“Neither,” Spike answered flatly. He stole both weapons from her grasp, replacing them on the marble countertop. “Bow takes too long to load and aim.” He picked up the sword she had chosen and played with it briefly, watching the kitchen lights play off its angular cut. “Sword’s too heavy. Before you get it up straight, you’re dead,” he explained, dropping it.

She squared her shoulders. “I knew that.”

“Did you?” he asked suspiciously with a finely tuned smile.

“Yeah, I was just getting a second opinion because the other girls didn’t believe me,” she claimed. “They have a hell of a lot to learn.”

“They don’t have enough time to learn, only enough time to find their balls.” He pulled a stake from the tight confines of his back pocket and tossed it to her. “Trust simplicity.”

She eyed him doubtfully. “Pointy chunks of wood never reassured me much. I like size.”

“Most women do,” he baited.

She scowled, her eyes shining with intolerance. “Where’s Buffy?”

“Why are you asking me? I’m not the brains of this operation.”

“Apparently you should be. You know everything.”

“Really?” he marveled with a brow raised. “By George, and here I thought I was a dud.” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back to survey her expression.

“Listen, Spike, could you just find her? We’re supposed to be leaving for training in a few minutes.”

“You think I don’t know? I know everything.”

Her lips parted but couldn’t seem to develop comprehendible speech. Instead of challenging him, she simply turned and left with an impatient grumble.

Well…at least he hadn’t lost his touch.

Spike tousled his hair a bit, ran a thumb over his brow line, and massaged his shoulder thoughtfully. He waited, scanning his surroundings to keep active, eavesdropping on the conversations going on in the living room nearby to keep entertained. Then, without any more hesitation, he made his way down the hallway and up the stairs that led to the bathroom. He would’ve waited for Buffy to manifest were it not for the steadfast aroma of blood that was pouring from every possible corner, making his bones ache and bruise.

He cocked an ear to the closed door he confronted, pressing white knuckles to white paint. “Buffy? You in there?”

He heard a mere murmur from the other side. No angry protests or wishy-washy ways of saying get lost; just an inaudible acknowledgement that he couldn’t quite decipher.

“Pet, I’m gonna come in,” he warned, inviting himself in and adjusting to the memories of bloodthirsty rage and hysterical lust that bloomed from the flowered wallpaper.

He hated this place. He hated the foreboding placement of the furniture, how it stuck to the tiles like glue. The pressure of the ceiling badgered his mind and threatened to drive him mad. The odour of deodorant and detergent agitated him beyond belief. This was the last place he wanted to be. He didn’t want to remember. All he wanted to do was sabotage every article of bad conscience that lived here, and yet, all he could do was stay when he saw her frail body hunched over the side of the bathtub with the water streaming over her doll-like hands, spaced-out to his existence. She was the very definition of hopelessness in that moment, and Spike couldn’t find the courage to grasp onto that realization.

“Love,” he said gently, “the girls are asking for you.” He watched her from the door.

“I know,” she answered numbly before growing silent once more.

He waited another moment. “Are you okay?” he finally asked with concern, drawn a step closer despite his own insecurity.

“I’m fine,” she assured him before her tiny ribcage choked for breath, her head bowed in a messy tangle of blonde wisps.

His eyebrows forged creases of pain-stricken uncertainty into his forehead, moving closer and sidling up behind her to discover the scarlet-tainted water washing up against the gut of the tub.

“You’re hurt,” he noticed, taking her pruned hands into his own. “Who hurt you?” he demanded to know.

She blinked mechanically, nose crinkling, mouth shivering. Her emeralds had spit out the sun and fed themselves to a darkness he had thought she escaped as soon as she rejected his love for the last time. She looked lost and degraded, confused by the world around her.

“Buffy…” he trailed, dipping his gaze a little lower to try and get her to focus. “What is it? Tell me what’s giving you the eebie-jeebies.”

She stared at her folded hands longingly; searchingly, the way you desired an addiction. It was the same way he looked at her when she wasn’t watching.

“What have you got?” Acknowledging her interest, he curiously pried open her yielding fingertips, revealing a clean razor tucked away within. He paled, eyes wide with shock and the grief of clarity. “What in all--”

“We have to go,” she announced, her eyes gradually moving away from the blur. “The girls are waiting. I have to go. We have to take them out.” She rose hurriedly, drying her hands on the nearest towel.

Spike observed the smears of blood she transferred to every obstacle her hands faced. Grabbing her in the midst of her movements, he stared at her long and hard, patient for an explanation.

“Spike, let me go,” she instructed in an advising tone, swallowing calmly. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“The hell it doesn’t,” he snapped back angrily.

She smiled. “I can kill you just as easily as I can keep you alive.”

“Oh, up yours,” he sassed, releasing her. “You don’t want to tell me why you’re bleedin’, then why don’t you be kind enough to share the wealth?”

Something flickered in her eyes and she punched him with her iron fist, sending him hurdling backwards into the sink with a deathly explosion of destruction. Then it was quiet, stunningly desolate, and Spike almost enjoyed what he had missed so much since his soul. But in that moment the crack of the earth was deafening, and he preferred chaos and mayhem and shambles to any censorship.

That’s what this was. Censorship. This was her way of preventing disturbing realizations from getting control, racking her spirit, and chewing her inside out. She dealt with pain by creating more, until all she had was a well of sustained unconsciousness.

Sighing passively, he regained control of his voice. “Don’t play rough with me. Just relax.” He advanced slowly, taking her hands into his. Then he assessed her wounds, grateful all the while for her improved co-operation. ”Those are some deep gashes you’ve got there. You should clean them.”

“I don’t have time,” she said shortly, unlocking her wrists from the cuffs of his. “Hurry up and go get the girls. I’ll be down in a minute.”

He was ready to leave and play the obedience card since it was apparently the only one being dealt to him… but he had to touch her. He had to feel her clammy skin and reassure her. She was the hero, and heroes weren’t allowed to fall of their own doing. They were only allowed to fall when someone told them to. A true hero would live bravely for that final death.

“Does it hurt?” he asked sensitively, his eyes trained on a tear of blood that was racing through the separations of the bathroom tiles.

He could hear her exhale of reaction before he was warmed by her change of tenderness. “No…not when it’s making things easier.”

“I thought it would make things harder.”

“I can control it. It’s the only pain I’ve ever been able to control.” She moved to him, her breath sweet like basil. “And before anyone else hears these words come from my mouth, I want you to know the truth, Spike. This world is going to end - and I’m not going to be able to stop it. That is best-case scenario. The plan is we die. So if you or any other person in this household has objections to my methods of coping, I don’t give a shit.”

Spike’s eyes sealed shut. “But wouldn’t the fight be worth the second of fulfillment?” He turned to her. “Should we give up before it even begins?”

Buffy’s eyes were as grasping as a sage, her cheeks fevered by reason. “We should stop acting like there’s hope, because there’s not. If anyone here thinks there is, then they aren’t fit to stand at my side.”

“Then who is, Buffy? We’re doing our damnedest. Give those girls half a chance to have their moment of greatness,” he begged. “Stop expecting they’re going to let you down or they will.”

The veins in Buffy’s neck rippled. “They’re going to die, Spike; all of them. I can’t save the world this time. I can’t even save one.”

He could smell the sting of salt threatening to spill from her demeaned eyes. She couldn’t see the light anymore, and she was suffering because of it. He couldn’t handle seeing her like this. He wouldn’t allow himself to stand for anything less than what he knew she was capable of, not when so much was at stake.

His chest expanded when he cleared his throat, delicately retracting a piece of hair from her face and twisting it behind her ear. He touched her so slightly that every particle of energy in his body fizzed and bubbled over, wishing he were a saviour with enough might in him to remove this burden from her small, insubstantial shoulders.

“Buffy, this isn’t the end.” He managed a petty smile. “Far from it, if you ask me. Those girls out there are willing to bleed for you.” He looked down at her trembling hands; holding them preciously and transferring his gaze back to hers. “They’ll jump off a cliff if you point them in the right direction. They’re loyal to you, there’s no doubt. But you have to understand, if they see you wastin’ away like this and tearing your own flesh from bone…they’ll lose what’s driving them, Buffy.”

“What motivation can they have under the odds they face?”

He studied her passionately. “You. That untouchable heart beating away in that chest of yours.”

Her wet eyelashes swelled open. “I’m not enough, though. Don’t you see that?”

He shook his head stubbornly. “No. I see a warrior full of piss and vinegar that’s fit to lead an army if she really wants to.”

She broke into a sarcastic laugh. “Not much of an army.”

“But maybe it’s enough.”

She settled. “And if it’s not?”

His hand brushed over her cheek admirably. “We’ll fight whatever laces into us tooth and nail until we fall…and when we do, you’ll bring us down memorably.”

Her little nostrils flared disbelievingly. “I don’t know what makes you so sure.”

He smirked, shaking his head and backing up. “Don’t know much, do you? Don’t matter what I say or do, you’ll never get it. Bloody hell, Slayer, you’re pretty blind for being so gifted and--”

“Why are you doing this, Spike?”

He stopped in response to her interruption, scheming retaliation in his mind, yet lowering to less. “I suppose because I have nothing better to do. I’ve never contributed much to the community over the years. I figure saving millions of lives or at least trying makes up for an estimated hundred years of devastating.” He shrugged indifferently.

Buffy glared at her hands, attentions already drifting. Her skin was reddening again, fresh blood creeping through the linear marks. Spike pursed his lips and dug into the medicine cabinet for some bandages and ointment, applying the necessary treatments while they wordlessly interacted with their eyes. She didn’t attack him or protest, but willingly obliged to his assistance, and so Spike soaked in her acceptance for however long she intended for it to last.

“There,” he said, tightening the last piece of tape over the gauze. “Now no more,” he warned her with an uncompromising stare.

“Right,” she agreed, rubbing her wrapped hands together tiredly.

“Good girl. I’ll go tell the others you’ll be down in a few.”

“Thanks,” she mustered.

“No problem,” he answered, turning to leave.

“Spike…”

He turned back to face her again. “Yeah?”

Her limbs were all cramped together, her arms drawn around her, her legs intertwined in their standing poise. She couldn’t even meet his eyes when she said, “Do you still think about me?”

“Every second of every day,” he answered without any hesitation.

She glanced up again. “Do you ever miss me?” she asked in a strangely voluptuous tone.

“More than you could ever know,” he responded with a longing ache to his low voice.

“I miss you too…” she trailed off.

His eyes widened gracelessly. “Buffy,” he said thickly, “Don’t ever think that I blew you off. You weren’t just a bit of tail, or some random bird for me to be copping off with.”

“But you said you were over me.”

He grinned coldly at the ceiling. “Since when have you believed everything I’ve said? That was a crock, a cock and bull story to help me cope. I have my methods too,” he notified her, eyes lowering. “I’ll never stop lo--” he quieted, squeezing his mouth together. “You know what? I bet the girls are down there buggering off. I’ll go and make sure they’re ready.”

“It’s okay,” she cut in, “…you know…to love me.” There was a singe of hope in her voice.

Spike’s mouth parted, his soul cramped and unsure. “I do. Hell, I don’t care if you give me permission to love you or not. I don’t even care if you want me to or not. I always will.” His voice withdrew. “You should know that. I just avoid la-la land as much as I can because I know we’re done. You said it yourself.”

Her expression faltered, exposed how touched she actually was by his sincere words. “I want to know that you’re willing to do anything come the end,” she redirected the conversation. “I don’t want you to protect the other girls.” She quickly grabbed an elastic band from out of the nearest drawer and worked her hair up into a ponytail while she finished lecturing him. “I want you to do whatever it takes to destroy this evil we’re up against. A couple of lives don’t matter anymore. This is it. If our only chance to defeat it is to forget about being compassionate human beings, it’s what we have to do.”

His jaw line broadened in a struggle of values. “I can’t promise I won’t try to protect them, Buffy. What I can promise is that my priority is the same as yours. We have the enemy in common and I know the drill. Save the world, do a song and dance, and be home for grub. That doesn’t change.”

“And as far as I go,” she continued, “don’t let your feelings get in the way. I don’t want sympathy or mercy from you. If I’m going to go down with this, it’s meant to be, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

“I can try,” he convinced her. “And I will.”

“You can’t.”

“You can’t stop me,” he protested.

She sighed gruffly, finishing the last loop on her ponytail and letting it perch above her shoulders like a stream of gold. “Spike, I’m too exhausted to fight with you about this.”

He snorted prevailingly. “Then don’t.”

“You’re always difficult and now with your soul piping up to get its few words in, I’m going to wig out before long…”

“You’re not going to change my mind,” he insisted.

“…and what am I supposed to do, because you are my strongest sidekick here,” she rambled.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll go down with you if I have to. Stop trying to change my sodding mind.”

“Are we arguing? I thought we agreed I was leader of the pack?” she emphasized. “Are you even listening to me?”

His muscles tensed with irritation. “I can’t hear you. The soul deafens my vampire hearing. Trashy side effect.”

She egged him on with a smirk. “You’re lying again. Not so good at that anymore, are you? Another crappy side effect?”

“Lay off.”

“I’m not compromising.”

“Well you’re daft if you think I am.”

“Kiss me.”

“I don’t even know why you’re barking at me for. I fight better in the heat of emotions. You should be chuffed.”

“You’re still not listening to me…”

“Should I be?”

“I asked you to kiss me and you missed out on the opportunity.”

“What?”

Her lips pounded into his without a warning signal and it was like being thrown into a hot grease pan all over again, the sizzle of urgency and the taste of raspberry sweat cooking the inner frostbite he withheld. It was a revelation. It might not have saved the world, but it stopped it and spun it until it was dizzy enough to take freefall into the nothingness of universal space.

He almost died for her that second.

In fact, he almost wished he had.

Buffy took a step back with an unreadable expression, her lips moist and blushing. She was lost for breath, which was better than him panting heavily. He waited for her to do something, but she only stood with perfect placidity, her skin flushed and flirtatious.

“Please don’t tell me that you just needed to get that out of your system,” he mustered shakily.

She smiled ever so slightly, a pleasing and glowing contrast to her battered body. “No.”

“Then what?” he asked bewilderedly.

“I needed to remember what we were fighting for.”