This Wanton World by Eurydice

Chapters 15-17

Chapter 15: The Time to Hesitate is Through

Ninety minutes of a date with a man who chewed with his mouth open and spit every time he said a word with a p in it could last an eternity.

Ninety minutes when Lilah had her whole career on the line and no way of knowing if she was about to be stabbed in the back or not, disappeared faster than water going over Niagara Falls.

She glanced at her watch as she stepped into the elevator. Damn it. She was already five minutes late for her mysterious appointment. What if he decided not to stick around? If he was on the up-and-up, her best shot at getting Jutta's Ring back was going to vanish, all because Security couldn't pull their thumbs out of their asses fast enough to do what she needed. Lilah knew they had their own protocols to follow, but they'd already bent the rules nearly in half to hide Ethan Rayne's immediate presence from anybody at Wolfram and Hart who might be looking over her shoulder. She didn't see what the big deal was to bend them just a little bit further.

Still, it was done. Whether her six o'clock panned out with anything usable or not, at least she was prepared when it came to the Watcher.

She saw him as soon as she emerged from the elevator. Seated in the waiting area, he was younger than she'd imagined, with hair that was just starting to go distinguishingly gray. His dark suit was elegantly cut, highlighting his long, lean form, and when he looked up to see her approach, Lilah was struck by how bright his eyes were behind his glasses.

“Mr. Giles,” she said with a smile, her hand outstretched in greeting. “I'm sorry to keep you waiting.”

When he rose to his feet, she was delighted to see him stand even taller than she, and she lifted her eyes to gaze up at him. “I should be the one apologizing to you,” he said. “I'm just glad you were able to fit me into your busy schedule.”

At the sound of his accent, it occurred to Lilah that Rupert Giles was very likely an associate of Rayne's. Weren't all the Watchers British? She couldn't remember; Wolfram and Hart didn't do a lot of business with Slayers. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, however; this meeting could still swing either way.

“Would you like some coffee?” she asked, and then gave him her best embarrassed smile. “Or we have tea. Some of the finest in the world.”

“Thank you, but that won't be necessary. Your secretary already offered me some.”

She leaned toward him conspiratorially. “They make us call them personal assistants now,” Lilah said, her voice in a mock whisper. “That doesn't mean we pay them any more, but it seems to make them happy.”

Though he smiled at her small joke, it didn't reach his eyes, and Lilah's doubt began to creep its way back. Tilting her head to indicate he should follow her, she led him away from the waiting area toward her office, keeping her head high and her step determined. She stood to the side of the door to let him enter first, and only when it was closed behind her did Lilah speak to him again.

“So, what can I do for you, Mr. Giles?”

He waited until she was seated behind her desk before taking a seat himself. When his eyes met hers, they were dark and inscrutable. “I believe you're looking for a piece of jewelry,” he said.

“Oh?” She was ever so good at feigning nonchalance. “And what makes you think that?”

“Because I was at the hotel you had attacked this morning.”

“I don't---.”

“Spare me the petty protestations, Ms. Morgan.” Gone was the polite warmth. All that was left was steel. She thought she liked this version even better. “It's beneath both of us.”

With a small smile, Lilah leaned back in her chair, turning just enough to allow herself room to cross her legs. Her skirt rose above her knee, but she was disappointed when his gaze remained steady on her face. “Why are you here?” she asked. “Do you have the ring?”

He shook his head. “I have better.”

“There is no better, Mr. Giles.”

“Really? And here I thought you wanted the Slayer. My mistake.”

She stiffened when he started to rise. “Are you protecting her?” Lilah demanded. “Is that why you were at the hotel?”

Though he remained standing, he didn't move toward the door. It amazed Lilah that his features could stay so perfectly still, and yet appear so livid with thought. “Buffy Summers is a dangerous woman,” he said. His voice was as even as his gaze. “I came to Los Angeles because the Watchers' Council believes she's a threat. Those idiots you hired attacked the vampire in my employ to take care of the problem. If it hadn't been for your unfortunate intervention, my business in this godforsaken city would be complete and the Slayer wouldn't be a thorn in either of our sides now.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” she murmured. “Is that what you want me to believe?”

“Personally, I don't care what you believe. Since it seems you're not interested in conducting business, I won't waste any more of your time.”

She bolted from her chair to place herself between him and the door, her hand on his chest to physically stop him. When Lilah realized what she was doing, she eased, sliding her fingers over the expensive fabric in a false show of straightening his lapels.

“I'm always interested in new…partners,” she said with a smile. “Considering the effort you've made, it would be remiss of me not to hear what you have to say.”

His hand curled around hers, and he deliberately removed it from his chest. Rather than let it fall free, however, he kept it contained within his long fingers as he answered her. “Contrary to my title,” he said, “I'm a man of action, Ms. Morgan. The question is, are you ready to take it?”

She laughed then, but didn't answer, turning back to her desk instead. The hold he had on her meant he followed, but once she'd perched herself on the corner of it, he let her go.

“I think we need to get better acquainted,” Lilah said, and reached to hit the intercom on her phone. “Arlene? You can go home now. I won't need you any further tonight.” She disconnected and pointed to the empty chair with her foot. “Sit down, Mr. Giles. There'll be time enough for action once we both have the answers we need.”

*************

“Still think it's a bloody daft idea.”

“There's no other way for us to find out for sure,” Buffy shot back. Her head was spinning; the temperature inside Spike's car was easily twenty degrees hotter than the last time she'd been in it, and her t-shirt clung to her torso in sticky patches of sweat. In her hand sat her ring, the metal even warmer than the air around her, and it weighed heavily against her palm, though she knew that was a figment of her imagination more than anything physical.

“Just…keep an eye out,” she added. “If it looks…” She couldn't finish the sentence. The thought of what she was about to do made her want to throw up.

“Got your back, Slayer,” Spike said quietly.

Swallowing against the tightness of her throat, Buffy picked up the tiny circlet and held it poised over her fingertip before sliding it down past the knuckles. It came to rest where it had resided for the past eight years, blocking out the pale skin beneath as if it had never left, and she held her breath while she waited for the connection between her and Ethan was re-established.

Nothing happened.

Carefully, Buffy flexed her hand, testing the weight. Her hand felt balanced for the first time in twenty-four hours, but beyond that, she felt exactly the same.

“What's wrong?” Spike asked. “Lost its spark?”

“I don't know,” she admitted. The possibility that Ethan could be dead began to gnaw at Buffy's confidence in her plan. If he was dead, this was all just one big waste of time. If he was dead---.

Her body went rigid at the sudden stabs throughout her body.

Pain.

Lots of it.

Searing. Debilitating. It hurt so badly, Buffy wanted to strip her flesh of its skin to get rid of it.

Then, she saw him. It wasn't too late after all.

Though he probably wished it was.

*************

It tickled. Around the edges of his fantasy, making the corner of his eye twitch. It made the daydream fade, made the ache from the burns and his broken ribs reassert their rights to control the flesh, control the paths of his thoughts, until Ethan throbbed from the returned awareness.

He groaned. His head felt thick, but when he tried to shake it to clear the cobwebs, a strap of leather around his forehead chafed along his skin, burning where it rubbed against sweat-slick skin but refusing to yield to his efforts. Opening his eyes, he saw the endless nightmare of acoustic tiles, the numbing white of sterility stretching from ceiling to wall. It was likely the floors would be white as well. Antiseptic. He'd been moved from his cell to…here.

Vaguely, he remembered Lilah's return, the squeaking gurney being pushed in behind her. Strong hands in not-so-naughty places. A sense of weightlessness. Beyond that, however, his mind drew a blank. He'd been fortunate to pass out from the exertion of fighting her again, though he was rather disgusted at his weakness. Lilah had likely mocked him all the way back to her plush office.

But the tickle remained. Even with his eyes open, Ethan could feel the pulsing breath somewhere along the periphery of his mind, like somebody was watching him. Waiting.

Waiting for what?

It wasn't until he heard her voice that he understood.

“I don't know.”

Buffy. He could hear Buffy. As clearly as if…

But she wasn't in the room. Her voice sounded hollow, like she was in a small, close place. She wasn't here .

That didn't matter.

Using what little strength he had left, Ethan reached out for the tickle, gathering his will to grasp it like a towline. The first tug flooded his senses with heat---warm, glorious, sweaty Slayer---while the second made his cock jump to attention, rigid against his thigh as the relief at feeling her made him sag against the bed in which he was strapped.

Buffy was there. Buffy was alive.

Buffy was hurting.

Flashes of what she'd experienced since leaving him the night before burned into his retinas, but the worst of it settled on his chest and pushed, compressing his lungs until he found it almost impossible to breathe. This was a tsunami compared to the usual flood of her emotions, carrying him along to slam him into the reef and leave him bleeding. He forced the strength of it aside to try and reach back to her, gentling her intemperance with practiced ease. The onslaught softened, swayed, then bent beneath his will, but just as he was about to direct her to come and get him, the worst possible thing he could've envisioned occurred.

Buffy disappeared.

*************

The scent of her blood was already starting to fill the car, setting Spike's nerves on edge more than they already were. She'd scratched her skin in her desperation to get the ring off; even now, Buffy's heart jackhammered inside her chest, and her breathing was so erratic that he was half-tempted to tell her to stick her head between her knees. Frankly, he was impressed she'd had the wherewithal to take the ring off without his intervention. Whatever hold her Watcher had on her through its power was either weakening, or Buffy was learning how to get around it, now that she knew it was there.

He had a feeling it was a little bit of both.

When she'd told him and Ripper her plan to locate Ethan, Spike had been quick to point out its flaws, primarily that he wasn't about to give up the ring in his possession for her to give it a go. Then, she'd pulled it out of her pocket, and he'd realized that it wasn't just her knife she'd taken back when she'd left his room that morning. Wasn't too much he could say then. She was ready to fight him tooth and nail to hold onto the blasted thing.

Now, she held it in her trembling hands, seemingly unsure what to do with it. When Spike reached to take it away from her, though, her fingers closed around the tiny scrap of metal and she stuffed it back into her pocket.

“Take it you had your encounter of the creepy kind,” he commented. “Get what you wanted?”

Slowly, Buffy nodded. Her pulse was starting to calm, replaced with the same eerie control that had taken her over after she'd pulverized Javier. “I know where he is,” she said. She glanced at her watch and then peered through the slit in the window's paintjob. “You ready for this?”

Spike rolled his neck, audibly cracking the joint, and nodded. “You haven't asked what happens after.”

“Tell me why I should care.”

“I got a bounty I plan on collecting, pet.”

“No, you don't.” For the first time since putting on the ring, Buffy looked at him, and the bleakness of her gaze revealed more than her words. “Contract's off. Giles told me himself.”

“The Council's not the only one who'll pay for a Slayer, you know.” He waited for her reaction, his features decidedly neutral, glad that she didn't have the same ability to read his inner workings like he did hers.

He was disappointed when she merely shrugged. “Then I guess you'd better hope I walk out of this alive,” Buffy said. “And then, you have to find me.”

She opened the car door, sending a low shaft of sunlight slicing across the front seat and driving him back into the corner as she climbed out. It slammed shut behind her, ringing loudly, and Spike was left wondering if he shouldn't just drive away from this whole mess right now, leave her and the Watchers in the belly of the beast to see if they'd get eaten alive. It would be a good show, that would be certain. But for him to know that, he'd have to stick around to watch.

He sighed, reaching into his coat pocket for his cigarettes. Slayers always had a way of buggering up the best of plans.

*************

Lilah Morgan was far more attractive than his sources had said. She was intelligent, shrewd, and had legs that seemed to go on forever. She also had a vicious streak a mile wide, and it was that single attribute that Giles credited for keeping him prey from her charms.

“At her apartment,” he lied when she asked how he'd found the Slayer. “Spike, of course, was of little use since she's hardly foolish enough to invite a vampire into her home, but she had no reason not to trust me. After all, I'm a Watcher. She's been taught to listen to us.”

“I'm sure the devilish charm didn't hurt, either.” Lilah smiled. There was no mistaking the coquettish slant of her lashes. “So, tell me, Rupert Giles. You obviously have some grand plan that brings you to my doorstep. What is it exactly you want from Wolfram and Hart?”

He rose from his chair and took a step closer to her, casually slipping his hand into his trousers pocket. “A partner,” he said. “You want Jutta's Ring, and I want the Slayer back. If we pool our resources, I'm sure we can do something about satisfying both of those goals.”

“No offense, but one side of this potential relationship seems a little light on what it brings to the table. And that side isn't mine.”

“On the contrary. I have more information about Ethan Rayne and Buffy Summers at my fingertips than you can even imagine. Considering you're even deigning to speak to me, I think it's safe to assume you've just about exhausted your options in retrieving the ring. Am I right?”

Her lips thinned, and something ugly passed behind her eyes. “My options aren't even close to being gone, Mr. Giles,” Lilah said.

He took another step forward. “Then you don't need me. Perhaps I should go after all.”

It was a risk he was taking. So far, the encounter hadn't transpired as he'd imagined its script would go, but Giles was keen enough to suspect it wasn't over quite yet.

Lilah's eyes never wavered from his. “Perhaps I---.”

An alarm began sounding through the room, breaking their concentration from the conversation and diverting it elsewhere. “What's that?” Giles asked.

“A vampire just walked into the building,” Lilah said. She was already looking bored from the observation, as if it was an everyday occurrence. “Hang on.” She stretched sideways, twisting slightly to reach behind her desk. “Let me just turn off---.”

She was silenced when he put his hand around her mouth, pressing his body against hers to pin Lilah to the desk. Pulling out the small taser he'd had in his pocket, Giles positioned it against the small of her back, leaning in so that his mouth hovered just above her ear.

“What was that you were saying about options, Ms. Morgan?” he murmured.

Chapter 16: Angels Dance and Angels Die

When it came to plans, it wasn't really that complex. Ripper was their inside man, Buffy the go-to girl, and Spike the main attraction. When the Slayer had first made the suggestion, Spike's first inclination was that it was suicide, for him mostly, but a bit for her and the Watcher, too. She wanted Spike to walk into one of the most heavily fortified dens of iniquity and flip the lot of them the bird, then keep them distracted long enough so that she could do her own b-and-e with reduced risk.

It took Spike all of five seconds to decide that it sounded like a hell of a lot of fun.

Once the sun was down, he was out of his car and up the low stairs in front of the building, slamming the glass doors open as he swaggered across the threshold. The lobby was deserted, the front receptionist replaced by a night guard with more stomach than brains, and in the distance, Spike could hear the harsh ringing of an alarm.

“Well, this is a tad disappointing,” he said, his voice too loud. He threw his arms out to the side, his coat hanging like black wings. “I was expecting something livelier. You don't even have a sacrificial altar set up. Now, what's a bloke got to do to find some evil around here?”

Behind the counter, the guard rose to his feet, a stake already in his hand. “Offices are closed,” he said. “If you don't want to be dust, I suggest you leave the premises.”

Spike grinned. “This is the part where I start shakin' in my boots, right? ‘Cause you've got the stake, and I've got…what?” He pretended to think for a moment before his left hand streaked inside his coat and emerged with a revolver cradled in his palm. “Oh yeah. This.”

The bullet hit the guard's neck, blood spurting from the impact. The stake hit the ground first, leaving Spike shaking his head as the body crumpled afterward.

“You really think I'd be so daft to walk in here without bein' prepared? Stupid git,” he muttered. He kicked at the dead guard in disgust, avoiding the blood that was already flowing across the floor as he hopped up on the receptionist's counter. Facing the elevators, he waited for the other guards to start showing up, the gun ready to pick them off like flies when they did. It wouldn't be long, and he wasn't all too sure that the surprise element of a vampire armed with a gun wouldn't already have worn off by the time they arrived. He was just glad that he'd taken Ripper's suggestion to bring along a long-range weapon. It got him past the front line without even breaking a proverbial sweat.

The real fight was yet to come.

*************

She broke in through a delivery door at the back. The long, narrow halls were mostly empty; Buffy figured that being evil didn't necessarily mean employees couldn't clock out at five. When she did spot the odd worker, she ducked into hiding, waiting until the coast was clear before continuing on her path.

She was bounding up the stairs when the alarm went off and risked a glance at her watch to check the time. She had to fight not to smile; Spike was right on schedule. The only thing to hope for now was that he'd last long enough to give her the time to get Ethan out of the building.

Instinct compelled her to stop climbing, and it was instinct that drove her into the fourteenth floor's hallway, her body angling of its own volition down the narrow corridor, past the closed doors, past a couple open ones. When someone in a white coat stepped into her path, his mouth already open to speak and protest her presence, Buffy threw a solid punch at his jaw, knocking him unconscious before stepping over his slumped body. Ethan waited for her.

As she expected, his door was at the hall's end, and the handle refused to budge within her grip when she tried it. A numbered keypad beside the door revealed how it was secured. Its red light flashed at her, mocking Buffy with its technological prowess, and she chewed at her lip, debating how best to proceed.

The debate lasted a total of five seconds.

Her fist slammed into the pad, and pieces of plastic flew through the air as Buffy curled her fingers around the broken faceplate and pulled it off the wall. Colored wires trailed from its back like so much intestinal refuse, but it took only a sharp yank to rip them from the wall as well, electrical sparks cascading at the disconnection. Something in the door softly clicked.

The skin on her knuckles was torn, beads of blood starting to well in the exposed flesh, but Buffy ignored the sting as she carefully nudged the door open. The room was exactly as she'd seen it in her mind, all the way down to the smell of antiseptic in the air. But all she could focus on was the bed along the far wall.

The only item of clothing he wore was his pants, and even those were charred from some kind of burns. Ethan was strapped in place, leather bands around his forehead, wrists, and ankles, but those did little to hide the skin that had been rubbed raw beneath them. Burns and bruises mottled the rest of his flesh, and Buffy had to swallow down the bile that rose up in her throat at the sight of his mangled body.

“What did they do to you?” she whispered as she stepped closer to the bed.

His eyes had been closed, but at the sound of her voice, his lashes fluttered apart, blinking once and then again as if to clear his vision. “Buffy?” Ethan croaked. He sounded like he'd been without water for weeks.

“Yeah,” she said, and closed the distance so that she stood right by his head. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, and she couldn't help the sweep of her gaze over his body, absorbing the true extent of his injuries. “It's me.”

He tried to turn and look at her, but the strap stopped him, drawing a slight wince from his throat. Immediately, Buffy's hands flew to undo it, and when the leather fell free, she couldn't help but draw a single finger across the edge of his burned brow.

His eyes were locked on her hand. Before she'd drawn it away, his face had closed, his mouth twisting into a grimace. “Go away, Ms. Morgan,” he said. “I'm in no mood to play your little games right now. Unless, of course, you're going to free me so that we can be a tad more evenly matched. I have a spell or two I think you might find interesting.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked in confusion. “It's me. It's Buffy.”

“Nice try, but the jig was up the last time you were here, remember? Don't demean both of us by trying this foolish act again.”

She just shook her head. She had no idea what the lawyers had done to Ethan, but obviously it had messed with his head somehow. This, however, was not the time to stand around debating personality issues.

Quickly, Buffy moved down the bed, unstrapping his wrists and ankles so that he could get up. She really hoped he was strong enough to walk; if they were confronted on the way out, she needed him able to stand on his own two feet while she fought. But when she turned back to help him up, she was confronted with his frowning face.

“What?” she asked.

“You're…letting me go?”

“Noooo,” she said slowly. “I'm helping you escape. And there's not a white horse in sight. Trust me.”

She reached to slide her arm beneath his back, but Ethan grabbed her wrist, holding her more firmly than she would've believed considering his condition. While he pulled himself upright, his left hand came up to ghost over her trapped fingers, and then stretched to stroke them in feather touches.

He was trembling, though it wasn't visible to the naked eye. Buffy could feel it through her skin, feel the quivers of disbelieving muscles as he traced her slim hand. “No ring,” she heard him mutter. That's when she understood.

“I took it off,” she said quietly.

His head jerked up. “You did what?”

Without a word, Buffy exerted enough force to break from his hold. Her hand dipped, slid into her pocket, and emerged with her ring resting solemnly in her palm.

“That was why I couldn't find you,” Ethan murmured. His eyes searched hers, and she felt the first rush of tears threaten to overwhelm her at the familiarity in them. “And now you know.”

“Now I know,” she repeated. Turning away before she completely lost control, Buffy put the ring back in her pocket as she headed for the door. “We have to get going,” she said, her voice now all business. “We don't have a lot of time.”

“Buffy…”

She had to stop. She had to.

He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his tone was clearer. “Why…if you know…did you come for me?”

She glanced back. He'd risen, using the edge of the bed to keep his balance. In the middle of his torso, she could just see the puckered edges of the scar he'd gotten in Tijuana beneath the mask of the burns.

“Because I'm all you've got,” she said.

She didn't wait to see him follow her out into the hall. From overhead, the alarms continued to peal the presence of intruders.

*************

He insisted that Lilah take the stairs.

“Do you have any idea how many flights that is?” she complained loudly, hoping her voice would carry enough for somebody to show up at her office to find out what the problem was.

Giles pressed the taser harder into her back. “Perhaps you should've worn more sensible shoes then,” he replied.

Though she remained calm, on the inside Lilah was fuming, furious with her own idiocy for getting caught in this situation in the first place. So much of what the Watcher had said had made sense. His whole story reeked of plausibility with just enough of the absurd to make it sound true. She should've known he was making the whole thing up when he said he'd hired a vampire to kill the Slayer. That was just ridiculous.

Before they left her office, Giles slipped his hand beneath her jacket, making it appear more natural if someone should see them. That put the weapon even closer to Lilah's skin, and she had to force herself not to flinch as she walked. Its electrical hum buzzed along her flesh, promising pain on discharge. Only when they reached the stairwell did he pull it away, allowing her breathing to return to a gentler pace.

“That ring's stolen property, you know,” she said as they began to descend to the fourteenth floor. “Is the Watchers' Council prepared to face charges for theft?”

“I'd imagine not,” Giles replied. “But perhaps the better question is…are the Senior Partners prepared to face retribution for your defilement of the ring's sacred grounds? I can think of at least three different holy orders who would be suitably outraged to discover what you've done, Ms. Morgan.”

Lilah pressed her lips together. She hated when she got outbluffed.

Two more flights and the alarms were grating on her last nerve.

“Will somebody please catch that damn vampire?” she shouted to nobody in particular.

The look Giles shot her was withering. “He took care of the team you sent this morning in less than five minutes,” he said. “Do you really think he'll give in so easily now?”

“The security here is top-notch. Wolfram and Hart hires only the best, you know.”

“And yet, they hired you.”

She had the perfect comeback poised on her lips when the sound of shouting below took his attention away from her. Giles' pace doubled, and she nearly fell on her face as he pulled her along, hopping on one foot and then the other to remove her shoes when they reached a landing. Briefly, Lilah considered hitting him over the head with them, but then she saw Ethan leaning against the wall and all hope finally fled.

Giles stopped in front of the other man, his eyes quick as they scrutinized the injuries. “Where's Buffy?” he demanded.

Ethan nodded to the next level down. “Security decided to put in an entrance after all. I came up here to get out of her way. I'd hate for any of that lovely anger of hers to be wasted on me.”

“Idiot,” Lilah muttered.

For the first time, Ethan noticed her presence, but she just shook her head at his curious glance.

“If you were trying to escape, the most logical path is downstairs, not up,” she said.

“Which would be exactly what your men would expect,” he explained. He sighed as he turned back to Giles. “She's beautiful, but not nearly as smart as she'd like to think. Shame, really.”

Giles reached into his pocket and pulled out a taser identical to the one he'd held on her. “How's your grip?” he asked the other Watcher.

Ethan's grin was lecherous. “Let's find out.”

*************

The moment he had the taser in his hand, Ethan felt worlds better. Power could be an intoxicating thing, and it wasn't until he got some back that he realized just how badly he'd missed it.

Though he kept Lilah in sight out of the corner of his eye, the bulk of Ethan's attention was focused on the battle below and the sight of Ripper joining Buffy in the fray. Her every blow carried the rage of angels, though he was quick to note that she didn't kill any of the human guards, and she moved with that sleek grace that left him pounding for the want of her. Even when the blond man in leather appeared at her side, she never broke stride, never faltered in her assault. In short, she was radiant.

“That is one sick relationship you have with your Slayer,” Lilah noted with barely concealed disgust.

His lip curled back into a sneer, and Ethan shifted just enough of his focus to glare at her. “And yet, she came to save me,” he said. “Who shall come to rescue you, Ms. Morgan?”

“I think the Senior Partners might be interested.”

“Yes, but will they want to save your pretty neck, or snap it?” He pretended to mull over the question. “'Tis a puzzlement.”

A sharp cry from down below jerked his awareness back just in time for Ethan to see one of the guards thrust a knife deep into Buffy's side.

“No!” he shouted, but his call was eclipsed by the roar of the blond man, his angular features shifting into ridges and fangs as he grabbed the guard's head and viciously twisted.

Buffy stumbled away from the battle, her hand pressed to the blood already soaking her shirt. “Go!” she shouted to the vampire. “Get Ethan out of here!”

The dead guard fell unwanted to the vampire's feet, but he just stepped over it as he tried to get closer to her. He was stopped by Giles' hand on his elbow.

“You heard her,” Giles said. Sweat made his face gleam; Ethan hadn't seen his old friend look so ferocious in years. “We'll take care of this.”

“She's hurt.”

“Doesn't matter,” Buffy said. In spite of her injury, she managed to throw an elbow into another guard coming up the stairs, sending him tumbling back down and into the others behind him. “This was the always the plan, Spike. Now do it.”

“Fuck the bloody plan!”

“Don't make me kick your ass, too,” she warned. A wave of dizziness must've overtaken her because she grabbed the wall for a brief moment, leaving behind a bloody handprint once she was steady again.

“Buffy---.”

“I thought you had my back.” Her voice was lower now, more in control, and Ethan could've sworn he saw something akin to pleading in her eyes, even from that distance. “Just get him out of here, OK?”

He thought that the vampire was going to continue arguing, but then there was a swirl of black leather and the so-called Spike fellow was suddenly standing in front of him. He was shorter than Ethan by a good couple of inches, but there was a menace surrounding him that was unmistakable. It made him pull himself straighter, which hurt like hell. He decided he really didn't like this vampire.

“You Ethan?” he demanded.

It wasn't the brightest question he'd heard all night. “At your rescue,” Ethan replied with a smile.

Spike's eyes gleamed a feral gold. “You're the prat who gave her the ring.”

His smile faded. He barely had time to mutter, “Oh, bugger,” before the fist crashed into his face and everything went black.

*************

Spike never saw her come out of the building. He was on his fourth cigarette when Ripper finally emerged, his suit torn, blood streaked across the side of his face, but before Spike could get out and demand to know where the Slayer was, guards began streaming out after the Watcher. Spike had no choice but to drive like a bat out of hell the moment Ripper slid into the front seat.

It didn't take long to lose Wolfram and Hart's people and only a few seconds longer to lose the rest of his temper. While Spike raved about the Slayer's daft heroics, Giles just stared out the windshield, his face closed and stern.

“She did what she had to do,” he said at the first break in Spike's tirade.

“She's the Slayer. ‘Have to' doesn't apply to her. Not any more.”

Ripper had no reply to that. He didn't say another word until they were inside the warehouse and pulling Ethan's unconscious body out of the back seat.

“Before I left Wolfram and Hart, Buffy asked me to relay a message to you.” His tone was neutral, and he kept his eyes averted from Spike's as they carried Ethan to the other car they had waiting.

“Oh? And what's that?”

“She says…thank you.”

Spike didn't stick around after that. As soon as the Watchers were packed, he took off, tires squealing in protest as he gunned his way down the empty road. He had miles to go before he slept.

Chapter 17: Wanton World Without Lament

Giles took him from the private hospital against medical advice. “He's not ready to travel,” Ethan heard the young doctor argue outside his open door. “If he leaves now---.”

“Can he walk?” Giles' voice was charged with every ounce of his authority, icy and condescending as only Watchers could be.

“Well, yes, but---.”

“Then he's ready.”

As he was wheeled from the hospital, Ethan's comment about Ripper's need to top every male in his presence was largely ignored.

He didn't ask where they were going, though all it took was a careful regard to the passing road signs to deduce their northerly path. The hospital had been on the Mexican border, small and exclusive, and Ethan had wondered during his entire stay if the Council was footing the bill for his recuperation or if it was coming out of Giles' pocket. Nothing had been said about what was going to happen to him. Nobody but Ripper and staff had been to see him. It had been an odd sort of stasis while the worst of his injuries were attended to, but Ethan didn't waste time questioning what wouldn't get answered. He spent the bulk of his time wondering just how he was going to get away from Ripper before it was too late.

He also wondered about Buffy.

He'd seen her get stabbed at Wolfram and Hart, remembered her barked command for the vampire to get Ethan out of the building. After that, the night was a blank, courtesy of Spike's definitive punch. When Ethan had next woken, he was in the hospital bed with a blowzy nurse fussing over his every bodily function. He'd asked for Buffy, but she'd claimed ignorance, as did the rest of the staff. Giles had been the only one to give him an answer, and then, it had been a brief one.

“She won't be coming,” he'd stated. And that, as they said, was that.

There was no more link between Ethan and the Slayer. Every time he attempted to establish one, he was rewarded with a blinding headache and vomiting that made his broken ribs ache. It only took a few attempts to realize that Ripper had somehow put a dampening field on his magic, but until more of Ethan's strength returned, he could do nothing to counter it.

So he contented himself with conjecture, with fantasies about Buffy waiting in some secret hideaway. “I'm all you've got,” she'd said. That had to mean something. Surely, the fact that she'd come to him rather than run away was proof that the ties that bound them were stronger than his magic. There was loyalty. There was affection. There was amazing sex. He had given her life, and Buffy was far too smart not to realize the import of that.

She would be waiting for him. He was sure of it.

It was nearly noon when they reached Los Angeles. It looked just as it had when they'd left two weeks earlier, but Ethan had no nostalgia for the place. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought that Buffy had been right, that her fears about returning to the city where she'd died had been justified, danced around demanding his attention. Should've, would've, could've, he thought with a leadening heart. There was little he regretted after the fact, but this…this would likely rate as one of the more unwise choices in his lifetime.

Streets flashed by with a growing familiarity. Houses that should've been anonymous taunted Ethan into recognizing them. Then, they passed the street upon which Buffy had lived when she'd first been called, and he sat up in his seat, his pulse coming back to life.

“Where are we going?” he asked for the first time since leaving the hospital.

“They say criminals always return to the scenes of their crimes,” Ripper replied.

“You're only a criminal if you get caught.”

“And the fact that you're with me means…?”

“That you can't bear to live without me.” Ethan smiled, but there was no mirth in his eyes. His fears were starting to overcome his certainty that Buffy would be at the end of this particular path. He couldn't imagine her returning to her old neighborhood outside of the duress of his will.

They passed Buffy's old street, meandering through the tree-lined avenues until Giles turned through the entrance of a local cemetery. Theirs was not the only car in the lot, but the others were unfamiliar and Ethan noticed that Giles didn't even glance in their direction as he walked around to the trunk and removed a black duffel.

He followed silently along the well-trod path, eyes flickering to every sign of movement they passed along the way. A mourner here, a gardener there, and not one of them was her, not one of them even glanced up to see the two men walking stiffly into the bowels of the graveyard. The quiet was eerie, as if someone had picked up the plot of land and taken it away from the bustle of Los Angeles, but not even Ethan was up to disturbing the peace. He just wanted the journey over.

Giles moved from the main path to weave his way through the headstones. When he finally stopped, it was in front of a fresh grave, the flowers still bright where they'd been placed at the marker.

“Here,” he said, dropping the bag to the ground. “The next time I see you, Ethan, I will kill you. Be warned.”

Turning on his heel, he'd only gone a few steps when Ethan called after him.

“This is a joke, right? You're doing this to try and scare me. Punishment for my wicked, wicked ways.”

“I only wish it was,” came the reply.

He didn't see Giles turn around, and he didn't see him return until he was standing just behind Ethan's shoulder. All Ethan could see was the headstone with the name of his Slayer clearly etched into it.

There was no epitaph, no parting words from loved ones declaring who she was to them. Just her name carved in simple block letters. It was both too much and not enough, and Ethan's eyes stung unexpectedly.

“She didn't make it out,” Giles said quietly. “There were too many guards and---.”

“No.” The single word scraped his throat, made his mouth want to bleed. “She's not dead. I'd know. I'd---.”

“She broke your control, remember? She could be standing right behind you, and you wouldn't know. You don't have that power over her any longer.”

Though he knew it was absurd, Ethan glanced back over his shoulder anyway, half-hoping Buffy would be standing there with a bright smile and an “April Fool's!” on her lips. An empty graveyard yawned back at him.

“Why did you bring me here?” Ethan demanded, shifting his gaze back to Giles. “What happened to that self-righteous need of yours to show me the error of my ways? Don't tell me you've had second thoughts.”

For a long moment, they stared at each other, the years of their acquaintance laying them open to their fierce regards. When he saw a flicker of sympathy appear and then vanish behind Ripper's eyes, Ethan turned away, choosing instead to burn the specter of Buffy's grave onto his retinas.

“It was her request,” Giles said. “If…she didn't make it. She asked me not to turn you over to the Council.”

Slowly, Ethan stepped forward, his fingers reaching for the cold stone and tracing over the block letters. “That's my girl,” he murmured.

He didn't expect the sharp punch into his side, and he felt his bones shift beneath his skin as he crumpled to his knees. Pain shot through his torso, jagging his breath into saw-toothed gasps, but through the haze, he heard Giles say, “She was never yours. You never gave her that choice.”

He forced the response even though speech seemed impossible. “There is so much you'll never understand, Ripper. Including what she and I had.”

“No, you're right. But I do know that she's safe from you now. You can't touch her any more.”

Giles was already moving when Ethan lifted his head.

“Her ring?” he called.

“Buried with her.”

“And---?”

“Don't ask.”

This time, Giles didn't stop.

He sat there for long minutes that cramped his still-healing joints. If he stared at the marker long enough, surely that would void its existence. Prove to him that it was just a figment of his imagination. She wasn't dead. She hadn't died making sure he got free from Lilah Morgan's clutches. The world was going to dissolve away, and he'd wake up back in the hospital, a victim of the doctor's too-liberal drug usage. It was just a dream.

But it wasn't. Nothing about the graveyard changed except for the sun above and the occasional visitor that passed in the distance.

When the light began to mellow into the soft blush of late afternoon, Ethan sighed. It was foolish to be in the cemetery after dark; in his condition, he wouldn't last long enough to scream for help, and this time, there was no Slayer to come to his aid. Pulling the duffel closer, he began digging through its contents, hoping that Ripper had at least left him enough cash to pay for a bus ticket. He dreaded such mundane transportation, but he feared he had few other choices at the moment.

There was little that was surprising in the bag. A few of his clothes, spare shoes, his passport. A slim wallet fell from between two folded shirts, and a quick examination revealed it contained over a thousand dollars. Ethan smiled. It was sufficient to get him out of town, perhaps even in something better than the cattle class of Amtrak.

As he closed the duffel back up, something lumpy inside shifted against his thigh, and he reached through the opening to pull out a small box. He frowned, lifting the lid, but the contents he found erased the lines from his brow.

“That's my girl,” Ethan murmured with a half-smile. “That's my Buffy.”

************

He sat there for far longer than anyone could've expected, tucking the box safely back into the duffel before rising to his feet. His hand trailed over the top of the marker, caressing the cold stone, but his face was hidden from scrutiny, his head bent while he murmured words too low for anyone but the dead to hear. Then, picking up the bag from the ground, Ethan walked toward the front of the graveyard.

She watched his slim form grow smaller and smaller against the horizon until a bend in the path took him from her view. There had been a few moments when he scanned the surrounding cemetery that Buffy was certain he could see her in spite of her special care to hide from him. During those fearful seconds, she shrank back into the murk of the mausoleum, her heart thudding inside her chest. She waited. She didn't want Ethan to know that she was there, but the urge to see him one last time, to see the look on his face when he realized she had given him Jutta's Ring, to see his pain when he discovered he was still stuck in this world without the only person who'd ever cared about him, had been too great for Buffy to ignore.

Giles would've been furious to find out that she'd jeopardized all his careful arrangements just for a sneak peek at Ethan. She realized that in the long run, she didn't care.

Night crept in on silent feet, blanketing the cemetery in deceptive peace. Buffy waited until after midnight before leaving her sanctuary, her bag thrown over her shoulder. The world thought she was dead, and most importantly, the Council thought the same thing. It was time for her to get out into the world and start living. All she had to do was leave Los Angeles behind.

There was a lone car parked in the lot, and Buffy hesitated when the red flare of a cigarette tip temporarily illuminated the lean figure leaning against the driver-side door, the bleached hair a dull scarlet in the darkness. A quick scan around her revealed no other creatures lurking in the near vicinity, and so she resumed her pace, angling her path to where he waited.

She stopped ten feet away. “I guess you found me,” Buffy said.

Spike took a deep drag on his cigarette, his shadowed gaze sweeping over her. His nose twitched, and then his head tilted in curiosity. “You healed up quick,” he commented. “Is that how you got out in the end? Because you weren't really hurt?”

Ignoring his questions, she dropped her bag to the ground and started rolling her stiff neck. “Let's just do this,” she said.

“Do what, pet?”

“You're here for your big fight, right? The fourth Slayer under your belt? So, let's get it over with. I've had a really long day, and I'm not in the mood for any of your so-called foreplay right now.”

He shook his head, his cigarette smoke a pale corona above him. “Don't know what you're talkin' about. Heard the Slayer kicked it and came to pay my respects. Imagine my surprise when I pulled into the lot and got a whiff of eau de Buffy. And not the dead kind, either.” His tongue ran along the edge of his teeth, the flash of white gleaming in the darkness. “C'mon,” he said, his tone wheedling. “Tell me how you managed to scarper off with your skin still intact. I've been sittin' here for the past three hours tryin' to suss it out.”

“Get used to disappointment, Spike.”

“With you, pet? Never.”

The fists she'd had ready at her sides relaxed, her eyes narrowing in contemplation. “Giles said you'd disappeared.”

“Guess that's something else we have in common then.”

Silence fell between them, the only sound the sizzle of Spike's cigarette as he took one last drag before dropping it to the ground. Its absence left his face even more in shadows, and she wondered if he did it on purpose.

“You know,” he finally said, shattering the calm, “you weren't the only one I sniffed out here.”

He didn't need to elaborate; she knew who he was talking about. “They left hours ago.”

“Gettin' their last fond farewell? Or…just makin' plans for later, maybe.”

Buffy bit back her smile at his obvious fishing. “I'm dead, remember?” she said. “They did all their farewelling to a headstone. Any plans they have don't include me.” Bending to pick her bag back up, she added without looking at him, “On the other hand, I need to find a ride.”

When she straightened, Spike was staring at her, head cocked to the side, his tongue running along the edges of his teeth. Deliberately, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets and said, “I have a car.”

The familiar response made the other words tumble more freely. “There's probably going to be fighting. And danger. Mortal, maybe, because, well, I don't think that me being dead to the world is going to make that much of a difference to any of the vampires or demons I run into.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. “Have I mentioned mortal danger's my favorite kind?”

“You cross me, Spike, and I'll dust you.”

“You can try .”

This time, her smile was brilliant, though she ducked her head to hide it. Pushing off from his perch on the car, Spike closed the distance between them, reaching forward to take her bag before heading back to the trunk. Buffy didn't say a word as she went around to the passenger side and got in; there was nothing more that needed to be said. She had a ride out of town, she had enough money to get a new start almost anywhere she wanted, but best of all, she had her life back.

Dying was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

The End.

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