Spike strode ahead of Willow as they headed back to Revello Drive, hoping to avoid talking so he could replay the moments with Buffy. Now he wasn't so sure that he'd done the right thing by leaving—what if kissing her had been the right thing? Should he have stayed, did she want him to? This was driving him mad.
But they had kissed, and more. Buffy, the Slayer, had kissed him, Spike, William the Bloody. (Well, kissed him back anyway.) This was major, this was historic, this... he had never given up—it wasn't in his nature to admit defeat, but he had never really, fully believed that there was the slightest chance of this. Then, when she'd died, he'd surrendered even the tiny spark of hope that still smoldered, neglected and ignored, hidden deep inside. He had truly let go of the idea that this thing, the thing he wanted more than he had ever wanted anything in his long and storied afterlife, would ever come to pass. He had pulled out the hope, the spark, had acknowledged it, and had buried it, mourning it like a loved one, letting it go. And when Buffy came back, it was gone—he loved her still, and that was unchanged—but he had given up trying, and was ready to merely accept what was. Or so he thought.
But then she had seemed—and now this had happened. And in that moment, when their lips touched, when she pulled him toward her, it was as if he came back to life, just for those few minutes when she held him. As if her warmth had invaded, spread, and revived all the long-dead corners of him. Dormant dreams had no hope of staying dead—they had all flared to life with a vengeance. And now... all he could think of was what to do next. He had made a mistake—the more he thought about it the more sure he was. He shouldn't have left her alone, he should be there with her, keeping her calm. She would freak, she would stress, she would make promises to herself—and he wasn't there to talk her out of it!
Willow hadn't noticed his anti-social mood. She was full of ideas on how to get through to the fishy captive and wanted him to comment on all of them. He finally gave up and slowed down to pretend to listen. Maybe he needed the distraction anyway.
As he walked beside her, despite himself, he gradually found he was actually listening.
"Woah, Red, what are you on about? You can't do that, can you? Dru used to talk about mind-walking and stuff, but even she was never loony enough to try it—that's some serious stuff!"
"What, mind-walking? That's not so big, I totally can do that! I did that last year, with Buffy, before I even knew half the stuff I do now. You think Drusilla could do more than me, just because she had the sight? I brought Buffy back! Drusilla couldn't even fix your chip! I could, you know. If I wanted to. You have no idea what I can do—I'm very powerful, you know."
Spike hadn't been afraid of a human—of anything—in a very long time, but there was something in Willow's eyes that reminded him unpleasantly of Angelus with a new idea to introduce him to, of that mob in Prague taking Dru, of himself in that buggering wheelchair, or powerless and restrained in the tunnels of the Initiative. She looked at him challengingly, and it felt as if she could see right into his head, where the chip nestled. What had happened to the innocent schoolgirl in her goofy sweaters? He racked his brain trying to remember when she had stopped hiding in the background and changed so much. He thought that maybe it was over the summer, with Buffy gone, that she had really expanded to fill the leadership gap. Was she chafing at being demoted again? Or was it just the seductive pull of the magics, the knowledge and the power?
He stayed quiet after that, and Willow did too, seemingly absorbed in her planning. When they reached the house Spike set himself up on the couch, and Willow went upstairs, stating her intention of casting protective wards around the house.
xxxxx
Buffy stretched out on the couch at Giles', finally alone. Giles had gone upstairs to sleep, after making it very clear that he hoped that his tub would not have to be occupied for long this time, and Tara was in the bathroom with the creature, trying to communicate. Though Buffy had been waiting impatiently to be alone since following Spike inside nearly an hour ago, now she found she didn't know how to use it. She had wanted solitude to think about what had happened outside, but her mind was a jumble, thoughts slipping and turning and sliding out of reach. Every time she tried to concentrate, she succumbed to the physical memory of Spike, of their kisses.
It had been...the greatest thing she'd ever felt. It had overwhelmed her, quieted her busy mind and awakened her deadened senses, all at once. She felt zingy all over, and though she'd wanted him to leave, now she felt his absence like a vacuum, a tangible void. She just wanted to run to where he was and pull him to her. Even the thought of touching, again, like that...she sighed and smiled.
But what had happened there—after? She thought it was her fault, that she had done something, but what? And how? This was Spike—he'd stuck around for years of being punched in the face and magically locked out and even when she died, and somehow in thirty seconds she'd done something that had driven him away? That seemed pretty unlikely. So why was he mad at her? She'd been so dazed by their kisses, unable to comprehend that they had really happened—and that they had been amazing!—that she had been slow to respond to Tara's appearance; and then he had been gone, had come back inside and chatted with the others like nothing had happened. He had acted like nothing had changed, like the world hadn't just rolled over and turned inside out, shattered all of Buffy's illusions and left her with a blank slate to fill in. She had loved Angel, he was everything to her, but it hadn't felt like that, nor with the others, the humans, not before or since... with Spike it had been epic.
She didn't know how or why, but it had been so far removed from anything she had thought or expected it might be when she'd thought about it, before. And yes, she could admit it now, she had thought about it.
But now that it had finally become reality—the only thing she could think to compare it to was, and this didn't seem right, but it was the moment on top of the tower, the moment when she understood, knew what she was supposed to do, that death was her gift. At that moment, after the months of confusion and worry, she had known complete certainty that she was doing the right thing and that everything would be fine. And it was, until it wasn't, but also—it was. Still. Kissing, holding Spike—it had felt right. She had thought it was a mistake, she had felt so much guilt, so dirty, just for wanting it, that she was sure if anything ever happened she would want to die of the shame, it would blot out any satisfaction she could possibly derive from the experience. But when the fireworks in her head had settled enough for her to think a little, when he was touching her—all she felt was sure. Confident, certain. The shame was gone, burned away with the doubt, leaving her clean and calm.
But he had acted like it was just a kiss, just another day, and oh god, what if he was disappointed? What if it hadn't been like that for him at all, had been nothing but the fumblings of an inexperienced schoolgirl young enough to be his granddaughter (and then some, and yuck, don't look at it that way!)... Had he waited all that time only to find it wasn't so great after all? He was over 100 years older than her, and she—she'd only ever been with a few guys, really. Angel—no, Angelus—had said those things—don't think about him. But he had, and he was evil, but... But so was Spike supposed to be, but he really wasn't, and he would never never say those things to her, she knew that, but what if he was thinking them, quietly, secretly? And Angel—well, he said lots of true things when he was evil. Just because he wanted to hurt her didn't mean he was lying... oh god.
xxxxx
Dawn's alarm woke her at seven-thirty, and she stumbled out of bed. She'd used the bathroom, gotten dressed, and was heading down for breakfast when she realized how quiet it was. Buffy always slept late, but where were Willow and Tara? Hadn't they come back from trying to capture the demon last night? Oh no! She ran down the hall and sighed with relief when she saw Willow slumped over her books in her bed, fast asleep. She pulled some of the books away and closed them, then headed downstairs. She got her cereal and toast together happily, and headed to the living room to steal a few minutes to watch TV while she ate, even if it would make her late. It wasn't every day she was free of bossy co-parenting from people practically the same age as her.
But Spike was already on the couch, slumped in a half sitting position with his neck at an unpleasant angle. What was he thinking! The blinds weren't even closed! But as Dawn reached around behind him to draw the curtains, she froze in alarm. A small ray of light had crept around the corner of the house and in the window, where it had landed on Spike's fingers, which had passed through the smoking phase to become blackened and shriveled. Yanking his hand to safety Dawn shook him, and began to yell as he didn't respond.
"Spike! Spike! Wake up, come back, no! He's—Willow, what's wrong with him?" she cried, tears starting, as the witch, having heard her shrieks, came stumbling down the stairs looking frantic.
"What, where—Dawnie, what's wrong, what's happened?" She looked around, seeming confused.
"Spike! It's Spike he's—his hand is all burnt and he won't wake up, and it's, he's..." Dawn was crying too hard to continue. She just pointed, still clutching Spike's undamaged hand in her own.
Willow relaxed a little. "Oh, I—wow, I thought someone was here, or—no no, I'm sorry sweetie, don't cry. No, yes, but I'm sure it's not a big deal. Maybe it's just a vamp thing? Hard to wake up in the daytime?"
"Spike always wakes up, he barely even sleeps during the day," Dawn said defensively through her tears. "He isn't like other vampires, and he always wakes up for me. Something is wrong. I'm going to wake up Buffy."
"No, you can't—I mean, she isn't here. She's at Giles' place, keeping an eye on the, Tiamat's, uh, offspring. Whatever. We captured one." Willow said, a little distracted. She was contemplating Spike and started pacing a little.
"I'm calling her then," Dawn said staunchly. "You keep an eye on Spike and don't let him get burned anymore!"
"Um, yeah, no problem," Willow muttered, still pacing as she considered the new development. It seemed that this must be the same enchantment that had been used before but Spike hadn't been moved, so what was the point? The last time, they'd seemingly done nothing but get the vampire and Slayer out of the way then dump them at home, but this was different. Of course, the first time Spike had been taken, the kidnappers had done something to him, he had been injured; and of course the Scoobies were now holding a hostage. The question was—what should she do?
She became dimly aware of Dawn's voice raised in alarm once more as she held the phone. She found the extension and carried the cordless back into the living room where she stood over the sleeping vampire as she listened. Tara was telling Dawn that she and Giles were finding it impossible to rouse Buffy, and she could hear Giles trying in the background. Dawn was frantic, and becoming slightly hysterical. Willow stifled her rising annoyance.
"Tara, babe, call me back in a few minutes okay? We'll work this out. Come on Dawnie—let's hang up. It's fine; this happened before and they were fine, we'll work it out. Calm down, honey, okay? Look, me and Tara need to figure out a plan... Hey, how about you get Spike moved and bandage up his hand? It needs something on it, don't you think?"
Dawn was successfully distracted by this, and headed off to fetch her well-used first aid kit, drying her eyes.
Willow dialed Giles' again and was soon absorbed in a technical discussion of barrier breaching, further protections, and possible solutions. Tara had not made any progress with the creature in the tub, but she reported that it seemed calmer and less unhappy. This hadn't actually been a big concern of Willow's, but she accepted any additional information as potentially useful.
As morning stretched into afternoon, Dawn, who had flat out refused to go to school, stayed close to Spike often asking about both Buffy and what Willow was working on. Willow initially found this distracting, but soon began try to explain her ideas to Dawn in order help her think things through, and she found herself calling Tara less often and getting further. She knew Tara was working on the problem as well, (though she suspected she was still spending quite a bit of time with their captive, also) but really—wasn't it up to her to find the way? It was she, Willow, who was the bolder witch, after all, and clearly this situation required more...decisive...action than Tara tended to advocate.
As she began to form a picture of what she would try, she got more and more excited, talking quickly to herself (though in Dawn's general direction) as she worked it through. When she paid attention, she noticed that Dawn didn't seem any calmer, but that was just because the younger girl didn't understand—She totally had this solved! It was fine!
Dawn felt drained by worry and fear. Should she go to Giles'? It was unbearable being away from Buffy, unable to see for herself that she was (mostly) all right, but she didn't like to leave Spike either. He wasn't as important as her sister, of course, but he had taken care of her, all summer, when she needed it, and she should take care of him. Buffy had Tara and Giles and—well, everyone looked over Buffy, but Spike—he really only had her. No other family, no friends—Dawn felt a pang and resolved to do even better for him when he woke up. In the meantime, she needed to stay by his side. Willow was too caught up in her planning to take care of him. Also, she needed to make sure Willow didn't try to use Spike as some kind of guinea pig for a questionable wake-up-Buffy spell.
Dawn had been sneaking magic books to her room to read all summer, and while she didn't really know how to do much of anything, she had learned a lot about different kinds of magic. And Willow's plans right now seemed a bit worrisome to her.
So she stayed put and listened in closely to Willow's ramblings, trying to figure out what to do.
xxxxx
Buffy awoke with a start, Slayer senses on full alert. Where was she? What was this? She looked around, quickly; it was dim, blue, she was surrounded—she was underwater, again. But she was breathing. So this was a dream then. Okay. She looked around again more slowly, and saw Spike doing the same a few feet away while waving his arms experimentally through the murky water. Huh. That was new.
He saw her and they stared, unlocking their gazes only when a large disturbance became apparent a short distance away. They turned, instinctively drawing close and slightly back-to-back, and there she was, even larger and stranger than Buffy remembered. Tiamat.