(The
Heart of the Night)
AUTHOR: 1stRab-id aka Raeann
FEEDBACK: Rabid1st@yahoo.com
ARCHIVED AT: www.oocities.org/drowning_inyou/
BETAS: Binkysab, LostAngel and ElektraWWF from FanForum
CHARACTERS: Buffy/Spike
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: Through the fifth Season ending episode, THE GIFT.
SYNOPSIS: This is the story of the Slayer’s final destruction, and the part played by her vampire lover, Spike. So, this is how, I would end the series. This story is set 2 years after THE GIFT. Many things have changed in the lives of the characters but do NOT be alarmed. To my knowledge there are NO spoilers in this fic. However, to avoid confusion let me bring you up to speed. In my little corner of the Buffyverse: Willow and Xander have accepted Spike into the Scoobie Gang, Spike was instrumental in bringing Buffy back from the dead in the Season 6 premiere, Xander and Anya have married and have a child, Tara has died, Dawn is, of course, 16 years old, Giles has moved back to England, Oz has moved back to Sunnydale and Buffy has a job as a traffic cop aka meter maid. This is my idea of logical progression. Hey, lots of things can happen in 2 long years.
As the stake entered his heart, Spike’s gaze flew to Buffy’s face. He devoured every line of her, crystallizing her image in his mind’s eye. He held tight to the memory of her as his body was transformed to ashes and bone.
He could hear Vladimir, Count Dracula, speaking from long ago, the voice clear in his mind, as if the ancient vampire was standing next to him in the crypt.
“There is one thing in this world you value,” the Romany accented voice was saying. “You must know it…and hold onto it. Make it more real to you than your own death. Keep the image of that one thing true within you, as your flesh is ripped apart. Let it fill your entire being.”
“It can’t be that simple,” Spike had scoffed.
“It is not simple, my young friend,” Dracula corrected. “It is far from simple. It takes more concentration than you can possibly imagine. If you would do this thing then you must practice for many years. I learned of it by accident while studying with the Rossi gli abiti and you would do well to join their number for a time.”
“Monks?!?” Spike snorted. “You want me to join a poxy load of hood wearing pillocks.”
“You are the one who wants to learn my secrets, young one,” Vlad reminded. “I am merely suggesting one route that you could follow. These monks are able to turn themselves into a mist and enter where there is no door or window. It is a similar talent that you seek to master.”
“Still, mist is one thing…but the stake?” Spike said not believing yet, “If that’s all there is to it, then why don’t more of us come back from the staking? Why don’t these Red Robed blighters of yours make a habit of it?”
“Who can say?” the Dark Lord shrugged. “Perhaps many are too afraid to even try, others may simply fail in the attempt. Perhaps they don’t believe that it can be done”
He leaned forward and shoved at Spike’s shoulder with one elegant finger.
“It is like killing the Slayer, yes?” he said, grinning. “Most of our kind haven’t the imagination to conceive of the idea. Therefore most will fail.”
Spike laughed then and, after killing the barmaid, they made a toast to the success of the younger vampire’s upcoming trip to China. But Spike wasn’t ready to give up on the topic. He was fascinated by the idea of reforming after a staking. He returned to the subject several times as the night wore on until the Romany Count grew impatient with the constant questioning.
“We are not this flesh,” Drac snarled, at last, holding up one hand between them as illustration. “And wood? What is that to us? Nothing but ancient Druid magic!" He gestured elegantly as if tossing the objection aside. "Certainly it binds us, certainly it scatters us but when the stake is pulled away…
He brought his two hands together, interlacing the long fingers and clasping them tightly.
“It is possible to become whole again,” Spike nodded, understanding the concept.
“Find that which is true to your heart and your mind,” Vlad said touching Spike’s chest and forehead in succession. “Let it anchor you in the world. Then you need only reform around that cherished image.”
“Buffy!” Spike thought, as he felt the pull of eternity. She was his everything; there was nothing else that mattered to him now, he repeated it in his mind, “There is only Buffy.”
The monks were still gathered in a loose circle. Saul had removed the stake and leaned forward to catch the falling chip. Dying, Spike let all else fade away until only the Slayer existed for him. It was easier than he had expected and yet at the same time immensely difficult. William’s soul was calling from the beyond, urging him to let go of their flesh. A vast gulf had opened up all around him and all sensation, all awareness faded into meaningless shadow. Only Buffy remained. Only Buffy was real. He wrapped his very being around that truth. And slowly Spike felt his body begin to reform around his consciousness.
There was a great rushing sound and an implosion. The door of the crypt slammed open and a swirl of leaves joined with the swirl of Spike’s ashes. Several of the monks stepped back in superstitious fear as the blond vampire began to reform. Saul moved away from the unconscious Slayer and walked over to stand near the point of reincarnation. Bone and ash, merged at the high priest's feet creating an outline of a man and then miraculously became flesh. Spike gasped in night air, feeling the chilled bite of it in his throat. He lay on the floor looking up at Saul not really believing…and yet knowing…Dracula had been telling him the truth all those years ago.
“What do you know?” Spike said, to himself. “The black-hearted old welcher, finally, made good on that debt.”
Gingerly, he turned his head. It was attached to his neck again. He pressed his hands to the floor, enjoying the solid feel of the stone under his fingers. Carefully, he sat up and, instinctively, his eyes sought out the Slayer.
“She is unharmed,” Saul assured, noticing the direction of Spike’s glance. “Of course, she is also helpless and you are in need of blood, my brother. No one will stand against you if you choose to feed.”
The high priest’s words were like a trigger for Spike’s bloodlust. He realized all at once that he was ravenous. The effort of reforming had left him weak as a kitten. He was shaking with the desire to kill, to drain the life from someone.
Spike was moving toward the Slayer before he had time to consider what he was doing. He caught her up in his arms. Buffy’s head lolled against his shoulder as he held her close. He could hear her heart beating; feel the soft warmth of her breath against his skin. He ran his one hand into her hair and tilted her head to expose the pulse at her throat. Buffy’s lips were slightly parted. Looking into her face, Spike remembered how her beauty had sustained him in the echoing vastness of eternity.
Growling, the blond vampire dropped Buffy as if she had burned him. She hit her head as she fell and Spike reached out in remorse. But stopped short, afraid to touch her, as his demon cried out for blood again. Spike shrank back and then rose up spinning around to unleash his wrath on the gathered monks. He dragged one of them close and ripped out the red robed vampire’s throat. The blood was cold and dead but it sobered Spike, slightly. He tossed the injured monk into the faces of the other faithful, knocking several of them to the ground.
“I won’t kill her, Saul,” Spike growled, as he dashed for the door, “I won’t do it!”
Several of the monks made as if to follow the blond vampire into the night but the High Priest held up one hand to halt them.
“Let him go, my brothers,” Saul said. “The work of this night is complete and as you have witnessed he is all that we could have hoped for. We must pray now and prepare ourselves for the wondrous events to come.”
“What about the Slayer?” one of the monks asked, looking down at the unconscious Buffy.
“Leave her,” Saul said, with a dismissive wave. “William will not return for her this night.”
“But…how can you be sure?” another monk asked.
“I rely on my faith, my brother,” Saul smiled, gently. “I rely on my faith!”
He walked to the crypt door and, stepping across the threshold, evaporated into a mist. The other monks faded into an incorporeal state as well, leaving the fallen Slayer alone on the floor.
Running blindly through the back alleys of Sunnydale, Spike was at a loss about where to go. He wanted to return to the crypt but he didn’t trust himself that close to Buffy. More than anything, he wanted to make her his eternally and he was desperate for blood. He needed it to be solidified in his body again. He was straddling two worlds, still half incorporeal. He thought about breaking into the butcher’s shop and stealing a pint or two, but he didn’t think that goat’s blood would do the trick. Human hemoglobin was what Spike really craved. He was headed in the general direction of the hospital when it came to him that he knew just where to find a few pints of the vintage stuff.
Skirting the populated areas, Spike made his way back toward the Summers’ place. He had run in the opposite direction at first and it was nearly 11:30 by the time he reached the house. Lightening cracked across the sky as he came up the walk and a few heavy raindrops fell around him. Fishing under the flowerpots, he located the back door key and turned it in the lock.
Spike slipped into the darkened kitchen and stood quietly listening. The sound of slow steady breathing came to him. Dawn Summers was asleep upstairs. Young, tender, innocent Dawn was all alone in her bed. A sharp-toothed smile danced across Spike’s lips as he padded toward the staircase.
Dawn stirred in her sleep. Turning on her side, she pulled one fist to her cheek like a tiny child. Spike stood above her still and horrible in his demonic mask. His eyes glowed yellow. Pale moonlight shown through the open curtains, it glistened off of his fangs. His fingers were curled like claws.
Spike’s demon was talking to him, filling his mind with dark logic. All he had to do, it told him, was strike and he could have everything he’d ever desired. His hunger would be sated and he could remake Dawn as his true daughter, his daughter in blood. Once he did that Buffy would surely join them. They could be a real family.
Or the demon mused as it savored Dawn’s lovely nubile curves; if the Slayer remained stubborn...there were other possibilities. Spike’s stomach roiled in horror as the thought came to him.
“NO!” he screamed, lunging away from the bed.
Dawn jerked awake. She sat up and looked around. After a confused moment, she saw Spike cowering in the far corner of her room. His face was turned to the wall.
“Spike?” she questioned, still drugged with sleep. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
“It’s okay, Bit,” Spike said, shakily. He didn't look at her and sounded anything but okay.
Dawn turned away from him to look at her alarm clock. It was 11:47pm. She frowned trying to remember what was wrong with this picture.
“Your date!” she exclaimed, suddenly recalling. “How did your date with Buffy go? Did you just bring her home?”
“It didn’t go so well, Niblet,” Spike said, giving a hollow laugh as he turned strangely glowing eyes on her.
Dawn wondered if a vampire’s eyes always shone like that if the light hit them at just the right angle. Spike looked like a cat in the moonlight. She thought that it was kind of creepy but didn’t want to upset her friend by mentioning it, especially, if his date with her sister had gone badly. She started to get out of bed.
“STAY WHERE YOU ARE,” Spike barked at her, his voice a guttural growl.
She pulled her feet back under the covers and sat up hugging her knees and biting back the tears. Spike was edging toward the door. He was hunched over holding his stomach as if he was in pain.
“Is-is Buffy, okay?” Dawn asked, really worried now. “She’s not hurt or anything?”
“Buffy is just ducky,” Spike said, a little too quickly. “I just came to get something of hers. Thought I would check on you while I was here. Everything is going to be all right." He paused, took a deep breath and seemed to pull himself together, adding in a nearly normal tone, "You should go back to sleep, Snacksize! You can talk to Buffy about this in the morning.”
He yanked the door open and was through it before Dawn could question him further. She lay back down and listened to the sound of Spike taking the stairs to the first floor. She heard him continue his decent, going all the way to the basement. There was a bit of slamming and cursing and he stomped back up to the kitchen. After another 20 minutes, there was a series of beeps and then she heard the outside door open and close behind him. Dawn looked at the clock again. It was 12:24 am. She listened to the rain slow and then stop and wondered what had brought Spike out in such weather. She didn’t fall asleep again for almost an hour.
Buffy awoke to the morning sun shining through the open door, warming her body. She still lay on the crypt floor. The wind had blown dead leaves all around her. She sat up, feeling groggy and confused. The hard plastic of the chip bit into her fingers and she opened her hand. Blissful emptiness pulled away like a curtain in her mind and all of the horrors of the night came back to her. She retched, her body trying to purge itself of pain and loss. When her stomach was empty of bile she simply curled up and wept, sobbing like a forsaken soul until she could not longer even bring forth tears.
And that was how Willow and Dawn finally found her in the early afternoon, laying in a fetal position in the sunlight among the leaves on the floor of Spike’s crypt. Buffy was drained of emotion; barely able to move for the stiffness in her joints and almost past caring if she ever left the spot. She wanted to die. She wasn’t up to explaining what had happened but Willow and Dawn pieced the story together as they coaxed Buffy out to Willow’s waiting car.
Just before they could leave the crypt, however, the Slayer wrenched away from them and ran over to Spike’s trunk. She opened it and pulled out his long leather jacket. Buffy hugged the duster close as Dawn’s eyes filled up with tears. Then huddling into the coat to stop her shaking, Buffy let her two “sisters” help her leave.
They went to Willow’s place first so that Buffy could shower and change. Dawn, her nose stuffy from crying, put the call in for the gang to meet at the Magic Shop and then went to fetch Buffy a change of clothes.
It was nearly 7:00 pm by the time they had all gathered around the research table at the Magic Box. Buffy was pale but no longer shaken and subdued. She was wearing black leather pants, a tan shirt and Spike’s duster. She seemed to be filled with the dark light of vengeance.
“I want them all dead before sunrise,” she said, simply, turning the chip over and over in her fingers like a meditation stone.
“Okay,” Willow said, glancing around at the others, “Let’s get started, then. What do we know? Who were they? What did they look like?”
“They were vampires,” Buffy said. “They wore red robes. And one of them, this," she hissed out the name, "Saul…was wearing a gold necklace with a huge garnet or ruby in the center of it.”
“Rossi gli abiti,” Anya said, entering the room with a cup of tea for Buffy.
“Rosie who?” Xander asked.
“And what’s she got to do with anything?” Willow added.
“She’s not a she,” Anya corrected, setting Buffy's tea on the table. “She’s a them! The Red Robes?" she looked around expectantly but the gang continued to stare in stupefaction until she continued, "In Italian that’s Rossi gli abiti. This sounds like them to me. They’re an ancient progenitor cult. And it would make sense, too, because of all the girl children missing lately. I have been sticking really close to Melanie just in case it was a cult sacrifice thing.”
Xander, Willow, Dawn and Buffy exchanged glances and then looked back at Anya. They all began questioning her at once.
“You knew about the abductions? You know these guys? Sacrifices? A...what kind of cult? How do you know…?”
The babble of voices went on until Buffy put her thumb and index finger to her lips and blew a loud whistle.
“Who are these Red Robes?” Buffy asked, into the sudden silence. “And where can I find them?”
“Like I said,” Anya reiterated, “it’s a Progenitor Cult made up of vampires. They worship the first ancestor, Lilith, the mother of all the children of the night.”
“Wasn’t she was supposed to be Adam’s first wife?” Willow inserted. “Before Eve and the whole rib thing?”
“Did they name the Faire after her?” Dawn asked, ingenuously.
“Yep, that’s the one,” Anya nodded, patting Dawnie's hand. “I always thought that concert thing was kind of silly. Them making her a symbol of woman power and all and her not strictly speaking even female.”
“Why did they ki...” Buffy began and her voice broke. She took a shuddering breath and tried again, “Why Spike? Why not me? They’re vampires, right? So, why leave the Slayer there, all helpless and alive?”
“I don’t know about the first part,” Anya answered, “but they wouldn’t want to kill the Slayer. You are a big part of their end-times mythology. This faction of the cult, Rossi gli abiti, traces back to 11th century Italy but the origins of the faith are pre-historic. They believe that the first Slayer and the first Vampire were created together. When the last of the Old Ones were driven from the earth Lilith refused to leave. She created the first vampire and…”
“Oh, I know this,” Willow interrupted, “Giles told us…a demon, Lilith, I guess, shared its blood with a man and created the first vampire.”
“And as long as there’s been vampires,” Xander put in, snapping his fingers and pointing out his recollection of the tale, “there’s been a Slayer to fight them. But nobody really knows where she came from, she just appeared one night.”
“Well, that’s one version of the story,” Anya sighed, frowning at the inept human interpretation. “But according to the Rossi gli abiti, what actually happened was that a council of ancient Shamans used a gem called Cuore Della Notte, the Heart of the Night, a.k.a. Lilith’s Heart, to split The Night Monster herself into two separate entities. One half, the first vampire, carried Lilith’s blood and would prey on humans. The other half, the Slayer, carried the seed of Lilith’s life force, and would prey on demons. The Rossi gli abiti believe that Lilith will be reborn when a vampire mates with the Slayer. And then it’s look out world.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Xander reasoned. "I mean, assuming they want all this to happen, why burst in like that and, if you’ll pardon the expression, kill the mood?”
"Xander's right,” Buffy nodded. “If they wanted me to mate with a vampire all they really had to do was hang around outside for another hour or so. And anyway, been there done that! Can we say Angel? And while it wasn’t exactly a party…the world certainly didn’t end, afterward.”
“Well, Angel has a soul,” Willow said, working it out. “So, maybe he didn’t count…somehow…because Angelus is the true Vampire. And you never slept with Angelus…or Dracula either.”
“But that doesn’t explain about Spike,” Anya said, dismissively. “Spike is a vampire." She frowned over the puzzle for a minute and then shrugged, "I have no idea why they wouldn’t want you to be with him. That really doesn’t make any sense from what I know of their religious beliefs.”
“What if they didn’t think that Buffy could conceive this Night Monster by mating with Spike.” Willow speculated. “And how’s that even work? With the conception and all…I thought vampires were sterile.”
“It is a ridiculous superstition, when you really think about it,” Anya admitted. “Vampires don’t breed by having sex, in any case. So, why should it matter if they mate with the Slayer? But my impression is that they are expecting a divine conception of some kind. In fact, they don’t even specify that the vampire be male…so, maybe it’s not a traditional mating at all. Maybe it has nothing to do with sex. There are lots of stories about rituals and invocations and sacrifices. They’re big into purification and denial of their natural urges, going with out blood and such. So, maybe they DIDN’T want you to have sex with Spike because that would make you impure or something.”
“Maybe it was because of the chip?” Dawn guessed, re-entering the conversation. “Because Spike wasn't like a real vampire. He couldn’t hurt anyone with the chip in his head?”
“That’s a good thought, Dawnie,” Willow nodded, as she powered up her computer to type in the cult name. She hit the search button and waited for results.
“We aren’t getting anywhere just randomly guessing,” Buffy snapped, impatiently. “And I don’t really care what their plans are. I just want to find out where their lair is, so I can kill them.”
“Hey!” Xander said, sitting up straight, the two front legs of his chair returning to the floor with a bang. “I wonder if Oz could find them for you? He’s gotten really good at the tracking thing since he came back from Outer Mongolia.”
“I could call him,” Willow said, already reaching for the phone. “You’re right about his wolfie senses. Spreading the ‘grrr’ out over a whole month is really making a difference on the full moon days. I bet if he starts at Spike’s crypt he could trace these guys back to their hideout in no time.”
“I don’t know, Will,” Buffy said. “It’s worth a try but it has been nearly 24 hours and didn’t it rain last night?”
“Yeah, but that was before Spike died,” Dawn pointed out, swallowing the sudden lump that came with saying the words.
“No, it wasn’t,” Buffy corrected, with a quick shake of her head. “Spike died at about nine or nine-thirty and it definitely hadn’t rained yet. I was there, remember?”
“Buffy,” Dawn sighed, impatient with her know-it-all sister. “You were drugged, remember? You might not be exactly clear on the times. But I saw Spike just before midnight, last night. I checked the clock a couple of times so I'm totally sure…. It must have been closer to one in the morning when he died.”
“You SAW Spike?” Buffy exclaimed, sitting forward and grabbing her sister’s arm, fiercely. “Last Night? Where?”
“At our house,” Dawn answered, her voice trembling as she, suddenly, recalled how strangely Spike had behaved. “H-h-he s-s-said he came to get something of yours and…”
“AND?” Buffy prompted.
“Well,” Dawn hesitated, shifting in her chair as everyone focused on her. “He WAS acting kind of funny. When I woke up he was in the corner of my room but I think that h-h-he had been standing over me. It felt sort of like he was watching me sleep or something.”
The hair rose up on Buffy’s arms as a chill shot through her.
“He couldn’t have survived the staking?” she whispered, more to herself than to Dawn.
“Well, Dracula can do it,” Anya chirped, helpfully. “So we know it is possible.”
“Yeah…but Drac is like…Super-Vamp,” Xander inserted, with only a minor touch of hero worship. “He could turn into a bat and become a mist and everything.”
“These Red Robed vamps could do the mist thing,” Buffy recalled. “I am pretty sure that’s how they got so close to us without me sensing them. You know…now that I think about it, Spike acted like he knew them, too. And I heard Saul call him ‘my brother’.”
“Then maybe Dracula isn’t the only vampire with special powers,” Dawn yelped, clapping her hands together, happily. “Maybe Spike is still alive!”
But Willow, Xander and Anya were far less enthusiastic in their response to this idea. They were all looking across the table, at Buffy, faces clouded with apprehension, as the Slayer sat studying the chip in her hand through dark haunted eyes.
“A chip-free, unstakeable Spike,” Xander said it aloud for all of them to hear.
“Willow,” Buffy ordered, her tone chilled and impersonal. “Call Oz. Tell him I want those Martini and Rossi guys scent traced back to their home lair from the crypt but ask him to meet me at our house first. I want to know if Spike has been there in the last 12 hours.”
“And if he has?” Dawn asked, picking up on the drastic undercurrent of fear in the room.
But the Slayer didn’t answer; she just turned the chip in her fingers, staring at it fixedly. She looked manic and dangerous. The room reached an uncomfortable level of silence. Then, with alarming abruptness, Buffy sprang up out of her chair and stalked toward the Shop’s weapon filled backroom. Her body was wound tight with conflicting emotions and Spike's duster flared out behind her as she punched open the training room door, vanishing into the darkness beyond.
“Will,” Xander urged, looking after the Slayer, as the door crashed violently closed behind her retreating form, “you better call Giles while you’re at it.”
The red-haired witch nodded her understanding, flipped open her cell phone and started dialing.