The Executioner --Part 19 of 100 yrs of Solitude (Races condemned to 100 yrs of solitude do not get a second opportunity on earth)

By: Isabelle

-Disclaimers: Title belongs entirely to Gabriel Garcia Marquez--just borrowing it for the sake of the story. Buffy, Spike, Whistler and all the memories belong to Joss and his crew. All other characters are entirely mine.

-Summary: Series set 100 yrs after "The Gift," Season five finale. This is part AU and futuristic. Spike has been alive for 100 hundred years after Buffy's death. Whistler comes to him to let him know that Buffy has been summoned to fight a new evil. Therefore she will be brought back to life and needs a "guide". When Buffy wakes she finds that the only one to cling to is the only person left from her past. This is a B/S fiction.

-Rating: Overall rating of series is R. (Language and Violence)

-Spoilers: I will mention everything that has happened through "The Gift".

-Distribution: The only people that have permission to post these series are those who already archive my fiction and have asked me for permission. If you want to post it please ask me. I'll be happy to let you. I just want to know where my fiction goes.

-Author's Note: I adore Feedback, so please let me know what you think of the story so far! bih80reviews@yahoo.com

-Special Thanks: Wendy and Nmissi for the BETA and their awesome feedback *g*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Concentrate,” Lucy told Zeta as she sat in the middle of the room—yoga style.

The others left the room trying to give her space. Once they were outside Spike turned to face Troll.

“Why didn’t you guys sense her before?” Spike asked practically shouting. “That’s why I hired you—you were supposed to be the best.”

“Even the best have their worst,” the old man answered wisely. “There was magic around her, powerful magick, dark and ancient. It was like there was no longer need for us to be blinded—someone wanted us to know that she was untrustworthy.”

“Which only means someone is expecting us,” Spike said, his eyes getting dark.

He turned and walked to the weapons chest, the players and an extremely worried slayer behind him.

“What are we going to do? The only way to get her would be with the car stunt—but we’ll risk hurting Vanessa if I go through with it,” Buffy asked him.

“They’re no longer there,” Zeta said, coming into the room.

They all turned to look at her. She was tired from the emotional exhaustion. “The warehouse is empty. I have lost their aura and I have no idea where they are," she stated.

Buffy felt her world crumble around her. She could still see those little eyes trusting her entirely—she must be so scared.

Spike saw her sulk and took her shoulders in his hands. He looked at her, intense blue eyes filled with reassurance he didn’t know he possessed. “We’ll find ‘er. Don’t go coma on me—had enough of you like that,” he said.

Buffy nodded and tried to shift her worries in to anger. Anger towards that woman. “She’s going down,” she hissed back at him.

Spike understood her declaration and nodded. This was her fight—just like Gloryhellbitch was his.

“Where do we find them,” Troll asked his boss.

Spike shifted into the man they all knew and followed. “We hit the streets,” he said swinging an AK-47 to Buffy who cocked it with ease. He grabbed himself his signature Rubio, face hardening in anger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She watched as she slept. A peaceful little angel with a powerful future. She smiled wickedly at her.

“A chip off the ol’ block aren’t you, sweetheart?” Loret asked the sleeping child.

Lighting a cigarette she leaned back on the seat of the SUV as it tumbled on the rocky road.

There was a fight looming on the horizon and she was itching to get her hands on a small slayer who still had a debt to pay.

“When I get through with your mommy…she’s gonna wish she was left dead.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the kind of bar you never went to after 7 pm. It was the one your mother warned you about.

But it was the first one you hit when you were of age.

It was rundown and dark. Creatures loomed in the dark corners—ordering drinks that would make you gag. The smoke was thick in the air—even though smoking was illegal—they rolled the grass in the little room in the back and sold it five bucks a fag.

They only way you lived through a visit was if you minded your own business or if you were a bad ass that no one messed with. There were always idiots who had fifty pound balls and never made it out—but they learned their lessons. Lessons they would no longer need since their body parts were used in the evening’s special.

You always knew one of those came by when the meat was too salty. But no comment—unless you wanted to be tomorrow's meal.

So when the doors were swung open—showing three men and two women armed to the teeth, the cook ran to the back to get the stove ready. Plenty of meat for tomorrow, he thought.

The patrons didn’t look up from their plates filled with frijoles and cups full of whiskey. The dirty bartender rolled his eyes and continued serving his customers.

Buffy grew impatient and walked ahead. She could feel her slayer senses going wild—there was not one human in the place.

“Hello, amor—what can I get for you today, gringa?” the bartender leered at Buffy as he placed a shotglass and filled it with cheap tequila.

“Not here for a drink,” she said coolly and walked carefully to the bar as she felt a few eyes look in her direction. “Here for information—information I know you have. Well, at least someone here does.”

The blond man with her moved to the center of the room and jumped on the middle table, startling some of the demons and making them growl.

“You see my friend here,” Buffy said, pointing at Spike. “He’s very temperamental. Kills without mercy, slaughters without thought—human and demon alike. You might have heard of him…if you’re smart you might have even heard of me…even them,” she said, pointing to the card players.

“I’ll give you a word of advise, querida,” the bartender said, placing down the bottle of whiskey and reaching under the counter for a gun. “Leave now and live. Stay and keep talking and you'll die.”

Buffy smiled at him and without warning slammed her fist on to the hand that was resting on top of the counter. The creature howled as every bone in his hand was crushed under the strength of the slayer.

“And I’ll give you a word of advice, smelly, don’t mess around with a braced off slayer.” She sneered.

The room instantly came to life as guns were pulled from places Buffy had never imagined.

Where’s the bulletproof vest when you need one, thought Buffy as she wearily looked around the room she saw many angry faces staring back at her.

“Sorry I guess I didn’t properly introduce myself or my friends—did I?” she said, letting the man go and turning to face the others. “The name is Summers. Buffy Summers—this is Spike, or as you all know him—el pacificador. Did I get it right, honey?” she asked sweetly at Spike. He smiled back and brought forth his game face.

“And as you 'lot would have guessed—they,” he pointed to the players. “Are the card players. Which means, kiddies, no one gets out of here alive.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When she awoke she knew something was wrong. This was not the safe place she had remembered—something in her skin told her not only that this place was bad, but that the people in this room were bad.

She whimpered and recoiled as she realized her new daddy and her new mommy were no longer around.

“Don’t be afraid, cutie,” a woman with black hair and black eyes came into her view. A smile spread across her lips as she talked to her.

The feeling around her was so bad Vanessa jumped and hugged herself tighter. This was a bad lady—a very bad lady.

“Where’s my mommy and my daddy?” she demanded.

The woman smiled and reached out to twirl the little girl’s hair though her perfectly manicured red nails.

“They were smart to tell you—but you’re never going to see them again, darling. From now on—you belong to me. I’ll be your mommy, your daddy—anything you want me to be.”

Vanessa slapped her hand away and glared back at her. “You’re a bad lady,” she whispered.

The woman laughed. “I like you, Essie—can I call you Essie? You remind me of your mommy when she was in the best shape of her life. Too bad she’s run down and flabby by now. They’ll never find you, Essie—from now on it’s just you and me, kiddo.”

“My daddy and mommy will find me—and when they do you’re gonna be sorry,” she said with all the strength she could muster.

The woman roughly grabbed her—holding her chin in place as she stared into her eyes, faces mere inches from each other. “Let me tell you a little story, Essie. I once sucked the brains out little girls like you.”

Vanessa did what she had seen her brother do to his friends when they fought. She spit on her face—slimy substance that ran down the red lips and fake eyelashes.

She was thrown down on the floor as the woman wiped the spit from her face. “You little bitch!” she cried. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sir?”

The white haired man turned to look at the delivery boy. “Yes?”

“The child has been acquired by the player. She’s in the lady’s quarters as we speak,” the boy said.

“Good. Prepare for our immediate departure, Steven. We want to be out of here before the slayer and her vampire find us.” The man answered and turned to face the other man with him.

“Yes, sir.” The boy left.

“You see, ol' boy, everything is working out as we expected. Now it’ll just be a matter of time until the slayer and the pacificador find our little surprise,” he smiled as he crossed his legs at the knee—confidently.

“Do not underestimate the power of this slayer. It was hard enough killing the last one and leaving no trace. They’re going to come fully armed and with backup—these are not children, Kemp—these are dangerous warriors that will die for their cause. They don’t do it for the money—they do it because it’s right.”

“Please, Javier—you make it sound poetic. But then again—we both know the battle is not here—it’s not now,” he replied. “We’re just giving them a taste of what’s to come—what their daughter will have to face—what they will die protecting.”

He stood and walked to the window. “Evil always brews in the horizon. It is our job to make it come faster.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bar went still with tension. One moment he was talking the next moment bullets were raining.

“Hit the deck,” he cried, as he jumped off the table and tackled the nearest demon.

Buffy flipped and twisted her knife into the nearest demon’s back. It fell on the floor whimpering. She was grabbed from behind and flipped.

Lucy pulled out her sword—good thing she grew up knowing Tai Kwan. Her grandfather had insisted she know how to be one with her sword. And she was—both she and the sword stared down at the rolling head from the demon she had just beheaded.

Mario pulled out both of his 10 gauges and smiled at the two vampires before him who approached him smiling.

“We’re vampires, you idiot,” one of the said.

“They shoot stakes, you asshole,” he said, as they crumbled to the floor in dust.

Dalton punched the head of one of the demons. “Well that’s just plain rude, boys. Don’t have nuh respect fo’ a man the law,” he said pulling out this own shotgun. “Yuh mamma ought to teach ya better.”

//BANG//

“Guess we’ll neva know.”

“Ever heard of this, mate?” Spike asked the demon before him as he pointed the Rubio at him. “Call ‘im, Rubio.”

The demon’s face fell in astonishment as the trigger was pulled and he was shot right through the gut.

Buffy twisted the creature’s hand behind him as she punched another one in the face and kicked a third one in the gut.

“Tell me what you know about Glory and her crusty minions,” she hissed in its ear.

“I know nothing,” he gasped.

“Then you’re no use to me.” Small hand that sliced his vertebrae with a sharp knife and and left him tumbling on the floor.

The other two got up. “I suppose neither of you know of Glory,” she said casually reaching for her AK-47. Both of them looked at her in confusion. “Nope, didn’t think so,” she smiled. “Bang, bang—you’re dead.”

Both bodies dropped to the ground.

Lucy backhanded the vampire and with agility staked him in the back.

Mario dropped and rolled on the floor as the demon shot at him—one bullet grazed his shoulder but it was clean shot. Clenching his teeth he pulled out the knife on his booth and stabbed him two times on the back shoulder blade.

Dalton smiled at the woman before him—she had a sword in one hand and a bat on the other. “Haven’t seen one of those in a long time,” he said, pointing to the bat. She swung it at him.

“Now you’ll feel it,” she sneered.

He ducked her and quickly pinned both of her arms behind her back, restraining her movement.

“Ma’ momma taught me neva to hit da' ladies,” he said.

“Never?” she asked breathing deeply.

He shook his head and she smiled. “Good,” she said, lifting her legs quickly over her head and kicking his neck.

He rolled to the floor but quickly caught her foot, sending her sprawling to the floor next to him.

“But ah's make an ‘ception,” he said before hitting her hard across the face.

Spike stabbed the guy behind him and quickly punched the man before him. He lost his knife and gun—therefore it was back to “fist and fangs”.

“Spike!” he turned at the sound of Buffy’s voice. He saw the creature coming behind him and from the corner of his eye he saw Buffy throw him her knife.

With timing and ease, he caught the blade and sliced the demon open. With satisfaction, he saluted her and attacked the other demon approaching.

Though Buffy was growing tired she knew she had to find out where Glory was. It gave her energy to know that one of these lowlifes knew where her daughter might be.

“Give me a reason to not kill you,” she asked the vampire before her.

The creature grinned and flashed her his fangs.

“Ok—the Dracula look, way over that.”

Stake through the heart and ash on her clothes. “Damn! I liked this coat too,” she pouted and turned to her next attacker.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dark forces are at play,” Zeta confided in Troll as they prepared the weapons for when the rest came.

The old man nodded. “Feels stronger than usual—maybe a prophecy?”

“Could be—if Loret got by right under our noses for the past six years that she’s been with us then anything can,” she answered and carefully placed the slayer’s sword on the table. She let go of the heavy cloth that protected her skin from the deadly metal.

Troll nodded. “The powers would not go through the trouble of bringing her back if they didn’t think it was absolutely necessary.”

“You bet your ass it is.”

Both players turned rapidly to face the voice.

When they saw who it was the both groaned. “How the hell did you do that?” Zeta asked confused. “Is this ‘get by Zeta day’ or somethin’,” she asked.

“Relax, kid—I am here for those two pains in my ass I can’t seem to get away from,” Whistler said as he casually leaned against the doorframe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy looked around what used to be the bar they had entered. Blood was splattered all over the floor. There were only two standing chairs from the forty-some that there had been when they entered. Dead bodies of demons lay mutilated and cut on the floor mixed with plenty of sickening vampire dust.

“Well…what a lovely sight,” Spike snorted as he disentangled himself from underneath a body.

“Indeed,” Lucy added, grabbing her sword from the floor.

“Look what we have here,” Buffy smiled as she reached behind the bar and pulled out the cowering bartender. He clutched his smashed hand to his chest and whimpered as the slayer dragged him to view.

“Are you going to talk or am I going to have to smash your other hand?” Buffy asked, slamming him against the wall.

The demon groaned and glared at her. “Fuck off, slayer-bitch. I don’t talk to your kind,” he hissed.

“Really? Why?” she asked innocently.

“Up yours, niña—I am not afraid of you,” he spat out.

“Oh you shouldn’t be afraid of me—you should be afraid that your protruding body parts will soon be missing,” she punched him on the nose.

“Owwww!” he clutched his broken nose. “Why don’t you ask me what you want and get it over with!”

“Why? So you can tell me you know jack-shit?” another punch to the face.

“That was the general idea, muñeca,” he spit out blood.

“What do you know about Glory?” Buffy asked slamming him again against the wall.

“Suck ma’ balls, slayer,” he spat out, grinning evilly.

That ended his easy trial as he was roughly grabbed and flipped on his stomach. Sharp fangs graced his neck. “The lady asked you a question, amigo. I would answer her if I were you,” Spike hissed—completely losing his patience.

“So you’re the legendary hero they talk about in these parts—tell me, do all your women do your dirty work?”

A clean blade through his shoulder as he howled in pain.

The sharp knife tacked him to the table—making moving a chore.

“I’ll let ‘er start on the ‘dirty work’ as soon as I am done playing Russian Roulette on you." The click of a gun was heard, loading of a single bullet.

The bartender saw the .38 revolver in the pale hand. A sick rolling sound was heard—it stopped. Cold metal against his temple.

“Well—you’ve got to ask yourself one question. Do you feel lucky…well do ya…punk?”

No answer.

A sharp click.

A relieved gasp from the pinned demon.

Buffy was biting her nails to the core as she watched Spike mentally torture the man.

“Round two, who will be the lucky contestant? I wonder—well kiddies, the waitin’s over.” Pale finger on the trigger.

“Wait!” the demon cried out. “I’ll talk you son-of-a-bitch,” he said. “Just put away the party favors and get me up!”

Spike lowered the gun and squatted eye-level with him. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I hate liars—used to be one m’self so I know the game, I wrote the rules. You fuck me over and I swear on every single drop of borrowed blood that runs through my veins I will kill you and everyone you care ‘bout—right down to your Chihuahua and your damn goldfish.”

An excited nod was all he got from the frightened creature.

“Good—now start talking,” Spike said, placing the revolver back on the table ready to be used if needed.

“Everything?”

“Everything,” Buffy answered for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I hope you’re happy!” Javier spit out to the senator and some high commanders. “All of you!”

They just looked at him impassively.

“Spike, Rainbow bright and the rest of the colors just completely destroyed one of my bars,” he spit out. “That was an strategic point in the underworld! Every single demon and vampire dead—not even the cook was spared.”

“The cook ate humans—I doubt the Girl Scout would have let him walk,” the senator said, flicking his wrist.

“That is not the point, Kemp, and you know it. Some of the best demons I used for covert operations were killed today and all because you want to have a little girl. They’re coming for us—Harry. And they’ll kill us—kill us all, including your trophy god. She’s as good as dead,” Javier said slowly, never taking his gaze from the man.

“You obviously have no faith in our project,” Kemp said, tapping his golden fountain pen against the oak table.

“I live by the faith of my gun, senator—just like you. But these creatures—they’re wild, and like a pissed off mommy bear they’ll come for their cub. Heaven help those who took it.”

“If I were you, I would keep my lips sewed together, Mr. Berrios—and only open them when you are told.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did you know of this council?” Buffy asked Spike as he cleaned his hands at the bar sink.

She saw his jaw clench and unclench. He felt her small hand on her shoulder, followed by a light squeeze.

“The Black Council was established in 2031. It was founded by then Senator Lindsey McDonald and his wife Lilah Morgan. It just appeared over night—but the news of it got around quick in the demon world. When I accepted my position in World War IV there had never been any instances to date of any violent attacks from the council. We always saw it as a “stuffy old men’s club”. It’s only by invitation that you can sit on the board and the members are unknown. We know there are world senators and world generals, admirals and such but other than that we have no idea who sits in the bloody round table.” Spike sighed and dried his hands.

He turned to look at her.

“So they’re human?” she asked biting her lip.

“You’d be surprised how dangerous and heartless humans can be. I have an excuse—I have no soul. What excuse do terrorists have? They have no excuse, pet.”

She remained silent studying him.

“Power, pet. Fortune and glory. Money is the root of all evil—you find out who hired, who placed the money on the table and I'll tell you who the bad guys is,” he said and lit a cigarette.

“Is that why Loret did it?” Her eyes went hard with hatred.

“I pay ‘er three million a year!” he spit out—not mad at her but at the entire situation.

“What?” Buffy asked him incredulously.

“3 million. If that’s not enough I don’t know what is,” Spike said, blowing out smoke.

They remained silent as they both contemplated the information.

Buffy’s eyes went wide and her head snapped up to look at Spike.

“What?” he asked.

“Fortune and Glory, Spike. Fortune and….GLORY,” she grasped his forearm as she literally pulled him out of the messy bar.

“Pet…you’ve got me confused,” Spike said, motioning his players to follow them.

“I’ll explain—let's get back to the game room.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The metal cuffs on her tiny hands burned into her skin. But she remained motionless—completely still as she stared at the bad man before her.

“Get those off her,” he stated as he saw her condition. He smiled at her and she recoiled even further.

A guard came forward and unlocked her cuffs, letting them fall with a loud thud on the floor.

“Better?” the man asked her.

She stared defiantly back at him.

“Are you not going to talk to me?” he squatted down in front of her.

“You’re a bad man,” she whispered.

He chuckled at the tears dried on her brave face.

“That I am, little one. And you can tell, can’t you,” he said, getting closer to her.

She remained motionless.

“You don’t have to talk to me—it’s ok,” he reached out and rubbed her bruised wrist.

“Then don’t touch me,” she said, pulling her hands back from his grasp.

He smiled again and stood up looking over at Loret who watched patiently from the door.

“Clean her up. I want her nice and pretty by dinner. We’ll have roast duck, duckling. Do you like duck?” he asked Vanessa.

The little girl said nothing as she stared hard at him.

He smiled at her.

“Yeah, I think you’ll like roast duck.” He chuckled and walked out, leaving behind a smiling Loret.

“C’mon mini-slayer. Let’s get you nice and pretty for when your mommy and daddy come to get you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“They’re coming,” Zeta said as she jumped up from her chair and looked at the elevator door.

They heard the voice of the slayer talking rapidly and Spike questioning everything she said.

“Do they ever change?” Whistler asked as he munched on a chocolate bar.

“Did they always fight?” Asked Troll.

Whistler snorted. “Believe me when I say that this is not fighting.”

The elevator doors eased open and out stepped an arguing Spike and Buffy followed by a very annoyed group of players.

“Why can’t you just come out and say it—not like I'm not gonna hear it later on,” Spike argued.

“Cause I am only going to say it once,” she defended.

“Will you two shut up! I’ve got a schedule to keep ‘ere!” Whistler exclaimed as he tossed the remains of his chocolate bar into the nearest trashcan.

Spike jumped at him and before any of them could register what had happened the vampire had him pinned to the wall by the neck in full game face.

A low growl was heard from Spike's throat as he was inches away from ripping his throat out.

“Let me explain,” Whistler shocked out.

Buffy walked up behind Spike and glared down at the pinned demon. “Your time for explaining is over—time to die.”

Spike’s grip tightened.

“If the girl dies then so does the prophecy,” the demon gasped.

“Nobody is going to die,” Buffy hissed.

“Billions actually—she dies then so do billions, she was placed on this earth to be protected by you two!”

Spike lessened his grip and stared down at the man.

“You stole something from us, mate. I have given fifty years of my life to serve the powers—Buffy has died for your cause and you re-pay us with this?!” he cried.

“You people,” he laughed. “Always seeing things in the negative, don’t you realize that this has been planned. From the beginning of time this has been planned. Not your stakes, or your guns, or your technologically advanced crap would have stopped it. It was meant to happen. Deal with it.”

“Deal with this,” Buffy said as she punched him on the nose.

“The hell was that for, kid?” Whistler gasped as he held his nose.

“You’re a smart little demon—figure it out yourself.” She replied, crossing her arms.

“Well you can kill me, or hear what I have to say!”

Spike let him go and he slid to the floor in a heap.

“Temperamental in your old age, ol’ man?” he glared at Spike as he took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair.

“If I were you I would keep the name calling to the minimum—unless you have a death wish, in which case I would be happy to oblige.” Buffy told him.

“Keep the obituaries empty, kid—got no death wishes from me.”

“Bugger,” Spike muttered as he paced the room. “So talk.”

“Got anything to eat—or maybe good scotch?” Whistler asked hopefully.

Buffy decked him in the nose again.

Grabbing his nose he glared down at her. “I see you’re all out,” he gasped. “Alright—what did you find out in that little massacre you did in downtown?”

“The black council—and their knowledge of the prophecy, they brought Glory back, Loret is working for them. But we have no idea why they would want Vanessa other than to hurt us.” Spike answered.

Whistler nodded. “Good info.”

“So they’re opening the hellmouth?” Buffy asked impatiently.

“No,” Whistler snorted. “It’s all ‘bout the money, kid. Think about it—you hold under your control the strongest human in the history of the world. She’s an unbeatable warrior and she’s on your side. Slayer can’t take her—the pacificador can’t track her. She’s invisible. What they want they’ll get.”

“The plot is still soft,” Lucy said, tapping her fingers on the table.

Whistler nodded. “That’s the thing—we have no idea what they want her for.”

Another deck to the nose. It sent the demon to the floor—clutching his nose in pain.

“What the hell was that for?” he cried.

“For lying,” Buffy stated and leaned back watching him stand with difficulty.

“It’s the truth! The powers don’t know! Why do you think we brought you along—nothing gets by you.”

“If the powers couldn’t sense it what makes you think Buffy can?” Spike said. “Not that I am saying she’s not good—she’s the best, believe me. But Buffy’s a fighter—like me. We’re not oracles or angelic messengers.”

“It’s not her who will defeat them,” Whistler said, with a glint of that freaky smile of his that told you he knew more than what he said.

“Then who?” she asked.

“Vanessa,” Whistler said.

“Then why bring me back?” Buffy questioned.

“You’re gonna teach her how,” he responded.

“Teach her what?” she asked getting irritated.

“Perfection.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room was dark but the dark was welcoming. She saw him standing looking out the window—down at the city that belonged to him.

She walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around him.

He sighed with comfort and leaned into her touch.

She could almost place her chin on his shoulder—that’s what she loved about him. They were compatible.

“You’re worried,” she said quietly.

“More than worried,” he answered her.

The minutes clicked by in the silent dark room.

“We’ll find her—when the time is right.” Buffy told him.

Spike smiled. “Ironic.”

“What?”

“This situation—reminds me of that night…” He choked up.

“The night of Glory?” she asked walking to stand in front of him.

He nodded but continued to look out the window.

“It was a bad night," she told him and watched his features sharpen in shadows of the room.

He agreed with her. “I’m sorry, Buffy.” He turned from her and headed to the bed where he sat down and started taking off his boots.

She looked at him in confusion.

“Sorry for what?” she took the place next to him.

He didn’t say anything but continued untying his laces.

“Spike…” she tried.

He ignored her and concentrated on his task.

That’s when she saw the traces, liquid traces of his pain.

“Spike? Why are you crying?” she whispered taking his face in her hands.

He refused to look into her eyes.

“Look at me,” she pleaded.

He shrugged his face from her hands. “Please go away.”

“No,” she said and stood her ground.

“Please…just let me be.”

“Have you ever left me?” she asked him.

He knew the answer but would not say it.

“Therefore I will not leave you,” she said taking his hand.

He remained still—never meeting her eyes. “Yeah, but you’ve never failed me.”

“You’ve never asked me for anything…plus you’ve never failed me.”

He stood up and paced the room.

“How can you say that?” he told her. “How can you sit there—looking at me as if you love me…”

“I do love you,” she reminded.

“But pet, how can you love me? This monster that hides behind the charade of a hero? I am no hero, Buffy. ‘Not the poof with the black cape. I’m a mean rude man who is paying and will pay for the rest of my life the mistakes I made in that tower 100 yrs ago.”

“What mistakes are you talking about?” she stood up to face him.

“I let you die!” he cried waving his angry hands in the air.

“You? What the hell are you talking about, Spike—because I well remember jumping out of my own free will!

He grabbed her shoulders and vamped out to emphasize his point. “You jumped 'cause you had no choice. Because of this face—look at it well, Buffy—this face failed you. I failed you—I let Doc cut Dawn. Because of me you died.” He let her go and his face melted to his human mask.

She slapped him hard across the face—sending him stumbling back. “You idiot!”

He looked at her confused.

“How many days? How many years have you told yourself this lie? Tell me? Drunk yourself silly over a stupid unbelievable lie that not even you believe, but your grief is so strong and so bitter that it makes you lie to yourself! You idiot.”

“Oh! No problem! Tell me I did it for nothing,” he muttered miserably.

“You did do it for nothing.” She said—bright pink with anger. “Tell me who went up there. Was it Xander? Angel? Giles? Riley? Who was it, Spike?”

Spike grumbled and shifted his feet.

“Tell me—say it loud and clear.” She told him.

He finally met her eyes for the first time that night. “It was Spike…it was me.”

“Funny…I though only heroes were thrown off towers trying to save scared little girls.”

“Little girls who lost everything because of this ‘hero’,” he said.

“Did she love you?” she asked him.

Spike’s brow furrowed. “Yeah.”

“Then she didn’t lose everything. She got a pretty big chunk if you ask me…a handsome, overprotective chunk.”

She snaked her arms around his torso and leaned into him.

He looked down into that face he loved that much.

“You think I am handsome?” he asked her with a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Humm..gonna have to see ‘all’ of you to come up with that decision.” She kissed his jaw.

“I see…not the very convincing type.” He shivered when she sucked on his bottom lips.

“You’re gonna have to work hard to convince me." She let go of his lip and started on his neck.

He reached out and cupped her butt, lifting her off the floor. She wrapped her legs around him.

“Better get to work then—lots of convincing to do.”

Those were his last words as he lowered her down to the bed.

The sheets were cold from the AC in the room. She reached out and brought their lips together.

Both searched out each other’s body with their eager hands as their mouths battled.

She moaned as he left her mouth and started biting her nipples lightly above the cotton that covered her breast.

“Love me,” she whispered as he lifted her shirt.

He could only stare down at her. There she was--with only black pants and a white lace bra that stood out from her smooth golden skin. Her golden hair was spread out above her head contrasting against the red silk sheets of the bed.

Her cheeks were flushed and she panted with want. Her knees slightly spread—begging to be exposed and touched.

“Buffy…” was all he could say as he sank to kiss the slight curve of her stomach.

He traced his tongue—tasting her skin as he explored her bellybutton.

Buffy gasped as she felt his cool tongue wet her, and she squirmed with need—those strong hands exploring her trunk and back as she arched to his touch.

He moved up slowly—taking his time, enjoying this moment with all he had left.

His thumb gently rubbed her erect nipples. Needing to touch the soft plump skin underneath the material, he lifted her up—reaching behind her to unclasp her bra.

She held the bra to her chest as she made him wait. He took her mouth in his as he coaxed her to show him her chest.

Gently the lace slipped from her hands—dropping to the floor next to his boots.

He left her mouth and looked deeply into her eyes—they were almost brown with need. She breathed hard—lips swollen from the passionate kisses.

He laid her back down and she closed her eyes and moaned as he reached out to explore her breast. He was so hard as it was. He could have come right there as he felt the soft skin that responded to his touch. So alive—so much his.

He needed to taste—taste told him everything.

When she felt his wet tongue meet her skin she cried out. She was hot—sweat was threatening to spill--and he was cool. Like the fan you need after you’ve run for a while. That cooling that melts you. That was his tongue—his hands, all over her—driving her crazy making her scream.

Lips that touched and tasted until she thought she would die—naughty hands that found her button, then her zipper. But her hands her empty—she wanted *needed* his skin.

She found his shirt through the cloudy haze. Urging him to lift it so she could see *him*--touch *him*.

It slipped off easily.

Then there it was.

Skin against skin—hot against cold. Muscles against soft skin.

She reached out to feel him. Sharp muscles that inhabited his chest.

Oh hello there, I’ve been wanting to touch you, she told them. She nearly gasped as she found his back and he found her shoulders.

Lick. Kiss. Bite. Suck.

“Oh God,” he groaned as she decided to torture him with light sucking motions to his neck.

Hard bulging groin against her leg—legs that held him by the waist in a crushing grip.

She needed it now. Her clit felt completely neglected and in serious need of company.

“Now,” she whispered to his ear.

No hesitation—no distractions.

Pants slipping easily off her smooth legs. Musky smell that almost made him come.

Off they came.

Little hands on his zipper. Easy slide.

Off they came.

She arched her eyebrow at him as she saw he went commando.

Then she was fixed.

She was now the one mesmerized.

Nestled in his dark curls—looking directly at her. Large—bulging, perfect.

Pale…waiting head with pre-cum sipping from the tip.

She reached out for it as if in a trance.

She had never seen one so up close. With Angel it has been fast—no time for exploration. With Riley he was always the gentleman.

“Find something you like, pet?” he asked amused at the concentration on her face.

He shut up once she took his shaft into her hot hand.

Oh so hot. So powerful. She remained still but then she started pumping. He was rock hard—shivering with need.

Wanted to bury himself in her heat—wanted to feel her rocking underneath him. Wanted to feel her, taste her…..

That was enough, he decided.

He wanted to come inside of her.

He pulled her hand off with much reluctance.

“Want to come inside of you,” he whispered as he slipped her little lace panty down her legs.

Strong, toned legs, golden beauty.

He ran his hands from her ankles to her hips.

She lay back and relished this moment.

Cool, hard fingers, tickling her hair.

She gasped.

Cool, hard fingers, finding her hot-wet-clit.

“Yes,” she hissed with appreciation as he began a slow circular motion that made her buck.

She was dripping with need—swollen and waiting for him.

He smiled—quite satisfied with himself.

She found his lips and they melted into each other as he continued the steady motion of his fingers.

She was so close to coming—he could tell as she momentary spasmed under his lips.

“Please…” she begged.

Withdrawing his fingers from her heat he slicked himself down with her cum and his.

Up and down she saw his hand move. She parted her legs and waited. Sweet waiting.

He moved his cock to her entrance and grabbed her in an intimate hug.

Slowly…deliciously slow he entered her.

Her eyes went wide. She was going to come and he was not even entirely inside of her.

“Spike..,” she whispered.

He found her mouth and kissed and he continued to enter,

To the edge of her womb.

He was going to pass out—definitely losing his control. But how the hell was he supposed to keep control—she was so damn tight and hot.

“You’re…so damn…hot…tight…oh god,” he gasped. Then she was fully stretched.

He gave her a moment to adjust but Buffy was not having it. She rolled her hips to urge him on.

Locking eyes he pumped in and out—first slowly, caressing her and kissing her. Then it was on. The power dance that they had both wanted for so long.

She flipped him over and rode him.

Firm bottom hitting his thighs every time she went down. He grabbed her breast, she pinched his nipples.

Hands—arms—in places that wanted *needed* touch.

Faster, faster, until he thought he would die—until she couldn’t breath.

Then the sweet tingle of the coming climax in her stomach--it traveled down her leg and to her chest until she felt numb—she convulsed and there it was…

No thought, nothing—just…

He felt her spasm and he let go—his balls hardened in delicious warning.

Coming, coming, exploding in his groin and traveling through his body, numbing him—making him shiver—jump—moan—cry out.

They both screamed each other's name at the same time. Holding on to each other.

Sweat—cum—slick—delightful.

Both breathing hard, both panting, both shivering.

“I love you,” he said as he kissed her sloppily on her cheeks, neck, shoulders.

“Spike…” she whimpered.

“Love you,” he continued to say as he laid her down next to him—still buried inside of her.

She held him close—so sated, so loved. Happiness came forth from her and she found his lips and engaged in the slowest, sweetest kiss she had ever had.

It went on forever—still fully filled with him, cold tongue that made her want to melt.

Hands that tenderly held each other.

He almost forgot that she needed to breathe. She pulled back and gasped much needed air. Blue eyes against green.

“I love you…” she whispered and she leaned in and rested on top of him.

Slowly he pulled out of her. He brought her shaking body closer.

She held on to him…who would have thought that all those years ago when she first met him he would become her love.

She let her eyes drift in exhaustion—complete perfection.

“Buffy?” he asked.

“Mmmnn?”

“Happy?” he asked her, although he knew the answer.

She held him tighter.

“Oh yes…so happy.” She smiled and fell asleep. Small smile on her lips that was duplicated on his as he drifted to met her in dreams.

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