Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Spike's eyes had slammed shut as soon as the stake penetrated his chest, and for an endless moment he was conscious only of the sensation of his own blood welling up around the puncture wound in his breast. He was certain that he could feel each individual splinter, and he could do no more than brace himself against the flood of regret and wait to die.

It took him an moment to realize that he was not turning to dust. He heard a grunt, and the hand holding the stake began to shake, tearing at the skin above his heart and scraping one of his ribs. Afraid to move, he opened his eyes to see Buffy, deathly pale and holding tightly to Dana's wrist. Dana didn't appear to be aware of the other Slayer; she was focused solely on Spike, staring at him with a frightening intensity. Buffy's fingers were white with strain, and slowly, slowly she managed to force Dana's hand upward. As soon as the stake cleared Spike's chest, Buffy backhanded Dana and sent her sprawling into the corner. The stake skittered across the floor and underneath the cot. Dana rolled to her feet with a screech of rage.

"I wasn't finished," she hissed.

"Yeah," Buffy said, her voice cold and hard. "You were."

She stepped protectively in front of Spike as Dana rushed at her. Buffy gave a fluid twist, bending her torso backwards and pinwheeling her arms while throwing her hips forward. Her momentum carried her under Dana's wild grab, and she caught the younger girl by the upper arm and spun her around, throwing her backward into one of the walls. Before Dana could get to her feet again, Buffy was on her.

Spike still hadn't moved, other than to grasp the front of his shirt and, by reflex, press tightly down on the wound. He could feel the blood dripping thickly through his fingers, although the flow seemed to be slowing. He watched dully, only half concentrating, as Dana's head snapped back from a quick punch and elbow jab thrown by Buffy. She went down in a heap, sweeping her legs out to bring Buffy down with her. She had nothing of Buffy's polished grace; her moves were rough, more primal, and yet there was an identical core of power they seemed to draw from. Spike shivered and pushed himself slowly to his feet, still clutching his chest. Dana managed to wriggle away from Buffy and made a dive for the stake, snatching it with a grunt of triumph. She gave Spike a fierce smile, weaving on her feet like a prizefighter.

"You don't want to do that," he cautioned, holding his hand out as if Dana was a rabid dog. He could hear Buffy wheezing behind him; Dana must have kicked her in the stomach as she squirmed away. Dana stared at him, suddenly solemn.

"This has to end," she said firmly. She blinked furiously for a moment, her eyes losing focus and the stake wavering slightly in her grasp. When Spike tried a cautious step forward, her eyes snapped back to his, and she hefted the stake higher. Spike stopped.

"It is ending," he said. "Right now. Give it over, Slayer." He could hear the catch in Buffy's breath behind him, but he didn't want to risk glancing back at her.

"Slayer," Dana repeated, giving Spike a confused look. "Demon."

"It's who you are," Spike said. "Well, minus the demon bits." He heard Buffy snort behind him.

"Don't be so sure," she said dryly, rising and moving to stand next to him. Spike winced at the throb in his chest, swaying slightly on his feet; he couldn't resist leaning on her a bit.

Dana glanced back and forth between their faces, and her chin wobbled. "I'm strong," she grated out, her tone harsh.

"Yes," Buffy said, and there was a note of empathy in her voice. "You're strong."

She held Dana's gaze for a long moment, and the stake finally slipped from the younger girl's grasp and fell clattering to the floor. Spike was about to rush forward when two Watchers came barreling into the room, panting hard. One of them was one of the men he'd seen before at the hospital, and the other was a woman he'd never met. Before Spike could move, they pushed past him and bore Dana to the ground. The woman was holding a syringe, and as she uncapped it, the other Watcher took Dana in a protective hold, her arms at her sides and her legs trapped between his.

He needn't have bothered. As soon as she had dropped the stake, Dana's eyes had lost their focus. She put up no fight to the Watcher holding her, instead staring blankly up at Spike and wincing slightly when she was injected.

"Took you long enough," Spike croaked. The male Watcher shrugged apologetically without looking at him, and Spike felt Buffy tug on his arm.

"Come on," she murmured.

Spike backed towards the door rather than turn his back on Dana. She was still staring at him, frowning slightly and blinking muzzily as the drugs took effect.

"Can we rest now?" she asked, her voice not much louder than a whisper.

Spike nodded, not trusting his own voice. He followed Buffy's pull and backed into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him. With a shaky sigh, he rested his forehead against the closed door for a moment. Buffy was trying to reach his wound, and he slapped her fingers away. She gave a snort of disgust and spun him around, shoving his back against the door. Her face was still pale, but two spots of color had appeared high on her cheeks and her eyes were blazing.

Uh oh. Not good.

"Hey, love," he said weakly. "What brings you to this neck of the woods? Not that I'm not happy to see you and all..."

He choked off as Buffy gave him another shove, making his head crack against the door. Spike glared at her.

"Hey! A little sympathy for the guy who was almost staked."

"Shut up," Buffy hissed. He noticed that her hands were shaking, and she tightened her fingers around his shirt and pulled him across the hallway to another patient's room that appeared to be unoccupied. She shoved Spike in the direction of the cot and slammed the door behind them. He thought of fighting her, just on general principles, but at the moment he was too sore to argue. He obediently lay down on the cot and let her tug his shirt over his head. Her face was was calm and her touch efficient, but Spike could tell by the set of her mouth that she was close to breaking. He winced as her prodding became too sharp, and her face softened as she looked at him.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I've had worse," he answered, pulling her fingers away. "It'll heal." Buffy exhaled, slumping over and squeezing his hand. Just as he'd started to relax, however, she was up like a shot, pacing angrily across the other side of the room. Spike pushed himself to his feet, regarding her wearily. If there was to be a fight, he wanted to be standing up for it.

"You almost died," Buffy said harshly. She balled her fist, as if tempted to strike a blow, but she wouldn't look at his face. Spike shrugged.

"I'm dead already," he said reasonably. In retrospect, it was exactly the wrong thing to say. With a wounded glare, Buffy turned and punched him in the nose.

"Ow!" He brought his hand to his face and stared incredulously at the smear of blood on his fingers. Without even thinking about it, he threw an off-balance punch in return. To his surprise, she didn't duck, and the blow landed on her shoulder, causing her to stumble back until she regained her balance.

"You know," he said, "I hadn't lost quite enough blood today, thank you." He licked his fingers, ignoring Buffy's look of disgust.

"What the hell was that in there?" There was a quaver in her voice, and her lip was wobbling slightly. He saw her tighten her jaw, but it only made the shaking worse. "Why did she beat you?"

Spike stared at her in astonishment. "Hello, a Slayer? Girl with incredible superpowers and a sacred duty to try to kick my ass? I'm sure you remember the type." He shrugged, stretching his neck until it cracked. "Throw in the insanity as an extra bonus. She just got lucky."

"No," Buffy said forcefully. "I refuse to accept that. Not against you. I don't understand." She looked up at him, her face pale. "Did you want to die?" she asked quietly. "Was that it?"

Spike stared at her for a moment, unable to answer. "What are you...I was fighting for my life in there!" He didn't realize he was shouting until she blinked in surprise. "How can you even ask that?"

"Because I know what I saw," she said with a sour laugh. "Are you so desperate to leave? Is that what this is?"

What was she talking about? He tried for a calm tone, but the words were dragged out of his throat as if over broken glass. "I've been doing pretty well for myself for decades, Buffy. Not that I don't appreciate you watching my back, but...." He threw up his hands. "Look, I don't know what else to tell you. I'm not going anywhere, alright? Had a bad moment, but you were there to pull me out."

"What if I hadn't been?" Buffy's back was ramrod straight, and she'd wrapped her arms around her torso. She was staring at the barred window set high in the wall and the stars glinting beyond. "I almost wasn't there," she said calmly, as if speaking to someone else. "I should have been there earlier."

It was as if a light bulb went on in his head, and it suddenly all made sense. He wanted to laugh, but as he was there was an equal chance that it would turn into tears. He felt a sudden upwelling of hopeless, bitter anger at the old bastard, that it was still all about him.

"I'm not him," he said quietly. "And I told you, I'm not going anywhere."

Buffy frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

Spike sighed heavily. "I'm not Angel."

Buffy's face whitened further. "Is that what you thought I was thinking of?" she asked carefully, her voice so neutral that he was unable to tell if she angry or upset.

"Weren't you?" he shot back. "Don't tell me you haven't been thinking of that last battle for months now." Buffy had clenched her jaw, and her nostrils were flared. "That's who you're trying to save, isn't it?" he asked. "Truth hurts, Slayer."

Buffy shook her head in disbelief. "You," she ground out, "are so unbelievably stupid. You think you know me so well? You know nothing. I'm here with you! And you know what? I'm not him either!"

Spike blinked at her in disbelief. "You're off your nut," he scoffed.

She raised her eyebrows. "Is that right? You know, I thought this Dana thing was part of your whole Slayer obsession. But you're looking for someone to save, aren't you?"

He let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Oh, did you get that out of one of your psych textbooks? Maybe you should have stayed in school, Slayer." He turned to kick at the cot, then rounded on Buffy with his finger out. "And visiting Dana was your bloody idea in the first place!"

"You couldn't save Angel," Buffy said, as if she hadn't heard him interrupt. "You couldn't save me when it counted. Is that what you're trying to do?"

Spike sucked in a harsh breath, biting down on his tongue to keep from screaming at her. Buffy stared up at him, temporarily out of steam, her eyes wide and wet in her pale face. He was almost shaking with anger and frustration, but at the same time he felt more alive than he had for months. His senses seemed to have sharpened. He could almost hear Buffy's blood pound beneath the surface of her skin, and he could smell the salty tang of her sweat. He felt the edges of his mouth curl up into something that wasn't quite a smile.

Buffy's gaze had faltered, and she stared at the floor. "I know," she said dully. "I've been pulling away. It's not easy...I'm not good at this kind of thing." She bit her lip, turning to the door. "Maybe this was a mistake," she said softly.

Spike let her take one step before leaping at her, pinning her back against the closed door. She gasped and pushed at his shoulders, then went boneless and inhaled a ragged breath as he leaned down to give a long lick to the side of her neck, ending with a bite to her ear. She whimpered slightly. He heard her heart race, felt the rhythmic thump that seemed to send his own bones into a sympathetic vibration. She reached up to touch his brow, brushing her hand back through his hair. He simply held her and let her look at him, her eyes shining with tears and...something else.

He was both terrified and exhilarated, because she was right there with him. There was no need to ask her; he could see the mirroring emotions in her eyes, and it was as if a veil had been torn away. It was so right, finally, that he wanted to laugh aloud. Buffy gave a half-hearted wriggle, and Spike slammed her forcefully back against the door, delighting in the way her eyes dilated.

"Oh, no," he purred. "You've had your say. It's my turn now."

He shoved Buffy back against the door. Her breasts were pressed tightly against his chest, and he could feel her nipples tighten as she squirmed against him. As she stared at him, she blushed and licked her lips.

"I thought it was your turn to talk." Her voice cracked on the last word, and Spike unconsciously leaned towards her.

"It is," he breathed, and as soon as she opened her mouth to reply, he covered it with his own.

Buffy let out a sob that he caught and swallowed, her sharp little teeth biting at his tongue as she grabbed handfuls of his hair. Spike kept her pinned against the door. He could feel the ache in his chest from the stake wound, but he ignored it. He let Buffy take control, let her turn his head this way and that as she frantically tried to find the best angle. He kept his eyes half open, just enough to catch glimpses -- of her nose, of her flushed cheeks and sweaty neck -- and god, when was the last time they'd kissed like this? Buffy pulled back slightly.

"I'm still mad at you," she insisted, but her eyes were clearer than they'd been in months. The distance between them had developed so gradually that he couldn't pin down an exact moment when it had started. All he knew was that it was as if he was really seeing Buffy for the first time in a long while. If the way she was looking at him was any indication, she felt the same way. She was staring at him with a mingled look of lust and wonder that was more arousing than any touch. She was petting his hair, and he leaned into her touch and closed his eyes.

"Still mad. Got it," he murmured, catching her mouth in another kiss. Buffy mumbled something indistinct, pulling away slightly, and he slammed her shoulders against the door. The back of her head hit the door with a thump, and Spike winced. He was about to apologize, but she shivered and moaned.

So, she wants it rough? Not a problem.

Spike grinned and hoisted her against the door. Buffy's legs came around his waist, and she circled her hips against his, leaning forward to take his earlobe in her mouth.

"So," she whispered hotly against his neck. "Planning on bringing the building down?"

Spike groaned and shoved her against the door again, delighting in the gasp that was forced out of her. "Could do that," he said, getting one hand under her shirt and clawing at the back of her bra. She pulled away and reached for the hem of her shirt, giving him an indulgent smile, but it faded when she looked around the room.

"Oh," she began. "This probably isn't the best place to..." She caught her breath when Spike ground against her, closing her eyes and dropping her head back against the door. "Or," she said faintly, "we can stay right here."

"That's my girl," Spike said triumphantly, sucking at the side of her neck.

"Okay," Buffy said. She sounded slightly drugged. "We all done, then? With the talking?"

His head cleared slightly, and the ache in his chest increased. They weren't; he knew that, just as he knew that this current moment between them wouldn't fix all of their problems. But it was a start, and a start was all he needed. He couldn't pull back now, not when she was so open to him, so there. Besides, he didn't think he had enough blood left in his brain to carry on a coherent conversation. For answer, he attacked Buffy's neck again, growing harder at the sound of her moans.

She pushed him back, trying to lift her shirt over her head, but he impatiently shoved her hands away. He jerked the material upward, pushing the cups of her bra up and burying his face between her breasts. He licked at the sweat that had collected there and nuzzled against her, catching one of her nipples in his mouth and sucking at it. Buffy was cradling his head tenderly against her, humming and scratching lightly at the back of his neck. It struck Spike as an almost maternal gesture, and he repressed the shudder of tangled lust and revulsion that arose from the thought. He started biting gently at her nipples, and she panted harshly.

"Uhh," she whined, locking her ankles around his back and gyrating against him. He was tempted to finish this up against the wall, maybe try for a reenactment of their first time together, but he still too sore to stand for much longer. Swinging Buffy around, he stumbled over to the narrow cot against the far wall, dropping her ungracefully before collapsing on top of her.

"God, Spike...."

Buffy was frowning at the blood on his shirt, gently running her fingers around the wound on his chest. Spike could tell that she was about to pull back and suggest that they take a break, so he stopped her mouth with a kiss. He didn't give a bloody fuck how much his chest hurt, or whether or not he was still bleeding. Not now, not when Buffy was staring at him with eyes dilated from lust. She moaned and wrapped her arms around him as best she could with her shirt and bra bunched up under her arms. Almost frantic now to be inside her, Spike yanked clumsily at the fastening of her jeans, ripping the buttonhole in the process. Buffy was shoving at his jeans in turn, giving a gasp of triumph when she managed to push them below his hips. She dug her fingers into his ass and wriggled like an eel, trying to push her own pants down. With a growl of frustration, Spike pulled backward and yanked one leg of her jeans off. He fell back into the open cradle of her hips and groaned.

He wasn't going to last long. He wanted to go down on her, he wanted to taste the soft skin of her stomach and kiss her behind her knee. He wanted to take this slow and do it right, but instead he pushed inside her with a long shudder. If the noises she was making were any indication, it was the right choice. Spike hooked his elbow behind one of her knees, lifting it and opening her up further. Buffy squirmed against him, trying to get a rhythm, and he held tight to one of her slippery breasts and licked at the side of her mouth. She was grunting now, sharp little gasps of air through her nose that he could feel on the side of his face. Their rhythm was sloppy -- they were both far too aroused to worry about such things as finesse and timing -- and it was absolutely perfect. She was wet all over, and Spike glided over her skin every time he moved inside her. He could feel Buffy's hand between them rubbing her own clit, and the earthy eroticism of the moment make him shove himself even harder inside her. Buffy stiffened and came with a grimace, letting out a whine through tightly clenched teeth. She almost kicked him in the head as her leg jerked, and Spike tightened his grip on her as he came inside her.

The whole thing couldn't have taken three minutes from the moment of penetration. Spike felt as if he'd taken a lightening bolt to his spine. His legs were shaking and his fingers were cramped where he was holding so tightly to Buffy. He unhooked her leg from his arm and collapsed on top of her with a moan. Buffy made some kind of grunting noise in apparent agreement of the general sentiment. He nuzzled against her for a few minutes, pressing lazy kisses to the side of her neck while she scratched softly at his back. After a while, he pulled back to look at her, and she gave him a soft smile.

"You drooled," she murmured, wiping the side of his mouth with one of her fingers.

"Yeah," he pointed out. "So did you."

He stroked her face gently, quirking a smile at the picture they made. Buffy had somehow managed to get one of her arms free of her shirt, and the bra was twisted around her neck as if it was some kind of demonic strangling device. Her hair was matted, and she patted at it self-consciously. He felt her give a full-body shiver as one of the final aftershocks of her orgasm hit, and he groaned in return and arched his back. Buffy gave a pained hiss.

"You okay?" he asked in concern.

"Sure," Buffy said. "Just...your jeans. Zipper in bad places."

Wincing in apology, Spike shoved his jeans further down so that the metal of the zipper wasn't rubbing against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She hummed in contentment, pulling him down on top of her again.

"That was good," she said softly. "That was really, really good."

And it was. It wasn't the most elegant fuck he'd ever had, but it was certainly one of the best. Buffy was lying depleted below him, her skin warm and soft through the fabric of his shirt, and he was so close to her that he felt he could crawl inside her. He felt like purring. He lifted his head and gave Buffy a drowsy smile, warming himself with her answering grin. For a moment, she looked as content and boneless as he felt, and then her eyes dropped to the bloodied front of his shirt. Spike was suddenly aware that he was lying bare-assed on a bed in a Council mental hospital. Now that he was paying attention, he could hear Dana talking quietly to herself in her room across the hall. Buffy rested her palm against his cheek, drawing his attention back to herself.

"I'm still mad," she said quietly, and he nodded. "But I'm not going anywhere." She held his head firmly and looked him in the eyes, raising her eyebrow inquisitively until he nodded again. Spike lowered his head for a kiss, brushing his mouth with hers.

"That's good," he said, "because I'm not letting you go." Buffy gave him a soft smile in acknowledgment. He was about to fall asleep when he felt her stiffen beneath him.

"Spike?" she asked carefully. "Is that a security camera in the corner?"

 

By the time they finally pulled themselves together and made it downstairs, the lobby was crowded with a medical crew that was attending one of the Watchers whom Spike had seen on his previous visits. The man was lying on the ground, pale as a ghost, and he stared balefully at both of them as they walked past. Spike could see that the Watcher's leg was badly broken. He glanced over at Buffy, and she shrugged sheepishly.

"I was in a hurry, and he had it coming."

"Buffy!"

Spike turned his head to see Giles running up to the two of them. He gave Spike an apologetic nod, then turned back to Buffy. "Everything's under control here. You should probably get him back to your place."

"What...?" Spike started, only to have Buffy hurry him out the door. Once they had passed into the alley, he rounded on her. "What in the bleeding hell is going on here?" he hissed.

Buffy sighed, looping her arm in his and dragging him toward the Via Giulia. The air was pale and the stars had faded; sunrise couldn't be more than half an hour away. "It's a long story," she murmured. "Wait till we get home."

They reached her apartment just before the sun rose. Buffy insisted on cleaning out Spike's wound before she would explain anything, so he lay back with a long-suffering sigh and let her bandage him up. When he'd been installed on the sofa with a mug of blood, she squeezed in next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"It was Jacob Hunter," she said ruefully. "It was all his idea." Spike frowned at her, and she rolled her eyes. "The Watcher stationed at the hospital? The one who's always sitting at the front desk?"

"Oh, right." It was the Watcher he'd last seen lying on the floor of the lobby with a shattered leg. He'd never bothered to ask the man's name.

"It was all a test," Buffy spat bitterly. "He had all of these ideas about Dana somehow being connected to the primal Slayer Spirit, or something like that. He kept messing with her medication, trying to get the best response. And then he noticed that she seemed to do better when you were around -- less with the crazy. I think he wanted to see which response was stronger: the girl or the Slayer. I don't think he's bothered to give her any sedatives for a few days now."

Spike nodded, the pieces fitting into place. "So he's the one who unlocked her before I came, and left her the stake." He rolled his eyes. "I wondered why she was suddenly making even less sense than ususal. Lovely. Now I know who I have to kill," he growled.

Buffy rubbed his stomach soothingly. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Spike looked down at her in surprise. "Hardly your fault, love. Not your doing that the Council is still a load of wanky blighters. Although I can't say I expected old Rupert to try to do me in again," he said bitterly. Relations between him and Giles hadn't exactly been cordial, but he'd come to accept Spike's position in Buffy's life. It left a sour taste in his mouth that Giles would be involved in this stupid scheme. Apparently dying to save the world wasn't valued all that highly these days.

"He didn't," Buffy insisted. "Jacob was acting alone. Mark found out -- you remember Mark, right? One of the other Watchers? He was there most nights too." Spike nodded, remembering the apologetic look the other man had given him when they subdued Dana after her attack on him. Another name he'd never bothered to learn. "Anyway, Mark guessed that something weird was going on with Jacob, so he made a report to Giles. Giles decided to come here and check things out, and Mark went to the airport tonight to meet them. Which, in retrospect? Bad move. He called me from the road, told me what he knew, and asked me to keep an eye on Jacob until he got back." Buffy's voice became thick and tight. "When I got to the hospital, he sitting there watching the two of you fight on the security monitor, taking notes. It reminded me of the Initiative. He didn't want to give me the key -- said he was in the middle of a test." She gave a harsh laugh. "So I took it from him. I wasn't very nice about it." She was shaking, and Spike rubbed her shoulder soothingly.

"Looks like someone wanted to make a big name for himself," Spike said, his voice low with fury. "That girl has demons enough of her own to fight. And now she's worse off than ever, being played like that."

Buffy lifted her head and rested her chin on his shoulder. He could feel her looking at him, but he refused to make eye contact.

"This isn't your fault either," she said quietly. "And I think...." She broke off and lay her head back down. "I think you were helping her," she admitted. "I know you don't believe me, but you understood her, as much as anyone could. Having you there was good for her. And I think it was good for you too."

Spike blinked down at her, running the back of his fingers over her soft cheek. "Maybe," he admitted doubtfully. "I'm no doctor. Didn't know what I was doing there half the time. Of course," he said with a bitter smile, "it's all to nothing now, isn't it? The girl's probably so messed up now there's no reaching her. Probably would have been better if I'd never come there at all. And I don't think that was the only test going on."

Buffy popped her head back up. "Huh?"

"Testing responses, right? Dual natures, seeing which side wins out? And yours truly was the subject." He gave a disgusted snort. "I just bet the little bastard had the title all planned out in his head: The behavioral reflexes of the souled vampire, or some such rot. And now that I'm the only one...."

Buffy squeezed him gently, taking his hand and tucking it under her cheek were she lay against him. "It's over now," she insisted.

Spike stared at the shaft of early morning light illuminating the far wall. "Maybe," he murmured. "For us."

 

Spike didn't go near the hospital for over a month. Giles had installed a new set of Watchers there and was personally overseeing Dana's treatment regimen. He insisted that it was better if Spike stayed away for a while, and Spike was more than happy to oblige. Although there was a part of him that missed seeing the girl, he was still convinced that it would have been better for her if he'd never started visiting her at all.

He found himself watching Buffy with a new urgency, determined to do anything to avoid the terrible distance that had arisen between them ever since they were reunited after Angel's death. At times, he would catch her studying him intently, and he knew that she too was afraid of once again letting hurt turn to apathy. And so he tugged at her, gently and inexorably, keeping them both in a tight orbit around each other. You're worth it, he would whisper to her late at night as they lay in their bed together, and she would smile and hold him so tightly that his bones ached.

When Giles finally let him know that he could come and visit Dana again, Spike took another week to make up his mind to go. Buffy didn't push him, but she didn't let him off the hook either. No you don't have to do it if you don't want to from her. She merely waited until he was ready, and then she insisted that she go with him. It wasn't because she didn't trust him; he realized that she felt even more responsible for Dana's state than he did.

Spike stood just inside the doorway of Dana's room. He could hear Buffy talking softly to Giles in the hallway, and he took a step forward. Dana was once again restrained at hand and foot and bound to the bed. Her eyes, when she turned to see him, were glassy and distant, and he could smell the sickly sweet odor of the drugs she'd been given. She was a shell of that girl he thought he'd started to glimpse behind the madness. He looked into her empty eyes and shivered. He had no idea if she even recognized him.

Back to the beginning.

"Hey," he said softly as he approached the bed. She blinked at him.

"William the Bloody," she whispered. She looked satisfied when he nodded, as if she had successfully figured out an intricate puzzle. "The vampire."

"That's me," he encouraged.

"Heart and head," she said softly. "Keep cutting till you see dust. I'm strong."

Spike closed his eyes against the rush of pity. He crouched down and took her hand, holding her limp fingers tightly in his.

"Heart and head," he murmured, the only prayer he could offer her. "Be strong."

THE END