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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is a pressie for the wonderous spikeslovebite a darling girl and a dear friend! Hope you likes it Tam. A massive thank you to megan_peta for her supreme betaing and staying up late to get this fic polished up for me>
Disclaimer: BtVS and AtS characters not mine but they are so much fun to play with ^_^
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.





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