Italics = Thoughts
‘I'm so sorry, love...I've let you down...'

He ran his fingers obsessively over the smooth cold surface of her prison. It was a familiar caress following the same routine; one that he had done so often that there were now hardened calluses on the tips of his fingers. She was flawless to his biased eyes; his ideal, he ached for her. Their mystical separation was slowly driving him over the edge of sanity and beyond.

Frozen perfection, he traced the outline of her face with a reverent finger, lingering briefly on the flawlessness of her mouth, her pouting lips beckoning him like a lodestone. He trailed the back of his hand along the soft line of her throat with a worshipful sigh. In the same instant of loving her face he hated the coolness of the glass that his hand coasted obsessively across.

Spike still desperately and futilely searched for a flaw in the enchanted mirror, anything that he could exploit to free her. There was one thing about him that was true, he was stubborn and very rarely gave up on his girl, unlike others. A big part of him wondered why the ‘minions,' her so-called friends had not come and saved her.

Did they know?

Did they care?

They may have all gone their separate ways after The First, but he thought a residue of affection for the Slayer might have called them to arms to free her. He blamed himself. They must have hated her for taking up with the likes of him. Spike grimaced; he had done it again, caused her fall from grace, tainting her in her friend's eyes by his association. His soul shattered, Spike sank to his knees before the gilt framed mirror and covered his face with his hands and wept.

It had all been so perfect; he should've know it would end up like this. He wasn't supposed to get the happy ever after. No matter what he did, no matter how many lives he saved, no matter how many times he saved the world. No matter how much he loved her, he had been evil, done wrong and now he had lost the girl...again.

Every single moment of the last few months had been pure heaven for him. The fight in Los Angeles and the nightmare of fallen friends and injured companions that followed had all been diminished by the glow of their rekindled relationship. And yes, it had been a relationship this time, not just abusive sex and violence like the last time.

Spike could remember every second of those angry months in Sunnydale; each detail was etched indelibly on his psyche and the ramifications had echoed down through the following two years. If not for all those moments, and the hellish culmination of their so-called relationship on the floor of the Slayer's bathroom, then he would not be standing where he was now. If he hadn't pushed too far and realised that no meant no, then he would never have left the Hellmouth and had a soul shoved down his throat. Not what he had expected at the time, but definitely what she deserved and definitely what she needed. The Slayer and her army of newly activated mini slayers wouldn't have survived that final fight on the Hellmouth; facing down the hordes of Turok Han and closing the Hellmouth would never have ended the way it had, if he had not had a soul.

He had come back to die on the Hellmouth. Initially he had hoped by her hands in penance for his misdeeds, instead he had died there to save the world. And he had. His soul had saved the world and if not for those moments of insanity in her bathroom then in all likelihood ‘The First' would have been victorious.

‘Irony's a bitch, isn't it, luv?' Spike smiled ruefully up at her frozen image. He frowned. Something was different; she had moved slightly. Sometimes he wondered if it were his mind playing tricks or if indeed Buffy was able to move within the enchanted mirror. He sighed and sat down in front of the frame and gazed longingly up at her face. His soul ached to be with her. He missed her voice, her laugh, the scent of her hair as it trailed across his face. He missed the warmth of her body as they lay entwined in their bed and he ached for the touch of her hand on his face or her fingers running over his lips, as if she were memorising their texture and shape. Spike vamped out and growled at the mirror. ‘Come back to me.' His silent plea was ignored.

‘I'm so sorry, love...I've let you down...'

The room behind him was as dark and cold as ever, but he didn't notice it. All his attention was focused on her, as it was meant to be; she was his universe, thus creature comforts were not necessary. He couldn't leave her alone trapped in the cold glass, so instead he stayed, slowly starving himself to dust. The hunger pangs were now familiar friends, his skin was paler than normal, veins on the back of his hands standing out in relief, and the black rings around his eyes evoked the memory of how he had looked after escaping the Initiative. But Spike didn't care; he couldn't leave her, not now, not ever.

That last minute decision to return to Rome after the battle in the alley had been the best spur of the moment choice he had ever made in his unlife, and there had been more than a few of those. It had been a hellish fight that had robbed Gunn of his life; Spike had figured the ex-street fighter had minutes to live as soon as he had made it back to the alley. And he had been right. The last remaining mortal who had been a cornerstone of the erstwhile Angel Investigations had bled to death, leaving only the three supernatural fighters left to stem the tide of demons and monsters..

Angel had fallen next, and to his immense surprise he had woken later, in abandoned Hyperion Hotel, human. The first gasping breaths of the ex vampire had woken Spike as he slept in an armchair next to his grandsire's bed; the pale sweat-soaked face of Angel had been the first sign that something was changing. Pain apparently was more trying when you were human. Angel was sweating and screaming as the wounds the dragon had inflicted on him as they had fought began to remind him how useful vampire healing abilities were.

Then Angel had begun to glow, and all his mortal pains and ailments were forgotten.

Spike and Illyria had bore witness to the Shanshu; the blond vampire had always suspected that, despite the brooder signing it away, the Powers rewarded their champions. And despite all the sniping and their differences, Spike had rejoiced at the old git getting what he had dreamed of all those years. Thankfully Angel had not hared off to Rome and the Slayer; instead he had gone to find his werewolf. The Smurf had disappeared soon after, no goodbyes and no reasons, she had just gone. Taking a leaf out of her book he had legged it to LAX and was on the first flight to Rome.

Rome had been just like his last visit. Busy, filled with traffic and fumes, and home to the canker on the arse of humanity, the Immortal. Spike snorted at the last memory he had of that git. ‘Kicked his arse well and good, didn't you love?' Spike grinned up at the frozen image of his Slayer. ‘Hafta admit I never saw that coming.' For a moment Spike paused, he had been positive that she had grinned at him. He shivered. ‘Losing that last of my marbles, aren't I, Slayer?' It had only been a flicker of light from the window behind him playing tricks with his slowly unravelling mind. Spike sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. Instead of dwelling on the ‘what ifs' he let himself remember their reunion.

It had gone a lot more differently than his last attempt to find her. Andrew, for one, was not the person to answer the apartment door, it had been Dawn. Her face had crumpled immediately; she had burst into tears and reached for him. When he stepped in uninvited reaching for her, wanting to comfort her, Dawn had not noticed that he could come in instead she had hurled herself into his arms and cried out her relief and happiness that he was undead. Then she realised that this wasn't his first visit to her home and smacked him around the back of the head and started to yell at him.

Her shrieks of excitement and joy had attracted someone else's attention; Spike had smelt her fragrance first. It was as familiar to him as the back of his hand. He had memorised it years ago. It was indelibly etched on his senses and it remained his lodestone: fire and strength, tempered with a girlish fragrance that was essentially Buffy. He had smiled into the younger Summer's hair as the scent came closer; it was his girl. Her hands had reached for him and it was a new beginning for them all.

The Immortal had been kicked to the curb within hours, especially when it was discovered he had known that Spike had been in The Eternal City a month earlier and he had tried to blow up her vampire. The swift kick to the groin followed by a sound ass kicking had filled Spike's heart with glee, and he had cheered his girl on, only intervening when Dawn had tried to smack the git around the head with her purse. The lasting memory of the prat's bruised face as he was hustled into the back of a Council van with an armed escort of several baby slayers was one he would cherish for the rest of his unlife.

Feverish nights filled with passion followed; days spent curled around each other exchanging whispered promises of forever had filled his heart and soul with peace. The most important difference had been the smiles and laughter, something that had never been an element in their previous involvement. It made all the difference. He had been content, in love and happy.

He should've known it wouldn't have lasted.

Happiness wasn't meant for the likes of him.

Spike clutched at his heart and let his tears fall. He stared up at the mirror, his gaze greedily devouring her features and lithe body.

She was always there, sometimes in profile, sometimes moving away from him into the darkness behind her and often he would catch only teasing glimpses of a flash of gold hair as she disappeared out of the frame. It was a dark place; all he could see was her. There appeared to be a faint glow around her form, as if she were etched in eldritch fire. She stood there in all her glory, trapped in the mercury as if she were a fly in amber, timeless, remote and untouchable.

‘I'm so sorry, love...I've let you down...'

Spike felt he should know who had done this to her, but the memory was as elusive as a Willow O'wisp, almost within his grasp but never quite there. All he knew was that Buffy was trapped behind a layer of impenetrable glass, magically enforced against his enhanced strength, and he should know how and why. He had lost count of the hours he had spend battering his fists futilely against the silvery surface until it was crimson with his blood and even then he carried on scratching with his broken and torn nails. It was always the same, a perfect shimmering surface that reflected back nothing but her, trapped behind the glass and always a finger's breadth away from him.

He sank to his knees and wept again. He couldn't help it. He had let her down, let her get trapped and all he could do was stand there and stare helplessly at her image. Her beauty was undiminished despite being imprisoned there for however long it had been; he'd lost count of the months. All he could remember was entering the room with her by his side, a flash of light and then the horror that was now his life.

‘I'm so sorry, love...I've let you down...'

It felt like it was years he'd raged at the unfairness of it all. Just when they had started on something the Slayer had been ripped away from him. His frustration and inability to free her had slowly eaten away at his sanity and control over his demon. He had paced back and forth in front of her prison for months on end in game face, his amber eyes never wavering from her visage; he tore at his clothes and howled at the unfairness of it all.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours, time rolled on as the days moved into months. All he had was her face to keep him on the brink of sanity; sometimes he let himself fall over the edge and he revelled in the insanity that swamped him. It helped him forget the guilt of letting her down. He would come back to himself with a jerk, unsure how long he had been mired in the fever of self-flagellation.

‘I'm so sorry, love...I've let you down...'

He gave up, there was no more hope for them, Spike turned away from the mirror sank to his knees and howled out his anguish. Sanity fled as he realised there was no hope for either of them. He tore at his clothes, yanked out handfuls of his hair and cried out his all his fears and frustration. He paused for a moment, taking one last look over his shoulder at her precious visage and then let himself fall. His mind shut down and he closed his eyes, letting his body hit the dusty floorboards with a thud. It was easier to let insanity dominate his mind, that way he didn't have to be aware of his agony.

He gave up and his soul quailed in the tide of overwhelming anguish he let loose.

Epilogue


“Do you think he knows what happened to him?”

Willow stepped up next to Buffy as she asked the burning question that was on all their minds. Behind them Dawn carried on grinding together the ingredients that the witch had finally tracked down; the monotonous grind of the pestle and mortar were the only sounds in the book lined library. She opened her mouth to add her two pence worth and then remembered Xander’s banishment to the corridor and bit her lip. ‘Nu uh, wasn’t gonna say a word about Spike’s state of mind or if he was in pain or not.’ She liked her ass unkicked. Xander was still limping from what Vi and the other girls had reported back at dinner last night.

Buffy’s shoulders stiffened at the softly spoken question, her entire body rigid with frustration and anger. “I don’t know…” She rubbed her aching hands over her face. “God, I hope not.” Her eyes remained focused on his beloved form. She held her hands out in front of her, gingerly flexing her swollen knuckles, wincing briefly as the scabs voiced their disapproval by sending shooting pains up both her arms. “I don’t get it, why didn’t my Slayer strength break the glass?” she asked Willow for what had to be the hundredth time in the last two weeks. She still couldn’t believe it was only two weeks since Dru had taken her revenge on Spike and her.

Buffy glared over at the glass prison that Willow had trapped the vengeful vampiress. The others didn’t get it. All of them had wanted to stake her but Buffy wanted the demento vamp to see her plan fail and then she would plant a Redwood in her heart.

She and Spike deserved vengeance.

Their last fateful moments together in the abandoned palazzo were indelibly etched on her memories. They had been on patrol, sent to the empty palazzo by Giles who’d been made curious by rumours of a haunting, and he had asked them to check it out. Then it had all changed. One minute she was giggling at Spike goofing around as he stepped into the attic room. There had been a flash of blinding light; once her eyes had adjusted he had gone. Screaming she had run into the room, desperately scanning the darkness for any sign of his bright hair—and then her heart had stopped.

It had been a sight like nothing else she had ever seen. A huge gilded mirror had leant against the wall, its glass intact; the gold leaf decoration gleamed brightly in the torch light. Her hand shook as she shone the beam across it and revealed his form trapped in the glass. It had taken all her strength not to faint, not to scream; instead she had pulled out her cell and called Giles. Then she had sunk to her knees and waited, her hands pressed against the cold glass trying to touch him.

As the minutes had ticked by she had begun to hyperventilate, panic setting in. Her calm had finally shattered and she began to hammer on the enchanted glass, trying to break it. Trying to free him from it, to bring him back into her arms where he belonged.

He stood frozen, his familiar form caught between moments in time.

Dru hissed at her enemy, madness filling her eyes as she threw her head back and laughed in delight at the agony pouring off the Slayer and her sister. She licked her lips as if she was tasting the anguish that coloured the air; it was almost palpable to her and it filled her tummy with warmth. A heat that had been absent from the moment that the nasty gods had changed her daddy—it was all naughty William’s fault for not fighting harder and making sure that he was the one to be given the pressie, after all he had got a soul for her. Dru spat at Buffy, hate twisting her elegant features. William should be the one sweating and breathing, not her Angelus. It was disgusting—abhorrent for a great vampire such as him.

Her daddy was gone away, leaving her all alone. She had sensed his change and that was not how it was supposed to be. Dirtying his hands with a filthy dog—that was not right. She was his darling girl – no, that horrible degradation was not for her Angelus. Her bad boy deserved to be in pain, punishment for letting their daddy go away and also for touching the nasty Slayer.

So she had planned carefully. The spell had been a present from the nice lawyers and it had worked perfectly—revenge was sweet for all of them. In her madness and determination to have retribution, Drusilla had not realised that if the lawyers from Wolfram and Hart were seeking vengeance on Spike, then her precious daddy was also in their line of fire. Then again she had never been one for considering the ramifications of her actions; she was a creature of the moment, her mind so far gone that the machinations of evil law firms and their Senior Partners were far beyond her. Instead she revelled in the pain that the Slayer was living through. It was a perfect vengeance, even if she was caught in the tricky witch’s trap. Escape was always an option; she just needed to wait for the right moment. But for now she wanted to enjoy William’s capture. Humming happily to herself she danced around her prison, her mind filled with the thrill of her success, unaware of anything else.

“It’s starting to smell like burnt rubber. Is that what it’s supposed to do?” Dawn prodded the gelatinous goo with the pestle and screwed up her features into the ultimate yuck face.

Willow gave Buffy a reassuring smile before turning to the long table littered with ingredients and books. “Let me see?” she gave Dawn a quick hug and took the heavy bowl so she could sniff at the ingredients. “This looks perfect. Stinky, but perfect.”

“Willow? Is it me of is he looking really sickly?” Dawn stared at the ravaged face of her best friend and bit her lower lip, trying hard not to cry.

“Tick tock, times running away.” Drusilla giggled and snapped her fingers at the three girls. “Poor William’s tummy is full of growlies; you’ll be too late. Bye bye naughty boy.” The demented vampire swayed from side to side, her penetrating eyes never leaving Buffy’s face, soaking up the anguish as if it were blood nourishing her. She licked her red lips hungrily. “Oh slayer, you taste so good,” she crooned.

“Shut up,” Buffy yelled as she slammed her hand against the glass separating her from Drusilla, causing the thin vampiress to reflexively lurch backwards, cackling at the Slayer’s uncontrolled display of temper.

Willow grabbed the Slayer’s hand. “Ignore her, its almost over. Come on.” She pulled Buffy over to the mirror. “Okay guys, just stay back cos I have no idea what will happen.” She reached up and began to smear the goo Dawn had mixed onto the frame. She stood on her tip toes to reach the top curve of the gilded frame. “I still can’t believe you dragged this heavy thing all the way to Slayer Central!” she exclaimed, impressed.

“It was the only way to get help. Giles sent the plane. I just carried it.” Buffy shrugged. “Is it going to work?”

Willow wiped her hands clean on a towel Dawn handed her. “Sweetie, just wait a moment and let it work its way into the wood.” They had finally accepted the glass was impenetrable, but as all wood was porous, Willow had created a spell that would infiltrate the timber. She crossed her fingers behind her back; this was their last chance because she was completely out of ideas. She just hoped that the spell was only focused on the mirror itself and not the frame.

All four women watched the mirror, three in anticipation and one in terror that her plan was about to fail. Drusilla could sense the power; the magicks were working and it wasn’t fair. Fear began to trickle into her mind and suddenly escape was a distant possibility. There was always a price to pay when it came to magic and she was beginning to get scared.

Then it began to work.

The golden surface began to bubble under the goop; the frame twisted and warped under the magical influence of the applied potion. Buffy grabbed hold of Dawn in anticipation, her fingernails digging into her sister’s arms. Dawn winced but grabbed hold of Buffy and began to dance on the spot in excitement. All their work and failed spells had lead them to this moment.

She began to pray under her breath. “Oh please…please…please work this time!” Dawn screwed her eyes shut as she prayed to all the gods she could think of. As all of their attention was focused on the mirror they missed the silent entry of all the mini slayers and Xander into the library. All of them felt unable to stay away; they wanted to be there to see Spike return.

Willow squeaked and pointed to one of the corners. “Look!” Everyone’s eyes were riveted to the spot she was pointing to.

“Oh…my…god!” Buffy watched as a small crack appeared in the upper right hand corner. She held her breath, her green eyes brilliant with excitement and anticipation. She watched as the crack grew longer and split off into tiny tributaries, lines criss crossing the mirror until it looked like a spider’s web. “Willow, its working!” she shrieked in exhilaration. Her entire body vibrated with relief and hope.

“Noooo…” Drusilla moaned as she clawed at her face and watched her revenge crumble into ashes in her eyes. “It’s not fair. Make it stop.” Her wails and entreaties went unnoticed and ignored.

The hairline cracks began to shift and move, causing Spike’s image to distort and warp as if he were a portrait painted by Picasso. Then in a breathless pause the mirror seemed to fold in on itself and then expand, stretching his body beyond recognition. The silence in the room was filled with the buzz of heightened expectation.

“Whoa!” Dawn pulled Buffy back out of the way as the mirror liquefied and poured out of the frame onto the library floor. A silvery pool of fluid shimmered in the light. It slithered across the slate tiled floor coming to a halt near the two sisters.

“Spike?” Buffy pulled free from her sister’s clutching hands and ran towards the frame, her feet skidding in the liquid glass. Arms outstretched, she caught Spike as he fell forward out of the now empty gilded wood frame. “I got you, just hold on.” She shook with relief as his hands curled around her waist and he gasped for unneeded breath. “That’s it, you’re back. We got you back.” She impatiently dashed tears from her face and looked up at Willow. “Thank you. Oh God, thank you…” she chanted as she pressed fevered kisses to his face.

Willow squeezed her shoulder and smiled impishly down at her best friend. “Yay me!”

“Yeah Wills, yay you.” Xander gave her a one armed hug. “He looks starved. Here Buffster.” He handed a stunned Buffy a thermos of warmed blood.

“Guys, check it out.” Dawn pointed at the glass prison that had held Drusilla captive. Inside the vampiress was frozen in place, the glass and mercury from the mirror coating her entire form. Her mouth had opened in a silent scream, she now resembled a silver statue perfect in every detail. Unnoticed by all of them, the liquid silver had moved across to the instigator of the spell and encased her.

Spike’s head throbbed from the assault on his senses- he was used to the dark and isolation. Bright light, the sound of his girl’s voice, the whispers of a throng of slayers, Willow doing a happy dance with the Whelp and Dawn shrieking with glee all took his breath away for a moment. It took seconds for him to realise that the mirror had been his prison and not Buffy’s. He thanked the deity who watched over slayers for saving his girl from the horrors had almost destroyed him. He opened his eyes and looked up at Buffy’s tear soaked face and gave her a shaky smile. He was home, he was in her arms. He wasn’t alone and they all had saved him.

“I told you that there were always consequences,” Spike croaked as he smiled up at his slayer. He wrapped his arms around her and held on for dear life, thankful that she hadn’t been the one and that she hadn’t suffered. He glanced over at his former sire and shook his head in dismay at her foolishness.

A price paid in full.