Chapter 12
Everything was arranged. Flights were booked. They were due to arrive in London on the 16 December. Buffy felt as if the world had ended anyway. She hadn't yet thought beyond Spike leaving. She knew she had to save the world again – she had to defend the Hellmouth – but she remembered all too clearly how she had felt when Spike had been in London before. She knew Spike felt the same, but he was better at covering – at least on the outside. She got the impression he was hiding something – but they had an unspoken agreement not to pry too hard if one of them wanted to keep a secret from the other – after all, what fun was a birthday present if you already knew what the parcel held?
They met at the Summers house – the cab was due to leave from there. Spike, Anya and Dawn sat with Buffy during those last minutes. Wesley was due to come back to Sunnydale to help in any way he could. Willow and Tara arrived to say their goodbyes. The travellers were due to fly to New York. At JFK they were supposed to meet Angel and go on from there together. Thinking about Angel, Buffy went back to the call she'd made to him after the prophecy had first been understood. He'd seemed very calm. She'd been upset at the thought of him being the sacrifice, but he told her not to worry about him.
"Remember when you jumped off the tower? You did that to save Dawn and the rest of us. This is my chance. My chance to do something really worthwhile. Living here in LA, I can help people – one or two at a time. If I can do this, maybe I can wipe my slate clean. Maybe I can finally forgive myself for Angelus' crimes."
Buffy had cried after that call while Spike held her. He'd known what was said. He'd listened in on the call as she made it. He felt it too. His recent dealings with his Sire had not been too cordial, but they were on the same side now.
The cab was outside. The whole group headed for the door, luggage in hand. Buffy hugged Anya then Dawn. Last she turned to Spike. She held onto him so tightly he thought she wasn't planning to let go at all. At last she did, and with one last kiss, one last admonishment to look after Dawn, he was gone. She watched as the cab pulled away, then walked back into the house with that awful empty feeling she knew she'd feel. Willow and Tara had gone into the kitchen to put on some coffee and she sat in the lounge with her feet on the seat in front of her, hugging her knees. She felt Spike's touch on her mind.
"Buffy, I know you've been dreading this. Truth be told, I've not been looking forward to it myself. But it's not like last time. We can still talk."
"I know, it is much easier when we can be together like this," she thought back at him. "But I can't touch you."
His thought smiled back at her. "Not as such, no. Close your eyes."
"Why?" she asked him, puzzled.
"Just do it, trust me," he replied.
As she did, she felt his lips on hers, felt his arms around her, holding her tight. It was as if he had memorised the feel of him in every nerve of her body. She opened her eyes again to convince herself he wasn't really there. The kiss stopped and she heard his thought.
"Enough for now, Dawn's looking at me as if I've finally lost my grip on reality. Why don't we continue this later, when we're both alone?"
Buffy was in the process of mentally agreeing to this suggestion when Willow came back in with two mugs of coffee, closely followed by Tara. She looked quizzically at Buffy who realised she had been sitting with a silly grin on her face, and reddened slightly.
"What time's Wesley due?" Tara asked to change the albeit unspoken subject.
"Later this afternoon," Buffy replied collecting her thoughts. "He's going to have the spare room here – there's no point in him going to a hotel."
Giles met the travellers at Heathrow. Their mood was generally quite morose. The news that Angel was to be a sacrifice had affected all of them to some extent – with Angel apparently the least concerned. Dawn was worried about her role in the event which was due in five days. She didn't have a clue what was expected of her and no amount of 'you'll understand when the time comes' type of comment had helped. Anya was scared for herself and for Xander. She was hopeful she could bring him back from whatever insanity had possessed him and relieved in some ways that she finally knew the cause of his behaviour.
They stayed in London initially. Giles had offered his spare room to Angel, and Anya was going to share with Dawn at Spike's flat. When they arrived, Dawn went around re-familiarising herself with the rooms, noticing many things she hadn't on her first visit. She took Anya around with her, trying to remember what Spike had told her about the things which were really old, which had come out of his family home. They stopped to admire a painting. Dawn didn't really like it – it was dark like old paintings often were. The woman in the picture looked familiar and she remembered Spike telling her it was his mother – painted shortly after her marriage. She seemed to look a lot like Spike – or at least the way he would if he didn't bleach his hair. She had mid-brown hair and very blue eyes. She also had his well-defined cheekbones. She was wearing a lot of jewellery. Dawn supposed that was the custom then. There was a tiara, earrings and a beautiful necklace set with what looked like diamonds. As she looked down at her hands, she saw Mrs. Stevas was wearing a matching bracelet and ring. "Must have been worth a fortune," she thought. As Dawn was looking at the picture, Anya was running her hands around the heavy gilt frame. With a sigh of satisfaction she said "I knew that frame wasn't sitting right," and pulled an envelope out from behind the picture– yellow and very aged. The faded writing on the front could still be made out – it was addressed to William Stevas.
The two girls rushed out to the lounge to give Spike the envelope. He took it from them in surprise and gently pulled at the wax seal which closed it. He pulled out a sheet of paper and a small key.
My Dearest Brother,
I buried my dear wife today and suspect my turn will not be long in coming. I'm sorry I could not let you know of her passing; I know you would have come to me had you known.
With Emily gone, I have no further need for the family jewels. They should have gone to your wife, but as things were, Emily enjoyed wearing them for many years. I hope you can one day find someone to wear them for you – not a wife perhaps – that would be too much to ask – but someone you care about.
I have made arrangements for the family money to come to you. I know you say you don't need it, but your future could be very long indeed. It always did me good to see you unchanged as I grew old.
When you hear that I'm gone, don't grieve for me. Emily and I had many years of happiness and many good friends.
Back to the point of the letter. I always thought you were the one who could never get to the point. The jewels are hidden where our mother always kept them. I will not say more in case this letter is found by someone else. I know you will remember. The key will give you access to the box.
Your loving brother,
John
When Spike finished reading the letter, he had tears in his eyes. When he had realised this was a letter from his brother, he had quickly hidden his thoughts from Buffy – initially so he could sort out his own thoughts before sharing them. Now he was glad he had. Those jewels rightly belonged to her, but he wanted them to be a surprise.
He quickly folded the letter, refusing to let the others read it. "Later," he told them, "maybe later. It's a letter from my brother – who's been dead for sixty – odd years. For now, I'd like to keep it to myself."
Later that night, when he was sure Dawn and Anya were asleep, Spike got up and moved silently across his bedroom. His mother's dressing table was against the wall next to the window. Kneeling on the floor, he felt under the base, feeling for the catch he knew was there. When he found it he quickly searched his memory for the correct sequence of movements to open the compartment. "There," he thought, as he felt the catch spring open. A large jewellery case fell into his hand. He took it back with him as he sat on the bed and opened it with the key. He had forgotten how beautiful they were. "No, wait," he thought, "there's something else here." A small velvet pouch held something, which was not part of the original set. He pulled out a dainty pair of sapphire earrings and a matching necklace and bracelet. They were much simpler in style than the diamond set – much more appropriate for this day and age. He smiled as he remembered his mother telling him they were a present from his father when their first child – when he was born. Funny, he couldn't remember his father well. He had died while his sons were still children. His mother had carried on alone only long enough for her boys to reach adulthood before following her beloved husband. He couldn't remember his father well, but he remembered their love for each other as if it was something current. "Enough," he thought, "if I get any more morose, Buffy's bound to feel it and worry. I wonder what the time is in Sunnydale." He looked at his watch. "Too early," he realised, disappointed. "I suppose I'll just have to get some sleep and catch her later when she goes to bed."
