Another Time, Another Place
Metal clanged against metal as torrents of rain washed over the warriors. Limbs fell from bodies and blood of various colors and consistencies flooded the pavement. Spike couldn't begin to guess how long they'd been at it, punching and slashing and using whatever demonic power they'd been blessed with. He was so weary that it was hard to think on it much. The fact that the demon horde kept coming and battling meant that he wasn't the only one fighting back. Odd comfort, that. From time to time he'd see a flash of blue or hear Angel's roar from somewhere overhead. As for Charlie, he couldn't say.
The point of a spear appeared out of his midsection. Bloody hell, that's what he got for stopping to think. He whirled around to decapitate the beast that had skewered him - or one of its heads, at least. Didn't really matter, as the pain from losing one of its noggins incapacitated it. He made quick work of the other head just before the wound to his gut commenced screaming its agony to him.
"You're wounded."
Illyria, harping on the obvious again. "Yeah, that's right, Blue. We're all a bit bruised around the edges."
"I'll remove the weapon."
Spike gritted his teeth. True to her word, Illyria yanked the damned thing out of him. The lady didn't mince anything. In this instance he was grateful.
"You are bleeding too much," she told him. "You can't continue."
"Have no choice, love." A wave of dizziness hit him. With all that had gone down, he hadn't had blood in days. Losing all this now was taking a huge toll.
"Can you feed on any of this?" She kicked at some of the bodies surrounding them.
Nausea welled up in his chest. Demons that formerly had two heads never went down well. "Sorry, not really on my menu." He looked her over quickly. It was hard to tell through all the rain, but she looked to be in pretty good condition. "You holding up all right?"
She moved suddenly, turning her sword in her grip and thrusting her arm back. A demon wailed and fell. "This body wearies. If I were still a god..."
"You'd crumble the lot of them and pour their ashes over our disrespecting carcasses. Heard that before."
"Perhaps not yours. You provide amusement."
He pulled his hand away from his midsection. The bleeding had mostly stopped. He straightened, but dizziness overwhelmed him and he staggered. He forced his head up to scan the ongoing battle. Her words not lost on him. It couldn't be hopeless; he wouldn't give into that. "Ready, Blue?"
She pulled one of those odd head turns of hers, her vivid eyes clouding in confusion. "You are not ready. Had you been anything but a half-breed you'd be dead."
He gritted his teeth. "I asked about you. We have more work to do. Best get to doing it."
"You are deluded." She pushed him back against the goo-soaked brick wall at the side of the alley. He lost his footing and slid to the ground. "Stay here," she demanded. "Until you are stronger you are of no value to this fight."
Fury flashed through him. No use? He'd never be useless - not again. Not after... No. That was another time. He wasn't going to let anyone down, and he wasn't going to quit until he was dust, carried away into the sewers by this bloody deluge they had to wage war in. Illyria had killed four more hellbeasts while he'd been slumped against the wall. If he'd been on his feet it would have been eight. He braced his blood covered hands behind him and pushed fully upright. "Sod off, Illyria. I'm going back in," he yelled.
The wall flexed and seemed to heave. He fell back against it again. "Wha...?" He struggled, but couldn't get his bearings. The brick were pulling at him. He'd thought the worst of his dizziness had passed, but he couldn't get any sense of what was happening.
"What the bloody...?"
He fell, hitting the ground with a loud "oomph" and then there was nothing.
X
A bright light seared into his eyes and he rolled over to shade his exposed skin from the burning sun. He groped for his coat, struggling for several seconds to pull it over his head before he realized that nothing was singeing, or even smoking for that matter. He studied his hands in amazement. Light shone down on him, but he was okay.
He was okay? Where was the battle and all the noise? Where was the blood and the screaming and the endless cold rain?
He was sitting on a large expanse of grass. Sunny, but not really warm. Not cold either, for that matter. It was quiet; not even a bird chirping some revoltingly cheerful bit. He couldn't be dead, because this sure as hell wasn't... well, hell. No doubt about it, heaven was no place for his afterlife. Besides, his body was solid enough and his soul was intact. Very well, then - not dead and, surprisingly, not wounded either. His clothes showed marks of the fight, but battle scars on his body were gone, even the worst of them. The disabling wooziness was gone too. No reason to be lying on this sodding ground, was there? He rose and surveyed his surroundings.
There was no sense of where he was. No helpful clues around, either. He studied the horizon, finding nothing but more grass. Sunshine and grass, and beyond that more sunshine and grass. Bloody perfect.
"Hello!" he called. It didn't surprise him that there was no answer. Would've been shocked to have heard an answer anyway, but yelling something seemed to be the thing to do. "Hey," he tried again, "anyone want to tell me why I'm not burning up here?"
"Because if you were already turning to dust, I wouldn't have the privilege of killing you."
That voice. Her voice. Right behind him. This wasn't possible - none of it. She wouldn't be here, and she wouldn't be using that tone with him if she were. He'd always imagined something more intense: anger or tears or a good backhand to his nose. But lighthearted joking about staking him? Not his slayer, not after everything they'd been and done to each other.
"What are you doing here, Spike?"
"Buffy...?" He looked over his shoulder and his vision filled with her. Her hair was light brown, and longer than she usually wore it. Must be all the rage in Italy.
"Look," she said, "Don't make me ask you again. You shouldn't be here."
He turned to face her, taking her in, every inch. Somehow he never thought he'd ever really see her again, much less be alone with her and looking into her eyes like this. "Buffy," he said again.
She frowned. "What's up with you, Spike? Where'd you come from?"
He could barely find his voice. Not a problem he was familiar with. "Alley," he finally managed.
"Yeah, helpful. Way helpful." She rolled her eyes at him and something inside him melted. She hadn't done that in years. "What's wrong with you? You usually won't shut up." After a second she gave a small laugh. "I can't believe I'm complaining because you're actually quiet for a change."
His hands opened and clenched, wanting to touch her, but unsure of what either of them would do. Nothing made sense. "Where are we?"
"Where?" She stepped back, troubled. "I... I don't know. Just here."
"Did you bring me here?" he asked.
Now she laughed. "Why would I do that?"
Impatience was proving to be a marvelous antidote for all the other things he was feeling. "Look, Slayer. I wasn't here, and now I am and I sure as hell had nothing to do with it. There's a place I need to be now - people relying on me, you know?"
She shook her head. "Sorry, Spike. I really can't help you."
This was just brilliant.
"Where is everyone?" she asked. "Where are Giles and Willow and Xander?" She swallowed hard. "Where's Dawn?"
"Different places, from what I hear," Spike said. "But you know that."
"No. No, I don't."
Nothing about this made any sense to him, and it was pissing him off. "What's going on here, Buffy?" He reached out, but she flinched away from him. That did nothing for his mood. This meeting with her wasn't what he'd expected. All those times he'd thought about seeing her again, holding her, telling her all the things that had happened. The times he'd dreamt of loving her and fighting her… And all they could manage was this confusing mess of a conversation. The ridiculous cookie dough blather that Angel had related to him on their flight to Italy seemed like an in-depth exchange by comparison.
"Buffy, please just tell me where we are."
"I don't know." Simple words, but true. Her eyes were clear. She wasn't keeping anything from him.
"How long have you been here?" he asked.
"It's hard to tell," she answered. "A lot of it is foggy." She looked around at the endless prairie. "I don't remember much. I was with everyone, and then I wasn't."
Something he could relate to. "Me too, love, except it's clear. I was fighting with--" No need to bring up Angel's name at this point. "… on the side of good I might say, and then here I was, little vamp on the prairie."
"You were hurt," she said, indicating the tears in his shirt.
He nodded. "Yeah."
"I wasn't hurt," she said. She searched his face. "But I'm pretty sure I died."
X
"Where did he go?" Angel glared down at Illyria, who had just dropped the bomb that Spike had vanished during the battle. They had survived, with the help of some old allies who had stepped up in the late hours to lend a hand. Not all the clients he'd helped over the years had turned against him. Gunn was gone, and he wasn't ready to dwell on that just yet. Spike couldn't be gone too. "Where?"
She crossed her arms and pulled her spine straight.
"Illyria," he warned.
"Why must half-demons of your ilk have things explained twice? You waste my time."
He resisted the urge to strangle her skinny blue neck. He was probably too tired to lift his hands that high anyway. "Look, it's nearly daylight and we need to find someplace to hole up until the next wave attacks. And we need Spike."
"He leaned against the wall and he was gone."
He was afraid to ask, but he had to, "Was he staked?" Maybe words of one syllable would break through her shell.
"Gone," she said.
"Damn it!" He punched the wall. It hurt.
She turned her back to him and strode away. "I did not say he was dead."
X
Buffy had become so accustomed to being alone that the identity of the man on the ground didn't immediately register with her. But there was a lot that wasn't clear to her now. She'd grown to accept it over all the time she'd been here. Months? Years? It hardly seemed to matter. The bright hair captured her attention, as did its contrast with the long black coat.
Spike. Of all people why did it have to be Spike? While a lot of the details of her previous life were unfocused, she still had vivid recollections of the people who'd been a part of it once upon a time, even him.
Since she'd come here her only goal had been to find her mother. She was dead, right? And so was her mom. So maybe they were there together and they just had to find each other. Like a final test or something. And that had to be why it was so bright all the time, to help them see. But Spike? That was wrong. He didn't have a place here. She was supposed to find Mom, not him.
Their conversation was idiotic. He was keeping something from her. He'd probably been in league with the Big Bad all along, when she'd thought she could trust him. Why else would he be in this place? It was a special place, with no noise or fighting or people asking her to save them from whatever monster was tearing up their lives that week. But here he was, embodiment of fangs and fists and never-ending sarcasm.
They talked about nothing. It was pointless to stand here and do this. He was torn up, probably from the same battle that sent her to this place. She never thought about what might have happened to him. But he had no soul, and this was the place for souls.
She tried to tell him. "I wasn't hurt," she said. She searched his face. "But I'm pretty sure I died."
His eyes widened. "When? When did you die?"
She looked at him in disbelief. "You were there." She paused, thinking hard. "I thought you were there."
"No, Buffy. Not again."
Once more he reached out for her and she shoved him away. Why did he keep trying to touch her? He was a liar! If she could only concentrate – think hard about the end. Darkness. Panic. Dawn. Dawn was there, standing terrified in the wind and bleeding. Spike was supposed to…
"You were there!" she accused him. "You were supposed to stop it, stop him from cutting her."
"Love, what are you talking about?"
"You didn't stop him and it was too late to keep it from happening."
"Do you mean Doc? That little git with Glory?"
It felt like he'd stuck her as the memory returned. How could she have forgotten how it ended? The pain poured over her and she turned and ran from him. She ran across the flat expanse of green, not stopping until it felt like her heart would explode. She fell in a heap and grasped at the blades of grass, wondering if she could dig down into the dark earth beneath them to escape these memories.
She wanted her mom.
X
Angel had to wait until the next evening to venture back out to the alley. If something had snagged Spike away, the mage he'd called would detect it. Illyria had followed along uninvited. The queen obviously felt she didn't need an invitation. Even though she'd been the last one to see Spike, she wasn't exactly what he'd call informative. Hence, the mage.
"It was right around here," Angel told him.
"It was there," Illyria pointed a few feet to the left.
"No," Angel said, "It was over here."
She pointed again.
Angel directed her over to the side with a hand to her shoulder, bending his head close in an attempt to keep his voice low. "I'm a vampire, remember? I have excellent night vision and I can smell things. Now you," he said, "you didn't want to help, remember? 'He's gone', you said. Well, I intend to find him."
"Then you should look in the right place," she told him in full imperious mode.
He bent even closer to her. "And you should go--"
"Mr. Angel," the mage interrupted.
Angel had forgotten all about him. "What is it?"
"She is correct. It was over there."
"But I can smell him over here. His blood and that really rank leather."
Illyria and the mage ignored him and moved farther down along the wall. Angel watched the turbaned man hold his hands out over the area Illyria had indicated. He chanted for a moment before falling into a deep silence.
Unsure of what else to do, Angel shoved his hands into his pockets and shuffled from foot to foot. He sniffed the air a few more times, trying to pick up on whatever the other two seemed to sense.
The wall began to glow with a low, amber light. It seemed to be coming from within. He could just make out the shape of hands and a body, splayed against the surface.
"What is that?" he asked.
"That is your friend," the mage answered. "He was drawn in through here."
"Drawn in? But what about over there?" Angel couldn't disqualify what his senses told him.
The mage studied the spot, and then Angel. "He was there before he was here. There was a shift."
"A dimensional shift," Angel said.
The mage nodded. "What was there is not, and this portal that was is no longer."
"But why?" Angel asked. "Why did it open and why Spike?"
"He bled," Illyria said.
Blood. It was always blood.
X
Spike felt as if he'd been steamrolled. The giant cement leveler of fate had left him there in a flattened stupor, trying to not believe what he was thinking.
This Buffy, this sad, impertinent, tough Buffy was the girl who'd died on that tower built by Glory's senseless blathering army. This was the girl who jumped into the rift and gave her life to close the gates of bloody hell while he lay broken on the ground below.
It made no sense that he was here. She was right; he didn't belong in this place. But she did. She'd told him a bit about it, that day behind the Magic Shop. How she'd been happy and complete, until they'd dragged her out. Now he'd somehow shown up here and ruined her contentment all by his sodding self. Way to go. As if he hadn't done enough to her in their twisted past. Oh, except she didn't know all the ugliness there, because it hadn't bleeding happened to her yet.
He drove his fist into the grass, because that was the only thing around this place to hit, and it wasn't even a little satisfying. He felt foolish for even trying - except there wasn't anyone around to see it. No, just him. And Buffy.
Buffy. He needed to find her.
He found her three days later. At least it felt like three days to Spike. Hard to tell, what with all the sun and no night. After waiting ages for her to return, he'd finally set out to find her. There really wasn't anything to go by in this place, no footprints or smells to help him. Since all he seemed to have was time, he just walked until he spotted the small form in the distance. She seemed to be stretching and meditating. That infernal Tai-Chi mumbo jumbo that she and the ponce enjoyed so much.
She knew he was there, he could tell that much by the subtle shift in her posture and the wariness that cast its veil around her. It all told him to keep away. But he never was much good at giving into personal requests.
"Yo, Slayer."
"I'm meditating," she said.
"About what? The lovely grass and... well, I guess that's about it. Shouldn't take long."
"Go.Away."
This, he could deal with. He dropped to the ground and lay back with his hands behind his neck.
Her pose wavered, but she kept pretending she was into the ridiculous exercise. "Look, love, I've got a bit more of my wits about me now, and I think we can talk."
"Not interested, Spike."
"You have someone else around here to stimulate you?"
She dropped her hands and gave up her simulated deliberation. "You're still a pig."
He grinned. "And if I recall, you have a soft spot for us little pink guys with our perky tails."
She sat beside him. "Leave Mr. Gordo out of this. He's twice the pig you'll ever be."
"Oh, now that one hurt." Spike pretend to be wounded. That worked up a smile. Good girl.
"Spike, what are you doing here?"
He sat up. "Honestly, Slayer, I really don't know."
Her smile was gone now. "Did you die there - after you fell?"
This was going to be tricky. What could he tell her? He didn't want to take the chance that she'd get back to her life and he'd mess it up for her. All her Scooby pals were going to do enough of that. Evasive truth ought to work. "No, not then. But later."
Her eyes took on that calm, thoughtful gaze as she looked at him. "And you don't want to remember."
He thought back to the burning sensations in the Hellmouth; of how his entire being began to blaze as he held her hand. "Wasn't all bad."
"So why aren't you burning in hell?" she asked.
"Don't think that I haven't wondered that," he said.
She looked around her. "I thought this was heaven, but if you're here..."
"Shh, don't go there, love. This is heaven for you, and I'm just a trespasser who needs to find his way back out."
She fixed her sights on him again, and this time he felt dissected under her scrutiny. "You're different than you were."
Whoa, maybe he'd gotten a little too comfortable. "Sure I am. Sitting in the sun and not getting toasty. Never really pulled that one off before, at least not without a ring."
"You know I didn't mean that."
He nodded. "Yeah, I know."
"Will you tell me how everyone is?"
He could deal with Buffy when she was snapping at him, or joking, or fighting. Her sincerity was hard. It was a side of her she seldom let him see. There was the time when she'd asked him to take care of her sister, and the time she'd kissed him for not betraying her and her little sis to Glory. There was also the time she'd told him she couldn't love him, and then the time where she had told him that she did. And now there was this. "They're all missing you. Every one of them. Nothing is like it was, and they don't know how to fix it."
"Oh." Her voice was small and soft.
With that whispered word, all was tense again. He'd have given anything for some noise. The entire place was to damn quiet.
X
The ritual had been going on for hours now, and Angel's head was aching from the constant repetition of the chant.
According to the mage, Spike's disappearance had been caused by a combination of the dimensional portals that allowed the demons to flood the area, the unique mixture of blood and entrails, and Spike's own words as his blood spread across the wall. "I'm going back in" could be taken as a translation of some old spell that requested sanctuary. At least, that's what the old magic guy had told them. They were trying to recreate as many of the conditions as they could, only without the actual demons trying to kill everyone. If they'd just wait another day or two, the bad guys would regroup and attack again. Which was why he needed Spike.
"I weary of this," Illyria said. "In my magnificence I could rend portals into any reality."
"At this point I'd be happy with a few helpful pointers," Angel said.
The mage cleared his throat.
Angel sighed and resumed repeating the syllables the mage had instructed him to chant. He hated chanting.
X
Buffy would never, ever admit it to him, but she was kind of enjoying Spike's company. All this time here alone had lulled her into forgetting what it was like to have someone around to make her laugh and even to get under her skin. It seemed that weeks had passed and there was no sense that he would be leaving anytime soon. Still, she knew he was keeping something from her. There were too many times when he grew quiet, like he was contemplating what to say - or not say. Like the exact circumstances of his death, or why he really wasn't full of the shariness over the new sort of nobility he had.
He never talked about how much he missed eating people.
He also never tried to force his feelings on her, not like he used to do, back in the days where most of their conversations ended with her fist smashing into his nose. Sometimes, just to get under his skin, she'd talk about Angel. It kept things interesting when they seemed to be getting too comfy with each other. Like right then, with his head in her lap and her fingers beginning to play in his hair.
"Did you know that Angel smashed the Gem of Amara because he didn't want to risk forgetting he was a creature of night?" she said.
"Stupidest bloody thing I've ever heard." Spike was up on his feet trampling around before the words were out of his mouth. Buffy bit at her lips to keep from smiling. "He's so busy proving how bloody noble he is that he passes up everything that he really wants. And for what?"
Oh, this was going to be a good one. Spike was starting to throw his hands around.
"Just so he can brood some more about his sorry lot in un-life. Where's the point in that?"
"No idea."
"Believe me, no matter what we do to 'help humanity'..."
He made air quotes with his fingers. Buffy had never seen anyone actually do that before - not even Xander.
"It still won't undo all the madness we've caused. There's no cosmic scale, you know. There's just us, trying to do a little good before some nasty catches up with us, and I for one don't have any inclination to boo-bloody-hoo over whether I'm miserable enough."
Buffy would have been laughing out loud over the entire tirade, except for something he was saying. It was "us". Why was he using that word when he referred to Angel?
"Spike?"
"Bleeding absurd, is what it is."
"SPIKE!"
"What?"
She stood and faced him, scrutinizing his expression. "Why are you talking about fighting with Angel. What haven't you told me?"
He was instantly guarded. She could see it all through him. She knew it! Something major was going on with him and he'd been hiding it.
"After I died that night, did you go to Angel?"
He scoffed at the idea. "No. Are you completely nutters?"
"You said 'we'," she told him. "You said 'No matter what we do'. Tell me what you meant by that."
"They were just words, Buffy. Let it go."
"Oh no you don't. Those weren't words, and you've gotten all avoidy on me. Tell me. Tell me why you're different, and tell me why you have such a keen understanding about fighting for the good guys."
She watched as his mouth tightened and his throat tensed, and then she knew. Without a doubt she knew, and she was all kinds of stupid for not seeing it before. God, he had a soul. That's how he could be here and why he didn't miss all those other things he used to love.
"How did you get it?"
The struggle continued in him. He still didn't want to admit it.
"Come on, Spike. Tell me. How did you get a soul?"
He didn't answer, but she had eternity to wait.
She watched as his determination fell to what was unavoidable. He looked at her. "I won it," he said.
She sensed pride.
"You wanted it," she said.
He nodded.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because... because it changed things, and I don't think it would be good for you to know more than that."
"Why not?" she asked. "What would it hurt to tell me everything? That life is over and I'm here now. It doesn't matter anymore."
"It does matter. And I can't tell you why. God, I wish I could."
His words hurt. They only had each other here, and he didn't trust her. He was keeping things from her, and she wanted to make him stop holding back. And yet, wasn't that what she had been doing all this time?
She backed away from him. She'd let him have his space. For now. The soul had been a shock, but she'd figured it out. The rest would come - with time.
X
"You are pathetic. This is a simple portal that a child could open."
Angel wondered why ex-gods always had to be such pains in the asses. He dropped his hands from their place on the wall and sighed. Loudly. "What do you suggest now, Illyria? I don't see you making a bit of difference here." The mage continued working on the problem at hand. His patience was amazing. Angel intended to grill him on his meditation technique if the ever got out of this.
"I was not asked to aid you, I was ordered," Illyria replied.
"No," Angel said. "I asked if you could help, and what does that have to do with getting this portal open anyway?"
She stared at him, unblinking. "You said, 'Illyria, get over there and help the mage with the wall.' Does that indicate asking to you?"
"Fine. I'll ask. Illyria, will you help us to get this portal open?"
Her head cocked to the side again. He hated when she did that. "Your request was not sincere."
"What does it take?" he asked.
"She is correct," the mage offered. "The problem is that we don't have a sincere request."
Why did he feel like they were ganging up on him? "Okay, good. I'll request sincerely. Illyria. Please. I need your help. Help me."
She moved away to stand beside the mage. Angel took up a position on the other side and resumed his previous stance, with his palms flat against the bricks. "Now what?" he asked. "And it better not require chanting."
"We ask," said the mage, in a tone that suggested Angel should have known that asking was a logical procedure when trying to get a wall open.
"I feel like an idiot," Angel said. "Not one remark, either of you!" he warned.
The mage hummed, a low tone emanating from his throat. Illyria said, "Hear our petition," still managing to sound imperious.
Angel closed his eyes and tried to focus on being sincere. "Please," he said. "Please open and bring us Spike."
The wall flexed and shifted. Then it groaned.
X
They walked. They always walked. Not a lot else to do here. Walking, sitting, walking again. That was about it. Oh, but then there was the talking, which was the best part, and it was something that Spike had never managed to get Buffy to do until this place. They spent days talking about anything that came to mind. They argued and they laughed and they debated with each other. Spike almost thought nothing of it when Buffy slid her hand into his. And he nearly forgot about all the things that he hadn't told her.
He tensed, and she noticed immediately, looking up at him with the question in her eyes. This was hard. Not telling her what was really going on. For all she knew, this was her eternity and her reward, and he couldn't bear the thought of stealing that away from her.
"God, what is it with you?" she said, dropping his hand and crossing her arms. It was a classic Buffy stance, and it made him want to hold her.
"Don't know what you're going on about," he said. She didn't buy that for a second. He really hadn't thought she would.
"I'm so tired of all your secrets! Why won't you talk to me?"
He tried to reason with her, but he was having a hard time convincing himself. "Love, I can't. There are things that you can't know."
"But you can?" she responded. "How can I understand that? You... you're a vampire. You're a thing, but you get to decide what's best for me to know?"
Pain ripped through him at her words. The same words she used to throw at him when she was full of self-loathing and despair. Words she didn't even know she would throw at him after she was pulled out of this place.
"Spike, I'm sorry," she said, reaching out to him.
"'S'all right," he said. "Had it coming."
"You didn't." She lowered her head, but then looked back up at him. "You really didn't. You've been so great here." She put her hand into his again. "I'm glad you're here."
He struggled with himself. There was so much that he wanted to explain. The knowledge that he had to do the right thing was at war with what he really wanted. As usual, the latter was winning. "I need to tell you something," he said.
"Okay."
"It's about my soul, and why I got it, and probably why I'm here."
She studied him, not responding for a long time. Finally, she took a deep breath. "Go on. It's all right."
He took her other hand. "It was for you, and only for you," he said.
"I don't understand," she told him. "I died, so why would you do that?"
He let go of her hand and raised his fingers to her face. Strange how they could be in this place of death, yet feel so alive. "Because I needed to be a man, and you made me see that."
He'd told her the truth, and she seemed to realize it. She folded herself into his arms and didn't pull away as he rained soft kisses into her hair and across her forehead. Her nose was there, begging for the same treatment, as were her cheeks and her chin and her sweet, welcoming lips. Everything he'd always wanted from her was there in that moment.
And then the world flexed and seemed to heave, and he fell back.
X
"Send me back," Spike yelled.
"Spike, we can't," Angel said. They were back at Angel's old hotel, and the plan was to get some rest and regroup for the next fight. But Spike had been belligerent from the instant he'd appeared out of that portal and landed flat on his ass in the alley. "This thing with Wolfram and Hart isn't over yet, and we need everyone here if we hope to get through tonight."
Spike scoffed at him. "You think the three of us and the few old friends who lack a sense of self-preservation will have any kind of chance to get through this?"
"As much of a chance as we stood last night," Angel said.
"Last night?" Spike asked. "Did you say we fought last night?"
Not again! Angel had already explained this to him. "What happened to you, Spike? Hit your head falling out of that wall? Yes. It was last night."
"Like hell," Spike said. "Been gone for longer than that."
"One day, Spike."
"Then you need to send me back right now."
Angel shook his head. "Come on. You know what this means. You were the first one with your hand in the air to join this thing. Now isn't the time to quit."
"I'm not quitting," Spike said. "There's something else going on, and for whatever bloody reason, I'm a part of it."
"You'll just have to be part of it later. Right now we have to come up with another plan if we're going to get anywhere with this tonight."
After they managed to retrieve Spike, the lack of a plan had been his sole focus. Of course, it helped keep his mind off all the death around him. He couldn't think about everyone he'd lost. Not yet. But now that Angel took the time to really look Spike over, he began to notice some things. Like the absence of cuts and bruises that the rest of them were marked with.
"Weren't you bleeding?" he asked.
"Opened the bloody portal, didn't I," Spike sulked back at him.
They glared at each other.
"Told you I was gone longer than a day," Spike muttered.
X
Different alley, different night. The rain wasn't pouring down, but the blood was. It rained everywhere and Spike lifted his arm to wipe the gore from his face. This wasn't going remotely well, and they were being driven back. The demons were bigger this time, and better prepared for their decimated forces. Spike tried to focus on the battle, but couldn't help drifting back to Buffy, wondering how she felt when he'd disappeared and how much time had gone by for her, all alone.
The frustration gave him a surge of strength, and he whirled around, severing limbs from the creatures that attempted to attack him from behind.
They couldn't win this. They needed an army. Too bad those were in short supply.
An army. Why did that thought nag at him? A legion of warriors, fighting evil for all they were worth. Yes, that was it! He looked frantically for Illyria, because he knew she'd help him. Blue had a soft spot for him.
She was at the corner, throwing a Fyarl demon into a dumpster. Bloody monster would like that! He ran to her and grasped her arm. "Come with me," he shouted once he had her attention. She nodded and ran beside him. Good old Illyria. She probably would have made Angel ask nicely.
They found the other alley. It was nearly demolished. The demons had come back through the same portals as before, and had visited their destruction on the inanimate concrete and bricks before seeking out their real prey. Spike ignored the mess; he needed to find that spot.
"We are to help Angel," Illyria told him.
"I know, love," Spike said. "That's just what I'm doing."
He found the spot, but there was barely anything there resembling the wall that had stood the night before. He handed Illyria his sword. "You have to run me through," he said.
She didn't pause. The blade drove into him, and he doubled over from the pain. She pulled the blade out and he grasped at the wound with his hands, covering them with his blood. Illyria shoved him against the quaking wall and he looked up, meeting her gaze. As she nodded he placed his hands back and yelled, "I'm going back in!"
Reality shifted again as the wall collapsed under this final stress. Spike was gone, and so was his way back.
X
Buffy found him there again, in the sun amid the soft grass. She held him and told him how much she missed him. He kissed her. Everything was going to be all right.
X
"Buffy, please, you have to listen to me. It's important."
"Not again," she groaned. "You keep telling me this story, and it's crazy."
"I don't care if you think it's crazy, you need to listen."
She settled down beside him and tried her best to look interested. Really, she did. Spike had always been full of drama.
"So there are these girls," he began.
"Yes, little slayers, you said."
"No, not little slayers. Just slayers, like you. Lots of them."
She smiled. "Where did they all come from?"
"You'll figure it out," he said. She hated it when he said that.
"So anyway, you won't remember this. Trust me, you won't, but one night you'll remember—"
"In a dream, right?" she asked.
"Probably," he said. "You were always big with the dreams."
"Go on."
"And you'll know that you have to go and help Angel."
"Since when do you want me to help Angel?"
"Focus, love," Spike said. "When it happens, you need to go. You have to."
Buffy nodded, "Because I have to save the world?"
"Yes," he said. "It's your destiny."
She laughed at that. "And all this time I thought my destiny was wrapped up in sitting here with you."
Spike's face fell. She didn't understand exactly what had upset him, and she'd long since learned he wouldn't share it with her. He finally looked up at her. "I love you," he said.
Yes, he did. She knew it. It felt good to be loved.
X
Angel ran through the streets, looking for Illyria and Spike. He called for them, but his voice was drowned out by the shouts of the demons as they rushed in on him. If they were gone, this was over. This fight... he wouldn't face the thought. They weren't gone. They weren't.
To the right he saw a flash of blue. Yes, it was Illyria. She ran to join him. "Where were you?" he asked.
"Spike had a plan," she said.
"Care to share any of it?" This was crazy. There were doomed to be overrun any second and now they had a plan?
Illyria almost seemed to smirk, though he knew that was impossible, and she pointed behind him. Angel turned and couldn't believe what he was seeing. Slayers. Hundreds of slayers. Maybe even thousands. They were everywhere, mowing down every demon in their path. It was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.
A wide grin spread across his face, and he grasped his sword, renewed. He looked to Illyria. "Let's do this!"
They ran into the fray to claim their share of the victory.
X
Spike lay back in the ocean of green, and tried not to miss Buffy. She was out there, fighting the good fight, just like she was meant to. As for him, one of these years they'd suss out how to get him back. It was all right; he could wait. He had nothing but time.
The End