Lot's of quotes from Bargaining I and II here, though not always from the same mouths. So again, all publicly recognized characters, quotes, places, and plotlines, belong to Joss Whedon and Co. Enjoy and Review! (:
"So, why isn't Tara helping us?" Anya asked, her voice hushed. She had been unusually quiet since they had entered the woods next to the cemetery, staying close to Xander's side. "I mean, wouldn't it make more sense for us to do this with two witches?"
"It's not important," Willow replied. She had been adamant that they not bring anyone else in on their plan; not Giles, not Dawn, not Spike, but especially not Tara. She had made her stance on resurrection spells clear when Joyce had died, and Willow knew that no matter how she argued for the different circumstances of Buffy's death, Tara wouldn't be a part of any such magic, nor would she simply allow Willow to do so without attempting to stop her. But it had to be done. Buffy needed them. That was why she had been unable to confess to Tara earlier that night, even though it almost killed her to watch the love of her life walk out the door.
"This is deep stuff Willow," Xander said, pulling her away from her thoughts while he lifted a tree branch for the girls to walk beneath. They were almost to Buffy's plot, and the reality of what they were about to do had become a glaring weight on his shoulders. "We're talking about raising the dead here."
"It feels wrong," Anya murmured, drawing her jacket more tightly around her.
"It is wrong!" Willow snapped. "It's against all laws of nature and practically impossible to do! But Buffy didn't die a natural death. She was killed by mystical energy, and that means we have a shot."
Anya frowned in the dark. "I just think that it would work better if we had Tara here. Or even Giles…"
"Well Giles isn't here is he?" Willow snapped. "I checked and rechecked the spell. It will work with fine with just us. Three is a powerful number… and the others might not understand."
Anya's frowned deepened, and she moved to protest once more, but Xander shook his head before stepping away from her and Willow. She watched with a terrible mix of emotions that she didn't fully understand as the human boy she loved took a few steps forward and reached out a hand to the stone that loomed in front of them. They had arrived at their destination.
Willow placed her bag carefully at the foot of the grave, rummaging quietly for a moment before passing out slim black candles. The ex-demon shivered when her fingers brushed those of the witch; she could feel a dark power brewing overhead, and the shadows seemed to be channeling through the girl. Moving to the left so that she, Xander, and Willow formed a triangle over the base of Buffy's plot, she reached deep into her pocket for the lighter she had made Willow pay for back at the magic box.
"One minute to midnight," Xander commented, checking his watch.
"Start the circle," Willow responded quietly.
Her and Xander's wicks caught, flaring bright in the dark, but Anya's hand shook. Her lighter refused to spark, and she felt the sudden fear of realization at how easily this spell could go so terribly terribly wrong.
"Anya, light your candle!" Willow demanded.
"I can't, it won't…" Flicking the lighter one more time, the thing finally took, flickering to life despite the breeze that had suddenly picked up.
The three friends knelt carefully and settled the candles in the grass. Reaching into her bag again, Willow pulled out the elusive Urn of Osiris, the last that existed in this world. Removing the top, she dipped in a finger and raised it to her face, spreading thick, sticky red in three strokes, forehead and cheekbones. Stretching forward, she poured the rest of the tacky liquid over the grave.
"Osiris," she began, "Keeper of the Gate. Master of all fate. Hear me!"
Her voice was heavy with power, her tone commanding. A chill ran down Anya's spine, and the lead weight of knowledge dropped into her stomach. The sky above them had darkened as a cloud slipped over the face of the full moon, a harsh wind cutting through the trees. The air positively crackled. This was no way to bring back a Slayer. Such a request called for begging and pleading, supplications and offerings. Bloodshed. Sacrifice. One did not make demands of the powers. But it was begun, and she could not stop it.
As she hurried quickly along the sidewalk in the dark, Tara's resolve began to waver. A chill wind was biting at the back of her neck, and the air felt heavy in a way that reminded her of spell casting. She was only halfway to the dormitory when she slowed to a stop, looking about nervously and tugging on the hem of her sweater. She felt a draw, something pulling at her to go back to the house on Revello Drive.
Perhaps it was guilt. Yes. She was sure that was it. She and Willow almost never argued, and now, this most awful of fights, she had been the one to start. She didn't think that she had been wrong to defend Spike, nor did she think it too much to ask that Willow be honest with her, but she had gone about it all wrong. She had been too forward, had said the wrong things, had obviously made Willow feel threatened or berated. Though that had not been Tara's intention, it had clearly been the result.
And she had left. Goddess, what had she been thinking? Walking away from the girl she loved after confronting her, running because she was scared that Willow didn't trust her. How could she do that? Especially now? Willow's use of magic was becoming a concern, and Tara knew how easily it would be for someone with so much power to slip into abuse, addiction, black magics. A shaft of moonlight played around her feet on the sidewalk, scattered by the shadows of the leaves on a nearby tree. A full moon tonight. Tara shivered, a strange sensation trickling down her spine. Trying to shrug it away, she turned from campus and hurried back up the street. She had an apology to make.
The Bronze was in true form, packed with people and humming with the excited energy of a Saturday night. Cutting a pathway through the crush of bodies, Spike led Dawn to a table along the wall near the back, his eyes flashing yellow at the couple who occupied it.
"Bugger off," he said in a low snarl.
Eyes wide with uncertain fear, the pair quickly departed, leaving their watery drinks behind. As Dawn hopped up onto one of the high stools, Spike deposited the dirty glasses on the tray of a passing bus boy, ordering a whiskey with a coke back and a shot of peppermint schnapps. His tone brooked no argument from the boy, though serving tables wasn't really something that was done at the Bronze. Climbing onto his own stool, Spike took out a cigarette and lit up, taking a deep drag and blowing the smoke out and away from Dawn.
"Hungry Bit?" he asked.
"No," she responded dully, tucking her hair behind her ear. Spike watched as her fingers shook.
The walk to the Bronze from his crypt had been fast and short, and the shock of the attack was finally starting to hit her. Her eyes were darting around, flashing from the bar, to the dance floor, to the balcony above her head; more importantly, her heart was fluttering nervously in her chest, the sour scent of adrenaline tainting her sweat as it moved out of her body. She needed a good dose of something strong, and some sugar to work through. She needed reassurance.
"Take it easy pet," he murmured, taking another drag on his smoke. "You're safe with me, yeah?"
Dawn took a deep breath and settled lower in her seat. "Yeah."
The bus boy returned; sidling nervously up to their table and eyeing Spike's cigarette but keeping his mouth shut as he deposited the three drinks in front of him. Impressed that someone so young already possessed the wisdom of silence, Spike slipped him a ten and waved him off. Holding back the whiskey for himself, he passed the red plastic cup of coke over to Dawn, followed by the shot of schnapps. She looked up at him with raised eyebrows, confusion on her face.
"I can't drink," she said, pushing the glass away. "I'm fifteen."
"And I'm a hundred and twenty six," he dead-panned, pushing the shot back. "You had a bad scare tonight Bit. Little sip will take the edge off, help settle the nerves."
The girl looked at him with a skeptical frown. Picking up the glass, she sniffed at the clear liquid and made a face, but bravely drank the mouthful down. Coughing slightly, she pushed the glass across the table.
"Burns," she remarked, her eyes watery. "It's like a candy cane."
Spike tapped his ashes into the empty shot glass before pointing his cigarette at her. "Special circumstance here Bit," he rumbled. "I catch you doing something stupid an' makin' a habit of this, I'll snap every one of your beloved boy band CDs in half. Do the whole world a favor. Got it?"
She nodded, picking up her coke. Spike couldn't help a grin when he saw her swishing the soda around in her mouth, apparently not too happy with the aftertaste of the alcohol. No worries about encouraging a bad habit then. He did feel a little guilty; she wouldn't have approved, but a healthy brandy had been the remedy for a bad shock for as long as he could remember. Taking a long pull on his whiskey, he tried to settle his own nerves, not sure why they were humming so badly. They were both silent for a minute, not certain what they were meant to say to each other that hadn't already been said.
"Spike? You said you're a hundred and twenty six right?"
" 'Bout that," Spike nodded, unsure where she was headed.
"So you've seen people, known people who've…" Dawn didn't say it, but she didn't have to. "How did they get past it?" She looked up at him and her heart was in her eyes. "How do we get past it? Where do we go from here?"
"No right answer to that luv," he sighed. "Mostly you just do what you can. You live through it an hour, a minute at a time, until one day you wake up and you realize it doesn't hurt as much as it used to. That you can remember the good times, the happy things… not just how much it hurts. You realize that even if you don't remember them every second of every day… it doesn't mean that you forgot. And you realize that that's ok."
"Feels like that'll never happen," she said sadly. "Like it will always hurt. Like it happened yesterday."
"I know Niblet," Spike admitted heavily. "Just means that you loved her."
And so did you, Dawn thought.
"So you just do what you can," he continued, nursing his drink. "Every day until that day comes. You live, and you try to be happy, because it's what she would've wanted. And you know I'll be here Bit, long as you want me around. Keep you safe. Listen when you wanna talk. Ok?"
Dawn gave him a small smile, and for the moment, it was enough. She opened her mouth to speak of lighter things, but then her gaze moved somewhere past his ear, her eyes narrowing as she leaned out around him. Spike felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up; slipping into his fangs, he spun on his stool and found himself face to face with a Genthos demon.
Much like vampires, Genthos demons were able to pass through the world unnoticed because they looked remarkably like normal people, at least until you got them naked. They were timid things, small in stature with appetites like snakes, eating mice, insects, and small reptiles, and as far as Spike knew, never hurting anyone or making trouble. He had seen a few of them in the Bronze before and had mostly left them alone when he crossed their paths, but he would make an exception should this one insist on making trouble.
"Shove off mate," he warned, his eyes flashing at the darkly-complected male.
"Sir," the demon quavered in a placating tone, "Forgive me. You are William the Bloody, Master Vampire of the Aurelian line?"
"What of it?" Spike growled.
"I beg a moment of your time Sir." The demon executed a small bow, nodding in a way that exposed his neck. Anyone else might have missed it, that flashing of the pulse point, but to a vampire it was a sign of submission, of respect. "I come with a message. I would not approach you were this not…"
Spike gave out a feral snarl, showing his teeth, testing, and though the demon flinched violently backward and dropped his eyes to the floor, he didn't leave. Spike could smell his fear, hear his heart pounding, could sense the effort it took for the nervous demon to face down a Master Vampire instead of flee. Though his motives were unknown, the fact that this little Genthos would fight so hard against his nature to deliver a message did not bode well for the tone of said missive.
Spike rose smoothly from his seat and turned to Dawn, placing a hand on her shoulder. She had been leaning forward with a look of great interest, straining to hear their low words. "Stay here yeah?" he said firmly. Pointing, he indicated an empty table halfway around the dance floor. "Gonna be right over there havin' a little chat. Still be able to see you. Finish up here and I'll take you home, ok?"
"Ok," Dawn said, frowning when she realized she was going to be left out of the conversation. "I'll just wait."
"Good girl." Giving her shoulder a squeeze, Spike turned and began to walk away, knowing the Genthos would follow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the demon bow to Dawn, touching his breastbone with his fingertips; a customary show of respect by his species for the female sex, whom were greatly honored within their culture. Trotting along behind him, the demon quickly caught up, waiting until he was seated before doing so himself.
"So tell me demon," Spike rumbled, leaning forward on his elbows, "what portent of doom do you bring?"