FIC: DotN; Bitter Business (2/?)

[JDMeans@xxxxxxx]

First off, mea maxima culpa for taking so long to get to this story. I've 
had some RL concerns, mostly financial and all very boring, that kept me 
occupied. Hopefully, now that I'm back in the saddle again, I'll be able to 
concentrate on my main storyline some more. If you want to refresh your 
memory regarding "Bitter Business", I posted chapter one over at I Kind Of 
Love You; <A HREF="www.ikoly.com">www.ikoly.com</A>. Hopefully you'll enjoy my latest effort.

Disclaimers;
Joss made Buffy and crew, UPN broadcasts them and Paramount owns them. Disney 
owns the Gargoyle characters.

Rating;
PG-13. But Spike's involved, and he's spoiling for some action, so it's 
kinda on the hard side of PG-13.  

Feedback;
Oh you know I want it! JDMeans@xxxxxxx

Author's Note;
This is the Fifth story in my Defenders of the Night story arc. You may want 
to check out the previous chapters; 'A Prelude in Five Parts', 'Along Came a 
Spider', 'Her Little Secret' and 'Encounter'.  

Summary;
Buffy wants to help Willow, and ends up dealing with an old enemy, more 
dangerous than ever.


Defenders of teh Night
Bitter Business
By Kirayoshi


"Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and Hell breaths out
Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood,
And do such bitter business as the day
Would quake to look on."
--William Shakespeare
"Hamlet"


Chapter Two
No More Mister Nice Guy

"I used to be such a sweet, sweet thing,
'Til they got a hold of me
I opened doors for little old ladies,
I helped the blind to see.
I got no friends 'cause they read the papers.
They can't be seen 
With me and I'm getting real shot down
And I'm feeling mean.

No more Mister Nice Guy,
No more Mister Clean,
No more Mister Nice Guy,
They say, 'He's sick, he's obscene!'"
    
--Alice Cooper
"No More Mister Nice Guy"

The more she waited beside Buffy at Kingman's Bluff, the less Willow enjoyed 
the wait. The fact that Kingman's Bluff faced the East, and thus had a clear 
view of the rising sun tended to keep the vampires at a distance, rendering 
it one of the safest locations in Sunnydale. But the long grasses that grew 
wild and lush over the cliff's top hid more than their share of thorns, most 
of which seemed to be attracted to Willow's clothes.

For Buffy, however, the still air and breathtaking view of the lights of 
Sunnydale still maintained the hold of memory over her. Years ago, she had 
confronted Angel on this very spot. Her dark knight had been worked over by 
someone or something calling itself the First Evil, something that used the 
form of a departed friend to torture Angel with memories of his past evils, 
of sins not repented. So convinced was he that he deserved death that he 
stood at the edge of Kingman's Bluff, simply waiting for the sunrise. A 
sunrise that didn't happen, as instead a winter storm gathered over 
Sunnydale, covering the normally balmy California landscape with snow for the 
first time in the memory of Sunnydale's oldest citizens. A miracle, most 
people said after the fact. And Buffy and Angel agreed. The Powers sent a 
message to Angel, that his task wasn't done, that absolution could be his as 
long as he labored for it.

>From that moment, Kingman's Bluff was her special place. It was here where 
she inevitably came to meditate, to sort out her thoughts and feelings. Here 
she had recalled a thousand sweet memories of Willow. Here she had mourned 
her childhood after she graduated from high school. Here she had screamed 
her rage to the Gods when her mother died. Here she had stared at a hundred 
sunrises and considered her future. There was a magic here, a power greater 
than any in Sunnydale, of that Buffy was certain. She could feel it like a 
faint electric current over her skin. And there was something more.  
Standing on this quiet cliff she could sense her own destiny. Kingman's 
Bluff was a stage, upon which Buffy knew she would play an important part.

"Okay, Buffy," Willow grumbled as the leg of her jeans got caught on the 
sixth bramble of the night, "what are we doing here? I thought that Giles 
wanted you patrolling the campus tonight."

"Yeah, with the exhibit of Celtic artifacts opening today at Reynolds Hall," 
Buffy answered, "Giles thinks that Demona might be after some power objects.  
I'm not worried though; I swung by the exhibit earlier today and nothing 
triggered my alarms. I'll do a run-by later tonight though, just to make 
sure. But first, I have to do something else, and I wanted you with me." 
Buffy absently reached forward to pick a few stray nettles off of Willow's 
fuzzy pink sweater, relieved that none of their barbs had made contact with 
her skin. Even with Willow's assurances that she was okay following her 
recent parting of the ways with Tara, Buffy still fretted over her best 
friend perhaps a little more than usual. Or a little more than a 'best 
friend' had any right to.

Because you want to be more than her best friend and you know it, Buffy's 
daemon argued. She silenced her daemon harshly; whatever she felt for 
Willow, she wouldn't risk their friendship to simply sate her emotions.

"Great," Willow muttered, picking the last of the thorns out of her jeans.  
"Just a good thing I wasn't wearing Spandex. At least thorns and thistles 
don't go through denim like they do..." Willow noticed a shadow falling over 
her and Buffy, and lifted her head to investigate. A flap of bat-like wings 
could be heard over the stillness of the meadow. Willow glanced at Buffy, 
who smiled expectantly. "Goliath?" Willow asked.

Buffy nodded. "Goliath." Willow stood transfixed, looking up as the shadowy 
figure banked his flight toward the two women and spread his wings wide to 
slow his descent. Within seconds, the gargoyle lighted with impossible grace 
in front of the awestruck wiccan.

He folded his dark leathery wings over his shoulders like a cape, the bony 
forelimbs clasping together. "Greetings, Buffy," he bowed in an almost 
courtly manner toward the Slayer. "I see you brought a friend with you." He 
bowed toward Willow in a courtly manner, displaying a friendly upturn of his 
lips.

"Yeah, Goliath," Buffy answered, gesturing toward the redhead proudly. "This 
is Willow Rosenberg; computer hacker, witch and best friend." Willow held 
out her hand with a slight trepidation, and Goliath took it gently in his 
clawed hand and lifted it to his lips.  

"Hi," Willow smiled, warming to the gargoyle's manners and courteous nature.  
"So, you're from New York? You ever meet Jay Leno?" She immediately cringed, 
mentally chastising herself for her conversational opening gambit.

Goliath glared briefly at Willow, and then allowed his jutting brow and 
piercing stare to soften, putting the young redhead's mind at ease. "No, 
Miss Rosenberg, but some months after our existence was revealed to the 
populace, my daughter Angela was invited to appear on David Letterman.  
Regretfully she had to decline; we were aiding the police in rounding up a 
man named Dracon, a prominent crime lord whose underlings broke him out of 
prison."

"Really?" Willow gasped in amazement. "Sounds like you've seen as much 
action as Buffy."

Goliath nodded soberly. "I have seen many campaigns, child, and will see 
more, no doubt. With luck, we shall live to celebrate the success of our 
campaign against Demona." Turning his attention to the Slayer, he added, 
"Have you heard from her since your first encounter, Buffy?"

"Neither hide nor bottle-colored hair," Buffy admitted. "Wherever she is, 
she's playing it cagey."

"She doesn't have the lay of the land," Goliath mused, "nor does she know the 
strength of her opponents. No doubt she is watching and waiting, analyzing 
your abilities."

"Well," Buffy smirked, "I'd better get imaginative then, to keep her on her 
toes. Or claws, or whatever."

"Hey," Willow offered, "I've been working on a vertigo spell, something that 
could help take down Demona in flight."

Goliath's horned brow rose in surprise. Due to past experiences with not 
only Demona, but the Archmage and Puck as well, he tended to distrust magic.  
However, having a witch on his side could prove advantageous in battle.  
"Have you had a chance to test this spell?"

"'Fraid not," Willow admitted. "I don't know a lot of people who can fly 
who'd be willing to play guinea pig for my experiments. Like any, really."

"Hey, Goliath," Buffy asked brightly, "would you be willing to help out 
here?"

Goliath's forehead knitted in thought for a second before he answered; "I 
would be glad to volunteer, Miss Rosenberg. What do you require of me?"

"Just to get airborne," Willow smirked.

Goliath nodded, observing the field around them. "I do not fly so much as 
glide, Miss Rosenberg. Due to our weight, we Gargoyles are unable to get 
aloft from the ground without a sufficient headwind." Glancing toward the 
edge of the bluff, he added, "However, this height should be sufficient for 
our purposes.

"Great," Willow smiled. "Uh, you might want to fly low, just in case this 
works better than I think it will."

Goliath regarded the red-haired witch with a faint trepidation, and his eyes 
began to glow a faint red. Taking a breath to steady himself, the ancient 
warrior flashed an assuring smile. "I am prepared, Miss Rosenberg."

"Please," the redhead insisted, "call me Willow. Miss Rosenberg's my 
father." When the gargoyle's expression grew puzzled, Willow added, "She 
joked."

Goliath nodded, and turned toward the edge of the cliff. "Once I gain 
sufficient lift, I shall pass by your position, at a low altitude. Will that 
be satisfactory?"

"Perfect," Willow confirmed.

"You copasetic about this, Goliath?" Buffy asked. "I mean, untested magic 
and all that..."

"Be at peace, Slayer," Goliath assured her in a confident, determined tone of 
voice, "Demona has thrown more than her share of dark magicks at me and my 
clan, and I have survived this long. I have no fear of your friend's magic." 


"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Willow demurred, "let's hope it's 
deserved."

Goliath nodded once, then strode toward the edge of the cliff. Bending his 
powerful haunches to support his weight, he called to Willow, saying, "I am 
ready. Give the word."

Willow held up her hand, saying, "Wish me luck." She lowered her hand, 
giving the signal, and Goliath straightening his legs, leaping forward and 
off the cliff. Buffy and Willow both rushed to the cliff's edge and peered 
over, witnessing the gargoyle's descent.

As his body plummeted toward the ground head-first, he spread his wings 
slowly, the leathery webbing catching the air around them like a hang 
glider's kite. His body started to glide, gracefully running parallel with 
the ground below him before lifting into the air. A sudden rush of air, a 
flap of leather wings, and Goliath sped upward past Buffy and Willow, arcing 
high above their heads. He then crested over them, adjusting his flight 
pattern for a controlled descent, toward the Slayer and the wiccan.

Willow watched the shadowy form as it loomed overhead, steadily growing 
larger as he moved in closer to them. As the gargoyle neared them, she 
palmed a handful of specially prepared herbs in a small cheese-cloth bag.  
She waited for Goliath to pass close enough to her. Closer, closer...

When Goliath flew past, ten feet away from her, she pulled back her arm and 
hurled the herb bag toward the gargoyle, shouting, "Adductum vertiginis!"

Goliath arched away, gaining altitude, unaffected by Willow's spell.

Willow blinked in surprise. "What happened? I blessed those herbs myself, I 
treated the cheesecloth--" A sudden lurching sensation grabbed hold of her 
stomach, as her inner-ears vibrated. Reeling, she dropped to the ground, 
grabbing at the earth beneath her. "Buffy," she called out woozily, "I think 
my aim is off!" 

She glanced at Buffy, whose body was swaying violently. Buffy grabbed a 
tree, hoping to steady herself. "No--whoa! No kidding!"

Willow strained to focus her thoughts, fighting down the desire to vomit her 
dinner, and shouted, "Reconcilio libra!" Within a second, the wave of 
dizziness faded and her head cleared. She lifted herself from the ground, 
testing her legs and breathing a sigh of relief when they didn't buckle under 
her. She rushed toward Buffy and helped her stand again, despite the death 
grip that Buffy held on the tree trunk. "Are you okay, Buffy?"

"I think so," Buffy answered slowly. "But let's not go back on the Great 
American Scream Machine for a while." She flashed Willow a friendly smirk, 
assuring her that she was fine.

"I'm so sorry about that," Willow explained, as she heard a sweep of wings 
behind her. Goliath lighted gently to ground behind the stammering red-head, 
and approached the two women. "What happened with your spell, Willow? It 
didn't seem to work on me."

"Because it worked on us," Willow answered ruefully. "The focus of the magic 
was a bundle of specially blessed herbs, wrapped in cheesecloth. I had 
enchanted the cloth to disintegrate the moment I used the spell, expecting 
you to fly into a cloud of herbs, which would then carry the spell.  
Unfortunately the herbs landed on Buffy and me instead."

Goliath stroked his chin, pondering Willow's predicament. "Perhaps it's not 
the spell that is at fault, but simply the method of delivering it. What is 
required is a method of aiming the herb bundle above Demona's head."

"Maybe you should start packing a slingshot," Buffy joked. Willow arched her 
eyebrow, reminding Buffy of Mr. Spock for a second.

"Actually," Willow mused, "that's not a bad idea. I know, I'll talk to 
Xander; he's still got some of that military training he absorbed when he 
played soldier boy a few Halloweens ago."

"Relax, Willow," Goliath soothed the young wiccan. "I have no doubt in your 
abilities. I only hope that you have enough time to perfect your spell, 
before Demona enacts her current plan."

"Any ideas what that plan might be?" Buffy asked Goliath.

"I have some ideas, Buffy," Goliath pondered, "but nothing concrete. Mr. 
Giles told me the other night that Demona, in her human guise, had sought 
something from his shop. Something of great power, if I'm not mistaken."

Buffy winced in memory of the cold customer who had asked Giles about the 
ferula gemina. "Yeah, a weapon that we faced a year ago. Giles kept it 
under lock and key since."

"A wise precaution," Goliath nodded. "While she possesses some arcane 
knowledge of her own, Demona has always relied upon power objects before. In 
the past, she had acquired three very dangerous artifacts; the Eye of Odin,a 
source of untold raw power; the Phoenix Gate, which can allow passage through 
time, and the Grimorum Arcanorum, a formidable tome of black magic spells.  
She has thankfully lost all three, so it is possible that she is seeking new 
objects for their power."

"Gotcha," Buffy answered, her body unconsciously tensing at the thought of 
the dark gargoyle getting her talons on the ferula gemina. "I'd better check 
up on that Celtic exhibit at the campus tonight."

"Maybe we'd better have Giles keep a lock on his library," Willow suggested, 
her voice suddenly quiet with a dread knowledge. "He's got some pretty old 
books of his own, y'know."

"Good call, Willow," Buffy nodded.

"In fact," Willow added, her head seemingly lost in thought, "I should visit 
the Magic Box before I head back home. I think Anya's doing inventory 
tonight, maybe she and I can whip up something, some sort of magical alarm 
for the shop."

"Hey, you want me to walk you to the shop before my patrol?" Buffy asked.

Willow smiled, causing Buffy's heart to melt just a little more. "I'd love 
that, Buffy."

"Okay," Buffy turned to the Gargoyle beside her. "I'm gonna go escort 
Willow. Care to tag along?"

"Perhaps I should watch for trouble around the campus," Goliath offered. "If 
the Celtic exhibit does have any esoteric objects, Demona will have to go 
through me to get them."

"Sounds like a plan," Buffy agreed. "I'll catch up with you then, okay 
Barney?"

Goliath glared silently at Buffy, a faint growl rumbling from his throat. He 
then relaxed his features into a warm smile, answering "I'll look forward to 
it. Take care, Willow," he saluted Willow with a graceful sweep of his wing 
as he turned away. He leaped off the edge of the cliff and took flight 
again. Willow stood in silence as she watched the winged silhouette 
disappear into the night sky. For once, her tendency to babble escaped her.  
"Wow," was all she could whisper at the incredible sight. 

Buffy smiled at her wide-eyed best friend. "C'mon, Will," she took Willow's 
hand in hers and pulled slightly, slowly gaining her attention. "Let's head 
back to the Box." Willow followed Buffy as they left Kingman's Bluff and 
headed for Buffy's Jeep.

<<>>

In an abandoned warehouse, Demona raged.

She wanted to take wing, to thrust herself into the night air, to strafe this 
town of Sunnydale and take what she desired. But Goliath had followed her to 
this miserable backwater, warning the Slayer. Demona had planned to finish 
her business and leave; now, she was forced to bide her time. And for a 
being who lived for close to a millennium, patience was not one of her 
values. She slammed her fist into empty crates, scattering wood splinters in 
her wake. She bellowed her anger to the vacant rafters, letting her rage 
echo and reverberates around her.  

"Very therapeutic, I'm sure," a voice called from the doorway, "but hardly 
productive, is it?" Demona craned her neck toward the voice. A lithe figure 
leaned against the door frame, regarding Demona with a casual distaste. He 
stretched his arms over his head, extending long tapering fingers in a 
theatrical display of boredom. He sauntered almost drunkenly toward Demona, 
his every action speaking of arrogance.

"I wish to be left alone!" Demona hissed at her partner in this dark venture. 
"If you have nothing productive to add, I'd suggest that you be gone!"

"Temper, my dear Demona," the dark figure answered calmly. "You would do 
wise to listen to me."

With inhuman speed, Demona was suddenly less than a centimeter away from her 
partner, her eyes transformed to glowing red coals, her hand wrapped firmly 
around his neck. "And why should I bother with the likes of you, wizard?" 
she spat at him. "In case you have forgotten, I loathe all humans."

"Then it is fortunate indeed," the wizard smiled, "that I am not human. As 
for your present dilemma, I have made arrangements to deal with your little 
setback. Tonight, your ex-lover, the Slayer and her friends will be 
occupied."

Demona regarded the wizard acidly, but allowed the glow in her eyes to fade.  
"When do we strike, wizard?"

"Follow me, my sweet Demona," the wizard cooed. "Tonight, we will acquire 
the tools we need to control the Hellmouth. All we have to do is wait for 
the right time..."

<<>>

"Hey, you sure you're okay?" Buffy asked as her best friend hopped out of the 
passenger seat. "I mean, okay with staying here for awhile."

"I'm good, Buffy," Willow answered, rolling her eyes slightly at Buffy's 
concern. "I'll bum a ride home from Anya. She'll be glad to help." Aftera 
beat, she added, "Well maybe not glad, but she'll help. Actually I think her 
pregnancy's softening her up."

"I heard that," Anya chirped from the doorway of the shop. Her puckish smile 
indicated that she didn't mind Willow's semi-friendly ribbing. "So, what 
brings you here? You do know we're closed, right? You can purchase some 
wiccan robes or a spare palantir tomorrow if you want."

"I'm not here to buy anything-a palantir? What's a palantir?" Willow quizzed 
the former demon.

"It's that crystal ball thingie that Saruman used in 'Lord of the Rings'," 
Anya explained. "I thought I'd call our scrying stones palantirs from now on 
and see if the customers will pay more for them." Willow stifled a chuckle 
as Buffy frowned in exasperation.

"Look, Anya," Willow steered the conversation back to the original topic, 
"I'm here to beef up the mystical shields Tara and I set up earlier this year 
when we were hiding Dawn from Glory. Buffy and I spoke with Goliath, and he 
thinks that Demona is out looking for mystical power objects. And she's not 
gonna let a little thing like the Magic Box being closed stop her."

"You mean," Anya shuddered, her face turning white, "she's going to try and 
rob the Magic Box?" She straightened her posture and grabbed Willow's arms.  
"Get in here and jack up the shields, Willow! She can't have anything here, 
I just did inventory!"

"Well," Willow smiled, waving goodbye to Buffy, "if you insist..."

"See ya after my patrol," Buffy called out to the retreating witch as Anya 
dragged her into the shop. It wasn't difficult to convince Anya to do 
something; all you had to do was invoke money.

Buffy's swing by the Celtic exhibit produced no leads. She felt no negative 
vibes, no tingling of her Spider-sense, but she chose to remain on the campus 
for the remainder of the night. Buffy sailed through an uneventful patrol; 
only the usual assortment of newly sired vampires, with no sign of Demona, or 
her confederate Wolf. As she brushed the dust of a slain vamp off of her 
jeans, she found her thoughts drifting yet again toward the red-haired center 
of her world. What was it Oz once told me, she recalled happily, 'As Willow 
goes, so goes my nation.' That certainly expressed her feelings toward the 
lovely young witch. From the moment when she first encountered Willow, Buffy 
felt a connection to her. First it was a need to protect her, either from 
the monsters of the Hellmouth or the barbs of Cordy and her followers. Over 
the years, she watched with joy as Willow matured into a strong, capable 
young woman; a genius-level computer jockey, a powerful witch, a confidante 
and a partner in her war against the dark.

And she's available now, that familiar daemon chortled. Just play the loving 
friend, and be ready to make your move! Buffy stifled the daemon instantly; 
she would not take advantage of Tara's departure from Willow's life, no 
matter how deeply she loved her. She was relieved, if slightly amazed, that 
Willow was taking Tara's departure so well; perhaps Willow was right, that 
there was a reason for Tara's leaving. Whatever the case, Buffy was more 
determined than ever to be there for Willow any time she ever needed her.

She loved her. Nothing less would suffice.

"Oh the shark has 
Pretty teeth, dear
And he shows them 
Pearly white
Just a jack knife has 
Ol' MacHeath babe
And he keeps it
Out of sight."
 
The voice that started singing seemed to come from everywhere at once. Buffy 
stopped and turned slowly, trying to track the source of the eerie voice.

"When that shark bites
With his teeth dear
Scarlet billows
Start to spread
Fancy gloves though
Wears ol' MacHeath babe
So there's never
A trace of red."
 
The voice grew louder, closer, deeper in tone. A crooning voice, laced with 
a mounting menace. Buffy shuddered at the implied threat of the song's 
lyrics, as her heightened sense of hearing traced the source of the sound.  
She followed the voice into a darker patch of the campus.

"On the sidewalk
Sunday morning
Lies a body just
Oozing life
And someone's sneaking
'Round the corner
Could that someone be 
Mack the knife?"

In the darkness, Buffy nearly tripped over the corpse of a young woman. Her 
body sprawled on the ground in odd angles, limbs twisted and broken, 
presumably by her attacker. Brunette hair spilled over a pale, blood-drained 
face, barely masking the telltale puncture marks at her neck. The dead eyes 
stared out of her face, big as baseballs, as her mouth gaped open in a rictus 
of terror. A vampire, probably an older one, one with a century or two of 
hunting under his belt. And one who liked to torture his victim before 
draining her, judging from the absolute fear frozen on her dead face.

"There's a tugboat
Down by the river, dontcha know?
Where a cement bag's
Just dropping on down
That cement's there
It's there for the weight dear
Five will get you ten..."

He emerged from the darkness and stood before her, leaning against a nearby 
tree with an almost casual air about him. He smiled that hideous Joker smile 
of his as he caught her eye, and finished the stanza; "Ol' Mackie's back in 
town!"

Buffy stood her ground, a familiar smoldering rage in her gut. "Spike," she 
whispered hoarsely at her old adversary. "You here to fulfill a death wish 
or something?"

"Why Buffy!" Spike purred, his lithe frame approaching her slowly, a coiled 
spring waiting for the trigger. "I come all this way to see you and this is 
the welcome I get? No hug, no 'howya doing, Spikey?' I'm hurt."

"Not yet," Buffy slowly withdrew the stake from her purse, "but you will be.  
I told you never to show your face in Sunnydale."

"Yeah, that's right," Spike kept slowly advancing on Buffy, "but then I 
realized something; I don't give a rat's ass what you tell me! So here I 
am!"

"And here you're dust," Buffy warned, smoothly maneuvering her stake in front 
of her. "Oh, and nice trick setting your 'victim' in my path. Tell ya what; 
help me tag the vamp who killed her, and maybe, that's maybe, I'll let you 
live."

Spike snarled in calm contempt at the Slayer. "You want the vamp who killed 
that bit?" He bowed theatrically, as though accepting the accolades of a 
Broadway audience. "Guilty as charged, Buffy."

Buffy barked a bitter laugh at the British vampire. "Yeah, that plays. We 
both know you couldn't attack anyone with that chip in your head."

"Chip?" Spike asked coolly, scratching his head as though she asked him fora 
five-letter word for "city in Idaho". He then snapped his fingers and 
smiled, tugging slightly at the chain around his neck. Holding the chain up 
in front of Buffy, he displayed the charm he wore at the end of the chain and 
said, "Oh, you mean this chip?" Buffy examined the charm, and saw that it 
was indeed a small electronic chip, set in gold to hang as a pendant.

She had just enough time to gulp in fear before Spike's fist landed hard 
against her chin, knocking her over a park bench behind her and onto the damp 
earth. "Oh, oh!" Spike shouted mockingly. "The pain, the pain-is gone!"

Mentally cursing herself for letting her guard down, Buffy scrambled to her 
feet, her stake clenched in her hand. "That's it, Spike," she spat out at 
the leering vampire. "You're so off my buddy list!"

"I'll try to control my shaking in fear, Slayer," Spike taunted Buffy, waving 
his hands in front of him in a beckoning gesture. "Bring it on, Sweets!"

Buffy charged at Spike, rage misting her vision. Spike was counting on that; 
he could always press her buttons. He sidestepped her first attack with 
ease, ducking as she lunged toward him. She landed in a crouching position 
behind him, her legs tucked beneath her, and easily resumed an upright 
stance. "So much for the opening feints," Buffy snarled as she regarded her 
nemesis.

"Oh, I dunno," Spike purred, his body slouching before her, "I think I'm 
gonna miss this aspect of our relationship, once I've killed you and all."  
Buffy wasn't fooled by his casual stance; she knew that he was conserving his 
strength, and his posture spoke to her of coiled grace and power. And there 
was no mistaking the rage and slight madness that fired off sparks from his 
eyes. She had to end this quickly. She launched herself at Spike, her right 
foot thrust forward to deliver a debilitating kick.  

Spike spun, dodging the Slayer, but at the last second he grabbed her ankle 
as she passed and yanked hard. Buffy found herself flying wildly, her body 
slamming hard against a tree. "Didja hear about Louie Miller?
He disappeared, babe," Spike sang gleefully as Buffy's body impacted with the 
tree, "After drawing out all his hard-earned cash!" Bruised ribs gnawed a 
throbbing pain into Buffy's side as she attempted to right herself, only to 
feel Spike's boot impact hard on her shin, sending fresh waves of agony 
lancing through her leg. "And now MacHeath spends just like a sailor," the 
blond vampire continued singing, "could it be our boy's done something rash?" 
Spike grabbed a handful of Buffy's hair, lifting her head harshly, nearly 
wrenching her neck in the process. "Ah, the perfect beginning of a perfect 
night."

"Screw you-" Buffy spat out angrily through the pain and dizziness. She 
cursed herself for letting Spike get the drop on her like this.

Spike released Buffy's hair, dropping her head hard on the concrete sidewalk. 
"Y'know, Buffy," Spike answered sadly, "there was a time when I would have 
taken you up on that offer. But now, after all that shouting that went on 
the last time we crossed swords, well, I guess I'll get over that." Walking 
over Buffy's body as she struggled to stand again, he kicked her hard in the 
side, setting off a fresh groundswell of pain over her bruised ribs. He 
stooped down, resting his elbows on his knees and lifted a bored eyebrow 
toward the fallen Slayer. "This isn't nearly as satisfying as I always 
imagined it would be. I always thought that killing you, the most successful 
Slayer ever, would be more of a head-rush. But now, just seeing you lying 
there, it was too easy. Hmm, what to do, what to do-" With a sudden snap of 
her fingers, he smiled lecherously. "Ah, but Dawnie. Yes, the Bit, she could 
be entertaining-"

"Don't you..." Buffy cringed through her pain, "don't you dare-oogh-touch my 
sister!"

"And you'll do what, Slayer, bleed on me?" Spike shot back harshly. "Oh, 
don't worry, I like her too much to ever do anything unpleasant to her. In 
fact, I wanna keep her around me for a very long time." He barked a laugh at 
the thought. "I never sired anyone before, didja know that? I suppose that 
I never found anyone worth the effort before now. But Dawnie, yeah, she'd be 
perfect. My own li'l protégé. And you, Buffy Summers, you'll be her first 
meal!"

"I'll-kill-you-" Buffy groaned, before Spike struck her on the temple, 
knocking her unconscious.

Spike laughed in anticipation as he gazed on the unconscious Slayer. "Sleep 
well, Buffy," he cooed as he kicked a clot of loose dirt into her face.  
"When you wake up, your sister will be the first face you see. And the 
last." He felt that familiar pleasure that came before the kill as he 
strutted down the street, belting out the final verse with a sinister brio;

"Now Jenny Diver, 
Sukie Tawdry,
Look out Miss Polly Peachum,
And ol' Lucy Brown,
Yes the line forms 
On the right babe
Now that Mackie's
Back in town!
 
"LOOK OUT, OL' MACKIE IS BACK!"

Author's note; "The Ballad of Mack the Knife" comes from the 1954 stage 
musical "Three Penny Opera", written by Marc Blitzstein and Kurt Weill, based 
on the original German libretto and lyrics by Bertohlt Brecht.