I'm broken in two, and I know you're on to me
That I only come home,
When I'm so all alone
But I do believe, that not everything's gonna be the way
You think it ought to be
Please say honestly, you won't give up on me
And I shall believe

“I Shall Believe” Sheryl Crow


I sit alone in the meeting room, it's shadows bending and bowing as the snow falls outside. Angel's chair curls around me with its warmth, and I settle back into the velvet, unconsciously rubbing my cheek against the place where his head rests. It's a cold day, and the wind howls through London, making the immense building feel even more like the sanctuary it is supposed to be.

All the people rescued who resided in the safe house came back with us, and Angel and Bronwen have been busy all day, finding extra bedding and food around the city to shelter and feed them. I wanted to check on Dawn earlier but feared running into Spike. I sigh guiltily, trying not to remember that yesterday my tongue was in his mouth—that he was whispering my name and I wanted to let him. I wanted to let him make me forget it all.

In some ways I'm glad Angel didn't wake up with me this morning because he would have wanted to make love and I don't know how I would have explained away the livid red scratches marring my breasts from Spike's rings. But then I wish that he would have kissed me and filled me in the early hours before dawn… made me complete as he can with his heaviness inside me.

Shifting, I ignore the ache between my thighs, closing my eyes and trying to concentrate. I have to think of what Arion told me, I have to dissect my dreams of Willow, Angel, Faith… I have to come up with some kind of plan to save this world. Isn't that what I'm back for, after all? Why else would they have made me wake up in that gutter… if not to realize how much of a mistake I made when I soared through the air into that white morning? God, I still remember the feel of the electricity. Like fire. Flailing the skin from my arms and legs, my lungs breaking with the pressure of wanting to scream but finding nothing… the endless images flashing behind my eyelids of pain, pain, Mommy, Angel, Willow, Giles, Dawnie, Xander, pain, fire, Angel, Mom… It all seemed to blur together, my life.

But I wanted it.

I remember wanting it. The pain. It meant I was dying. It meant I could finally find that peace that always seemed to escape me.

“Buffy?”

My head snaps up and I gaze, startled, into Bronwen's eyes. “Hi,” I greet her, sitting up, unfolding my legs from beneath me.

She nods, and falls wearily into a chair to my right, rubbing her forehead with slim fingers. “Angel is still out finding bedding and canned goods,” she says without preamble. “I thought you'd like to know.”

“Thanks,” I smile slightly, and lean back, arching my back in a stretch. “How are you holding up? It looks like a blizzard out there. I mean, Angel's always cold so it doesn't matter for him. But you still have the humanity thing working against you.”

She glances at me with something akin to amusement in her gaze. “That's true. But the work is rewarding in it's own way. It is bloody cold however. Hopefully this will let up before the big day. I can't say it will be easy fighting in these conditions.”

“I've fought in worse,” I remind her and then continue, “has anyone came up with any battle plans? Because I'm drawing a blank. I know what we have to do – get into the building when this demon party is going on. Somehow secure them in there and kill them. But how are we going to get into the building?”

Bronwen sighs tiredly, and shakes her head. “That's what I don't know. The easiest way to kill them would be a bomb, obviously. However, it's planting it that's giving us the problem. We're also going to have to somehow keep them in there in case they get wind of our plans. Some kind of magic charm would do fine.”

“That would work,” I agree. “But who around here knows magic well enough?”

“We'll have to call the wizard task force,” she informs me. “I didn't want to, because they don't like to deal with the Muggle affairs, but we are in alliance with them… I'm sure Harry and Hermione could come up with something to help us.”

“Harry Potter?” I ask, and she nods.

“Yes. Do you know him?”

I shrug, “I know of him. My Watcher knew—my Watcher knows him.” My throat closes up for a frightening moment as I picture Giles' face in my mind. “He seems like the right person to have on our side.”

“I agree. He's extremely intelligent- and Hermione is even better. I'll call them tonight. Anyhow, I must get back to work. Angel told me to tell you that he'll be back tonight… and that he misses you.”

I look down, feeling the familiar prick of guilt in my belly. “Thanks, Bronwen.”

She smiles gently, and touches my shoulder. “He cares about you.”

Glancing up at her, I feel sudden tears burn deep in my eyes and press my fingers against my temples, massaging their ache. “I hope so,” I attempt to joke, “We're supposed to get married.”

“I mean that… you are his purpose, Buffy. Before you came back—he always kept a picture of you by his bed. I asked him once when I was picking up weapons who you were and he said… I'll always remember the look in his eyes. He said, 'She's my reason for fighting.' I just thought you'd like to know.”

“Thank you…” I murmur, feeling the salt beginning to spill from my eyes and bowing my head. “I'm glad you told me.”

The rustle of her skirt tells me she's left the room, and I sit still for a long time, listening to the wind shriek outside.

~~~~

Sweating and cursing, I punch the bag in the gym over and over, whirling around to deliver a high kick with my sneakered foot, watching the chain dislodge from the wall and send it flying through the air to land on the other side of the mat. I breathe heavily, wiping away a streak of moisture from my forehead and running to the end of the room to begin a series of cartwheels and hand springs, landing in a somersault before the doorway.

The sound of clapping reaches my ears just then. I look up, already knowing who will be there. Spike leans against the side of the door, a cigarette hanging from his lips, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder, his body a whip of sinuous grace. Looking all the world like a vamped James Dean… or at least a less insane Billy Idol.

“What do you want?” I snap as a hello, standing and brushing off my tight short shorts.

He shrugs. “To watch a Slayer get all sweaty. That ok with you?”

“Does it look like it's ok with me?” I snarl, and stalk away, picking up a set of free weights and preparing to do a few arm curls. Suddenly I feel his hands on my waist, curving around it with malevolent intent. He whirls me around, pushing me up against the wall. I don't flinch.

I feel the harsh fabric of his black jeans against my naked knees and stare up at him balefully. “What do you want from me, Spike?” I ask desperately, wishing this was over. I can't deal with it anymore. Not the guilt, not the pain… not the desire. It has to be over with, or I'm going to go insane.

“What do you think I want?” he laughs, his voice choked. His lips are a breath away from mine. “What have I always wanted, you little bitch?”

“To kill me?”

“No,” he corrects. “To fuck you and then kill you. With this chip out I can finally do both.”

“And what do you think I'm gonna do, Spike? Just roll over after we're done and let you bite me? You really are a delusional piece of work,” I sneer, and his fingers tighten painfully around my wrists. He spreads my arms so they go above my head, and leans his full weight into my body. Shuddering, I feel the sting of vomit at the back of my throat which makes my belly roil with sickness and lust and fury.

“You let Angel bite you, Slayer. And I think you must have enjoyed that…”

“You're right,” I throw at him. “I did. Because it was him. Because I love him, because I—“

He cuts me off, his mouth covering mine, sliding down my chin, to my collarbone. Angrily, I break his hold with a swift downward motion of my arms and push him away, spitting out, “Is this what I have to look forward to? Every time I say something you don't like you're gonna kiss me?”

He gazes up at me, his eyes pinpricks of rage. “Is this what *I* have to look forward to? You pretending you don't want me, Summers?”

“I'm marrying Angel,” I counter, and an expression of shock graces his features for one startling moment. “Save your kisses for my sister, Spike. After all, she seems to enjoy them enough.”

As I begin to walk past him, his fingers wrap around my leg and he grips the flexing calve muscle firmly. “I don't love her. Well… I do. But not in the way that I love you.”

“You don't know anything about love,” I growl.

“Just keep telling yourself that, blondie,” he whispers. “But I do love you.”

“It's not love,” I whisper back, frightened in spite of myself. “You don't love me. And I certainly don't love you.”

“Maybe not,” he allows quietly. “But I could change that.”

“You can't,” I deny, my voice quavering. “Nothing can change the way I feel about Angel. NOTHING, do you hear me? Let go of me, Spike.”

Our eyes meet for one terrifying moment and then his hand drops away and I run from the gym, my heart between my teeth once more. He can't ruin my future with Angel. He doesn't have that power. I'm not scared he will.

I'm scared that I might.

~~~

Snow no longer falls outside. I stand on the widow's walk, which overlooks the River Thames, and lean against the spiked railing, which is all that separates me from the long fall to the street below. Sometimes I wonder if I should just take this leap and spare us all the pain of what I'm afraid will happen. Of what my dreams are telling me. Of what Spike and Angel and I are capable of. Of the death that seems to seep into my life at every turn.

Can I ever really escape being the Bringer? Coming from blood soaked feathers and a Goddess of War?

I don't even know anymore.

“Hey,” a voice says softly from behind me, and I spin slowly around, as he takes my hands and rubs his thumbs over my gloved palms.

“Hi, baby,” I murmur. “I bet you're tired.”

Angel smiles slightly and nods, drawing me into his arms and holding me close for a moment. “Exhausted. But it was worth it. We found a lot of bedding and food. Most of the rescued people have some kind of shelter now- and some kind of place to stay in this building.”

“It wasn't exactly designed for comfort,” I point out, and he nods.

“I know. But I guess it's warm, which is more than I can say for out here. You're going to catch cold.”

“I never catch cold,” I protest, and he cups my face in his hands.

“I missed you today. What did you do?”

“Worked out. Talked to Bronwen,” I answer succinctly, guilt lacerating through me as I once again think of Spike and hate myself for lying to Angel. I burrow closer to him and gaze out into the sky, which is blackening with another storm approaching. I wish there was sun, here. I wish I could see the goldenness of Sunnydale one more time. “Do you ever wonder if this is what our lives are going to be like?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, dropping a kiss on my forehead, and then on my bitterly cold mouth.

“Waiting for the other one to come home. That's what wives used to use widow's walks for, didn't they? Watching the oceans for their husbands to come home and knowing they never would. That there had been a storm, or a freak accident, or pirates… and their captain was never going to dock… never going to come in and kiss them hello…” Tears gather at the corner of my eyes and I hide my face in his coat, wishing for all the world that we were just a normal couple.

He strokes my back, his voice bleak, “No. We'll always come back to each other, Buffy. I love you. Nothing can ever change that.”

“What if love isn't enough?” I whisper, and look out past the river, to the sea, the air dropping to freezing, as snow begins to fall once more. It bathes us in white, as I murmur, “What if it isn't, Angel?”

He doesn't answer me for a moment, and then tips my face up to kiss my lips. “It will always be enough for us. I promise you, Buffy.”

We stand there, on the widow's walk, until night falls.

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