(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 5
“I still love you,” Spike said, as Dawn disappeared around the corner of the building. “That hasn’t changed. Killing me won’t change how you feel either.”
“I don’t feel anything,” Buffy said, with complete honesty. She was totally numb.
The Slayer’s body was tense against Spike’s back. Her breathing was short and shallow. The vampire could sense the battle raging within her soul. He knew Buffy was being torn in two by equally powerful forces. As the Slayer, she wanted him dead and yet she couldn’t bring herself to kill him. She longed for the deathblow and still her arm would not make the final stroke.
“You can’t deny it, anymore, can you?” Spike asked, his voice a low, sweet urging toward truth. “You love me. You never say it…but I know you do. I can feel it inside.”
“Aawwrrrhhh!” Buffy roared out her frustration. Removing her blade from his throat, she thrust Spike away from her so swiftly and brutally that he staggered to one knee.
He flowed with the forward momentum, dropping his shoulder and rolling out of the fall. Recovering his footing quickly, Spike turned to face the Slayer. She was panting and her eyes were filled with a primitive rage.
“No love, no weakness, and no mercy,” the first Slayer snarled, speaking through Buffy. “YOU…MUST…DIE!”
Spike stared at his beloved, magnificent in her savagery. For one moment she mesmerized him. She was death incarnate, a force of instinctive fury, more powerful even than the demon that lurked within him. Then, as she charged, he broke and ran. Within a few hundred yards, Spike realized that he couldn’t out distance her. He needed to find somewhere to make his stand. Turning on his best speed, he headed toward the deserted Stafford dormitory.
Arriving at the dorm, seconds behind Spike, Buffy moved cautiously up the front steps. The door was hanging drunkenly from its hinges. She knew her quarry was inside. She'd seen him slip into the darkened interior of the building. Senses on full alert, sword at the ready, she followed him.
The vampire struck at her out of the darkness as she entered the foyer. Her sword went flying and he sprang instantly away. Buffy could hear the drag of metal on stone as Spike appropriated her weapon. She caught his outline against the windows but didn’t have time to target on him before he tossed her blade into the open elevator shaft. It clattered into the sub-basement, two stories below.
“Now, maybe we can have a civilized conversation,” Spike commented, but the Slayer was in no mood to talk.
She tackled him at the hip level, nearly sending them both after her sword. Spike tottered on the brink of the elevator shaft and shoved Buffy away, thrusting hard against her chest with his knee. He staggered forward; took a blind swing at her and connected. She sailed across the room, landing in the midst of construction materials. Two by Fours, glass panels and tools scattered as she crashed down. The Slayer came out of the mess with a wooden stake in her hand. Spike spotted the weapon and took off for the staircase in no mood to test his ability to survive being staked by his spiritual anchor. Dracula had never mentioned what to do if your “one true thing” was what was trying to kill you.
“You are going to see reason, Buffy,” Spike yelled back, as he scampered upward, taking the stairs three at a time. “I’ll hurt you if I have to but you are going to listen to me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Buffy replied, from a few steps below his position. “Nothing you say can change this.” Her voice was almost normal as she added, “This is our destiny.”
“Bollocks!” Spike snapped, turning to face her across the second story landing. He pointed an accusing finger at her, saying, “This is you hiding from your feelings. Don’t you try to fob this off on destiny.”
“How can you be so blind?” Buffy returned, insistently. “Vampire and Slayer? It’s madness and this is how it ends. Just like it did with Angel.”
“Don’t you EVER compare me to your undead-ex, Pet!” Spike raged, recklessly stepping toward her. “I ain’t some neutered lapdog. And I ain’t going to slink off to L.A., no matter how unreasonable you get.”
Buffy stared at him. She didn’t know what to say. Dangerous emotions were stirring inside her again as she and Spike fell back into their old patterns. The taunting words, the deadly strike of fang or stake, it was comfortingly familiar. But there was always another message lurking just beneath the surface. Their sparring masked a multitude of feelings, heat, desire, and lately even tenderness and love.
Sensing that he was beginning to get to Buffy, the vampire decided to change his tactics and throw her even further off guard.
“Isn’t this nice?” he inquired, cheekily. "You and I alone at last." Turning, he sprinted up a few more stairs. Knowing she was close behind, he called back over his shoulder, “You know, I think we have the whole place to ourselves." He whipped around to confront her, again and she nearly ran him over. He bared his teeth, pushing her back as he added, "Feel free to scream if the mood takes you.”
“I won’t be the one screaming,” Buffy growled, kicking out from the hip.
“Funny that,” Spike said, easily blocking the Slayer’s kick and twisting her foot so that she was forced to back flip away from him down the staircase. "I’ve always pegged you as a screamer."
“Not that I ever heard a peep out of you,” he continued, conversationally, “in all the time I stood outside your window listening to you shag the starched stuffing out of G.I. Joe Finn. But, then, I figure maybe he didn’t come with the necessary accessories to get the job done proper. Him lacking the Kung-fu grip and all.”
Cartwheeling upward again, Buffy brought her stake around in an arc that would bury it in Spike’s chest. Seconds before she imbedded the wood in his flesh, the vampire’s demonic personality flooded to the surface, his features roughened and his fangs descended. He struck at the point of her weapon batting it aside and the stake shattered on the wall beyond his right shoulder. The Slayer was carried into Spike's arms by her own momentum. He looked down on Buffy; meeting her hazel eyes with his feral yellow eyes ones.
“Hi, Honey,” Spike's demon smirked, in imitation of her. “I’m home!”
Buffy grimaced and slammed a knee up into his groin. At the same time, she threw her weight sideways, over-balancing them. Spike didn’t slacken his grip as they fell the four steps back to the landing. Still locked together, they rolled across the six feet of flat surface and smashed into the balcony railing.
The half-constructed supports gave way beneath their combined weight and they plunged into the darkened stairwell. Vampire and Slayer plummeted together toward the tiled lobby floor. As they fell, Buffy squirmed free of her assailant. Twisting in the air like a cat, she pushed off of Spike’s body, using that leverage to right herself, so they hit the ground with her on top.
Spike landed hard, cracking his head on the tile, and Buffy thudding into him a nano-second later left him momentarily dazed. The Slayer, however, recovered instantly. Already targeting on a shaft of shattered wooden railing, she trod on Spike like a rug, digging into his abdomen with her sharp heels as she sprang away. Spike snarled his outrage at this treatment. He lashed out with one hand clawing at her as she dove clear of him. The vampire’s nails raked over Buffy’s body barely grazing it but lighting tiny fires all along her skin and tearing away the front of her delicate dress.
In another time and place, Spike would have been happy to lay back and admire the savage vision that spun to confront him. Buffy had come up from her forward roll with a stake in hand. She was nearly naked. Her blond hair formed a tangled mane about her shoulders and her eyes were full of fight and fire. The tattered remains of her slip dress fluttered around her like a cape, exposing the admirable craftsmanship of Mother Nature. Only a few threads of blood and the beige of her satin-striped bikinis broke the bare expanse of Buffy’s tawny skin.
His girl had apparently abandoned the concept of a bra for the evening, Spike thought, his mouth twisting in wry amusement. He, also, privately conceded that with muscle-tone like the Slayer’s a bra wasn’t a strict necessity. Quick as that thought came to him, Buffy was swinging the stake at his heart. Unable to gain his feet in time, he rolled under Buffy’s strike, hitting her mid-shin and throwing her off balance.
As Buffy stumbled sideways, one of her high heels snapped off and she went to her knees. It was the opening Spike needed. With an inner surge of delight, he came up swinging. He landed one fist hard to the side of Buffy’s head spinning her around to face him. As she fell backward, her stake slipped from her fingers. She landed unceremoniously on her back. Spread eagle in front of him, she fumbled blindly for her weapon. Spike stalked toward her, his mouth lolling open in a self-satisfied grin.
“What’s the matter, Luv?” he inquired, with feline insolence. “Didn’t wear your dancing shoes?”
“Yeah, this outfit was definitely a mistake,” Buffy agreed, trying not to grimace as her hand brushed her stake and sent it rolling further away.
In no particular hurry to end things, Spike ran his appreciative gaze over her. Buffy was suddenly aware of her nakedness and of Spike’s undeniably masculine presence. A hot tingle of embarrassment, and some other less-easily defined emotion, shot through her igniting her blush. Spike basked in the glow of it. Fighting down the urge to cover herself, Buffy willed her body to relax. She opened herself to his scrutiny, lying back and letting her knees fall apart. Spike swallowed, convulsively.
“High-heels,” Buffy continued, her voice low, her eyes never leaving his, as she slid out of her damaged shoe. “What was I thinking? You never take me anyplace nice.”
“NICE!” Spike sneered. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He straightened slightly and hissed out the word again, “Nice! You don’t want nice, Pet. You’ve never wanted it…nice.”
And finally, he came into range, leaning over her. With her remaining spiked heel Buffy kicked out connecting with his shoulder sending him flying. Continuing the flow of her movement, the Slayer flipped to her feet and with a twist of her ankle popped her other shoe off. Spike slid to a stop and surged back at her. They circled each other, looking for weaknesses, both wary and weary.
“I know you, Buffy,” Spike remarked, as if they were having a civilized conversation. “Maybe you can hide it from yourself but you can’t hide it from me. I know what you want.”
“Oh, Brother! Here it comes,” the Slayer groaned, shaking the hair out of her eyes and favoring him with a 'please end my torment now' look, “Spike the Psychologist is in. Lay down your nickel and he’ll lay that Dark Side Wisdom on you.” She snorted and continued in mocking sarcasm, “Let me guess…I want it rough? I want to play the games that draw blood? I want a little leather clad domination?”
She paused, letting her gaze sweep the blond vampire with a frank appraisal, before saying in a deceptively normal tone of voice, “Or to sum up…I want you!”
Spike had gone still as a statue. He took in a long shuddering breath as if his dead lungs suddenly needed air. After a moment, he gave a quick dip of his head. It was a Victorian gesture of agreement and a gentleman’s affirmation of a well placed hit. Buffy bared her teeth in a mirthless grin. She hated him in that moment. Hated his pretense, his mimicking of human feeling. Hated the effect he had on her even now in the midst of a life and death battle.
“You really are pathetic, William,” she spat and spun out a kick at his head.
“You unspeakable Bitch,” Spike snarled, ducking her unexpected blow. He was suddenly ashamed of his weakness for her and bitterly aware of her ability to hurt him.
Punching wildly, he landed a hard right to the small of Buffy’s back. She winced, gasping at the pain but quickly recovered turning to face Spike even as he leaped at her. They exchanged blows, matching each other strike for strike. Bobbing, weaving, fighting, they danced. Their footwork was so intricate and their bodies so in harmony that every move seemed choreographed. They were opposites, yet, forever united, man and woman, living and dead, young and old, silver and gold, the blazing Sun and the cool Moonlight.
An hour later, they clung to each other like amorous drunks at closing time. Recovering from his left to her cheek, Buffy clawed her way up Spike’s body. She was holding on to him and simultaneously holding him at bay. She felt sick, dizzy. Her knees were buckling. Spike was no better off he was swaying and had trouble focusing. Buffy levered against him and he cried out as a dislocated rib twisted in his back.
The Slayer used Spike’s weight to steady herself as she brought her knee up between them. She missed the vampire’s groin by a good margin this time as he suddenly doubled over. Her knee glanced off of Spike’s chest and sent him reeling backwards. He held on to her. They staggered together, leaning into one another for support, seeking their center of gravity. After several feet, they stumbled to a stop. Foreheads pressed together, arms braced, bodies begging for relief, Buffy and Spike held their positions in opposition
“Why didn’t I kill you years ago?” he asked, as if he really wanted an answer.
“You had a chip in your brain,” she reminded.
Spike wanted to backhand her for her bloody-minded insolence, but he knew if he let go of her now he would fold up like a string-less marionette. He needed to buy a little more time. He needed to keep Buffy talking.
“It wasn’t the chip,” he hissed, through tightly clenched teeth, “…and you know it.”
Buffy could feel the familiar cold stirring in her gut, the tightening in her groin. She wondered why Spike made her feel this way. How it was even possible to feel this way. To loathe him and all he stood for, to want to hurt him and at the same time to crave him. She knew she should chew him up, spit him out and walk away. But he still made her mouth water, made her want to swallow.
“All I know is that you betrayed me.” Buffy said, softly. “As soon as the chip was out. Just like I always knew you would.”
“Yeah,” Spike sighed, “always.”
“Oh, don’t you DARE try to make me feel sorry for you,” she berated him. “You are a killer. Merciless and cold-blooded…a soul-less reptile.”
“For the eight-hundredth time,” Spike growled, spacing out the words for dramatic effect. “I…Did…NOT…Kill…THAT…Girl!”
“Yeah,” Buffy agreed, bobbling her head, vacuously. “And you’re NOT trying to kill me either. This is all some kind of comical misunderstanding.”
“I don’t want to kill you, Luv,” Spike said, soberly. “You know I don’t.”
He pulled back slightly to stare at Buffy meeting her gaze steadily until, feeling a physical pain from the intimacy, she broke eye-contact.
“I seem to know a lot,” she grumbled, looking down at the floor. “Tell me this…do I know what it is you DO want?”
Spike stopped pushing her away and instead fell forward into her body. The sudden change in dynamic energy brought Slayer and vampire together. Buffy gasped as Spike slammed into her. The sound she made caused something to clench and twist in his chest. He ran his cheek along her jaw line. Purring, he nuzzled her neck. He breathed in the sweat and sweetness in her hair before responding.
“I want,” he whispered, very close to her ear, “…to Sire you.”
Buffy tensed. She wrenched back fighting to break away from him but Spike had her now. He was holding her in a vise grip pinning her arms at her sides; keeping her close. His nails were biting into the flesh just above her elbows. He lowered his mouth and began raining small kisses along her bare shoulder working his way back toward her throat.
“I want to make you bleed,” he said, punctuating his words with tiny kisses, “And I want to bleed for you. I want to open myself and spill into your mouth. I want to make you mine, to feel you drink me down. Feel you become me.”
“You want to make me a vampire?”
Buffy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She couldn’t believe what the words were doing to her either. She felt a trembling weakness in her joints and a bloom of wetness between her legs. She could visualize all too well rising out of the ground and falling into his arms.
“I want to give myself to you,” Spike corrected, gently, “Eternally! To hunt, to kill, to feed, and to be with you. I love you, Buffy. Together, we could rule the night, you and I.”
The Slayer’s eyes flashed. She was furious, appalled…and horribly tempted. She brought her hands up and placed her palms flat against Spike’s abdomen. Under his tee shirt, his body felt cool and tight, imminently masculine. His muscles twitched beneath Buffy's fingertips.
She looked up, meeting his eye, squarely, and whispered, “I already rule the night.”
The Slayer's claws tore into his flesh and Spike roared his pain and rage, thrusting her away. She tried to take advantage of the opening, scrambling for position, but he was on top of her in seconds. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her into his body and twisting her arm up and back. Buffy gasped at the red-hot pain that lanced through her. Spike was demonic now, his face distorted, his eyes yellow, his teeth sharp. Keeping her hand behind her, he picked Buffy up, swinging her easily into his arms. She was helpless, denied purchase for retaliation. Spike held her like a new bride about to be carried across the threshold.
“No,” he corrected, smiling down at her with a mouth full of ragged fangs. “You don’t rule anything…not until you’ve bested me.”
Swift and sure, he was moving toward the staircase, still holding her close. Buffy fought down her panic. She could feel herself grow cold as Spike carried her up the first flight of stairs. The Slayer knew that she had to stay calm, keep her wits about her and search for some escape. She figured there was a slim chance Spike intended to throw her off the roof. Her mind veered away from the other possibilities presented by an abandoned dorm. And veered right back on course as the vampire turned down a hallway. Without pausing, he kicked in the first door they came to. It flew open revealing a single room with a single bed.
“You have GOT to be kidding,” Buffy laughed, her fear evaporating as swiftly as it had come over her. “You can’t rape the Slayer. Didn’t they teach you anything in Vampire School?”
“RAPE?” Spike choked on the word. “Oh, pu-leez! That is just so…." He struggled to find something scathing enough to reply and failing finished lamely, "…typical.”
He morphed back into his human face and tossed her into the center of the bed. Buffy bounced a bit and steadied herself, but made no effort to escape. She was, quite frankly, too shocked to react. She was amazed that he’d freed her so easily.
“You think I can’t smell the desire on you, Buffy?” Spike asked, bitterly. “You think, I don’t know? You want this as much as I do.
“I don’t…” Buffy began.
“Save it for the Scoobies," he said, cutting her off. “I don’t want to hear you justify this. It doesn’t matter to me anymore. I am tired of trying to prove myself to you. Especially, when it’s just so much easier for you to see me as a monster. Keeps you on the job, dunnit? Makes sliding a sliver of wood into my chest a bit less of a soddin' tragedy?”
“You’re the one who brought all this on,” Buffy yelped, stung by the unfairness of his accusations and furious at the truth behind them. “You crossed the line. You killed that girl."
“Say that’s true,” Spike shrugged. “Say I did kill her. What of it? I’m a vampire remember? A monster, a cold-blooded killing machine, just like you said." He sank into a half-crouch, slinking toward the bed as he continued in a sultry purr, "I’m no better than any other predator. You can’t blame me for doing what comes natural. But you, Pet! You should know better…all full of soul…and yet here you are…lusting after the likes of me.”
“I…I d-don’t…lust,” Buffy stammered, as he closed in on her.
“No?” Spike asked, with wide-eyed innocence, standing up straighter. Buffy shook her head and to her astonishment he pouted slightly, "Ohhhh." And quietly slipped into the bed beside her, stretching out full length on the bare mattress.
Making no attempt to touch her, Spike watched the Slayer closely, forcing himself to remain still. He tuned into her heartbeat, savoring the rapid pulse of it. He harbored no illusions about Buffy’s ability to kill him. She was his anchor and she could so easily cut him free of this existence. He knew that he was as close to being one with the dust bunnies as he had ever been. Mustering every ounce of self-control he possessed, Spike waited for his beloved to make the next move.