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Her hands were shaking and she knew there was no way George wasn't able to feel the clamminess of her palms as they trembled in his grasp as he led her to the center of the ballroom. A a small group of people were gathered together, all partnered off and dancing, delicately weaving and turning to the beat of the music that was being played. She envied the grace and ease in which the movements came so easily to them and sent a silent prayer upward, hoping that she wouldn't make a complete ass out of herself.

George no doubt felt her nervous trembling and saw the light sheen of perspiration that had developed on her brow, her body's automatic response to the daunting task he had requested she perform.

He gave her hand a squeeze, his lips turning up into a reassuring smile which did little to ease her fears. Her meek nod and worried features had him reaffirming his first gesture with words.

"You'll do fine, lassie. It's easy ye ken." He stood opposite her, arms outstretched as he moved and adjusted her upper limbs into the proper positions. "Ye ken how te fight and this isnae different. Ye move. Ye lunge. Ye turn."

Because it's that easy! Right....I can do this... I think...

Every so slowly George took one step to the side, waiting for her to do the same before walking a step towards her and motioning with his head that she move backwards with him. When she did he stepped again and swayed them in a slow turn before repeating the sequence once more.

Her cheeks were hot, flushing a deeper shade of crimson each time that she cast her eyes southwards to watch George move his feet, quickly adjusting her own steps to follow suit and grateful that his arms were holding her upright as more than once did she stumble over his feet. It was a bit of a stretch for her to reach his shoulders; she being five-foot nothing and he being well over six feet tall, so instead he allowed her to lay her arm across his lowered forearm. More than once she stepped on his toes, hastily wincing her apology to him, to which he merely chuckled in response to, causing her cheeks flush further.

"I'm sorry! I'm terrible at this!" Buffy explained, stopping to step away from him moments later after squashing his feet with her own for what seemed like the tenth time in a matter of minutes.

Her palms were sweaty and she nervously ran them down the golden material of her dress before pushing the stray hairs from her face. Her brows furrowed together in worry and George was quick to dissuade her from her current thoughts.

"Dinnae fash yerself, lass. Ye dinnae learn te fight so easily at first I imagine."

"I did not, no." Buffy smiled, tilting her head as he offered her his arms once more. "You remind me a little of my father." George smiled at the faraway look she had in her eyes. "He had a lot of patience too when it came to teaching me certain skills."

"Aye, well I've got four bairnes te look after. If I dinnae have any patience I'd have gone grey years ago!"

The widening of his eyes and facetious tone at his own comment made her laugh. She could see in his eyes that he had struggled more than once to be patient with his children, just as her father had on more than one occasion struggled with her.

She could hear her fathers voice in her head as he reprimanded her for playing in their barn with the horses when she should have been practicing her movements. He had been so mad at her, but his resolve always crumbled when she looked up at him with big eyes. He would let out a huff of air, straighten his shoulders and march her back to the center of their training area.

Just as the memory whipped past her, her eyes lit up with an idea, lips forming a wide grin.

When her father was unable to direct her with words; most of the time chastising her for the way she held her weapons, he had opted to train alongside her instead. He would help guide and move her arms and legs into the positions and stances she needed to be in.

As George had mentioned earlier, dancing was the same as fighting and she hadn't learned to fight overnight. It had taken months and months of rigorous training to get to a level her father had been confident with and even now she was still learning new movements. Over the years her technique had changed and it was all due to the opponents she fought and the people who were continuing to teach her.

You have to adapt...

This time, however, her father wasn't there to guide her, instead in his place was George.

George, who was patiently waiting in front of her with a strange look upon his face. Dancing, just like fighting was a paired sport and just like her father had, she would let George guide her through the movements.

However unconventional her idea may seem to onlookers.

"Let's try this. Just until I can pick up the movements on my own." Lifting the base of her dress skirts, Buffy stepped up onto the tops of his feet and let the material fall back down into place covering them.

"I dinnae ken who taught ye to fight, but ye'll learn to dance plenty fast like this, lass."

His amused and rather boisterous laugh had her chuckling as well, taking up both of his offered arms and hands.

As George moved his feet; dancing a little faster this time, Buffy tried her hardest to keep her face passive and her feet atop his. They were indeed dancing together now, her skirts hiding their secret from the rest of the ballroom's occupants that she wasn't actually moving her own limbs. Laughter twinkled at the edges of both of their eyes and when her feet slipped off of his as he twirled them; nearly toppling over, they couldn't suppress their laughter any longer.

George helped right her back to a stand before she fell to the ground and in the next breathe was throwing his head back and laughing, one hand on his stomach while the other wiped tears from his eyes.

"Ye nearly went arse overhead, lassie. I havnae laughed so much since I was a wean!"

His hands imitated the motions of her fall and she couldn't stop the blush rising on her cheeks or stop the laughter that followed alongside his. People around them paused, heads turning as they stopped their own dancing to see what they were chuckling over and for the first time Buffy remembered where she was. She had been terrified at the mere thought of having to dance in front of a ballroom full of people, but now found herself carefree and realized that not once had she cast a glance to any of the guests around her.

She was simply enjoying the ever-charismatic company of George Dunbar.

"Right!" Her eyes were determined as she wiped the stray tears her laughter had produced from her face. "Let's see if I can do the movements without the added help this time."

"Aye, yer a determined lassie. Tis nae wonder ceannard likes ye so."

Stepping up to take her starting stance with a confidence she didn't know she possessed, she couldn't stop the blush that flushed her cheeks or the skip of a beat her heart made at the mention of her mate. George slowed their movements down again. She still had to glance at his feet a few times, but with each turn around the ballroom she grew more confident in her steps.

"However ye came to be here... I'm glad ceannard has found ye."

George spun her in a circle, a move that had her hair whipping about and a giggle bursting forth from her lips. She didn't know how to respond to his comment, her entrance into Spike's life having had its ups and downs, so she settled for simply smiling up at him instead.

George turned his head to a cluster of tables off to the side of the ballroom, a lovelorn look forming on his face.

"But te see her was te love her. Love but her, and love forever."

"What?"

"Ye've cast a wee spell on that man, lassie. I havnae seen that look in his eyes for a very long time." He dragged out his r's, his words holding a deeper meaning to them that she wasn't sure she understood.

Buffy turned her head and followed his gaze to the cluster of tables set to the side of the ballroom and saw Giles talking to George's wife Aileen. She met the eyes of her mate in the next breathe and was unable to stop the wide smile that lit up her face at the look of longing he was sending her.

"Ye ken he's a hard man, lassie... Ye make him smile... Dinnae ever hurt the lad..."

"I'll try not to." Her response was a whisper, their dance ending.

"I look forward te seein you again, but my wee bairn is restless in mo chridhe's arms." He bowed before her, taking her small hand in his and bestowing upon it a feather-light kiss. "Ceannards wifie."

Buffy let out a large breath she didn't know she had been holding, watching George's wide shoulders as he weaved his way from the dance area towards his wife. Suddenly feeling exposed and alone standing in the middle of the ballroom she quickly walked back to her table. Seeing Spike's chair next to hers vacant and not wanting to sit alone either, she grabbed her shawl that lay resting across the arm of her chair as well as her wine and walked towards the glass windowed doors that led to the terrace at the back of the ballroom.

She could hear the tenant's whispers and mummers as she passed them, keeping her eyes downcast and not yet ready to face greeting them without her mate at her side. Suddenly everything was too overwhelming, her chest tightening as she quickened her steps.

The cool air hit her first, making her shiver and wrap the shawl tighter around her small frame. She left the door slightly ajar behind her and stepped further onto the balcony that lead to the terrace below, welcoming the silence. The lights from the ballroom flickered behind her before she took a few more steps forward, letting the shadows of the night encase her.

Closing her eyes she basked in the vast nothingness that the balcony offered. There were no eyes here to stare at her, no questioning gazes, no murmured conversations or hushed comments. She was alone and for a fleeting moment Buffy thought herself rather sad for welcoming the silence.

For having wished for the momentary solitude.

"You'll always be alone."

Drusilla's haunting voice echoed in her head and she pushed the thoughts aside angrily, staring out into the night. She had not heard her voice in days, not since Spike had claimed her as his mate and broken the control Drusilla had over her. Buffy put the echoes of the voice down to her nervousness about the gathering and the way the tenants were acting around her. She was new to their world and no doubt they felt uneasy in her presence. Just as she was able to tell they were more than human, they too would feel that she was different.

The balcony overlooked a small garden terrace and with the fresh snow-fall they had recently had a blanket of white covered the ground, a few trees branches sticking out above the snow. A small pathway was illuminated by the fire-lit torches that lined it, their flames glowing bright in the dark.

Leaning her forearms onto to the railing in front of her Buffy didn't care how cold the snow was as it touched her skin. It reminded her of her mate and his cool touch. He always made a conscious effort to have their room warm for her, always standing near the fire before joining her in bed, warming his body in an effort to conceal the fact that he was dead.

A vampire.

"E-Elizabeth..."

Awareness tingled at the edges of her consciousness and ever so slowly she lifted her head to follow the voice that had spoken her name. The shawl covering her shoulders fell to the ground with a swoosh as she stood, arms falling weightless at her sides, her glass of wine spilling to the ground.

Heavy footfalls fell in the snow in the small gardens pathway as a man slowly trudged his way forward, limping. One arm was dangling from his side while the other reached across to hold it steady. Her eyes narrowed at the lifeless limb and followed the path of crimson that had been trailing behind in the snow in the mans wake. His clothes; what little he wore, were hanging off him in tatters, a scarring visual to see that the man clearly hadn't eaten properly in a very long time.

"Elizabeth..."

His voice was firmer, and she felt her eyes welling with tears at the sound. She shook her head, forcing back the tears that were blurring her vision. She had longed to hear that voice for years, unsure if what she was hearing was true. She had, but only faint memories and whispers of the sounds he produced.

"E-Elizab-"

The man stumbled through the snow almost lost his footing. She raced down the stone steps of the terrace to his aid within moments.

"Father!"

She didn't see the two figures patiently waiting at the end of the gardens path, gleams in their eyes. She didn't see the feral growl form across the man's face as he was denied access to the garden by a barrier that she couldn't see. She didn't hear the torchlight post being ripped from the ground or see the flaming torch being carelessly thrown into the snow. She didn't hear the windowed door above the balcony behind her open, nor did she hear the shouts of her name.

All Buffy saw was the limping figure of her father as he tried to make his way to her through the freezing snow. His hair was haggard and fell across his face in a tangled mass of knots, his face grim and dirty and covered in months worth of hair. Her fingers were trembling with joy and fear as she finally reached him, her arms encasing him in a large hug.

Her whole body was overwhelmed with the sensation that her father was finally; after years apart, standing before her.

So distracted in her thoughts she didn't hear the whizzing of metal slicing through the air or the loud roar that echoed in its wake.

"Fath-"

Her words died in her throat as something sharp and solid slammed into her gut. She tried to take in a breath, but found herself unable to do so. Arms still fastened tight around her father they fell to the ground in a thud.

She heard a woman laughing in the distance, shouts coming from behind her before the sounds of running feet punching through the snow was heard. Still struggling to breathe, her stomach on fire, she reached a tentative hand towards her fathers face. His eyes were as wide as hers, filling with tears as his lips moved to apologize to her. She tried to respond, but the only sound she could make was a muddle of gurgles as her lungs slowly filled with blood.





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