Buffy was in a garden.  The sun was shining, the air was fragrant with the scent of flowers, and somewhere she thought she could hear a child laughing.  She turned around, looking for something or someone.  She was standing next to a tall tree, and someone was stirring on the other side of it.  She realized that he had been sleeping on the ground and was now waking.  Although there was something startlingly different about him, she knew immediately who it was.  “Spike?”  Her own voice was surprisingly low and throaty.

            Buffy gasped as he turned to look at her.  He was wilder looking than any vampire, and seemed both more human and more animal.  He moved like a predatory cat, and his hair was like a lion’s mane—tawny brown, long, and tangled around his shoulders.  His eyes glowed yellow, but there was something behind their light that she had never seen when staring into his vampire’s face.  He smiled and moved forward with intense grace, his arms reaching to embrace her and his mouth opening against hers.

            She fell backwards on the ground, feeling the touch of his lips and the sudden sharp bite of his fangs.  They cut into her flesh, and she felt him shiver as her blood began to flow.  But there was no fear, only the desire to consummate this strange mating.  She ran her tongue over her own teeth, and she was unsurprised to find that they were as sharp and dangerous as his.  She caught his lower lip in her mouth, and now his blood was hot and sweet in her mouth.  She growled with a joy that was almost too intense to bear, only to be forced to an even higher level of pleasure as he entered her and began to thrust.  She rolled over until she was on top of him, staring into his amazing eyes and reading their depths.  Everything in his gaze was meaningful to her in a new and strange way, as if she had just been granted the ability to understand a foreign language.  Her head rolled back as she climaxed, and she felt him shiver underneath her at the same moment.  Then she leaned forward and found herself gazing into the blue eyes of his human face. 

            They lay side by side, touching each other with passion but without urgency.  His lips were gentle now, and their pressure on her cut lip was soothing and healing.  His hands were gentle too, probing and caressing her without hurry, deliberate and intent on pleasuring her.  She gasped as his lips touched her breasts and his hand slipped between her thighs.  He moved above her and again his lips brushed hers, his hands still stroking her body and stirring her to wave after wave of delight.  But, now, as when he had been in that strange animal form, it was what she saw in his eyes that brought her the greatest joy.

            He entered her again, and she moved beneath him, using her powerful muscles to bring him to climax.  She smiled and caressed his face and hair, glorying in her power to bring him so much pleasure.  It was only as he collapsed against her that she realized his hair was still dark and long, as it had been earlier.

            Before she could consider what this meant, he rose up from the ground and reached behind him to grab something.  Buffy saw that it was a fiery sword.  Surprisingly, she felt no fear as she jumped up beside him.  She was holding the twin to his sword.  There was a huge roar, and she turned to chop off one of the heads of the demon before her.  The creature was vaguely familiar, and she was fighting to keep it away from a slender figure in silver crouched over a glowing red object.  She saw the girl’s long brown hair, and Buffy knew that she was fighting to protect Dawn.

            At first Spike was fighting by her side, but then Buffy was alone.  There was nothing but her, the beast in front of her, and the sword.  Amazing strength coursed through her, and she felt more alive than she had ever been.  She wanted nothing more than to fight forever, to feel the blade of her weapon strike again and again against the flesh of her enemy.

            Then a faint noise began to break into her pleasure.  It sounded like a child’s voice, but it was strident, not weak.  Buffy knew that it was only hard to hear because it was so far away.  She fought to stay focused on the demon, but the voice buzzed around the edges of her consciousness like a bee pestering a visitor to an idyllic garden. Then someone else called her name in a deeper tone. Her will reached out to swat the new annoyance away.

            “Buffy!”  The third voice was stronger and nearer.  It also held a promise of pleasure that could compete with the intense gratification of wielding her fiery weapon.  She realized that her opponent was growing weaker and less rewarding to fight.  She turned and saw Spike, again in that strange travesty of vampire face, standing before her.  His sword was gone and his arms were outstretched.  She dropped her own weapon and leapt on him with a growl of desire.  But as she reached for him, he faded away from her.

            Buffy sat up in bed, gasping for air.  That had been the most vivid vision yet.  Breaking up with Spike certainly hadn’t reduced either the frequency or the intensity of the dreams.  The nightmares, she told herself sternly.  That was a nightmare.

            The next night, Buffy was patrolling one of the cemeteries near the Bronze when she heard someone walking behind her.  She did her best to ignore him, but he continued to follow, not coming any closer, but not falling behind either.  Finally, she stopped for a moment.  A light flared, and she turned to see his face illuminated for a moment as he lit a cigarette.

            “What do you want, Spike?”

            “You know what I want, Slayer.  The same thing that you do.  You just won’t admit it.”  He threw away the barely-smoked cigarette.

She started to walk away.  “Spike, has it occurred to you that one of these days you might make me so angry that I just stake you?”

            “Yeah.  Why don’t you?”

            She turned to stare at him.  “What did you say?”

            There was enough moonlight to make out his features.  His eyes were dark and there was something in their depths that made her catch her breath.  He began to mutter, “‘Nay, slay me now; nay, for I will be slain; Pluck thy red pleasure from the teeth of pain, Slay me ere day can slay desire again.’”

            His tone and his desperate expression scared her as nothing about him had done for a very long time. “What new scam is this, Spike?” she asked uncertainly.

“No scam, pet.  ‘Love, sleep, and death go to the same sweet tune,’ you know.  If I can’t have the one I want, maybe I should ask you to sing me a different song.”

She backed away from him, as uneasy as if he had uttered a threat against her.  She looked back once; he was still standing where she had left him, but he wasn’t watching her.  He was staring at the sky as if waiting for something.

            “A talisman?” asked Buffy.  “I have to tell you, Tara, I’m not big on retrieving totems of power for scary old women I don’t know.”  The light of her flashlight moved along the walls of the tunnel, bringing each section briefly into bright focus before plunging it back into profound darkness.

            “My magic teacher isn’t—well, okay, I guess she could be considered a scary old woman.  But she’s not evil, Buffy.  She’s let me see part of the way into her mind, and I can vouch for her.  And she needs this talisman back, but she can’t fetch it herself.”

            “Why not?”

            “Her powers are waning.  She told me that she isn’t strong enough any more to get past the barriers she set around the talisman years ago.  Also, I think she asked me to retrieve it as a kind of a test of what I’ve learned.”

            “So she’s sending you into danger?  As tests go, that’s a lot worse than the SATs.”

            “I don’t think she meant it that way.  She asked me what help I would need, and when I told her I had a friend who could protect me, she seemed pleased.  Then she asked some more questions about the kinds of protection spells I would use.  I think she wanted to see if I would use the kinds of safeguards she’s been teaching me.”

            “You mean instead of just doing any old spell and trusting to luck and ingenuity to fix any problems that come up?” asked Buffy, almost absently.

            Tara winced.  Buffy’s offhand description fit too many of Willow’s forays into magic.  “Something like that,” she said after a while.  “It’s why I went to this witch for training in the first place.  Because I wanted to avoid any more of those kinds of mistakes.”

            “And one of these safeguards is that you should only travel the tunnels under Sunnydale with a buddy,” said Buffy.  She glanced at the all-too familiar crumbling walls on either side of them.

            “A buddy who’s a Vampire Slayer being an even better bet,” said Tara, picking her way carefully over some debris.  “But don’t worry, I didn’t say I was taking the Slayer.  I know that you still try to stay incognito.”

            “I think I’m pretty cognito to most of the people in this town who realize we’re living on a hellmouth.  But thanks anyway.  So what does this thing look like?”

            “I have no idea.  It’s sealed in a box and guarded by three levels of magic.”

            “Of course.  Just using a safety deposit box wouldn’t appeal to the Sunnydale crowd.”

            “Not unless it was at Gringrott’s.”

            “I don’t think they have a branch here.  If your locator spell was right, we should go down this tunnel.  It bends off to the east a few hundred feet further on.”

            “You’re the boss.  You must know these tunnels better than anyone except Spike.”  Tara bit her lip and looked back at Buffy.  “Sorry.”

            Buffy’s face was hard to read in the darkness beyond the glow of her flashlight.  “That’s okay.  I won’t fall to pieces just because you say his name.  I hope.”

            “Have you seen him at all?”

            “I can hardly help it.  It seems like every time I turn around, there he is.  Waiting for me to—”

            “I know,” said Tara.  “It must be hard.”

            “I’m not sure you do know, Tara.  The last time I talked to him, he asked me to—at least, I think he was asking me to kill him.”

            Tara was less shocked than the Slayer expected.  “Well, maybe, Buffy.  Why does that surprise you?”

            “What do you mean?  That I’ve driven him to this point of despair?  That’s all I need.  More guilt.”

            “I don’t think it’s just about you, Buffy.  He’s a vampire that sought out Slayers.  He deliberately searched for the most dangerous thing in the world to him.  Why would he do that if part of him wasn’t looking for death?  If at some level he didn’t want it?”

            “He said something like that once.  But he was talking about me, not himself.”

            “And how do you think he knew that about you?  Don’t we get insights into others by looking inside ourselves?”

            Buffy shook her head.  “When someone with a soul seeks death, they have the possibility of heaven before them.  But what could compel something evil to seek its own destruction?”  They had stopped walking and were standing face to face, intent on their conversation.  However, they kept the lights of their flashlights out of each other’s eyes, and neither could see the other’s face clearly.  A phrase from somewhere crept through Buffy’s mind.  I see as through a glass, darkly.

            “Maybe he doesn’t want to be evil any more,” said Tara, “and the only way he can see to stop is by destroying himself.”

            “No!  I mean—I don’t want that.  Not even for him.  I don’t want that.”           

            “Buffy, I’m worried about what this is doing to you.  It’s obvious you feel something for him.  If you’re in love—” 

            “It’s not like that, Tara.  When I’m with him, I feel.  I almost feel alive.  But not in a normal way.  It’s like I’m turning into something else, some violent and insane creature.  And I keep—” she stopped for a moment and then forced herself to go on.  “I keep having these strange desires and dreams about hurting and killing.”

            “You want to hurt people?” asked Tara, shocked.

            “Not people—Spike.  At least, I think it’s Spike.  Or sometimes a demon.  A different demon, I mean.   It’s all confused.  It’s as if the dreams are trying to show me something, but I’m afraid to look.”

            “Buffy, your dreams have been prophetic in the past.  As difficult as this may be for you, do you think it’s safe to ignore what they’re telling you?”

            “I’m afraid that if I look, they’ll come true.  And I’m afraid that I’ll turn into the thing in my dreams.”

            “This thing—”  Tara stopped as they heard the sound of footsteps ringing against the stone of the passageway. 

            Buffy stepped in front of her friend, ready to fight whatever came around the corner.  When a slender figure in a long black leather coat appeared, she sighed.  “Speak of the devil,” she muttered.  Then she saw who stood behind Spike.  “Dawn!  What are you doing here?”

            “I was just trying to see what you were doing,” said Dawn.  “And then there was this vamp, and Spike chased it away.  He would have killed it too, but he didn’t want to leave me to go after it.”

Spike looked at Buffy and smirked.  “No need to thank me, just because I was on the spot and saved the Little Bit’s life.”  Clearly, the defeatist attitude of the night before was gone.  Spike was once again his old supremely annoying self. 

Buffy showed no inclination to embarrass him with effusive thanks.  “What are you doing here?” she demanded again.

            “Just keeping an eye on the Little Bit,” he said in a hurt tone.

            “Well, I can do that now, so there’s no need for you to hang around.”

            “You know, Slayer, the last time I looked, you didn’t own this tunnel.  So if I want to hang about here, I will.”  His voice grew deeper and seemed to carry an extra shade of meaning.  “Unless you want to make me leave.”

            She turned away from him, afraid that she would see again the same expression that had frightened her so much the night before.  “Come on, Tara, Dawn.  Just ignore him.”           

            “What are we doing?” asked Dawn.

            “Looking for a talisman,” said Tara. 

            “Oh,” said Dawn.  “What does it do?”

            “We have no idea,” said Tara.

            Spike looked at her sharply.  “I thought you’d learned your lesson about treading blindly into that sort of thing.”

            “I have,” said Tara.  “I’m just running an errand for someone I trust, and Buffy is helping me.”

            “I think it’s cool,” said Dawn.  “Like a quest.”

            “What is that?” asked Buffy.  They had just turned a corner in the passageway and were looking down a flight of steps into a large cavern.  They were staring incredulously at the creature inhabiting this unexpectedly large space.

            “Looks like a dragon, by George,” said Spike.  “Not one of those silly little ones that fly in your face sometimes in the graveyards, but a great, Lord of the Bloody Rings style dragon.”

            “I thought the dragon was in The Hobbit,” said Dawn.

            “You know, this probably isn’t the time for a literary discussion,” said Tara.

            “This is stupid,” said Buffy.  “Even in Sunnydale, there couldn’t be a dragon that size living here without us noticing it before.  And look at it!  Spike’s right.  It’s like something from a fantasy movie.”

            “Uh, oh,” said Tara.  “I bet this is the first level of defense my teacher created for the talisman.  In that case, no one would notice it unless they were trying to get at the treasure.”

            “She made a dragon?” asked Spike.  “That’s some hobby for an old lady.  Beats macramé.”

            “Maybe it really is a fantasy dragon,” said Buffy.  “Maybe we can just walk right through it.”

            They descended a few steps.  The dragon spouted flames.  They climbed back up the steps.

            “I didn’t like that fantasy heat much,” said Spike.

“Speaking of fantasies,” said Dawn, “look at that.”

They followed her finger, which was pointing at the wall of the cavern opposite the dragon.  A sword hilt protruded out of a rock.  It was glowing softly.

“Oh, no,” moaned Buffy.

“That’s pretty lame,” agreed Tara.

At that moment, the dragon opened its mouth again, but instead of flaming, it spoke.  The words bellowed out in a dramatic bass:

A thief’s desire calls forth the fire

Of the guardian of the treasure.

Should the Shylfing quail, the fight will fail.

Recall the champion’s measure.

            “Well, that’s a bloody big help,” muttered Spike sarcastically.

            “And I don’t like the implication that we’re thieves,” said Tara.

            “Shylfing,” muttered Dawn. “I’ve heard that word before.”

            “Never mind,” said Buffy.  “It seems pretty clear what I have to do.”  She squared her shoulders and marched over to the stone.  She grasped the sword’s hilt and tugged.  She tugged again.  Nothing happened.

“Looks like you’re not heading for Camelot anytime soon,” commented Spike.

“Maybe you’d like to try?” she asked sarcastically.

He did, propping his boot against the stone wall and putting all his strength into it, but he had no more success than the Slayer.

Buffy turned to Tara.  “This is your quest.  Maybe you’re the chosen one who can pull the sword out of the stone.”  She winced.  “I don’t believe you’ve gotten me into a situation where I have to say things like that!”

Tara smiled apologetically and tried to tug the sword free.  She also failed.

Dawn was still muttering to herself.  Suddenly, she jumped and yelled, “Beowulf!”

“Be a wolf?” asked Buffy.  “Why, do you think werewolves have something to do with this?”

“Not werewolves, Beowulf!  The poem, Buffy!  We studied it in school last year.  Beowulf had to fight a dragon, and it would have failed except this kid, Wiglaf, helps.  That’s who the Shylfing is.”

“That’s nice, Dawn,” said her sister.  “But I don’t see any Wiglafs or Shylfings around.”

“No, but I’m the youngest.  And—and I used to be a thief.  I’m the one that has to do it.”  Before they could stop her, Dawn ran to the stone, grabbed the sword, and turned to face the dragon.  Buffy and Spike leapt after her, but their efforts weren’t needed. The dragon curled its wings up, stopped flaming, and crept into a corner.  It seemed to grow insubstantial as they tiptoed by.

            “Well,” said Spike, when they had gone a few hundred feet further down the tunnel, “it seems that it was time for a literary discussion after all.”

            At the next turn, the tunnel was blocked by a cascade of wavering light.

            “We’re in the right place,” said Tara.  “I was told to look for that.”

            “What is it?” asked Buffy.

            “I don’t much like the color scheme,” said Spike.  “That orange clashes with the purple.”

            Tara ignored him.  “It’s another defense that was placed to protect what’s inside.  It’s meant to screen out at least some of the things that might want to steal the talisman.  Of course, I don’t know exactly what kinds of things it’s a barrier to.”

   “So,” said Spike to no one in particular, “shimmer, shimmer on the wall, why the bloody waterfall?”

            All four of them jumped back as a voice boomed, “Not a hair of your head shall perish if in your patience you possess this.”

            “Wasn’t really expecting an answer,” muttered Spike.

            “Huh?” said Buffy.

            “Another riddle,” said Tara.  “And it’s even harder than the last one.”

“Really?  I thought you girls went to college,” said Spike.  “Honestly, the educational standards in this country—”

“Spike, if you know something, just tell us what it is,” said Buffy.

“‘There shall not a hair of your head perish.  In your patience possess ye your souls,’” said Spike. “It comes from a fairly famous book.”

 “Do you think that shimmery stuff will only allow someone with a soul to pass through it?” asked Dawn.

“That would be an effective way of keeping out the worst categories of demons,” said Tara.  “And it does sound like something my teacher would think up.”

“In that case,” said Spike, “fetching your little toy is one job I won’t volunteer for.”

            “No one asked you to volunteer for anything,” said Buffy.  “But if you were to volunteer to leave, I’d be willing to second the motion.”

            “Don’t like the notion of leaving you ladies without a man to protect you when there are nasty things about.”

            “You’re not a man, Spike.  You’re one of the nasty things, remember?”

            “Leave him alone, Buffy,” said Dawn.  “He’s just trying to help.  He did help.  None of the rest of us knew the answer to that last riddle.”

            “But now his being here will just slow us down.”

            “No, your arguing with him is slowing you down.  Why don’t you just ignore him like you said you would and do what you have to do?”

            “Fine.  I’m going through that waterfall thing.”  Buffy stuck her hand into the shimmering light first, and when nothing dire happened, she stepped all the way through.

            The others could make out a dim outline of the Slayer’s figure through the waterfall.  She stuck her head back out.  “It doesn’t hurt.  It doesn’t even get you wet.  Come on through.  Well, everyone except Spike.”

            “I’ll wait here with Spike,” said Dawn. 

            Buffy looked unhappy at this, but there was no reason to think Dawn would be any safer on the other side of the waterfall.  “All right,” she said.  “You keep one of the flashlights.  Tara and I will be back as soon as we retrieve this whatsis.”

            Tara stepped through the waterfall and looked around.  “Oh, no,” she said.

            “Oh, yes,” said Buffy. “There’s a definite theme to the products of your teacher’s imagination.  I think I can guess the kind of reading material she enjoyed as a child.”

            “Yeah,” said Tara.  “We’ve had the sword in the stone, the dragon, and the magical waterfall.  Now there’s this.” 

            They stared at the mass of thorny branches guarding a small blue box on a wooden pedestal.  Tara stuck out an experimental finger and pulled it back with a yelp.  “They’re sharp all right.”

            “And thick,” said Buffy, bending down for a better look.  “It could take hours to saw through these with a knife.”

            “I don’t think that’s how we’re supposed to do it,” said Tara.  “These are tricks that we’re supposed to figure out, not barriers to cross using brute force.”

            “There’s something written here,” said Buffy, casting the beam from her flashlight on the wall.  “‘The valiant should never taste this more than once.  But she who can retrieve the treasure must be willing to bite thrice or live her greatest fear.’  Charming.”

            “It’s you, Buffy,” said Tara.  Buffy looked at her in surprise.  “I remember that line from a class I took last semester.  ‘The valiant never taste of death but once.’  You’re one of the valiant, but you’ve died twice already.  That means you have to die a third time or—”

            “Live forever,” Buffy finished for her.  “And immortality is not something I long for.”  She reached her hand out towards the thorns.

            “Wait!”  Tara cried.  “Suppose—suppose that clue means you have to die to retrieve the box?”

            “Do you think that’s something your teacher would do?” asked Buffy.  “The clue only says that I have to be willing—not that I have to die.”

            “I don’t think she would make it really deadly,” said Tara, dismayed by Buffy’s detached attitude.  “But—”

            Buffy shrugged.  “There’s one way to find out.”  Before Tara could object again, she reached her hand toward the box.

    Dawn and Spike were seated on a rock outside the waterfall, playing rummy with a deck of cards he had produced from his battered leather duster.  The game wasn’t progressing very quickly because the light was inadequate.  They had to keep passing the flashlight back and forth just to see their cards.

            “I’m sorry Buffy was so mean to you,” said Dawn.

            “So am I, but don’t blame her,” said Spike almost absently.

            “Why not?”

            “She just sees what I am and makes the obvious conclusions.”

            “Well, I hate it.  She gets this kind of scary dead look every time your name comes up, and you never come around anymore.”

“Your life is no place for me, pet. ‘I have lost the immortal part of myself and what remains is bestial.’” He mumbled the last words.

            “What did you say?” she asked.

            “Nothing.”

            “You’re not a beast, Spike.  I don’t—”  She looked up, frowning at the darkness surrounding them.

            Tara gasped in relief as the thorns disintegrated at Buffy’s touch. 

    The Slayer reached out and picked up the box, turning it over curiously.  She seemed unaware how much her obviously cavalier attitude towards her own continued existence had frightened her friend.  “Tara, does this thing seem too contrived to you?  I feel like I’ve wandered into a Harry Potter movie.”

            “I know what you mean,” said Tara.  “Three tests to pass, and it just happens that each one of us knows something to help with each one.  Dawn knew how to get past the dragon, Spike figured out what the waterfall meant, and I knew that the final clue meant you could retrieve the box.  It’s just way too neat.”

            They looked at each other in consternation.  Buffy finally spoke.  “And in stories like that, whenever someone says things are wrapped up way too neatly—” 

            The earth shook.

            Spike felt the earthquake and grabbed Dawn before she could react.  He pulled her over to a spot near the waterfall where there was a slight indentation in the rock.  He pushed her down and crouched over her, sheltering her with his body.

            Buffy managed to stay upright throughout the tremor, but Tara fell to her knees.  As soon as the shaking stopped, Buffy helped her friend up and looked around.  She felt a sudden draft of air where none had been before, and it seemed to her that one of the walls had shifted slightly.  Once she was sure that Tara was conscious and not seriously hurt, she thrust the box into her friend’s hands, snatched up the flashlight, and ran for the magical waterfall.  “Dawn!  Spike!” she cried as she went through.

            “Watch out!” yelled Spike.  “Slayer, don’t—”

            Fortunately, Buffy’s reflexes were good enough for her to heed his warning.  She pulled up short as she stepped through the waterfall, her boots just missing the newly opened chasm at her feet.  She stared across a gap of several yards.  “Dawn!” she cried again.

            Spike was standing up slowly.  There were clouds of dust around him, and the cavern was littered with dozens more rocks than previously.  He had scratches all over his face and hands, and a gash on the back of his head was bleeding slightly.

            Dawn uncurled from her position on the cavern floor and let Spike pull her upright.  “I’m ok,” she said to Buffy.  “Just very dirty and a little bruised.  Spike protected me.”

            Buffy closed her eyes for a moment in relief.  When she opened them again, she saw Spike trying to brush off his clothes.  She realized that Tara was standing beside her.

            “Buffy, I think that the earthquake opened up a crack in the ceiling of this cave,” said Tara.

            “I just hope it didn’t open up anything else,” said Buffy.  “The combination of earthquakes and the hellmouth is usually bad news.”  She went back into the cave for a moment to assess the situation.  When she came back out, she looked more hopeful.  “I should be able to climb up and find a way to get Tara out.  But I don’t think I can get Dawn across this gap.”

            “And there’s no way to get Spike through,” pointed out Dawn.

            Buffy looked at Spike. “Is that way out still clear?” she asked, pointing back at the tunnel they had used to reach the shimmering veil.

            “I’ll go check,” said Spike.  He went around the corner, cursing as he tripped over some fallen rocks.  He was back soon. “Looks all right,” he said. “I can see several open tunnels past where that bloody silly dragon is still huddled in a corner.  All of them can’t be blocked.  I should be able to get the Little Bit out all right.”

            Buffy nodded.  “Take her home.  If you can’t get through, come back here and I’ll find something to bridge this gap.”

            “Yeah,” he said.

            “That still wouldn’t help Spike,” muttered Dawn.

            “Don’t worry, pet,” said Spike.  “I can take care of myself.”

Buffy watched him turn away.  “Spike?” she called hesitantly.  “Thank you for saving Dawn.”

“Don’t bother,” said Spike.  “I did it for her, not you.”  He continued down the passageway.

Dawn followed him.  “Why did you say that?” she demanded.

“It’s true.”  He shoved his hands in his pockets and slouched along.  “I’m not saying I wouldn’t have done it for her if I didn’t care about you, but the fact is I bloody well did it for you.  If I’m going to do favors for a Summers woman, they’re going to be for the one that still shows me common courtesy.”

            Before she could reply, they found themselves confronting an enormous, familiar figure.

            “Well, if it isn’t Puff the Magic Dragon again,” said Spike. 

            Tara looked at the small blue box in her hand.  It was locked, and she was too concerned about their situation to wonder much about its contents.  She slipped the box into a pouch that she wore around her waist and watched Buffy climb up towards the faint breeze that filtered down into the cave.  Tara stepped back as a small shower of dirt and stones fell to the floor. 

     Buffy’s voice wafted down to her.  “I’m above ground, and there’s a construction site nearby.  I should be able to find some rope or something else I can use to pull you up.  I’ll be right back.”

            Spike and Dawn had taken about ten steps towards the far entrance to the cavern before the dragon rose to its haunches and started flaming again.  “Bloody hell!”  Spike pushed Dawn behind him and backed up again.

            The dragon paced towards them, spouting flame and looking much more dangerous than they remembered.

            “I guess we’re not following the rules,” said Dawn.  “It seems kind of a stickler for its routine.”

    “Yeah.  Where’s your sword, pet?”

            “Uh, I took it with me when we went to the waterfall.”

            Together, they beat a retreat back to the spot where they had been playing cards.  Behind them, the dragon continued to roar.

            “I don’t see the sword,” said Spike, casting the light from the flashlight along the ground.  “Where did you put it down?”

            Dawn’s voice sounded slightly sick.  “Sorry, Spike.”  She pointed down the chasm.  “I think it must be down there.”

            There was another bellow from the tunnel behind them.

            “Balls!” said Spike.  He turned to stare at the colorful cascade on the other side of the chasm.  “Buffy!  Slayer!” he yelled.

            “Buffy!  Tara!” cried Dawn.

            A shower of rock slid down the opening and rolled into the small chamber where Tara crouched.  When the noise died down, she uncurled herself from the safe haven she had found behind the pedestal where the blue box had stood.

            “Ok?” yelled Buffy from above.

            “It still echoes a little down here, but I’m not hurt at all,” replied Tara.

            “Sorry about the noise,” said the Slayer.  Apologetically, she repeated her explanation for the additional rockslide.  “But I thought it was better to push those loose rocks down now than to have them slipping away under our feet while I tried to pull you up.”  As she spoke, she lowered herself back into the cave using a sturdy rope.  “I’m going to make a kind of harness for you with this and then help you climb up.  We should be out soon.”  She looked towards the shimmering cascade.  “I just hope that Dawn and—that Dawn is okay.”

            “I’m sure they’re halfway home already,” said Tara.

            “Buffy’s probably already managed to get Tara out and take her home,” said Dawn.  She thought she could make out a faint figure behind the cascade, but decided it was only her imagination.

             “I could jump that gap.  I could carry a Niblet like you across it.” Spike looked at the shimmering veil.  “Maybe that thing doesn’t really work,” he said hopefully.  “Maybe it’s just your basic Vegas-style sound and light show.  All bad style and no bloody substance.” 

            There was a yell behind him, and the vampire that had tried to attack Dawn earlier ran past them, apparently on the run from the dragon.  It pushed Spike aside, jumped over the chasm and through the veil—and vanished into a cloud of dust before it reached the other side.  There was a roar from down the passageway.

            “Balls.  So much for that theory,” said Spike.  There was another roar.  It sounded much closer than the previous one. “Come on, pet, we’re going through.”

            “What!”  She struggled to get away as he picked her up and moved back a few steps.

            “We’re going over that gap and through that thing.”

            “No!  You’ll die.  You just saw what happened to that vamp!”

            “Stop fighting, me brat.  I’m trying to save your life.  Ow!  Buffy was right.  You are a hair-puller!”

            “Spike, you might be able to get past the dragon if you were on your own.  You could even jump down that hole and look for another way out.  You’d survive the fall.”

            “Yeah, but you wouldn’t.  And you can’t cross that barrier without me.  Which one of us deserves to get out of here alive?  I’m a soulless demon, pet.  And you’re not.  Do the math.”

            “Spike, no!”  She had never realized how strong he was before.  His grip was impossible to break.  And no matter how much she struggled, his chip would not activate, not while his only motivation was to save her.

            He looked behind him as another roar emanated from the cavern.  His final words were simple practical advice.  “Just hold on until we’re through and then roll away.  I won’t be able to cushion your landing when I’m a pile of dust.”

Buffy and Tara had been halfway up to the surface when they heard the vampire’s death cry.  Startled, the Slayer lowered herself and her friend back to the ground.  As Buffy headed toward the cascade to investigate, two figures tumbled through, both of them screaming.

“No, Spike, don’t!” Dawn was still yelling at the top of her lungs.

Spike’s cry was a howl of pain.

Dawn rolled over and stared in amazement at the vampire.  He was curled in a ball, the black leather duster wrapped around him, and his head tucked in like a child resting in a fetal position.  Suddenly, his body was very still.  But he was still there.

“What happened?” Buffy looked at Dawn’s shaking form and then turned to stare at Spike.

“The dragon.  It wouldn’t let us pass, and the sword fell down that chasm.  Spike insisted on carrying me through that waterfall, even after it dusted that other vamp.  Buffy, look at his face!”

Buffy had tried to gently uncurl the vampire from his huddled position.  She was already staring at Spike’s face in pity and horror.  It was covered with terrible burns, his hair was singed off in several places, and his hands were a mass of blisters.  She tugged gently at the collar of his shirt.  “It looks like his clothes and that coat protected him a little.  But the burns go all the way down his neck and onto his chest.”

            “Is he dead?” asked Dawn, who was starting to cry.

            “Do you mean any more dead than he was before?” asked Tara.

            “I don’t know how to tell.  He doesn’t breathe,” said Dawn.

            “We can’t give up on him until he’s dust,” said Buffy with conviction.

            “I think he’s, well, not alive, but still undead,” said Tara.  “But it’s hard to tell.  I can tell when humans are alive because their auras keep changing.  But vampires are immortal—so, no changes.”

            Buffy looked up.  “We need to pull him up to the surface right away, and not just to avoid the daylight.  If he is still alive, or still undead, I want to get him back to his crypt before he wakes up and is in too much pain to be moved.”                   

            They reached the crypt shortly before dawn and got Spike inside.  They laid him on one of the sarcophagi inside, and were simultaneously encouraged and horrified when he gave a moan of pain.  They waited, and a few minutes later his eyelids fluttered open.  “Little Bit?” he muttered.

            “I’m here,” said Dawn.  “I’m okay.”

            “I’m not,” he said.  “But why the am I not a pile of dust?  And why does it hurt so bloody much?”

            “I don’t know why you’re still here,” said Dawn.  “But you hurt because that veil thing burned you.”

            Tara pulled Buffy towards the door.  “The burns are terrible,” she said.  “Even with the best of care, most humans would die, but he’s already starting to heal on his own.  I don’t know how long it will take.”

            “He’ll need blood.  Lots of it.  We can go to the butcher’s shop for that.  But he needs something for the pain as well,” said Buffy. 

            Dawn came over to where the other two stood.  “He asked for whisky, so I gave him some of what was in that bottle,” she said.

            “I’ll make up something stronger,” said Tara.  “I have some things at home that could help.”  She turned and would have left, but Buffy called her back.

            “Tara, I don’t understand.  Does this make any sense to you?  How did he survive?”

            Tara thought for a long time.  “I’m not sure, Buffy.  But he was giving up--well, not his life--he doesn’t have a life--but he was giving up his existence for Dawn.  Could he make a sacrifice like that if he didn’t have at least a partial soul?  Enough to keep the barrier from destroying him?”

            “Can you have part of a soul?  Isn’t that like being a little bit pregnant?”

            “A baby starts out small, even microscopic, and then grows to change the mother’s entire existence,” said Tara.  “It may be possible—”  She stopped.  She was fearful of the longing that she saw in the Slayer’s eyes.  But at least it was better than the indifference to her own life that Buffy had shown when retrieving the talisman.

            “Go on,” said Buffy.

            “I don’t want to give you too much hope, but there’s a theory that demons aren’t entirely soulless.  In fact, the word ‘demon’ originally meant ‘soul.’  Some people believe that all demons were once something better, something that had souls but denied them, abandoned them.”

            “Because they wanted to be free of guilt, to live without a conscience.”  Buffy found this all too easy to understand.

Tara nodded.  “But a soul can’t be destroyed.  Not completely.  It can be mislaid or forced to become dormant, but a soul is the most immortal thing there is.”

“And you think it’s possible for something evil to find its soul again?” asked Buffy.

“I don’t know.  But it seems like it should be possible, if the reverse can happen.  I mean, you’ve known humans who lost their souls.”

            “I’ve seen too many of them,” said Buffy. 

            “We all have.  But, Buffy, as awful as it is, it’s not that difficult to lose or deny your soul.  Lots of people seem to do it one bad deed at time without even noticing what they’re doing.  But to restore or create a soul where only the tiniest potential existed must be close to impossible.”

            “Close to?”  The Slayer’s eyes were fixed on Tara’s face.

            “Vampires are hybrids.  Part human, part demon.  The human soul leaves the body when the demon takes over.  But something remains.  Memories, personality.  It might be possible, just barely, for a very strong character to awaken the soul of the demon or to merge with it to create—I’m not sure what.”  She went on reluctantly.  “On the other hand, the spell guarding that doorway could have been defective and let him through because he was holding Dawn and it detected her soul.  I just don’t know.”

            “Is there a way to find out?”

            “A test for a partial soul?  I can sense auras and essences, Buffy, and if he were human, I could tell if his soul were active.  But Spike’s aura—it’s not like anything I’ve ever encountered before.  It never has been.  I always put it down to the strangeness of that chip in his head.  I—I’m sorry.  I can’t say for sure.”

            “Spike leapt into that barrier,” said Buffy.  “He did it to save Dawn, and he did it with the certainty that it would destroy him.”

            “You took a leap to save me once,” said Dawn.  “You sacrificed yourself.”

            Buffy shook her head.  “I had something to hope for when I jumped.  I knew I had a soul, and I knew there was the possibility of something more, even if it was only peace and respite.  What did Spike have?  Only the certainty of destruction.  He had to take a leap without faith.  How much do you have to love to do that?”  She stood up.

            “Slayer?”  Spike looked up at her in astonishment when she appeared beside him.

            “Why so surprised to see me?”

            “I thought you’d just drop me here and go.”

            “No,” she said.  “Dawn and Tara left to get you some blood and something to dull the pain, but they’ll be back.”

            “You let them go alone?  Without protection?”

            “The sun’s up, and you’re forgetting what Tara is.  They’ll be fine.  I’m more worried about you right now.”

            “Excuse me, Slayer?” he said.  “These burns must have affected my hearing.  I thought you implied you cared what happened to me.”

            “I do,” she said, bending to kiss him very gently on the lips.

            “What’s this about, then?” he asked, torn between hope and suspicion.

            “A leap of faith.”  She kissed him again, and said carefully, “You know that I told you I couldn’t love you.”

            “Yeah, I do remember that,” he said, not trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

            “But there’s something more that I never told you.  I never told you how much I wanted to.” 

            He was stunned into silence by this.

            “I wanted to so much,” she said.  “When we were together, I would look into your eyes, hoping that I would see something that would finally let me feel—that I would see—”

            “See what?” he asked hoarsely.

            She bent over him, and her smile was luminous.  “What I’m seeing now.”  Her tone was awestruck.  She found an unsinged spot on his forehead and stroked it gently with one finger. 

            He swallowed hard.  “Just so that I’m understanding this correctly, Slayer, what you’re saying is—”

   “I love you, William.”  She kissed him again.

            When she raised her head, he groaned in mingled pleasure and pain.  “Bloody hell, Buffy, you would finally say it now!  When I’m in such bad shape I can’t even raise my arms, much less my—”

            She put a finger across his lips.  “No sordid comments,” she said.  “This is a tender moment.”  She smiled mischievously.  “I’m sure there will be other moments later.” 

            “I guess that means I should try to get better,” he said.

            “It does.  You forced me to live when I didn’t want to go on, so now you’re just going to have to put up with my insistence that you stay with me.  I’m not going to do this alone.”

            “Love me then,” he murmured.  “‘Love, till dawn sunder night from day with fire, dividing my delight and my desire.’” 

            “The daylight may separate us,” she said.  “But it won’t change how I feel.  This isn’t about my becoming a part of your world, Spike.  It’s about you becoming a part of mine.”

            He looked startled.  “That can’t happen, love.”

“Lots of things could never happen.  I couldn’t come back to life.  A vampire could never care enough about humans to risk his existence for them.  And I couldn’t love you.  I’m giving up on the word ‘never.’  But we do this my way, William, or not at all.”

“I always said that you were a demanding bitch,” he said without anger.  “All right then, Slayer.  We’ll try it your way.” 

            Before she could respond, he either nodded off to sleep or fainted from pain.  She sat in the darkness beside him, staring through the open door of his crypt and out into the sunlight.  She wondered with wild anticipation and stomach-churning dread what chain of events she had just set in motion.

Note:  I didn’t write the dragon’s poem.  I’m incapable of writing anything that rhymes.  That verse was kindly donated by the extremely good, smart, and kind friend who betas these fics for me.  Gracias, Dorothy L, for that and so much more.

Spike's poetry was stolen from "In the Orchard" by Algernon Charles Swinburne.  Not my favorite poet, but it seems like the kind of thing William would have read, and Spike's feeling a bit overwrought.  (He'd have to be, to be caught dead quoting from someone named Algy.  But how could I pass up a poem with the line, "Slay me now?")

Chapter 2:  Control Freak

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