It wouldn’t occur to her until days had passed. The White House was virtually locked down; and yet, somehow, Buffy had managed to get through security. Her entrance was a blur. She distinctly remembered a man waving badge, someone screaming for clearance as another attempted to hold her back. Similarly, she recalled the voice of Leo McGarry and a panicked Sam Seaborn. It was fortunate that they intervened; she feared she would have killed whoever stood between her and her mate.

Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered but getting to Spike.

“He’s in the Oval,” Leo said quickly, running alongside her. “They all are.”

Buffy barely heard him. She didn’t need to be told where anyone was. All she needed was to feel Spike’s skin and kiss his face…and lay waste to anyone that had made him bleed.

“Willow’s in there,” Sam gasped. “So’s the President.”

It occurred to her that the names he said should carry some weight. They didn’t. Buffy’s mind was wholly with Spike. Something rooted. Something instinctual. The claim was in control; she didn’t have time to care for anything else.

“Josh and Toby?” Leo asked.

“Willow put up a ward in Josh’s office. He’s in there with Donna. She came down to do the same to mine, but I was with the Minority Leader in the Roosevelt Room, so she’s sealed Toby’s office, too.”

“What about CJ?”

“Carol took her downstairs.”

Sam and Leo ran with her all the way to the Oval. She figured they would barrel into the room at her side if she let them, but that wasn’t an option. Somehow, she was able to put the brakes on before she ploughed through the door, not even noticing the absence of Charlie and Mrs. Landingham as she whirled around to face the men that looked ready to follow her to Hell if need be.

“This is where the ride stops for you two.”

Leo and Sam were panting and shaking their heads.

“The President only…dies if I’m…already dead,” the Chief of Staff said. “That’s the…way it works.”

“I’m not leaving Willow,” Sam agreed. “Or the President.”

“Neither of you are going to do anyone any good by going in there,” Buffy snapped. “The best thing for Will and the President is to let me do my job. So either turn around and go somewhere else, or I’m going to use up half my energy right now just to restrain the both of you.”

She wouldn’t remember waiting for an answer. She wouldn’t even remember how quickly she’d gotten from her broken Georgetown home to the White House. Beyond the doors, the only thing she would remember was the grip of terror, an ocean of pleading eyes, the burn that came with release.

She wouldn’t remember anything else. Nothing beyond the look on Spike’s face.

And blackness that surrounded her fall.

*~*~*

The air crackled with the scent of burnt flesh and rang still with the screams of an irate god. Spike’s gums were numb, his stomach turning at the unfamiliar coppery taste of the deity’s blood.

He had barked an order to the President to get behind his desk as Glory shrieked her pain. The doors to the Oval were practically sealed shut—the President’s body man, Charlie, nursing a wound to his middle. The poor kid had rushed inward, fighting off the remaining secret service agents that were oblivious to death on the President’s detail, and had practically leapt into a stream of Willow’s magic in a hurry to get to his boss’s side.

Even wounded, Charlie refused to abandon Bartlet. The kid had the President crouched under the Resolute Desk and was presently ignoring the commands from the most powerful man in the country to similarly dive for cover.

The seconds following Spike’s lunge for the god were a distorted rush. The scent of heavy magic drenched the air, the hue of the Witch’s eyes too black to doubt the intensity of her resources. His fangs had slashed into every inch of god flesh that he could reach. He felt his body betraying him with each passing second. There was only so much strength he could forge against a deity.

Glory snagged him with a right hook that sent him flying across the room. He crashed into something with an ear-splitting crack, and the taste of his own blood flooded his mouth.

“You think that’s enough?” the god snapped, wiping dust off her sleazy red dress. “You’re just a vampire, honey.” She whirled around, raising a hand at the wave of fresh power Willow was preparing to fire. “Don’t even think about it.”

Spike staggered to his feet. From where he had fallen, he could see the worried eyes of the President, and Charlie’s admirable restraint to keep the man from going to his side.

He was more than a vampire.

He was the mate of a god.

And this drastic waste of space wasn’t going to interfere with protecting what was his. He’d waited too long, lost too much, to have it end today.

“Ooh, what’s this?” Glory flashed a cruel smirk. “Someone doesn’t know when to call it quits.”

“That’s the both of us,” Willow spat, her voice a deep, unnatural baritone that coincide with the crackling of the air. A familiar purplish static was forming between her fingers.

If the threat carried any weight, Glory didn’t make it known. Instead, she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“You guys just won’t be satisfied until you’re all dead, will you?”

Then the door to the Oval Office flew open, and the rules changed.

Oh God.

Buffy.

“No,” Spike growled. Glory wasn’t going to get her chance at her.

He didn’t care if he had to follow her all the way to Hell to be sure of it. The bitch goddess was not touching his mate.

*~*~*

“You have to get me in that room.”

Leo was calmly leading Sam downstairs, his own mind occupied with a thousand terrible scenarios. “No. I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

“Leo—”

The elder man shook his head. “From what you’ve told me about your girlfriend’s powers, she’d just end up having to protect you. The President is in there with the secret service, a witch, a vampire, and a god. It’s god-knows-how-many versus one whackjob. I’m liking our odds.”

He recited the line-up more for his sake than Sam’s.

If the President was in danger, he wanted to be there.

If the President was killed, he wanted to already be dead.

Leo stopped at the hallway that led to Ainsley Hayes’s office, where Ed and Larry had suggested Carol took CJ. “You stay put,” he said. “I’m gonna go check on Josh and Toby.”

“I need—”

“Sam, we don’t know what we’re supposed to do now. It’s not everyday the White House is taken hostage by a god. I need you to stay here and stay out of trouble.”

He was just glad Josh and Toby were sealed in. Keeping Sam from getting himself killed was hard enough.

*~*~*

It was over in a blink. Everything was over.

She’d heard Willow’s panicked, “No, Buffy, don’t!” just seconds before bursting through the door, her skin tingling as something diffused, and the room sparked with energy. She felt the rumble of a mate in mourning as strong arms grasped her from behind, her neck suddenly forced into the crook of an elbow, another hand pressing against her head.

She didn’t know that gods could choke until that moment.

No.

She had not suffered this much to die so simply. She had not undergone the most painful transformation in the line of her short life the year before only to face death like this. Short. Quick. Forgettable. Quirinias had not murdered her soul when he inhabited her body. He had not broken her with his presence, and he had not won.

Glory was holding her now, ready to snap her neck.

It was so quick. So undignified.

Buffy had envisioned her death a thousand times. It was simply the way of things when she was the Slayer. She had figured she would die for her cause, die for her duty; such was expected with the calling.

The scent of fresh tears hit the air. Spike.

Oh God. Not enough that she had to die; Spike had to watch it happen? There was no mercy in the world.

I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m so, so sorry.

His eyes were swimming with tears and he shook his head furiously. “No.”

“Oh yes,” Glory snapped, twisting her neck further. “You know, sugarpie, you’ve really pushed my last nerve. I mean, I would’ve thought that you got the message when I broke you at your house. Or how about when I told you I was going to kill all your friends? But no. No. Miss Mousy Buffy had to interfere yet again. Which, really, has worked out for the best for all of us. I mean, here you get to die…” Her eyes flashed upward. “And the lover gets to witness the whole thing.”

Pain engulfed her entire body.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Watching the man she loved weep for her as he watched her die?

Buffy, please.

His voice warmed her body, even strained in grief.

Buffy please. Please. God, let it go.

Spike—

Whatever it is you’ve got, baby, let it go. Please! Please, you can’t do this to me. You’re stronger…god, Buffy, please!

The underlying message was clear: You die, I die. And while she knew that Spike didn’t fear death, she similarly knew that dying after watching her final moments would haunt him far longer than the shadows of life could chase.

And it was there. The specks of white that had so long pillowed her fall. The power she didn’t know to master. The part of her that she had only now accepted. Spike was in mourning and her body felt it. More than that; he was in danger. Once she was gone, Glory would kill him in his sorrow.

God, it was building. Spreading across her skin with white-hot pinpricks. Her body burned and seared her insides with eternal fire. The eruption was fast and unlike anything she had experienced before. Stronger. As though the past times her power had come close to release, it had held back if only to protect her from the fullness of its impact.

She had fought it before, even without realizing it. There was nothing to fight now. Nothing but acceptance. It was death at Glory’s hands or death at her own.

This was the time that counted.

The world around her went white as it left her. Screams split the air, but she didn’t know to whom they belonged. The arms holding her vanished and an inhuman scream tore through her throat. It was the last thing she felt. With an agonized moan, Buffy fell to the floor.

And knew nothing else.

*~*~*

It was as though the universe had collapsed. The room had gone white for long, terrifying seconds, and he’d been consumed with anguish. Then all had cleared and Buffy’s black, charred body fell to the ground, and he knew nothing but the emptiness of rage.

Spike leapt forward before his fury could settle. There wasn’t time to think. A surge of foreign strength flooded his veins, and before he knew what he was doing, his hands were around Glory’s head, and a deafening crack sounded through the air.

“Oh my God!”

He heard nothing. Felt nothing. He fell to the ground beside his Slayer, hard sobs wracking his body as he took her in his arms. The world was vacant if she was gone.

And she couldn’t be gone. He felt her.

“Buffy!” He buried his face in her throat and cradled her tenderly. “God, please. Please, baby. I’m so sorry. Fuck, I’m so bleeding sorry.”

He’d asked her to do this. He’d asked her to give it her everything.

And he’d killed her.

There was a distant hum in his ears. He felt everything within him disintegrate, a piercing wail slicing through his blood as all else fell to the completeness of suffering. He choked long, hard sobs as he rocked her back and forth. Guilt compressed and his body was breaking.

He didn’t think it was possible to harm his mate.

“Spike…”

He batted Willow off, feeling the astonishment of her stare.

“Spike…you…”

“Sod off!” he growled through his tears, clutching Buffy closer to him. “Leave me!”

“Spike, you killed her.” Willow had knelt beside the hellgod, her eyes wide with wonder. “You killed Glory.”

That didn’t matter a shit to him.

Then it was over. It was all over, and his blood sang with the most euphoric harmony he had ever known.

Spike…

The vampire went absolutely still for a minute, not daring to hope.

Spike…it’s okay.

Buffy wasn’t moving, but she wasn’t gone.

He crumbled again in tears, holding her to him in the bittersweet crash of the most blissful relief he had ever known.

I’m so sorry, baby, he gasped into her, peppering soft kisses over her marred skin. I’m so, so sorry. I love you so much. Jus’ don’t leave me. Fuck, sweetheart, you can’t leave me. I love you. God, I love you so much.

I love you, she replied. I have to sleep now.

Buffy—

Just let me sleep. I’ll be okay. Just let me sleep.

The last thing he wanted to do was sever connection with his mate, but he wasn’t about to presume the right to order her around. Nodding, even as the others in the room stared at him in bleak astonishment, he whispered his understanding into her hair, and felt her succumb to slumber.

“Spike?”

The vampire glanced up, eyes shining. “She’s okay, Red,” he gasped. “I nearly killed her, but she’s okay.”

The President’s face was numb. So was Charlie’s.

And the ground was littered with bodies. Fallen agents of the President’s personal detail. The broken form of a god that had nearly destroyed them all.

“Charlie,” Bartlet said absently, his voice grave, “show Spike to the Lincoln Bedroom and send for Abbey.”

There was a long beat. “Yes, Mr. President.”

As though in a trance, Spike collected his mate in his arms.

He thought of nothing else. There was nothing to consider. He’d done what he could. The rest didn’t belong to him.

The only thing in the world that he cared about was in his arms.

He had her. She was alive.

To him, that was all that mattered.

*~*~*

It had been dark for three hours when a knock sounded on the door. Spike didn’t even bother to stand; he knew who it was. Knocking was simply a formality when one was a guest in the home of the President.

“How is she?”

“Abbey gave her somethin’,” Spike replied, his eyes not leaving his mate’s sleeping face. She was already looking better; her burns had begun to heal. He’d cleansed her body of char and made her as comfortable as possible. She had not yet awoken, but every now and then, she would murmur or smile, or send him a warm thought.

“You understand why I couldn’t call for another doctor, don’t you?”

Of course he bloody well understood. The world would end before he let someone he didn’t trust near his mate.

Though he reckoned the President’s motives were slightly different.

“’F it’d been anyone but your wife, they’d be dead for tryin’ to touch her.”

There was a heavy beat.

“I just finished the phone calls to the families of the officers that died today,” the President said. “Ron Butterfield’s not taking it very well.”

He didn’t give a fuck who Ron Butterfield was, or why he wasn’t taking whatever well. Though he understood why the President had mentioned it, and did nothing but nod at the useless knowledge at his disposal.

“Spike…” The President moved forward slowly. “I—”

“I’ve been gettin’ stronger,” he blurted. “For months now…’cause I’m the mate of a god. ‘Cause I taste her blood. I killed Glory because I had to. I din’t know I could do that, either, so don’ lecture me on—”

“What? Saving our lives?” The President offered a grave smile. “I’m not going to pretend that what happened today wasn’t the worst thing that’s happened to us so far, but you did what you had to. So did Buffy.” There was a beat. “You jumped in front of me without thinking. Call it what you will, but that’s something, son. You and Buffy saved us all…with great cost to yourselves.”

Spike finally glanced up. “Mr. President—”

“I won’t forget that.” He paused again. “And, when it’s just us, you’re free to call me Jed.”

The President turned and walked out at that, not waiting for an answer.

Spike stared at him for a long time, a heavy sigh escaping his body. He thought too late about what the man had told him earlier pertaining to his Multiple Sclerosis, and how he should have asked about his surrogate father’s health. How he should have done a thousand things differently.

It didn’t matter, though. Not in the long run.

All that mattered was Buffy.

And he wasn’t leaving her side.


TBC