"Just Another Watcher"
This story takes place several months after the story "Just Another Slayer".
Margot woke up, and she was alone. She knew Spike had gone.
Why does he do this? She thought. She knew why, but this was a question she asked herself a lot. More and more often. His side of the bed was empty when she awoke.
This was happening every day now.
She tossed the sheets aside, the cats scrambled out of bed, and she vaulted toward the closet for some clothes.
Hurry.
She knew she didn't have much time.
She threw the jeep into drive, and red earth splattered along the driveway as she tore down the back roads to the beach. She threw the jeep into higher gears as she neared the beach. Must get there.
As the sun rose, the waves thundered on the small, black sand beach. She cranked the ignition and slid to a halt.
Her eyes scanned the waves and the rocks along the coast for some sign of him. Quickly, she leapt toward the footprints leading into the low rocks and sprinted further into the small bay.
Once she reached the small peninsula, she didn't hesitate before diving in, her hands pointing artfully toward the bottom of the ocean.
One of these days she knew she wouldn't be in time.
She opened her eyes to the gently curving waters of the undersea reef. She turned her head looking for something familiar, anything that looked like him. Coral graced the undulating landscape.
But, there was no sign of the pale man with the dark curly hair.
She plunged to the top for a gulp of air. Gasping, she bobbed to the surface, and between waves she spied a familiar form on the beach where the rocks began.
Pulling steadily, she wearily dragged herself across the black ragged rock toward the man who laid face-down.
She pulled her body alongside his still body and heaved for air.
This sort of thing was easier when I had full slayer power.
She pushed the lean body over and peered into the closed eyes for movement. Quickly, she pulled his mouth open and begged for mercy as she blew gently into his lungs. No. Not now.
Pumping his chest, she alternated with blowing into his lungs. Over and over. Again and again.
She fell over onto her side and stared up into the sky, panting. Stars were in her eyes as she tired.
But again she tried.
Then suddenly, the man convulsed, and water coughed from his lungs as he came to.
She pulled him onto his side toward her and held him to her as he coughed and flickered his eyelids. She kissed him deeply on the forehead as the man awoke from his foray into the ocean's depths.
She let him down into the sand one hand twined in his as she pulled away and gathered her breath, staring up into the red sky.
It was morning, and the Zebra Doves and Myna Birds were beginning their chorus.
The man's eyes were barely open, but his hand held hers tight as they each gathered their strength.
Slowly, they made their way back into the jeep. He leaned heavily into his seat as she drove them back to their bungalow.
They had lived on the island of Hawaii for the past six months, and this had happened nine times since they arrived.
As Spike gathered his wits in the shower, Margot dragged a pan out and made scrambled eggs.
The problem was not that Spike wanted to die; it's that he didn't know how to be human. Going for a swim and forgetting to surface for air was a problem.
Margot understood the impulse to be active at night. The sun must seem awfully oppressive to a 150-year-old former vampire. At first, Spike had sat in the sun enjoying the warmth for the first time in a long while in his very long life.
But, as Margot settled into her job for the Fish and Wildlife service, Spike started his new routine. Over time, it started to resemble his old one: sleeping during the day, and then sunset hit. Between guzzling greasy food and prowling the neighborhood at night, the man had habits that couldn't quite be shook.
Of course, the blood lust was gone, and they spent their evenings prowling together. But as she went to bed every night, she knew he would continue the pacing down the dusty backroads. They lived in a small house far from the resorts but among the hippie plantations. There wasn't much that stood out to their neighbors, not that Margot and Spike cared.
And honestly, Margot didn't care if Spike was a vampire in every way. He had a soul, and she trusted him. But being a vampire wasn't an option for him anymore.
Six months ago, the Scooby bat signal went up in Africa. To avoid an apocalypse, they had obliterated the magic that makes vampires, and Margot had given up some of her slayer power to Spike so that he could live. Literally live. Spike was human now. It's confusing, but, as Spike would say, it's a long story.
So, they lived a joint semi-slayer existence since then. But they hadn't encountered much magic since ridding the world of all vampires, save one. Angel had the gypsy curse, and now is the one and only signified monkey.
This was a lot to contemplate over a pile of steaming hot eggs. Margot tipped the pan into a couple plates just as the phone rang.
Spike padded into the main room as Margot snatched the phone away. Spike might be human, but he hadn't learned phone manners yet, and her supervisor was confused by Spike's patter.
"Hello?"
"Margot? Hello, yes, this Giles. I wonder if you have a moment."
"Of course, Giles."
"I apologize to be so abrupt, but I have a situation here in London that requires Spike's, er, expertise." The man covered his discomfort for a moment before resuming. "You see …"
There was a pause.
Margot heard something shift in his voice. She hadn't yet met him but had spoken to him on the phone a few times since returning to Africa, mostly to give a full debrief. Perhaps, she thought, she didn't know him well enough, but this time he seemed to becoming distinctly unwound.
"Giles? Are you ok?"
There was a hitch in his voice when he quickly replied. "Of course. Could you ask Spike to call me?"
Turning to hand the phone to Spike, Margot stopped short as she watched the rare sight of the man tucking into breakfast and shoveling the eggs into his mouth.
"Wha?" His mouth full, Spike stared at her.
Not wanting to interrupt Spike's first healthy meal in a while, she turned away to reply to the watcher. "Of course, Giles, I'll let him know right away."
Hanging up, in thought, she sat down in front of her own plate of eggs.
"What does watcher-man want?"
"Spike, I think he needs your help."
The pale man's dark eyebrows swept skyward at the thought that Giles, who had tried to kill him on numerous occasions, pre- and post-soul, would want his help.
"Mine. Really." He was perplexed.
Shoveling her own forkful of eggs into her mouth, grateful for the protein load after her own oceanic efforts this morning, she thought about the call.
"I think he really needs your help. There was something definitively un-Giles-like in his call."
Dubious, pushing the empty plate away, Spike leaned back in his chair, his hands tucked behind his curly mop of dark hair.
"There's something going on there," she briefly explained.
Spike thought for a moment. He had been used to others communicating with Giles and relaying the important bits to him. Some things had not softened over the years. Giles had objected to his relationship with Buffy, even after he earned a soul. Giles hadn't had great experiences with any vampires, especially after they reagained their souls. Then after Buffy died, there seemed less of a reason to make an effort to get along with Spike. Spike, for his part, had become friends with the other Scoobies, overcoming Dawn's anger and Willow's trepidation. He even became roommates with Xander. But, Giles was another story.
Perhaps it was a sign of his growth as a human being, but Spike felt a shadow of curiosity.
"What kind of thing?" He asked.
Spike had taken so long to reply, Margot had lost the thread of the conversation. "What?"
Impatiently, Spike replied, "Love, you said there's something going on."
"Sorry. There just seemed to be a problem with Giles." Pausing, Margot contemplated his sudden interest in the former watcher, and Giles' words. "Spike, he mentioned your 'expertise'. Maybe it's a vampire thing."
"But I—."
"I know, I know. But there are only a couple of you out there who know what it's like to be a vampire."
Spike sat in thought for a moment.
Margot's voice lowered as she continued. "Maybe you need to return to the mother country and be a vampire for a while."
Spike tilted his head slightly as he pondered her words.
The next day, after Spike had spoken to a woman who answered Giles' phone and who had urged him to come to London with absolutely no details (both of which much to Margot's concern), Spike had packed a bag and left.
Spike had half the world on a series of flights to think about what was ahead. He expected Giles to be irritated to see him, but knowing Giles, answers would be quickly forthcoming.
Aside from Giles' problem, more than anything, he felt a lingering sense of, well… loss at no longer being a vampire. It seemed a strange idea to miss the murderer that he had been. But, he didn't know how to be a human anymore. It had only been a few months he had been at it, and it had been over a hundred years since he had last been a human. He didn't really know who that person had been then. What he was now was, well, something different. But, maybe, just for a moment, whatever Giles needed, maybe he would feel some sense of familiarity with what they were about to face. In any case, how much danger could they be in? It was Giles, and at most, Giles, being a watcher, only knew how to watch danger. Giles is probably overreacting, he thought.
When he arrived at Giles' townhouse, he was surprised to find him not at home. What he did find was a coven of witches camped out in his living room, many in deep meditation. Strangely, a bong sat in the corner, and assorted other substances littered the room. This is not the respectable group Giles usually associates himself with, he smirked to himself, but, far be it for me if the watcher needs an occasional lost weekend. And yet, he was contemplative at the strange sight. The witch who had answered the door after he leaned on the bell for a solid 20 minutes seemed surprised to see him, and then drifted off into the pile of stoned wicca.
Spike wandered from room to room, looking for Giles, and noted the filled ash trays, the scarves over the windows, and passed-out witches on every horizontal surface on both floors. Guess Ripper's back in town.
God, I hope I'm not here to do an intervention, Spike thought, I'm not really the best person to preach moderation.
Giles was nowhere to be found.
Finding a semi-nude witch in what appeared to be Giles' bed, but no Giles, seemed to be the final straw for Spike.
"Love –" He gently shook her shoulder. The woman's eyelids twitched in response. After several attempts, the woman sat up and pulled a shawl around her and frowned at the man kneeling on the bed beside her.
"You're Spike." Rubbing her eyes, she gathered herself.
"I spoke to someone on the phone."
"Yeah, it was me." She muttered, running her hands through her hair, waking up. Her eyes focused on the wall behind Spike as she seemed on the verge of terror. It was as if she was remembering a bad dream.
Her expression alarmed him. This isn't your ordinary watcher bender. "What's going on, love?"
"You need to find Giles."
"Yeah, but where is he?"
Glancing at the clock, she thought for a moment. "He's probably at the pub."
"Which one?"
"I don't know. It's in Camden. Along the canal. You'll know it when you get there. Look for a place that people go to forget their life. He spends his nights there."
Spike shrugged into his black jacket and pulled the collar up as he stepped into the light London rain that pervades winters here. He turned a corner from Giles' townhouse just off Portobello Road, a respectable neighborhood known for its antique books and perfect for the Giles family legacy of watchers, to take the tube to Camden, a grungy and colorful bohemian neighborhood known for its music venues, coffee shops, and weekend flea market.
After climbing the stairs from the underground to Camden High Street, Spike walked toward the canal. The Camden Town sign on the train bridge greeted him as made his way among the buskers, the stoners, and the bootleg tape salesmen whose cases would suddenly snap shut and disappear with their salesmen into the crowd lest they be nicked by the police.
Spike strode down the stairs to the canal, weaving around the street kids lounging on the stairs and along the canal's low walls. Balls, he thought, I never felt old until I became human again.
His eyes scanned the doorways for a pub. There were a few, filled with old sodden day drinkers, depressing, but none seemed to fit the description.
He turned a corner down an alley and found a doorway with loud music blasting outward. The barkeep's half-mast eyes told him all he needed to know.
Spike pulled out a smoke and ordered a pint. The public houses in London had long since gone smoke-free, but somehow he knew the rules didn't apply here.
The walls were covered with band posters, most of the furniture was broken, the girls desultorily leaned against the bar and eyed him for a drink, the audience was vigorously and drunkenly crashing into each other, there was a stench of sweat and desperation here, and a band was angrily making their way through a set of punk songs. It was only 7 o'clock at night. Something is up, Spike thought.
His eyes scanned the band as the lead singer stepped up to the mike and howled the lyrics.
Then the floor dropped. At least that's what it felt like to Spike as he processed what he saw.
Giles was screeching into the microphone, a worn leather bomber jacket, slicked hair, a cigarette behind one ear, and a ratty guitar slung around his neck. His wiry body leaned against the microphone as he closed his eyes to roar to the music.
Recovering himself, Spike gulped at his lager, and listened to the music. He found himself enjoying the raw power of it. He closed his eyes partly as the rhythm of the music sped up and directly into Spike's bones.
He felt a chill run through his body. Then he gave himself over to it.
A couple hours later, the band knocked off. While the next band prepped the stage for their set, Spike leaned against the wall and waited for the rush to subside, quietly finished his last in a long line of pints, and waited for Giles to emerge from backstage.
He noticed the rest of the pub's patrons staggering around, like it were 3 in the morning and they had found themselves too drunk to go home and too hungover to enjoy more nightlife. Gradually, he saw the bar's patrons open their eyes and shake something off. It was only 9 o'clock.
The next band started, and the crowd sat down, drunkenly and sedately watching the set. The mood in the place had shifted.
Spike glanced around the bar for Giles.
"Love –" Spike stopped a passing waitress. "Has Giles come out yet?"
She seemed perplexed.
He tried again. "Rupert?"
"Oh, Ripper. Yeah, he's probably still back there. I don't think he likes visitors."
"Suggestion noted," he said, as he gently pushed past her to the backstage area, pleased that he had already guessed that the watcher had been spiraling down to his former persona.
Spike prowled through the back hallways, passing a pile of men and women passed out in one room and Giles' musician friends snorting something in the next. After passing a boiler room and a small shitty bathroom, he found himself climbing a back alley stairwell upward to a small roof terrace where Giles crouched over a guitar, quietly humming to himself.
Spike took in the scene. The damp and ratty couch Giles sat on in the rain couldn't have been comfortable. This was a far cry from the dusty libraries and tweed suits that Giles usually sported.
"Rupert."
Giles glanced up, a slow smile passed over his face before leaning back over the guitar to pluck another tune.
Spike glanced at the view of the city's roofs, wet and glossy from the rain, the dark canal below, and the steady rain streamed down on them both. Then he sat down next to Giles and waited.
"Am I dreaming this? Or have you actually come to help me?" Giles could barely keep his eyes open as he collapsed back into the couch cushions and laughed maniacally to himself.
Spike lit a cigarette then a second one. He handed the first one to Giles and leaned back into the couch and let the rain fall down his face.
"Why are we here, Giles? What is happening?"
Giles drew deeply on his cigarette and closed his eyes. "You met the ladies back at the townhouse, did you?"
"Yeah."
"And you heard that … music...I played down there."
"Yeah."
"This is all I can do now."
"So, you're Ripper, now."
Giles' reply was slow and quiet. "Yes, Spike."
"Why? I mean, don't get me wrong, I think I would have liked you back in the day. God, Giles, we probably crossed paths then. You, conjuring demons to create chaos. Me, killing for the charge, the thrill. Nothing made me feel more alive." Spike glanced at Giles. "I probably did it because I missed feeling alive."
Giles smiled to himself, his eyes half-closed.
Spike added, "But that's not you, and that isn't me. Not anymore."
Giles laughed. "Isn't it?"
After gesturing to the half-empty bottle of scotch under the couch, implying that he should help himself, Giles told Spike how this all came about. It started shortly after Spike's trip to Africa, the one where all the vampires volunteered to die if only they could have their souls back. This was the trip where Willow cast a spell, the demon who held the vampires' souls in check had died, all of the vampires had died, Margot had given Spike some of her slayer power so that he would survive, and Spike had become human.
After the first debrief with them, Giles had wondered where the vampires had gone. Yes, they had told him that millions of piles of dust now littered the plain surrounding the Soul Demon's mountain cave, and they haven't seen a vampire since (except for Angel), and the mystical occurrences had been all but non-existent ever since.
But something had not sat well with Giles. He talked to Willow and Margot a few more times, but he knew that the entropy that had ruled their lives all these years meant that all systems bend toward chaos. No energy could be eliminated. It must go somewhere. And eventually it would out.
So, Giles had consulted with Willow and the English wicca. Were there pockets of magic elsewhere waiting to bust out of the seams? No and no, said Willow and the English wicca.
Then, Giles had consulted the books from Wolfram and Hart, the ones with all magical knowledge that could be tapped into with a simple question spoken into the index's spine. Where is the magic? A page opened, and the text appeared.
All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. – Edgar Allen Poe.
And nothing more.
So, Giles spent his evenings drinking, more and more. His days of stronger substances had been far behind him. But drink was the only drug left for the lonely man who knew only a lifetime of magic.
One night, he drifted into heavy sleep, fed by the family cellar of century-old scotch. And then it appeared to him.
He sat in a cavern staring into a shadow, trying to understand what he saw. Profiles of men and women cavorted around a tremendous bonfire. In the center of bonfire, a small figure was tied to a stake. I know her, he thought. Desperate to discover her identity, he spun around the cave looking for the source of these shadows. In the corner of his eye, sometimes he thought he saw someone. But it was just the same horrific scene dancing on the cave's walls. The men and women howled at the unconscious young woman, and in the dim light, he could see fangs protruding from their shadowy lips.
He awoke, his head pounding. He spent his days consulting with the English wicca. And every night, the same dream. It was all too much to handle, and he didn't want to drag Willow into his nightmares.
Eventually, the wicca became concerned and moved down from the Cotswolds into Giles' home to help him. They spent days meditating, pouring over the library, and fixing him tea for his hangovers.
It started with the sage they would breathe deeply while they meditated. Maybe this would help them see what Giles saw. Then, it was marijuana and finally, opium. The house started to fall apart. Giles no longer consulted the books. He spent his days strumming his guitar.
One night he fell into the same dream. And like every night, he spun around trying to catch what was happening just beyond his peripheral vision. This time, in his dream, he crumpled to the ground and wept. A pair of feet stood before him. He looked up into a face he hadn't seen in so long, a face he hadn't wanted to admit to himself that he had missed all these years.
Jenny Calendar, the Romany woman he had known back when there was a Sunnydale High School, and for that matter, a Sunnydale, stood before him.
And behind her, the shadows were gone, and the scene revealed itself. Millions of vampires lined the vast cavern, and all their eyes were on him. And the bonfire in the center of the now familiar scene revealed a semiconscious Buffy strapped to a wooden post.
Jenny's eyes grew soft at the man's horror and pain. "This is what happened to the magic, Rupert."
"No. Buffy died—"
"We all have, Rupert." Jenny turned, and her arm gracefully gestured to the cave of silent faces.
"Why is she here?" He cried.
"Because Buffy didn't die the way slayers die. This is the price that all slayers pay. But she didn't pay it."
"But, Jenny –"
She crouched and took Giles' face in her fingertips. "You know what you have to do..." Her lips gently graced Giles', silencing his sobs.
Giles closed his eyes, fear for Buffy and his broken heart over Jenny's death taking over, and gave himself over to the comfort, however so brief, of Jenny's kiss.
Jenny stroked his face and then slowly pulled away to stalk back to the vampire mob who began to get restless. Their maniacal smiles turned to laughs then howls, and then they started to dance again. The bonfire's flames grew higher, blocking Buffy from his view. The whole scene grew red and glowing, and it became difficult to see the millions of dancing vampires and Jenny's motionless small frame in the horde. The whole flaming scene began to spin like an orb in front of him. But concentrate, he did, on Jenny and the answers she held. He could still see her small figure in the glowing orb as it rotated like a bloody earth in front of him – no - like the molten core of the earth. And still Jenny stood staring at him.
The giant molten orb then cracked like an egg, and from the core a new figure emerged to take over the body of the woman he loved. It was a woman with long dark hair, a white nightgown and piercing eyes. Drusilla. An insane smile graced her lips as she stared into Giles' eyes.
He awoke again. The horror of the scene was too much for Giles. He spent his days asking the wicca and the Wolfram and Hart index for answers, drinking heavily, and vowing that he would not visit the cave again in his dreams until he knew what to do. This meant staying awake. At moments, contemplating that he had fallen for Drusilla's trick again was too much, and he would retreat to the pub to play loud music, the only way he knew how to stay awake. Drusilla had told him he knew what to do. But, what is it?
After days when he refused to fall asleep, the wicca had started falling into the same cavernous dreams, too. There was no escape. They would all spend their nightmares there if he didn't find the answer.
Then, one day, out of desperation, he called Spike, arguably the person who knew Drusilla best. Giles didn't know whether he would come but hoped he would.
Meanwhile, he spent his days seeing people around him drift into trances, and before they could fall asleep, Giles would leave them, lest they plunge into the same dream. It was a lonely and desperate time.
He knew if Spike couldn't help, his last resort would be to call Willow. But the idea of exposing her to Buffy's plight was something he couldn't yet consider. Mourning Buffy twice already had been more than enough for one lifetime, and he couldn't expose her friends and family to that again.
Yet, there was one person he could consider.
And, strangely, Spike was here at the other end of couch, staring blankly out into the rain, the now empty bottle lay listlessly in his lap.
"…I became Ripper long ago to escape the pressures of becoming a watcher." Giles was leaning against the railing and staring out into the London sky. "Now I'm Ripper because I know no other life."
"…I became human to save the world." Spike blinked. "Again."
Giles snorted, pulled a flask from within his leather jacket, and then poured the last drops into his mouth.
"Now it seems I have to find the vampires to save the world?" Spike tilted his head, and then stared into Giles' turned back.
"Or just Buffy." Giles whispered.
"Buffy." Spike threw the empty bottle into the night sky from the couch. Somewhere a distant crash echoed among the Camden alleys.
Spike helped Giles stumble down the stairway into the alley. They made their way back to the underground station and waited quietly for the train to arrive.
"So, how do we find this underworld?" Spike pulled a smoke from a pack.
"If you're around me long enough, you'll have no choice." Giles leaned heavily on a column in the dirty underground station. Turning away, he stared blearily up the tracks. "I suppose we'll both go."
"You could use the sleep, Rupert."
Wiping his eyes, Giles quietly replied. "It's not going to be restful."
They trudged from the Portobello Road station back to Giles' house, and quietly let themselves into the kitchen. Giles pulled out a box of Weetabix and tipped it toward Spike. The two men stood side-by-side leaning against the counter, munching, bumping their elbows against the pile of dirty dishes stacked on the counter, and contemplated what lie ahead.
There was no sound from the slumbering wicca as they made their way upstairs to Giles' room where the young woman still slept.
While Giles rummaged around his dresser, Spike nudged the young woman awake. She sat up and wiped her eyes as she took in the scene.
"Love," Spike gently explained. "We need you to be awake and sober. We're going there to figure out what Drusilla wants with Giles."
The woman stared into the Spike's eyes as she began to comprehend.
"We'll need someone to wake us up if it all goes pear-shaped. Can you do that?" Spike had his hand on her arm.
She nodded.
Spike turned to Giles who was holding an ornate brass pipe, a thin wisp of smoke curling from the corner of his mouth.
"It's opium. It'll help." Giles' voice shook.
Spike nodded and took the pipe while Giles slowly collapsed into the bed.
That was the last thing Spike remembered.
It was dark. A woman stood over the still form of Giles in a dark tunnel.
Spike turned to her. "You're Jenny."
The woman spun toward him and in a flash, turned into Drusilla.
She floated toward him. "Sweet William." She reached for his cheekbone with one bloody finger.
Spike pulled away. "Dru." His eyes searched hers. He was certain it was her. He had experience with nasty things posing as his former paramour. "Love, where are we?"
Drusilla knelt beside him, her hands in her lap. "Don't ask questions you know the answer to." She pouted.
"So, we're in hell." His eyes searched the walls. "Pavayne tried to drag me here a couple times. Guess we all knew I'd end up here eventually."
Drusilla smiled, her eyes flashing. "Just fairy tales, my love." She stood up and weaved her body to a silent tune. "Falling babies. King of demons." She turned to Spike, suddenly angry. "The bough always breaks!"
"So, you don't go much for the Judeo Christian tradition then." Spike rolled his eyes and stood up.
Still Giles' body was still.
"What's with him?" Spike tried to wake the watcher.
"Watcher only watches," she taunted him as she danced around him.
Drusilla began to weave around the walls again. "Baby crashing, sunshine will save the baby." Her eyes flashed back to him. "Sweet William. Do you want to save your sunshine?"
Spike's eyes followed her. "Buffy."
Drusilla smiled.
"Yeah. Lead the way then."
Drusilla began to dance down the tunnel. A distant red light grew brighter. Along the way, wicca lay strewn about, deep in sleep.
Spike followed. "What about the witches-?"
His question was cut short as he walked into vast cavern where many vampires spun, swayed, hooted and yelped around a vast fire encompassing a blond woman tied to a stake.
Ironic, he winced. But, beneath the joke laid pain.
Drusilla stood before him, rubbing her bony hands together. "I only wanted you, my sweet William." She found Giles and used him to lure me here, he thought, ruefully.
She began to creep closer to him, her eyes staring directly into his. One graceful hand gestured to the fire. "Effulgent, innit?"
The other hand reached for him. Spike stepped back, alarmed. He turned his eyes away, avoiding her mesmerizing gaze. "No, Dru. I got my soul back. I got my humanity back. Sing me a new tune."
Her hand slowly snaked up to his hair, and the heel of his hand burst out from his turned back, shooting her back ten feet. Guess I still have a little slayer power. She crumpled at his feet, weeping piteously.
"Dru, I'm sorry." He looked down at her. "I don't want you. I looked for you at the Soul Demon's mountain. I wanted to be sure what I was about to do was something you wanted. But, I don't want this."
The vampire horde stopped their dance as one and turned to them.
"If you won't have me, then you'll get your wish." She simpered.
The vampires pounced, pulling the man toward the flames.
He struggled mightily, but they were too many. The flames grew closer. The heat was unbearable. The flames parted, and the vampires threw him toward the post and the unconscious woman.
Spike peered up into the face of the girl he loved. Her blond hair hung in sweaty clumps, the heat was so oppressive. Her eyelids parted. His hand touched the young woman's hand tied behind her back. He fumbled with the lashings, trying to untie her. He managed to get one length of rope free when it suddenly came alive and wound around him and yanked him toward the pole. His head crashed against the pole. The ropes wound tightly around him and pulled him up and around the stake until he was secured back-to-back with the slayer.
Again, he struggled. Again and again. But as he tired, he heard her voice.
"Spike."
From his high vantage point, he saw the vampires cackling demonically as they cavorted around the bonfire.
He stretched his fingers to reach hers. He leaned his head back and gathered his breath.
"It's no use."
"Buffy, I —"
"No. They have us." The slayer's fingertips touched his. "This is where they belong. This is where they came from. They have all the power here."
Spike swallowed.
"How long has it been?" Her voice was a whisper, but still, he could hear her.
"1,653 days."
"Somehow I knew." Her voice was a small cry. "I have lived every moment of those days here, tied to this. With these vampires."
His hand gently stroked hers.
"Then a little a while ago, there was suddenly a whole lot more vamps. And Drusilla."
Thinking back to the events at Mt. Kilimanjaro, he choked. It's my fault.
"Why, Buffy, why here?" His thoughts roamed. "You deserved your rest. You saved the world. A lot. Now you're here. Why you?"
His eyes scanned the cave for other people. There were no other slayers. Just him and her.
"—I don't know, Spike."
"Buffy, there's something you should know about me."
"I know, Spike." Her hand now stroked his. "Sometimes, I get a few minutes of sleep, and I have the slayer dreams." Her throat was so parched from the fire and the sudden effort of speaking after so long, but she continued in a whisper. Somehow, he could hear her above the fire's roar. "I dream about all the other slayers, Faith, Vi, Rona, all the ones I don't know. Then when Drusilla appeared, the dreams - there was you. I knew."
Spike blurted out. "I did this. I wanted them all to die. And the only way for me to survive ..." He paused and shook his head. "...was for me to take a girl's slayer power."
Buffy's hand never left his. "No. She wanted you to have it, Spike."
The two leaned against the pole, silent.
Days, hours, fuck, I don't know, crept by as the vampires danced around their merry bloody maypole.
"Spike."
He snapped out of his trance at her voice.
"When the time comes, you have to do what she asks."
"No, Buffy."
The flames parted. Drusilla stalked toward the pair, and then untied them. They fell at her feet, weak.
She pulled them by their hair as they scrambled through the tunnel of fire.
"Do you know why you're alive, Spike?" She cooed as she pulled him to his feet before the vampires clamoring for violence. So much for not being hungry anymore, he briefly thought of the vampires who demurred last time he saw them back in Africa.
He swayed as Drusilla held him aloft, one hand clutched around his throat.
"Dunno." He could barely croak out the words, but an opportunity for snark never passed him by. "Because my father had a good day?"
She threw him to the ground and bent toward him, her eyes piercing into his, millimeters away.
"No! Bad dog!" She admonished him, standing above him. "Because you'll soon be dead."
The logic left Spike flummoxed. He crept one hand toward Buffy.
Drusilla crouched down and snatched his hand away, then slowly pulled it closer to her mouth and began to kiss his fingertips.
"Do you want a taste?"
"Dru," he said wearily. "Talk to me plainly. I've had what I think is half a bottle of scotch and a whole mess of opium, and days up on that sodden underworld version of a crucifix. And I'm human now. I don't have the energy for riddles."
Drusilla smiled then gently stroked his face. "I have a present for you. But you must accept it. No magical fingers." Her hand which had held many a victim in thrall over the centuries suddenly withdrew from his face. She nodded to the slayer, who lay mere feet away.
He looked at Buffy whose half-mast eyes pleaded with him.
Suddenly, he understood. She wants me to drink from Buffy.
Alarmed, he turned to Drusilla. She smiled. All the bloody clues. Buffy hadn't paid the price. Buffy's the only slayer whose hadn't been killed by a vampire or a demon or magic of any kind. She was the strongest slayer to ever live. And then she died of old age. Well, old age for a slayer.
Turning to Buffy, he peered into her eyes.
"Spike, please. I want to rest."
He spun around. He understood this. Isn't this why he became a human? Isn't this why he followed Margot to Hawaii? But there had been no rest for him. He knew there was something out there that couldn't rest. It was Buffy.
The price for being a slayer is that someday it will be the one good day for a vampire. If I do this, Buffy will be released from this Hades.
Drusilla laughed. "There's no two-headed dog, here, love. There's only you. Once a dog always a dog."
He turned back to Buffy. Tears streamed from his eyes. "I'll do it."
Drusilla gently turned him back to her and stroked his face as she sank her fangs into his neck. His blood pulsed, slower and slower until the cavern's firelight began to dim. He slipped from her grasp. Then something cold pressed against his lips. Her cold veins appeared before him, and he wanted nothing more than to dive into them. With his waning strength, he pierced Drusilla's skin with his blunt human teeth and drank deep. He swam in the undulating current of her demon blood. He never wanted to surface. There was no need to breathe again.
A rhythm filled his ears. It was the distant beat of the music that had filled his bones in that Camden club.
Somehow, I knew I would end up here, he dimly thought as he awoke again.
Filled with a pulsing power that filled every fiber, he stood up in one effortless move. Something about all of this was so familiar. He glanced around. He found Drusilla's dancing eyes piercing into his. He smiled and reached for her. She swayed toward him and his embrace. He pulled her toward him and kissed her. Her blood on his tongue mingled with his on hers, and the vampire horde howled. The fire danced brighter and higher.
He pulled away when a scent caught his nose.
Glancing at the ground, he found the slayer staring directly into his eyes.
"Buffy."
"You've always wanted to taste the slayer, my sweet William." Drusilla's voice was low and in his ear.
He couldn't tear his eyes away from the slayer.
"No."
Drusilla whimpered. "My pretty Spike. Take the slayer."
"No."
He pushed Drusilla away and stalked toward the vampire horde who still danced around the fire.
"Stop!"
The vampires stopped mid-stride and turned toward the vampire in fear.
In full game face, Spike issued his orders. "Tie the slayer to the post."
The vampires moved as one and yanked the slayer back through the parting fire, where the ropes entwined around her again and pulled her to the post.
In thought, Spike stared at the girl in the middle of the fire as Drusilla drew close.
"Love, I'm thirsty." His yellow eyes flickered in the light of the flames. "I've got the taste for a nice, ripe wicca."
Drusilla led him toward the thrones high up on the cavern walls, and one by one, the witches were dragged to the new king of the underworld for him to drain. Drusilla only sat idly, occasionally taking a drink from the watcher who had been brought to her.
Giles had been biding his time. At first, when the vampires had dragged him out of his slumber in the tunnel, he had been frozen in shock at the scene. Spike had turned on him and back to his old ways. His disappointment deepened into depression as Drusilla drank from him. This is what I deserve. I had to know where the magic went.
Then, as Drusilla spared him, he began to think. Every time she drank from him, he was aware of her powers of thrall, her ability to reach out with her mind and find others. He had watched her, knowing what she was capable of. And as she drank from him, he reached into her mind to feel for others who might help.
While he lay there, he considered the options. He couldn't summon the Scoobies. Having them here, watching Buffy suffer and Spike fall apart was more than they should see. They had already been through so much. He had already asked for help, and the wicca had suffered for it.
In the past, Giles had guided the Scoobies through the magic, watched their triumphs and failures, and lent what wisdom he could offer. And occasionally, he would step in and do what needed to be done. His soul had already been scarred by his time as Ripper. He hadn't wanted Buffy, Dawn, Xander, or Willow to have to have to feel the terror of choosing between a number of horrifying courses of action.
Somehow he had known that by asking where the magic had gone, he would be led to this place of agony. But, he had chosen this path. And now he needed to weigh the options.
I know what I have to do.
When Drusilla next drank from him, he would use the opportunity to reach out with his mind.
As time dragged, occasionally, Spike would feel sated. Then, he would call for another witch. Not once did he take his eyes off the slayer whose limp body hung from the stake within the fire. Eventually, they ran out of witches.
"Why won't you kill the slayer, love?" Drusilla's hand searched for his from the throne beside his. In a brief moment of clarity, she explained, her voice gleeful. "She's a present for you. I tricked the vampires into coming to the mountain, told them that peaceful slumber awaited them. I knew you would come." Her voice then turned sour. "Didn't expect that you would turn on us."
Spike turned his eyes toward hers. His eyes travelled down her throat. The thirst of a fledgling is so strong, he thought about feeding from Drusilla again.
"Tummy's rumbling, love."
Drusilla glanced at the watcher and dismissed him. She enjoyed keeping him as her pet.
Drusilla stood and addressed the masses. "Bring the slayer." There was no one else to drink from.
And once again, the flames parted and the woman was brought forward.
At his feet, the slayer crouched. With the last of her strength, Buffy pleaded with the vampire. "Spike, listen to me. Even if you're a vampire, even if you have no soul, I know that you can be a good man." She clutched the pedestal that his throne was perched upon. "Being a slayer means sacrifices. Even if that means you lose everything, everyone you love."
Spike's glowing eyes never once left hers.
"Buffy."
His faced shifted, and the brow ridges receded. His eyes softened to blue.
He knelt beside her. Her eyes looked up into his. He parted his lips, moved down her neck and pierced her skin with his blunt human teeth. While he drank, tears poured down his face as the girl slowly stilled beneath his touch. He pulled away and stared as the body of the girl he loved slowly turn to dust and drift away.
Drusilla stood triumphantly as the vampire howls reached a crescendo. The price had been paid.
The moon shone on the beach. Margot walked through the peaceful evening. The birds were quiet in the gently swaying trees. Waves softly crawled up and down the beach. She scanned the beach where the sea turtles rested. She smiled. So much love for this place she called home.
A wave crashed beside her on the black rock she stood upon. The tide was turning.
Then another wave swept past her feet. Then another.
She glanced at the turtles. There was movement in their dark silhouettes.
She sat down and watched them, one by one, slowly haul their bodies back into the surf, over the rocks and into the depths.
Hours later, they were gone, and she stared into the ocean.
Margot had been awake every night since Spike had left. Somehow she felt it was right that she should pay attention to the night if he wasn't around to do so.
The dawn was approaching as she neared the small bungalow they shared. She sunk into bed. Luckily it was Saturday. But, that wasn't true every day. Awake at nights and awake during the days, catching naps after work - it was exhausting. She hadn't slept for more than an hour at a time in a week.
Not everyone can be a vampire, she thought, as she slipped into deep slumber.
She passed into a place that she should have known about had Giles been more forthcoming in his call last week.
Her hand flinched on the rough rock. She opened her eyes to a dark tunnel and a distant red light. She lurched up and felt something familiar and heavy in her hand. As she made her way toward the light, she noted the red scythe in her hand.
She stopped short at the opening to the vast cavern. A bonfire licked the ceiling. Within the fire, several girls were strapped to a pole. Nearly every vampire there had ever been circled the fire in an ecstatic frenzy of abandon. High above them sat two figures. A dark-haired woman gently stroked the face of an older man crouched beside her throne. And a man drank deeply from a slight girl with red hair and then tossed her down.
Vi. Margot had met the slayer briefly on a visit to San Francisco.
The vampires paused in their dance, waiting to pounce on his leftovers. But, before her body was snatched by their outstretched claws, she disappeared in a cloud of dust.
The horde shrieked in agony.
The man above them laughed and laughed.
Spike.
Margot stepped back into the tunnel, clutching the scythe tight. Before she could back up the tunnel and outrun this mass of vampires that she was clearly outnumbered by, a cold hand clutched her throat.
A white face, scarred deeply, with a red mouth grinned ghoulishly at her. The tall vampire in the black leather pulled her to him. He smelled her.
"Another slayer for my children."
The Master pulled her into the cave. The millions of vampires howled at her appearance.
Drusilla stood up. This one is different. She glanced at the slayers tied to the stake within the fire, waiting to be fed to Spike. Would this one go in with the others? She shot a look at Spike who slowly stood up.
"Bring her here." His voice was quiet.
The Master pulled her up the cave's steps and pushed her down at Spike's feet.
Angrily glancing back at the old vampire, Margot was suddenly determined. That's it. I don't much like being shoved around. He wants another slayer. I'll show him one.
Margot looked up into the eyes of the man she knew.
"Spike. You mustn't do this."
"Do what? Feed from a slayer?" His head tilted as he peered into her eyes.
"I saw what you did to Vi. I don't understand."
He smiled. "That was only the latest one, love."
"No. It can't be. You're not a vampire. You can't be."
He nodded and laughed to himself. "Sure I can." He turned and gestured to the crowd below. "I'm the devil's henchman now."
"Shhhh!" Drusilla interjected, scolding him. "Tsk."
Spike paused. "You'll have to excuse Dru. She has vowed a strict disadherance to the Judeo-Christian nomenclature. To each her own."
Drusilla sat back down, and shot a side-eye at Margot. "Too late, this turtle is."
Spike only stared into Margot's eyes.
Margot took a deep breath and gathered herself. She started again "Spike..."
"Do tell me all your stories, love. Let us hear another one."
Stroking the face of Giles, who appeared to have been slowly drained to exhaustion and could only lay slumped against her throne, Drusilla sang, "Sometimes the hare escapes the pot, and the tortoise does not."
He then knelt beside Margot, whispering in her ear, "Is that what you are? A lazy turtle?"
"Spike," she turned to him as his eyes travelled down her neck. "You're not a slayer of slayers. You're a slayer."
He pulled her closer as his fangs grazed her neck.
"Look, Spike." She held the scythe out.
He jumped back and raised a fist, ready to strike it out of her grip.
But she only looked into his eyes as she offered him the hilt.
Drusilla stood, clutching her head.
Spike gently laid a hand on Drusilla's shoulder, as his eyes travelled back from Margot's eyes to the scythe.
Scarab beetles crawled up his neck.
The amulet began to burn his chest.
And the scythe glowed beneath his touch as he reached for it.
The soul, the sacrifice, and the humanity.
"You chose them all, Spike." Margot begged him.
The light drifted into the window as Margot turned over in her bed. She had slept for a day, and now the sun was rising again. God, I hope that wasn't a slayer dream. I haven't had one of those in a while.
She padded into the kitchen and brewed some tea. She stared into the sun, and decided it was time to call Spike.
Back in England, Spike and Giles were waking up from their weeklong dream. The wicca was still there, anxiously perched beside them. When they opened their eyes, she announced, "Oh, good, I was just about to wake you lot."
The men slowly arose, looked at one another, glanced away, and then made their way down the stairs. Except for the woman who followed them out of the bedroom, the wicca were gone.
Spike glanced around. Giles was uncomfortable around the man.
While the wicca made them some breakfast, she explained that every time she left their bedside vigil, she would notice that several more wicca were gone. But their luggage remained.
Spike stepped out into the garden for a smoke. He had a lot to think about. The sun streamed down, and he closed his eyes and tilted his face to the warm rays.
Hours later, the watcher, the wicca, and the former vampire sat together for a conference call with Willow and Margot.
Before calling Spike, Margot had called Willow for some advice. She hadn't wanted to alarm him without the full information.
Willow had listened, and then said she would do some research and call back in an hour or so.
She called back and patched the England crew into the call before explaining what had happened. It's true; when Buffy had died, her soul had gone to the underworld where the vampire demon spirits dwell. And she would never have found peace until a vampire had drank from her soul. That was the deal the original watchers had made when they had stolen a bit of demon essence in creating the original slayer. When Willow and the Soul Demon had sent the vampires to H-E-double hockey sticks, it had messed with the magics, she explained. Among the new underworld vampires was Drusilla, who had succeeded in casting a thrall on Giles, the wicca and the slayers through their dreams of the underworld. She wasn't sure what had happened with Spike.
Sadly, the souls of those who had been consumed by the vampires were lost to them now. Maybe they had found the peace that Buffy had found. Now they were only left with a handful of slayers who hadn't been lured into the underworld, Faith, Kennedy, and a couple others.
Spike reeled from the information, stood up and walked back into the garden. Giles let him.
"I don't know what this means," Willow continued, "about magic as it exists now. Clearly, we have a problem. But, the good news is that you all escaped."
The group was silent.
"There is some hope," Willow's added, her soft voice carrying thousands of miles to the group that listened.
"But, it does mean more work," Willow sighed. "It's hard enough policing this plane of existence. Now we have Hades."
Spike winced, just on the edge of earshot. He had moments before returned from outside and stood in the doorway, staring at the phone.
As the call ended, Spike hadn't said much to Giles or Margot. What could he say? He might not be a bloodthirsty demon here, but on another plane he had been. And that was enough for him to admit that he wasn't ready to go home yet.
Sod it, he thought. No time to wallow. I beat back the demon so many times, and I can do it again.
Spike was deep in thought as he boarded the plane back to the states. He clutched his one-way ticket to San Francisco. He knew he was still human, but something deeply troubling had happened in the underworld. And he knew he needed Willow to get to the bottom of it.
This is followed up with part 3, "Just Another Witch".