Echoes from the Past
⸹
Sunnydale
April 2000
⸹
"Mom?" Buffy came in the back door, figuring her mother would be in the kitchen.
"In here!" Joyce called from the dining room.
Buffy went in and gave her a kiss. "What's all this?" The table was covered.
Joyce shrugged. "Just going through some of the last boxes from L.A. The organizer people say that if you move and haven't needed something for a year, you should just throw it away." She held up a white matchbook imprinted with gold bells and letters: Hank and Joyce 1979. "Maybe it should be three years and burn it."
Buffy looked at her. "You're just a sentimental softie."
Her mother laughed. "I know it wouldn't be fair to Spike, but I wish I could frame a few of these from when you were a child and put them up at the wedding." She put out an arm and squeezed Buffy around the waist. "You were such a cute little girl."
"Especially when I lacked teeth," Buffy said, holding up a picture of herself from second grade.
"Awww," Joyce said. "Look at you."
"Go ahead and pick a couple of favorites," Buffy said. "We'll get a couple framed from the engagement shoot. It won't look weird."
"But we won't have any of Spike as a child. It will look weird."
She pulled out a chair and sat down next to her mom. "I can't believe you let me go outside the house in this shirt," Buffy said, touching a photo from fourth grade. "Spike should be glad they didn't have cameras when he was a child."
Joyce tilted her head. "Has he ever talked about his family?"
"You know, you can ask him yourself. He'd walk through fire for you; I'm sure he wouldn't mind talking about," Buffy put on a generic European accent, "the old country." She looked through a pile of snapshots, and when her mother didn't say anything, she told her. "I think they were rich. He said they had servants, that his favorite was the guy who took care of the stables, Angus. His father died while he was in college, so he had to quit and take care of his mother, because women didn't have rights and stuff back then." She pointed to a picture of her and her mother in front of a boat. "I remember this! I loved sailing. And you rocked that bikini, Mom."
Buffy moved on to the next picture. "He took care of his mom the rest of his life, was starting to look for a wife when Drusilla found him. He, uh, had a cousin his age named Pippa who was his best friend. She already had three kids, and they were close enough that he felt like an uncle to them. Pippa's little brother George was one of his friends, too."
"It's strange that he was an only child, back in those days."
"His mother couldn't have more. When he was really small, he said there was a stillborn sister."
"Oh, that's so sad." Joyce picked up another stack of pictures and handed them to her. "After Celia, I never could bring myself to have another child. I felt like I'd hit the jackpot with healthy, happy you."
Buffy looked at her. "You haven't asked, and I appreciate it, but I don't plan to have children." Joyce's expression was a little sad, but accepting. "I worry that if I had a child, it would be a target, just because of who I am. And it wouldn't be fair to bring a baby into the world, when I can't reasonably guarantee I'd be here to raise it."
Joyce touched her face. "I know, honey. If I were in your shoes, I'd think exactly the same thing."
"Now, though… Willow's new friend Tara said Spike and I would have beautiful children. She's right. If we could have kids, they'd be…."
"Beautiful, mischievous, blond angels," Joyce said, touching her daughter's hair, memories flashing behind her eyes of her own angel.
"Spike said that, if I ever wanted to adopt or use a sperm donor, he'd love them like they were his own."
"I think he would," Joyce said. "At your age, it's hard to say what you might decide in a few years. You have time." She looked off to the side. "And, at my age, it's hard to say that I want grandchildren. I can't promise I won't pester you, but I'll say right now I'm appalled by myself if I do."
Buffy laughed. "Spike said he was very blond when he was a child, but his hair got darker, just like mine did."
"You mean he isn't a natural blond?" Joyce asked with patently false shock.
"None of us are," Buffy said pointedly, grabbing one of her mother's curls. As she smoothed it down, she asked, "How have you been sleeping?"
"Being captured by Faith was less horrifying that being captured by Kralik." Joyce shrugged. "I'm fine. I can't believe you're going to visit her."
Her daughter shrugged. "I can't really explain it." She tried, though. "She felt like my friend, some of the time. If I'd tried harder…."
"You tried. You can't save everyone."
Buffy shook her head and made a frustrated sound. "I could have tried harder. I know I wasn't in the best place, but Faith… had a hard life, even before she was a Slayer. And she did surrender." Her voice was soft. "I think there's something there to salvage."
Joyce shook her head. "You're a saint," she patted Buffy's arm, "and I know you didn't get it from me."
"Well, I definitely didn't get it from Dad."
"That's true." Her mother's tone was dry. "Let's just call it a miracle."
They repacked about half of the mementos, and Buffy stayed for dinner. As she was leaving, Joyce remembered something.
"Honey, you got a package with your other mail." Joyce went to the mantel and got the two-foot square box, as well as some cards and letters that had arrived since Buffy's last visit.
"Who do we know in Beverly Hills?" Buffy asked, looking at the postmark. There was no return address.
"Some of our friends might have moved there," Joyce said. She was plainly curious about the box.
Buffy was, too. She put it on the coffee table and slid a fingernail under the tape. When she opened the cardboard flaps, both of them looked inside. There was a letter, looking very white against an old leather pouch.
The Slayer took the letter and opened it. "It's from Robin Wood." She and her mother exchanged a glance.
⸹
I don't really know how to do a greeting to someone I never met. 'Dear Slayer' sounds pretty stupid, especially said out loud. So, pretend I started this letter right.
My grandmother got in touch with me in January, and I met her in February. I honestly don't know if I should thank you for that or not. The man who has always been 'Dad' to me gave me the best of everything, taught me that not everyone is so lucky, and loved me. I loved him. I still love him, even though it turns out he kidnapped me when I was a child.
I don't know if you'd been trained as a Slayer or if it came as a surprise to you. Dad trained me as a Slayer. I can't ever be as strong or fast, but believe me, I've drilled on technique. I probably kill five or six vampires a year. I hate them. I always will. Dad, who loves me very much, trained me up to kill the vampire who murdered my mother and grandmother.
Only now, my grandmother is alive. She tells me that no vampire ever stalked my mother's whole family, that it's just the excuse my Dad used to steal a child. She told me that my mother turned down the chance to get away from her mission. She said that she mourned the loss of both of us for two years before she could move on. She told me that the vampire who killed my mother is gone. Dad broke down and cried over that, but not over the lies and the kidnapping. I had never seen him cry.
So, most of my life has been a lie. Was it the important parts? I don't know yet. I still see my father; I'm going to spend this summer in New York getting to know my grandmother.
Dad said you died for a few minutes, were resuscitated, and that there are two Slayers now. That's a good thing, I think. My grandmother told me you've broken with the Council. Good for you; I will always root for Slayers and against the Council. I know from Dad that Sunnydale is a Hellmouth, so be careful.
I am still sorting through all of this, trying to figure out who I am, how to trust people. I'm trying not to cut ties, trying not to go out hunting the way my mother did just to drown the anger, trying to see if I belong anywhere. Dad is paying for a therapist, but I'm seeing a counselor the college provides, too. The crazy thing is, leaving out the supernatural part, it isn't the first time they've seen messy custody cases like mine.
There is one tie that I'm going to cut: the pouch in this box is an emergency kit, supposed to be passed down, Slayer to Slayer. Dad kept it because he was angry with the Council. I thought it was my mother's, just a book and a weird old toy. I don't want it around anymore.
I mentioned the anger. I'm angry with my mother for putting her mission above me, with her Watcher for the crime and worse lies, with my grandmother for not looking more closely at the story. So of course I'm angry with you and your Watcher, because my life would be so much easier if you'd never learned about this and told.
I see where Dad was pointing me, though, and I know that I would die young – hopefully, die – hunting down vampires, looking for one in particular. I'll live longer now, which is good, because I'll need the time to figure all this out.
My grandmother said you had my mother's leather coat. I remember it, actually. She'd wrap it around me while she was wearing it and say, "where did Robin go?" and open it back up, "there he is." We were standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom. It's a true memory, one of the few I have of her. If you still have it, I'd appreciate if you could send it to me.
I don't think I'm in a good place to meet you, and I know how risky it is to delay things with Slayers. So, we probably won't meet. Please tell your Watcher to be careful. Dad blames him for finding the truth, not himself for telling the lie. I don't think he would do anything, but I guess I really don't know him.
Journaling is one of the things my therapist assigns. She says, just write honestly. Things just come out, no real logic or form, and this letter has been like that, too. So, pretend I ended the letter right, too.
⸹
Joyce and Buffy were both tearful when they finished the letter. "I should never have gone to Weehawken."
"Of course you should," Joyce corrected her. "What that Watcher did was wrong."
"But he's in such pain." Buffy leaned against her mother.
"I know he is. But think of the pain his grandmother was in. Just because it was a long time ago, doesn't mean it wasn't just as sharp as this."
Because she was the Slayer, Buffy went back to the threat. "Do you think Giles is in any real danger? I mean, Crowley has to be in his seventies."
"Rupert can decide for himself how worried he wants to be."
"You're right." Buffy sighed, putting the letter back into the box. She wrapped her arms around her mother for a long moment. "I'm glad you didn't remember until we'd already had a good visit."
"Me, too."
"See you tomorrow at lunch, okay?" Buffy and Spike were going to be downtown to get the marriage license anyway; lunch with Joyce was a bonus.
⸹
Buffy dropped the box off with Giles before heading back to campus. Willow was laying on her bed and reading a textbook. Probably rereading, Buffy thought wryly, thinking of two classes where she was a bit behind.
"Hey, Buf." Willow rolled over and sat on the edge of her bed. "How's your mom?"
"Good. Remember that Watcher that kidnapped the child of the last Slayer Spike killed?"
"Yes?" A frown appeared between her brows.
"Yeah, I know. Weird to think of that happening. Anyway, apparently the Watcher took something that was supposed to go to each Slayer."
"What is it?"
Buffy shook her head. "I don't really know. He called it an 'emergency kit,' but it's just a book and sort of a shadow puppet theater." She lifted a shoulder. "I dropped it off with Giles."
"Well, he'll figure it out."
"Or we'll be doing research for a week."
Willow smiled. "There is that." Buffy had been kicking off her shoes and putting away her jacket. Before she could open her bookbag, Willow went on. "Buffy? Can we talk?"
"Sure." The Slayer sat down on her bed, facing her best friend.
"Thank you for not being weird about Tara."
"Who would be weird about Tara?" Buffy asked, puzzled. "She seems like the nicest person, ever."
"I mean, you know. About us."
"Oh."
"I would have told you, but I didn't know how." Willow gestured between them. "We've been, like, mooning over cute guys the whole time we've known each other. I-I didn't expect this, you know? But the first time we really talked, we just had this connection. At first, I brushed it off as just having so much in common, but…."
Buffy left her bed and sat next to Willow on hers. "Hey," she said, putting an arm around the redhead, "I didn't tell you about Spike. Same reason: I didn't know how. Falling for another vampire?"
"It's not really the same. Not the, you know, not knowing how to tell it. The… relationship."
"I think the two of you are adorable together. And I think you're both very brave. Not that you should have to be, but it's kind of the way things are." She smoothed a strand of red hair from Willow's cheek. "She makes you happy, and I haven't seen you happy for months."
Willow teared up. "I'm still me, you know? W-we can still talk about cute guys."
"And you can tell me about cute girls."
She shook her head. "I don't look at other girls." Then Willow blushed. "Well, I have always noticed, you know, cleavage."
Buffy laughed. "Sometimes you can't miss it."
⸹
"Hey, Giles. I thought I'd be late," she said, noticing that she was the first to arrive for the Scooby meeting.
"I asked you here early, actually," he said, not looking at her.
"What's wrong?"
Her Watcher gave her a tired smile. They knew each other so well. "Have a seat." He sat next to her on the couch. On the coffee table before him were the contents of the leather pouch Robin Wood had sent: an ancient book, a lantern, and a handful of puppets. "I cannot read the book."
"You'll translate it, Giles. You always do."
"No, I wasn't clear. I will not be allowed to read this book, until it's ready to be read." He sighed. "So, I opened it, and it looked like Sumerian. When I came back with a Sumerian dictionary, it had switched to a variant of cuneiform. Then the pages would not separate."
"So…" Buffy considered this, "if it isn't ready to be read, isn't that a good thing? If it's a Slayer book, maybe it's for some other Slayer."
Giles gave her a wry look. "Yes, I do actually think it's a good thing, since this was an 'emergency kit.' But, Buffy… It's the puppets that worry me."
She stared at him for a couple of beats and considered making fun of him for being worried about wee puppet figures, but simply leaned forward to pick them up. Hills, a monster, men with staffs, a girl, and chains. "I'm guessing that this is the Slayer," she held up the girl puppet, "and this beast is the slayee. What are the rest?"
"Jumble them up," Giles encouraged her, "then drop them on the table."
Frowning, Buffy did as he asked. When she dropped them, they tumbled and fell into a pile with the hills atop the monster, the monster atop the men… She tried to randomize the order twice more, but they always fell into place.
"They tell a story, I think," Giles said, and his voice was weary and so kind.
Her frown intensified. "So, there was a place," Buffy held up the hills, "with a demon," she used her fingertips to slide the monster puppet next to the first puppet. "The people got the Slayer to…" she slid the last puppet into place on the far right, "chain it up, and capture it? That doesn't make sense."
"I'm afraid that it's the first story," Giles said. He touched the first two shadow puppets. "There was a place where a monster roamed." His eyes closed for a moment as he touched the middle part, the men with their staffs. "The wise men, the magicians found a girl." His hand moved over the last puppet, but did not touch it. "They chained the girl."
"Andromeda? The sacrificial virgin?"
"This is an emergency kit for Slayers." He touched the girl puppet again. "I think this represents the first Slayer."
"Why would they chain the Slayer, if they had a demon problem?" Buffy shook her head at the illogic of this.
"I think they had a demon problem, but no champion." Giles scooted back from the coffee table, unconsciously wiping his fingers on his trousers. "I think they chained up the girl and… made the first Slayer."
"How?" Her questioned seemed to echo; even the hum of the refrigerator fell quiet.
Giles' brow drew together as though in pain. "I don't know, but if it required chaining her… I don't see how it could be willingly."
Buffy shook her head, rejecting this. "If it's supposed to be an emergency kit for Slayers, how on earth would a warped origin story be helpful?" She looked away from her Watcher to stare at the puppets, frowning. Then she looked at the lamp. "It doesn't look like any of the shadow puppets are missing… Maybe the book can summon those chains for a demon that's impossible to kill."
"Oh. I hadn't thought of that." He leaned over the coffee table once again. "I like that story much better than mine, my dear."
"Why would you even come up with your version?" Buffy asked. "It's kind of… grim."
His eyes were on the puppet of the men and their staffs. "Perhaps because I've come to dislike the Council so much." He didn't look up at her as he went on. "You've been born at a very good time for women, Buffy, maybe the best time ever. It seems so… archaic to me that an organization of mostly men, mostly old men controls a line of very young female warriors. I can't imagine how strange it must seem to you."
"It is creepy," Buffy agreed heavily. Giles had expressed these sentiments before.
"And up until forty or so years ago, most Slayers didn't even question it. Not at first, at least." He shrugged at her look. "I've read a lot of Watcher Diaries."
"Whereas I questioned you from the beginning."
"You questioned me, you challenged me, you defied me," he smiled at her, "and you have always, always prevailed." The smile turned wintry. "Even when you've had to die to do it."
Buffy turned so she could give him a proper hug. "If I've never told you before how much I appreciate you having my back, then I'm a big old ingrate." She flinched in surprise, then relaxed. "Sorry. Spike says to come outside and help carry in… ooh, sub sandwiches?"
"I am rather tired of pizza," her Watcher replied. They rose from the couch and helped Spike bring in two large cardboard boxes of food.
"That smells delicious," Buffy said. You look delicious.
He gave her a private smile. I have it on good authority that you are delicious.
Whose authority?
Mine. Spike leaned across the box he'd set down on the table and kissed her. "How was your day?"
"Weird." When he raised an eyebrow, she shook her head. "Wait till everyone gets here."
Tara, Willow, and Xander arrived a few minutes later, hopping out of Xander's new truck. "Where's Anya?" Giles asked, lifting the sandwich that was meant for her.
"I'll fill her in when I get home," Xander assured him. There was something final in his answer, and the rest of them saw the look that passed between him and the Watcher. No explanation was forthcoming, so they spilled into the living room.
Giles talked as they ate, first explaining the odd toys and the old book on the coffee table, as well as the possible stories the puppets might be used to tell. He wiped off his fingers and packed them away in the old leather pouch. "I'll keep them here, if that's okay with you?"
Buffy nodded. "The letter now?" She passed it to Xander, who was next to her on the couch. "Each of you read it, then pass it along." By the time the letter made it back to her, they had finished sandwiches, chips, and salads and were munching on chocolate chip cookies. "So, what do you guys think?"
"I feel really sorry for him," Willow said.
"I w-worry that he's dangerous," Tara said.
"Or the old Watcher is," Spike added, eyeing Giles possessively.
Once the information and opinions were exchanged, there was nothing else to do. "We're already pretty vigilant," Xander noted wryly, "and we don't have to research this." He scooted to the edge of the couch. "So, to sort of change the subject… I just wanted to ask for you guys to be extra-nice to An the next few days. The Emersons don't remember her at all now. The spell finally wore off."
"Oh, that has to sting." Willow looked thoughtful. "Still, the spell lasted a looong time. How did she find out?"
"She was there to pick up the last couple of boxes she'd packed. Her 'mom' thought she was there to pick up for charity."
"Ouch," Buffy said.
"Yeah."
"What's her name again?" Spike asked. Giles had procured identification for the ex-demon from the same source as his own.
"Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins, born on the fourth of July." Xander smiled. "She doesn't do things by half."
"No 'Aud,'" Willow approved.
"At least she remembers her actual human name," Buffy teased, biting down on a smile.
"Oh, leave off," Spike grumbled. "She only had the one name. I swear I can remember my mother using them both ways." At Tara's puzzled look, he rolled his eyes. "You know, when your parents use all your names when they're mad. Both 'William Arthur Albert' and 'William Albert Arthur' sound right."
"It's amazing how far back that goes," Willow mused, a suspicious amount of innocence in her tone.
"Practically to the Renaissance, I guess," Buffy added. Spike must have replied silently, because she stuck out her tongue before blushing a bright red.
Xander kept his peace, unwilling to join any conversation about middle names. After the meeting, he hung back and helped Giles clean up, until he was the last one. "I'll be right there," he called, tossing the keys to his truck to Willow.
Turning to Giles, he held out a floppy disk. "Transcriptions of the last three meetings."
"Thank you."
Xander held on to the disk for a moment as Giles tried to take it. The Watcher's eyes went to him, questioning. "I should thank you."
"Oh?"
The dark-haired young man nodded. "I never realized. I heard that… tone or word choice, whatever, all my life. I guess it's hard to break a pattern."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Giles said, taking the disk from him. His regard was warm. "Though I'd say it's easy to break a pattern once it's recognized."
"Am I out of the transcription business?"
"Yes. It was a worthwhile experiment, to see if we could find ways to communicate better. But no one reads over these, so…."
Xander put his hands in his pockets and nodded before heading out the door, closing it behind him. Smiling a little, Giles watched him, then tossed the floppy disk toward the computer on the small desk in the corner. He'd noticed how Xander had started correcting Anya and being curt over her social shortcomings, and he'd been right that Xander had not noticed what he was doing. Truth be told, he found Anya annoying, too, but if she made Xander happy… he could put up with her bluntness and crudity.
⸹
Buffy strolled through campus on patrol, alone. For the past four out of five nights, she and Spike had been stalked during this part of patrol. Tonight, that surveillance would end, one way or another.
Same place as before.
Got it. Buffy strolled on, nodding to a couple who were walking hand-in-hand. Where are you?
Top of the science building. Good sightlines.
I'm perfectly safe.
And still I don't like it.
"Hi, Buffy."
She feigned surprise, touching a hand to her chest and taking in a breath as Riley Finn stepped from behind a tree. Buffy peered at him. "Riley?" She stepped forward and put out a hand toward him before letting it fall. "I haven't seen you since before the gas leak at Lowell House. Where have you been?"
He didn't smile, just shook his head. "You know it wasn't a gas leak."
"They said they took you guys to the army base, because there were oxygen tents there." She was determined to play this straight, or what passed as straight on the Hellmouth.
"And I've been there since. Restricted to the base while…" Riley sighed and looked away. "Dr. Walsh wasn't just experimenting on the sub– on the demons. She was giving all of us injections of… like, performance-enhancing drugs. It's taken this long for our bloodwork to show clean." He didn't tell her about the computer hardware that had to be removed from the brain of every soldier in his platoon; that was too strange for any civilian to understand, and classified, besides.
Buffy's voice was low and concerned. "Are you all okay now?"
Going for the Oscar, love?
Riley shook his head. "No. It's going to take a long time before we get anywhere near normal. You wouldn't understand, but it's hard to give up superpowers."
"Oh, I would." Buffy's voice was hard. "Mine have been taken, by people I trust." She looked down at the sidewalk for a moment. "My mother almost died because of it." Riley was obviously taken aback. Buffy had a feeling that he'd spent the past few months feeling sorry for himself in a company of guys who felt the same. She shrugged. "You get over it. It isn't the worst thing."
"The Initiative is shut down." Riley nodded toward campus. "You're still here."
She wasn't sure how to take that. "Here for life."
There was accusation in his eyes, but also uncertainty. "Dr. Walsh is dead. So are the other scientists."
"Did the demons down there get loose?" Her eyes were hard. Giles had told them about the visit he got, post 'gas leak,' from one of the people who had gone into the hidden facility. Buffy let out a breath, looked away, and made her voice even. "I'm sorry for your loss. I know she was a mentor to you."
Something flickered across his face. "Maybe I'm glad that I wasn't her favorite." She was honestly confused by what he meant by that, and Riley could read it in her face. He relaxed a degree. "Look, my… um, the guys from Lowell have an offer to do what you do, no capture, I mean, in a couple of allied countries in South America. I don't know if I'll go, but… I won't be in Sunnydale." Riley looked around the campus for a moment, a lost expression in his eyes. "So, I just wanted to stop by and say… congratulations. On your wedding."
Buffy lifted her chin and made a split-second decision. "To Hostile Seventeen?"
He nodded. "What is he?"
"My fiancé."
"I know his face, his average body temperature, his approximate weight and height, and that he isn't… He's not what you call a vampire."
"Whatever happened to the Initiative, he didn't have any role in that."
"The night we almost got him…" The tall man searched her face. "That was you, wasn't it?"
"Yes." No reason to deny it.
"Is… What is he?" Riley stuffed his fingers into the pockets of his jeans. "I'm just… I'll always wonder."
Is it okay?
Tell him a bedtime story so he can sleep.
"He is a vampire, but he's more. He's old, made by old vampires, so he's not like what we usually see in Sunnydale." Buffy looked away from the tall man for a moment. The breeze picked up a few strands of her hair, and she smoothed them away from her face. "A lot of who he was before he was killed by a vampire remained. I mean, a lot. Someone like that usually gets killed by their sire or other vampires. He wasn't, and a very long time later, he decided that he wasn't going to play by the usual rules. He underwent trials that went on for days and won back his soul.
"No vampire has ever done that. None. I'm so proud of him, proud to call him my friend, to have him in my life. He can walk in sunlight now, but he doesn't have a reflection or body heat."
"That… Dr. Walsh would have said that's a lot of unscientific bullshit."
Buffy shrugged. "I stopped caring what she thought that day you tested me."
"I go to church every Sunday," Riley said, then added, "well, before I was confined to base. The chaplain's services aren't the same. I believe a soul makes a difference."
"Do… Do you want to meet him?"
Bugger.
"No." There was no quaver in his voice, but Buffy could feel him shy away.
"There aren't any other vampires that can function in daylight. There is one other vampire with a soul, but he was cursed to have it. It… torments him, for what the vampire did." She saw the tension in his shoulders ease.
"So… will he age now?"
"No."
"What are you going to do when, I mean, in twenty, thirty years?"
Buffy gave him a wintry smile. "No Slayer has ever lived past twenty-five."
Riley looked down at the young woman facing him, her gaze steady and accepting. His lips parted. "That's not… I-I had no idea."
She shrugged. "Why would you?"
"It isn't something that you can… rotate out of."
"No. Even if I left Sunnydale, I'm still the Slayer." She took a step forward and touched his forearm. "You aren't. If you have a choice in where you're assigned…." Buffy moved away a few feet.
Riley recognized the end of their conversation. "Thank you for telling me. Hostile Seventeen always bothered me. You know, if it isn't safe in sunlight…."
"Good luck. Tell Forrest and Graham… Tell them I'm sorry they got stationed here."
"Yeah, me too." Riley lifted a hand. "Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
Buffy watched him walk away and let out a sigh. She took her own path, which angled away from him, and made a mental bet that Spike would join her at the stairway down to the western parking lots.
She was wrong. Strong hands wrapped around her waist from behind, and her vampire leapt upward, carrying them both into an ash tree. Spike grabbed a limb with one hand, let her turn, then wrapped it around her again one they both had good footing on the branch.
She put her own hands at his waist. Well, that was an awkward conversation.
You handled it beautifully, love. You ever think about being a counselor?
She snorted. Who, me? Buffy lifted a shoulder. I just know what he needed to hear.
Love… You're going to –
Live to be ninety. I know.
That isn't a bedtime story I tell you so you can sleep well. He put his fingers beneath her chin. I have yet to find something impossible. The corners of his eyes crinkled. Got you to wear that ring, yeah?
Though her face was lifted, Buffy's eyes were downcast. What happens when you start to look… inappropriately younger than I do?
I'll happily play cabana boy to your sugar mama.
She poked him in the side, making him jerk. Buffy had his ticklish spots down. Seriously.
You humans have retinol, lasers, who knows what all. You'll look young for a lot longer than previous generations. Maybe Slayer healing will keep you young. If it doesn't, it won't bother me. Spike tilted his head. It would bother me if you got horrible plastic surgery – he put his hands on either side of his cheeks and pulled the skin too taut – but I could live with that, if it made you feel better. But if you don't mind my wrinkles, he asked, going to vamp face for a moment, why should I mind yours?
Tonight, their inner landscape was a warm, breezy Sunnydale, holding hands as they patrolled. Sometimes it was still the Sit N Bull, but other constructs were displacing it: their bedroom or the balcony of the beach house, Latimer House, the roof of her mother's house, even their first motel room.
She looked at him as they stood, shrouded in spring leaves, as well as searching his face in the better light of the mental construct. He looked back at her in both places, realistic and loving and sure.
I love you. Buffy broke the connection and leaned against the trunk of the ash tree, pulling him down to her for a kiss. "Sometimes," she murmured against his lips, "you fill my heart so full that I think it might burst."
⸹
The next evening, Spike was thumbing through the keys on his ring, wondering how it had happened that he could have accumulated so many in such a short time. He was stopping by Joyce's on his way to the usual meeting at Giles' apartment to pick up a bundle of Buffy's clothes. On the lowest step of the stairs, Joyce had said, when he called.
The key to his own house, to the truck, to Giles' and Xander's apartments, to Buffy's car… and back two keys for the one to Joyce's door. He opened it, already stooping to pick up the stack of… towels?
"Surprise!"
He jumped back toward the threshold, his eyes gone to yellow before he realized. Then the lights came on, and the Scoobies, sneakiest bunch of people he'd ever met in any lifetime, were standing in the dining room beneath a banner that read 'Happy Birthday.'
Spike smiled, his eyes back to blue and suspiciously bright, putting one hand over his non-beating heart. "Scared me out of my skin, you lot did."
Buffy came forward, her hands out for his. "You were really surprised?"
"Didn't suspect a thing," he confirmed. Haven't celebrated a birthday in a century, have I?
She kissed him. I thought about… I'll tell you later. "Well, come on, before Anya puts your cake in the freezer."
He gave the ex-demon a puzzled look. "You'll always be twenty-eight," she explained. "We could just keep this decorated cake, eat a plain one, and reuse it every year."
"Financially sound," he agreed, leaning to kiss her cheek. He hugged Xander, then stood before Joyce, who pulled a face.
"I hated lying to you," she said, giving him a hug. "Happy birthday."
He held her a moment longer. "A lie in good service," he replied. "Thank you." There were hugs for Tara and Willow, a manly handshake with Giles, and then it was back to Buffy. "Unbelievably sneaky," he said, sliding his arm around her waist.
It made Buffy grin. "That's us."
Willow and Tara used a bit of magic that passed by Buffy and Spike as a puff of hot air to light the candles. They continued to hold hands. Spike pretended not to know about making a wish, but Xander called him on it when he said that there were no candles back in his day. When he blew out the little flames, he did not wish, only sent a message of thanks to whomever might hear it.
Then there was chocolate cake – homemade from a box, Buffy said proudly – ice cream and, later, beers. There were no gifts or silly hats, just a relaxed evening around the table with his favorite people, talking about random, everyday things instead of patrol-related topics. It was the nicest birthday he'd had, though it felt odd to be the sole honoree.
To Pippa. Buffy raised her glass of lemonade and gave him a small smile.
He raised his beer and touched the neck to the rim of her glass. Thank you.
Everyone except Joyce had divvied up Sunnydale for patrol that night, leaving him free to escort his fiancée home. As he sorted through his keys at his own front door, Buffy leaned into his side.
I originally wanted to do something big, like fly us to Vegas or something, but I thought you might like something just with family.
He found the key and left it in the lock to take her in his arms. It was perfect. And you were right. Haven't had anything like that… It was perfect.
I actually did want to get you a present, but I couldn't find what I was looking for, so I found a consolation prize.
Oh?
On the bed.
His lips curled into a devilish smile. Oh? He swept her up, fumbled with the key until the lock opened, and carried her through the house. There was nothing on the bed. Spike gave her a curious look, then switched on the lamp before he spotted it.
He sat her down on the mattress and picked up the translucent square of white nylon that had blended in with his pillow. "Lady's scarf?"
Buffy kicked off her shoes. Are you familiar with 'an extra pinch for an extra inch' or a 'one to grow on' spank?
Like birthday bumps?
She laughed at the mental image of bumping a child's bottom on the floor for each year. Yeah, something like that. He started to send some image of pulling earlobes, but she reached across the tabletop at the Sit N Bull and put a finger over his lips. Well, I plan to tie your hands with that scarf and give you, Buffy pulled him closer to the bed by a belt loop, one mind-blowing orgasm for each year.
Spike's lips parted, and he lost the mental connection. "You do realize I'm a hund–"
"You're twenty-eight," Buffy said firmly. "I have class tomorrow."
⸹
"What is this?" Giles asked, frowning at the papers Buffy handed to him. He patted around on the table for his glasses.
"Application to visit a prisoner in a California prison," Buffy replied. She put a cup of coffee down next to him. "I already filled out mine."
Spike came in with a box of doughnuts. "Top o' the morning," he lilted.
Giles eyed the pastries and began the slow process of shedding his grumpiness. "What couldn't wait until a reasonable hour?"
Buffy told him about Riley Finn. The Watcher's only comment was that she should have told him the first day Spike scented the human. "I hope it puts the whole Initiative mess behind us," she said, finding a custard-filled doughnut with chocolate icing. "At this rate, I won't fit into my wedding dress."
"No complaints from me if you can't," Spike leered.
"Do shut up."
"You're kind of grouchy this morning," Buffy noted.
"Blame him," Giles said, jerking his chin toward Spike, who was leaning against the sink as he sipped his latte.
"It must be something I didn't do," Spike decided.
"Indeed. I knocked one of the Master's books off the pile and picked it up without gloves. Bad dreams."
"Oh. I am sorry. In my defense, there are only three of them left."
Giles made a noncommittal 'hmm' at that and looked at the application, flipping through page after page. "Good Lord."
"Yeah, it's thorough. I think we'll get approval sometime this summer." Buffy took the lid off her coffee so it would cool faster. "I wrote to Faith last week," she said glumly.
"She'll appreciate it," Spike said, approval in his voice.
"Even if she'll never admit it."
"Well, I believe she's changed," Giles said, now full of enough caffeine and sugar to be optimistic.
"I hope so." Buffy sighed. "I wanted to make sure I got the application out now, because all these little details for the wedding are popping up, like reburn." At Giles' puzzled look, she added, "I'm running around, stamping out fires I thought were out months ago."
"Speaking of the wedding…"
"Yes, I know." Giles' annoyed glance at Spike was rote. "Xander and I have our fitting this Friday. I hear any more from you about it, I'll wear white tie."
"The scandal!" Spike laid a palm on his cheek in mock horror.
The Watcher turned to Buffy. "I'm sure you've got your firebreaks in order. Is that right? I'm sorry, my dear. I know I've lived through three wildfire seasons, but I can't speak like a native Californian."
"You did fine." Her smile faded. "We'll be clothed, fed, boozed, serenaded, and, hey, legal. Tara's minister is going to perform the ceremony, and we got the license earlier this week." Buffy threw an irritated look at Spike that was half-serious. "If only I knew what to pack for the honeymoon…."
Spike touched his tongue to his teeth, and Buffy's face went hot for no public reason. "One suitcase for boots and shoes, one suitcase for clothes, and one suitcase for whatever else you ladies need."
Buffy turned to Giles. "You see what I have to put up with?"
"Er, no, actually."
"How about we drop the subject, or there'll be a one suitcase limit?" Spike suggested silkily.
"See, if we're going to a beach, I could do one suitcase," she declared, "i-if it's a large suitcase."
"Why would you go to a beach when you live in Sunnydale?" Giles asked, curious.
Buffy turned on him. "You aren't helping."
"On the subject of things that haven't been told, what are you doing at your bachelorette party?" Spike's eyes were narrow.
"Oh, gotta go to the bathroom," Buffy said, hastily drinking the last of her coffee and giving her fiancé an overly sweet smile.
"Are you having a stag party?" Giles asked as she left the room, the thought occurring to him for the first time.
"Yes."
"That sounded fraught."
"Angel is throwing it."
"Not Xander, as your best man?"
"No." Spike's voice was fraught again. "Want to come?"
"No, indeed."
"Xander isn't twenty-one, so Angel is arranging something in Los Angeles. I'm sure it will be…."
"Limp?"
"Fine, I was going to say." He poured the last of his coffee down the sink. "At least there will be liquor."
"My Aunt Lolly called," Buffy said, coming back to the table. "She's going to come. I haven't seen her for years."
Giles was used to Buffy breaking out unrelated bits of wedding conversation by now. "That was your cousin Celia's mother?"
Buffy nodded. "She really appreciated the St. Jude donations. She cried. Aunt Arlene and Uncle Bert will be there, too. They'll help Mom with her. I guess it'll be an emotional day for her. I mean, she cried over the wedding announcement."
Spike put a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be fine." He rolled out his neck. "I'll stay here and work on those last three books while you're in class. If that's okay with you, Rupes?"
"Oh, absolutely. I can't wait to see the last of those."
⸹
"Again, love." His words rumbled against her neck. "Come for me again."
Buffy pushed back against him. "What if I refuse?" she breathed.
"Break my heart," he let out a long sigh, "you not getting every last drop of pleasure." It was the end of the night, after patrol. Now that Willow was seeing Tara, Buffy stayed at the beach house more often. They had spent the last couple of hours plundering each other, finishing with Spike curved around her back, his leg caught between hers, surging slowly into her.
"I could," she insisted, the smile obvious in her tone, "just on general principles."
Spike's hand drifted away from her nipple, over her stomach, down to the small patch of damp curls. She jerked as his fingers slid over her sensitive lips, then inside. "You are a pillar of strength, love, able to resist –"
Her cry cut him off. Buffy laid her head back further, offering up her neck, then twisting so she could find his mouth. Love kissing you.
He felt her love for him, felt her warm body mold closer, and cried out himself. Buffy, love, what you do to me. Their mental landscape had them together in the darkness against a mausoleum – he wasn't sure which cemetery – and he dropped to his knees, worshiping at the feet of his gorgeous goddess.
She sat immediately, by his side instead of above him. I think it's what we do to each other. Buffy took his face in her hands and kissed him again.
In their bed, Buffy let out a long sigh and pulled the corner of a pillow beneath her head. "God, that felt wonderful." Her voice was a slow purr of contentment.
Spike moved his hand to her hip. "That begins to describe it," he agreed. He held her as she fell asleep and stayed by her side until she curled into a fetal position, moving away from him. Spike pulled the sheets up, tucking her in, and slid soundlessly from the bed.
Moving like a shadow, he picked up his jeans and stepped into the living room. Half-dressed, Spike grabbed a bottle of Maker's Mark from a cabinet in the kitchen and went onto the balcony. He leapt onto the roof and sat facing the ocean.
I don't deserve this.
It wasn't the first time he'd been left sleepless by the depth of the realization.
Buffy was… Buffy was everything. If he'd been lucky enough to find her as human William, he would still have understood how lucky he was. But now, after all he'd done, after the years, the decades of bloodshed… I don't deserve this.
Nothing new, mate.
The voice wasn't quite the same. His inner anarchist was part of him now, as was his soul. He was more of a whole than he'd been in life or death. But he recognized it nonetheless.
Something's going to happen. I can't have this much happiness.
When he thought of that happiness, it was all images of Buffy: her precise, practiced yet organic moves as she fought; her smile whenever she saw her mother or her friends; the way she looked when she walked backwards so she could talk to him; the beauty of her body as he gazed from her lovely quim toward her lovely face, the round, tempting peaks of her breasts part of a landscape only he ever got to see.
I don't deserve any of this life.
You aren't who you were. Nothing's going to happen.
Spike's mouth twitched on one side. His soul was so kind. He broke the seal and drained a third of the bourbon. Looking out over the ocean, he wiped the wetness from his cheeks.
If I lose her… There's nothing without her. I can't exist without her.
You won't have to. She loves us. Loves you.
I know. But I don't see how I can ever be good enough.
He tilted the bourbon again. Usually half a bottle would dull his fear and regrets, would let him go back inside and fall asleep next to her. Spike hated to be like this, but every so often, his own astute nature turned its gaze on him.
I don't deserve her.
And she knows that, mate. She loves you anyway.
He never doubted Buffy's love, but he had so many doubts about himself. Spike swiped at his eyes again and took another drink.
⸹
"Come in, come in," Reverend Tim Greenblatt said. It was Thursday afternoon, and Spike and Buffy were standing outside the office door in the basement of his church. He waved them into a small room stuffed with books and dimly lit with a couple of fluorescent lights. Spike looked up at them as the pastor ushered them to two chairs.
"You must be Buffy," he said, shaking her hand. "Oh, quite a grip you have."
"Yes. Uh, sorry." She sat down and smoothed her yellow dress. She'd insisted that Spike wear a button-up shirt and slacks for this meeting. The pastor was a chubby man in his forties with black hair liberally sprinkled with gray. He seemed pleasant rather than dour, and she relaxed a bit.
"And you must be William."
"Yeah. Uh," Spike looked up at the lights again, "sorry, do you mind if I fix the lights?"
"Oh! The humming." The pastor looked up, too. "I almost don't notice it, unless I get stuck while I'm trying to write a sermon."
Spike took this as agreement. He saw that the windows at the top of the little room would let in enough light, so he turned off the switch. The reverend watched as he dragged his chair closer to the desk and stepped into it, then handed the cover down to the bemused man. The bulbs were hot, so he took his handkerchief out, tugged one long bulb from its seat, made sure the prongs were straight, dusted them off, and reset it in the socket. He did the same with the other one, replaced the cover, and dropped down to turn the lights back on.
"Oh, that is better! Thank you, William."
"Uh, you're welcome. I'm sorry about that; it's like a mosquito's whine, you know?" Spike moved his chair back beside Buffy and gave her an apologetic grimace.
"Well, thank you for coming by. I like to meet with couples who aren't part of the congregation before the ceremony, get comfortable with each other." He sat down in his office chair across the desk, and Buffy had flashbacks to a number of school principal offices. "Call me Tim. I'm from Oregon originally. I know you're not from around here," he said, smiling at Spike, "but how about you, Buffy? Are you from Sunnydale?"
"Los Angeles, originally. Not that far away."
"London, me."
"So," he gave them a genial smile, "how did you meet?"
The two exchanged a glance. Help. Spike reached over and took her hand, surprised at this timid side to his Slayer.
"At the library. I was doing research; she hung out there. Had to get to know her." Not going to say we met at the sinful Bronze.
Or that I was in high school? "He started walking me home, we started getting coffee together." Buffy smoothed her dress again.
"I met her friends and family, kind of made them mine, too. Bit lonely here," he said, shrugging.
"How long have you known each other?"
"It'll be three years this fall," Buffy said, looking surprised.
"So, was it love at first sight?"
"Oh, uh, no. We were both seeing other people at the time."
Spike squeezed her hand. "Turns out, neither one was the right one. We were friends for a long while."
"That's a wonderful basis for marriage." Tim propped his elbows on the desk. "When did you realize it was more than friendship, William?"
Spike looked down. "When she stayed with me… We, uh, had a mutual friend die. It was rough on both of us." The timbre of his voice changed. "I never looked at her the same after that."
Buffy met his eyes at that echo of their time in a cheap Los Angeles motel. "We knew we loved each other after going through that."
"I knew I was in love with her about a year ago," Spike said, "but I didn't say anything. Had to leave Sunnydale for a few months, and I didn't want to spring that on her along with a goodbye."
"What about you?" Tim turned his smile to Buffy, as if this vanilla, heavily edited version of their story was fascinating.
"He looked me up on campus when he came back. Last fall." She met her fiancé's eyes. "He was just… walking toward me, said my name. I knew." Spike brought her hand to his mouth. "I think I'd been in love for a long time."
"Me, too. We just…" Spike cleared his throat and sat up a bit. "I mean, I'm a bit older than her."
"Not by much, surely?"
"He just turned twenty-eight this month," Buffy said. "I'm nineteen."
"Are you both still in college? That's how you met Tara Maclay, isn't it?"
"Tara met my roommate, and we all got to be friends," Buffy said.
"Buffy's still in college, but I don't know that I'll ever get my degree," Spike said, shrugging. "Started a business since then, and it's doing well."
Tim nodded. "Okay. This all sounds good to me, friendship before romance." He sat back in his chair. "I'm happy to marry people who aren't part of my congregation. When couples who are part of my flock get engaged, we do four or five counseling sessions. I won't ask you to do that, but I would like to ask a few questions. These may be things you've already talked about. I'm more than willing to help you talk through anything that seems surprising, though." He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a notepad. "Do you mind if I ask why you want a minister especially, instead of a legal officiant?"
"That was my call. I grew up C of E, er, Church of England. Like Episcopalian here. Else, it wouldn't feel real."
"Ah. Well, first, the thing that harms most marriages is money problems. Have you two talked about finances?"
The two glanced at each other. Spike, feeling grateful for his soul, fielded that question. "Uh, I have family money. It won't be an issue."
"I mean, what if you like to spend money, but Buffy doesn't? How compatible are your attitudes toward money?"
"Oh." Buffy gave him a relieved smile. "We're good. We both probably spend too much, but we've both lived with limited means as well."
"This isn't my area of expertise, but is there a prenuptial agreement?"
"No."
Buffy took her hand from Spike's so she could cover his. It had only been one word, but it had been a cold one. "What he means, is that this is it for both of us. We don't take this lightly. My parents divorced, and I'm never going to do that. Until death do us part."
"Not until you're at least ninety, love." Spike took a breath and forced a smile. "My parents loved each other madly. My father died when I was nineteen, and my mother never looked at another man."
"They've both passed?" Buffy didn't understand the phrase at first, but she saw Spike nod. "Do you plan to live here in the United States?"
"Oh, uh, yeah. I mean, we already have a house." Spike's eyes widened. "Oh. I have my green card and everything. I'll live wherever Buffy is. My company is an online business."
Tim nodded and checked a couple of items off his list. "Have you discussed children?"
"We have. We're on the same page." Buffy's tone put an end to the discussion.
"Where do you see yourself in ten years?"
Spike felt Buffy panic. She never looked very far ahead. He scooted his chair closer and put his arm around her. "She's never had the chance to travel. Once she's finished her degree, I hope we'll have the opportunity."
"I've always wanted to live in Europe," Buffy said. "I speak bad French, but I hope to get better at it." She nudged Spike. "He speaks, like, dozens of languages."
"That's one of the things I find sad," Tim said, "but understandable. We Americans can go from one coast to another and never need anything but English, so we don't put much value on learning a second language. You can barely go a hundred miles in Europe without crossing a border." The pastor looked down at his list. "How about your values about sex?"
The change in topic made Buffy go bright red, but she fielded this question. "We have similar values."
"Monogamous values," Spike added.
"And, last of the difficult ones, what about religion?" He held up a hand, as if they were going to object. "Is it something you've discussed?"
"I haven't been to church since my mother died." True, in its way.
"I went to Sunday School when I was little. My parents stopped going to church when my cousin Celia died. She was eight."
Tim winced. "The loss of a child… That's one of the hardest things to endure. It will make you question the nature of His love like nothing else." He turned to a new page in the notepad, then firmed his mouth. "I'm sorry that you lost your cousin, Buffy. I'm sorry that drove a wedge between your family and your church. The same for you, William, with your mother." He looked at them candidly. "I like to believe that here, we're a family that can help you through those hard times. I hope you'll consider finding a church home again, and if you do, think of us.
"Now," he took a breath, "I have another set of practical questions. First, do you plan to do your own vows?" They shook their heads in unison. "All right. Buffy, tell me about your parents. You said they were divorced?" When she nodded, he gave her an apologetic look. "Do they get along?"
"My father won't be at the ceremony. He lives in Spain and… doesn't have much to do with us anymore."
"Never met the g – er, never met him."
The pastor nodded his understanding. "So, tell me about the wedding party. Is someone giving you away?"
"Giles. Uh, Rupert Giles. He's been like a father to me. I've known him since high school."
"He's British, too, but we're not related. I don't have any family of my own."
Tim went through the rest of the questions, drawing out of them the tone they wanted for the ceremony, whether there would be a candle lighting, when the rehearsal would be, and other practical matters. He went over his fee, which he apologized for, explaining that it would be free for congregants, and asked some other questions about the vendors and reception. He closed the notepad, and Buffy relaxed a bit, thinking that it was over.
"There's one other thing…" Tim unfolded their wedding announcement, clipped from the newspaper. "This open invitation to last year's Sunnydale High class… I officiated at four funerals after the graduation last year. One of them was in your senior class. The other was the younger brother of a graduate. One parent, the other a grandparent.
"I officiate at a lot of funerals in Sunnydale." He examined Buffy and said softly, "No one talks about it."
"I know." She met his gaze. "I invited the survivors because we fought together."
Tim took a moment going forward. "I talk with the leaders of the other churches in Sunnydale. People think we must be rivals, but that isn't the case. More like laborers in the same field. All of us belong to church associations in the region. Outside of Sunnydale, they treat us like… we're invisible, or like we might be contagious."
"Like bad luck might be catching," Spike said, keeping his voice neutral.
Tim pointed a finger at him. "Exactly. So, the local ministers and priests and pastors… we support each other." His eyes went back to Buffy.
He won't ask. No one ever does.
I agree, love.
"I know of Rupert Giles, the man who's giving you away. He gets Father Ruiz to bless jugs of water. Jugs." Tim swallowed. "I've been here for eight years. It used to be worse. Funerals every week, faces that I just stop seeing in the pews, empty houses… but for the last, say, three-four years, it hasn't been as bad."
"I'm glad." Beside her, Spike smelled her incipient tears and tightened the arm he had around her shoulders.
"I'm grateful." Tim firmed his mouth again, but just before he spoke, he dropped his eyes. The pastor stood up. "I'm looking forward to performing the ceremony. You seem like a very happy, well-adjusted couple."
Spike let go of Buffy and stood up, too. "Happy, at any rate."
"Thank you for fixing the light."
"I didn't do anything, just adjusted the bulbs." They exchanged a quick handshake.
"Thank you." Tim took Buffy's hand.
"I definitely didn't do anything," she protested.
"No?" But he backed away again, showing out of his office.
Once they were in Buffy's car, she let out of long breath. "Well, that wasn't as weird as I thought it would be."
"Weird in a different way," Spike said. "He all but asked about you."
"Yeah. Kind of creepy to think the ministers in the town gossip about who's getting industrial quantities of holy water."
"He feels like a coward," Spike said, his eyes narrow.
Buffy's mouth curved a bit; Spike was so good at reading other people. "He shouldn't. People just generally aren't equipped, mentally or physically."
"There's that loving, generous heart." Spike gave her a sappy smile. "You made me dress up," he changed the subject, because he knew she wanted him to, "so why don't you take me out to dinner?"
⸹
Saturday before dawn, Spike was outside Xander's apartment, knocking on the door. The human opened at once, speaking quietly. "Hey. An's still asleep. You want coffee?"
"Got some for us in the truck."
"Truck?"
"Yeah. Drove a pickup last year and liked it."
"When did you get it?"
"Ordered it last week. It was in the driveway when I got home last night."
Xander locked up and came out behind him. "Oh, good. Just a 150. I thought you'd have a dualie or a 350 or something, and I'd have to have truck envy."
Spike smiled a little. "Pickup's dead useful. Boards are in the back." He was holding Xander to his promise to teach him to surf, and they'd rented the boards the previous evening.
"Already have your wetsuit on, I see." Xander shook his head. Spike had absolutely balked at renting a wetsuit, which made no sense to him. Spike stuck his teeth into strangers. The vampire replied that he didn't bite them on a pruned-up, communal ass and bought a new one.
"I see you don't."
"Easier to put on wet."
"The water is going to be cold this early," Spike pointed out.
The human shrugged. "Pop the hood," Xander said, "and I'll pretend to know what I'm looking at."
"Let's not and say we did. It's the big engine, 5.4 liter."
"Fine by me. You said that there's coffee in the truck?"
Ten minutes later, Xander motioned Spike to the side of the road near a low beach. "This is where we learned. Not a lot of rocks near the shore."
"You and your friend Jesse?"
"Yeah." Xander gave a small sigh. "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
After Xander struggled into his wetsuit, the two men paddled out on the rented shortboards. Xander taught Spike how to duck-dive and get through the waves closest to shore. By the time they were past the white water, the sun was peeking over the mountains to the east. He'd shown the blond man where to stand and how to pop up the night before. Xander gripped the rails and eased into a seated position.
"We might get two, three rides in before other people show up. When you see a wave coming, paddle fast and time yourself to it. You can wait for the whitewater before popping up; that's fine for a beginner. Remember, side to side to balance, not forward and back. Find a focus on the beach, so you know if the current is carrying you too far toward the rocks."
"You go first."
"Yeah, do you know how long it's been since I was out?" But Xander went first and had a credible ride.
Spike watched how he bailed toward the ocean instead of the beach, then let out all of his breath. He watched behind him for a swell, then started paddling. When he felt the nose of his board start to rise, he jumped up… too close to the front. On his second try, he made it, and supernatural reflexes kept him upright on the board almost all the way to the beach.
Grinning, he paddled back out to where Xander was waiting. "That was awesome!"
"Dude," Xander intoned. He smiled back. "Figured you'd be goofy foot." A couple of rides later, he realized the vampire was now trying with his left foot forward. Xander rolled his eyes. By now, a group of three other surfers was paddling out, and he ran through the etiquette rules for catching a wave.
By eight o'clock, Xander was done for the day and pulled a reluctant Spike from the waves. The dark-haired man yawned. "I'm ready to shower and go back to bed."
"Let me buy you breakfast," Spike said, "the least I can do. Thank you, mate."
"No worries. Somehow, I still want to be home with a soft, warm woman than with a cold, pruned-up vampire. And I'm sleepy."
Spike went by the beach rental shack and dropped off the boards, then took Xander home. Buffy had stayed at her mother's house, and he didn't expect to see her until early afternoon. He felt a little at loose ends until he remembered a project he could work on.
They were on their third bed, and it had become obvious that wood just was not able to stand up to the wear and tear. It wasn't that they jackhammered away at each other, but when you can shove or kick or grip as hard as they did, furniture paid a price. So, he had a plan to reinforce an iron bedstead.
After a quick shower to rinse off the salt, Spike went to the garage and dragged out his welding equipment, iron bars, and the bedstead. He put a can of white paint and the brushes in the shade of the house, contemplated whether or not he should build a shed, then reminded himself that he was a fit, shaggable vampire and therefore immune to the practical, homey charms of a shed.
A couple of hours later, Spike was reinforcing the weld on the last corner when he heard, muffled beneath the helmet, the sound of a car behind him. It wasn't Buffy, so he leaned over and shut off the torch. He turned to see who it was, taking off the helmet and running a hand through his flattened hair.
⸹
Robin Wood parked the rental car in the driveway of the house that records showed was recently bought by William Allgood. He was glad to see that there were no nearby neighbors. A man was welding an iron bedframe in front of the garage. He was dressed in jeans, no shirt or shoes. Robin wondered if the vampire kept a herd of humans to feed upon or if this was a Renfield. Or if his father was just crazy.
He got out of his car and closed the door, watching as the muscular young man set aside the welding torch. There was a Bentley in the open garage, a convertible, of all things. The house had lots of glass to take advantage of the views. Robin wondered again if this was the right place. The young man took off the helmet and ran his fingers through his dark blond hair. Robin stared down at him, unsettled.
Last week, his father had called him, ranting about the little bitch being engaged to marry that little punk. While he knew who both of those characters were in his father's obsessive mind, it made no sense. Robin looked up the L.A Times online engagement announcements. Sure enough, the Slayer was marrying someone. Two days ago, he got another call from Ashok Mehta, one of his father's golf buddies. Crowley had a mild stroke in the locker room and was in the hospital.
It wasn't Crowley's first stroke; that had been five years ago. This one was worse because he had knocked into a heavy bench that crashed over and broke a couple of his father's toes. When Robin showed up, Crowley was in a wheelchair, livid that he couldn't go to Sunnydale and kill the Slayer's fiancé.
Which is why Robin was here now, taking on this task for his father, staring at a tanned man who drove a convertible and was doing chores outside on a Saturday morning. He felt like a fool.
Then the shorter man spoke, deep-voiced and British. "I think that coat fits you better than it did your mum." He set the welding helmet down on the bedframe. "Been expecting you. Robin, is it? I'm Spike."
Robin didn't think he'd ever moved as fast. He raised his fist and brought it down into the vampire's face. The creature went back a step from the force of the blow, did not cry out or turn or fight back, just waited calmly for the next blow that came. Robin hit him again, and again, then he stopped. His fingers curled around the stake in his pocket.
The vampire didn't say anything, just nodded. None of this was right; this didn't feel right. Sick to his stomach and unable to think, Robin lifted the stake and drove it into the vampire's chest, the sunshine painting his shadow across the human face as his arm came down.
Nothing happened. The man stared up at him, impassive after an initial grimace of pain. He didn't dissolve into ash. He just stood there.
Robin withdrew the stake and shoved it into the unmarred chest again, unaware that he was sobbing. He didn't miss; he never missed. He pulled the stake back, watched the flesh underneath heal, the skin knit whole without even a red mark left behind. Robin raised his arm once more, but couldn't bring himself to strike again. He turned away, covering his face with his forearm, hiding his wet cheeks against the leather of Nikki Wood's coat. He blindly bumped into the rental car and put his hands on the hood, drawing in gasping breaths.
Spike watched him, then turned and walked around the bed into the garage. He rummaged in the Bentley's glove compartment and came back with a pack of cigarettes. Stepping carefully into Robin Wood's field of view, he shook out a cigarette as an offering. The tall young man took it, his fingers shaking and his knuckles bleeding from the one-sided fight.
Taking out his lighter, Spike lit one for himself, then passed the lighter to Robin. "I'll answer any questions, tell you whatever I know. I owe you that."
Robin shook his head. "How?" He felt drained.
Spike understood. "A little less than a year ago, I got my soul back. I fought for it. First demon to ever choose good, if you believe the Catholic Church."
This barely penetrated. "I staked you. Right in the heart. Twice. I know I did."
"You did. I don't understand exactly why it doesn't work." Everyone had agreed that the phrase 'Gem of Amara' should remain unspoken.
"You have a soul?" Robin lit the cigarette, drew in a lungful of smoke, and promptly had a coughing fit.
"Yeah."
"The Slayer is marrying you. A vampire. A murderous, filthy…."
"I got the soul so I could be by her side, protect her, watch her back. Never thought she'd love me back. Not really." Spike looked at the cigarette in his hand. Had they always tasted this bad?
Robin dropped his cigarette and ground it out on the pavement. He looked at the sky above the garage. "I've gone insane," he said softly.
"No more than anyone else," Spike told him. He squatted down and snuffed out his own cigarette. Standing up, he asked, "Come inside? There's beer." When the young man didn't move, he added, "Blind Pig IPA."
Robin shook his head, but replied, "Okay."
The next half hour was surreal for the young man. Spike talked about his mother as if she was an old friend, telling him stories of how she could walk into any club in New York City, how stylish she was, of how they had even fought together once.
"Why?" He was sitting on the other end of the vampire's couch, holding his third beer between his knees. "If you liked her, why…?"
"Because I had been looking decades for a Slayer worth fighting." Spike's face was solemn. "I'd fought five Slayers before her. The first one, she had a sword." He touched the scar on his brow. "All I had were fangs. By the time I finally tracked down a Slayer, I was… bored with fighting mobs of humans and groups of demons. She was… It was a true battle to the death. It made me feel alive." He lifted a shoulder. "Horrible and selfish as that sounds to my soul."
"How did you get away from the other Slayers?"
"I killed one in Chicago in 1911, Ina Burleigh. She was already hurt, but I didn't know. The rest…" Spike looked down, brow furrowed as if in pain. "I let them go," he said softly. "One of them was injured; the others… weren't as good as the first one I faced. Your mum was the first Slayer I'd found since who could offer me a challenge."
"Dad… Crowley said that you waited for two years."
"I did. I wanted it to be as… even a fight as possible." He grimaced. "No reason to fight if you know the outcome."
"So… she might have killed you that night."
"She nearly did. Had me down…."
There was a long silence. "And now you're protecting a Slayer."
Spike looked at Robin until the tall man met his gaze. "I don't want to tell you this story. Why I was sired, why… an honorable fight is the only one that matters. I could have killed those other Slayers, and it would have made me, well, more infamous in the demon world. But it would have felt… false to me." He gave an angry shrug. "If why matters to you, I'll tell."
"It doesn't matter. Tell me anyway."
Spike closed his eyes for a few seconds, then began with Drusilla's story, the reason he was sired, how that was an excuse for Darla and Angelus to make his unlife hell, and how that led to his anger. He told of throwing out the unwritten rules that vampires lived by after winning the fight with the Chinese Slayer, of a hundred years of Dru's insanity and the final mob in Prague. Spike's expression softened as he recounted the stark contrast between the life he lived and what it was like in the Slayer's world as he researched a cure for Drusilla, the double loss that drove both him and the Slayer from Sunnydale a couple of years ago, the bond of trust they had, and the realization that he could have a place in her world, if he was strong and stubborn enough to reach for it.
Robin was quiet after he finished. He studied the bottle in his hand, his fifth beer. "You couldn't have fallen in love with my mother?"
The blue eyes widened, startled by the thought. "I could, actually. Until Buffy, Nikki was my favorite. But your mum, she wasn't ever going to fall for me. Proper Slayer, that one." He gave the young man a humorless smile. "I introduced myself the wrong way. Besides, I think she was in love with your father."
He turned to him sharply. "My father?"
"Yeah. They weren't together, but he was still in the neighborhood."
"Dad – Crowley said she didn't know who my father was."
"Maybe that's what she told him. They'd known each other since they were kids." He frowned, trying to remember. "Mrs. Wood basically thought he was good-looking but worthless, but Nikki always looked sad when his name came up."
"I was always told that my mother was… liberated."
"Yeah, New York in the seventies. Who wasn't? You're told you aren't going to live past twenty-five, if you're lucky, you'd want to cram all the living you could into the time you got."
"Crowley moved us out of New York for a while after I was born." Robin saw the vampire's eyebrows lift. "I don't remember any of that, but she couldn't stay away. It was all about the mission."
"Buffy tried to quit after that thing with Acathla," Spike said, "but she still ended up fighting demons. Dunno that they can get away from it." He put his empty bottle on the coffee table. "I didn't understand how much they sacrifice until I met Buffy. She really does not like being the Slayer. When a new vampire rises, she thinks back to what she missed the day it was turned. Was she studying? Did she take a minute for herself to go dancing or get an extra hour of sleep? It's a terrible burden, the guilt. Slayers end up… grim."
"I know it's a child's emotion, but I wanted her to put me first." Robin drained his bottle. "Before the mission."
"Parents should put their children first," Spike agreed, "but they're fallible and human. And when your mum is the Slayer, she has to go out and save the world so you'll have a place to grow up."
Robin's expression softened. "She did save the world, once. Dad's favorite story about her."
He didn't notice that Spike's expression had hardened. Nikki saved the world. Once. This might be one of those nights that he didn't feel like he could live up to his own mission.
"You should be dust, twice over." When this got no reply, Robin glanced over. "I came here to kill you. I didn't believe it really could be you, but I would do the same thing again." The vampire closed his eyes and didn't respond. "You didn't fight back."
"No."
"Because it didn't matter what I did."
"No, because you deserved your shot. And I won't fight against the good guys. My choice." He met Robin's glare, and there was a clear light in his eyes.
The human looked down. "I don't know what I'm going to do about Dad." Robin's voice was low and even.
"It isn't my place to give you advice."
"If I tell him the truth, he'll come here as soon as he's on crutches."
"Me, I could care less. But I won't let him harass Buffy."
Robin nodded at the hard tone. "He blames her for getting in touch with my grandmother."
"Instead of himself from stealing her only remaining link to her daughter?"
Brown eyes flashed to the vampire at these harsh words. "It is… indefensible." He looked down. "But… I had a really good childhood. He loves me."
"And you love him." Spike's tone gentled. "Again, it isn't my place to give advice, but I can tell you that the only thing that's important as the years go by is love. You've got two people who love you and want to be in your life. You don't have to choose between them. Neither he nor Mrs. Wood – er, Jones is young. She'll never forgive him, but only you can decide if you can."
"You haven't asked me to forgive you."
For a long moment, Spike couldn't find words. "I won't. I wouldn't expect you to." He looked down at his bare feet. "Any apology I offer would be inadequate… offensive. I am sorry, and my conscience…." He stood abruptly and went to the window, not seeing the beautiful ocean view. "I never looked for Slayers to fight after Nikki. Knowing your mother changed me."
Good morning, sweetie. How did your surfing lesson go?
Spike closed his eyes. In a bit, love. Got company.
He wanted to get the human out of their house before she came, because Buffy would know his turmoil. Right now, he was trying to keep this encounter about Robin Wood.
"Nikki was principled and badass, everything a Slayer could be. I saw that," he turned and put a hand to his chest, "a monster saw that, marked it. It took a hundred and twenty years for a demon, sired for reasons that were… mistaken to begin with, to figure out that it – " Spike broke off, let out his breath. He went to Robin's end of the couch and knelt down in front of him, hands loose on his thighs, making himself as vulnerable as he could. "I am sorry I didn't figure it out sooner. Nothing that I can do will make it right."
Robin looked directly at the vampire kneeling in front of him. The monster who killed his mother.
And when he did, Spike ruthlessly unleashed his mesmer. "Forgiveness is not for me, it's for you. Forgive me, forgive Crowley, forgive Buffy for telling your grandmother. Forgive your mother for putting her mission first. Feel light inside. Feel compassionate toward Crowley. Tell him that Buffy staked the monster who killed your mother, that she's engaged to a boring, normal man. Let yourself be free to love both your grandmother and Crowley. Don't think about me or the Slayer often." He rose up from his knees, keeping his eyes and will on the human. "Turn right when you leave my driveway. Go to the beach and walk off the beers. All that I've told you to do, turn it over in your mind, decide that these things are the best things for you. Rise; tell me that I'm not worth another moment of your time. Leave." As Robin stood up, eyes locked on his, he added, "Don't come back to Sunnydale." He dropped his gaze, broke the mesmer.
"I don't need your apologies." Robin sneered down at him. "In a couple of weeks, I graduate with my doctorate. I've got a lot of good things going on in my life. You aren't worth my time."
"Too right," Spike whispered, not watching as the tall man strode away. He wanted to sink onto the floor. Instead, he waited until he heard the rental car pull away from the house and went outside to put up the bedstead and other bits of the project.
Buffy found him sitting on the floor of the garage, leaning against the door frame, when she drove up ten minutes later. "What's wrong?" she asked, going to him. She sank down and pulled him into her arms.
"Dunno if I did right," he said roughly, wiping his face. He had cried for a few minutes after opening up to her about the visit. "Mesmer's a violation, too, but I couldn't have him or the old Watcher coming after you."
He wasn't into the revenge. I could see it in his face. I think… you just nudged him toward where he was going. Buffy's expression grew troubled. I can't condone what you did, but I know why you did it.
To make it easier on myself.
To keep an impossible situation from coming about. If Crowley did come here, there's no way it could end well. She thought for a moment. The best outcome would be that an old man gets hauled off for a psychiatric evaluation.
He saw what she meant, an old man claiming that a man of his apparent age had murdered a grown woman with his bare hands in 1977, when he maybe would have been in preschool. The set of his shoulders didn't ease.
What's really wrong?
I've never been confronted like that for what I did.
Spike, you scourge yourself over what you did. Every four days, almost like clockwork.
His eyes flew to her, wide. "What?"
She touched his nose with her finger, a sorrowful look on her face. "You don't brood, and I appreciate that. But I feel it afterwards, like a bruise. I know when you leave the bedroom and go to the roof." I know that you go a few rounds with your guilt and remorse on a regular basis.
He turned his head. How can you even bear to touch me?
"Because I love you." What's really bothering you?
I'm not sorry. I couldn't make myself say it. He stood up and walked away from her into the sunshine. Buffy… Every step I took after I dug my way out of my grave, that was a step toward you. He turned to face her now, his gaze intense. Including what happened with Nikki.
He came back to her and took her hands, kneeling before her before placing his forehead on her hands. Our life is so good; I'm so happy, it fucking scares me. If I did even one thing different… His thoughts failed him; he showed her an image of Giles waving off a stupid git of a vampire who got lucky in a fight with a Slayer once, a world where there had never been a Pax Aurelius, where one or the other of them died when he came to Sunnydale. What kind of monster am I that I can't tell a boy I'm sorry I killed his mum?
An honest one. Tears ran down her face. Buffy hauled him to his feet and leaned into him. You really need to learn how to lie. Humans do that kind of thing all the time.
He pulled away from her, staring. "What?" She had surprised him twice in five minutes.
You swore to be honest with me. Not with everyone. I think it would be better to lie to Robin Wood than to whammy him into getting to a place of forgiveness. Or, then again, maybe you saved him years of therapy. He was still looking at her, shocked. Spike, I know what you are, what you were, who you had to be to survive long enough to… become something better. And I know I'm really good at denial. I don't want to know details; I didn't want to know with Angel, either. The sins, crimes… they matter. They matter to you. If they didn't, I wouldn't love you.
I don't see how you can.
Your soul does. It forgave you. You remember, the soul that helps you choose good every day, after you chose it once, the choice that no other demon has ever made?
It doesn't mean I deserve forgiveness.
No one deserves forgiveness. You don't earn it. When he didn't reply, she nodded behind them. "Why is there a bed frame in here?"
"I, uh, was reinforcing the joints."
"So it's strong, but ugly?"
"Well, I was going to paint it."
She looked at it. "White?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Well, let's paint it."
"So, we're officially changing the subject."
She raised a brow at his neutral tone. "You had a visitor who upset you. We talked." Buffy took his hand. "Do you want to talk more?"
After a moment of searching her face and seeing no shadows there, he squeezed her fingers. "No."
⸹
May 2000
⸹
"Joyce made lasagna last night," Spike said, coming in the unlocked door. Giles looked up, puzzled by this announcement. The blond man lifted a container. "There's enough leftovers for lunch for us both."
"Ah."
"Last pages of the penultimate book, then we're down to the dregs of the Master's collection."
"Since I've destroyed all the rest, do you want to skip the last one?"
"What, and miss more purple prose about the mighty Old Ones?"
"Mmm." Whatever Giles was working on, it had his full attention. Calendars, from the look of it.
Spike put the lasagna in the refrigerator and settled on the floor with a couple of dictionaries and the book. They were quiet for the next hour, and, truthfully, Spike needed the routine. Robin Wood's visit over the weekend had thrown him badly.
"Bollocks," he swore some time later, moving books around. "Where's the Phoenician dictionary gotten to?"
"Shelf behind you," Giles offered, never looking up.
"Tea?"
"That would be lovely."
Spike stood up, stretched, and put on the water to heat. He found the dictionary he needed and went back to the book.
"Spike? The kettle?"
He looked up. "What? Oh." He wasn't sure how long it had been whistling. Quickly throwing together two cups to steep, he went back to the floor by the couch, scribbling on a pad of paper.
At one o'clock, Giles sighed and closed one of his books. Spike was still working on the last pages of the same book, his forgotten tea black and cold beside him. The Watcher leaned over and picked it up. The blond man never noticed.
A few minutes later, Giles lightly kicked Spike's thigh to get his attention, then handed him a plate of reheated lasagna. "Take a break, even if you found something good." He saw that Spike had a California atlas spread out alongside the books.
"Oh. Thank you." He took the plate and rolled out his neck, then joined Giles on the couch. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Yes, and I don't envy anyone living in 2319."
"So, what do I need to do in 2319?"
"Put together a coven of really strong white witches, would be my advice."
"I'll put it on the to-do list."
"What about you?"
"I found another reference to those Guardians. They're supposed to have hidden something in the Diablo Range. I've got it narrowed down to one town, Gilroy."
Giles raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty narrow."
Spike scowled. "Around Gilroy. Not so narrow." He flapped a hand at the book. "The author is writing what he heard, not what he knew. Still, at least that's two references to these Guardians being in the backwater that is California."
"If your interpretation is correct."
Spike shot him a look. "Indulge me." He nodded at the book against the far corner of the computer desk. "I've been dreading having to handle that one. Maybe I'm just putting it off."
"Latex gloves under cotton gloves works wonders."
"You double-bag?"
"Your ability to make anything sound dirty is only rivaled by Xander's ability to set himself up for things that sound dirty."
"And thus is comedy born." Spike stood up. "Don't tell Joyce I only had a few bites. I'm not that hungry."
"And you want to get back to your dubious scholarship."
"I'd like to knock out that last book this afternoon. It's Latin; how hard can it be? Thanks for the tip about the gloves," he added.
Giles went out to run errands, and by the time he got back, Spike had finished and was perusing the Watcher's vinyl collection. Genesis' Selling England by the Pound was on the turntable. Instead of lobbing a loaded comment at his countryman, Giles went over and put a hand on his shoulder. "All done, then?"
"Yeah." Spike nodded toward the record player. "Needed something to cleanse my palette."
"Anything worth saving in the book?"
"No. Burn it with ritual flames. The other one, too."
Giles raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
"Yeah, I have everything I can get out of it."
He almost said something about Spike getting more out of it than was actually in it, when he noticed that all of the lights were on. Giles squeezed his shoulder instead and went over to the couch.
Spike put away the liner notes of a Joni Mitchell album and joined him. 'Firth of Fifth' came on, and he smiled. "You want to know something odd? This is the first time I've heard this song."
His soul, Giles realized. "Oh? Do you like it?"
"I do, Rupes." The smile became a full on grin. "If I'd have been a wanker that didn't like, say, punk rock, I'd be disappointed in myself."
The scholar in him came to the fore. "With a background in classical music, I'm rather surprised by that."
"Classical? Try Hymns Ancient and Modern." Spike snorted. "The first time I heard a Spanish guitar, I was hooked. And when I was in America and heard the blues…" He shook his head. "I love about any sound that can be wrung out of a guitar."
"Do you ever think of taking your instrument again?"
Spike shook his head. "Not interested. I don't care to play alone."
Giles narrowed his eyes. Spike had just passed up the chance to make a double entendre about masturbation. That last book from the Master's collection must have been brutal. He took a breath and made an offering. "I've been playing again."
The blond man turned to him. "You play?"
Giles nodded, a little embarrassed. "Not having a full time job… It's not the worst hobby, I guess." He lifted his hands. "It's frustrating how often I choke the strings, just because I can't feel them."
"Acoustic or electric?"
"Acoustic. Don't want to bother the neighbors."
"Well, you know you have to drag it out now."
He let himself be persuaded without too much effort. Giles had been working on "Behind Blue Eyes" and wanted to test it out on an audience. Just as he was about to finish, someone knocked on the door.
"That'll be the irate neighbors," he sighed.
Spike went over the couch like a big cat and came up beside the door, opening it to reveal a red-haired young man with a guitar case. "Oz," he said, surprised.
"Hey." He lifted his case. "I heard music."
Giles put down the instrument. "Come in, come in." He still felt uncomfortable hugging former students, but surely this was an appropriate occasion. "I'm so glad to see you."
Oz came in, shook Spike's hand, and settled down in the easy chair. "I didn't know," he said, then gestured to the wall, "but I should have guessed from the vinyl."
Spike put his hands in the air. "And he sings well, too. Watcher Boy is full of surprises."
"How have you been, Oz?"
He put his guitar case down carefully, thinking about his answer. "Better."
"…That's good." Giles replied, fishing for more.
"I went by the dorm to see Willow. No one was there."
"Next week is finals," Spike said. "It seems like the schedule gets weird during 'dead week.'"
Oz nodded. "How is she?"
"Well, I think. Her ability with magic is coming along at a tremendous clip."
Spike sent an incredulous look at Giles. "She was shattered last fall, mate." He glared at Oz. "We weren't afraid to leave her alone, exactly, but we didn't leave her alone."
Oz closed his eyes. "I felt the same. I almost killed her."
Giles gave Spike a reproachful look. "The werewolf did. You mustn't blame yourself for –"
"Magically speaking, why would it be… permissible for the werewolf to influence me, but not for me to influence it? If it could make human me pay attention to," he said the next word as though it hurt, "Veruca and hurt Willow's feelings, why can't I influence it?"
Spike tilted his head and examined Oz. "So now you can?" When the young man nodded, he grinned. "Fuck all these rules about what can and can't be done."
Giles was gaping. "How, exactly, do you influence it? Do you remain aware when you turn?"
"I don't." He saw that Giles didn't understand. "Turn, I mean."
"You don't turn?" Oz nodded again. "How is this possible?"
"An order of Tibetan monks here in the States taught me some chants and meditation techniques, but there are a couple of charms. Herbs, too."
Giles was shaking his head at this gloss over what had to be a tremendous amount hard work. "The full moon is tomorrow…."
"I won't change." Oz leaned over, opened his guitar case, and brought out his instrument. Both of them watched him carefully, because he was obviously troubled and unwilling to go on. "I would have been back sooner, but I waited an extra lunar cycle to make sure." He laid it on his lap like it was a steel guitar and stared at it. "Will she even want to see me?"
"Yes."
"Of course she will."
"Don't build it up as something melodramatic, mate. Willow didn't stop loving you. She did, however –"
"Spike, now's not –"
"– start loving someone else."
Oz clenched his jaw and turned away. "Who is he?"
"No, mate. She." Giles shook his head, but Spike shrugged. He had to be told.
Oz forgot about control and werewolf management and even his guitar. The body of it slid from his lap to the floor. "What?!"
Spike leaned forward, earnest. "Willow mourned you like you were dead. Do not think that she doesn't love you still. Red wasn't looking for someone else. She met a new friend at a Wicca group, February, I think. It took her a while to realize it was more than friendship."
Oz picked up his guitar numbly, cradled it. "She… a girl."
"Daniel Osbourne," Spike said, his voice deep as a grave, pulling Oz's blue eyes to him. "Are you listening to me?"
Those eyes narrowed. "Yes."
Spike nodded once, feeling Giles studying him intently. "Willow still loves you. Think about that. Think about how it would feel if you did something colossally stupid and ruined that."
Oz furrowed his brow. "You think I can win her back?"
"I never said that. I think there are easily a dozen ways you can kill any chance of ever being in her life again. Do not hurt her."
Once he was sure that no mesmer was afoot, Giles let out a breath and added his own advice. "She was devastated when you left, and she'll be delighted that you're back."
"Buffy and I are getting married next month," Spike said, still willing Oz to hear what he was saying.
"Uh… congratulations."
"No, you nit," Spike groaned, exasperated. "The reason I'm even in her life is because I put her happiness before my own. Because it's about her. And I have to think, since you went off to find a way to break out of the supernatural box you were in, just like I did, that for you, it's about Willow. Not you."
"It is."
Giles pulled out his phone. "Here's her cell number. Call her." He tossed a look at Spike. "He dithered around almost a week after coming back to Sunnydale before he got in touch with Buffy. She was angrier about that than anything."
"True."
Oz glanced at the number and memorized it. He let out a breath. "Do you mind if we run through 'Behind Blue Eyes' a couple of times? I'm not dithering, just…."
Giles nodded, understanding. Spike had been listening to music to clear his mind of the miasma of evil from the Master's book. Music would help Oz center himself again.
The third time the other two went through the song, Spike found his fingers twitching. Oz noticed, and when he stood up, he handed his guitar to Spike, then nodded toward the landline. "Giles, may I use your phone?"
Giles plucked at strings and tuned his already in-tune instrument, and Spike placed his hands along the frets of the electric guitar, seeing how much muscle memory he had after thirty-odd years. They did a credible job of ignoring Oz until Willow's breathy voice said, "Hey, Giles."
"It's Oz," the young man said. "Hi."
"Oz? Oh, God, Oz! Where are you? Are you all right?" She took a breath. "You're at Giles'?"
"Yeah. I'd like to see you, if that's okay."
"Of course! I'm heading to my dorm room. If Buffy's there, maybe she can give me a ride to –"
"I'll come there. My campus parking sticker's still good."
"I-I'll be there. Oz, it's so good to hear your voice."
"See you quick as I can." He hung up the phone and leaned against the door frame for a moment. His eyes were bright when he turned around. "Okay."
Giles stood up as Spike packed the electric guitar back into its case. "Good luck. As much as it pains me to say so, Spike gave you some solid advice."
Oz nodded. "Once I see her… I hope I don't need advice."
Spike stood and handed him the guitar case. He gave him an encouraging smile, too, and nodded his farewell. The two Brits waited until they heard the van pull away before Spike spoke. "Well, this is painful. Wish I didn't like all Red's people so much. She can pick them."
Giles nodded and ran a hand over his hair. "I'd just labelled Tara 'nice' until last week. She isn't just a strong witch, she's a strong person. She's been so good with Jonathan after that spell. You know, that might be a start of a coven."
"I still think he must have magnified something in Glarghk Guhl Kashmas'nik venom. Helluva spell." Spike shook his head, coming back to the moment. "Red won't dump Tara."
"No, of course not. Tara will probably try to bow out, though."
"Yeah, not real confident yet. We'll get her up to our unrealistic levels of self-esteem in about a decade."
Giles chuckled. "Speak for yourself. I'm far above such petty concerns." Spike had pulled out his cell phone and was pressing buttons. "What are you up to now?"
"Letting everyone else know that Oz is back and to give Red some space."
"We should get Tara a cell phone, too." By the time Spike was finished, he was standing by the computer and frowning. "Where did you learn to type?"
"Got a typing program a few years back, when it became obvious we weren't going to be talking to computers anytime soon."
"Those work?"
"Like anything, you put time into it. Learning the keyboard layout was the biggest hurdle." He nodded at Giles' hands. "Would it hurt or help your fingers?"
"I don't know." He absently massaged the last fingers on his right hand. "Part of the reason I've taken up the guitar again is to keep them limber," he admitted.
"I wish I could have thought of some better way in that house on Crawford, Rupert. It had to be after dawn. Angelus never was one for a standup fight. He'd have scarpered if it had been at night."
"I'm alive," Giles said, shrugging. "How many can say that after Angelus captured them."
Spike thought about this seriously, of people that Angelus had let live so they would be blamed for crimes done to their families or so he could hunt them down later, then realized that would not be a useful conversation. "You're quite the singular human, Rupert."
⸹
"So, after they talk all night, Willow has to go turn in a paper." Buffy was leaning on Spike's chest, propping up just enough to look at him in the dim light of the single candle she'd lit.
"I can't believe that Oz has enough words to talk all night. 'Talk,' maybe."
"No, she swears it was just talking, laying on the bed fully clothed and talking."
"And maybe some hand-holding?"
"I think there was. So, anyway, right after Willow leaves, Tara shows up and there's Oz, answering the door."
"Ouch."
"So, she's trying to beg off, and he's all, oh, you must be Tara."
"Wait, how do you know this?"
"Tara told Willow, who told her bestie everything."
"Go on. My breath is all bated."
"So Tara didn't flee, but she's thinking of course she's history because someone with more self-esteem is back in the picture. She just sort of stood there, shocked that no secrets are being kept and there's, like, maturity going on. And then Oz gets this odd look on his face and tells her she smells like his pack."
"After he smelled her on Willow all night, that'd be about right."
Buffy made the little nose-crinkle she always made when she remembered how much vampires learn from their sense of smell. "So, he gets her to come inside, and she's sitting all awkward on my bed while he thanks her for making Willow happy."
"Good on him."
"So, then Willow comes back, and they all go get breakfast. Tara asks Oz about his music, then he finds out she knows something called shape note singing, and then Willow sits there and eats all the muffins while they talk because she's easy prey for carbs when she's been up all night."
"Mmm."
"Oz is enrolling for the fall semester. And, just to be sure, Willow is going to that crypt with the bars with him tonight. He asked."
"Is it clear?" Spike lifted his head, concerned. "I mean, I've seen some, uh, use of that cage."
"I don't know," she admitted. "How have we not thought of that?"
He grinned. "Too public for my taste."
Buffy pulled herself higher and kissed him. "I'm going to miss you." Her wedding dress was finished.
"Not much, what with all those Bergdorfs and Saks and Nordstroms and Bloomingdales."
She grinned. "Okay, okay, I'll have a ton of fun. But it'll be just us girls. I'll miss your," her hands wandered, "testosterone."
"B'lieve it will miss you right back."
⸹
Spike leaned against the Bentley and watched the prop plane rise into the air. He lifted a hand, though he knew it was unlikely anyone saw him. Buffy was off to New York to pick up her wedding dress, taking all the interesting females in Sunnydale with her. Even Tara had been persuaded to go. Like Spike, she hadn't flown before, and he grinned a little as he thought of how excited she had been.
He got in the convertible and went to the exit. No one was behind him, not at this sleepy little airport, and he sat at the intersection for a moment, thinking. It was early in the morning, long hours until patrol tonight. He didn't particularly feel like surfing, and he was already dressed nicely. Spike opened the console and got out the GPS he'd bought as a birthday present for himself. He put it on the dash mount and stared at it for a moment. Impulsively, he turned north.
This was a fool's errand, and he knew it. Four hours of a straight drive north up 101, for no real reason. Giles had been clear about his opinion. The Master had made no notes on the pages that mentioned the Guardians.
Still, Slayers had never been the Master's interest, and he might not have made anything of the information. Why seek a weapon you can't use, anyway? Sighing, afraid to get his hopes up, Spike decided Gilroy was as good a place as any to stop for petrol and junk food. He drove onto the ramp.
He bought a city map at the convenient store and asked for directions to the local public library. The disinterested clerk just shrugged, but his manager was female. She smiled at Spike and offered to let him see her phonebook. He flirted with her and was at the library ten minutes later.
He loved libraries. Librarians, too, for that matter. This one was pushing sixty and got his information needs out of him faster than Darla could get a john out of his trousers. She sat him down at a table and had material on the oldest buildings in Gilroy spread out in front of him before he'd been in the library more than three minutes. His eyes kept straying to the address for the mission.
Sometimes, it was like this, like a strong wind was at his back. He half expected to hear the flap of wings, for a kestrel to land on the globe that stood at one end of the reference desk. There was no sense of déjà vu, no feeling that this had all been rehearsed. Instead, he felt like he was hearing a tone, and if he tilted his head just so, the frequency grew stronger.
Spike stacked the materials and took them back to the desk. He thanked the librarian. As he walked out to his car, he sent a text to Giles, asking for a bit of information. Then Spike went to the Gilroy mission.
The mission was active, staffed by a benevolent order. They welcomed him. A middle-aged monk in a clerical collar gave him a tour. "The mission was built before our order took over," he said, showing Spike a typical monk's cell. "We –"
"I'm so sorry," Spike interrupted, tilting his head, as if listening. "What's down that hallway?"
The priest looked at him curiously. "You haven't been here before?"
"No."
"We have a small collection of old tapestries down here." He obligingly led the way. "Nothing like you have in Europe," he added, having noted Spike's accent, "but we're quite proud of them. Brother Salvatore went to Vatican City for a workshop on how to clean and preserve them a few years ago."
Spike nodded, not listening to the monk but to the tone in his head. No, his blood, blood that had changed when he had drained a Slayer a hundred years before. He went to a small tapestry, tilted his head, and gently lifted it from the hanger.
"Oh, they're fragile, you shouldn't…" The brother took a couple of steps closer. The little room was dimly lit, and he peered at the bas-relief that had been behind the tapestry, at the pattern and the foreign words. "I didn't know that was there." He peered at Spike. "How did you know?"
"It is not for thee. It is for her alone to wield." Gooseflesh broke out over his arms, a sensation almost unprecedented in his long unlife.
"That's what those words say?"
Spike nodded. Just as gently, he hung the tapestry back on its hook. "Thank you, father. Might I ask…?" His cell phone beeped. He had to smile; of course it did. Pulling it from his pocket, he knew the text message from Giles would contain a telephone number. "I have to ask if I could arrange a phone call between Bishop Rossi in the Vatican and the head of your order. Something that's been lost a very long time," he laid his hand on the wall that lay between him and the ringing tone, "has just turned up."
The tone stilled.
⸹
"Your dress is beautiful," Cordelia said. She had joined them at LAX for the direct flight to New York City. Now she was on her hotel bed, along with Buffy and Anya, who had left Joyce in the adjoining room to sleep. Tara and Willow sat on the other double bed. The long gown hung in a place of honor on the closet door.
"It is," Anya agreed.
"Your dresses are beautiful, too," Buffy said. Then, anxious, "Aren't they?"
"It's gorgeous," Willow assured her.
"It is," Cordelia said absently. "I mean, it is a bridesmaid's dress. I won't wear it again unless it's a super-formal party, but it's pretty."
Buffy pretended to flick sweat from her brow. Truthfully, if Cordelia said the dress was okay, she believed her.
"Just about another month," Anya mused. "Then Spike will be Mr. Buffy Summers."
She laughed. "Mr. Spike Summers." She laughed again. "Which does kind of sound silly. Mr. William Summers."
"I've said it before," Cordelia mused, "you're insanely brave."
"To be getting m-married?" Tara asked, wanting clarification.
Cordelia nodded. "It scares me to death. I figured my parents didn't care enough to get divorced, but one little bankruptcy and, bam!"
"My mom and dad are together," Willow said, "but I don't know if they're happy."
"I don't know if m-my parents were happy, either," Tara admitted. Willow patted her shoulder.
"And my parents…" Buffy stood up abruptly and walked to the window. They had a partial view of the New York skyline. She crossed her arms, hugging herself. "Maybe I'm not all that brave."
Willow's brows drew together at the quiet admission. She sat up. "Buffy?"
"I'm just nineteen," Buffy said, turning back to her friends. "I haven't seen anybody get this right."
"I shouldn't have said anything. It's cold feet, Buffy. That's all." Cordelia gave her a reassuring look.
The Slayer shook her head. She'd washed off her makeup and brushed her hair back as she got ready for bed. She barely looked fifteen. "I'm too young to get married."
"The women's magazines say you shouldn't get married until after twenty-five or –six," Anya supplied. "That way, your personality has settled and you've had a chance to be on your own before pledging yourself to another for the rest of your life."
Buffy's eyes widened. "Oh, God. What if I'm actually somebody else? Somebody Spike can't stand?"
Willow covered a smile. "I don't think Spike will ever not love you."
"But what if I hurt him? I'm nineteen; I have no idea how to handle forever. I can barely grasp a year."
Cordelia stood up and went to hug her. "So, you're getting married young. You're not just anybody. You're the Slayer. It's okay."
Buffy looked up at her. That was always in the back of her own mind, no matter what Spike said about his mission.
"Buffy?" Tara swallowed a little of the word, struggling to get out her thought. She sat up beside her girlfriend. "Y-you d-don't have to m-marry. Love is enough. J-just love."
Buffy watched her fingers slide into Willow's, saw the look they exchanged. They couldn't get married, even if they felt ready. She felt silly, suddenly, and gave them a cheerful smile. Turning to give Cordelia a hug, she said, "You're right. It's cold feet. Maybe I am too young, but I'm going to be a gorgeous, unwrinkled bride."
"You're really okay?" Willow asked carefully. Best friend subtext was that they could talk more in private.
"I'm really okay," Buffy said, her tone certain. "I am. I'm getting married to my other best friend, the one I'm crazy in love with. I'm totally okay."
⸹
"Spike?"
"Hmm?"
"Wanna go get that vampire pretending to be just another shadow?"
"Uh… yeah. Let's."
Xander ended up staking it, since it ran from Spike straight into him. "Well, that's one technique," he said, slapping at his Hawaiian shirt. He pointed at Spike with his chin. "What's up tonight, with the elsewhere?"
The blond man waved a vague hand in the air. "Got stuff on my mind."
"Wedding stuff?"
"Yeah." He followed up the lie with a truth. "Miss her."
"Figured you guys talk all the time."
"No, usually try to give each other privacy through the day."
"Oh. Well, I understand. Sometimes I wish Anya gave me more privacy."
"You should get in the habit of stopping by a pub on your way home, have a moment for yourself."
"Yeah, not so much with the pub-stopping. I'm trying to not be my dad."
Spike nodded, having nothing to add to that. "Well, maybe go by a gym or take a run. Do something for yourself before you get home."
"Judo is pretty much all I can squeeze in right now, and that's just because my boss is also my instructor."
"It's how I managed all those years with Dru, finding my own interests." He smiled fondly. "She never cared much for the same music as me, especially not in the later years."
They crossed the street and headed toward the Restfield. Spike put his hand on Xander's chest as they came to the gate. "To the left," he murmured. Xander nodded, raising his arm so his stake was at the right angle. The vampires expected to jump out from the open gates and grab the people walking past. Instead, the people jumped through the entrance and staked them.
"Better," Xander said approvingly.
"Yeah, well, let's talk about something interesting."
"Not wedding talk?"
"That would do it."
"How about gossip? Oz kissed Willow."
Spike raised a hand to his mouth and gave a passable squeal. "Omigod? On the mouth?"
"Yes! Yeah, actually, he did."
"How'd she take it?"
"Reciprocally, for about a second. Then she ran home and confessed to Tara. Said she was surprised into it."
"Have you been to their new apartment?"
"Yes, and it already looks more like a home than the house I lived in all my life. If you like color, anyway."
"So, how long until Oz moves in?"
"Tara: lesbian. Willow: bisexual, just based on her relationships. Oz: het. No way that could work."
"No, I just meant, he's a homeless musician. They usually live with girlfriends."
"Oh. His family lives in Sunnydale. Devon is putting together a Dingoes tour for next month, into July if he can get the bookings. Oz is accepting a small drop in cool and living at his parents' until then."
"What if Tara is bisexual, too?" Spike mused.
"Just, no, because that's disrespectful to Tara. Also because not even Oz deserves to play in a rock band and have two hot girlfriends." Both men slowed as they reached the far corner of the graveyard. The shadows were deeper here. After they were clear, Xander went on. "But I will tell you that Oz told me that he likes the way Tara smells. He said she smells, and I quote, 'fertile.'"
Spike looked over at him, chuckling. "She'll pan his head in, he ever says that in front of her."
"Yeah." He started to say something, then stopped.
"No, go on."
"Anya's ideal threesome now includes Tara."
He chuckled again. "I do not have the stones to ask Buffy that question." He lifted a shoulder and, just to see if he could get Xander to do a full body shudder, added, "It's probably Giles."
"Urrk," Xander said, shuddering. He was silent until they were back on the street, heading to campus. "I think it's that she's so nice and is more, er," he made circular movements over his chest, "blessed than the other ladies we know."
"So, what's Anya doing to keep busy?"
"I'm not sure. She says she has something in mind, but isn't going to share until she's sure she can do it."
"Well, that sounds reasonable."
"Yeah," Xander said, "reasonable, that's my girl." He frowned suddenly. "What are those lights? Something finally being done to demolish the high school?"
Spike looked west. "Glow looks like fire. Sodium lights would be steadier."
They exchanged a glance and changed direction. Before they were halfway there, the ground rumbled beneath them.
Xander, a California native, automatically checked around them for power lines, trees, or other things that might topple over. He pulled Spike to the center of the empty street. "Glad Buffy isn't here. She hates earthquakes."
Spike frowned. "Isn't May prime apocalypse time?"
Xander lifted a shoulder. "Ahh, it's the Hellmouth. Any month…" He trailed off and blinked once. They stared at each other.
Hellmouth.
They pelted as fast as they could toward the fiery nimbus over the skeletal remains of Sunnydale High School. Spike, who didn't need air for aerobic activity, pulled out his mobile. "Pick up, pick up… Giles! Xander and I on our way to the Hellmouth. Earthquake, what looks like fire, smell of sulfur in the air."
"I'll be right there with the potion to close it. Be careful."
"Rupert's on his way." Another tremor pushed its way beneath and past them.
Xander grabbed Spike's arm to steady himself, then pushed him toward the school. "Go on. See who's doing this. I'll catch up."
He nodded once and put his head down, putting on a burst of vampire speed. "Déjà vu," he muttered to himself, "probably Vahralls again." Instead of going through the damp, nasty hallways to the library, he went to the side and leapt onto the remnants of the library's outside wall. His jump coincided with another rumble and one of his handholds fell away. A large chunk of masonry crashed into his left hip, making him wince. On the plus side, it masked any noise that might have been overheard by the lone figure he'd glimpsed inside.
Spike shook himself clear of the debris and went to the shadows of the trees that still stood at the edge of the schoolyard. He speed-dialed again. When Giles answered, he gave out details as fast as he could. "One hooded figure, white robe, three candles: black, red, and white. Largish book, looks old, reciting from it. Outside the library windows; easiest way in now."
"Just turned off Wilkins. Three minutes."
Spike closed his phone, ending the terse conversation. He was about to start back to the library wall when Xander ran past him fifteen yards away. Before the blond man could lift a foot in pursuit, the largest quake yet hit. Idiot, he berated himself, stand right under a tree.
The tree and most of its branches held, but the earth did not. In the schoolyard, Xander's arms were out to help him balance, but the next time his foot came down, there was no longer any ground to meet it. A jagged crack opened up, and Xander tumbled inside. He didn't even have time to cry out.
For decades, Spike had carried emergency weapons and other oddments in his long leather coat. Now that he no longer wore it, now that he had a mission, he had to change things up. It started with ripping out the lining of his new leather jacket. Buffy had been chained up in the past, so he rigged a pocket for a sheathed bayonet that served as a wire cutter as well as a weapon. She had been slimed by a variety of demons, so he kept a packet of wet wipes in another pocket. Sometimes she needed to tie up the less lethal types, so he had a handful of zip ties.
And then there were times when the Hellmouth opened up. Spike ripped open the Velcro opening that gave him access to a carabiner. It was knotted to a seventy-meter length of climbing rope looped around the inside of his jacket dozens of times. He'd thought of it as a bit of body armor as well. He hadn't needed any of these tools before tonight.
As he grabbed it, the rope unspooled perfectly. "Hold, hold," he told the nearest tree. Spike wrapped the rope around it three times, clipped it back through the carabiner, and set off for the rent in the ground. A sullen red glow came from the crack, and he could smell sulfur. Spike shrugged out of his jacket and stomped down on it to anchor it against the tug as he finished pulling out the rest of the rope.
"Xander!" The heat and the foul air stung his eyes. Spike looked around, but did not see the human. The crack was narrow, but deep. He was sure this was where Xander had disappeared. Thirty seconds ago? Taking a breath, gripping the rope tightly, Spike jumped into the rift, aiming for the nearest outcropping of rock.
"Xander!" he called again. Nothing. Maybe ten feet down now. The air was so close and thick with sulfur, he didn't think Xander would be able to reply. There, another jut of rock. He went down another six or seven feet. If he could only get a scent….
Spike scrambled down another area, then slid another twelve or so feet as the loosened soil gave way. How much rope was left? He found his attention caught by a dark smudge on the rock. Blood. It was blood; he was made to spot blood. Spike swung over the few feet to this new, gruesome target, and found he could no longer fall. The soil from above had fallen into this even narrower section, filling it.
Fear gave way to a sense of dread. He took the rope in his teeth and began scrabbling at the dirt and pebbles with both hands. He cleared away the soil in a wide path, filled with a sick surety that Xander would be just six inches to one side and he'd miss the lad. Something different… In the dim light, he couldn't see, and he grabbed it hard, thinking it was a branch. Then it moved beneath his fingers.
Xander's forearm. Thank God! Spike had never used vampire speed to dig before, not even when clawing his way out of his grave, but he did so now, fingernails breaking, skin peeling from his knuckles, then his fingertips. A shoulder appeared, then Xander's matted dark hair. Spike smoothed dirt away a bit more carefully.
Xander looked up, his dark eyes unfocused. He wasn't coughing, and Spike realized that his body was under too much pressure for him to breath. He mimed closing his eyes, and Xander did so with a barely perceptible nod. Spike started digging furiously again.
When he could get his hands beneath Xander's armpits, he braced himself against the opposite wall with his legs and heaved the boy upwards as hard as he could. The soil was still loose, and Xander came up a few inches. Heartened, Spike heaved again, then reset his legs for another pull.
The moment his chest came free from the weight of the soil, Xander's eyes and mouth opened. Spike had been expecting this. He pinched his fingers over Xander's nostrils, then grabbed the rope with his other hand instead of his teeth. He sealed his mouth to the lad's as best he could, and gave him the last of his air. If anything, Xander's eyes widened even further. Then Spike put his other hand over his own mouth, willing the human to understand, to hold it in.
He let go and began looping the rope around Xander, under his arms. Spike tied two quick half hitches and resettled himself once more to give a last pull to get Xander's legs free. They came reluctantly, and Xander scrabbled at the dirt and rock behind Spike to help.
That seemed to exhaust the last of his strength, but it was enough. Feeling a sense of urgency, Spike leapt to a spar above, though it was less of a jump and more of a scramble. He pulled Xander up, then did the same thing twice more. Looking up, he could see two or three stars. Close, then.
Just at that moment, the sound/feel of a tremor came again, and pieces of rock and more loose soil slid past them. Spike grabbed Xander close and began hauling them up a foot at a time. Then the rope went slack, dropping them back down into the choking rift. The knot gave, Spike thought tiredly, but something else must have happened, because the rope caught with a jerk after they lost about ten feet of progress.
The quake rolled past them. Spike blinked his eyes to try to clear the grit, then began the slow ascent again. He didn't know when Xander lapsed into unconsciousness or when the blisters on his hands broke; he only knew the hand over hand motion until his fingers couldn't slide up any further. Something with the rope had gone funny.
No, he realized. The rope was bent because they were at the lip of the crack. Almost there. Get out; get Xander out. Then, rest. In a slow-motion mockery of the way he could run up a wall, Spike walked his legs up the opposite side of the rift until he could get one leg over. He snorted at the phrase, scaring himself a little with how scattered his thoughts were. Focus, you git. He rolled up over the edge, lying still for a moment, looking at the dark sky and the handful of stars. He saw that the tree where he'd tied off had toppled over, explaining the slack that had dropped them back into the rift.
The rift. Pushing away the exhaustion, he leaned over and hauled Xander up by the rope until he could get his arms around the human's chest. Spike staggered to his feet and dragged Xander ten yards from the crack, away from the sulfurous fumes, then collapsed, his head on the lad's chest. He wasn't breathing – no, he was, and then Xander was coughing, spraying out bits of earth. Spike helped him sit up and took a breath of his own. The smell of blood was overwhelming, and he put his dirty, but healed, fingertips against Harris' scalp, finding a gash and a sizable lump. Far away, Spike heard a loud crack. Hellmouth's open, he thought, though he couldn't attach much meaning to that just now.
An instant later, the rift in the ground healed up. The night grew darker as the flames disappeared, then a stray breeze blew away the last of the vapor. 'Wha's goin' on?" Xander asked groggily.
"Dunno."
A figure began walking away from the ruins of the library. No robe, but Spike began to struggle to his feet. Then the figure waved and began walking toward them briskly. It was Giles, carrying a crossbow pointed toward the ground. "Xander?" It was more of a question for Spike than a greeting for the dark-haired man.
"Squished, but okay." Xander got that out, then began coughing again.
"His head," Spike said, "needs stitches, I think." Giles seemed to move oddly to Spike, who examined him as closely as he examined Xander's injury. "You okay, man?"
The ex-Watcher nodded as he pressed his handkerchief against the gash. Xander winced. "Can you walk, Xander? We need to get this looked at. You're bleeding quite a lot."
Spike made a disgusted noise, aimed at himself. "Here," he said, moving Giles improvised compress aside.
"Ewww. You just licked my head, didn't you?"
"Yeah. Smelled your blood, but forgot all about getting you healed up." The vampire shrugged. "You aren't food."
Giles, sounding more like himself, said dryly, "If you're up for it, Spike, could you go into the library and get the book that's laying there?"
He nodded and forced himself upright. Before going to the shell of the school, he reclaimed his jacket. When he came back, the large book was bundled inside of the leather. Spike felt too tired to deal with the touch of something evil.
Xander was sitting up on his own now. "What happened?" he asked Giles, nodding toward the Hellmouth.
"I got here just as Spike went into the crack. Almost ran into the rope, actually." He gave them an apologetic look. "I didn't know what I could do to help, so I chose to go on to the Hellmouth. I could hear the ritual." He stopped and looked away. "Whoever that was, they were summoning something, on their feet and approaching each candle, chanting… I could feel the magic increasing; the spell was close to being cast… I shot them in the back," he lifted the crossbow, then stood up from where he'd been kneeling on the ground. "They tumbled into the Hellmouth, and I threw the potion to close it."
Xander was frowning up at the older man, and Spike said softly, "You okay?"
"I think it was a human. I saw the blood spread, you see, soaking the robe." His listeners got the sense that he was seeing this over again in his mind's eye, and not for the first time.
Xander struggled to get to his feet, and Spike put out a hand. He leaned against the blond man and turned to Giles, gripping his shoulder. "It was someone opening the Hellmouth. They were evil. Don't blame yourself."
Spike tacked on a question, wanting to help Rupert get past this moment. "Any idea about the ritual?"
"Just that it was a summoning. I was surprised the guard dog," which was what they had taken to calling the tentacular beast on the other side of the opening, "wasn't there."
"It had stepped back to let something else through, maybe."
Giles shrugged. "Maybe." He nodded to the book Spike still carried. "Perhaps that will tell us something." He forced a smile that looked too much like a grimace. "Here. Let's get you to A & E, Xander, get that head looked at."
"Is it still bleeding?"
Giles checked. "No."
"I just want to go home, get cleaned up, and let Anya fuss over me."
Giles exchanged a look with Spike, who shrugged. "A-as long as you follow head injury protocol."
"Wake me up periodically. Got it." He looked down and noticed that he was only wearing one boot. "Well, that's just great. The Hellmouth ate one of my boots. I like this pair, too. They were comfortable."
"On the other hand," Giles said dryly, "you're not buried alive and demons haven't issued forth from the Hellmouth."
"But… my boot."
"Take the jacket. I dog-eared the page where it was open." Spike held out the large volume to Giles to end the performance, flashing a grateful look at Xander. If Giles was scolding, he was on solid ground. "I'll finish up patrol."
"I can come back out."
"No, but thanks," he reassured the Watcher. "We only had campus and the east side graveyards left." He was also going to have to hunt; while the others knew he still drank from humans, he was careful that they never saw him. "I'll call Buffy in the morning and let her know."
As it turned out, Buffy contacted him. Spike woke up a little after seven, halfway across their bed. He'd collapsed on top of the covers after a quick shower.
Spike?
'Lo, love.
Good morning, sleepyhead.
You already talked to Giles?
He called this morning. I missed the excitement, I guess.
Yeah. Not sorry. There was an earthquake.
Me, either. Giles said Xander went on in to work this morning.
Oh. That's good.
Giles said that whoever it was, they were an amateur. They were trying to raise Angal… Anglaw… Well, they were supposed to wait for the new moon to summon that demon.
It would have eaten them for messing up the ritual.
Yeah, but it might have eaten a lot of other people, too. Good thing you guys were there.
Doing our job.
Giles is bitching about conjuring up more ritual fire for the big book o' summoning they used.
Yeah, he just finished up with the Master's books.
They were sitting side by side in their booth at the Sit N Bull. She put out a hand and caressed his cheek. Go on back to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow.
Spike perked up. Can't wait, love.
Me either. Sleep well.
⸹
Buffy blinked. "It's a rock." She'd barely had a chance to drop her dress at the seamstress shop where she'd have her final fitting before Spike captured her and drove her for four hours to a town in the Diablo Range. He'd been maddeningly closemouthed. At least she'd had a chance to sleep on the way. He'd taken her to a little mission, where Giles was waiting for them. The brothers seemed to be doing some remodeling, knocking out a wall or something. They had led them down a little hallway, then left them alone.
Spike was grinning. "Yeah."
"It's, uh, a really big rock." She gave her fiancé a narrow look. He was looking entirely too pleased with himself for this to be a joke. Still, she held up her left hand, fingers turned so he could see the ring. "You've already given me a really big rock." When he didn't react, she nodded toward the inscription. "What's that say?"
"'It is not for thee. It is for her alone to wield.'" Giles shook his head, still bemused that such slight information had led here.
Frowning now, Buffy walked into the alcove and, with a slight hesitation, she laid her palm against the side of the tall, roughhewn rectangle of stone. "It's warm," she said, surprised.
Giles touched it cursorily. "Not to me."
"Me, either," Spike said.
"There's something in it," Buffy murmured, placing her other hand against the rock and pressing, "inside the rock, I mean."
"Yeah," Spike agreed, watching her avidly, "something for you alone to wield."
"Do you know?" Buffy didn't look away from the featureless surface of the stone.
"Not a clue." He moved closer, putting a hand at her waist, and continued in a low voice. "There are legends about things like this." Giles watched them, feeling almost sick with a strong emotion he couldn't identify.
Buffy didn't turn around to look at the men, instead pushing harder against the rock. It didn't seem solid to her, though it didn't budge despite the Slayer strength she was bringing to bear on the surface. "If I just had a crack," she mumbled, digging her fingers against the surface.
"Try this."
Buffy looked at the sharp, gnarled stake Spike had produced. Mr. Pointy. "Kendra's?"
He shrugged. "Dunno. Seemed… fitting." Even though Buffy never used it, the stake had been the first thing to catch his eye when he examined her weapon cache for something chisel-like. He exchanged a brief glance with Giles, who gave him a nod.
She took the stake, never looking away from the enormous stone. This feels like a dream, she decided, a Slayer dream. Carefully placing the stake at a point that wasn't obviously different from anywhere else, she held it there a moment. Then Buffy drew back her arm and slammed the stake against the rock.
It didn't so much splinter as crumble, the top third of the rock shearing away to reveal a brightly shining weapon, red and steel and deadliness glinting in the light.
Buffy reached up and ran a hand along the handle of it. "It… I can feel it. It's… strong." When she started to grasp it, Spike put a hand on her shoulder.
"Wait." He was still grinning helplessly. "Do you mind if we try?" She frowned, but shook her head. Spike put his hand around the handle. It did feel warmer than it should, for having been encased in what looked like solid rock. He tugged, then really put an effort into it, pulling at the weapon and grunting. When it didn't budge, he sighed in contentment. "Thank you." He let go of the weapon, wrapped his arms around her for a hug, then stepped out of the way for Giles.
The Watcher stepped forward, tears in his eyes. This was Excalibur, or so close it might as well be. He grabbed the handle and pulled as hard as he could. Nothing happened. Before he stepped away, he closed his eyes a moment. What was the world going to ask of his Slayer in exchange for taking up this weapon?
Buffy hadn't taken her eyes from the red handle. Her brows drew together in concentration as she put her hand on it again. She withdrew it as easily as if it had been sitting in a sheath. Distantly, she heard Spike laugh in pure joy. The Slayer turned her weapon over in her hands, touching the point of the stake at one end, wondering at the sharpness of the blade.
She turned to the man at her side. He went to his knees, staring up at her with tears in his eyes. "This is the most amazing thing I've ever seen."
Buffy rolled hers. "You are such a drama queen." She put out her hand for his and hauled him to his feet. "But… This was definitely worth the four hour drive."
"It was." Giles didn't kneel, but stepped forward to give her a tight hug.
Spike gave her a duffel bag he'd brought, thinking that they might need something to put a sword in. This was better than Excalibur, Spike thought. It was the Slayer's weapon, crafted for her, made for dispatching vampires and demons alike.
They walked out, hand-in-hand, Buffy holding the bag as Giles thanked the brothers for their patience and forbearance. He knew they were insanely curious. He had no idea what Bishop Rossi had told them, but it didn't matter. The Watcher turned down their offer of hospitality and drove to the hotel he had booked, Buffy and Spike following him up to his room.
"Well, what do you think?"
Giles looked at Spike as he considered the question. The blond man wanted a pat on the head, but fear was roiling inside of him. "I'm afraid."
Buffy stopped examined the wood on the end of the weapon. "Why are you afraid?"
"Arthur pulling the sword from the stone was part of a known prophecy. He was tasked with leading Britain through the worst of the Dark Ages. Or… or several leaders with that title or in that family, because really, we don't know the facts behind the legend. I'm afraid because he was given that mighty sword for a fell task."
"There are no prophecies here." Spike's tone was adamant.
"Yes, even if there are no prophecies," Giles said, sitting down on the bed, "there still may be a fell task."
Buffy sat down next to him, handing the weapon to Spike. "Giles, with or without this axe thing, I'll face whatever comes. I've died. I've stopped apocalypses, plural." She put her hand over his. "I know you worry, but…" she gave him a beseeching look, "how can there be more worry?"
"You're right." He let out a sigh. "It's just… I love you and don't want your path to be a hard one. It already is, of course." Giles looked up at Spike. "Perhaps I am also a bit jealous that it wasn't me who found it."
Spike shook his head, handed the weapon to Buffy, and took Giles in a quick embrace, kissing his cheek. There were tears in his eyes. "I can't tell you how good it is to have you looking out for her, mate. For all of us, really. I would never have read through those books if you hadn't insisted. I wouldn't be here, in this life where I'm sometimes afraid I'll wake up and find it's a dream, if you hadn't agreed to the Pax Aurelius. Don't think for a moment you weren't instrumental in this."
Giles felt the sting of tears in his own eyes. He took off his glasses to polish, giving himself a reason to look down. "Yes, well, you were the one who took the intuitive leap, made the connection."
Buffy wasn't fooled. "I'm the Slayer. You're the brains. Spike is my shield. Willow is, like, the soul of our group. Xander is our good heart. Apart, we function. Together… what can't we do?"
"A gestalt."
Giles put his glasses back on and took a breath. "Right. Let me see it again, then."
⸹
Twilight had fallen by the time they ate dinner and left Giles, who was waiting for a call from the Bishop. They set off for Sunnydale. Buffy asked Spike to pull over before they got on the 101. The top was down, and she went into the back, sitting on the frame with her feet on the seat so she had room to maneuver the blade. She wanted to look at it as a weapon, not an object of scholarly study or a source of worrisome meaning. Cars passed them regularly, but they were off a bank at the mouth of a canyon, hidden from view.
"This… It has power."
"I imagine. It was used to defeat the last true demon on earth."
She rolled the weapon in her grasp, so that the axe was toward her imaginary enemy instead of the stake. "It feels like it was made for me, like it's mine. That's crazy, isn't it?"
"As crazy as saddling a teenager with the fate of the world." Spike nodded to the gleaming weapon. "That might even the odds a bit."
"I can't help but think of what I might have done against the Master with this. Against Lothos."
Spike unbuttoned the cuff of the black denim shirt he was wearing and rolled up the sleeve. "Slice my arm with it."
Buffy recoiled. "No."
"Hold it out, then," he said impatiently. She did so, reluctantly, and he slid his arm along the edge, then turned it to show the wound. "It does heal," he said, sounding disappointed as the Gem of Amara worked its magic on the cut. "That is sharp," he added.
"Feel the balance." She tossed the weapon to him.
He'd been using weapons for decades and knew his own skill. Nonetheless, he was shaking his head. "It feels okay to me, but the way you move with it, even sitting there…" He passed it back to her. "It's for you alone."
"And Faith, too, I guess."
"They aren't going to let you take that in on visiting day."
"She needs to know, though."
He nodded, then just watched her, happiness radiating off him. She put her weapon in the duffel bag, her hand briefly touching Mr. Pointy, which was also inside, then stepped across the seat to the other side of the car. Buffy held out her arms.
Glad to have you back.
He returned her embrace, looking up at her. What do you mean?
You've been quiet since Robin Wood visited. Withdrawn.
He didn't offer anything through the link for a long moment. Buffy didn't push, just held him. I haven't felt… worthy. Now… Maybe I'm not deluding myself. Maybe I really am meant to be at your side, watching your back, whatever. Now, I've done something.
Spike… If you became human right now, had no special powers, if you couldn't keep that vow of ninety years, you're still exactly where I want you. She squeezed him. Something cracked in his shoulder. Right here in my arms.
Before he could protest, she went on. But I am so glad you're back. She touched her hand to the skin above his unbeating heart. I've missed you. The past couple of weeks, you haven't had your usual… surety? Is that a word? When he nodded, she smiled. You aren't usually tentative. It doesn't sit well on you. I'm glad you're feeling, she shrugged, unable to think of a better word, untroubled.
He smiled at her, open and full of love. I've been having doubts about the wedding. Not cold feet, just… I don't deserve this life. Never will, but I'll take it. I'll fight for it. Next time I feel like I should just slink away into the dark, well, I have something solid, he nodded toward the bag in the back seat, to anchor me where I belong.
I had cold feet this weekend. Last night, before we flew back, all of us were together, and I started talking about panic before I realized I was panicking. She gave him a wry look. I worked through it, obviously.
Any particular reason?
I'm young. With you, I know this is forever. Daunting much?
We could wait.
No! I'm going to be a stunning bride next month, thank you very much. She stroked her fingers down his neck. I love you beyond the telling. Married or not, I'll always want you in my life.
He put his hand to her heart. No one's ever loved me like you. I've never loved anyone the way I love you. No reservations. It's terrifying, love. If this ended, I'd be destroyed. I'll never be in love again; I've given you all of me. I may love – new friends, children if you want them – but not romantically, not like this. No one like you, Buffy.
Tears stood in her eyes, too. You're like a key that unlocked places in my heart I didn't even know existed. I feel like I have so much love in me, more than I ever realized.
His fingers flexed against her breast and ribcage. I see the love in you, love for a whole world. They'll never know you're there, studying the shadows for danger, keeping them safe.
She shook her head and glanced away. How I look through your eyes, like a hero or something... I'm just me, just Buffy.
You're everything. You're the one.
All that love, around her like warm, calm water, buoying her up, giving her the confidence to do anything. He was so beautiful in the last light of day. Xander and Oz are patrolling tonight. You want to get a hotel room after all, go back tomorrow?
Spike's fingers trailed from her ribs to her breast exclusively. Let me put up the top and give me half an hour here. Well, an hour. Then we'll find a hotel.
This. This is what I missed. Your swagger. She ran her hands down his back and over denim, used her fingers to trace the rigid cock surging toward her.
Ahhh… Sure that's the name you want to give the silly thing?
How about arrogant prick?
He chuckled. Probably not far off. He moved quickly, lifting her from inside the car to slide down his body, then turned them, legs tangling together, and pressed her against the car. It isn't bragging if you can back it up.
Buffy spun him in turn, pinning him to the car door with her body. Brag. I'll be the judge of whether you back it up.
Clear light shown in his eyes, disconcertingly bright in the early darkness. He only shook his head. Not making any promises tonight. Probably be in a room next to a family with three squalling babies. He shifted to the left suddenly, got behind her and ground his hips against her ass. But… have I told you how I love how you back it up, Slayer?
Since he couldn't see her, she grinned as she shimmied against him. He made a smoky sound, and he stopped pinning her between his arms in favor of lightly stroking his hands across the lace of her bra. She saw that the keys were still in the ignition, so she leaned over from the waist, glancing at him over her shoulder with her best flirty look, and tried to put the top up on the convertible. Buffy ended up laughing as she stretched as far as she could. "No way I can reach that."
"Top marks for effort, though." He scooped her up, making her squeal a little, and opened the door one-handed. Spike put a knee in the driver's seat and handed her across the console to the seat. She let the back of the seat down as far as it would go, watching the roof as it blocked the clear sky, only a few stars showing.
Just before the roof slid into place, Spike's silhouette broke up the clean lines. He looked down at her for a moment, then murmured, "I love you, Buffy," his deep voice almost a purr.
"Show me," she demanded. She opened her arms for him.
⸹
Buffy woke, staying still, listening to see what pulled her from sleep. She heard a car go past, not slowing, and crickets. Spike was asleep beneath her in the passenger seat, his leg crooked at an uncomfortable-looking angle over the console to shield her from the hard edge. Lifting her head just enough to peek out of the windows, she listened again. Even though she knew she was awake, everything around her felt like a Slayer dream.
Something was in the canyon. She felt it waiting. Carefully, not wanting to wake Spike, she found her clothes and moved to the driver's seat to dress. Leaning over the back of the seat, she felt inside the open bag until her hand touched Mr. Pointy. Leaving it in Spike's hand, Buffy took her new weapon from the bag and went out the open window, pausing to lean against the car and put on her shoes. Running her fingers through her hair, she shook it away from her face and walked silently between the slopes on either side.
The shadows deepened immediately. The waning moon wouldn't rise high enough to illuminate the canyon floor for several more hours. Using her senses more than her eyesight, Buffy walked on, surefooted.
The outline of a small, white triangle loomed from the dimness. She glanced back, not seeing the car or any lights from traffic past the hills, then moved forward another couple of steps. It was like a miniature pyramid in outline, and it came to her at once what it was. She had plenty of experience, after all.
A flickering light showed through a tiny crack in the tomb. Buffy paused to listen, hearing nothing. The wall of the façade was smooth, plastered over, no obvious entrance. Taking a breath, Buffy lifted her foot and kicked down the center of the wall.
Dust swirled for a moment. The Slayer went inside before it settled, not willing to be outlined against the doorway. Everything inside was covered with a white dust, and it took a moment for her to realize the one distinguishable shape was an old woman, white of skin, hair, and dress. The woman coughed once, and color came into the room. The light came from a brazier that cast a ruddy glow over them, the woman's skin color deepened, and her dress became the light brown of old linen.
There were steps, and Buffy went down them to the old woman. She had strong features. It was a face you might find on a statue recovered from the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea. Just now, a smile had settled on her face.
"Hello. I've waited a long time for one like you. I see you have your weapon." Her voice was strong for one so aged.
"Yes." If this woman spoke English, well, that wasn't the weirdest thing about this place.
"We made it for the first of you, long ago. So long ago… I say we, but I'm the last."
"You're a Guardian?" When the woman smiled again and nodded, Buffy asked, "Who do you guard?"
"You, of course. You and your sisters." She lifted a shoulder. "Well, we had intended to do that, guard you from the shadow men. But we made the weapon for Sineya, and became little more than guardians for it. That was not our plan. The shadow men became Watchers. We became shadows."
Buffy shook her head. "The First Slayer was thousands of years ago."
"I am a bit older than I seem." She nodded to the weapon in Buffy's hand. "We put it in the rock. It's good to see it in your hands." She sighed. "I forgot how young you all are."
Impulsively, Buffy held it out to her. The woman took it, handling it with ease, turning it and gazing at it with sadness. "We forged this Scythe, found the First, gave it to her. Such a sad creature. So strong, so broken. When she died and the line of Slayers began, we gave it to several of your sisters. When men sought to use Slayers in their wars of conquest, we hid it in the rock." She hefted it experimentally, then smiled and held it out to Buffy. "It's been waiting for you."
"Why was she broken?" She took the weapon, the Scythe, back gingerly.
"The same reason she was so strong. She was the one the shadow men bound to the Shadow Demon, gave her its spirit, its energy, its heart. She was the first, the strongest of you… and the least human." The woman looked profoundly sad. "So little humanity left, yet she protected humanity. Do you know how few of us there were at the end of the Stone Age? Without her, we might have gone extinct. Instead, Sineya drove last of the Old Ones from our world."
Buffy felt nauseated. Giles had been right. "So I'm not… we're not human?" she whispered.
"Of course you are!" The old woman put out a comforting hand and rested it on Buffy's forearm. She was surprisingly strong. "The Shadow Demon changed Sineya, but she changed its power. You're as human as I am. We just have… gifts. Yours is to be a Slayer, mine is to… live a long time."
"Most of the time, I'd like to return my gift."
The ancient nodded and smiled. "I have felt the same."
Buffy lifted a shoulder. "Are you here to tell me this story?"
"No. I am here because the Scythe is in your hands, where it belongs. And because it has been found, the end is near."
"What end?"
"I do not know. That is, I think, up to you. You'll be tested. Your strength will be tested."
Buffy's eyes narrowed. "I have been tested to death. Literally. There are two of us now, because I've already died. Tell me if I passed or failed." The old woman took a step back, either away from Buffy's vehemence or because of the news about Slayers, plural. "This," she lifted the Scythe, "is nice. But I bet the First Slayer would rather have had someone hold her hand than put a weapon in it."
"We tried. We followed her from continent to continent. We died, too, trying to help her."
The Slayer looked away. "Thank you for that," she said stiffly. "This is… what they did to her, I didn't know."
"Two Slayers? Truly?" When Buffy nodded, she let out a breath. Then she inclined her head deeply. "Sineya will come to you in your dreams, now that you hold the Scythe."
"I already have Slayer dreams. I even share dreams with the other Slayer."
"She never spoke again, but she will speak with you."
Buffy let out an impatient breath and nodded around at the inside of the tomb. "And you'll appear to me in your pyramid? Because I know it wasn't here before."
"Me? No. This was my only task, to see the weapon in your hands." The old woman looked thoughtful. "I think I'll take an ocean voyage."
"A cruise?" Buffy was incredulous.
"Yes. Doesn't that sound enchanting?" She closed her eyes and smiled for a moment, obviously imagining salt wind against her face. "But should you need to ask me a question, use that." She nodded at the weapon. "It contains magic, of itself, like the other objects we made." She inclined her head deeply again. "I bid you farewell… uh, sorry, what is your name?"
"Buffy."
Her eyebrows lifted in a way Buffy had seen after dozens of other introductions, and she gave a single nod. "I bid you farewell, Buffy, and wish you good fortune. Remember: an end is also a beginning."
She was gone. Buffy looked around. The brazier was guttering, so she went up the steps before the light failed. Stepping outside the opening she had made, she saw that the moon was above the canyon now. By the time she glanced away from the moon, the tomb was gone.
uffy. Come on, love. Buffy.
"Slayer!" He was trying aloud, too.
Here. Coming out of the canyon.
Except he was coming to her, hurtling down the left side of the canyon recklessly. Spike's face was still bleeding from whipping branches as he got to her, concerned eyes flicking over her before he pulled her into a rib-crushing hug. She held the sharp Scythe away from them, returning his embrace with one arm.
Where did you go?
She let him see. It didn't seem like it took very long to me. Buffy glanced up at the moon.
Almost three in the morning.
When did you wake up?
An hour and a half ago.
I'm sorry you worried.
I saw that the axe was gone, that you had time to make sure I was armed. Wasn't worried, love, just… didn't know how to follow.
She smiled at the lie. He had been worried. Let's find that hotel.
Less than an hour later, they were showered and abed in a hotel near an off-ramp, traffic noises interrupting the silence. "Giles knew," Buffy said in a weary voice. "Well, guessed. Why else would he have come up with that story for the shadow puppets?"
Most power or magic we see is either evil or neutral – well, capricious. No power is ever neutral. But how often do we see active good? Spike brushed a tendril of hair from her face. "Rupert's lived long enough to think around the corners of things. He can summon demons, not angels. The first Watchers probably could do the same."
"I keep thinking of the First Slayer. The Guardian said she was broken."
He kept stroking her hair. Buffy… can I show you something upsetting? When she nodded warily, he let her see a horse that Drusilla turned, the eye-rolling panic of the dumb beast saddled with an incompatible intelligence. Spike let her see him find a shotgun and an old wooden board in the barn, perch on the rail of the stall it was trying to kick and stomp its way free of before he could put it down.
He pulled free of the connection. "I can't imagine the desperation or the callousness of those sorcerers to do that to another human. I really can't imagine the power it must have taken."
"She didn't, like, volunteer, not if they needed chains."
"No. But, listen, love." He propped up on his elbow. "The Guardian said she was broken, but she traveled from Africa to North America. In the Stone Age. Even if she did so magically, that means she successfully left those bastards behind. She must have been an incredible warrior to defeat an Old One. Broken doesn't mean useless." I think it means she wasn't ever able to trust another human again, not after what those shadow men did to her.
According to Giles, the last Old One was the one who sired the first vampire. Buffy looked thoughtful. I'm not saying they weren't sadistic assholes, but I can see how they might have thought mixing a demon with a human of their own would be… one strategy.
The First Vampire Slayer must have got some satisfaction out of defeating that one, then. He stroked her face. Look at me, love. Spike went to vampire face. When I was first sired, it took some getting used to. I knew I was me, my essential self. I knew something was missing. I figured it was the soul, and I was right, as it turns out. But I was also something new. That new thing was something very old, and it was in Drusilla, Angelus, and Darla, too. I knew that we were the same, or part of the same creature. I thought of it like the way a sunbeam splits after it goes through a prism. The demon blood is the same, undiluted, almost as if we're clones.
He sat up and folded into a cross-legged position, pulling on her hand until she did the same. You didn't change on the inside even a bit when the previous Slayer died and you got Chosen, did you?
Buffy shook her head. Still just me. She took the other hand he was offering, and they sat knee-to-knee, holding hands. His demon visage melted back into his human features.
You got power, love. You did not get a demon. That's what Sineya gave you and all the ones before you. She might have been broken, but you can bet she broke that demon first. She took its….
Buffy felt his question in her mind. Its spirit, energy, and heart.
Right, and she made it hers. That's what she did for you, for the rest of the line of Slayers. It broke her, but no one else was going to go through what she had to face.
The Guardian said she would come to me in Slayer dreams now. Buffy looked at her lover in the dim light that came from the security lights in the parking lot below. If she does, I'm going to give her a hug.
There's that heart full of love.
Even in the dim light, she could see how sappy his smile was. Thank you.
For putting to rest her fears about being a demon, he knew. You're welcome, love. He squeezed her fingers. We should get some sleep.
But we won't.
We won't?
She shook her head. Not yet. Something about you in a hotel room makes me think naughty thoughts.
⸹
"Blindfold in place?" Giles asked.
Tara nodded. She was sitting on the couch in his apartment, looking nervous even with the black sleep mask she'd borrowed from Willow covering half her face.
Giles put the tray he had brought from the kitchen onto the coffee table. "Hold out your hand, my dear." She did so, and he sat down next to her. "All right, I'm going to take your hand now and hold it over each object. Tell me when you feel anything." The Watcher was trying to see how useful Tara would be in determining powerful objects before they began the next round of treasure hunting. He could feel her trying to pull her hand away from the second object, an enchanted coin Spike had missed from the crypt where they'd found the Gem of Amara.
"That's… something bad."
"We'll move on," he said smoothly, pushing her palm to hover above the next item, a teacup. He'd replaced objects on the tray three times before Xander and Anya came in.
"I feel like we're interrupting something," the young man said, humor in his tone, "even though I know we're not."
Tara pulled the sleep mask up over one eye. "Hey."
"Hey, Tara." Anya plunked down next to her. "How did it go?"
Tara lifted a shoulder and turned to the Watcher. "How did it go?"
"You were almost perfect. Or possibly perfect. In either case, I'm throwing out the neutral object you, er, objected to. An apple," he added, seeing her eyebrows go up.
"So this means that next time, you'll be able to load treasure and go?" Anya asked. "Not linger in areas where Xander might be in danger?"
Xander leaned over the couch and put his hands on her shoulders. "I'm fine, An. We live in Sunnydale. Hunting for treasure, going for coffee: equally dangerous."
She put her hand over his and looked up. "But the Sunnydale caches are cleared, so you'll be going to other places."
Giles nodded and sat down on Tara's other side. "Yes. Spike said he knows of a couple of others in California. It's on the agenda, after the meeting today."
"Hey," Oz said, opening the door and coming in. His eyes swept over the four of them, and he gave Tara a smile.
She looked flustered, pulled the sleep mask all the way off, and smoothed her hair. "Where's W-willow?"
"Buffy and Spike are picking her up. Food, too."
"Pizza, most likely," Giles sighed.
"I like pizza," Anya said.
Xander's phone rang. He unfolded it. "Hi," he said, and after a moment, "sure." Closing the phone, he nodded at Oz. "They're outside and requesting strong people to help bring in boxes."
The boxes turned out to be samples from the wedding caterer. Buffy brought in the smallest box, which she carried carefully in two hands, but she did have a large duffel over her shoulder.
"It's not a real meal. We met Joaquim in Dutton," Spike explained. "He made all this food for us to sample. There was so much left, it would be a shame to waste it." He hefted a box onto Giles counter. "No one will go hungry."
Buffy put her small box well back from the edge of the counter and turned to hug Xander. "How are you?"
"Recovered. Now I get to say I've been to hell and back, literally." She looked up at the burst capillaries around his eyes and just shook her head, giving him another hug. Xander changed the subject, getting enough of this from Anya. "So, this is the stuff you're going to feed us in exchange for wearing fancy clothes?"
Buffy let go and began helping Tara and Anya unfold extra chairs, the duffel still over her back. "We're going with appetizer stations, so people won't have to go through a buffet line. Two bars instead of one, for the same reason."
"This smells wonderful," Giles said, unpacking tin foil dishes with paper lids.
"It will be." Buffy nodded toward the box she'd carried so carefully. "Save some room for the sample cake. Remember the cupcakes at the engagement party? Joaquim makes the world's best chocolate cupcakes. I don't see how white cake with white icing can compare, but it'll still be good."
"Even better, Joaquim promised to put together a snack box for us for after the wedding. He said that the bride and groom never get to really eat." Spike smiled at Buffy from the other side of the kitchen.
Xander counted plates and brought the stack to an empty spot next to the food. The group went through the foil pans, taking a tablespoon or two from each until their plates were laden. They were mostly silent for a few minutes, except for "What is this?" and "Is there more?"
Xander let out a sigh. "Okay that this isn't pizza?" he asked Anya.
"Yes. You know, someone here should learn to cook. We do takeout too much."
"Tara can cook," Willow said proudly.
"Not like this," she said emphatically.
"Buffy does a mean Thanksgiving dinner," Giles said loyally.
She grinned. "I don't think it counts if you only cook once a year."
"So," Xander said, getting up for seconds, "what's the big news?"
"You want to start?" Buffy asked Spike.
"Sure. So, you remember how Giles and I went through the books in the Master's collection? Well, I ran across a couple of references to a group called the Guardians…." He explained how he was afraid it would be nothing but a wild goose chase, apologized for not including the whole group, and again emphasized that he wasn't sure there would be anything at the end of it. That part was a lie; it was amazing how much better he was at lying now that he had a soul. It had been selfish for even him to be there; he should have waited down the hallway with the brothers of the mission.
Buffy reached behind her for the Scythe. "So, this is what I King Arthur'd out of the stone." She started to pass it to Oz, who was on her right. "Do you guys mind if I ask you to use a napkin before you touch it?"
"So, three ways to kill," Oz said. He'd leaned back from the table a bit.
"I haven't used it yet," Buffy said. "It's a lot bigger than a stake. I might not carry it on patrol, but when the heavy hitters come to town…."
Oz passed it to Willow. She didn't try to go through martial movements with it, just frowned down at it. "I don't feel anything. It must be a Slayer thing."
She passed it gingerly to Tara, and Buffy resumed the story, of how they'd stopped, glossing over how late it was, exactly, and why they'd fallen asleep. Giles, trying to concentrate on her story, gave it a perfunctory look and passed the Scythe to Spike, who immediately gave it to Anya. She was trying to pass it to Xander when Buffy got to the part about the origin of the First Slayer.
Xander just stared at the Slayer, then firmed his mouth and put his hand over hers. "Oh, Buffy." He took the Scythe from Anya, giving her a belated small smile.
Giles put his face in his hands. "It's as I feared." Spike unobtrusively squeezed his knee.
"You got it right. I know you didn't want it to be that way," Buffy said kindly.
Willow took in a sudden breath. "It's like finding out your great-great-grandparents were slave-owners, something horrible in your past that you hate and can't change."
"The first Slayer was named Sineya," Giles said in a soft voice. "I wonder if there is a record, somewhere at the highest levels of the Council." Giles looked like he regretted saying this aloud. He let out a sigh. "It would explain the… assumption that they're entitled to control the Slayer."
Buffy went on, finishing up with the conversation she and Spike had about Sineya's effect on the demon's powers. "It feels right," she said.
"Spike, you never told me about feeling as if you were all part of the same demon," Giles said accusingly.
"'M sorry," he mumbled. "Never occurred to me, honestly. We'll interview with a vampire some more."
Xander handed the weapon to Buffy, who got up and went to get the white cake from its little box. On the way, she handed the Scythe back to Giles, because she knew he hadn't really examined it to his satisfaction, and then found enough clean saucers so that they could share the cake.
"I had to reassure the brothers at the mission that it wasn't the Holy Grail," Giles admitted, holding the Scythe above his head.
Buffy passed out the first piece of sample cake. "Oh, this is really good," Anya approved.
"Make sure you nab a chocolate cupcake at the reception." Buffy took another box from the far side of the counter and began opening the containers inside. "Here are the other desserts Joaquim made."
"Are you going to have all of this at the w-wedding?" Tara asked.
"Not the thing with the tomato sauce," Buffy allowed, "because that seems dangerous with dress clothes."
"This is delicious," Xander said, eating a bite-sized fruit tart directly from the box.
"And that's the vegan, celiac-safe, allergen-free dessert."
"You're kidding."
She shook her head. "Anya's right. Somebody here needs to learn to cook."
"Mmm," Oz said, having found miniature apple crisps. He took two more and handfed those to both Willow and Tara.
"Oh, that's really good."
"T-thank you." Tara turned away, her hair swinging over her flaming face.
Spike glanced at Xander. Since no one else was facing him, the dark-haired human pulled a shocked and delighted face that any twelve-year-old girl would admire. Spike choked on a laugh and sprayed Giles' refrigerator with brownie crumbs.
"Went down wrong," he gasped, threading his way to the paper towels.
"I didn't know that could happen to vampires," Giles said, peering at Spike the way an entomologist might examine an unfamiliar beetle. When the blond man shrugged, he raised his voice to include the whole group. "Research after dessert." There was a chorus of groans.
Oz and Spike got out of researching the Scythe by being the first to volunteer to patrol. Sunnydale was quiet, and the worst thing they came across was a couple of drunk taurene demons trying to corner a feral cat. Spike told them off, but spoiled the effect by offering his handkerchief to the one with the worst scratches.
"Pretty sad," Oz commented, as the two of them caromed off down the street, accidentally locking horns twice. "That was a full grown cat."
Spike nodded. "Yeah, just when you think you've seen it all." They finished downtown and headed toward campus in silence. "Know it isn't my business," he said, knowing it was abrupt, "but I think you're making Tara nervous."
"I know, but I can't seem to be chill," Oz said, as if he'd been waiting for someone to ask. "She smells like part of our pack, and I can't untangle her into someone who's mostly a stranger."
"Try," Spike said dryly. "I like her, and you're pursuing her like a rabbit. Only this rabbit could turn you to stone or, worse, break your alpha female's heart by leaving."
"I know," Oz said quietly. "I've been trying to become Tara's friend, of herself. She's quiet, though." He caught the look Spike sent him. "Yeah, I know I don't speak much, but she… erases herself, fades into the background. I don't think her family life was great, not after her mother died."
Spike felt bad then. He hadn't known that. "I could do a better job myself. Same with Anya, comes down to it. You, too."
"It's hard to find downtime when you're Slayer-adjacent."
"Yeah, most one-on-one I get with people is on patrol."
"Sometimes easier to talk in the dark like this."
"True." He saw a couple making out at a picnic table and carefully checked the shadows for any potential predators. There were a couple of guys in a nearby dorm watching from their window, grinning and elbowing each other, but that was the worst threat. "I'll try to patrol alone with Tara more after the honeymoon."
"I'm almost looking forward to the Dingoes tour. A chance to step back," he elaborated. "Wil's my best friend. I'll miss her, but it'll be easier for her if I'm not here."
Spike gave him a sidelong look. "She still wants you?"
"She wants both of us."
"She told you that?" Oz shook his head and held his silence, but Spike understood what he meant by 'want' was what his keen nose told him. "So, as the doddering old person here, I can tell you that, uh, nontraditional relationships can work, but everyone has to be on board. Don't pressure Tara, either of you."
Oz nodded, but gave him a look. They crossed from campus and headed toward the east side cemeteries. "What was your nontraditional relationship?"
"Two vampire couples, one big bed. It was brilliant, the three or so weeks it lasted." He saw Oz's inquiring look. "Until Angelus showed his true colors."
After a moment to absorb this, Oz asked, "But you're good with monogamy now?"
"Buffy and I have something completely different than anything I've ever experienced before," Spike said. "Love."
Oz smiled. "That's what it was like with Willow, for me."
They finished up in companionable silence and were in the parking lot outside of Giles' flat before Spike broke it. "Looks like Xander and Anya have gone on. You coming in?"
"Willow and Tara must have gone with them, but I'll come in."
The door was locked, but Giles came after Oz's quick knock. "Buffy's asleep," he said in a low voice.
"Did you find out anything?" Oz asked, as Spike went to the couch to sink down next to his sleeping fiancée.
"Yes. I would have looked for axes if the Guardian hadn't called it a scythe. That's what led us to it. Mɂ."
"'Mmmbop?'" Oz made it sound somewhat accusatory.
Giles glared at him. "Yes, I haven't heard that a dozen times tonight."
Spike stood up and came around the couch. "Glottal stop?"
The Watcher gave him a sharp look. "Yes. How – oh, never mind, I always forget you know so many languages."
"I grew up near Cockneys, guv'nor."
Oz nodded. "I know what a glottal stop is."
"Yes, well, we've decided to just call it the Slayer's Scythe. Not that much information on it, anyway, just that it's a famous and nebulous weapon symbolizing death."
"I have to say, the part that intrigues me most is that the Guardians made other objects." Spike grinned. "Excalibur was given by a Lady, remember."
Oz raised his brows, suitably impressed. "We do have the same 'in the stone' situation." He nodded toward the clock. "Well, I'm out." Before he turned away, he asked Giles, "Have you asked him yet?"
"No. I will." As Oz nodded and left, closing the door carefully behind him, Giles turned to Spike. "Oz wants you to get a guitar so we can play together."
Spike narrowed his eyes. "We were together half the night. Why didn't he ask me himself?"
"I'm sure I don't know. Perhaps he felt it was too personal."
Spike shook his head at this, considering the drawn-out conversation they had about polygamy, but put out his hand to stop Giles from turning away. "Rupert… I meant to apologize. I wanted to give something to Buffy. The prophecy, the 'with great power comes great responsibility,' the end of something is nigh… I never meant to treat this cavalierly."
"I should have been more open to the possibility." He looked directly at Spike. "Next time you find something like that, I won't make you feel you have to sneak around."
"You'll come along and rub it in when it turns out to be nothing?"
"Oh, absolutely." Giles ran a hand across the back of his neck. "Do you mind if I go on to bed?"
"Not if you don't mind me poking through what you found tonight. I'll keep things quiet. Good night." He nodded to the couch. "Or, if she wakes up, goodbye."
"Jet lag is supposed to be worse when you travel east, but I've never found much difference for short trips." He gave Spike a sharp look. "Where will you be flying for the honeymoon?"
The vampire had kept it a secret from everyone, but he gave Giles the truth as a peace offering. "South. All the way down to Patagonia."
"Ah. Where you were the first time Buffy called on you."
"It's beautiful, in a stark way, and she says she liked snow the one time she saw it. Please don't let anyone else in on it."
Giles' eyes sharpened as he wondered if Spike knew the story behind the snow, that it was meant for Angel. He just nodded and waved a hand as he went to brush his teeth.
Spike scrounged in the kitchen for what remained of Joaquim's samples, then settled in the little office chair in front of the computer desk. He spun it so he was facing the easy chair, propped up his legs, and grabbed one of the open books, reading as he ate.
About an hour later, he stood up and stretched. Giles had been right; there wasn't anything about the Scythe, just that it existed. Spike was taking his plate to the kitchen when his cell phone rang. He answered quickly so the sound wouldn't bother Giles; Buffy could sleep through about anything.
"Hey, Anya."
"Spike, I need you and Giles to come over right away. Something's wrong with Xander."
"I'm on my way." He glanced upstairs. "What's wrong with him?" Let Giles sleep, at least until he had a chance to see what was going on.
"He won't wake up."
Spike pulled up short at the door, prickles of unease along his spine. "Is he breathing?"
"Yes."
Letting out a breath of his own in relief, Spike locked the door. "This time of night, I should be there in three or four minutes. Hang on, An." He took the Bentley through three red lights, seeing no other cars on the road, and was knocking on the door almost three minutes later. He heard Anya's quick footsteps coming from the bedroom.
She hurled herself into him for a fast hug. "Thank you for coming. This is friendship; I really get it now." She kept his arm as she pulled away, dragging him inside. "I stayed up to watch My Fair Lady; that's my favorite movie. Xander said it was okay to wake him and I did. But he didn't. Wake I mean. He woke up fine after his head injury."
Anya was babbling, but by now they were in the bedroom. The lights were on, and Xander was motionless on the sheets, naked. Spike blinked at this, then just went to the lamp nearest the lad's head. He held it over Xander's face, noting the steady breathing and rapid eye movement. "X-man. Wake up." Spike shook him by the shoulder, then lightly slapped his jaw. Xander didn't respond.
"Where's Giles?" Anya had just realized he was alone.
"Faster by myself," he said. "Giles was asleep." Spike put a knee on the bed, slid Xander toward him, and lifted the human in a fireman's carry. "Does he have any jimjams or sweatpants? We should get him to Giles, and I know he wouldn't fancy going there starkers."
"Oh. Sure." Anya rummaged in a drawer and pulled black sweatpants over Xander's legs and up until he was covered.
"Don't tell him I saw him in all his glory," Spike said, just to make her smile, "or if you do, tell him I was suitably impressed."
"Should I change?" Anya was wearing satin, peach-colored shorty pajamas.
"Only if you want to." Spike was already heading to the door. "I think you look very fine, myself."
"Oh. Thank you." He heard her mumble as she made a detour for her purse. "Maybe I should rethink Tara."
He put the roof up to make it easier to get Xander in the car. By the time it was halfway up, Anya had shoved her feet into a pair of sneakers and locked the apartment. Spike helped her into the back seat and handed her his phone. "Call Giles and let him know we're on our way."
They were halfway back when Anya gave up. "I tried twice. No answer."
The prickles of unease Spike had felt earlier turned into knives. Buffy. Buffy. Wake up. Buffy! "Bollocks. Anya, call Willow. Tell her not to go to sleep."
"Hello?"
"Tara, it's Anya. Is Willow there?"
"Mm-hmm. I think she's asleep though."
"Can you wake her up?"
Something about the way Anya asked the question drove the sleepy sound from Tara's voice. "Hang on." Spike could hear her faintly repeating Willow's name. Then, louder and worried, "She w-won't wake up."
"Neither will Xander. Spike's taking us to Giles' house. He's worried, too."
"Tell her to bring Willow there."
Tara overheard. "I d-d-don't have a c-car."
"Tell her to call Oz," Spike said, ignoring the parking lot and pulling up as close as he could to Giles' door.
"Call Oz. If he isn't asleep, have him bring you and Willow. We're here now."
Spike unlocked the door and rushed inside. "Buffy." He shook her shoulder, then vaulted over the couch. "Buffy." He knelt down next to her. He was no prince, but what the hell. One sound kiss later, she was still asleep. Spike saw that Anya was already heading upstairs to see if she could wake Giles, so he lifted Buffy into a seated position to make room for Xander. "Oh, love." He kissed her forehead.
By the time he had Xander on the other end of the couch from Buffy, Anya was coming down the stairs, shaking her head. "I couldn't wake him. I tried the fairy tale kiss, too, but it didn't work." She immediately went to Xander and tried with him. "Dammit."
"I second that dammit." He rubbed at his jaw. "Okay, I'll vouch for the food. I've used Joaquim before. It wasn't that. Did you guys go out for coffee or anything while Oz and I patrolled?" Anya quickly shook her head. "What about –" His phone rang. Anya jumped, then handed it over to him.
"Oz?"
"On my way to get Willow. Tara said she and Xander can't be woken up?"
"Giles and Buffy, too. Anya and I are working on possible causes."
Spike heard a click; typical that Oz wouldn't waste words on goodbyes.
"I think it's the Scythe." Anya lifted a shoulder. "We all handled it. If we were asleep, I bet we couldn't be woken, either."
Spike nodded. "Sound logic." He sighed. "Let me go get Giles down here. Maybe Tara will have an idea when she gets here."
⸹
"I have no idea what to do." Tara was staring intently at Willow, who was on the couch between Buffy and Xander. Giles was asleep in the easy chair.
Oz was sitting on the coffee table facing the couch, examining them. "All of them are in REM sleep. It usually doesn't last this long."
"The Guardian said that the First Slayer would visit Buffy in her dreams, now that she had the Scythe," Spike said. "Do you think the First Slayer is keeping them asleep?"
"Why?" Anya lifted a shoulder. "What would she want with Xander? Wouldn't it be Buffy she would want to meet in a dream?"
"Maybe the reason they're still dreaming is because the First Slayer wants to meet all of us at the same time," Oz mused. "We all handled it. She's waiting until we fall asleep, too."
"You c-can't talk to Buffy? In your mind, I m-mean?"
Spike looked over at Tara and shook his head. "I tried."
Tara looked at Willow, then squared her shoulders. "Let me ch-ch-check Giles' herbs. I-if it's a m-magical sleep, w-we can w-wake them." She went to the kitchen.
"What wakes you from a dream?" Oz mused.
"Knowing it's a dream," Anya said after a moment. "It always wakes me, usually from a good dream."
"Shit." They all glanced toward the kitchen. It was the first time any of them had heard Tara curse. She came out, her shoulders slumped. "No moringa. I d-don't have any, either. M-magic Box opens at eight."
Oz stood suddenly from the table and grabbed a tissue from a nearby box. He came back and held it under Buffy's nose. Spike smelled the blood before he pulled his hand away. Growling, the vampire went around the couch and tilted her head back. Yellow flickered in his eyes. Around them, the rest checked their other sleepers for injury, but no one else seemed to be harmed.
When the nosebleed subsided, Spike went to Tara. "Can you put me to sleep?" he asked urgently.
"No." Anya was firm. "We are all going to stay awake."
He half-turned to her. "I can't wait. Something's happening in her dream. If I'm asleep, maybe I can talk to her."
"Have you ever done that?" Oz asked the question kindly.
"No. Never tried."
"Why w-would it be any different for you?"
Tara had a point, which he quickly refuted. "I'm a supernatural creature –"
"W-willow is a w-witch. Buffy's the Slayer."
"– and I know what's going on. None of them did."
"Oh, no." They all turned to Oz, who was getting another tissue for Willow.
Tara turned back to Spike, eyes hard. "Okay. Lay down. G-go find the First Slayer. Make her let them go."
Spike glanced at the floor and got down so his legs were to the wall and most of him was out of the way. "What do you need?"
"Nothing." Tara knelt down next to him. "One of the first spells my mother t-taught me." She put a hand over his eyes. "Relax. Think of going to Buffy and telling her." Tara held her breath for a second, then let it out slowly.
"Wow," Anya said. "That was fast."
Tara nodded, her eyes on the sleeping vampire. "Great for babysitting." She raised her eyebrows and looked at the other two. "I-I think he's already d-dreaming."
⸹
Spike blinked and looked through the bars and then around. He was in a raised cage, just big enough to sleep against the bars with his legs stretched out. Outside his prison, demons moved past. One or two glanced his way, then their eyes passed on to the cage next to his.
He stood up, grabbing the bars and pulling. They didn't give, not even a little. Even though he was outdoors, the sky was overcast. He knew he should be worried about sunshine, but none of the other creatures he could see were exactly daylight dwellers. They were all dressed in old-fashioned, Victorian clothing. It seemed like a market day.
He was up for sale. Not sure how he knew his cage was a display case, he looked in the adjacent cage. A blond, female shape was sprawled on the floor, one too-thin leg sticking out from a rough hemp cloth dress. He realized her cage was build atop a wagon, could see one of its wheels. On his other side was a type of demon he'd never seen before. It glanced at him, but did not speak. A human male stood outside the bars, offering it slices of cheese.
Two splotchy demons with whiskers came up to his cage, half of their faces hidden by the fans they wielded. He assumed they were female because they wore dresses with bustles. "Slayer of Slayers," one of them read, apparently from a placard on his cage. "Too bad he's for the forum. He's cute."
"Ladies," Spike said, his voice a purr. That's right, buy me and get me out of this cage. Then I'll show you.
"You're so bad, Mathilda," the other one said. "You know he's a half-breed."
"Still cute," Mathilda insisted.
"And a complete demon in the sheets." His words had no effect, as if they couldn't hear him. The two demons went to the next cage.
"Ugh, it's a Slayer."
Mathilda leaned forward. "She's for the forum, too. Of course they'd put her cage next to his."
"She won't last two seconds."
The demons moved off, still talking and gossiping behind their fans. Spike moved to the bars closest to the blond human. "Slayer."
She roused, turning to look at him with a blank stare. Her nose was bloody and her eyes swollen.
"Hello? Bon jour? Well, it isn't, but. Hej? Ciao? Hola?"
"What do you want?"
He didn't let the listless tone deter him. "You really a Slayer?"
"Last thing I knew, I was in a mental institution. I'm not really anything." She turned away from him.
"I've killed two Slayers." It worked; she turned back to him.
"You're a vampire," she shrugged. "You do you."
Outside his cage, a dark shape prowled by. He couldn't turn to focus on it.
"Slayer." He crouched down. She looked at him. Beneath her tumbled hair, her eyes were the nicest hazel green, the most colorful things he could see. "You and me together, we could get out of here."
"Why would I ever trust you? You're a vampire."
Spike tried to move back to human face and couldn't. He frowned. That didn't seem right. "Yeah, you're a Slayer. Why would I trust you?" He kept staring into her eyes. She turned away, and he almost snatched at her through the bars. He'd been looking for someone. He wanted to keep talking to her. Talking to –
Buffy?
Spike? The word was out of her before thought could form. She stilled and turned back to him.
Something I need to tell you.
All around them, light was fading. It was getting darker.
Spike? My vampire. Her words had a tone of realization in them.
It's a dream. You're dreaming. None of you can wake up. He let her see.
The Slayer stood up. Spike gawked at her. The dark marketplace drifted away like smoke, as did their cages. I'm dreaming. She seemed taller, her limbs rounded with muscle now. The roughly sewn dress was gone, replaced with a long, stylish coat, a sweater, pants, and boots. She shook her clean, shiny hair from her unmarred face. My dream.
He was looking around. You dream in color? I am so jealous, love. Spike stood up, too, the comfortable weight of a black leather coat settling on his shoulders, his eyes now blue instead of yellow.
"Sineya."
The dark shape he'd seen in his peripheral vision was solid now, a human woman in a half-crouch before Buffy. She was dressed in scraps of cloth and had painted a skull from white earth over her own features. They were in a desert, the most realistic dreamscape Spike had ever experienced.
"It's my dream. I want you to speak to me." The power in Buffy's words buzzed through Spike like a mild electrical current.
Betrayal.
"Maybe not the first word I expected. Sineya, I'm so glad to meet you."
We are alone. She moved her head to one side, snake-like, and considered Buffy with no emotion. We are death.
"You made it so we don't have to be alone. Because of you, none of the rest of us has to be alone."
Sineya stabbed a finger in Spike's direction. We are death.
"Not anymore. Not alone, Sineya. There are even two Slayers now. I'm sure you know that." Buffy took a couple of careful steps closer. "I'm so sorry. I hate what was done to you. But you changed that power, made it ours. I have that power now, and I'm the Slayer. Let my friends go."
No friends. Alone. Just the kill. She rushed toward Buffy, but jerked back with unnatural reflexes when something with even more unnatural speed leapt between them. Spike, his human features firmly in place, shook his head.
"That power changed even me. The only reason any of us are here, is because of you. Thank you." Sineya looked at him.
Then he was flying twenty, thirty feet though the air, feeling as though an express train had hit him. Spike landed hard and struggled to get up. Buffy and the First Slayer were fighting, his Slayer countering the First's raw power with controlled moves, trying not to hurt Sineya, using her momentum against her.
Alone. Absolute.
"You're not the source of me." Buffy feinted and grabbed the other woman in a bear hug. "I said I'd hug you when I met you." She stared into the First Slayer's eyes. They burned with fury. "Sister. I name you sister."
Sineya broke her hold and leapt away, immediately going into a crouched stance. Unbroken. Scorn dripped from the word.
"No. I've been broken plenty. My friends help me to heal. I can't heal you, Sineya. I would, if I could. But I won't let you hurt them."
The oldest Slayer drew in a couple of ragged breaths. Then, with a snarl, she drew a stone knife from her rags and came at Buffy.
"I'm waking up now."
The knife came down. Nothing happened. Sineya stabbed her again.
"Seriously, that's just rude."
Buffy woke up. Next to her, Willow sat up, too. Xander jerked and looked around wildly, finding Anya next to him.
"Oh, thank God," Tara said, leaning over the couch to hug Willow. Oz enveloped them both, pressing a kiss into rumpled red hair.
Giles looked at the group huddled around the couch, then down at the hand resting on his forearm. "Spike," he breathed. "Well, that was… intense."
"How long?" The vampire directed his question at Tara.
"N-not long. Five minutes?" She glanced at Oz for confirmation.
"If that. Tara said you started REM sleep right away."
"Seemed longer." Spike waved away Giles' offered hand. "Give me a minute. Broken shoulder."
"It was gruesome to watch. I think she was choking you in your dreams." Anya rubbed Xander's shoulders from her perch on the arm of the couch.
"She threw Spike into a boulder," Buffy said, standing up. She wobbled a second, then came to crouch beside him, helping him up, an arm around his waist.
"And she tried to stab you."
Buffy looked at Giles. "I didn't hurt her. I even got that hug in."
"But mostly you broke the claim she had on us through the dream. Thank you, my dear."
"Spike went in to tell you it was just a dream."
"You would have figured that out for yourself." He nodded toward the couch. "It was Anya who realized what was going on."
"So that's how I got here." Xander smiled up at her.
"I knew something was wrong. You always wake up when I start touching your penis."
Giles closed his eyes. "Coffee, anyone?" He asked hurriedly.
Oz jumped in, wanting to get past this moment as well. "It's after five. We might as well go for breakfast."
"Yes! That may be the best plan I've ever heard," Xander said heartily. "Pancakes. Bacon. Other distracting breakfast foods."
"You guys haven't slept at all." Buffy realized this, looking around at her friends.
"Some of us slept waaay too long," Willow said grimly.
"What w-was your dream, sweetie?"
Willow looked away from Tara. "I'll tell you later."
"I dreamed I was the sheriff in an old West town," Xander said.
"I dreamed that I was a professor, and all of you were my students." Giles shrugged. "Not very imaginative of me." He gestured upstairs, where his clothes and glasses were. "I'll be back."
"If it hadn't worked with Spike, Tara was going to brew up a potion to wake you." Oz held out a pair of shoes for Willow.
The redhead squeezed Tara's fingers and shivered. "It might have been too late."
Xander borrowed a shirt from Giles, who took pains to point out how good the simple, subtly striped shirt looked on the dark-haired man. By the time the horizon lightened, they were at the Sit N Bull.
Carlene was off, but Bart came out for a quick hug from Buffy and to joke that he hadn't believed Spike had friends who weren't imaginary. He then headed back to the grill as the breakfast rush began in earnest.
"So, this is where you come with your…" Xander flapped a hand by his temple.
Buffy nodded. "Other places, too, but this was the first and still number one."
"Good coffee," Oz said.
Spike pointed a finger at the redhead in agreement, but didn't say anything. Xander and Giles were eager to talk about their dreams, but neither Buffy nor Willow wanted to go into theirs. Spike told his in general terms, and Giles pointed out similarities and wrangled promises from Willow and Buffy for a private telling. The food arrived, and conversation ceased for a while.
"I th-think the r-r-rest of us sh-shouldn't touch the Scythe anymore." Tara's exhaustion showed on her face as well as in her speech.
"Agreed," Giles said.
"Do you think she'll show up again?"
The Watcher considered Buffy's question seriously. "I think," he said softly, "that her spirit would have exhausted a great deal of energy, capturing all of us and fighting Buffy." He looked around the table. "Willow, would you be willing to have Anya and Oz over, so you can watch their sleep, as well as Tara's? If there's no excessive REM stage sleep, I should think we're safe. And, Buffy, if you'll watch Spike?"
"Of course."
Xander sighed. "I'd better get back home so I can go to work." He lifted the placket of the shirt he was wearing. "I'll get this washed and back to you. Thanks for the shirt off your back."
Giles smiled faintly. "Anytime. In fact, I should probably give you a ride." Spike pounced on the bill, and by the time he was finished paying, Giles and Xander were gone and everyone else except Buffy had piled into Oz's van.
They waved as it pulled out. "Ready to go home?"
He nodded. "Your carriage awaits."
They were at home and ready for bed before Buffy was willing to tell her dream. Spike opened his arms, making it clear there was no need to put it in words.
My dream was set in the mental hospital, obviously. When her fiancé nodded, she let out a sigh. The rest of you were patients there, too, except Giles. He was a doctor, and he would never wait for me. I'd chase him down hallways. All I could do with the rest of you is look through the windows. She closed her eyes. What am I going to tell Giles?
Tell him the truth about the dream. You don't have to tell him it was based in a real place. Xander's never lived in a ghost town, just seen all the Westerns. You've seen creepy movies set in insane asylums, yeah?
True. She lifted her face until he looked down at her. This dark shape, before I knew it was Sineya, kept sneaking up and hitting me. Then I went back into my own hospital room and 'slept,' and woke up in a cage in your dream.
Dunno how it happened. Tara put me to sleep with getting to you on my mind.
I'm glad it worked. She laid her head back down on his chest. Where were we, in your dream?
No clue. Kind of a cross between an English town on market day and, dunno, Sunnydale. He shifted, pulling the pillow to the side so he could sprawl out more. Weirdest thing to me was being stuck in vampire face.
She probably wanted you to be an obvious monster.
Mm. You're pro'ly right.
Buffy smiled and sat up, kissing his nose. His words always started to slur a bit when he was tired. "Get some sleep. I'll check on you in fifteen minutes or so."
"Love you, Buffy."
"Love you back, sleepyhead."
"It was the pancakes," he complained, "made me all full." Spike was asleep in less than a minute. If he had dreams, he didn't remember them when he woke.
⸹
Next Chapter: Angel throws a bachelor party for Spike.
