Part One: The Night
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The feel of death hung heavy in the air in the crypt.
The only noise that could be heard was the slight crackle of the paper and tobacco of the cigarette as is slow smoldered closer to the filter. The only light in the pitch black crypt was the infrequently flare from the cherry on the tip cigarette as Spike inhaled on it, causing to the sharp planes of his pale face to be highlighted in stark contrast in shadow and light. In his face one could see a tension - a tightness caused by anticipation. He stared unwaveringly into the darkness through the haze caused from numerous cigarettes he had smoked in the hours of his waiting, with intense vampire eyes at the stone sarcophagus that dominated the center of the room. He sat almost motionless on the cold stone of the crypt floor; the only movement he allowed himself was when he would take another drag off of his cigarette.
Spike was a vampire who was usually in constant motion, one who scorned the very notion of patience yet tonight, he showed no signs of impatience or nervous energy. Tonight, all impatience and the need for action were forgotten, being too tightly focused to let anything break into the private realm of thought and hope that his mind now wandered. For this night was very important, very special for Spike. Tonight all that he had hoped and planned for were to come into fulfillment.
Since the first time he knew that he had wanted her, he had known it was hopeless. At least as the way things stood. For the first time he had been glad for the bloody chip in his head. Without it he wouldn’t even have the tiniest chance of being with her. Couldn’t have proven that, though he was a monster, he could love her. He knew it had been not only hopeless, but also wrong. She was the Slayer! He didn’t understand how it could happen. But it had and Spike, despite being a killer was still a slave to his emotions, so very much like his former self had been. He hated the weakness of emotions, but was unable to overcome them. With Dru it hadn’t mattered. They had been of like mind in almost every aspect, the emotions had not create weakness, but strength for she had been his partner in the life of darkness that they exist in. With Buffy, there was almost no compatibility. She was one of the white hats and he a black hat. And it had not mattered in the slightest. No matter how hard he tried to deny what he was feeling, he could not. And it disturbed him. This wasn’t supposed to be able to happen to a vampire. Love of mortals was the vampire equivalent of bestiality. Yet he was a trapped in his emotions and nothing he said or did could change it.
His words had come back to haunt him. He had in truth become Love’s Bitch.
When Buffy had died he had been devastated. He had lost her. All he had left of her was Dawn and her friends. There was pain at the constant reminders of her he saw when he was around them, but the pain was his self-inflicted punishment for not having been strong enough, fast enough to save her. He knew that he should have left Sunnydale. Sought out a way to remove the chip and get back that who he truly was, but he just couldn’t manage to leave. He had promised Buffy, before she died, to take care of Little Bit. He kept that promise, in part, because he was genuinely fond of Dawn, but also because it was the only way to prove to himself that it hadn’t just been a passing obsession. And with brutally self-honesty, he knew that he had ostracized himself from his fellow creatures of the night, when he began to hunt them for pleasure. The only pleasure that the chip had allowed him. So, all summer he had fought beside humans he had hated, people who had meant so much more to Buffy than he had.
Then she came back. And then after that glorious night, they were together. He knew she was in pain. Knew that she had only turned to him because she felt as if she could turn to no one else, but he would take what he could of her. His brain had screamed out at him, telling him that there was no way it could work. He was the Big Bad, and she the Slayer. Oh, she might have forgotten it for a while but someday she would have remembered what that meant and on that day she would have been through with Good ‘ole Spike.
In desperation he played on her depression, her feelings of wrongness hoping to stave off that day and just maybe convince her that she didn’t want to leave the shadows. To leave him. He had pushed her to places that she had never dreamed of going. And she had responded with an enthusiasm that had shocked and delighted him. He played on her misery and depression edging her closer and closer to this night. It was ironic, that he had learned how to manipulate her from what he had seen Angelus had done to his victims – the same Angelus who would later become Buffy’s great love.
He crushed the nearly spent cigarette in a small pile of smoked butts next to him, the marble floor his ashtray. With an economy of motion, he lit yet another by feel, his eyes never leaving the source of his dreams to become to true, the sound of the Zippo lighter loud in the deathly silence. As if the sound were a signal, the stone lid began to ease back with the grinding scrape of stone on stone. Then with a burst, the heavy lid flew off across the room with a resounding crash. Spike stood in a fluid motion as the pale haired woman sat up in her stone coffin her eyes seeming to automatically coming to rest on Spike. His heart lurched as the thrill of the night became overwhelming. He thought that she had never looked as lovely as she did now. Now that she had shed the curse of her humanity. Her skin gleamed palely in the moonlight that filtered throughout the cracks of the crypt.
"Spike." Buffy's voice. The same but different.
"That's right, Kitten." Spike greeted her with a low, emotional voice.
With an unhurried ease, she walked up to her sire and lover. "You did this?" Buffy's voice was flat and without emotion.
Spike stepped up to her his hands resting on her hips. "No need to thank me. At least not until later after you have fed." He leered, his mind still wandering down the lane of endless years of passion that he had been dreaming of before her re-awakening. He finally had a mate that was equal to him. Once he got that blasted chip out of his head, that is. But with Buffy's help that should be trifle. "And I am sure we can think of some proper way to celebrate." He suggested, passion and lust plain in his tone.
Buffy then smiled, "Oh but there is. Thank you that is." She reached up to cup her hands around Spike's head as she leaned forward, lips slightly parted. They kissed for the briefest of moments, then Buffy moved her cheek against his, caressing his head with both of her hands. Spike had a triumphant smile on his lips when she whispered in his ear, "You are so weak. So HUMAN! You thought that I would settle for you?" Her grip tightened and with an explosive motion, twisted Spike's head. The cracking of bones sounded like gunshots echoing off the stone walls. With a massive heave, she ripped his head from his neck.
Dusting her hands, see said disdainfully to the pile of dust. "No, Spike. You are not the one for me. You never were."
With a laugh she threw her head back and said in a ringing voice, "Hello, LA. Buffy is coming home."
She left a trail of laughter as she strode through the crypt door.
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Johnny Smith was riding on a high. The whole senior class had known that a party was something that was enviable since it was custom of teen-hood stronger than any law that congress ever passed - that when your parents left for the weekend, it was a responsibility – no! A duty to have a party. Not to do so, would be breach of all that being a teen was about, opening yourself up to the rightful scorn and ridicule of your peers. Faced with such a demand of honor, Mandy Diaz, had bowed to custom and spread the word that the party was happening. Things like these took on a life of their own. Before the day was out, everybody and anybody were being invited by people who didn't even know Mandy. But Johnny, who was crazy about the cute little cheerleader, had been floored when she had found him to invite him herself, KNOWING that he had already been told about the party a dozen times.
The only sour point of the day was the fact that his parents were complete jerks. Not only had they told him that he couldn't go, they had told him he had to stay home and study for the SAT's while they went out for the night. He couldn't believe it. Didn't they get it? “Of course they didn't,” he reminded himself. They were too old to remember what it was like being young. Driven by the thought of the blue-eyed Mandy, Johnny did something he had never done before. He disobeyed his parents. His friends gave him a lot of crap about never doing anything 'wrong', but that was just the way he was. But, now that he had, he began to understand why his friends did it so often. There was delicious feeling of freedom and guilt knowing that he shouldn't have done it.
So when he saw the young blond woman walking toward him, Johnny riding his high, walked up to her. "Hi there gorgeous! Want to go to a party?" Johnny knew he sounded ridiculous and that the last thing he wanted to do was bring a strange woman to MANDY'S party, but he just couldn't seem to help himself. Not to mention the fact, there was no way in hell the blond, who look to be old enough to be in college, was going to want to go to a high school party.
To his surprise she stopped and smiled at him, "Party? I like parties." She moved closer to him, "I really like the kind that are private."
Johnny gaped at her in astonishment! She was coming on to him! He couldn't believe it. Things like this just didn’t happen outside of Penthouse Letters. Did they?
"Want to party? Just you and me?" She said as she took his hands in hers. Unable to talk he swallowed hard and nodded. Backing up, she led him into a stand of trees. Johnny never made it to Mandy's party.
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