Copyright E. Marney 2001

Part 5 (Chapters 14-17)

"Willow, hurry!"

Willow had one eye on the battle between Buffy and the lion-demon, and one on the door that she was hacking with the axe. Hence the lack of aim and direction. Bits of door kept flying out towards her – she spat a wood shaving out of her mouth, and tried to focus on the door handle.

"Willow…" Tara was eyeing off the confrontation, and realised that Buffy was in trouble.

"I’m trying!"

"Willow, get me out of here now!" Giles’ voice was muffled, and he sounded desperate.

"Just..one..second…" Willow felt sweat come into her eyes as she swung with as much force as she could manage. Her shoulder muscles were screaming, and her ribs hurt from the belting she’d gotten earlier. She raised the axe in the air – it was damned heavy – and with a yell, brought it down at speed on the door handle.

The door collapsed towards her under the weight of the sand behind it. A huge tsunami of sand poured out into the hall – and with it, one very pissed-off and sandy Watcher. Giles coughed and spluttered, and tumbled to the floor at their feet. He blinked up at them owlishly, rubbing sand from his hair and clutching his ruined glasses in one hand.

"Well," he said, amidst coughs, "I thought I was going to be the first person in the annals of the Council to be buried alive in an office building."

Willow grinned, and helped him up. "Except, maybe, my cousin. He’s an accountant."

Tara grabbed Willow by the arm. "Guys, no time – look." She gestured towards Buffy, who was on her hands and knees in front of the demon and looked very much like she was about to have her face removed. Painfully.

"Oh no." Giles righted himself, and held out a hand towards the demon He barked a short command in a language Tara and Willow had never heard before, and the demon suddenly stopped, caught in the moment of raising one huge clawed hand. Giles turned to Willow.

"Quickly – it won’t hold forever. We need to do a revoking spell, send this thing back where it came from."

"Right with you," Willow nodded. She lifted her hands ceremoniously, and began a Latin intonation. Tara moved to join her in the spell, but Giles caught her by the arm.

"No – this is strong magic, and you don’t look up to it."

Tara looked distressed. "But she needs me for this!"

"It’s alright – I can help." He smiled at her. "Just send us some mental encouragement." Then he turned to stand by Willow’s side, and added his voice to hers.

A strange light began building between Willow’s hands, and she started to shake from the effort of controlling it. Whispering the words now, with Giles’ strong tenor blending with her own, she brought her hands closer, until the glow swirled into a incandescent ball of fire, swirling with power.

The demon suddenly faltered – the hand that it had raised came swooping down, only to find empty air in the place where Buffy had been. She had managed to crawl a few feet away, and was now watching the interplay between the demon predator, and the magic being created behind it. The demon turned heavily, as if feeling the build-up of power behind it’s back. When it had swung completely around to face the three of them, Willow lifted her hands before her.

"Giles!" she panted, grinding out the words between clenched teeth, "I can’t control it myself – need your will to focus…"

Giles brought up his own hand on one side of the lightning ball, and gripped the top of Willow’s shoulder. "I’m here. It’s ready – just say the words."

And with a grunt of effort, Willow let out a short torrent of breath, and an almost incoherent burst of Latin, and flung the ball towards the demon. It flew through the air, to explode on the creature’s chest, where the flames seemed to spread, licking around and encircling it’s body. Within a second, the demon was obscured by the whirl of burning energy, which whipped around and around it’s body, a hurricane of power. From inside the maelstrom, the demon let out a roaring shriek – anger, lust for the hunt, the kill now spoiled, the pull of the world from which it had come. The winding flood of energy around it built up speed, whirling faster and faster, seeming to lift wholly off the floor. And then it began sucking in on itself, imploding with an explosive snap, and with a final despairing scream from the demon, the mass of power whipped itself into a crack in the air. And was gone.

The seventh door slammed shut with a bang, and made them all jump.

Willow sagged back against Giles’ arm. "Whoah…that was heavy." She shook her head to clear it, and Giles sat her down on the floor, Tara coming to lend her support.

"It’s okay, hon. Hey, that was fantastic."

Willow let out a wobbling breath and grinned wryly at her. "Well, I don’t feel so fantastic, but I’ll live." She looked up at Giles, who had risen to stand. "Hey – thanks for that. I couldn’t have done it on my own."

Giles just shrugged with aplomb. "It was your spell – you did all the hard work, really. I was just tagging along." He smiled down at the two witches, then walked over to the site of the previous battle. The first thing to catch his eye was Xander, still looking mostly conked-out, his head at an uncomfortable-looking angle against one wall. Giles kneeled down, and shifted the young man into a better recovery position. Xander groaned.

"Well, hello there."

"Giles?" Xander squinted up at him woozily, then gave a feeble grin. "Hey, Giles! Glad to have you back. Or…are we both dead?"

Giles grinned in return. "No, Xander, we are both still very much alive."

Xander tried to sit up, and sank back down in a hurry. "Yeah, well, speak for yourself." He reached up one hand to rub at his forehead. A large red welt ran from beside one ear and down to his jaw. Giles put a hand on his arm to steady him.

"Hold still there a moment. I think you’d better rest for a while."

"Well, you’ll get no argument from me."

"Giles!"

The Watcher stood and turned, and had the wind promptly knocked out of him as Buffy barrelled into him with a huge bear hug. When she stepped back, however, his smile immediately turned to a frown.

"Buffy, you’re bleeding…"

"I’m fine, Giles, really – getting finer by the minute. Are you okay?" Buffy looked very much the worse for wear, with trails of blood down the side of her face, and a burgeoning bruise under one eye.

"I’m perfectly alright," Giles reassured her, "just a bit of sand in my pockets. But I think you had better –"

"No, I’m okay." She shook him off, and began scrubbing at the drying blood with the cuff of Spike’s duster. "Giles, it’s almost time for the eclipse – we have to get moving."

He gestured towards Xander and the two witches, and lowered his voice. "Buffy, I don’t think the others are quite up to this. Xander probably has a concussion, and Willow and Tara are just plain exhausted."

Buffy surveyed the scene and nodded decisively. "Okay - then I’ll go myself." And she walked forward, picked up the abandoned axe, and began moving towards the last door.

Giles grabbed her by the sleeve of the coat. "Buffy – remember what I told you. You can’t let your feelings influence your judgement. And you can’t face off against Satis on your own."

Buffy looked at him like he’d gone crazy. "So, what – after all this, we just let Spike die? You’re kidding, right?" He stared at her silently. Buffy’s mouth dropped and she went terribly quiet. "You’re not kidding."

Giles tried reasoning with her. "Buffy, it’s not a callous decision. We still have to open the last door – god only knows what’s behind it. We’ll be lucky to make it in time, if he’s not already dead. You look a complete mess, the others are had it, and we just don’t have the strength to come up against a…"

The expression on Buffy’s face was like she had just been kicked in the stomach. Her eyes went hard and when she interrupted him her voice was like cold steel. "Giles, I may be on my last legs, but I can still fight. And there is no way that I’m leaving Spike up there, to have his blood drained by that Egyptian bitch. No way. If it was any of you, I’d do exactly the same. So, you can come with me or not – it’s up to you. But I’m going – now." She whirled away from her Watcher, the tails of Spike’s leather coat spinning out behind her, and stalked towards the door.

With a sigh and a groan, Giles paused for the briefest moment before bolting to catch up with her.

"Buffy, wait!"

"What?" Her gaze was frosty.

Giles sighed. "I’ll come with you. You’ll need some support."

Buffy glanced at him like she was considering forgiving him. She pursed her lips. "Well…okay then. But no backing out at the last minute."

Giles gave her a look.

"And Giles –" Buffy swallowed, and stared resolutely forwards at the door. "-he’s not dead. I think I’d know if he were."

Giles just nodded sadly, and pushed the door before them open.

***

Dawn was watching the scene being played out in the mirror with mounting horror. Her running commentary to Anya got more and more anxious – by this point, Anya had closed the shop ‘for lunch’, mostly because she had her hands full keeping Dawn calm.

"Really, Dawn, I think Buffy must be nearly there by now. Spike will be fine. I mean, isn’t he always?"

Dawn was staring into the mirror with a stress-filled expression. "This isn’t a joke, Anya. Look, they’ve moved him into the antechamber and opened the ceiling. That Satis woman is talking to him… God, I wish I could hear what everyone is saying."

Anya frowned at the girl for a moment, then her expression changed. She leaned forward between Dawn and the mirror, catching her eye. "Dawn, I know you’re worried, but I don’t think that you can do anything. And worrying definitely won’t help. But Spike needs your support, and you have to stay calm, for his sake. So, buck up there, girlie – okay?"

With a sigh, Dawn looked at her, and nodded. Anya gave her an encouraging smile.

"That’s the way – stay plucky, y’ know. Like me." The ex-demon smiled jauntily. "You need to keep your own spirits up if you plan on boosting Spike’s morale." She nodded towards the mirror. "He sure looks like he needs it at the moment. ‘Cos, if I’m making this out right, I think that Egyptian woman is holding the disembowelling knife."

"What?!" Dawn returned her gaze to the mirror. It was true. Satis was holding an odd-shaped knife in one hand, and a bowl in the other, and was standing in a pool of sunlight midway between Spike and the bed, her head raised towards the ceiling. It looked like she was intoning the words to a spell – she was staring towards the sun, and as they watched, it was possible to see the sunlight dimming, the pool of light becoming a puddle, a sliver. Dawn checked her watch – it read 12:14pm. Only a few minutes before the totality of the eclipse.

"Oh god, oh god…" Dawn was shivering - the thought of watching Spike being cut up in front of her eyes was too much to bear. She began chewing her thumbnail ferociously, and scanned the image, searching for something, anything, that might delay the inevitable. She turned to Anya in despair.

"Where the hell is Buffy?"

***

Er, if it’s okay with you, I’d really like to be rescued now.

The unvoiced thought was uppermost in Spike’s mind as he watched Satis begin the ritual. He’d caught a glimpse of the knife and bowl in her hands – that couldn’t be good. In fact, it looked about as far from good as you could possibly get. He’d had his innards prodded a long time ago, in Europe, and he simply couldn’t emphasise enough how little he wanted to repeat the experience. He swallowed, and tried to push away the remembrance – if he never endured pain like that again, the memory would still be enough to make him gag.

She was still droning – hey, drone for as long as you want, there’s no hurry – in Egyptian, he realised. He recognised a few words here and there, something about purification, the sun, an offering. Well - that would be him, wouldn’t it. Shit, shit, shit. He started wriggling weakly on the gurney, testing the straps. Even if he’d been at full strength, the leather cuffs at his ankles, wrists and middle were wide and firm enough to prevent his escape. He was pinned down like a butterfly on a display card.

Satis made a gesture, and two technicians hurried forward to the bed. With infinite carefulness, they were propping up what looked like a skeleton with clothes. Must be the hubby – the lord she kept referring to. Spike had seen dead before, and this guy looked pretty much all the way there, a bag of bones in ceremonial robes. The technicians had positioned the body close enough to the side of the bed for Satis to reach in with ease, and had stuffed bolsters under the guy’s head and shoulders so he was half-reclining. He was a mummy-in-waiting, like something out of a Hammer horror film – all he needed now was a bit of Spikey goodness to bring him back to life.

Which the vampire was in no way inclined to donate. As Satis completed the purification spell, and turned towards him again, Spike mustered every ounce of energy that he had left in store, and began struggling in earnest. He’d be damned if he was going to make this easy for her – ‘generous’ his arse. If someone would loosen these straps, he’d be happy to show her his generous side…

And where the bloody hell was Buffy?

Satis looked down on her squirming victim with a dispassionate expression, her voice dreamy. "Don’t be afraid, William. Soon your struggle will be over – and we will all be free." She leant forward, placed one warm hand on his abdomen, and positioned the fish-tail shaped knife above his breastbone. Spike suddenly felt a terrible fatigue, radiating from his stomach and licking up through him – against his will, all the fight went out of him, and he went limp on the gurney.

Satis caught his eye as she lowered the knife. "Now –" Her lips curled up in a poisonous smile. "- this is going to hurt."

And as she pierced his skin with the blade to begin the first incision, Spike thought that that may have been the first honest thing she’d ever said to him.

***

"Well, what do you know," Buffy said humourlessly.

The final door opened onto a set of stairs. It looked like the internal fire-escape stairwell, concrete steps edged by a metal rail. She rolled her eyes at Giles.

"Couldn’t somebody have put up a sign, ‘this way to the bad guys’ or something? We started from the wrong side of the hall."

"It certainly would seem that way – or perhaps this is just the final prize. Buffy, you might want to wait for –"

But she had already lifted her battle-axe and started forward. Nothing happened to prevent her from moving up the stairs – it appeared that this was the only real exit from the Hall of Doors. Once she’d cleared the first few steps without obstacle, she called back to him over her shoulder.

"Come on, Giles – no time to chat." She began taking the steps in pairs, moving quickly.

Giles followed her, checking his watch. It was 12:15pm. They only had a few minutes.

At the top of the stairs was another fire-door. Buffy composed herself, getting her breath back and waiting for Giles. When he was by her side, she put a hand on the door rail.

"Okay, this is it. Are you ready?"

Giles nodded, and Buffy pushed the rail and stepped through the door.

They were at the head of a long room, lit by torches, with carved walls and strange decorations of reeds and statues. But Buffy’s attention was immediately drawn by the figures at the end of the room. A couple of labcoated lackeys, clustered around the sides of a huge bed. A body in the centre, it’s robes gleaming in the low light. Satis, wearing a cream-coloured, filmy gown, holding something in her hands, and leaning over a bleached body on a metal gurney –

Spike.

Buffy felt her insides do a strange flip-flop. She rolled the axe in her right hand in a smooth baton-twirl, and called out, her voice ringing down through the chamber.

"Hey, is this like an Egyptians-only thing, or is it an open party?"

There was a satisfyingly immediate reaction. Satis looked up – Buffy saw the glint of a knife – and exhaled in a quick hiss that travelled the length of the chamber. Buffy began walking towards the group, the axe swinging comfortingly in her hand. Obviously they hadn’t been expecting her company. Well, she loved to gate-crash.

"Slayer…" Satis breathed the word with menace. If she’d looked down, she would have seen Spike close his eyes and mouth the same.

Buffy grinned as she approached. "Yup – got it in one. Congratulations." Her eyes went frosty as she focused on the woman. "We got through your goddamned obstacle course downstairs. So now, why don’t you just leave my friend alone and come on over here for a bit of, you know, girl-talk." And she spun the axe in a lazy arc.

***

Dawn let out a relieved whoop of breath and happiness, and turned to grab Anya’s arm.

"Anya, she’s there – Spike, Buffy’s on the way, just hold tight." She turned to the demoness with an over-flowing grin. "My god, that was close."

Anya nodded towards the mirror. "They haven’t rescued him yet. Don’t get too excited, you don’t know what that Egyptian woman is capable of."

But Dawn wasn’t about to have her enthusiasm dampened. ‘Whatever it is, I’m sure Buffy can deal – she is the Slayer, after all."

Anya pursed her lips, contemplating the action. "Desperate people can do desperate things, Dawnie."

***

Satis straightened, tried to compose her face, and bit out a strangled word. "Ushabti!" From the shadows by the bed, the hulking security guard emerged, and began moving forward.

"Giles…"

"Right here." His voice sounded quietly behind her other shoulder. "Let me deal with this."

He stepped around Buffy to face off against the creature, holding up one hand and muttering. The creature faltered in it’s tracks, it’s steps suddenly leaden, like it was pushing through knee-high molasses. Satis realised that more help was needed as Buffy began to close on her.

"Technicians!" She shrieked out the command, and the labcoats began scurrying. As Buffy started clobbering them left, right and centre, the priestess tried to return to her work, lowering the knife. The blade in her hand bit deep – dark red blood swelled out of the incision to trickle down the side of Spike’s chest. There was a tiny rasping sound as the knife scraped bone, and the vampire gasped in pain.

Buffy flipped a white-coat over her head, and watched from her half-kneeling position on the ground as the guy tumbled into the wall. She’d heard the gasp from the gurney, and her breath caught – something inside her screamed out for the vampire’s suffering to stop. And suddenly she hated Satis ferociously, consumingly, with a purity that blinded her to her surroundings. She rose to her feet, her face a stony mask, and went to move forward.

"Buffy, look out!" Giles voice sounded abruptly behind her, and she turned in time to get a hard punch right in the face. The ushabti had fought off some of the effects of the magic and was standing like a rock to her left. Her eyes still watering from the punch, she swung her axe towards it, but it blocked her blow with one arm, and pummelled her in the stomach. She fell to the floor, the wind knocked right out of her, and her only weapon spun away a few feet towards the wall.

"Ah, help?… Giles, need a little help here –"

Giles ran forward and hoisted the axe up off the floor, made a swing at the ushabti, which was parried away. He received a thump to the side of the head for his trouble, which tumbled him to the floor. He raised himself to his knees weakly.

"Buffy!"

She stood in time to see Giles turn the axe from where it was lying on the floor, and skid it over towards her with a forceful push. With a blow from the ushabti coming her way, she was forced to fling herself in a one-handed cartwheel over the creature’s arm, grabbing for the weapon as she came right way up. With a grunt of effort, she raised the axe and brought it down on the creature’s shoulder, cleaving it’s arm from it’s body. The arm dropped onto the floor, where it twitched instinctively, the fingers still opening and closing. There was no blood – the wound at the creature’s shoulder was just a jagged hole, with ikor the colour and consistency of mud.

"Weird," she muttered. But there was no time to contemplate – with a strong thrust, she drove the blunt head of the axe into the ushabti’s stomach, and it fell over onto it’s back with a resounding thump. It still didn’t look like it was about to stop anytime soon – it was writhing on the floor, trying to find leverage with it’s remaining arm – but it would be at least a few seconds before it got up again. She’d bought herself precious time. She turned her head back to Satis.

This was not the way it was ordained. The priestess was trying to concentrate on the sacrifice, while keeping an eye on the battle in front of her, and on the sliver of sunlight still on the floor. There was a gleam of sweat on her perfect brow, and her hands were faltering with the knife, consumed by the awareness of the impending tragedy, the brief moments left before time ran out. The moment of the emersion was their only chance. To be thwarted at the point of her lord’s renewal, by a mortal…surely the gods couldn’t be so cruel? The reality of the vampire’s white body beneath the knife, the crimson blood-trails, blurred in her vision as unbidden mental images of her husband rose in her memory. His proud face, his dark eyes, a haughty smile on his lips as he told her of his longing for her, how he’d waited… He waited still. He needed to be restored – had to be restored…

The mechanics of the ritual were irrelevant – all she needed was the final heart’s-blood of the sacrifice, administered in the next few moments…and her lord’s rising power would do the rest. The heart’s blood - she would have to break the ribcage and squeeze out the essence from the heart itself. Wild-eyed, she raised the puseshkuf knife high in the air.

Spike’s blurred vision was focused solely on the shining curve of the blade. Everything else seemed to have receded into blackness, lost in the fog around this single, gleaming point. He knew dimly that the Slayer was there, in the background somewhere, but he also realised that, from such a distance, she would be too late to stop the knife from falling. He felt sadness, and regret – not really what he’d expected to feel, in these final moments. Strange. And he thought, with faint surprise, that it was a load of bollocks, what they said about your life flashing in front of your eyes. He wasn’t thinking at all about the things he’d done. Only about the things he’d neglected to do. And his final act, in this world at least, was to consciously fill his lungs, and release a final, sighing breath.

"No!!" Buffy heard herself shout out the word, was shocked to hear the anguish resonating through her voice, and the helplessness. She was at least twenty-five feet away from the gurney – too far to run, too far to do anything but watch as Satis raised the knife to the darkening sky and prepared to plunge it down into Spike’s chest. Her hands curled convulsively into fists – and that’s when she felt the warm wooden handle of the axe. After that, her body went into automatic.

She took a short step as her shoulders turned, and her right arm went back with the axe. With a sharp twist, her whole body uncoiled like a whip to send the weapon whistling through the air, spinning end over end. It felt like time had stopped as the sun finally went completely black, the chamber lit only by eerie moonlight, and the axe whirling in slow motion, around, and around, and slicing through the air above the gurney, through the coolness of Spike’s final sigh, colliding with the priestess at full deadly speed, knocking her backwards with the resounding and unpleasantly wet sound of metal carving into bone and flesh. There hadn’t even been time for her to scream.

Buffy sagged suddenly where she stood. Somewhere in her brain, it occurred to her that she’d just fought more battles in a few brief hours than she had in a week of patrols, and the energy in her body started dribbling away. Her breath trembled as she exhaled – she hadn’t even realised that she’d been holding it in. Then her vision cleared, and she took one faltering step towards the gurney up ahead, then another, stronger, then she was running –

Spike looked up at the sky through the opening in the ceiling, watching the sun for the first time in over 180 years. In spite of being covered by blackness, it looked pretty damn good. Little tendrils of fire skipped around the outside of the moon’s umbra, and from where he was lying it looked rather like a bright ring of diamonds, sparkling magnificently. But it couldn’t compare to the next vision he had: Buffy Summers, her face dirty and bruised, damp with sweat, her hair limp and straggling out of her ponytail, black ribbons of blood caking from her forehead down her cheek to her jaw, and eyes wide enough to engulf him whole. He turned his head and blinked wearily at her, moved his dry lips with effort, and spoke for the first time in forever.

"What kept you?"

Buffy realised she was gaping at him, closed her mouth, swallowed around all the things she wanted to say, and tried to keep her tone even.

"Traffic. This is L.A., you know."

"Actually, I had no idea." It took an effort to tear his eyes away from her, but he flicked his gaze briefly back up to the sun before looking back at Buffy. "See the eclipse? Not bad, hey?"

Buffy looked quickly up at the conjoined sun and moon, watched as the sun threatened to bleed out from behind it’s shadow, then turned to survey Spike. He looked awful. His eyes were sunken and dark, and his skin looked like ivory, the jut of his cheekbones even more pronounced than usual. His hair was a dirty-white tousled mess. And she couldn’t remember being happier to see him. An irrational, irrepressible urge rose in her, she found it impossible to hold back. Before she could allow herself to think too hard she moved, laying her palm against his cheek and gathering the air between them as she kissed him, a delicate meeting of his dry, cool lips with her warm sweet ones. She closed her eyes, and felt all their points of contact in one brief, still moment – the smooth cheek under her fingers, his jaw filling the tender hollow of her palm, the curving join of his neck under the skin of her wrist, the feel of his lips on hers, full and soft. All this she absorbed in the space of a second, and in the next second, she had raised her head, removed her hand, and filled the gap in between with her exhaled breath.

They both stared at each other. The sun broke the spell, tearing away from the moon’s embrace to pierce the sky with light, and send a gleaming line down the edge of the gurney. Buffy recovered her senses and moved to unbuckle Spike’s restraints. "Let’s get you out of here."

He wasn’t really in a position to assist. Once the straps had been released he tried to roll and sit, but turning on his side was all that he could manage. He let his head rest on the cold metal, taking in the side-on view – he felt like he’d been flat on his back for a hundred years. And that it would take him another hundred years just to get up.

A low rumble sounded abruptly. Buffy felt it in the soles of her shoes and looked around the chamber. The decorations were swaying gently, and then the rumble came again, and the hair on the nape of her neck rose in response. Suddenly, forty-one floors of office building didn’t seem all that stable. She pulled on Spike’s arm.

"Spike, we have to move – like, now."

"Definitely. As soon as I’ve had a little sleep…" He closed his tired eyes.

The rumble returned, louder, and the gurney rattled. Buffy lifted Spike’s arm up and onto her shoulders, forcing him to loll into a slump. "No sleeps yet – come on, I need you to move here…" But he was a limp weight, and she was exhausted. She needed help…Giles. She needed Giles. God, she’d forgotten about him. She cast her eyes around, and suddenly saw him, kneeling beside the bed, looking at the corpse of Satis’ husband. He was muttering something, and then she saw him spit onto his fingers and wipe them across the dead man’s mouth. She called out, interrupting his intonations.

"Giles! We need to get out of here!"

Giles glanced at her briefly, then made a final prayer in front of the body, and rose to his feet, hurrying over to Buffy’s side.

"Sorry, yes, you’re right, this building isn’t safe." He looked at Spike, taking in the deep cuts on the vampire’s chest, and his general state of semi-consciousness. "He’s not looking too healthy there, is he – here, I’ll take one side, you take the other." They man-handled the vampire off the gurney; Spike’s knees promptly gave out when his bare feet touched the floor.

"This isn’t going to work," Giles noted. "Just let me…" And with a grunt, he hoisted the vampire over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

Spike lifted his head weakly, and found himself looking at the floor. "Can walk myself…" he mumbled, before sinking back down.

"Sure you can, tough guy," Buffy said drily. She nudged Giles’ elbow, motioning towards the bed. "What’s with the spit and polish for the dead body?"

Giles looked over at the still form with a pitying expression. "Oh, I just said a few of the ritual prayers for Egyptian burial. The emersion was still active – it just felt like the right thing to do."

Buffy looked back at the shadow on the other side of the gurney, caught a glimpse of cream linen and redness, which she was glad to pass over quickly. "What about her?"

Giles’ face hardened. "I’m afraid I can’t quite bring myself to pray for someone who tried to bury me alive. Besides, it was too late for her – the prayers need to be said at the moment of death. And Aman Talis has only just passed away." He indicated with his eyes, and when Buffy looked back at the bed, she was startled to see a human-shaped pile of sand amidst a flattened array of ceremonial robes.

The rumble growled again through the building, the pillars of the bed swaying. It was definitely time to leave. Giles hefted Spike’s drooping form onto a more stable position on his shoulder, and then he and Buffy began making tracks towards the doorway at the end of the hall. On the way, they passed other smaller drifts of sand, white coats sagging amongst them, and a large mound of mud.

Buffy inclined her head towards them. "The lackeys?"

"Yes," Giles nodded. "And the ushabti. They fell to pieces, literally, when you killed Satis. She appeared to be holding everything together with her will alone, as her husband’s power faded. And not just her collection of henchmen, it seems." The floor beneath them began shuddering as a counterpoint to his words.

"Time to get the hell out of here," Buffy agreed. They reached the fire-well, and began making their way down the stairs to the Hall of Doors. They made the exit in time to see Willow’s face come peering around the corner. Her face broke into a grin when she spotted them, and the grin widened when she realised that the jeans-clad legs over Giles’ shoulder belonged to Spike.

"Buffy! Giles! I guess this means you killed the bad guys, right?"

Buffy nodded and smiled at her, happy in spite of her weariness. "Yup, wiggy Egyptians are gone and forgotten." She emerged into the hallway, and took stock - Xander was sitting propped against the wall, and Tara was sitting beside him. They both smiled in her direction and Tara used the wall to shakily rise to standing.

"Hey, you made it. Not that there was any doubt about it or anything, but we were worried."

Buffy returned her smile. "Yeah, sorry to leave you guys out of the action. But things got kind of complicated, and Giles didn’t think you looked so hot. Xander, are you okay?"

He nodded, and winced. "Yeah – major headaches aside, I’ll survive." He eyed the surroundings as the walls and floor began to tremble again. "But not if we don’t get the hell out of this building – soon. As a qualified professional, I can tell you that shaking walls are usually a bad sign."

"No kidding," Buffy countered. She squatted beside him and put a hand around his waist. "Can you walk? I don’t like my chances of carrying you out of here, and Giles has already got a passenger." She nodded towards her Watcher, who was listing a little under Spike’s weight.

Xander looked over, eyebrows raised. "So you managed to save the Big Bad, huh? Well, I don’t know whether to congratulate or commiserate…" Then he caught Buffy’s disapproving expression. "Alright, alright – I’m glad he’s okay. And yes, I think I can walk." Buffy helped him to his feet – he was wobbly, but standing.

"I think you’ll do fine," Buffy said. Then she surveyed the others. The vibrations of the building punctuated her words. "Okay, people, we’re moving out. Giles, I guess our only option is the lift again, huh?"

Giles had one hand against the wall to steady himself. "I know it’s not typically safe to use in an emergency, but yes, I don’t think we’ll get down forty-odd floors of stairs in time. Buffy, you take the lead. Willow, are you and Tara able to support each other down?"

Willow nodded. She looked to be nearly recovered, and Tara was holding her arm.

"Then –" Giles paused as the strongest growl yet ran through the hall. Bits of plaster fell from the ceiling. He motioned towards the lift with his head. "Then I suggest an immediate evacuation."

***

Spike closed his eyes a little harder. He really didn’t feel like communicating right now, even with a nod and a wink. He was busy.

Not now, little Bit, he thought gently. Everything was pleasantly quiet; he didn’t want the mood broken.

He did smile then, and opened his eyes briefly to acknowledge her.

And then he did shake his head a little. No, it hadn’t been annoying. In fact, it had been the complete opposite. She’d been his voice of reason there for a while, and he’d needed it. He let a soft smile play over his lips.

Then there was a faint tingle, a ringing in his ears, that faded quickly to nothing. A shiver went through him – an unknowing observer might have thought he felt chill from the breeze.

"Hey – you okay?" Buffy’s voice floated gently down.

He nodded and shifted a little. "Absolutely." Then he closed his eyes again, and let his head sink down further into her lap. For some reason, the gods were being kind. He was stretched out sideways in the backseat of Giles’ sports car, using her thighs as a pillow. He felt rung out, exhausted beyond measure, half-dead from hunger – and peacefully happy. Any happier, and he’d be purring.

Buffy used her free hand to lift the collar of the leather coat draped over him, and pulled it up over one exposed shoulder.

"Everything alright back there?" Giles called softly over his shoulder. His eyes were focused on the road in front, the whizzing traffic markings and the countryside they passed, darkening now as dusk settled in. Occasionally he cast a curious look into his rearview mirror, observing the silent pair behind him.

"We’re fine, Giles – everything’s fine." Buffy smiled into the gathering dark, let her eyes wander to the blur of road ahead, as she curled Spike’s hair absently between her fingers, threading the fair strands in and out in a slow hypnotic movement that eased her mind, relaxed her body and breathing, and slowly lulled her into rest.

The car sped on, into the gloom.

***

They’d made a stop before they hit home, pulling in to the hospital and seeing Willow, Tara and Xander inside – Giles was worried about Xander’s possible concussion, and thought it best that he get checked out before morning. Willow was relieved that they she hadn’t been pulled over for driving without a license, and she and Tara decided to leave Joyce’s car in the hospital parking lot and take a taxi home.

Xander was admitted for x-rays – Giles called Anya from the payphone in the lobby, and while they waited, Buffy made a quick stop at the blood bank, calling in a favour there to collect as many bags of O-neg as she could conceal under her sweater. By the time Anya arrived to wait for Xander, Buffy was back in the car, curled up in the front seat and waiting dozily for Giles to return, reluctant to disturb Spike in the back, where, after slurping hungrily through two bags of blood, he’d fallen into a heavy, recuperating sleep.

They had no choice but to disturb him, however, by the time they hit the Magic Box. Giles opened up the shop through the back-alley, and with the last of her strength, Buffy helped Giles haul the vampire’s dead weight into the training room and onto a pile of mats and blankets. Considering the condition he was in, Giles thought it was the safest place for him until he recovered, at least partially. Buffy fussed around, making him as comfortable as she could, and Giles left her to it, heading for the front of the shop; Buffy heard the distinctive tinkle from the office of Scotch being poured into a glass.

Spike stirred under the blankets as she knelt on the floor and tucked a folded towel under his head for a pillow. Eyes closed and only half-awake, he nuzzled her hand as she bundled him under the covers. It felt kind of strange, but she didn’t draw away immediately. She let her eyes travel over the length of him, quiet and camouflaged under the layers of blankets. When her gaze returned to his face she was a little startled to see him looking at her.

"I need to say thank you." Spike’s voice was soft and faintly rough, and he still seemed only half-alert.

Buffy gave him a polite smile. "You’re welcome." She swallowed, and waved a hand towards the supplies of blood, piled beside the mats on the cool floor of the training room. She suddenly felt the need to be efficiently preoccupied. "There’s more blankets if you need them, and the blood’s over there – I can put some of it in the office fridge if you want, but you should probably get some more into you now." She paused from playing nurse for a moment, and tilted her head almost shyly towards him. "Are you feeling any better?"

"I’ll recover," he rasped. "Nothing that a few gallons of blood, a carton of cigarettes, and a half a bottle of scotch won’t fix." He eyed her searchingly. "How about you?"

"Me? Oh, I’m fine. Although I could do with about a week’s sleep. Giles is going to take me home in a second." She looked him over. "Will you be okay here on your own?"

"No problem." Spike closed his eyes again, the fringe of his lashes darkening his cheeks.

Buffy felt like she was doing the wrong thing by leaving him to recover alone. She spoke apologetically. "I mean, I could bring you over to my place, but I think my mom would probably –"

He interrupted her curtly. "Like I said, no problem."

She sighed, feeling uncomfortable. Something felt unfinished. But she had tucked Spike in, and her job was done – she began to get up to leave, when Spike suddenly snaked one arm out of the covers and grabbed her by the wrist.

"Buffy – why did you kiss me, back in L.A.?"

She flushed, and spoke wryly. "Well, don’t get all hot under the collar – it may not happen again until the next solar eclipse." But his eyes were still burning at her. She swallowed, and searched for an answer. "Why? Actually, I – I don’t know."

He examined her face, then nodded to acknowledge her confusion. Then an arch smile began lifting his features. "Maybe I should get kidnapped and tortured more often."

She couldn’t help it – a corner of her mouth rose in response. "Maybe. If you keep making me lose at poker."

He grinned then, and exerted a little pressure. Buffy felt herself gently tugged down closer, and had to bring her other hand onto the floor for support. This was too close for comfort, but she was letting it happen regardless. His gaze was travelling over her face, returning again to her eyes, her lips. She felt her breathing quicken helplessly. She shouldn’t be doing this…

"You haven’t got a poker face," he growled softly. His face was so near now, she could almost feel the vibration of his low words in the air. She licked her lips nervously, replied in the same quiet tones.

"Oh really? And who says I –" Then she was cut off by his lips. Oh, the softness – she made a deep, inarticulate noise in her throat, and closed her eyes. From the first moment, and as the kiss deepened, she felt like she had molten lava in her veins. Their lips pressed, caressed. His tongue flicked out to touch the inside of her mouth, and she shivered convulsively.

The kiss built in intensity. His thumb began making slow, erotic circles on the inner skin of her wrist, and when she grazed his lower lip with her teeth, he gasped against her mouth.

Madness.

The clink of glass from the front room returned them to their senses, and Buffy pulled away like a startled deer.

"Oh god."

They stared at each other – her face was flushed with heat, and Spike’s expression was hungry with desire, disappointed, shocked. Buffy closed her eyes, willing the glorious sight away, and shook her head to clear it. She began stammering as she started to her feet.

"Oh. Oh, um – I’ve gotta, um, go… I mean, I’ve gotta –" She looked around wildly. The door to the training room was clear - Giles was still safely out front. "Um, I need to lie down – no!" She saw Spike’s grin emerging. "I mean, not here – no, I mean, I need to get some sleep. As in, rest. That’s it, yeah – I need to rest. And you should too – rest, I mean."

"Well, if you say so," he drawled, "but you make it a bit hard." He had moved one arm up to cushion his head, and was grinning at the sight of her muddled performance, thinking that she looked lovely, so hot and bothered.

Buffy stopped. "I do?" She leaned closer a little, hypnotised by the residue of longing in his eyes. Then the implication filtered through. "Oh, goddammit Spike! You… I…" She straightened and closed her eyes, clapped a hand to her forehead. "I am very tired. I am obviously going crazy from lack of sleep. And you –"

"Yes?"

She waved a hand in front of her as if to ward him off. "You are obviously delirious. So now, I’m just going to go home, and you are going to stay here, and… I’ll see you when I see you." She finished with a flourish and began backing off towards the door to the front of the shop.

"Then I’ll see you soon." His low whisper carried across the distance to her ears.

"Giles!" Buffy called out a touch too loudly. Her Watcher popped his head out from around the office door, then circled the counter and came over.

"Yes, Buffy? Are you ready to go?"

"Definitely." She nodded emphatically. Giles looked at her curiously, then let it go, reaching for his car keys.

"Well then, I’m at your service. Let’s get you home before you drop."

"Please."

When they turned back through the training room to let themselves out, Spike was already curled up again in his blankets, his face burrowed into the covers.

"Will Spike be alright there, d’you think?" Giles asked quietly.

Buffy nodded again. Her look back at the vampire was touched by something unfathomable. "He’ll be fine. I just – I think I really need to go home."

"Certainly." Giles ushered her towards the car. "Here – get in. You’ll be home and asleep in no time."

"Sure." Buffy wished that were true, but given what had just happened, thought it was highly unlikely.

He put the car into reverse, then pulled out of the alley. On the way to the Summers’ house, Giles wondered a little at Buffy’s silence, but blithely put it down to fatigue.

***

It had been nearly a week. They all seemed to have recovered okay. Xander spent a few days in bed, after a day in the hospital under observation; Anya didn’t complain. Willow and Tara were up and about, and went to visit Giles on the Monday, to rehash the magic used in the Hall of Doors – stuff like that could keep them busy for weeks. Spike crawled back to his crypt, with a little help from Dawn, who went in early and cleaned up his whole living room, leaving a silly Hallmark get-well card on top of the TV. Buffy slept for almost two days, hung around with the others at the Magic Box during the day, and tried to make herself scarce by nightfall, patrolling the cemeteries furthest away from Spike’s side of town.

She was brooding.

She covered quite well, she thought. No one seemed to notice the ‘Buffy – With a Little Extra Cheerful On Top’ routine, or else they put it down to a post-Satis sense of victory that they all seemed to be enjoying.

Only now it was Friday. Poker night.

Buffy umm-ed and ahh-ed about whether to go. She could beg off, say she had something else to do, like…oh, shopping, or maybe a hair appointment. Or, at a pinch, she could say she had to study. On second thought, that would never wash. Well, she could say…

"So, you going tonight?" Dawn’s face appeared around the corner of the door to her room. Buffy looked up from her contemplation of her bedroom wall.

"Hm? Oh, I don’t know, I think I’m a little tired…" She tried to distract herself, going to the closet and opening it up.

"You should go." Dawn stated. She wandered in, uninvited, and plonked herself down on the bed. "I’d go, if mom’d let me. It sounds like fun - playing cards, hangin’ out. Eating junk food. It’s gotta be better than Friday night TV."

Buffy shrugged. "Maybe."

Dawn looked at her. "Really – you should go." She began twisting a strand of hair around her fingers, watching her sister. "You always have a good time. And then you could just get it over with – you know, stop avoiding Spike and all."

Buffy turned slowly, a shocked expression on her face. "Come again?"

Dawn continued nonchalantly. "You could stop avoiding Spike. Like you’ve been doing all week."

Buufy’s tone was icy. "And what gave you the – incorrect, I might add - impression that I was avoiding Spike?"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Please. I don’t know about the others, but it’s been pretty obvious to me. Come on, Buffy, I’m your sister. I know you think I’m just a kid, but I’m not blind." Which was certainly true. She hadn’t revealed anything to Buffy about her little foray into magic, or her role in the last adventure. She’d sworn Anya to secrecy, laying it on thick about how she would get into trouble at home, and now she was happy she’d gone to all the effort.

Buffy was ominously silent. Dawn got worried that she’d taken her match-making notions just a little too far. She looked at her sister carefully, then lost patience and decided to jump in with both feet.

"Geez, Buffy – stop making it into such a big deal. He’s a guy – okay, a vamp-guy, but nothing’s perfect. You’re a girl. Sorry, a woman. You like each other – kinda weird, but not totally out of the realms of possibility. I mean, you do have a lot of wiggy stuff in common." She leaned back on the bed, pleased with her concise summation of the facts. She knew she was on thin ice here, but she threw it in anyway. "You know, I think you’d make a kinda cute couple."

Buffy’s seething boiled over at that final goad. "A cute couple? A cute… Dawn, do the words ‘Vampire Slayer’, as in ‘I kill vampires for a living’ have any meaning for you whatsoever? Are you insane? Oh, I forgot, you are insane – you’re a teenager."

Dawn folded her arms over her chest. "God, touchy much. Don’t have a big hissy fit. I just thought that you and Spike –"

Buffy’s voice rose. "Me and Spike? Dawn, there is no me and Spike. Can’t you get that through your head?" Her face was colouring with anger.

Dawn finally got riled. She stood up, glaring at her sister, her own voice rising to respond. "Well I will if you do first! You don’t get it, do you? He cares about you, Buffy. And you care about him, or you wouldn’t have gone running off to the rescue. What more do you want? Avoiding him won’t help. It doesn’t have to be so complicated - just deal with it." And she stomped out of the room, slamming the door as she went.

Buffy stood rooted to the spot, mouth agape and still fuming. Her eyes were fixed to the spot where Dawn had been a moment before, and mentally she was playing Dawn’s words over again in rewind. He cares about you…You care about him…Just deal with it. And something triggered inside of her.

With unseeing eyes, she turned back to the closet and removed jeans, a t-shirt, a jacket. Then she dressed hurriedly, grabbed her bag, and headed downstairs.

From her window, Dawn watched Buffy leave, a gentle grin on her face. It looked like her idea had worked – she must still have a little bit of that Goddess-wisdom mojo. She sighed and crossed her fingers. Maybe now there would be some peace in the house.

***

Buffy arrived at the Magic Box a little late. She walked up to the door, and through the picture window she saw the dim lights on, the group gathered around the table, heard the sounds of laughter. Wait a minute – she counted figures and realised that everyone was there… except her and Spike. She sighed against the glass. Great.

She was about to put her hand on the door, when she heard a quiet cough behind her. She stiffened, but turned slowly around to face him.

He was standing out of the light of the streetlamp, his face and body in shadow. Then he stepped forward, flicking the glowing butt of his cigarette away to his right. It was funny, she thought, but he looked almost as freaked out to see her as she did seeing him. They stood there like two strangers for a moment, shuffling uneasily. Buffy couldn’t stand it and broke the silence first.

"Hey. You’re looking better."

He shrugged, looking down near her knees somewhere. "Yeah, I’m right as rain now, thanks." The silence settled again, until he cleared his throat. "Hm. And you?"

"Oh, just fine. Doing the old ‘bouncing-back’ thing."

"Hm."

"Hm."

They stared at each other again for a moment. Then Buffy began, falteringly.

"Spike, I’m sorry. I’ve… I’ve been avoiding you. I didn’t mean to… I mean, I did mean to, but I didn’t – um… oh, you know what I mean." She trailed off hopelessly.

Spike eyes were measuring her. He looked faintly surprised, and confused, but not particularly worried. A half-grin touched his lips as he replied. "It’s okay, luv. I think I understand. So… are you okay now?" He tilted his head, waiting for her response.

She smiled gently, relieved. "Yeah, I’m okay."

There was a twinkle in his eye now. "Are you sure?" He stepped a little closer and her breath caught in her throat. "You’re not still… over-tired?"

"Ah, no…" Dammit, he was doing it again. She supposed she would have to get used to it. Somehow, she didn’t think getting used to it would be such a chore after all.

There was definitely a sparkle of hunger in his eyes now as he leaned in. "And I’m not delirious, so…" And with that, he closed the gap. He nuzzled his cheek against hers briefly, enough to make her eyes roll back a little, enough to make her give a tiny gasp of wonder and pleasure. His lips were smiling as he brushed them over hers delicately. She shuddered, and then he was gone, had pulled away. Buffy swallowed and sighed out a trembling breath, feeling faintly frustrated.

"Have you got your poker face on, then?" He was watching her face with a smile, still close enough for her to feel the warmth of her exhaled breath in the space between them, and when he reached his arm around her she jumped a little. But instead of touching her, he put his fingers on the door handle. Tease, she thought drily.

"I thought you said I didn’t have a poker face?" she said, as he turned them both towards the door. The husky quality of her voice made her marvel a little.

"Well," he grinned, and murmured into her ear, making goosebumps travel up her arms. " – I guess we’ll soon find out." And he pushed them both forward, through the door, into the lights of the shop, the comfort of warmth, and the happily oblivious, expectant looks of their friends.

Author’s last word: This started out as a short funny piece about a card game… so what the hell happened? I have no idea – I just work here. This was a wild ride to write, and I got a lot of encouragement from a lot of people – thanks to Boo, Auto, bambie, Sidhe, deanswhytes, and anyone else on the WD board I forgot to mention. Hope you like it, guys.

If a fanfic dedication isn’t too weird, I’d like to dedicate this to my son Ben, for the times he slept in and let me write.

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