seconds later, she popped her head back in and gave the driver a wide grin, a heartfelt “Thanks!!”, and disappeared again. The man just shook his head and returned to his seat, chuckling. As crazy as this job was, it did have its finer moments.

The first thing that came out of the Slayer’s mouth as she faced the other bus’s driver was “do you go to the Tower Bridge?” At the driver’s nod, she let out a breath of relief and thanked him. There was no way she was going to take another useless two hour ride, no matter how neat London was.

The drive to the bridge was quicker than she expected and as she saw it looming in the near distance, Buffy chimed the bell to be let off at the next stop.

The young woman thanked the driver, hopped off the bus, and took a moment to look around her. Hmm... now where to?

***

There was no way Buffy could have missed her destination. All she had to do was follow her nose. The docks were everything she’d imagined, and then some. Her nose wrinkled in distaste at the stench that assaulted it. Fish, oil, sulphur and a hint of something else of which she’d rather remain ignorant hung thick in the air. She was so going to need a bath after this.

Locating the docks had been the easy part. Navigating them--well, that was a mite trickier. Although she’d been born with a keener sense of navigation than most--yay Slayer powers!, Buffy was glad that she’d earned her orienteering badge during her short stint with the girl guides.

As she wound her way around stacks of skids and old boat hulls, she kept her senses open to any danger. She was all too aware of the threat posed by humans in these kinds of places.

The buildings around her were in various states of collapse. She couldn’t really tell that any of them were still in use. Broken windows, missing doors--the buildings lay vacant, simple shells of their former selves.

As a young girl, Buffy had often wondered if houses and buildings had memories. Did they sit there, empty and forgotten, thinking of better days gone by? Could these factories remember the office gossip, the Christmas parties, the tears shed on the last day before their doors were closed?

A noise shook the Slayer from her thoughts. Deciding that she didn’t want to make the acquaintance of anyone else who might be lurking among the piles of garbage, she hid behind a large rusted piece of machinery. Peering in between giant gears and metal rod... thingies, she spied two men dragging a bag behind them.

A lumpy bag.

A lumpy bag that was struggling and quite unhappy, if the stifled screams coming from it were any indication.

Buffy whimpered and crouched down even lower behind her makeshift blind. Fighting the urge to run, she remained rooted to the spot, unable to peel her eyes from the scene that was unfolding before her.

The two men dragged the bag behind a pile of wooden skids, so that only their upper bodies were visible. The Slayer jumped at the sound of muffled gunshots and a subsequent splash. When they emerged from behind the skids, the bag was no longer in their possession.

It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together, and Buffy was understandably wigged. Obviously the docks held secrets more dangerous to her than the Pelorak.

Slinking out of her hiding spot after seeing the killers’ car pull away--why do all these hitmen-type guys always drive big, expensive black cars with tinted windows, anyway?--Buffy stretched and took in her immediate surroundings.

Straight ahead of her was the land’s edge, right where... whoever... had been sent to swim with the fishes. She shuddered at the thought and fought back a momentary pang of guilt at her inaction at someone’s murder. To her left and right stretched the waterway, a roadway following its length. She looked down one way, then down the other, trying to decide which way to turn, when she decided to look behind her.

There it was. A tallish building of about four stories’ height. The Meridian Marine Freightways Company head office loomed behind her, broken windows marring its otherwise intact fronty-thingie.

In a disturbing way, the line of windows along its front reminded Buffy of an insincere smile, broken teeth adding to its dementia.

Swivelling on the spot to face the building, the young woman began to walk towards it at a quick pace. From its outer appearance, she couldn’t tell whether or not anything evil was going on inside. It would take more than a cursory glance to determine if Blakeford and the Pelorak were using it.

The threat of dismemberment kept the Slayer at her stealthiest. A lot of good a limbless Slayer will be, guarding the Hellmouth, she thought wryly as she stepped around yet another puddle of viscous greenish liquid. Scrunching her nose at the vile ooze, she tried to quash thoughts of toxic waste. Not because it was a silly idea, but rather because it was too plausible for her own liking.

When she reached the building’s side, she looked up to the windows’ edge and cursed under her breath. “Shit.” She was about four inches too short, even with the solid three inch heels on her boots. Looking around for something on which she could stand, she spied an empty electrical wire spool. She looked up to the skies and mouthed a quick thanks before scooting over to fetch her makeshift stand.

Rolling the spool over to one of the windows, she flopped it over onto its side and pushed it against the wall. Glancing one last time around her, she hopped up onto the spool, peered into the building...

“Fuck... Oh God...” Her heart rate doubled as she digested what she had seen. There must have been over a hundred Pelorak in the warehouse, many in various training sessions. Some with weapons, some without. Others were along the walls sharpening weapons.

Although taken aback at the sheer number of these purple demons, her attention became fixed on the warehouse’s centre. A platform had been erected there, and two men stood on it, obviously in the middle of a heated discussion. Well, one of the men was visibly agitated, but the second seemed aloof. He may even have been amused by the first man’s irritation.

Buffy looked closer at Irritated Man. Of medium height, middle aged from what she could see, and wearing a very antiquated suit, the man looked like he’d walked off a page of the Council’s handbook.

The other man, however, was much different. Both physically and in character. Much younger than Irritated Man, this one was very tall and thin. He was also a hell of a lot calmer than his partner. Arms crossed over his chest, a corner of his lips turned upwards into a smirk, he seemed amused by the other’s outburst. Buffy couldn’t help but snicker along, as the scenario reminded her of pretty much every lecture she’d had from Giles.

The Slayer’s attention became even more riveted to Calm Man as he held his hand out, effectively cutting off Irritated Man’s rant. Calling out to a Pelorak that was walking by, he motioned him up onto the platform. They seemed to be comfortable with each other, the young man’s hand amicably placed on the demon’s arm as they chatted about something.

Then something strange began to happen. The point of contact between man and demon began to fizzle. The Pelorak looked surprised and began to struggle, but Calm Man’s demeanour never changed. His friendly smile never faltered, and the other’s struggles didn’t even seem to bother him, as he remained at ease in his stance.

Slowly, the Pelorak began to shake, his skin burning. Buffy could hear its screams from where she stood; as much as she hated demons, she couldn’t help but feel pity for this particular one’s agony. She closed her eyes and counted slowly to fifteen, hoping that she could miss the worst of it. When her eyes reopened, her gaze settled on something that nearly made her toss her breakfast.

Right there on the platform lay the Pelorak’s body, or rather what remained of it. She could still see it from the waist down to its feet, but its upper body seemed to have... melted.

Buffy gasped at the horrible sight and promptly lurched back, losing her balance and falling down onto the ground. She scooted backwards, away from the building, on her hands and feet before rising to a stand.

Then, she did one of the most sensible things she’d ever done in her life. She ran. One Pelorak she and Spike could take. Five, probably. Ten, they’d have to be in top form, on a really good day. One hundred? Nope, no siree Bob. Not gonna go there, not even gonna try. And never mind the unhinged wizard--she didn’t even want to think about him and his melty badness. It no longer mattered to her how many doors the building had, what its layout was or whether the sun filtered in. All she could see in her mind’s eye was the formidable size of the enemy, and how futile this plan seemed to be all of a sudden.

***

Spike leaned against the counter, propped on the same stool he’d been occupying for the past three hours. Unable to get his mind off the Slayer--he was worried, he could admit that freely and without shame--he’d been staring at the same blank piece of paper forever. He wondered if she’d made it to the port okay. Knowing her, she probably ended up on the wrong side of town...

The sound of the room’s door slamming open startled the vampire. Jumping up out of his seat and knocking it over in the process, he looked over to see a pale, dishevelled Slayer. The vampire opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, but no sound came out. All his attention was focussed on the small blonde, who was approaching him with a very unreadable expression.

“Buffy?”

The young woman lifted her fingers to his lips. “Shh, don’t. Just make love to me.” Her mouth crashed against his feverishly, her teeth nipping at his lower lip, her tongue seeking his own out.

Spike knew this had to do with something the Slayer had seen on her field trip. Obviously something bad. Very bad. But he knew better than to put a stop to her actions, when she seemed to need the contact so badly. So he responded in kind, pulling her body close to his until only the breadth of their clothing separated them.

Hands desperate to memorize every inch of skin flew to their clothing, ripping it when its fasteners wouldn’t give way quickly enough. Inch by inch their legs brought them to the massive bed’s edge, bringing them that much closer to the much-needed encounter.

It was all too much yet not enough for Buffy. She wanted it all right away, skin against skin, slick with perspiration, the feel, taste and smell of her lover. But the faster it happened, the sooner it would be over.

And, she was afraid.

Afraid that this would be the last time she’d ever know ecstasy, ever melt under the ministration of her lover. The feel of his hands cupping her breasts, the way his thigh ground against her clit as his hips pressed against hers, the cool sensation of his breath against her lips as he told her over and over again how beautiful she was, how much he loved her.

Every time her mind was assaulted by images of a dark wizard or a mutilated Pelorak, Buffy would hold him closer, whisper “more”, or “harder”, trying to postpone the inevitable apocalypse.

And Spike acquiesced to her every demand. His body was hers, as was his heart and--wherever it was--his soul.

The frenzy of their coupling couldn’t last forever. At last, when they both felt the hitch in their rhythm, they let themselves fall freely over the precipice, holding on to each other as they plummeted.

Author's Note: Bit of a change from my usual diatribe... There are two people dear to me who are very sick. The mother of a friend of mine and my uncle are both suffering from cancer, and have taken turns for the worse. I'd like for you to keep them in your thoughts and prayers, so that perhaps their suffering is lessened.

Thanks so much