I know you can save me No one can save me now but you As long as the planets are turning, As long as the stars are burning You'd better believe it, that I would do anything for love “Anything for Love” – Meatloaf The trucks are cold, the green canvas sides flapping in the harsh wind. I listen to the creaking of the boxes in the corner, the slap of the tires against the muddy roads, my eyes glazing over. Frigid air bites into my arms even through my thick sweater and I feel the heavy coolness of Spike's leather jacket descend over my shoulders. “Don't need it, blondie,” he shrugs when I glance at him questioningly. “Not likely I'm gonna catch a chill and croak.” “A pity,” I mutter, and ignore the sight of my sister mewling slightly as she drinks the thermos full of blood her sire brought for her. Her lips are shiny, candy-apple red and slight skeins of blood drip down over her chin. I suppose I've learned now, to pretend she's not there. It's so much easier, than embracing the loss of the sister I died to save. To my left sits Darla, who is sleeping. Still. Unmoving. Her skin looks blue, her hair is like fallen frost. I'd hate her if I wasn't so tired. My muscles ache from the bumps in the roads, and my eyes throb in my skull. Everyone else besides Spike and Dawnie and I are fast asleep, their fingers shaking, their eyelashes fluttering, as the snow swirls outside. “You should sleep, pet,” Spike murmurs low in my ear. “I can't,” I breathe out and see the tiny wisps of air float away. “Not until we find him.” “You slept before,” he reminds me. “That was part of finding him,” I answer obliquely, and shift my legs within the cramped space. The truck holds thirty people, but it seems like hundreds are swimming before my eyes. “I'm not going to rest until I have him with me.” “Well cue the inspirational music,” Spike mutters, taking the thermos of blood from Dawn and swigging it back into his mouth. He swallows thoughtfully and touches my thigh lightly. “Did it ever occur to you that it might not be a good idea to charge in there when you're half-dead and expect to win?” “I will win,” I reply firmly, blankly. “And Spike, did it ever occur to you that it might not be a good idea to paw a pissed off Slayer?” He doesn't remove his hand, just shrugs. “It's occurred to me. I just don't give a fuck.” I sigh, sudden tears burning in my eyes like fire. Dawn curls up in a ball against Spike's leg, closing her eyes. I know from the deepness of her breathing that she's asleep. Is everyone else able to shut out this world? Because I can't. I don't know how. I don't know what to do. Raking my hands through my hair, I whisper, “I think you do. I think you care about him.” “I think not, Slayer. You should be resting.” “I think you care about him,” I repeat and my throat swells with salt. “I think I care more about you at this point,” he points out, and drapes another blanket closely around my shivering legs, his fingers stroking my hair. “I don't know what I'm going to do if…” I trail off and think for a moment. “If he dies, Spike—you have to look after Dawn, all right?” He glances at me. “What in the hell are you babbling about, blondie? You'll still be here.” I don't say anything. I have visions of a long sharp sword, my heart exploding in a bloody smear and a gravestone. I have visions of the peace and the white sky morning and an approaching dawn. I have visions of an eternal dream with Angel. The fierce tug Spike gives my arm barely registers for a moment. “Let me tell you something, Slayer,” his voice rushes next to my neck. “Don't you even fucking *think* of killing yourself over him.” “I suppose I'm just supposed to go on then?” I laugh harshly, and pull away from him. He growls. “Yeah, maybe you fucking are.” “With you?” I smile without humour and look at him. “Say it, Spike. You're probably hoping that he'll die just so you can have your little wicked way with me.” I pause and regard him closely. “Well I have two words for you. Dream and On. I will *never* love anyone else. Not you, not anyone—“ “Do you think I want you to love me?” he snarls. “Do you think I could give a flying fuck about your heart? I've never wanted that- never needed that. All I want Slayer- is your cunt, your blood, your screams- all I want, is to feel you under me, around me- all I *want* is to kill you—to be the one who brings that look of peace to your face. And you know what? Stop trusting me. Stop asking me to look after your sister. I turned her into a vampire, luv. Have you forgotten that? Or have you blocked that fact from your brain? I fuck her each and every night and sometimes, I pretend she's you. Do you still want me to look after her?” “Shut up,” I cry desperately, coldly. My head is whirling sickly as we're jostled again by the thick Irish wind. “I don't want to listen to this.” “I think you're afraid,” he whispers. “I think you're a little afraid you might start to want it.” “Want what?” “Want the peace. Want someone else besides Peaches.” “I'm not afraid of that,” I snap. “I have wanted other people. I wanted Riley. I wanted Parker. I've even wanted you on occasion, Spike. But my heart? It belongs to him. Ever since the first fight in the alley. So don't even try to scare me. Don't even try to make me doubt it. You can't.” “I wouldn't dream of it,” he sits back and crosses his legs out, over the chests of a few sleeping people. Carefully he stretches. “But I notice you didn't deny wanting that peace, Slayer.” I feel tears prick my eyes once more and blink furiously. “It's not about the peace, Spike. It's about him. I just want to be with him, again.” “And then what? Everything'll magically fall into place?” he mocks. “It's not like you two had such a shiny happy life before this mass demon takeover.” “We'll survive. Together.” “Of course,” he echoes. “Always together. You two are really fucking rich.” “What happened to Drusilla?” I ask calmly. He is silent for a moment, and then says without inflection, “She was lost. Probably killed in the fires in LA.” Cracking his knuckles, he looks down at my sister, who croons deep in her throat, her eyelashes blanketing her paler than milk cheeks. “I think you and I are a little too alike,” I whisper. “Why d'you say that?” he murmurs. “We're both killers,” I say, my head thrumming sickly. “We're both the Bringer. We're both made out of death. Maybe we just have too much in common.” “Maybe.” He falls silent and I find myself lulled by the motion of the truck into a sleep I don't seek or want. Something pulls me, deeper and deeper and I feel myself falling into the blackness of the raven's eyes. Waves crashing. Salt breeze on my face. Sun cream slick on my shoulders. Sand between my toes. I take a step and feel warm fingers cover my belly. Leaning back, I croon, “Baby…” “Hey, love,” he whispers in my ear, his lips touching my neck, near the scar. “Are you ok?” “It's cold here- that's why I chose the beach.” I laugh softly, and turn, bringing him down with me so we can sit on the sand. “I'm coming to get you.” “I never doubted it,” he says quietly. “Why do I sense a huge 'but' at the end of that sentence?” I wonder aloud. He half smiles and bows his head. “If I don't make it—“ “Stop it,” I halt his words. “You're going to make it. We both are. And then we're going to beat the bad guys and have a happily ever after. With picket fences and slayage. You know, normal stuff.” His fingers brush my cheek and I lean into them, my eyes seeking his. “You didn't let me finish.” “Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't that sentence going to end badly? It just seemed like it had no where to go but down and—“ He interrupts, “Marry me?” That stops me. I stare at him, and the only sound for a moment is the keening of a seagull, far in the heavens of this dream. “What? Did you just say—“ “Yes,” he says slowly. “I asked you to marry me. I don't have a ring. I don't have any grand declaration. This is—nothing could prepare me for this moment. I don't even have my heart. Because it's with you. And that's all right. Because I want it to stay with you- forever.” He pauses, and his thumb caresses a tear on my cheek. “What do you think?” I laugh slightly, my voice choked. “I think yes. I think I've wanted this since I was sixteen. And I think I love you. So much.” He pulls me onto his lap and the tears rush down my face as we kiss and kiss, desperately. All I can feel is my hot breath, the sweat from the sun, his tongue, our lips and saliva, his sleek skin, the throb of him against my stomach- strong and sure. I burrow closer, my arms in a death grip around his neck. “I love you, love you, love you…” I murmur over and over into his mouth. Drawing me down, his hands slip off my clothes and he slides inside me, seamlessly, making me gasp. “Angel---“ I pant, arching as his pelvis cleaves into mine, and his thrusts into my dripping center nearly split me in two. “Buffy… Buffy… please… save me…” he groans against my neck, and my hands grip his back as my cries reach a fever pitch. “I am going to save you!” I shout to the sky, which turns black as the raven's eyes. Rain swells in the clouds and his eyes go yellow as lemons. I realize I'm not in our dream anymore. “Or maybe I'll save you,” he smiles slow, and his fangs push from his gums with malicious intent. I scream and it's swallowed by the cracks of thunder. “Didn't you always want someone who would make the sun go down?” “Nooo…” I cry as he moves within me, faster and faster and his mouth fastens upon my neck, the blood spurting down his throat making me gurgle with pain- and I feel like I'm burning- soaring- as his sharpness invades my throat and his cock rips me open and lets me fall apart. “Close your eyes,” he whispers, and then I see no more. (You can't kill me. You become me) (Close your eyes) (So I can kill you) (You're not gonna take me alive) (Not gonna be a problem) ~~~ The thwack of my skull against the side of the truck awakens me. “Shit, shit, shit…” I sob and sit up, ignoring the creak of my hungry bones. Is my lover going to marry me or kill me? What a question. I hate this fucking day. Taking a long sip from the container of water on the other side of Darla, I accidentally elbow her and her eyes open warily. “Oh, hi Buffy,” she greets me with her customary silky tone. I don't answer, just sort of grunt a response as I drink, my throat parched. From the hot sun and the cool hands and the marriage proposal. Did he mean it? Was it in my dream? Or was that just a joke? God… please. Help me. How can I live in this world if I know I'm meant to die by Angel's hand? Was that what it always meant- all along? The dream at Christmas? The poisoned dart? I can't do this if I know it's going to end with another death- with another salty kiss and a sword. “We're going to save him,” Darla says quietly. “You're not going to,” I reply. “I am.” She laughs quickly, sharply. “A child till the end.” “And a bitchy, angry Slayer,” I add. “Don't forget that. You're still a vampire, Darla. And I still have a stake. Don't underestimate me.” “I'm on your side,” she informs me plainly. “I know you may not believe it—“ “You're right,” I cut her off, taking another deep drink of the water. It slides cool down my throat, into my stomach. “I don't. It doesn't matter anyway. I know what you want.” “And what is that?” “Angel,” I say. “You want Angel. It's what you've always wanted. It's what we both want, isn't it? You could say we have that much in common.” “You could say we have more than that in common. We're both the Bringer, aren't we?” she asks, flashing me back to my earlier conversation with Spike. “You were listening?” “Of course I was listening,” she says calmly. “This truck isn't exactly made for comfort, you know. How could anyone sleep in this contraption? I was listening. Didn't like everything I heard.” She stops, and regards me closely. “You want him.” “I don't.” “Don't lie to me,” she replies in a terrifyingly sure tone. “I know you do. I also know that you love Angel. Which one is more important to you? Love or want? They're both equally powerful, you know.” “I love Angel,” I snap. “I always will. I don't love Spike. Yes, I sometimes want him. I'm human. I have eyes. But that doesn't mean that I'm going to throw away what I have with Angel for an evil vampire who turned my sister. Give me credit for half a brain, Darla.” “Oh, I always knew you were smart,” she snaps back. “How else would you manage to make Angel fall for you? And Spike? But sometimes I think… sometimes I think you have more darkness in you than even we do. And the parts of you- infected with that darkness- want Spike. Even more than they want Angel.” “That's where you're wrong,” I snarl low- not letting her see how shaken I am at her words. “Because there is no part of me that isn't 100% pro- Angel. So please spare me the theories Darla.” She leans back and smiles. It's cold, like the winter outside and it sends ice water lacerating through my veins. “Believe what you want, Buffy,” she whispers. “But I see things. I'm your Elder by hundreds of years. There's something inside of you—something not of this world.” I don't answer. I don't want to answer and I don't want to understand her. I just want to sleep. I just want to see my friends again. I just want to save Angel. next