(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.
PART 8
At Saul's pronouncement, three of the Rossi gli abiti rushed for the stairs, leaving the Head Priest and three other monks to attend Spike.
Gently removing his fangs, from Dawn’s throat, her friend spoke, quietly, into her ear, “When I let go,” he whispered, in an unnaturally gruff voice, “run toward the elevator shaft. Get inside; don’t let me catch you. There’s a sword. I need it. Hand it out, then, quick as you can, scamper for the stairs. It must be almost sunrise, you should be safe once you're out in the light.”
“What are you doing?” Saul asked, in exasperation, striding toward them.
Spike pulled back to stare down at Buffy's sister, his demonic visage inches away from her face. His eyes were red and his breath fetid. Dawn tried to concentrate on the tasks he had set her as she watched her own blood drip from his fangs, with a sort of horrid fascination. She felt sick and dizzy from the drugs and the blood loss and her head ached. She fluttered one hand up to her brow and felt a jagged wound just above her left eyebrow.
“You must feed," Saul was explaining, impatiently. "Lilith needs fresh blood.”
“Want to hunt,” Spike growled up at the High Priest and then he whipped around on Dawn and barked, “RUN!”
The teenager scrambled up, heedless of the spinning sensation in her head and bolted for the elevator shaft. Saul’s delighted laughter rang out behind and Spike was after her in a flash. He clawed at her, his ragged nails ripping into her shoulder, and she kicked out connecting with his left leg. He hit her in the back, knocking her down and propelling her into the darkened shaft. Dawn rolled with the fall and made it to her knees just as Spike's fingers closed on her ankle. He yanked hard, jerking her into a belly flop. In blind desperation, Dawn swept her hands over the floor, searching until she hit the sharp blade of Buffy's sword.
Ignoring the cutting pain in her fingers, Dawn held tight to the steel edge as Spike dragged her out into the basement, again. They cleared the shaft with the vampire crawling up the teenager's body hand over hand. Calling on every last bit of faith she possessed, Dawn rolled into her sister's lover and handed him the sword.
As Spike's fingers curled around the hilt of the weapon, he smiled. It wasn't the sweet, loving smile he'd offered Dawn, just four nights ago, when she'd first modeled her green gown. But she knew it was meant to reassure. Spike released her and stood, his movements fluid and precise. Then pivoting, he swung the Slayer's sword in a graceful arc, slicing right through the neck of the nearest red robed figure. As the monk dissolved into ashes, Dawn scurried away, sprinting for the stairs.
“Stop her,” Saul yelled. But his followers were already dust.
Spike's blade danced through a series of brilliant and deadly semi-circles. Then, head down and sword hanging loosely in his right hand, he advanced on the High Priest. Saul backed away, one hand raised in consolation.
“You can not prevail, William,” the red robed priest said, softly. “The First One is already alive inside you. Can’t you feel Her growing stronger.”
“I feel peachy,” Spike assured, swishing his blade.
“'She will come again',” Saul quoted, from the text of his Bible, as he continued moving, circling back toward the stairs and staying just out of reach, “'and show Her face to the rising sun. Her Children will nourish Her and the gate will open. She will be drenched in the life’s blood of Humanity and the sun will set on a world Cleansed of the Holy unbelievers.'”
“’Then the resolve of the Unholy shall be tested’,” Spike recited back.
“What?” Saul frowned, taking a slight misstep.
“You left out part of the verse,” Spike informed. He ticked of points in the air with the tip of his weapon as he recalled, “Face to sun…children feeding…gate opening…UNHOLY TESTED! I've read the bloody scriptures, too, Saul. Did ya forget or are you just hoping the Hellbitch will skip over that 'testing' part?" He smiled, wickedly, as he asked, "Afraid you might not measure up?”
“I am resolute,” Saul said, with pride. “The First One will not find me wanting!”
“Yeah,” Spike sneered, totally unimpressed. “You’re a regular Unholy Holy Roller. But in case you hadn’t noticed…I’m the one tha’s gettin' asked all the tough questions.”
“But we are the same, William,” Saul purred, his manner as oily as a door-to-door salesman. “We are evil incarnate. Say what you will; you cannot deny what you are? You have killed two slayers and entranced a third. How much innocent blood have you spilled? But this Buffy Summers has taken your essence and given you nothing in return. She opened your veins for her own pleasure. Lilith has chosen you. Why do you persist in fighting the inevitable? Would you be an empty shell for our enemy? When you could be the savior of us all?”
For his answer, Spike rotated his arm so his blade sliced downward into Saul’s body. At the last second, the High Priest evaporated into mist, flowing along the floor. Spike whirled about but the mist had already escaped up the elevator shaft. Breathing heavily to offset the growing, twisting pain in his chest, the blond vampire sagged against the nearest wall. There was a sharp scream from somewhere above.
“Dawn,” Spike gasped and shaking off his discomfort, he rushed up the basement steps.
He came out on the first floor and charged across the lobby toward the main staircase. Looking up, the vampire saw a group of four or five monks dragging a struggling Dawn out the fire exit to the roof. He didn’t stop to consider the coming sunrise as he dashed after them.
Faith entered the building just as Spike reached the first landing. His swift movement caught her eye and, sword at the ready, she raced toward the stairway. With one great spring, she reached the second story, scrambled over the railing and blocked his way.
Skidding to a halt, a half inch from Faith's sword point, Spike crouched low and snarled, “Well, if it id’nt the second string Slayer up from the farm leagues."
Faith let her sword do her talking. Spike ducked under her swing. Bobbing and swaying he parried a swift flurry of blows, catching her blade on his own. He weaved and dodged with a limber litheness that reminded Faith of someone else she had fought. The dark-haired Slayer mentally accessed her impressive kill list, struggling to remember what undead soldier this one resembled.
“Hoping for your shot at the big time, sweetheart?” Spike asked, conversationally, as his sword tip flicked under her guard to draw blood. Dropping his shoulder to avoid a vicious slice, he spun his own weapon and punched the hilt into Faith’s stomach, doubling her over in pain.
“Just here for a little workout,” Faith panted, shrugging off Spike's blow. Slashing upward, she straightened, rushing him and finally broke past his guard. With a twist of her wrist, she engaged Spike’s sword and whipped the weapon from his grasp. “I hope you can keep up,” she continued, with false sweetness, as the vampire's blade clattered down the stairs. “I hear your local Slayer's been coddling you.”
“You mean the REAL Slayer don’t ya?” Spike countered. Dancing back to avoid being beheaded, he continued baiting the brunette, “Buffy is the definite article isn’t she? You're not really in her class, now, are you, Pet? Just a blip on her heart monitor. The spare tire they keep in the boot for these little roadside emergencies.”
As he'd hoped, Faith lost her temper at the insult, bringing her saber around like a battleax. Spike dipped under her wild swing and shoved both hands into her chest. She teetered on the edge of the stairwell, flailed for purchase on the brink of the balcony and overbalanced. Spike was already running upward again, even as Faith began to fall. Heedless of his lack of weaponry, the vampire was desperate to reach Dawn before Saul could have his way with her.
Falling into space, Faith released her hold on her saber and let it spin freely in the air as she fell. Tucking into a tight ball, she relaxed into the fall and rolled out just before she hit the tile floor. Tumbling forward and back flipping to her feet, she reached out her right hand and caught the hilt of her weapon as it came down. With a fierce oath, she spun on one foot and raced up the stairs in pursuit of her quarry. Far above she heard the fire exit door clang open.
Spike broke out onto the roof at a dead run. It was still dark but he could sense the coming dawn. He took in the scene at a glance. On the east side of the roof, facing the rising sun, was an altar laid with flowers and draped with gold cloth. Dawn’s living body was trussed up at the center of the dais. Saul was standing over her with his sacrificial knife held high. An acolyte was holding up a red leather bound volume of the sacred text for the High Priest’s scrutiny.
“SAUL!” Spike screamed, “Get away from her, you Bastard.”
“Welcome to the feast, my brother,” the High Priest said, jovially. “Come, let us toast your transformation.”
Bringing his knife down, he made a shallow cross cut on Dawn’s chest just above her left breast. The teenager screamed in pain and, growling out his challenge, Spike sprang forward to assist her. But before he had taken two steps, Faith kicked open the fire door behind him. Without preamble, the dark-haired Slayer ran her blade straight through his shoulder. Spike ripped free of the weapon, tearing a ragged hole in his flesh as he lunged to one side. In no mood to waste time on another protracted fight, the vampire, spun and struck at Faith with unbelievable speed, swatting the sword out of her grip. Closing on her, he took hold of her throat and squeezed, lifting her feet from the ground.
Faith gritted her teeth and fought with all the blind ferocity of a cornered animal. She brought up both arms to break Spike’s grip, simultaneously kicking out at him. Twisting away, she punched into his wounded shoulder. He swept one leg around and tossed her to her back. She flipped into a backbend, somersaulted upright, and landed a blow to his groin in rebuttal. Neither of the combatants noticed the electric roof lights flickering on nor did they note the elevator rumbling to life.
Faith was easily a match for the average vampire. She could out savage the most aggressive bloodsucker. But as the fight went on she began to sense that Spike was toying with her. The vampire was always two or three moves ahead of her. He was biding his time now, learning her fighting style and noting her weaknesses. Even though Spike’s attention was divided between her and the monks gathered at the altar, she could find no weakness in his defenses. Just before he moved in for the kill, Faith realized who he reminded her of with the subtle moves, the opportunistic attitude and the playful sense of humor in the face of death.
"Just like Buffy,” Faith thought and Spike backhanded her into the edge of the metal door, knocking her unconscious.
Glorying in the violence, Spike lifted Faith’s limp body up by one arm. All thoughts of Dawn were wiped from his mind by the victory. His third Slayer dangled from his grasp; she was helpless and limp as a rag doll. He shook her, savagely, bringing his head down close to her throat to inhale the rich tang of Slayer blood, pumping under her skin. Faith was warm and strong and smelled almost as good as his sweet Buffy.
“Slayer-lite,” Spike thought and smiled, well pleased with himself. “Only half the sugar of our original recipe,” he said, the words slurring through ragged fangs as he morphed into his demonic features.
He bit into Faith’s neck, savoring the tang of her on his tongue. Slurping and gulping, he drank down a good pint of Slayer 'hundred-proof.' The elevator arrived with a tinny ding. Spike lifted his head from his meal and looked toward the sound. Xander Harris stepped off the elevator and the vampire addressed him, casually.
“Not too bad,” he said, swirling Faith’s blood in his mouth like a connoisseur sampling vintage wine. “Once you get used to that bitter aftertaste, it goes down real easy.”
A millisecond later, he screamed in despair. Spike lurched to his knees; rocked by gut-twisting agony. His muscles contorted through a hideous metamorphosis and he roared out a primal challenge to the Heavens. For in releasing his own demon, Spike had let the Night Monster take possession of his body. He had opened the door for the Progenitor’s return, as he swallowed the first mouthful of Slayer blood.
Spike’s grip on his physical form loosened. He felt Lilith rise up and swamp his consciousness. His jaw thrust forward into a muzzle with a hideous under bite. His fangs curved into four-inch, double-edged, interlocking blades. His hands elongated into three-fingered paws that ended in thick black claws. His hair became a crest that cascaded in a ridge down his back. His essential maleness blended into something else entirely. What was Spike slid into oblivion, as Lilith was reborn from his flesh.
Her eyes, like living coals, swept the room assessing the faithful monks, weighing their sacrificial offering and settling at last on a small blond woman standing just a few feet away.
“Spike!”
Buffy’s voice reached him, even at the edge of eternity, “SPIKE!”
Swimming upward against an overwhelming current, Spike pushed back into his former body. Peering through a red mist, he fought to bring the world into focus, again. He searched for the source of the voice, knowing somehow that it was important to him. It was the voice of his spiritual anchor.
Buffy stood just outside the elevator door, her feet braced wide for stability. She was far too close to the thing holding Faith for anyone’s comfort. The blond Slayer was armed with a crossbow and was flanked by Giles, Travers, Xander, Willow, Anya and Oz. Several monks rushed to engage the newcomers but Saul concentrated his efforts on the newborn Night Monster. He forgot about Dawn and the ceremony surrounding her, in the joy of seeing his Deity returned to flesh.
“Feed beloved,” the high priest urged. “You have a Slayer in your grasp. Take her blood and you will be free.”
“Is that what you really want?” Buffy asked, casually. “Faith’s blood?”
She nodded at Giles. He and Travers released their hold on her. She swayed, slightly, but didn’t fall. Nodding reassurance at her friends, Buffy Summers spoke with quiet authority.
“Get to Dawn,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Just get her out of here. Keep her safe.”
Willow cast a spell to loosen Dawn’s bindings and she and Anya went to the girl as Xander, Oz, Travers and Giles faced off with the charging monks. Pikes clashed with swords and stakes in a melee of fists and fangs.
Ignoring the fighting between her friends and the remaining Rossi gli abiti, Buffy focused all of her attention on reaching her lover. She wanted the beast to release her Sister Slayer. She didn’t know if Faith was even alive but she still wanted to get Lilith away from her. There was nothing about Spike in the hideous monster before her but Buffy had to try to reach him anyway.
“Come on, Luv,” Buffy encouraged, warmly. “Come back to me and I’ll make it worth your while.”
There was the briefest flicker of Spike’s high cheek boned face but it was enough to give Buffy hope. Her love was still in the beast, somewhere. She ran her palm across the sharp tip of her crossbow bolt and let her blood run free. The hideous thing that was once her lover turned to face her.
“That’s it, Spike,” she nodded. “Fight her. Don’t let the Bitch beat you!”
“He can not fight her,” Saul laughed, striding toward the tableau of Slayers and Demon. “She is the first of our kind. The Progenitor! Feel how she has sapped your strength away. She is drinking down your life force. When the sun rises, your strength and his body shall be united in HER! The Old Ones shall be returned to their rightful place and your kind will be wiped from the Earth. Your power means NOTHING to her, Slayer! You are NOTHING!”
Forgetting that she didn’t have the strength to reload the weapon, Buffy fired her crossbow at Saul, sending the wooden shaft straight into the High Priest’s heart. Caught totally off guard, he exploded into ashes.
“That makes two of us,” Buffy remarked, offhandedly. She watched, dispassionately, as the pulsating red gem of the Cuore Della Notte clattered to the rooftop.
A sudden movement caught her eye and she turned her attention back to Lilith and Faith. The Night Monster was about to feed. Pulling a bolt from her quiver, Buffy dropped the now useless crossbow. She used the tip of the arrowhead to slice into her palm again, increasing the flow of blood from the wound.
“Here you go, baby,” Buffy whispered, holding out her crimson coated hand, “This is what you really want isn’t it? Our Blood! Yours and mine blended together. Come on then…drink. Make me yours. You don’t want Faith. I know you don’t.”
The creature loosened its grip on the dark-haired Slayer and let her slide limply to the floor. It seemed mesmerized by the blond vision before it. Buffy tilted her hand so that tiny droplets of blood spattered around her feet. With the suddenness of a freight train and a roar almost as loud the Night Monster came rushing down upon her. There was no time for the Slayer to defend herself or even turn to run. The Progenitor was on top of her in a flash, dragging her toward its maw. Its sulfurous breath stung her skin as jagged fangs pressed toward her throat.
“He’s not a monster, anymore,” Buffy asserted, with emphatic softness, as she met Lilith’s fathomless red eyes, unflinchingly. Deep within them was a flicker of midnight blue as the Slayer continued speaking, “And we are NOT your children. I know him…and you can’t make him do this. He loves me far too much to ever hurt me. And I love him far too much to be afraid of you!”
Willow, Dawn, and Giles all called out Buffy’s name at the same time. Freed of her bonds, the Slayer’s sister started to run toward the couple but Giles shot out an arm to restrain her. The battle between the Scoobies and the Rossi gli abiti had ground to a halt. Both sides of the conflict were entranced by the tableau between Lilith and the Slayer. Only, in the end, it wasn’t the Night Monster that pulled Buffy close. It was Spike. He snapped back into being just seconds before Lilith could rip out his beloved’s throat.
They held onto each other, Slayer and Vampire, united in purpose as together they held their Progenitor at bay. A formless darkness swirled around them, searching for a way to break the grip they maintained on one another. It almost obliterated the lovers from view several times but it always cleared to show them again. They were both screaming in agony, as if they were burned by each other’s touch. Neither of them broke eye contact, neither of them let go.
The sun rose.
Shafts of gold snaked across the roof, burning down the Red Robed monks until at last a ray touched the gem known as Lilith’s Heart. There was a sound like the screeching of a rusty cosmic gate and a great sucking wind seemed to whip over the world. Red light expanded out of the Cuore Della Notte; a red light enveloping all of creation. The unnatural fire, surrounding Buffy and Spike, blazed up like a pyre. It engulfed them, burning into the center of their very being. It tested their resolve…the deepth of their love. And then, with a crackle that echoed in the Earth’s bones, the light contracted in on itself and was gone.
Spike was still holding onto Buffy for dear life. His eyes were still locked on hers. He was bathed in sunlight but he didn’t seem to be in any pain. His bare shoulders bore no sign of the gapping wound Faith had inflicted.
The monk Xander had been fighting released his hold on the carpenter and stepped back. He was also free of all previous physical damage. His skin had the fresh glow of teenage health. He held out his hands, palms upward, to the sun and began to laugh in delight. He pulled off his robe and let the sunshine play harmlessly over his body. There was one other monk, standing between Travers and Oz, who had not been burned away by the red light. He was doing much the same thing as his brother. Twirling, arms out like a small child; he turned his face up toward the sky and drank in the beauty of the morning light.
“It is a miracle, my friend,” Xander’s monk said, addressing the carpenter in a joyous voice and slapping him affectionately on the back. The former vampire's eyes filled with tears as he pressed his hand to his heart and declared, “I am alive! I have been cleansed! Oh, Lord of Creation! What wondrous thing is this?”
Giles looked from the two reborn monks to the huddle of Buffy and Spike at the epicenter of this miracle. The lovers were kneeling together, oblivious to all but each other. Spike was stroking Buffy’s hair, pulling up strands and letting them fall so that the sunlight reflected from them. They kissed and separated only to gaze deeply into one another’s eyes before they embraced again. Buffy had her right hand pressed to Spike’s unblemished flesh just over his renewed and beating heart.
“What wondrous thing, indeed?” Rupert Giles whispered, in awe.