But time always runs out; a concept he hadn't dealt with since he'd been
turned.
For him, time was invariable and constant, and never in short supply.
But that one night had convinced him otherwise.
It was a confession that he had never expected from her, never even imagined
that she would give. And if he *had* been expecting it, he would have thought
it would follow a night of love-making; definitely not a night of fighting yet
another threat the Hellmouth had thrown at them.
He had been injured in the fight, his arm had nearly been severed. The blood
flowed freely from the injury, combining with the pain to let his demon loose.
She had simply walked up to him, not flinching away from his game face or the
bloodlust in his eyes. She pressed her small hand into the wound in his
shoulder, the blood burbling over her fingers. He could feel it starting to
mend, but the pain was still unbearable.
"Get away," he had warned her, and after the words slipped from his mouth he
again wondered why he had bothered. She was going to die by his hand anyhow;
what did it matter to him?
She had shaken her head, and quietly said, "I trust you."
He had looked at her in genuine surprise, and forgetting all that he had
worked so long for, asked, "Why?"
She had looked hurt, stricken that he would even question her. Her lower lip
had begun to quiver, and she chewed on it, trying to gain the strength to
reply.
"Because I love you."
Of all the stupid things he had done in his life up to that point, none
compared to what he said next. Before his mind could stop the words, he
unthinkingly covered her now bloody hand with his own. "I love you, too."
She had pulled him closer to her, had kissed him and wrapped her arms around
his waist. As he stroked her hair, he knew that the time had come.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That night, he had thought of Dru. How she would open her arms to him,
whispering words of joy that only he could understand. Excitement flowed
through him, ebbing slighty as he looked over at the Slayer, sleeping
peacefully next to him.
Dru was sculpted of marble, a goddess of moonlight. She *was* the moon, pale
and shimmering in the dark night.
He had run his hand over the Slayer's back, tracing the tight muscles with his
fingers. She was strong, fiery. Eternally bathed in a golden glow, she was the
essence of life...she was the sun.
He pulled an object from underneath the bed, the feel still familiar even
after so many years. He would make his princess happy.
He had moved over to the Slayer, running his hand up the silk of her nightgown
before turning her so that she was on her back. Deep in slumber, she took no
notice of her shift in position. He raised his arm, his grip tightening,
preparing for the final motion that would end her life.
But his arm had refused to go down, refused to deliver the deathblow. Not when
her face looked so innocent.
He had moved her again, onto her side this time, and wrapped his arms around
her waist. His face had pressed against the back of her shoulder, her small
body curled up against his. She murmured in her sleep, and as he had plunged
the weapon through her, he was glad he couldn't see her face.
He had held her as she shook, her body fighting to stay alive like she herself
had been trained to do. He had heard her short gasps, but whether they were
for air or from shock, he couldn't know. He would never know, because he had
lacked the courage to look at her as she died.
He had felt it as her life ebbed, until she was still and silent in his arms.
Her blood seeped from her, the warm liquid covering his bare chest, pooling on
the sheets. He felt the warmth of her for the last time, the scent of her
enraging the demon inside. He fought against it, refusing as always to be
ruled by it. He refused to be ruled by anything...except his love for her.
*For Dru* he had ammended silently.
He felt an emptiness inside himself that he immediately pushed away. Princess
would be happy.
He belonged to the night, to the moon; the sun was not for him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He set her body down on the Watcher's front step. He looked at the mark that
claimed her as his kill. He could play it safe...could leave no trace evidence
that pointed to him as her killer. Could mourn with the rest of them the loss
of their Slayer, their friend, and his lover. He could leave the town under
the pretense of grief, reunite with Dru, and they would never know.
But that wasn't his style. And he would never be credited, instead going down
in the Watcher chronicles as the demon-vampire who loved a Slayer.
A cool wetness tickled his face, sliding down his cheek and falling silently
off his chin.
As a small, red stain appeared on the Slayer's chest, he realized it had been
a tear.
Angrily, he wiped the remnants off his face. There would be no tears, for he
didn't mourn her. He felt no guilt, no sorrow.
Her tan body lay as if in sleep, the blood still in it. He hadn't drained
her...hadn't even drunk from her. For the last time he took in her amazing
body, her beautiful face. Even in death, she was still radiant. He could still
smell the faint scent of vanilla that lingered on her skin.
The Watcher would find her, come morning.
He could envision the discovery. The opening of the door to leave for the
library, the shock that would run through his system as he took in the sight
on his doorstep. The disbelief as he ran his hands over his Slayer, vainly
trying to find a pulse. And then the grief, the guilt, as he took in the
large, rusted railroad spike that pierced her heart.
The Watcher would feel guilt, not him. Never him.
-end-