Chapter 47
As soon as Drusilla and Eline disappeared, Spike was cupping Buffy’s face, kissing her as if he hadn’t seen her for months.
“Are you okay?” His eyes bored into hers, darkened by the dying embers of fear. “Fuck, I was terrified they would…”
“I’m fine. Surprisingly.” Her heart was only now slowing down to its normal rate. “What about you?”
“Not really.”
She hugged him briefly then took his hand and tugged. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
*******
“Let’s get drunk.”
Buffy paused, one eyebrow arched. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
“Oh, come on, kitten.” His chin hooked over her shoulder, hands resting lightly on her hips. “Let’s unwind.”
“The one time I found you ‘unwinding’, you got me drenched then burned my pants.”
“Yeah, I did.”
Now he was pressing kisses up the length of her neck, light as gossamer. How was she supposed to argue when he wouldn’t stop touching her? What was her point again?
“It’ll be fun.”
She shouldn’t. They had two days left. Yeah, two days left and the clock was ticking away. “Fine.” She sighed.
“Could get you wine or beer. Something lighter, sweeter.”
“If I’m going to do this, I’m doing it properly.”
The corners of Spike’s eyes crinkled. “That’s my girl.”
He managed to procure an impressive stash that she suspected had been unearthed from Giles’ secret compartment. During the time spent at the Giles’ household, she’d learned that the man really loved his scotch.
“Where did you get all this?” she asked as Spike dragged the patchwork quilt off her bed and spread it on the floor for them to sit on. This was swiftly turning into a picnic. Only instead of food there was alcohol.
Apparently, Spike wasn’t much for regret or shame or guilt. One shoulder bounced up in a shrug and he smirked like the deviant he was. “Rupert. He’s got all sorts of booze in his study. I didn’t know which you’d like, so I brought a bit of everything.”
“I assume he doesn’t know?”
“Hell no. Makes this so much more fun.”
Oh, she shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t. “Okay, give me some.”
“My partner in crime, eh?” He tilted his head and smiled. And as if on cue, there she went, swooning and staring back like a love-struck idiot.
“To crime,” she said, pouring a generous amount of liquor into two glasses. Strangely, she imagined a villain sipping scotch from a glass like this while wearing a gaudy silk bathrobe, with flames roaring in the fireplace in the background.
“To crime,” he replied. The glasses clinked, ice cubes sloshing around in the tea-coloured substance like little boats in the midst of an enraged sea.
She brought the rim closer to her lips, squeezed her eyes shut and drank. Everything.
Oh. Holy. Shit.
Nobody told her it would feel as if she was swallowing fire!
She was marginally aware of Spike’s laughter as he stroked her back while she tried to draw in ragged breaths, sputtering and glaring at him with watery eyes.
“I’m impressed. You downed it like a pro.”
“You should have warned me not to drink so much all at once!” she accused, coughing, feeling the liquid hitting her stomach.
“Didn’t think you’d go at it with such enthusiasm.”
Oh, she’d show him enthusiasm. “Give me more.”
He looked at her then, warily, as if she’d just started barking. “Are you sure? This might not be the best id—”
“Shh!” Had his eyebrows always looked that funny? Like two wriggly caterpillars! “More.”
Spike watched her with some trepidation before giving in. Finally! Her throat felt all funny and warm. All of her did, come to think of it. Maybe she should take her pants off.
“Don’t chug it this time, kitten. Wouldn’t want you to get sick.”
“Don’t be silly. I can totally handle this.” She made a show of sipping it slowly then took a chug when he glanced away. Whoa. She blinked rapidly to get rid of the whole spinning thing that was going on. Stupid room.
“You all right?”
“I’m the all rightest.”
Why was he shaking his head, laughing at her? This was a serious matter, this drinking thing.
“I can’t believe you’re already tipsy,” he said, casually drinking from his glass without as much as even a wince. A corner of his delectable lips drew up into a half-smile. “Never thought you’d be such a lightweight.”
“I’m so not! I’m not light… thingie. I’m totally heavy. Why would you even shay…. say… that?” She stuck out her tongue and poked it with her finger. It had gone completely numb. It had better not be broken. She needed it to lick Spike from head to toe later. Maybe it was his pants she should take off.
“Of course you’re not. You’re as sober as a bloody nun.” He slung an arm around her shoulders and she gratefully collapsed against his side.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she decided to ask something that had been plaguing her for hours. “Shpike?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you… do you think Dru’s pretty?”
“Uh…” Spike tried to work out the tangle that was currently his tongue as he glanced down at the girl slumped against his side. What was one supposed to say to something like that? “Where’s this coming from?”
“I’m just… she’s so… she’s much prettier than me.”
Buffy’s eyes were big and sad when he grasped her chin to make her look at him. He couldn’t handle it, this thing clawing at him from the inside every time he’d see her sad.
“’Course she isn’t. Not to me.” Yeah, Drusilla was still beautiful. Eternally so. And he still felt something for her, felt something for the faded memory of what she’d meant to him. But she wasn’t Buffy. Not warm and alive and loving. So his that she’d become a part of him. What he felt for Buffy… it didn’t compare. “Don’t you know you’ve got me hooked good and proper, love?” He leaned his forehead against hers, tasted her scotch-flavoured lips. “I love you.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled against his ravenous mouth. “I know. I know. I just—”
“I love you. Never knew I could love someone so much. That someone could love me as you do.” He was still on edge every time the words touched the air, expecting a monster to leap out of darkness and snatch it away. But it wouldn’t. He had to believe that this time would be different.
“You smell like caramel.” Buffy hiccupped, nuzzling his throat. “Mmmm… want a bite. Want a bite from lovely Spike.” She snorted a giggle.
Well, there went his heart-felt words. “I’m cutting you off. No more liquor for you.”
“B-but… thirsty!” She wrapped her arms around his waist and began nibbling on his throat.
Well, he’d wanted a binge, he might as well have one. “What the hell, let’s make the most of it.”
*******
Spike woke up slumped against the side of the bed, wondering what had crawled into his mouth and died. And, oh yeah, Buffy’s face was nuzzling his crotch. And as far as he could see, the only things she was wearing were knickers and his duster.
“Must have been some night.” There was a faint memory of the two of them sneaking downstairs on a mission to liberate cookies from the kitchen. There had been a lot of giggling and hushing each other that was probably louder than if they’d actually talked.
He rubbed the remaining sleep out of his eyes, absentmindedly stroking Buffy’s cheek with his free hand.
She grimaced, further snuggling against his goodies.
“No poking,” she muttered sleepily, exhaling a hot stream of air that had him growing even harder.
“Buffy, wake up.” He wriggled a bit under her but then her hand joined the fray, petting and squeezing him through his jeans. Bloody hell.
His treacherous fingers snuck underneath the open flap of the duster to cup her breast. So warm and soft and if she kept squeezing like that, he would—
“Oww.” She rolled away and clutched her head. “Spike?”
“Right here,” he said, his voice strained.
“There are giant hickies all over your neck.”
“I wonder why,” he said, pinching her bum. She was worse than a vampire.
“Ow.” She swatted his hand away. “I’m dying.”
“Tell me about it.” He wondered whether she’d be up for a bit of morning delight.
Just then there were three brisk knocks on the door. “William, where the hell is all my scotch?”
Balls.
*******
They were sitting in the kitchen and Giles didn’t look very happy. “What were you two thinking? Drinking yourselves into a stupor now that Ang—”
“Don’t make a big deal out of it, yeah? It was my idea.”
“Honestly, William…” Giles got that disappointed look on his face that cut him right where it counted, and that made Spike angry. He wasn’t his bloody father!
“Mr. Giles, I’m sorry,” Buffy jumped in, reaching over to stroke Spike’s wrist, calming him down against his will. “We had a hard night and… everything’s just been so stressful lately. We didn’t think we’d be doing any harm. We’ll replace everything.”
Giles slightly deflated. “You don’t need to. I just… there is still research to be done. Plans to be made. We don’t know for sure where the ritual will occur.”
“We do,” Spike said, drawing older man’s rant to a stop. “Had a run in with Angelus’ girls yesterday.” His jaw was locked so tight he feared it would snap.
“Eline and… Drusilla,” Buffy added, her thumb tracing comforting circles on his skin.
“Oh dear, are you all right?”
Spike couldn’t bear the weight of Giles’ gaze. He stared at his hands instead. “’M fine. We’ve got some info at least. Apparently, the good old Hellmouth is right in the basement of the public library.”
“How do we know they’re not lying? Vampires aren’t exactly known for their honesty.”
“I know them. Both of them. Know what they look like when they’re lying, yeah? Not saying they’re on our side, but they’re not on Angelus’ either.” He heaved a sigh. “I think they’ve got something cooking up that depends on Angelus’ dusty demise, but we can’t really care at the moment. There are more important things to consider. We can’t afford to look a gift horse in the mouth, can we?”
“Be that as it may, I’m still going to check the location and do a magical scan, so to speak. Make sure it has the right… vibes.”
Spike nodded. “Sounds good.”
“Anything more you’ve learned?” Giles asked.
“He’s got a girl,” Buffy said, her shoulders drawn tight. “They said he has a Potential, the last one he needs. We have to get there and stop it before he can finish the ritual. Do you think it’s… one of the girls your friends have been looking after?”
Giles blanched and hurried towards the phone. From the stilted conversation and Giles’ expression, they soon learned that a girl was missing, with a lot of casualties surrounding her disappearance.
The day had taken a turn for the worse after that and the gathering tension made Spike ready to snap at any second. Once Giles had double checked the truth of the Hellmouth’s location, they went over the strategies and plans of the building, working out all the possible scenarios. All Spike wanted to do was just go and fucking do it. Slice to pieces anything in his way. This sitting around and reading and discussing every little detail to death was going to do him in.
Suddenly Buffy was taking his hand and yanking him to his feet. “We’ll be back in a minute.”
Giles nodded, distracted.
Once they were on the back porch, she turned to face him, her eyes narrowed. “You’re jittery.”
“Aren’t you?” he shot back, immediately pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Have you seen my lighter?”
“No.” She plucked the cigarette out of his hand and if it were anyone else, he’d have had their hide. “Spike, stop.”
“I’m worried, all right?” He lowered his voice, giving in to the urge to pace. “I’m terrified and there’s just… there’s no time left.”
She caught his wrist and brought him to a standstill, her hands sliding up to cup his cheeks, her eyes deep.
"Come on, you know you love a good fight.”
How was it that she was comforting him when it was she who had to deal the killing blow, who would be put in the most danger?
“I do. Love to fight with you by my side, you know that. This… it’s a bit much to take in, is all.”
She hugged him, her strength the only thing holding him together. “We have nifty weapons and there will be other guys to help fight off the minions.”
“And there will be two of us against him,” he added, resting his cheek on top of her head. How did she fit against him so perfectly?
“Those are the kind of odds I like.”
“How are you so calm?”
“Because I know we’ll win. Good guys always do.”
“Are you calling me a white hat?” He arched his eyebrow though she couldn’t see.
“Yup.”
“Want to go up to your room and let me show you how bad I can be?”
“Absolutely.”
*******
The day was here. Over twelve years since the day he’d watched his family die and now it was here. The day peace was within his grasp.
Was it possible for time to drag its feet like a convict trudging to the gallows, yet be alarmingly closer to the deadline every time he’d spare a glance at the clock?
He was bouncing on his feet, too wired to contain the energy, the axe in his hand a familiar, welcomed weight.
“Ready?” he asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Buffy answered, a bit pale but more determined that he’d ever seen her.
The sun had just dipped beneath the horizon but the air was still stuffy enough to make sweat drip down his spine. Wouldn’t do to take anything off though. Every layer was extra protection neither of them could afford to shuck off. He’d even made Buffy wear a Kevlar turtleneck. It would protect her from surface wounds though it wouldn’t do much if… no, there was no room for negative thoughts.
His front pocket buzzed. Without breaking his stride, Spike took his phone out and skimmed the message. “Giles and the others are in place.”
“Good.”
The public library was in sight now, a big looming building made of grey bricks and slender slopes in the style of Ancient Greece. Nothing unusual that would give a hint as to what it concealed. Nothing beside a nerd’s heaven.
“Do you hear that?” he asked, listening to the deafening sound of… nothing. A flashing sign announcing ‘Hellmouth here’ would hardly be found plastered on the entrance. It was in the subtle things, he noticed. The air was devoid of sounds, of life, as though a natural instinct drove even the smallest insects away from the Hell’s hot spot.
“I can’t hear anything.”
“Exactly.”
They traded a long look, saying a thousand words without a sound as they stopped across the street from the building. He didn’t know or care who took the first step. All that mattered was the feel of her in his arms, her lips soft and seeking his with a languid, thirst-quenching quality. It wasn’t hurried or desperate. They had all the time in the world.
He loved how she held nothing back, how her tongue swept the roof of his mouth as though relearning the texture of him anew. And her taste. Always something sweet on her. Sweet and addictive.
When they pulled away to pull in gulps of oxygen, it was too soon. He didn’t want to let go of her. “One more for good luck?”
She gave in and gave him a quick, deep kiss then his arms were bereft and she was giving him an impish smile. “Catch me if you can.”
He blinked and she was running across the street. Helpless to do anything else, he followed.
*******
Within minutes the others joined them just at the side of the library. Five men that had balls big enough to go against Angelus. With pride, Spike looked at the shortest person in their midst and smiled. Buffy had the biggest balls of them all.
“Uh, not to sound stupid, but what is the little lady doing here?” asked a befuddled dark-haired man Spike didn’t recognise.
All the heads swivelled to Buffy as though she’d only now appeared out of thin air, draped in a banner claiming ‘I love vamps’. Spike couldn’t help but snicker.
“I’m here to fight,” she said, her chin up in the air. “Got any problem with that, big guy?”
The man in question just raised his hands palms-up in a gesture of surrender, his gaze darting away from Buffy’s death glare. God, how he loved that woman.
“Buffy and Spike, you go in last,” Giles interrupted thoughts that had just started to swing past the naughty territory, drawing a stake out of his pocket. “Minions will probably be guarding the upper level. We’ll clear the path for you, create a distraction. Wait five minutes then run straight to the basement, no matter what’s happening.”
No matter what was happening. No matter if anyone was down on their knees about to be sucked dry.
Spike nodded. “Got it, tunnel vision only.”
“What about the alarms and the like,” said Danny, a man in his forties who was armed to the teeth. A bit of overkill, Spike thought. Then again, maybe he was the only one reckless.
“No police cars, so I reckon Angelus already took care of it,” Spike said, itchy to get the chat over with. “Think we should stop yammering and go in before our cover is blown to hell.”
They nodded, jaws clenched in foolish determination, weapons drawn and ready to slash.
Giles gave him a pointed look and said, “Five minutes. No less.” Then they were off and Spike felt Buffy’s hand tangle with his.
“I hate waiting.”
“Know how you feel,” he replied, lifting her hand to his lips so he could kiss her pale knuckles.
“I feel like I need to pee even though I peed just before we left.”
“Hold it in, love. You can piss all over his ashes when all of this is over.”
“Ew.”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”
If her clammy palm didn’t tremble against his, he’d never know she was afraid. That she was anything other than confident and laughing in the face of danger. But he knew better. Even as he drew her into his embrace and rubbed her back, he hoped to hell he was the one to take her place. Not because his entire adult life culminated into the single moment of revenge. No, it was because if anything happened to Buffy, nobody would be able to pick up the pieces again. She meant too much.
“I love you,” he said, inhaling her scent. Wildflowers and spring rain.
“I love you. I’ll show you how much once we get back to Giles’.”
“I’m holding you to that.” Maybe he didn’t have to let go of her. Maybe he could just keep her here and forget the rest of the world existed. Forget that they were standing on the precipice of the end if Angelus managed to best them.
“Five minutes is up.”
His throat felt too tight as she slipped free. The weapon in his hand felt more like a burden than a comfort.
“Let’s go be heroes then.”
She gave him a tight-lipped smile and strode towards the entrance.
Here they fucking came.
*******
The inside of the building was engulfed in the roar of battle. The sharp clang of blade meeting blade, the bang of guns packed with wooden bullets, cries, heavy breaths. Not waiting, Spike snatched Buffy’ hand and together they dashed through the fighting throng, navigating through the narrowly stacked bookshelves.
Something wet splattered on his cheek and he didn’t have to check to know it was blood. The vampire in question crashed to the floor and promptly turned into dust.
Tunnel vision.
“Spike, stop!”
“We’ve got to keep moving!”
She tore herself free and there was a horrifying moment of realisation before his brain snapped to action and propelled him in the direction Buffy had run. He was going to kill her, if she didn’t get the job done herself.
He jogged to the end of an aisle just in time to see her swinging the blade and slicing a vampire’s head clean of.
“Thank you,” said the fallen man on the floor, accepting her hand to get back to his feet. There were bleeding puncture marks dotting his throat.
“Buffy, we need to move.”
Her eyes darted between the two of them, communicating silently with the man whose life she’d saved before taking Spike’s hand and running down the aisle.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Was I supposed to let him die?”
“Buffy…”
“I know, I know.” They reached a wide staircase winding down to the basement, exchanging a frantic kiss. “I’m fine. We’ll be fine. Let’s get this done.”
They snuck down the stairs with him in the lead, their backs to the wall.
It was eerily quiet the further down they descended, as though the noise from upstairs didn’t disturb the air here at all.
The hair at the back of Spike’s neck stood up in warning, all his senses straining to tune into every little squeak, to catch every glimmer of a moving shadow.
It was empty.
They looked at each other, confused, but no less wary. There was supposed to be screaming, a girl twisting on a makeshift altar offered up for slaughter like a sacrificial lamb. There was nothing but books and dim, flickering light.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” she said in a hushed voice, their steps muffled by the carpet.
“I was.” Something was wrong here. Very, very wrong.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Again.”
Spike’s head snapped to the mass of shadows sliding off the man like rain would slide off a finely sculpted glass. He knew that voice. It was the soundtrack of his every nightmare, the little echo in the back of his mind taunting him every time he failed.
“Where’s the girl?” Spike asked, white-hot rage flaring through his veins.
“Why, she was hand-delivered right now.” Angelus trained his gaze on Buffy, a shark scenting fresh blood. Spike’s stomach turned. “I’ll never doubt you again, Dru.”
Only then Spike noticed the two vampires slink out of the shadows and block the stairs, the only exit there was.
“They brought toys,” Drusilla cooed and clapped her hands.
“Let’s see how you like them buried in your gut,” Buffy said, jaw set in stubborn determination.
“Oh, she’s sassy,” Angelus mocked, gliding closer and closer. “I like it. Makes the blood taste… spicy.”
All Spike wanted to do was scream the crimes Angelus had committed straight into the blighter’s arrogant face, yet his tongue wouldn’t form words. What did he expect to change if he did say anything? Acknowledgement that the pain Angelus had caused had a meaning? That Spike’s face was anything but a drop in the ocean of all the people whose lives Angelus had destroyed?
“You won’t get close enough to have a taste,” Buffy said, falling back into a fighter’s stance.
Angelus laughed as though he was incredibly delighted. “If you didn’t have to die, I’d think about turning you.”
“A bit old for you, isn’t she?” Spike went to stand by her side, his own weapon at the ready.
“Are you her lap dog? How… sweet.” Then like a viper, Angelus struck. Faster, harder than any human ever could. Spike ducked just in time to avoid having his head torn off with bare hands.
He dropped to the floor and slashed the blade across Angelus’ calf. It was like striking metal. Not a drop of blood. But it served its purpose as Angelus glanced down, distracted enough for Buffy to have a go.
There was an angry growl as Angelus slapped her blade out of its intended pathway, but the edge still skimmed his wrist. A drop of blood hit the floor.
“Well, fuck me,” Spike said as they all stared at the splash of crimson.
“What is that?” Angelus hissed, eyes glinting yellow as he lunged to knock the blade out of Buffy’s hand. She was quicker and ducked to the side, planting her boot in the back of Angelus’ knee. He stumbled forward, slamming headlong into a bookcase. It swayed dangerously as books met the floor with a thudding sound and fluttering of pages.
Angelus’ face distorted, bones shifting beneath skin as his demon pushed forward. He was losing control. And he was brassed off.
Spike was about to leap into his path when cold digits clamped around his forearm and pulled him back with such force he felt his feet leave the ground as he sailed through the air. His vision blurred upon the impact, his heart stuttering in panic. He had to get up, had to help Buffy.
“Bad William,” Drusilla said, as though reprimanding a small child for stealing a cookie. He barely got to his knees and she knocked him back down again, both her and Eline doing their best to keep him there.
He struggled, didn’t care that he was fighting like a sissy, biting and punching blindly. Fists met flesh, lungs expanded with desperate breaths, muscles strained to absorb the pain of being hit, fabric tore under clawing feminine nails.
“Would you stay the fuck down?” His sister, sounding at her wits’ end. Good, meant he was getting somewhere.
He finally managed to regain his footing, the flowing adrenaline spurring him to jump out of the deadly tangle. There was blood dripping down his split lip, his eye starting to swell, but he snatched his fallen axe from the ground, only to be yanked again by the flaring tail of his coat.
“No!” He whirled back and backhanded Eline across her face. “Let me go, you traitorous bitch.”
“This isn’t your fight,” Drusilla chimed in and he wondered how her elaborate hair could still be in place after their tussle.
“Don’t give a flying fuck.”
He could hear Buffy and Angelus somewhere in the distance, books falling, Buffy’s voice. She was alive. She was still…
His feet wouldn’t move, his gaze drawn to the sight before him. Nothing existed. Not his sister. Not Drusilla. Buffy was… bloody hell. She moved as if the blade was an extension of her arm, as if Angelus was anything but a centuries old vampire who had taken the lives of millions. It was almost dream-like, the way she twisted and danced around Angelus who was becoming thrown increasingly off balance. Angelus was never off balance, too sure of his spot on the top of the food chain, sure that nobody would dare to step into his way.
The rubies on the blade’s handle radiated with inner light.
“The Queen is moving into place,” Drusilla said, her gaze unerringly focused on the vampire and Potential locked in battle, submerged in a world of their own making.
Spike realised then that he was truly helpless. There was nothing he could do. His fingers clenched around the handle of his axe.
The kick Angelus dealt to Buffy’s midsection would have broken the ribs of a human, but Buffy only winced, grabbed his leg and threw him back into a tall bookcase. It tipped back, slamming into the row of books across the aisle and so it went, all of them tipping over like a row of oversized dominos. The last one smashed into the wall, plaster raining down.
Angelus had regained his feet as they squared off, unaware of their silent audience. He was preparing to strike when Buffy – faster than Spike thought was possible—swung the blade with increased velocity and buried it in Angelus’ gut. Everything became still, everyone’s gaze locked on the point of impact, Angelus’ demon face shrinking to reveal his human mask.
Blood sluiced from his gaping mouth, dark red and thick.
That’s when it happened. The first thing he noticed was Buffy’s struggle to let go of the weapon, the visible shudder skating across her skin, the widening of her panicked eyes.
Then there was light, blinding bright light erupting from the crimson gems to lock the two warriors in a cupola of translucent radiance. Before Spike made one step towards them, the light was sucked back in like a burst balloon, rippling over Buffy’s shaking hands to illuminate her veins from the inside.
The weapon fell from her limp hands and Buffy followed it, sinking to her knees.
“Buffy!” He ran, crashing to his knees next to her, cupping her cheeks, letting out an incoherent stream of words, terrified upon seeing her face tinted with deathly grey.
“Hurts…” Her hands clutched at her stomach as she started to cough blood.
“What’s wrong? Buffy, God, what should I do?” He urged her to lie back, not caring if there was a bomb ready to blast off next to his head. All he could see was her and the tense lines of pain around her bloodied mouth.
“Sp—“ Pupils constricted into tiny pinpricks, she stared over his shoulder.
There was a wet, coughing laugh as Spike twisted around.
“See you in hell, boy,” Angelus said, wielding Spike’s fallen axe with an unsteady hand.
His brain screamed at him to do something, but his reactions were one step behind and he only managed to raise his arm in defense. He expected pain, nerve endings screaming at the split flesh, but all he felt was heat radiating off his chest, all he saw was Angelus’ pale, befuddled expression as the axe failed to penetrate Spike’s flesh.
God, the heat… Spike’s hand flew to the place over his heart, felt the unyielding scrap of metal hidden in the inner pocket of his duster.
Buffy’s locket.
Spike snatched Angelus’ wrist and the point of contact turned unbearably hot, a ring on Angelus’ hand starting to smoke. The Gem of Amarra. Angelus hardly noticed Spike pulling it off his finger. His brain was strangely remote, quiet and distantly following his actions as he lifted the axe, jumped to his feet and brought it down in a slashing arc.
He didn’t even watch the dust settle before he was on the floor again, his fingers tangled with Buffy’s.
Her flesh was cold, her eyelashes casting dark shadows over the hollows under her eyes.
“No,” he whispered, hardly noticing that his tears were splashing down on her face. His trembling palm hovered over her parted lips, praying for a wisp of breath against his clammy skin.
There was nothing.
TBC
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Author's Chapter Notes:
And the probably most anticipated chapter of the story is here! I made it extra long for you. ;) Sorry I'm posting it a bit late, but I've been finishing my major project. My uni should understand that I need to write Spuffy lovin'. I'm busy here, uni lecturers!
Previously: Buffy and Spike met Dru and Eline. They traded scowls.
Big thanks to All4Spike for betaing! :)
Previously: Buffy and Spike met Dru and Eline. They traded scowls.
Big thanks to All4Spike for betaing! :)
Chapter End Notes:
There is only one chapter left after this. I felt quite a pressure when writing this chapter because I wanted to make it worth your while. I just hope you enjoyed it and if you'd be lovely and spare a minute to let me know what you thought (positive or negative), that would mean a lot. It really, really would.