The Keeper of Truth
Chapter 10
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.
Distribution: If you want it, email me.
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.
This chapter gets kind of dark. It includes self-mutilation and suicide attempts are mentioned. Just a warning- if you're sensitive to those things, you may want to skip this.
*****
California
October, 2000
Pacing is highly underrated, Buffy thought as she walked the narrow room.
Beneath her feet, the carpet squished wetly, making her wince with disgust. She spoke out loud as she paced, counting her steps.
"One, two, three, four, hit wall, turn, repeat." The motel room was closet sized and smelled of stale sweat, old sex, and carpet cleaning solution. She hadn't expected any better from the look of the dilapidated building, or from its location. Luxury hotels didn't exactly flourish on the outskirts of Sunnydale. Who'd want to vacation on the Hellmouth's suburb? Expecting a hovel or not, the roaches that scurried for cover when Buffy opened the bathroom door made her wish she'd chanced being recognized and gone with Spike into town.
"Of course, it doesn't help that he's…" she checked her watch, "over an hour late. He knows I'm sitting here, freaking out with worry, and does he even call?"
She kept pacing, taking comfort in the soothing rhythm of her steps. The knot of worry that had formed when Spike left to kill Ben had grown into a full-fledged tangle of fears and anxiety. Trying to calm herself, she kept talking.
"I should've stayed home with Hugh. Let Spike do all the work. Why not? It's not like I'm such a huge help, staying here. Pacing like a freak…. talking to myself… oh yeah, definitely should've stayed home."
Or maybe we both should've stayed, she thought, her shoulders slumping. The other Buffy… she could've had some peace. Death isn't so bad… it's… A shudder tore through her as her mind filled with the image of Spike from her nightmare. Monster-faced, growling, and the blood… Dawn's blood, all over his hands.
"Shush, Buffy," she told herself, not wanting to think about death, good or bad. "Think about the jungle, about good, alive things. Hugh, cooking breakfast, wearing his pink apron. Spike, naked, covered in mud. Alive equals good."
She whipped around as the door to the motel room opened suddenly. Spike rushed in, shutting it behind him. He leaned his forehead against the door, breathing heavily.
"Hey!" she said, moving towards him. "You're okay?"
He nodded, and slowly turned to face her, but did not meet her eyes. Tensing his jaw, he said, "Ben was an easy kill."
Because he was trusting. He was… he was decent, she thought, but forced herself to harden her heart. "Glory's taken care of. We can go home now." She held out her hands for his, but instead of taking them, he brushed past her into the room towards the kitchenette. "What's with the bad mood?"
The tiny refrigerator shook as he slammed it shut, a mug of blood in his hands. Patting his jeans pocket, he pulled out a tiny flask and spiked the blood before downing the entire cup in three desperate gulps.
"Spike? What happened? You… you're an hour late. We said we'd meet at eight o'clock. I was scared."
Tossing the mug aside, he swept towards her. Without a word, he gathered her in his arms, holding her face against his neck with one hand around the back of her head. "Buffy," he said, the word mumbled into her hair. "God."
Rubbing her mouth across the breadth of his collarbone, she breathed in his scent. "You are okay, right?"
He nodded, hugging her closer.
"It went down all right? With Ben… Glory's really taken care of?"
Nodding again, he buried his hands in her hair, kneading her scalp.
"What is it you're not wanting to tell me? What's wrong?"
Taking her shoulders in his hands, he pressed her down to sit on the edge of the bed. "Pet…" Biting his lip, he lowered himself to the mattress beside her. "Well… it's not… it's not simple, you see…"
Color rose in her cheeks, contrasting the paling of the rest of her face. Her eyes widened, then narrowed as she glared at him. "Tell me. It can't be that bad. Whatever's wrong, it's just couldn't be that bad. Tomorrow morning, we'll be on a train back to the jungle."
"Well, love… well, no, we won't be heading home tomorrow."
She grabbed his hands, squeezing them. "What? Don't say that. We're going home. I have our tickets, our bags are packed..."
"No. You won't want to after I tell you… See, I'm late because I had to scope something out… a gut feeling of mine. Things… in town, I mean, they just felt… off. The streets were full of road pirates, demons on motorcycles. They tend to show up when a town is wide open for the taking. I went to the Bronze… it was demon central. No humans to speak of, just pirates and vamps and the like. I poked around a bit, asked a few questions." Looking down at her hands, he hesitated. "They told me the Slayer hasn't been seen out of her house for over a year. Not since… not since your… I mean, her mother died."
"Huh? No." Tossing off Spike's comforting hands, Buffy jumped to her feet. "No, my mom didn't die then. It was later… it wouldn't have happened yet." Realization washed over her, making her sink back down onto the bed. "Oh God," she whispered, staring at Spike. "You think that I did this? That my being here screwed things up?"
"Unless your future included total chaos in the streets?" His voice sounded almost hopeful. "I… I'm sorry, love. Didn't want to tell you this. But… it's bad out there. Those road pirates… they're nasty blokes. Smash and burn, that's their way. They eat up whole towns and spit them out before moving on. Not safe for humans, not even safe for lesser demons."
"But… but we tried so hard to… we were so careful not to let anyone see me. Two years in the jungle, in the middle of nowhere…saying goodbye to my whole life… and for what?"
Stricken, he flinched as though she'd slapped him. "What for?" He took her shoulders in his hands and drew her towards him, pressing his forehead against hers. "For this, Buffy."
She exhaled heavily, staring into his eyes with tearful intensity. "Spike…"
"For our life. Yeah, the life in the jungle, in the middle of nowhere. Weren't you happy there, with me? I know the Brownie is a bit of a poofter, but you two get on okay. And you have your garden… and… well, me." He shook her once, forcefully. "You *were* happy."
She closed her eyes, hiding the shining tears that filled them. Dropping her cheek onto his shoulder, she nodded. "That's what makes it so terrible. Don't you understand? All the time I was down there, happy, with you… all that time, I'd left this huge mess behind. I caused all this pain, and all that time, I was happy."
Stroking her hair, he said, "So was I. First time in my whole sorry existence, I had something good and clean. I wish we'd never come back here, never found this. Be better that you'd never known."
She considered this, his words an enticing hum in her mind, but knew the truth. "I could've lived out my whole life there in the jungle. I could've been happy forever there, with you. But knowing this… I can't just pretend it's not true."
"We're going into town, then?"
Standing, she straightened her shirt and finger-combed her hair, forcing calm into her body with the familiar rituals. "Yeah. Carefully, but yeah. The demons you talked to could've been wrong about Mom. I don't want to mess things up any more than I already have, but I need to see what happened, what exactly it was I did to mess up the timeline. Maybe I can still fix it."
Off his skeptical look, she bit down on her lip. "Somehow. Or… or at least, I can take care of those demons. Kill them off and give the other Buffy some slack to work with."
Pulling a packet from his pocket, Spike lit a cigarette. The flame from the lighter made his eyes glow briefly. Regarding Buffy with a squint, he flicked ashes on the floor. "You should be prepared for a shock. They say she's a shut-in. A total nutcase. Too pathetic to even kill."
She took a quick, sharp breath, but steeled herself. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door to the motel. "Then we'll go to her."
*****
Sunnydale
October, 2000
"Umm… hello?" Willow said, swinging open the door to the Summers' home. She poked her head inside, following it with her body only when she was certain she was alone in the darkness. The house smelled stale, the air tasted stagnant and dusty, and the wall felt sticky as Willow ran her palm over it, searching for the light switch.
"Lights," Willow whispered, blinking as her eyes adjusted, and blinking again when she saw the mess that was the entry way. Clothes and dirty dishes covered the floor, unopened newspapers were stacked on the stairs, and a large pile of unopened mail leaned precariously against the doorway to the dining room.
Brushing her hands off on her jeans, Willow wandered into the living room, her pace tentative, searching. "Buffy?" she called, ignoring the mess. The room was unoccupied, so she moved to the kitchen, and then, finding it empty, to the upstairs.
After looking through all of the bedrooms, it became obvious that Buffy was not home. She sank onto the stairs, confused and slightly afraid. "No Buffy here. No Dawn here- no Dawn's bedroom either. Just the guest room. But duh, 'cause Dawn never existed in this reality. And she won't, either, because the monks didn't make her yet… not for another few weeks. No Joyce, but all her stuff is still here. So she's okay… probably just at work."
So, now what? she thought, dropping her head into her hands. The Magic Box, maybe, but going outside again… She shuddered at the thought. Dodging motorcycle demons, buildings on fire, and rampaging vampires roaming the town like they own it… not the most funnest thing ever.
"But I have to find Buffy. Once I do, none of this will count. I'll find her and then we'll fix everything." Her words in the darkness of the stairwell sounded hollow, so she cleared her throat and tried again, resolutely narrowing her lips. "Off to the Magic Box I go."
*****
"It's dark. Maybe there's no one home," Buffy said, striding up the porch steps to the front door. She paused, her hand on the doorknob. "You coming?"
"I should go in first. She sees me, she'll just stake me. Seeing you might give her an apoplexy."
"A stroke. No one calls them apo…whatever, anymore." Stepping back, she scanned the front of the house, craning her neck for a peek in the living room window. "I don't see anyone. They've probably all gone out."
"Slayer's a shut-in, they said. And with these road pirates getting their jollies on in town, I don't guess your mum and sis would be out and about, especially not after dark."
"They're not here, though. Mom and Dawn. I'd sense them."
"You can do that?" He raised an eyebrow. "Thought you could only sense my kind. Your little back-of-the-neck tinglies."
"A different kind of sense. The feeling… awareness, maybe that's a better word… for someone you love, when they're close to you."
Grabbing her hand, Spike pulled her up against his body, trapping her there with a long arm around her waist. "This kind of… feeling?"
She leaned into him for a moment, stroking her hands over his shoulder blades. "Not really, but this is okay too." The muscles beneath her cheek tightened as he chuckled. "What's funny?"
"This," he said, kissing her forehead and releasing her. "This doesn't strike you as a bit comical? Me, a vampire, snogging with the Slayer on her mum's front porch?"
"Don't call me that." She scowled at him, her mouth twisting. "What, we're back in Sunnydale so suddenly it's me, Slayer, you, vamp? I don't think so."
"Not even close to what I meant, Buff, and you know it." He moved towards her so quickly, she took an involuntary step back. Taking her face between his hands, he brushed his lips against hers. "You're nervous. I can see it. But don't twist my words up. You know who you are to me."
"Who?" She breathed the word across his mouth, warming it. "Who am I?"
Rubbing his thumbs over her cheekbones, he grinned. "You're everything alive inside of me, don't you know that? And right now, you're also the chit who's going to quit with the stalling and go inside your house. Invite me in, already, love. Go on."
Her mouth nipped at his, closing off his words with their movements. Winding her fingers through his hair, she ran her tongue over his teeth, then tangled it with his own. She kissed him as if she could enter him that way, as if she could send her soul inside of his body and live there forever.
Finally, she broke away, panting. "Spike…"
He shook his head. "No going back now."
"No, I… I just wanted to say… we'll go home tomorrow. No matter what we find inside the house, tomorrow we'll be on that train, headed back to the jungle."
Looking into the opaqueness of the living room window, Spike's lips tightened. "Right, then. Tomorrow. But for now…"
"Come in, Spike," Buffy said, turning the door knob and walking inside.
"Dark," he whispered, following her. He shut the door behind them, and moved slowly into the dining room. Tilting his head, he scented the air. "Umm… Buff… there's blood in the air. Fresh. Human." With another sniff, he pointed into the living room. "It's coming from there. Someone's in there, bleeding."
She rushed into the room, Spike trailing behind her. "Hello?" she called into the shadows. She groped the wall, searching for the light switch. "Who's there?"
"Leave it off," said a gravelly voice. "Like the darkness better." Someone scuttled, crab-like, from the archway to the kitchen further into the darkness on the far side of the room. A ray of light from the entry way caught the person's face briefly, red and disfigured.
"Who is that?" Buffy whispered, icy dread tightening in her stomach. She felt for Spike's hand and clasping it tightly.
Giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, Spike moved forward, towards the crouched outline of the figure across the room. He walked slowly, his hands held out, radiating calm and harmlessness. "Buffy? Is that you, pet?"
No, Buffy thought, watching as he lowered himself to the ground beside the figure. I'm right here. You call me pet. Not… that.
"Buffy? Am I Buffy?" The person laughed, a terrible sound. Jumping to her feet, she pushed past Spike and threw herself onto the couch. Both her hands concealed her face, then fell as she dragged her finger tips over the scars. "Am I Buffy? Not even close. Not even close to being Buffy."
Oh, God, Buffy thought, swallowing hard. Bracing herself, she took one step forward, then another. "You… you were. Buffy. You were Buffy, and you are the Slayer."
Light from a streetlamp pierced the window, and the Slayer-Buffy was revealed by it. Burns thickened her face. The skin, red and meaty, stretched tight over familiar bones. Smiling with her lipless mouth, the Slayer said, "I'm not. But I was."
Buffy dropped onto the coffee table, perching there precariously. Shaken, she wiped at her face, covering her eyes. "You're the Slayer."
Spike laid a heavy hand on Buffy's shoulder, pulling her back to lean against his legs. He shoved his other hand in the pocket of his jeans, hiding the tremble. Nodding at the Slayer, he said, "You did that to yourself, eh?"
"Myself. To myself. Yes, I did this to myself. Burned off my face. Off my nose. My lips, no lips." Her voice built up, raising higher and higher as she spoke. "How did you know, Spike? How did you know it was me?"
"It's your face, Slayer. No one burns a face unless they hate it. No one hates your face except…" He looked down at Buffy's bent head and couldn't continue.
"Except me. I hate my face. Hate my body and my hair and… and my hands." Holding up one hand, she studied it in the orange light. "My stupid, Slayer hands. So… so stupid. Couldn't even… not the Slayer. Not powerful, not a savior."
Looking up, Buffy reached out and took the Slayer's hand in hers. "What… what *happened* to you?"
The Slayer traced her thumb over the back of Buffy's hand, obviously startled. "Acathla happened," she whispered, her wide eyes gripped by the sight of her burned skin on Buffy's flawlessness. "Acathla. Angel. Drusilla. And then Xander and Gi…" Breaking off, she shook her head furiously, cropped blond hair whipping back and forth. "No. No, no, no. Mom, no." Her voice, keening, made them flinch.
"Hush, pet. You're all right," Spike said, kneeling beside the couch and grabbing her shoulders. He pulled her back to lie against the pillows. Stroking her hair, he blinked rapidly, trying not to look too closely at her face. The smell of burned flesh clung to her, hideously. "Shhh, love. Just… relax."
"We need to know what happened," Buffy said in a tight voice, hugging her arms around her body.
"Acathla, I told you," the Slayer moaned, rocking her face into Spike's palm. "Xander and I went in, to kill Angel. I told him to take care of Drusilla- I *told* him to! But he didn't listen, he… and then her fangs came out, and… I was fighting Angel, fighting hard, but then there was Xander, falling down all bloody. All the blood… and Dru jumped on my back, and things were black for a long time. And then…" She laughed against, hysterical. "Giles…"
Gulping down nausea, Buffy stood and moved a few feet away. "What happened to Giles?"
"They were going to kill us together. Me and Giles. I woke up, and he was there with me. Told me not to worry, we'd be fine. Liar, he was such a liar."
"Go on, love," Spike said, letting her rub the roughness of her cheek against his hand. "Keep talking."
"They knew how to open Acathla, but they hadn't yet. Drusilla made Giles think she was Jenny… thrall, you know? And Giles told her how. Angelus told me that, when I asked him. He told me Giles loved that gypsy bitch and would've told her anything, he was so happy to see her again. To touch her." Groaning, she clutched Spike's wrist, pinning him against her. "I haven't been touched since Mom died. Over a month. And over a year since a man's touched me."
"Just keep talking," Spike said, letting her touch herself with his hand.
"Drusilla went to kill him. Giles. Right next to me. But I asked *please*… I begged him, and he loved that… begged him to make her be Jenny in Giles' eyes. And she did, she was Jenny. Giles died in Jenny's arms, smiling… happy."
"Then what, pet?"
"Drusilla snapped his neck, so quick. She dropped him on top of me and left the room. Said the game wasn't fun anymore, that Angel had made it bad. She didn't like it when Giles died, I think. But that was bad for Angel, when she left, because it was him against me, and I beat him. Killed him. And then I picked up a hammer from the ground… they'd used it on Giles, you know? Before I got there? I took the hammer and smashed Acathla into bits. Bitty, bitty, bitty bits. Crumbs." She curled up into a ball, Spike's hand against her heart. "Didn't matter. They were all dead. Xander… Angel… Giles… all dead. Bits. Crumbs."
"What did you do then?" Buffy asked hollowly.
"I stood up. Walked outside. Into the street. A car was coming, so fast, like a blur." Smiling, she raised her chin and looked at Buffy. "I threw myself in front of it, and all that blackness came back."
"But you lived." Spike stroked a chunk of hair out of her face.
Blinking at him, the Slayer said, "Did I? Well, kind of. I guess. But it was over, after that. I wasn't the Slayer anymore."
"Which explains why the town's open for demons. But not your face. When did you do that?"
"Don't remember," the Slayer said, closing her eyes. "One day I woke up and realized I wasn't Buffy anymore. Couldn't stand it, having her face on me. I looked in the mirror, and there she was. So I killed her. Burned her to death."
"Must've been a while back. The burns have healed okay."
"Okay?" Buffy gaped at Spike. She waved her hands towards the Slayer. "You call that okay! Ask her about my mother."
"When did your mum die, love?"
"Not too long, a vamp got her. Just a regular vamp. She died, Willow says, a month ago. But Willow isn't here now. She can't stand me… can't look at me. She misses Buffy, but Buffy's dead."
Buffy shoved her face above the couch, into the stream of light. "Look at me," she said. "Can't you see me?"
The Slayer shrugged slightly. She raised her arms in the air, revealing rows of stitches cris-crossing the insides of her arms. Lowering them, she began to pick at one of the cuts. Blood dripped down towards her elbow, soaking into her shirt. "You're dead. We're all dead. Ghosts, ghosts, every one of us."
"Nice job, those," Spike said, tensely casual. "Your work too?"
"Nearly did it this time. Made the blackness come back for hours and hours, but then it was gone and Willow was there." Sighing, she turned to her other arm. Scars branded her from wrist to elbow, rivets of gnarled flesh. She dug her fingernail under one of the stitches, searching for more blood. It welled up, shiny and thick. Looking at it, the Slayer grinned. "Someday the blackness will be all there is. Soon, I hope. I hate the light."
"Spike," Buffy whispered, backing away. Her face was bent into a pale mask of horror. "I have to…"
He stood up and pulled a blanket down from the top of the couch to spread over the Slayer's legs. "Rest here a bit, pet," he stuttered, then followed Buffy into the kitchen.
"That's *not* me," she said, grabbing his arm as he walked through the doorway. "That could *never* be me. No matter what happened, no matter how bad it was… I'd never be like this! How could this have happened?"
"I was supposed to be there, wasn't I? Then?" He held her away from him, his eyes hot. "You were wrong about me."
Startled, Buffy sank onto one of the kitchen stools. "Yes," she said, her hair falling around her face. "That was the day I told you about. The truce. It was suppose to be you, not Xander. I… I didn't realize that you were so…"
"Important?"
Pushing her hair back with both hands, Buffy looked up at him. Tears shined in her eyes, but did not fall. "I didn't realize you were anything, back then. Not then. I learned, of course." Holding her hand out to him, she whispered, "I fell in love with you. You know I did. You know… that I know, how wrong I was."
His anger bloomed fully on his face for a second, then he let it drop with a sigh. Her hand was hot in his, and he let her pull him to her. "I know, pet," he said, "but now we have a bloody mess to clean up."
She let herself cling to him for a minute, inhaling deeply, trying to replace the smell of burned skin with his own scent. "She… that's not me," she whispered, holding him tightly. "Not me."
"I know, ducks, I know. You're a sight stronger than that. But it doesn't matter, you understand that?"
"Yeah, I know." Releasing him reluctantly, she slipped off the stool. "Let's just clean up the town. Get rid of those road pirates. Then we'll…" She grimaced, hating what needed to be done. "Take care of it."
"Take care of her," Spike supplied. "It's what she wants, love. The darkness, forever. And won't it be a mercy killing at that?"
"It's… yeah, mercy. And another Slayer will be called, and we can go home. But I still don't like the thought of… well, killing myself."
"I'll do it. You wait outside." He gave her an odd sort of half- smile. "Finally get to kill you, after all."
"Make it…" She shook her head, unable to finish.
"She'll be happy," Spike said softly, wrapping his arm around Buffy. He led her out into the dining room. "It will be like a dream to her, I swear it."
"Thank you." She turned her face away as they walked into the entry way, not wanting to look at the Slayer. "I'll be…"
"Wait," Spike said suddenly, pulling her away from the door. "Hear that? Someone's coming."
They waited, tucked safely in the shadows of the dining room, as the front door opened.
*****
"Buffy?" Willow called, opening the front door of the Summers' home. "Are you here?"
"Buffy doesn't live here," said a voice from the living room. "Buffy's dead. I've told you that already."
Flipping on the living room light, Willow grinned down at the girl who laid on the couch on her stomach, her face buried in the cushion. "Buffy! I've been looking all over for you. You're not going to believe this, but… Buffy?"
Going over to the couch, Willow sat on the edge and patted the girl's shoulder. "Hey, it's me, Willow. I can't believe I found you. And you're alive! My spell worked, even if it did totally mess up the whole world. I've got so much to tell you. Buffy? Are you awake?"
The girl flipped over, toppling Willow back. Glaring, the light illuminating her terrible face, the Slayer laughed, long and low. "Buffy is *dead*!" she growled, grabbing Willow's shoulders and leering into her face. "Dead!"
When Willow screamed, the Slayer began to laugh.
Chapter 10
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.
Distribution: If you want it, email me.
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.
This chapter gets kind of dark. It includes self-mutilation and suicide attempts are mentioned. Just a warning- if you're sensitive to those things, you may want to skip this.
*****
California
October, 2000
Pacing is highly underrated, Buffy thought as she walked the narrow room.
Beneath her feet, the carpet squished wetly, making her wince with disgust. She spoke out loud as she paced, counting her steps.
"One, two, three, four, hit wall, turn, repeat." The motel room was closet sized and smelled of stale sweat, old sex, and carpet cleaning solution. She hadn't expected any better from the look of the dilapidated building, or from its location. Luxury hotels didn't exactly flourish on the outskirts of Sunnydale. Who'd want to vacation on the Hellmouth's suburb? Expecting a hovel or not, the roaches that scurried for cover when Buffy opened the bathroom door made her wish she'd chanced being recognized and gone with Spike into town.
"Of course, it doesn't help that he's…" she checked her watch, "over an hour late. He knows I'm sitting here, freaking out with worry, and does he even call?"
She kept pacing, taking comfort in the soothing rhythm of her steps. The knot of worry that had formed when Spike left to kill Ben had grown into a full-fledged tangle of fears and anxiety. Trying to calm herself, she kept talking.
"I should've stayed home with Hugh. Let Spike do all the work. Why not? It's not like I'm such a huge help, staying here. Pacing like a freak…. talking to myself… oh yeah, definitely should've stayed home."
Or maybe we both should've stayed, she thought, her shoulders slumping. The other Buffy… she could've had some peace. Death isn't so bad… it's… A shudder tore through her as her mind filled with the image of Spike from her nightmare. Monster-faced, growling, and the blood… Dawn's blood, all over his hands.
"Shush, Buffy," she told herself, not wanting to think about death, good or bad. "Think about the jungle, about good, alive things. Hugh, cooking breakfast, wearing his pink apron. Spike, naked, covered in mud. Alive equals good."
She whipped around as the door to the motel room opened suddenly. Spike rushed in, shutting it behind him. He leaned his forehead against the door, breathing heavily.
"Hey!" she said, moving towards him. "You're okay?"
He nodded, and slowly turned to face her, but did not meet her eyes. Tensing his jaw, he said, "Ben was an easy kill."
Because he was trusting. He was… he was decent, she thought, but forced herself to harden her heart. "Glory's taken care of. We can go home now." She held out her hands for his, but instead of taking them, he brushed past her into the room towards the kitchenette. "What's with the bad mood?"
The tiny refrigerator shook as he slammed it shut, a mug of blood in his hands. Patting his jeans pocket, he pulled out a tiny flask and spiked the blood before downing the entire cup in three desperate gulps.
"Spike? What happened? You… you're an hour late. We said we'd meet at eight o'clock. I was scared."
Tossing the mug aside, he swept towards her. Without a word, he gathered her in his arms, holding her face against his neck with one hand around the back of her head. "Buffy," he said, the word mumbled into her hair. "God."
Rubbing her mouth across the breadth of his collarbone, she breathed in his scent. "You are okay, right?"
He nodded, hugging her closer.
"It went down all right? With Ben… Glory's really taken care of?"
Nodding again, he buried his hands in her hair, kneading her scalp.
"What is it you're not wanting to tell me? What's wrong?"
Taking her shoulders in his hands, he pressed her down to sit on the edge of the bed. "Pet…" Biting his lip, he lowered himself to the mattress beside her. "Well… it's not… it's not simple, you see…"
Color rose in her cheeks, contrasting the paling of the rest of her face. Her eyes widened, then narrowed as she glared at him. "Tell me. It can't be that bad. Whatever's wrong, it's just couldn't be that bad. Tomorrow morning, we'll be on a train back to the jungle."
"Well, love… well, no, we won't be heading home tomorrow."
She grabbed his hands, squeezing them. "What? Don't say that. We're going home. I have our tickets, our bags are packed..."
"No. You won't want to after I tell you… See, I'm late because I had to scope something out… a gut feeling of mine. Things… in town, I mean, they just felt… off. The streets were full of road pirates, demons on motorcycles. They tend to show up when a town is wide open for the taking. I went to the Bronze… it was demon central. No humans to speak of, just pirates and vamps and the like. I poked around a bit, asked a few questions." Looking down at her hands, he hesitated. "They told me the Slayer hasn't been seen out of her house for over a year. Not since… not since your… I mean, her mother died."
"Huh? No." Tossing off Spike's comforting hands, Buffy jumped to her feet. "No, my mom didn't die then. It was later… it wouldn't have happened yet." Realization washed over her, making her sink back down onto the bed. "Oh God," she whispered, staring at Spike. "You think that I did this? That my being here screwed things up?"
"Unless your future included total chaos in the streets?" His voice sounded almost hopeful. "I… I'm sorry, love. Didn't want to tell you this. But… it's bad out there. Those road pirates… they're nasty blokes. Smash and burn, that's their way. They eat up whole towns and spit them out before moving on. Not safe for humans, not even safe for lesser demons."
"But… but we tried so hard to… we were so careful not to let anyone see me. Two years in the jungle, in the middle of nowhere…saying goodbye to my whole life… and for what?"
Stricken, he flinched as though she'd slapped him. "What for?" He took her shoulders in his hands and drew her towards him, pressing his forehead against hers. "For this, Buffy."
She exhaled heavily, staring into his eyes with tearful intensity. "Spike…"
"For our life. Yeah, the life in the jungle, in the middle of nowhere. Weren't you happy there, with me? I know the Brownie is a bit of a poofter, but you two get on okay. And you have your garden… and… well, me." He shook her once, forcefully. "You *were* happy."
She closed her eyes, hiding the shining tears that filled them. Dropping her cheek onto his shoulder, she nodded. "That's what makes it so terrible. Don't you understand? All the time I was down there, happy, with you… all that time, I'd left this huge mess behind. I caused all this pain, and all that time, I was happy."
Stroking her hair, he said, "So was I. First time in my whole sorry existence, I had something good and clean. I wish we'd never come back here, never found this. Be better that you'd never known."
She considered this, his words an enticing hum in her mind, but knew the truth. "I could've lived out my whole life there in the jungle. I could've been happy forever there, with you. But knowing this… I can't just pretend it's not true."
"We're going into town, then?"
Standing, she straightened her shirt and finger-combed her hair, forcing calm into her body with the familiar rituals. "Yeah. Carefully, but yeah. The demons you talked to could've been wrong about Mom. I don't want to mess things up any more than I already have, but I need to see what happened, what exactly it was I did to mess up the timeline. Maybe I can still fix it."
Off his skeptical look, she bit down on her lip. "Somehow. Or… or at least, I can take care of those demons. Kill them off and give the other Buffy some slack to work with."
Pulling a packet from his pocket, Spike lit a cigarette. The flame from the lighter made his eyes glow briefly. Regarding Buffy with a squint, he flicked ashes on the floor. "You should be prepared for a shock. They say she's a shut-in. A total nutcase. Too pathetic to even kill."
She took a quick, sharp breath, but steeled herself. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door to the motel. "Then we'll go to her."
*****
Sunnydale
October, 2000
"Umm… hello?" Willow said, swinging open the door to the Summers' home. She poked her head inside, following it with her body only when she was certain she was alone in the darkness. The house smelled stale, the air tasted stagnant and dusty, and the wall felt sticky as Willow ran her palm over it, searching for the light switch.
"Lights," Willow whispered, blinking as her eyes adjusted, and blinking again when she saw the mess that was the entry way. Clothes and dirty dishes covered the floor, unopened newspapers were stacked on the stairs, and a large pile of unopened mail leaned precariously against the doorway to the dining room.
Brushing her hands off on her jeans, Willow wandered into the living room, her pace tentative, searching. "Buffy?" she called, ignoring the mess. The room was unoccupied, so she moved to the kitchen, and then, finding it empty, to the upstairs.
After looking through all of the bedrooms, it became obvious that Buffy was not home. She sank onto the stairs, confused and slightly afraid. "No Buffy here. No Dawn here- no Dawn's bedroom either. Just the guest room. But duh, 'cause Dawn never existed in this reality. And she won't, either, because the monks didn't make her yet… not for another few weeks. No Joyce, but all her stuff is still here. So she's okay… probably just at work."
So, now what? she thought, dropping her head into her hands. The Magic Box, maybe, but going outside again… She shuddered at the thought. Dodging motorcycle demons, buildings on fire, and rampaging vampires roaming the town like they own it… not the most funnest thing ever.
"But I have to find Buffy. Once I do, none of this will count. I'll find her and then we'll fix everything." Her words in the darkness of the stairwell sounded hollow, so she cleared her throat and tried again, resolutely narrowing her lips. "Off to the Magic Box I go."
*****
"It's dark. Maybe there's no one home," Buffy said, striding up the porch steps to the front door. She paused, her hand on the doorknob. "You coming?"
"I should go in first. She sees me, she'll just stake me. Seeing you might give her an apoplexy."
"A stroke. No one calls them apo…whatever, anymore." Stepping back, she scanned the front of the house, craning her neck for a peek in the living room window. "I don't see anyone. They've probably all gone out."
"Slayer's a shut-in, they said. And with these road pirates getting their jollies on in town, I don't guess your mum and sis would be out and about, especially not after dark."
"They're not here, though. Mom and Dawn. I'd sense them."
"You can do that?" He raised an eyebrow. "Thought you could only sense my kind. Your little back-of-the-neck tinglies."
"A different kind of sense. The feeling… awareness, maybe that's a better word… for someone you love, when they're close to you."
Grabbing her hand, Spike pulled her up against his body, trapping her there with a long arm around her waist. "This kind of… feeling?"
She leaned into him for a moment, stroking her hands over his shoulder blades. "Not really, but this is okay too." The muscles beneath her cheek tightened as he chuckled. "What's funny?"
"This," he said, kissing her forehead and releasing her. "This doesn't strike you as a bit comical? Me, a vampire, snogging with the Slayer on her mum's front porch?"
"Don't call me that." She scowled at him, her mouth twisting. "What, we're back in Sunnydale so suddenly it's me, Slayer, you, vamp? I don't think so."
"Not even close to what I meant, Buff, and you know it." He moved towards her so quickly, she took an involuntary step back. Taking her face between his hands, he brushed his lips against hers. "You're nervous. I can see it. But don't twist my words up. You know who you are to me."
"Who?" She breathed the word across his mouth, warming it. "Who am I?"
Rubbing his thumbs over her cheekbones, he grinned. "You're everything alive inside of me, don't you know that? And right now, you're also the chit who's going to quit with the stalling and go inside your house. Invite me in, already, love. Go on."
Her mouth nipped at his, closing off his words with their movements. Winding her fingers through his hair, she ran her tongue over his teeth, then tangled it with his own. She kissed him as if she could enter him that way, as if she could send her soul inside of his body and live there forever.
Finally, she broke away, panting. "Spike…"
He shook his head. "No going back now."
"No, I… I just wanted to say… we'll go home tomorrow. No matter what we find inside the house, tomorrow we'll be on that train, headed back to the jungle."
Looking into the opaqueness of the living room window, Spike's lips tightened. "Right, then. Tomorrow. But for now…"
"Come in, Spike," Buffy said, turning the door knob and walking inside.
"Dark," he whispered, following her. He shut the door behind them, and moved slowly into the dining room. Tilting his head, he scented the air. "Umm… Buff… there's blood in the air. Fresh. Human." With another sniff, he pointed into the living room. "It's coming from there. Someone's in there, bleeding."
She rushed into the room, Spike trailing behind her. "Hello?" she called into the shadows. She groped the wall, searching for the light switch. "Who's there?"
"Leave it off," said a gravelly voice. "Like the darkness better." Someone scuttled, crab-like, from the archway to the kitchen further into the darkness on the far side of the room. A ray of light from the entry way caught the person's face briefly, red and disfigured.
"Who is that?" Buffy whispered, icy dread tightening in her stomach. She felt for Spike's hand and clasping it tightly.
Giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, Spike moved forward, towards the crouched outline of the figure across the room. He walked slowly, his hands held out, radiating calm and harmlessness. "Buffy? Is that you, pet?"
No, Buffy thought, watching as he lowered himself to the ground beside the figure. I'm right here. You call me pet. Not… that.
"Buffy? Am I Buffy?" The person laughed, a terrible sound. Jumping to her feet, she pushed past Spike and threw herself onto the couch. Both her hands concealed her face, then fell as she dragged her finger tips over the scars. "Am I Buffy? Not even close. Not even close to being Buffy."
Oh, God, Buffy thought, swallowing hard. Bracing herself, she took one step forward, then another. "You… you were. Buffy. You were Buffy, and you are the Slayer."
Light from a streetlamp pierced the window, and the Slayer-Buffy was revealed by it. Burns thickened her face. The skin, red and meaty, stretched tight over familiar bones. Smiling with her lipless mouth, the Slayer said, "I'm not. But I was."
Buffy dropped onto the coffee table, perching there precariously. Shaken, she wiped at her face, covering her eyes. "You're the Slayer."
Spike laid a heavy hand on Buffy's shoulder, pulling her back to lean against his legs. He shoved his other hand in the pocket of his jeans, hiding the tremble. Nodding at the Slayer, he said, "You did that to yourself, eh?"
"Myself. To myself. Yes, I did this to myself. Burned off my face. Off my nose. My lips, no lips." Her voice built up, raising higher and higher as she spoke. "How did you know, Spike? How did you know it was me?"
"It's your face, Slayer. No one burns a face unless they hate it. No one hates your face except…" He looked down at Buffy's bent head and couldn't continue.
"Except me. I hate my face. Hate my body and my hair and… and my hands." Holding up one hand, she studied it in the orange light. "My stupid, Slayer hands. So… so stupid. Couldn't even… not the Slayer. Not powerful, not a savior."
Looking up, Buffy reached out and took the Slayer's hand in hers. "What… what *happened* to you?"
The Slayer traced her thumb over the back of Buffy's hand, obviously startled. "Acathla happened," she whispered, her wide eyes gripped by the sight of her burned skin on Buffy's flawlessness. "Acathla. Angel. Drusilla. And then Xander and Gi…" Breaking off, she shook her head furiously, cropped blond hair whipping back and forth. "No. No, no, no. Mom, no." Her voice, keening, made them flinch.
"Hush, pet. You're all right," Spike said, kneeling beside the couch and grabbing her shoulders. He pulled her back to lie against the pillows. Stroking her hair, he blinked rapidly, trying not to look too closely at her face. The smell of burned flesh clung to her, hideously. "Shhh, love. Just… relax."
"We need to know what happened," Buffy said in a tight voice, hugging her arms around her body.
"Acathla, I told you," the Slayer moaned, rocking her face into Spike's palm. "Xander and I went in, to kill Angel. I told him to take care of Drusilla- I *told* him to! But he didn't listen, he… and then her fangs came out, and… I was fighting Angel, fighting hard, but then there was Xander, falling down all bloody. All the blood… and Dru jumped on my back, and things were black for a long time. And then…" She laughed against, hysterical. "Giles…"
Gulping down nausea, Buffy stood and moved a few feet away. "What happened to Giles?"
"They were going to kill us together. Me and Giles. I woke up, and he was there with me. Told me not to worry, we'd be fine. Liar, he was such a liar."
"Go on, love," Spike said, letting her rub the roughness of her cheek against his hand. "Keep talking."
"They knew how to open Acathla, but they hadn't yet. Drusilla made Giles think she was Jenny… thrall, you know? And Giles told her how. Angelus told me that, when I asked him. He told me Giles loved that gypsy bitch and would've told her anything, he was so happy to see her again. To touch her." Groaning, she clutched Spike's wrist, pinning him against her. "I haven't been touched since Mom died. Over a month. And over a year since a man's touched me."
"Just keep talking," Spike said, letting her touch herself with his hand.
"Drusilla went to kill him. Giles. Right next to me. But I asked *please*… I begged him, and he loved that… begged him to make her be Jenny in Giles' eyes. And she did, she was Jenny. Giles died in Jenny's arms, smiling… happy."
"Then what, pet?"
"Drusilla snapped his neck, so quick. She dropped him on top of me and left the room. Said the game wasn't fun anymore, that Angel had made it bad. She didn't like it when Giles died, I think. But that was bad for Angel, when she left, because it was him against me, and I beat him. Killed him. And then I picked up a hammer from the ground… they'd used it on Giles, you know? Before I got there? I took the hammer and smashed Acathla into bits. Bitty, bitty, bitty bits. Crumbs." She curled up into a ball, Spike's hand against her heart. "Didn't matter. They were all dead. Xander… Angel… Giles… all dead. Bits. Crumbs."
"What did you do then?" Buffy asked hollowly.
"I stood up. Walked outside. Into the street. A car was coming, so fast, like a blur." Smiling, she raised her chin and looked at Buffy. "I threw myself in front of it, and all that blackness came back."
"But you lived." Spike stroked a chunk of hair out of her face.
Blinking at him, the Slayer said, "Did I? Well, kind of. I guess. But it was over, after that. I wasn't the Slayer anymore."
"Which explains why the town's open for demons. But not your face. When did you do that?"
"Don't remember," the Slayer said, closing her eyes. "One day I woke up and realized I wasn't Buffy anymore. Couldn't stand it, having her face on me. I looked in the mirror, and there she was. So I killed her. Burned her to death."
"Must've been a while back. The burns have healed okay."
"Okay?" Buffy gaped at Spike. She waved her hands towards the Slayer. "You call that okay! Ask her about my mother."
"When did your mum die, love?"
"Not too long, a vamp got her. Just a regular vamp. She died, Willow says, a month ago. But Willow isn't here now. She can't stand me… can't look at me. She misses Buffy, but Buffy's dead."
Buffy shoved her face above the couch, into the stream of light. "Look at me," she said. "Can't you see me?"
The Slayer shrugged slightly. She raised her arms in the air, revealing rows of stitches cris-crossing the insides of her arms. Lowering them, she began to pick at one of the cuts. Blood dripped down towards her elbow, soaking into her shirt. "You're dead. We're all dead. Ghosts, ghosts, every one of us."
"Nice job, those," Spike said, tensely casual. "Your work too?"
"Nearly did it this time. Made the blackness come back for hours and hours, but then it was gone and Willow was there." Sighing, she turned to her other arm. Scars branded her from wrist to elbow, rivets of gnarled flesh. She dug her fingernail under one of the stitches, searching for more blood. It welled up, shiny and thick. Looking at it, the Slayer grinned. "Someday the blackness will be all there is. Soon, I hope. I hate the light."
"Spike," Buffy whispered, backing away. Her face was bent into a pale mask of horror. "I have to…"
He stood up and pulled a blanket down from the top of the couch to spread over the Slayer's legs. "Rest here a bit, pet," he stuttered, then followed Buffy into the kitchen.
"That's *not* me," she said, grabbing his arm as he walked through the doorway. "That could *never* be me. No matter what happened, no matter how bad it was… I'd never be like this! How could this have happened?"
"I was supposed to be there, wasn't I? Then?" He held her away from him, his eyes hot. "You were wrong about me."
Startled, Buffy sank onto one of the kitchen stools. "Yes," she said, her hair falling around her face. "That was the day I told you about. The truce. It was suppose to be you, not Xander. I… I didn't realize that you were so…"
"Important?"
Pushing her hair back with both hands, Buffy looked up at him. Tears shined in her eyes, but did not fall. "I didn't realize you were anything, back then. Not then. I learned, of course." Holding her hand out to him, she whispered, "I fell in love with you. You know I did. You know… that I know, how wrong I was."
His anger bloomed fully on his face for a second, then he let it drop with a sigh. Her hand was hot in his, and he let her pull him to her. "I know, pet," he said, "but now we have a bloody mess to clean up."
She let herself cling to him for a minute, inhaling deeply, trying to replace the smell of burned skin with his own scent. "She… that's not me," she whispered, holding him tightly. "Not me."
"I know, ducks, I know. You're a sight stronger than that. But it doesn't matter, you understand that?"
"Yeah, I know." Releasing him reluctantly, she slipped off the stool. "Let's just clean up the town. Get rid of those road pirates. Then we'll…" She grimaced, hating what needed to be done. "Take care of it."
"Take care of her," Spike supplied. "It's what she wants, love. The darkness, forever. And won't it be a mercy killing at that?"
"It's… yeah, mercy. And another Slayer will be called, and we can go home. But I still don't like the thought of… well, killing myself."
"I'll do it. You wait outside." He gave her an odd sort of half- smile. "Finally get to kill you, after all."
"Make it…" She shook her head, unable to finish.
"She'll be happy," Spike said softly, wrapping his arm around Buffy. He led her out into the dining room. "It will be like a dream to her, I swear it."
"Thank you." She turned her face away as they walked into the entry way, not wanting to look at the Slayer. "I'll be…"
"Wait," Spike said suddenly, pulling her away from the door. "Hear that? Someone's coming."
They waited, tucked safely in the shadows of the dining room, as the front door opened.
*****
"Buffy?" Willow called, opening the front door of the Summers' home. "Are you here?"
"Buffy doesn't live here," said a voice from the living room. "Buffy's dead. I've told you that already."
Flipping on the living room light, Willow grinned down at the girl who laid on the couch on her stomach, her face buried in the cushion. "Buffy! I've been looking all over for you. You're not going to believe this, but… Buffy?"
Going over to the couch, Willow sat on the edge and patted the girl's shoulder. "Hey, it's me, Willow. I can't believe I found you. And you're alive! My spell worked, even if it did totally mess up the whole world. I've got so much to tell you. Buffy? Are you awake?"
The girl flipped over, toppling Willow back. Glaring, the light illuminating her terrible face, the Slayer laughed, long and low. "Buffy is *dead*!" she growled, grabbing Willow's shoulders and leering into her face. "Dead!"
When Willow screamed, the Slayer began to laugh.