"Please, sit down," Darius said gently, pulling out a chair in invitation for his guest.
Buffy turned her head, glancing at the man in uncertainty, before slipping into the plush seated, wooden chair. He felt the cool, night air brush across exposed skin and raise goosebumps. Glancing down, she brushed the creases from the dark, low-cut, evening dress she wore. Her hair was piled atop her head in cascading ringlets. She glanced around at the table before her. Intricately sculpted candleholders decorated the small, rectangular table. Food had been lain out for the lone couple.
Evan Darius rounded the table, grabbing a bottle of wine from the ice bucket, and pouring a sizeable amount into Buffy's glass. He smiled briefly when she glanced up at him. Finally seating himself at the opposing end, Darius glanced over at the Slayer. She looked unsure, trembling slightly in her chair as she glanced up at him too.
A shiver coursed through her body. Those eyes, she thought, I know them. His presence was almost intoxicating. Even more than the wineglass that lay before her. She couldn't imagine being in his absence. As his warm, dark eyes sought her own, she knew she couldn't pull herself away from them. The loss of control frightened her. It was something that had always been within her, she realized. Something that had lain dormant, until this moment. There had never been a need to express this singular emotion. She had therefore never been able to prepare herself for it effects.
"You look lovely," he said, breaking the silence with his rich, soothing voice.
Buffy broke her gaze from him, glancing downwards in embarrassment. "Thank you," she replied softly.
Evan smiled in response, glancing down at his food. He suddenly realized a change. A change that had never surfaced before. Peace. It had always escaped him. Always eluded him. But this one moment. . .with her. . .seemed to cut through his anguish. It was strange, really. He couldn't explain the feeling she evoked in him. It went beyond the physical and beyond the mortal.
She had not expected this to happen. To feel the things she did. She knew almost nothing about the stranger named Evan Darius. But in this moment, that would change. They ate in silence, spare the odd awkward exchange. Buffy found herself completely immersed in the moment. It was as though the world was beginning to turn without her. That she could finally let down her guard for this one moment. And the feeling brought great comfort to her.
Evan stood before her, his haunted eyes touching hers. He offered his hand out, and without even a thought, she accepted. Buffy rose to her feet, still clasping his hand, and glanced up at him. He smiled briefly. Sadly. Then, leading her towards an empty part of the room, he led her in a slow, intimate dance. There was suddenly music. She hadn't even noticed when it first began. But as it played, she felt herself suddenly drawn to this man. She felt as though this was always meant to be. Now, when she looked up into his eyes, she knew him. Knew who he was. Where he came from. What he wanted.
Suddenly, a torrent of memories swept through her mind, threatening to pull her along. She gasped slightly, falling back, but not hitting the floor. She felt him catch her, his warm hands firmly pressing against her back. Closing her eyes, she succumbed to the memories, and the world around her suddenly dimmed.
***
She was somewhere else. Standing. Standing in a field of wild grasses. In the distance, she could hear birds in the forests nearby. She turned her head, feeling it swim in a disorienting fashion. A cluster of small, wooden, grass-roofed huts lay nestled only a short distance away.
She took in a breath of the air, smelling the sweet fragrance of the field. Suddenly noticing the people moving about the small village, she turned her interest towards them. There were men in the fields, gleaning their crops in the hot sun. There were women, hoisting heavy baskets of grain at their waists. And children, the smallest trailing near their mothers, while the older ones tended the small herds of goats. A small envoy of men approached the town. They carried the fruits of the day's hunt, and were met my the onrush of their families.
Buffy smiled strangely, feeling a gentle serenity ease through her body. But suddenly, caught again by the tug of memories, she was whirled around. The images she saw seemed choppy, flung together in a series of slow motion and normal speeds. Horses galloping. Their hooves churning up dust from the road. The clatter of armor and swords began to drown out the silence of the afternoon. She strained to see the newcomers, but the harsh light of the sun blinded her eyes. Pulling up a hand, she blocked out the light and managed to see who they were.
Clad in magnificent armor and helmets characteristic of the Roman army, the troops rode by on their steeds. They paused at a distance, gathering before their commander as he shouted out orders. His black steed pawed at the dirt, snorting loudly as though crying out for battle. She ran up alongside them, trying to catch a glimpse of the man. He raised his sword, pointing towards the small village. At his command, the troops galloped towards their target, leaving their leader and a small entourage behind. He struggled to maintain his horse, both clearly poised for action. Both wanting to join the fight.
She watched in horror, hearing the screams of the people, as the wave of troops passed through the village. People were cut down in the streets. Houses were torched. The slaughter continued out into the fields, until the last child was chased down and killed. All that remained after were the smoldering ruins of the village. She stood in shock. In sorrow. In terror. She hadn’t realized it before, but tears were streaming down her face, washing the dirt from her skin.
She turned her attention back to the leader. He glanced in her direction, though not seeing her, with hungry eyes. She recognized it. Bloodlust. He had ordered the slaughter of an entire village, and enjoyed it. It was so clear in his expression.
And suddenly, the moment was taken from him. He was thrown from his horse, landing on his back. He moved to get up, but found that something was weighing him down, preventing him from standing. Slowly removing his helmet, the familiar face of Evan Darius emerged. Sweat streaked his face, and his dark, closely cropped hair stuck to his head. And suddenly, the confident, power-hungry eyes of a Roman officer were replaced with haunted torment.
She knelt beside him, watching him intently as he gasped for air. He slumped forward, pressing his palms into the dusty road. The movement around them suddenly stopped in one swift stroke. Pacing horses stopped in their tracks. The shouts and yells of the troops vanished. Evan glanced up, squinting in the sunlight, as sweat dripped from his forehead.
She wanted to speak. To say something. To express the anger, the anguish, and the desperation of the events. But she couldn't speak. Her mouth refused to open, and she was forced to remain a spectator.
An image began to coalesce before him. It was strange. A blur of color appeared first, blending together into a myriad of shapes. Finally, the distorted shapes accreted into human form. The lone figure stood strangely before him. Hidden by shrouds and robes, the figure remained a mystery. It raised an accusing finger towards the shaken commander, and when it spoke, its voice shook the ground.
"What you have done today," the voice shook with distaste, "is beyond reprieve. I would expect more of your kind than this. . .butchery. But yours is a race unexcused from such acts. You have no demon, no otherworldly influence. You have no excuse for your crimes."
Darius glanced up at the figure, his eyes wide with fear. "Who are you? What do you want?" he demanded.
"That is unimportant," the figure responded, "what is. . .is the crime for which you will pay."
Buffy glanced between the exchange with widened eyes.
"You have taken many lives today. Taking yours would serve no purpose. However, it is by decision that I bestow upon you a punishment worthy of such horrendous acts," the stranger began, pausing for a moment. "You will serve your time in this realm. You will not meet death like the others around you do. Instead, you will live with your actions. . .forever. They will torture you daily. They will never be erased from your memory. I give you immortality."
Darius rose to his knees, pleading with the stranger. "I beg of you, forgive me of my actions!"
"You deserve no forgiveness now. You will live with your sins. Only one who knows evil can save you. But you will never know which one it is. You will suffer. You will wait, from generation to generation." The figure vanished, blinding light exploding in its wake. Buffy raised her hands to shield the light from her eyes. She knelt for a while, watching the soldier collapse in the dirt. His eyes fell skyward in shock.
And the emotions suddenly tugged her away from the memory.
***
Buffy's eyes snapped open. She was in his arms, still dancing slowly. It was as though the dream had been instantaneous, and never wasted more than a few moments. She let out an uneasy breath, pulling back from him. His haunted eyes connected with hers. She finally understood it. Understood everything. The pain behind his gaze was no longer hidden.
"You know," he said in a soft, resigned tone, "don't you?"
She brushed a hand at her face, wiping away the tear she never knew she had. "What you did," she began, emotion filling her voice.
"I know," he interrupted, glancing down in shame.
She fell to her knees, overcome with fresh emotions. "That's why you wanted me," she realized suddenly, "why you brought me here. You think I'm the one who can bring you death."
Evan Darius regarded her carefully. "Yes," he replied.
He watched as she collapsed into a nearby couch. Her eyes had found a weary expression from the horror of memories he had shown her. It was not his intention to hurt her like this. To have her see the shame of his past. Admittedly, he once had no inhibition to use whatever means necessary to reach his goal. He would have done anything. Crushed anyone. Just to have it. But now, as he watched this young woman, torn between her duty and the new knowledge he had given her, he felt a surge of familiarity. He sensed the pain she had carried with her. It was now fused with his own. And for once in his miserable existence, he felt closer to her than anyone else.
He could not bear to see her so upset. His affection for her ran deeper than he had expected. Darius sat beside her, watching as she gazed ahead, her beautiful eyes now haunted by the past.
"I'm sorry," he said gently.
Buffy turned her head slightly, painful eyes locking onto his own. "What you want. . .I don't know how to give it to you."
He reached over, brushing her hand with his own. "I know," he replied, his eyes filled with clarity. "Somehow, that doesn't matter right now."
"Doesn't it? You've been ruthless. You've killed, even after that horrible day, just to satisfy your own needs," Buffy argued.
"Wouldn't you?" Darius suddenly shot back, his eyes darkening. "If you were cursed, wouldn't you try anything?"
She didn't answer. Her eyes drifted away in confusion.
"I watched Slayer after Slayer die. I waited. . .years. Centuries. Each time, it was the same. They were all the same. I had no choice," he argued, his voice rising.
"If you found out that I wasn't the one, what would you do? Would you kill me?" Buffy cried, emotion wracking her body.
Darius looked away in pain.
"You would. I know it," she said in a haunted voice. "Because nothing matters. Nothing in this world matters to you. You only care about yourself. If you have to walk over every living thing, you would. You wouldn't hesitate. I could tell you right now, I'm not the one. And you would kill me. You would watch the life drain from me," she said softly, "and never give it a second thought."
He turned to her, his eyes burning with emotion. "Stop it," he said firmly, grabbing her wrists roughly.
"Do it," she said, pain seeping into her voice. "You have the power. You've done it before. Kill me."
"No," he growled, "No!"
He pulled her up, still gripping her wrists. The torment in his expression was obvious.
"I won't. Not anymore," he said gently, fixing her with an intense gaze.
He had enough. Her plea struck such a chord within him, he couldn't bear to hear it again. Her gentle, lovely face was burned inside his head. The soft voice which fell from her lips was like a healing stream to his wounded spirit. He could feel her fear. Feel her heart racing. Feel the pain that ebbed within her too. A pain that he wanted so badly to erase. Sad eyes met his, and he lovingly brushed the moisture from her face. The only consolation, the only empathy he could give her, was in one single action. He met her lips with his own, brushing across them gently with hungry lips. He felt her submit. Wrap her arms cautiously over his shoulders. Pulling her closer, he embraced her. She pulled away from the kiss, pressing her face into his shoulder.
***
"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, noticing a familiar face walking along an LA suburb.
He raced across the street, attempting to catch up with her before she noticed. Judging by her last reaction to him, she wouldn't stick around to talk. What were the odds. . .to find this girl out at such an hour, in this city? He ran up behind her, and strangely enough, she didn't notice until he swung in front of her, deliberately blocking her way.
"Spike," she breathed in fear, stopping dead in her tracks. "What. . .what are you doing here?"
"I was about to ask you the same question, hun," he replied, smiling coyly.
Dawn glanced around fearfully. "I. . .I'm on my way home. My dad gets really mad if I'm not home in time. Yeah. . .he even calls the cops. In fact," she said, glancing down at her watch, "I'm late. They should be here anytime now."
"C'mon," Spike laughed, "you don't expect me to believe a pathetic story like that, now do you?"
Dawn closed her mouth, at a loss for words, and shifted her weight from foot to foot.
"Listen," he said, raising a hand in defense, "I'm not here for a late-night snack. I'm looking for Buffy."
"Looking for Buffy?" Dawn repeated, concern filling her shaky voice. "Why? Where is she?"
"Some goons took her away several days ago. I think they've headed out here," he said, glancing around, as though searching the quiet street for any sign of her.
"Is she okay?" Dawn asked, her eyes widening.
"Well, that's what I'm here to find out," Spike said, annoyance flashing in his eyes.
Dawn's conflicted gaze darted around.
"Exactly why are you here? Get mad at big sis and take off to daddy's?" Spike said.
Dawn's silence answered his question.
"Right," he said, sighing heavily. "Well, so much for that. I'm off."
He was about to turn and leave, when Dawn stopped him. "Wait. Where are you going?"
"Why do you care?" he said mockingly.
"No reason," Dawn countered, rocking on her feet. "I just thought. . .maybe. . ."
"Are you in, or aren't you?" an amused expression filled Spike's face.
"In," she replied, falling into step beside the vampire. She glanced up at him suspiciously. "If you try anything, I swear, I'll kill you."
"Of that," Spike smiled strangely, "I have no doubt."
***
"I'm sorry," she said softly, pulling away from him, the emotion evident in her watered eyes.
"Don't be," he replied gently, his hand slipping from her face and drifting down her arm to clasp her hand.
"It's just that is strange to me," Buffy tried to explain, "I don't know you that well. . .and, yet I do."
A faint smile twitched across Evan's lips. He offered her a hand and pulled her up from the couch. She stood in front of him, an unreadable expression claiming her face.
"Evan, you do have goodness in you," the Slayer said, her eyes shifting across his.
A sad, tormented smile flashed briefly across his handsome face.
"You've hidden it away for so long. But it's still there. I. . .I can sense it," Buffy said, her voice drifting off. "You shouldn't hide it like this. It's capable of so much."
"But I'm afraid it can't erase the past," Evan said, bitterness in his voice.
"It could," Buffy said, looking up into his eyes with a new urgency. "You have to prove yourself. Prove that the past doesn't rule you anymore. That you've changed."
A soft sigh sounded behind them. Buffy whirled around quickly in surprise. Behind them, draped in an oddly familiar cloak, stood a figure from the past.
"The Slayer is right," a smooth, feminine voice sounded.
"Who are you?" Buffy blurted out, straining to see the figure hidden by the cloth.
"You know who I am," she replied, moving closer.
Evan Darius cursed under his breath. Buffy glanced back at him before returning her attention to the familiar presence. "Tell me. Tell me who you are, and why you've come back."
