Chapter Two
The Resurrection

3.1.2113 7:29 AM

"Bring back the SLAYER?! Is he NUTS?!" Shalimar panicked.

"Does he even know what kind of sodding TESTS we'll be put through?" Isabelle's eyes flashed with fear as she flung her hands above her head and dropped her gun. I caught it before it hit the concrete bottom of the tunnel.

"Isa! Shal'mar! Get it together! If he sees you like this...he'll..."

"All right. Fine. But it's me an' Shal'mar messin' with the forces of darkness...not him..," Isabelle whimpered, trying her best to calm her nerves. I glanced over at Shalimar and she seemed to be trying to do the same.

"Listen guys, he told me there's only one person that can help us now...and if that person happens to be his Slayer, then so be it. I do want to end this God-forsaken war sometime soon! I want to go home...sit and play on whatever passes for a computer now, and just be a lazy bloody bum! A Black and Tan sounds about nice now as well, so let's get movin'. The faster we bring 'er completely back, the faster this war'll be over!" I spat as I picked up my pace and, followed quickly and quietly by the duo of Wiccas, caught up to Spike.

When I got back to him, he was crouched down, hiding around a corner from some unseen creatures. He motioned for me to stay down and behind him, and I gave the same command to the witches.

"Bloody horde of demons in there...knew I couldn't take em all on my own...but you three might help a bit," he whispered so that only my vampyric senses could pick it up. "Tell the witches to help us out a bit, a'ight, luv?"

"Got it," I replied and then turned to the duo of Wiccas squatted behind me. I tapped my head, code between Isabelle and I for our secret, telempathic conversations she and I were notorious for. Isabelle and Shalimar locked in with each other first, and then I joined in, casting my mind and thoughts out for them to grasp. I felt a fuzzy connection at first, a bit of tingling at the back of my head near the base of my skull and then felt it solidify into something nearly tangible...a kind of pressure that you would think would drive you crazy after a while. It doesn't. That's the weird bit about it; it's almost comforting...

'You read, ladies?'

'I got you, Rayvin,' came the reply from Shalimar. 'You got me?'

'I've got you both. Loud and clear, wha's going?' Isabelle's voice whispered through my head.

'Good. I'm all clear. Ladies, Spike and I are going in to try to clear out some bads. We need ya' on our backs, ready to work your magicks if it comes down to it, ya' hear?'

'Gotcha.' Isabelle winked her good luck at me.

'You bet. Kick some ass, girl. Call us when you're ready.' Shalimar nodded.

'Good. When it's clear, I'll call the "one-three," a’ right?'

I was met with a pair of nods.

'Good. I'm out ladies.'

I quit our connection and then turned back to Spike. "Three for go, Spike."

"Good, on my mark, you an' I go in," he glanced back at me, pain and longing in his eyes. I even thought I caught a tear in the pitch black of the sewer tunnel...I shook it off and rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "One chance at this..." This time I was sure he was crying. I heard him choke back a faint sob. I squeezed his shoulder lightly and then took his hand in mine.

"I won't fail ya, Spike...I can't. You saved me arse once - I owe you - big." I gave him a shy grin and moved closer to him. I released his hand, pulled out my beloved shiv, and felt its comforting, solid weight in my right hand. With its intricate Celtic designs soldered into the gleaming metal, the four-and-a-half inch blade, the ivory handle also decorated with Celtic symbols, the edge of the blade so sharp it screams death each time I pull it out of its holster, and sighs in resignation that it didn't get to kill enough, or sometimes for not getting to kill anything when I put it back...it's my pride and joy...In my left hand I held a stake, crafted by my own hand while I was going through the Watcher's Council's version, of what I was told, had been called "boot camp" in the old world...

He nodded in reply. "Ready yourself, pet. Movin' in...three...two...one...mark!"

As soon as I rounded the corner, my stake flew from my hand, pinning a polgara demon to the wall. It winced in pain as Spike and I caused quite a bit of dust to fly in the tiny room. Between the two of us, we dusted twenty of the thirty-five vampires in the first two minutes we were in the room. As we moved on to the next vampire, and the next, turning them into tiny piles of meaningless dust, I can feel my blade sing, and I can feel the demon inside my head, in my heart, the one that's taken over the void where my soul should be, rejoicing in the violence of the single swings of the blessed blade that seemed to be attached to my hand, beheading each vampire I came up against with utter ease.

Suddenly, there were no more vampires on my side of the room, and feeling one of my kind nearing me, I whirled...ready to slice his head clean off of his shoulders...but the flash of peroxide blonde hair made my blade halt just millimeters from his throat and silence its joyful singing. It was then that I felt the eerie touch of the special stake Spike always carried with him, yet never used by his own hand, poking into my chest directly above my unbeating heart, business end first. He and I stood there, toe-to-toe, my blade to his throat, his stake to my chest, separated by mere inches...both of us gulping in breaths of rancid air we knew we'd never need...I glanced behind him and found nothing but piles of dust all over the floor. I took in breath after needless breath, trying to regain my balance and humility to face my leader once again.

"All done, huh?" I murmured, bringing my shiv away from Spike's throat coolly and slowly, backing out of our entangled stance, as I sheathed my weapon of choice.

" 'Course, pet..," Spike put away his own weapon and glanced up at the polgara demon who was still stuck to the wall thanks to my trusty wooden stake. "Keep 'im there, Rayvin. We may need 'im later."

I nodded. " Would ya' like me to take care of his nasties?" I inquired, glancing at the bone skewers protruding from his wrists.

"Please. You do that; I'll gather the Wiccas..."

"Just call them. They'll come in...All you have to do is tell them it's all clear."

Spike opened his mouth to speak, and I silenced him quickly.

"BUT--"

Spike turned and cocked his head at me the way he always does when he's feeling excited, cocky, or when he just plain wants to be sarcastic as hell. I stifled a laugh.

"But...They won't come in here unless you say the right thing to them..." I replied nonchalantly as I dealt the demon a hard blow to his temple, rendering him unconscious. I pulled my stake out of his shoulder and watched as the limp body fell to the floor. I sighed. "I hate it when they do that!" I muttered under my breath while bending down to snap the skewers off where they were still protruding from the wrists.

Spike gave a short cackle and turned back to me. "Then, by all means, Rayvin...do bring them out o' hiding, pet."

I grinned, closed my eyes, and focused in on Isabelle's presence.

'Isa?'

'You good, Ray?' came the tinny reply.

'I'm all good. We've got an unconscious polgara demon, in case it's needed for anything in the spell, and...' I paused.

Behind me, I heard a loud scuffle, followed by a shriek of pain and a body hitting the floor. I whirled around, and found Spike - stake in hand - ready to do in yet another vampire.

'Ray?'

'Yeah...Spike's about to take out another vamp...'

'NO! Leave it!'

"SPIKE!" I attempted to speak loudly, and my voice cracked under the effort.

"Wha' is it, pet?"

"Isabelle says they...might need 'im. I guess you should just...knock 'im out or somethin'..."

"I can deal with that..." Spike then grabbed the trembling demon by the neck of his shirt, pulled him up, and whispered, " 'night," before ramming his fist into the fledgling's face, knocking him into pure unconscious bliss. Spike turned back to me and winked, flashing his patented cocky grin. I smiled at him in return, partly out of amusement before reconnecting with Isabelle.

'Isa? We're good. Two unconscious bads, and the one-three is go...'

I could hear the grin in her reply.

'All is go. We're comin' in Ray,' that was all I heard before she backed out of the connection. Less than ten minutes later, she and Shalimar were set up and ready to begin the ceremony.

"How far off are we from getting started?" Spike inquired as I sat down in between the two Wiccas and joined hands with them.

"We're seconds away, Spike...All ya' have t' do is join us down 'ere..." I grinned. Spike did as I requested and sat in between Shalimar and myself. Moments later we were well into the spell...and the resurrection of the greatest warrior in the history of mankind - and all vampyric nature as well - had begun...again.

~*~
"...Come on, I can feel it, Slayer. You know you want to dance."
"Say it's true. Say I do want to... it wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you. You're beneath me..."
* * *
"...I know you'll never love me. I know that I'm a monster. But you treat me like a man, and that's.... Get your stuff, I'll be here..."
* * *
"You always hurt the ones you love, pet..."
 ~*~


Where and when was it that her feelings changed? She used to hate him. He remembers it. That one time outside the Bronze when the two of them went out into the alley and had it out....him telling her that all they'd ever done was dance....and she - the Slayer - denying it completely. Saying that she would NEVER 'dance' with him...that he was beneath her...

Was it all that long ago? It didn't seem that long ago to him, even though it had been over one hundred years...He had met Rayvin about a hundred years ago, and eleven after Buffy had died the third time. Spike found his mind, and his demon, falling for Rayvin, but his unbeating heart and missing soul didn't fall for her. Spike could tell she'd fallen for him, and thanked her for being open-minded enough to pick up that he didn't want to be loved by anyone at the moment. Of course, that at-the-moment thing had developed into a for-all-eternity gig...and he had loved her even more for that.

Suddenly, Spike was aware that all of the chanting in ancient tongues focusing around Gaelic, Latin, and Egyptian texts had ceased all together. And before him, upon the ceremonial cement coffin, in all of her luminescent glory laid his idol of strength, his rock of youth, and his emissary of longevity. His Slayer.

"Let all behold...Buffy Anne Summers...the Slayer..."




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