Vigil
⸹
Sunnydale
October 2000
⸹
"Anything you need before going on?" Xander asked. "Tissue? More water?"
"No, I'm good." Before he could turn away, Anya grabbed his arm. "Is my lipstick okay?"
"Your everything is okay," he reassured her, giving her a light kiss on the cheek, "better than okay. Knock 'em dead, sweetheart."
She looked at him blankly. "I don't do that anym – Oh, the colloquial expression. Right. Thanks."
Xander left the wings and went to the seat that Willow was saving for him. The mayoral debate between Anya and her opponent, Lewis Parr, was about to kick off. Xander nodded at Spike, who took this as his cue to pick up the bulky sample case and take it to Anya. His role was to carry it onstage when she was introduced, thus appearing on camera with her. The ex-demon didn't miss a trick, he'd give her that.
Spike had asked Xander what was in the case. The dark-haired man's reply, "About twenty thousand dollars," had concerned him enough that he'd opened it. Inside was just a bunch of bound reports, white papers, and grant proposals instead of bundles of cash to exchange for votes.
"And our other candidate, Miss Anya Jenkins," the moderator, an older white man who anchored local news, announced.
"Bastard," Anya said in an undertone, "using 'miss' like I'm too young or can't land a husband." She plastered on a smile and headed onstage, Spike behind her with the rectangular case. He placed it by her podium, glared directly into the camera as she'd directed, and stalked off the stage.
Once he was back in his seat, Dawn leaned over to whisper, "You looked all Masterful, William." She rolled her eyes.
"I liked it better when you had a crush on me, Bit," he whispered back.
"Hush." She dug a sharp elbow into his ribs. "They're starting."
The first fifteen minutes were boring. Spike was beginning to think Anya had over-prepared for this. Then Parr dinged her with the fact she'd never officially held a job.
Anya nodded to him with a friendly smile and turned back to the camera. "Yes, I thought my second career should be in politics." She gave it a sarcastic edge that would let the statement pass as a lame joke, but half the population of Sunnydale would understand that she was, after all, Anyanka of Arashmaharr. She pivoted into her talking points.
He tried again a few minutes later, ending his answer about his accomplishments in Sunnydale with the rather brutal, "What have you ever done?"
She graced him with another smile. "Sunnydale is in the midst of a financial crisis and has been for two years. I could ask you the same."
Xander leaned over and whispered to Spike, "I have such a hardon right now."
Spike touched his temple to Xander's and whispered back, "I take it you mean you have pride in her as a poised and intelligent woman?"
"Sure, that too."
Anya had come to her show-and-tell and opened the case. "Unlike Mr. Parr, I have a plan to revive the city and enhance our ability to generate revenue at the same time. The day after I take office, I'll submit this grant to the Urban Renewal Office, 'Environmental Stability and Green Space in Sunnydale, California.' The money will go to update water and sewage and to plant flowering shrubs that need less water. This is another grant proposal to the state tourism council, 'Sunnydale: Remedying tourism underachievement of a beachside small city.' This will help put in places throughout the town where tourists can sit after we set up walking trails on existing sidewalks. This one," she brought out another grant proposal, "goes to the telecommunications board. We don't have very good cell service in Sunnydale, which makes no sense with all the hills available for towers."
She pulled out other studies that she'd commissioned, paying for them with her own money: how a city could best change its reputation, what kinds of tourists were most likely to come to a quaint beach town, what was needed to draw new businesses to the area. The last thing she pulled out had a black cover.
"And this one," she said, her voice cracking, "is an emergency plan for earthquakes, mudslides, wildfires, tsunamis, and terrorist attacks. We currently have plans for none of these." She brandished the report, making the bright lights flare off the gold lettering, then laid it on the lectern and gripped the sides. "Not a single emergency plan for anything that could strike Sunnydale. None of the people in the Wilkins' administration, including Lew Parr, ever had a plan to save the children and parents and grandparents we lost at Sunnydale High School in 1999. Now they want to rebuild the school in the same damn spot." She'd message-tested this and found that it was her strongest campaign plank, and also found that the single profanity would be forgiven by the voters and make her seem more genuine.
"If I'm elected, nothing goes there except a memorial marker. The children of our town will be educated somewhere safe."
Around them, applause rose up for the first time from the audience. The moderator shushed them. Xander leaned over to Spike once more. "And Anya just won her first election."
⸹
"Oh, look at you all!" Joyce gushed. She held up her camera. "Giles, just look at them!"
"You look, er, very authentic," he offered as Joyce took pictures of Dawn, Buffy, and Spike in their Halloween costumes.
Dawn had chosen the theme of her all-time favorite movie, The Princess Bride. Spike was, of course, the man in black, a given with his blond hair clubbed back in a queue and his fencer's build. He wore a mask and a black silk shirt, as well as a sword buckled at his hip. Buffy was gowned as Buttercup, though she secretly had on Supergirl underwear, just in case of magic spells.
Dawn was wearing a dark wig in a pageboy shape and a fake moustache, costumed as Inigo Montoya. She awkwardly withdrew her own rapier from her swordbelt. "Cross blades with me, Spike. Ready, Mom?"
Buffy unsuccessfully hid a smile from her husband. They were going with Dawn, who had been roped into the same babysitting role for trick-or-treaters that Principal Snyder had once foisted on her. "You have to say it, you know," she prompted.
"'You killed my father,'" Dawn began, and her sister sent a glance to Giles. He managed to smile at her. "Prepare to die!"
At least she isn't going as a sexy fire hydrant or something.
Buffy sighed. Probably her last year as a kid instead of a co-ed.
⸹
November 2000
⸹
Buffy sighed and shifted. The group was meeting tonight at the Magic Box for the first time. Tara had left the back room for spare inventory, and Giles had negotiated a lease for shelving so that his library didn't have to be in storage anymore. Tara also put in secondhand sofas and easy chairs and added a refrigerator. She had a flair for using light to create moods, and the floor lamps made it seem cozy.
Even with the soft cushions beneath her, Buffy's body ached. The battle with the woman who wanted the Key had left her in a lot of pain for a lot longer than normal. "So, on the upside, I got to go to the zoo for the first time since I was a sophomore" – Xander cringed a little at the hyena memories – "and the Scythe lops her head right off."
The Slayer shifted to another position that was, for the moment, less painful. "On the downside, I've already dropped a house on her, and she came back. And her creepy little minions got away with both pieces of her."
"Well, you got to the reptile house before she transformed any of the snakes," Anya said. "That was good. Those are expensive to replace."
"We have her image from Tara's security feed, too," Willow added.
"If she comes back again," Giles mused, "that will be a good indication that she's a true demon, not a hybrid. I've read those can heal after being beheaded."
"At least she gave me a name."
"Right, Glory," Xander said, "and from your description, her minions shouldn't be hard to spot."
"And n-now I kn-know n-not to s-sell her m-magic items," Tara added in a small voice.
Willow rubbed her back. "You didn't know, sweetie." Tara had privately admitted she was a little overwhelmed by the glamorous, gorgeous façade. "Why does this Glory keep showing up in Sunnydale, anyway? Is this another Hellmouth thing?"
Buffy and Giles regarded each other for a long moment. The Watcher lifted a shoulder, leaving it up to her. She sighed and shifted again. "We know why she's here. She's looking for an ancient energy that can be used as a Key to open portals to other dimensions, including the one where she's from. And we already have the Key." She took a breath and told the story, apologizing for not telling sooner, then fell quiet.
"You don't need to apologize," Willow said, her brows drawn together. She exchanged a look with Xander, who was too stunned to speak. "I mean… how did you even process that? Dawn's not real?"
"She's real." Buffy gave up on sitting and stood up, stretching her back. "She's just a normal teenager, as far as she knows."
"Your Mom doesn't know?" Oz asked. He was seated next to Willow on the end of that couch and had been quiet through the meeting.
"We didn't know how to tell her," Giles said wearily, "not right now." He stood up, too. "Dawn actually is her daughter. We gathered DNA samples from Joyce, Dawn and Buffy and sent them off for analysis. Dawn's blood and Buffy's blood are identical; the lab sent the results back and told us we'd sent them duplicates from the same person by accident. I did the same test on Dawn as I did on Spike when he returned from Africa. She has a soul."
Tara sat up suddenly. On Willow's other side, so did Oz, as if a packmate had set up an alarm. "Oh."
"Oh, what, sweetie?" Willow asked.
"B-B-Buffy's aura and Sp-Sp-" She gave up and took a breath, grimacing in frustration. Willow took her hands. "August, m-m-maybe S-september, your auras were sm-smaller." Tara gritted her teeth. "I-I d-didn't see Joyce's, s-s-so I d-don't kn-know…."
"They vary naturally, though," Willow said, rejecting this line of thought.
Tara nodded vigorously. "Gr-grief, loss diminishes you, b-but you recover over time. I d-didn't mention it, didn't w-want to intrude."
Xander leaned forward and clasped his hands. "What you're getting at… These monks took part of Buffy and Spike's souls, and maybe Joyce's, and gave it to this Key?"
The Slayer closed her eyes for a moment. She had never managed to stop loving her sister, not even the moment she'd found out it was all a massive hoax. "I don't know how souls and auras work, but I'm not worried. I feel the same as I always have." She pushed her hair back and tried sitting on the couch again. She needed to sit because what had just occurred to her nearly knocked her off her feet. Both she and Spike were more than human, but her Mom….
"The monks' goal was to give the Key to the most powerful protector on the planet," Giles was saying, "and make her… motivated to provide that protection. Of itself, the Key isn't good or evil."
"Giles, Tara," she made herself ask, "if the monks took part of Mom's soul, could that be why she's sick now?"
There was a long silence. Tara broke it.
"No. Magic can only do so much to heal a human; it doesn't make sense to me that anything but a spell cast intentionally could harm one." Her words held no trace of a stutter.
Willow gazed at Tara, wishing she had that kind of bone-deep surety in her own ability. Tara had her own gentle magic since she was born. Sometimes she knew basic things that Willow had never learned, since no witch bothered writing them in books.
Anya was staring into middle space, thinking. "I've hexed plenty of men with diseases," she mused, "but I've never run across a spell that works by taking part of their soul."
"Tara? Would you mind telling me how I look now?"
The blond witch shook her head and concentrated on Buffy's aura. "Wh-hole, maybe a little smaller than the first time I met you. I-I can tell you're worried." The Slayer gave her a smile and let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"So that's why Spike is at your Mom's house tonight. Even if it wasn't the Dawnster," Xander said, "we can't let this Glory have a key that will open a door to a hell dimension – it has to be a hell dimension, right? – into ours." He took a breath. "So, we have to protect it anyway."
"Giles? I was going to tell you this after the meeting, but I might as well tell you now. While we were at the hospital here in Sunnydale with Mom, waiting for them to do her bloodwork, there was a crazy person that seemed to recognize that Dawn isn't your average girl. She blew it off, but one of the interns said there are a lot of crazy people showing up."
"In Sunnydale?" He raised an eloquent eyebrow.
"Not the usual kind, some kind of crazy the doctors can't fix."
"I'll look into it, as well as what I can find out about 'Glory.'"
⸹
"… Your source for local news," the announcer said.
"Hush!" Andrew said, frantically pressing the volume button on the television.
Anya Jenkins campaign headquarters, an empty storefront she leased for three months, was full of desks, with people crammed into the narrow spaces between. She looked around; several of her volunteers were still chattering, unable to hear Andrew. So she put her fingers to her mouth and gave a piercing whistle. "Returns are in!"
"…what looks like a higher than normal turnout at polling places. With seventy percent of the votes counted in the mayoral race, Anya Jenkins has 54% of the vote, with Lew Parr having 45%."
Cheers rang out throughout the room. Xander picked her up and spun her around before giving her a loud kiss. "First time I've ever kissed a mayor!" he crowed.
"Though we've all been screwed by one," Giles said sotto voce to Joyce. Although she had legitimate reason to smile, she covered her mouth anyway and elbowed him.
One of the phones on the desk behind Anya rang, and she shushed everyone before answering. "Hey." She listened for a moment, nodding, then asked, "And that's it?" "Thanks! And thank you for all your hard work."
When she hung up, she turned to the room at large. Xander grabbed her once again and lifted her onto the desktop so everyone could see her. "That was Greg at City Hall. They've finished the count." She beamed around at everyone. "Five thousand, one hundred and seventeen votes for Jenkins, 4396 for Parr. All votes are in!" The new mayor put her arms in the air in a victory pose.
"You think he'll call to concede?" a volunteer in the back asked, one of several graduates of the 1999 class of Sunnydale High who served on her campaign.
"It's a norm of the American political system," Anya said, nodding. "If he doesn't, I'll make sure everyone knows."
"Reporters are here," Xander warned, low, as he helped her down. She was wearing a smart suit that wasn't meant for squatting or leaping.
"Let's give them something to photograph," she grinned, giving him another big kiss. Then she called for her volunteers to come forward. Dawn was the first in line.
Willow was shaking her head in admiration. "She really did it."
Buffy, tucked against Spike, grinned at her. "The rest of us had better get on it."
⸹
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Mom? You won't get too tired out?"
"I think it is. Sit down, Buffy." Joyce joined her on a barstool at the kitchen's island. "I just want to go ahead and have Thanksgiving dinner now. It will work great with Anya's victory party.
"I'm perfectly happy with you doing most of the cooking – I heard you did a great job while Dawn and I were in Illinois last year. And I'm not just trying to get out of cooking." She drew a breath. "The doctors say that it can take a whole year after brain surgery before you start to feel like yourself again. I want this holiday now, while I feel myself. Okay?"
Buffy nodded, blinking back tears, and leaned forward to hug her mother. "Whatever you want," she managed.
"Well, I want you to not worry," Joyce replied, smoothing hair from her daughter's face, "but I know I can't stop you. Just help me keep things as normal as possible for Dawn."
"I will." She wiped her eyes. "Mom, I just wanted you to know that I'm glad for you and Giles. I really haven't said anything about it."
"No, you just accepted it. I thought that was nice." Joyce sighed. "Not that there is much 'kissage' going on right now."
"Speaking as a daughter, I'm down with that." Buffy gave her a wry smile. "Speaking as a fellow woman of the world, I'm very sorry."
Joyce giggled, a sound Buffy hadn't heard in a while. "There's something to be said for Englishmen."
"Agreed."
"I love this," Joyce said abruptly, her tone fierce. "Lucid days like this. I cannot wait to be back to myself all the time."
She had to turn her face away to hide the anguish and renewed tears. "I can't either."
Love? A small caress in her mind.
Thanks. It's just, I'm with Mom.
Ah. Another small caress, and he was gone.
"Oh, Buffy." Joyce took her by the shoulders. "Speaking of lucid, I have asked you to cover the gallery on Thursday afternoons, right? Maggie's day off?"
"Yes, you did." Buffy cleared her throat and accepted the change in topic.
⸹
"Maybe I should take judo," Dawn said thoughtfully. She and Spike had gone to Dutton with Xander to watch him test for his brown belt. Now they were on their way to In-and-Out Burger.
"In your spare time?" Xander asked, teasing her a little.
"I'm not that busy," she said, skipping a little. "I mean, there's probably a couple hours each day where nothing's scheduled."
The vampire snorted. "Except texting and conditioning your hair and doing your nails and mooning over boys named Jesse and Josh and Ryan and Freddie and… did I already say Justin?"
"I think you did," Xander said. He was watching Dawn, something painful in his eyes.
"Well, they're cute," Dawn said practically. "Mom says they're unobtainable and therefore perfect training-wheels crushes. Besides, I know for a fact that you used to crush so hard on Alicia Silverstone. And Buffy."
"Let's see," Spike mused. They were almost to his truck, and he hit the key fob. "Who else did you use to have a crush on? Started with X, I remember right."
"You probably don't," Dawn sassed, "since you're so old." She put on a burst of speed and ran to the truck, her brown hair swinging.
Xander smiled, glancing over at the chuckling vampire before looking at the teenager. He was glad this was his first time with the Dawnster since Buffy had dropped the news about the Key. He wasn't sure he could have acted normal if he'd had to spend time alone with her.
Spike saw him staring at her shape through the rear window. "You did really well on your test," he said, changing the unspoken topic. "I think you'll pass. I know you'd pass if they could have seen you on Wednesday with those two vampires outside the sushi place."
⸹
Buffy walked around the bedroom, checking for anything she'd overlooked before heading back into Sunnydale to stay with Dawn. Her mom and Spike were on a plane to Houston. The surgery was tomorrow, and she, Dawn, and Giles had tickets to fly down on Friday afternoon for the weekend. She and Dawn were supposed to not miss school. Giles, she supposed, was just supposed to not miss Joyce. Buffy stopped her circuit and found herself beside Spike's closet.
The night she'd been postponing had passed, the first night they hadn't made love. Her mother had said – well, the growth in her brain had made her say mean things as they were all gathered around the Thanksgiving table. The worst of it was when she'd told Dawn that she didn't belong and screamed at her to get out. Buffy had taken Joyce upstairs, almost by main force, and gotten a couple of pills into her. There had been more verbal abuse before they took effect. She'd gone back downstairs and found everyone silently cleaning up the kitchen. Xander had made a lame joke about a Harris kind of Thanksgiving, and she'd comforted her frightened sister as best she could. She'd stayed in her old bedroom that night, huddled against Spike, crying in her best silent manner, before falling into exhausted sleep.
He was gone now, where he needed to be, but, oh, she needed him here with her, too. Buffy opened his closet door and stepped inside, breathing in his scent. When they first moved in, everything in his closet consisted of black fabric in various stages of weathering: jeans faded to charcoal, t-shirts brownish from ill-advised laundering, most of it shrunken and a bit too small. Now there were garment bags with his suits and tuxedo, crisp dress shirts in white and blue, even a single pair of khakis she'd persuaded him to buy by telling him they made his ass look amazing.
Buffy took the leather coat she'd bought him from its hanger and hugged it to her. The past couple of months had been like the time they'd tried just dating and living separate lives. Both of them were miserable. She slipped into the coat on impulse, finding one side heavier than the other. She slid her hand into the left pocket and came out with a dagger. As she drew it out, a slip of paper fell to the floor. Picking up the rumpled sheet, she recognized Spike's elegant handwriting.
⸹
As the wave rises to meet me
Slapping against my skin, I rise.
Emerging from foam and darkness
I stand and become Poseidon's eyes.
⸹
Slicing the polished glass of sea,
As the wave rises to meet me,
Listening for Triton to wind the conch
Weight shifting across wood agilely.
⸹
Compensating again against
The cold and implacable
As the wave rises to meet me,
Alone, aware it is unmerciful.
⸹
Salt stings my slices and my eyes.
Chasing the chance to be a deity,
I turn from safety on land
As the wave rises to meet me.
⸹
"Oh." She put her fingers to her mouth, smiling a little at this proof of her poet's soul. It was in quatern form; she remembered that from her spring semester poetry class. The word 'agilely' was boxed and other words had been crossed out and replaced. Some of it was clunky, but it was a working draft for a solid, evocative poem about surfing.
Spike?
Hey, love. Over New Mexico, I think. Your mum's asleep.
I miss you. I'm wearing your coat.
He got enough sense of her emotions that he didn't ask if it was all she was wearing. Bet you look cute.
I found your poem about surfing. It was an accident. I hope you're not mad.
'Course not. It isn't very good, I'm afraid.
It is pretty good, actually. I mean, I couldn't write anything like this. You've impressed your wife.
Well, then, that covers it. You're the only one I want to impress.
You told me you're a bad poet.
There was a pause. I can't write love poetry, so of course that's what I had to do. But… I've written one or two that weren't awful, maybe.
She felt the dreamscape around her change from their balcony to a Victorian room that looked to her eyes like it was in a palace. Spike – no, William was standing beside an old woman with a cane and terrifyingly correct posture, reciting a poem. She couldn't hear the words, but somehow she knew it was about a horse race. The faces of the rest of the people seated around the room were intense or rapt or some word that connoted concentration. They were imagining scenes to go with his words, she realized.
That was the highlight of my career as poet. They were together on the balcony, the sun setting orange before them.
I love it when you share memories like that.
Me, too. Wish I could ice skate like you – it felt like flying, love.
They stayed quiet for a few moments, just holding each other and watching the sunset, Spike in an airplane seat with his eyes closed, Buffy leaning against the doorframe of his closet, her leather-clad arms hugging herself.
⸹
"Mr. Giles?"
He looked up, blinking, at Tara's soft voice, the book in his lap forgotten. "Just 'Giles' will do, Tara. It's what everyone else calls me." Except Joyce.
"Um, thanks. I-I will." She was poking her head through the door to the back room of the Magic Box, where he had been most of the day, sorting through boxes of his books. "Do you want some lunch?"
Giles checked his watch. Incredibly, it was eight minutes since he'd last checked it. Joyce's doctors believed her surgery would end in the early afternoon – and thank goodness they hadn't just had to close up and admit defeat right away – and Houston was two hours behind. Any time now.
"Giles?" Tara repeated his name, her voice soft and sympathetic.
He forced a smile. "Of course."
"Willow just got here with Chinese food."
He ended up gathered around the counter with the two witches and Michael Czajak, who was taking the afternoon shift so Tara could go to class. Giles listened absently to the three coven members talk for a while before the conversation got his attention.
"What was the question, Michael?" he asked, chopsticks with a chunk of green curry chicken halfway to his mouth.
The dark-haired young man frowned. "I asked Willow if she thought it was Ms. Calendar?"
Willow put a hand out and laid it gently on Giles' shoulder. "No. It didn't feel like her at all. When I cast that first spell, nothing happened. The second time, when I was," she made a mouth, clearly not happy with the word, "possessed, it was by an older woman. I've always thought it was the spirit of the same witch who first cursed Angelus."
Tara, watching Giles with sharp eyes, made a show of noticing a passerby. "And… no, another potential customer walks on." She gave meaningful looks to the other two coven members. "I'm kind of glad it's slowed down after Halloween. This w-way I have a chance to restock before W-winter Solstice and Christmas."
"I'm just glad to get in the hours," Michael said, "busy or not. I can't tell you have wonderful it is to have my own place."
Giles tuned out their voices again. He was a fool. After mourning Jenny, he'd been an idiot to ever risk his heart again. Jenny, so fun and provoking and full of life… And now Joyce, who was so serene, except he knew how to look for her saltiness and passion, who could always make him laugh with her sly, unexpected humor… Cancer was more of a bastard than Angelus could ever hope to be, eating away at her identity. At least it had been quick for Jenny.
But not for me. Mourning Joyce, too… I should never have dared for anything beyond a wistful moment or two with Olivia, at the end of her visits. This is too –
His cell phone rang. Giles froze. He let the chopsticks fall as he fumbled in his pocket. For two more rings, he could only look at it. Spike was calling.
"Yes?"
"They got it all, Rupes. No metastases, minimal damage." His voice sounded both raw and jubilant.
"Let me put you on speaker," he said in a shaky voice. "Willow, Tara, and Michael are…" Oh, say it again.
"The doctors say they got all of it. Because she didn't have any weakness in her limbs and it wasn't growing that fast, she doesn't have to have chemo or radiation therapy. Lots of MRIs in her future, but just for monitoring."
"Spike?" Willow said quickly, before he could go on. "This is all good news, right?"
"All of it." He laughed, a shaky sound. "I have to call Xander and the folks at the gallery, so I need to –"
"Have you seen her?" Rupert asked quickly. "Talked to her?"
"Not yet. She's in recovery. I just spoke to the docs, called you lot right after I spoke to Buffy and the Bit."
He stood holding the phone after Spike rang off. Willow touched his arm again.
"Giles? You all right?"
Nodding, he gave her a real grin. "I am. Er, I'll be back in just a moment." He touched his abdomen and gave them a vaguely apologetic look, then went to the bathroom. Inside, he leaned over the sink and sobbed as quietly as he could.
⸹
Spike.
He jerked as he woke, the echo of the word in his mind.
Angel?
Are you alone?
He rubbed his face. I'm with Joyce. She's asleep.
There was a pause. You're at the hospital?
In Houston, yeah.
I thought the surgery was last week.
Almost two weeks ago. She's had bleeding on the brain. They're keeping her until she's clear, so I'm staying. Better that any complications crop up while she's still here.
Oh. I hadn't heard.
Willow must not have been in touch with Cordelia. Holidays, finals, I guess. He sat up in the dimness of Joyce's hospital room. The chair reclined; he'd slept on worse over the years. Spike started to say that it was good to hear from him, but since it had been months, there had to be a reason for Angel to contact him. What's wrong?
Angel put a hand over his eyes. What could he say? He'd driven off his friends? Darla had been alive and human, and he'd lost the woman who might well be the love of his life? Maybe he could start with, 'Remember that submarine?' Sam Lawson blamed him for siring him wrong, somehow, and had jumped at the chance to sire Darla. Or, he could skip that part and ask Spike to come help him track down two dangerous vampires. He could simply tell Spike that he needed him, needed him to hold him or kick him or both.
The most efficient thing would be to ignore the man who was closest to being his brother and simply ask the Master two kill two Aurelians who would not kneel. The Master would surely have to leave Houston for that.
Angel, what's wrong?
Nothing. Hope Joyce gets better soon.
⸹
December 2000
⸹
"Mom is home, Mom is home," Dawn said, galloping down the stairs.
Giles twisted around on the couch and pushed the curtain back. "Did they call?"
"Nope. I saw the car turn onto Revello." She dashed out the door, leaving it open. Giles followed her nearly as fast, though he did shut the door behind him. It was one of those California winter days where the sun was bright and intense, but the temperature had not quite hit sixty. More people had put up wreaths and other Christmas decorations than he ever remembered seeing, as if they were all celebrating Joyce's return.
Spike passed the driveway, then backed in so that Joyce would have a clear walk to the door. Buffy was already out of the back and waiting to lend her mother a hand by the time Joyce opened her door.
She stood up and looked at her house and around the neighborhood, then focused on Giles and Dawn. With Buffy's hand at her back, she held out her arms. Dawn was already crying when she went into them.
"I missed you so much, and I'm so glad you're back. I love you, Mommy." She, Buffy, and Giles had flown down to Houston each weekend, but until the last trip, Joyce hadn't been well enough for the visits to amount to anything but more promixal misery.
"I love you, too, my little punkin belly."
"You look good! I like the hairstyle"
"Spike says it's very new wave." Her surgical team had decided the best approach was from low on her skull; they'd left her hair above her ears. Part of the recovery time had included a hairdresser who worked regularly with cancer patients. Except for the bandage covering the stitches, Joyce looked like she was rocking a buzz cut with long strands left to fall over her forehead.
"You'll need some new clothes. No way that will work with your business suits."
"Yes it will, with the right pair of earrings."
Dawn turned away, a big smile on her face, and Giles moved up to take Joyce in a more careful embrace. "How are you after the flight?" He hoped his hug told her how much he'd missed her and how glad he was to have her back.
"Same as I was before," she said wanly, "tired." She looked around at the brown winter grass of the neat lawns of the neighborhood and sighed. "But really, really glad to be back home. I feel like I've been gone forever."
"We feel the same." Buffy smiled at her mother and turned to help her husband with the luggage.
⸹
"Hey, B."
"You look festive."
"Some missionaries or something brought us these Santa hats. We got little tubes of shampoo and lotion and, like, oranges for a Christmas present." Faith shrugged. "Breaks up the monotony."
"Did the package I sent make it through?"
"Yeah. Yay, chocolate. And a book of poems, thank you so much."
"Emily Dickinson is awesome. And the thing is, you only have to read one little poem, then you can stop and ponder it all day and be deep."
"Yeah, deep don't mean much in here."
Buffy grew serious. "How are you doing?"
"Honestly? I'm getting a little stir-crazy being in stir."
The blond Slayer considered her. "If you were… up for parole, how do you think you would handle it?"
Faith seemed to be in a serious mood today, because her answer was brutally honest. "That scares the shit out of me."
"Maybe that's a good thing."
Faith shrugged. "Maybe." Something occurred to her and she almost winced. "How's your mom?"
"She's better, thanks for asking. She goes back for a checkup in January, then one every three months for a year. Annual screenings after that."
Faith nodded. "I never, you know… got a chance to tell her I'm sorry." Joyce had always been kind, something she had a hard time accepting at face value.
"Well, fortunately, you still have that chance."
"Not anytime soon. But you could, you know, pass it along."
"I will." They regarded each other through the glass with, if not warmth, cordiality.
A little concern showed around Faith's eyes. "Anything big going on in the real world?"
"I got some kind of demon who won't stay dead and who's after a way to open a hell dimension. She's stronger than I am and dresses like she works a corner on South Wilkins Avenue."
Faith snorted, but she still looked concerned. "What about in L.A.?"
Buffy shook her head. "I couldn't say. Willow hacked Wol – um, that law firm that was interested in you," the blond Slayer looked over her shoulder at the guard who walked by, "and Angel got his panties in a twist. You know how he is, not wanting anyone else to be a target."
"He hasn't been to see me in a couple of months," Faith admitted.
"That's weird." Buffy was frowning, too.
Faith shrugged it off. "So, you still riding the big kitty?"
"I… I'll take the fifth, 'cause I'm not sure what you mean."
"I saw the video. There's a few half-demons in here who were talking about the Count getting dusted. I get Internet privileges in the library for my classes, so I hunted it down."
Buffy wrestled with her smile and tucked it away. "No. Either Spike can be a kitty, or he can keep his wife happy. He doesn't have enough energy to do both." Particularly not when he's also trying to heal because part of his soul was given to my sister.
"Yeah, he looked wiped when he was on top of that gravestone, after the smoke." Faith leaned forward. "What was that cat thing?"
"Like a cave lion. He'd been to the museum at the La Brea Tar Pits. There was this fossil of an extinct thing called an American lion that apparently made a big impression." Buffy shrugged. "He was going for a cougar. Dracula doesn't – didn't do a stand-up fight, so he wanted to be able to pin him for me."
"Was that our Scythe?"
"It was. Good in a fight."
There was a gleam in Faith's eyes. "God, I miss it. I don't even know, B. When I get out, I am going to be so rusty."
Buffy gave her a narrow look. "I thought prison was all lifting weights and beating up other people in the yard."
"Yeah, they really don't like it when you fight," Faith said. "It's like half a percent of adrenalin, one percent eating, and the rest is trying to chop up all this time into manageable chunks. It's a lot of time listening to women crying at night because they miss their kids. It's a lot of time alone in your own head." She took a breath. "At least in women's prison. They won't let me go to the men's." She made herself give Buffy a lascivious smile.
Buffy glanced over her shoulder at the guard again so Faith wouldn't see her expression. When she looked back, she had a smile on her own face. "You, in a men's prison? You'd be running the place inside a day."
⸹
Spike took a breath and made his grip on his phone relax. He knew he was standing on a thin ledge, ignoring Angel's insubordination. The great poof was likely going to push him off the edge. Slow as the git was on the uptake, he probably wouldn't take into account that Spike could get to L.A. in a helicopter far faster than in a car, too fast for his temper to cool.
Still, Angel had called when he was in Houston. And Spike wanted all his family for Christmas. He hit speed dial for Angel's mobile.
No answer.
Spike tried the office number and got a recording. Instead of leaving a message, he texted Angel: 'Call ASAP, Aurelian.'
He sighed, looking down at the phone in his hand that made no sound.
⸹
Oz closed the door to his dorm room. He'd never lived in a dorm before this semester, and he wasn't going to miss it. The Dingoes were touring through April. Their independent record label didn't have deep pockets, and if the merchandise didn't sell, the band would end up owing money. But the video they'd done for 'I Shouldn't Want You' was popular and the song was at twenty on the charts and still climbing. It would probably be their biggest success.
He hadn't enrolled for spring. Whenever he came back to college, he'd be a junior and would need to declare a major. The Dingoes tour was one last chance to be free of responsibility before facing adulthood. There was no way around making choices, and with every choice you made, doors slammed shut and alternate paths disappeared. You couldn't be a working musician and also get a doctorate in theoretical physics; one of those lifestyles required too much structure. But he could always go to college.
In a way, it was easy. Oz knew he didn't have another song like 'I Shouldn't Want You' in him. The tune was based on what he remembered of the song that had nearly pulled him from Angel's boat. He could write music, but not music like that. So, the Dingoes would have a big hit, maybe a couple of minor hits, and their sophomore album would tank because it would a lackluster, unimaginative record. This didn't make him sad or bitter; it was the story of most bands that managed to break onto the charts. Few bands had the longevity of the Who. Devon dreamed of rock stardom, but Oz mostly just wanted other musicians to respect him, to think his music was cool.
Oz was proud of the song. He had translated the sounds for humans, something few other beings could have done. It wasn't a note-by-note reprise, rather a recreation of the feeling of longing. And maybe the real reason he could write it was because he longed for something he couldn't have. On the thought, he pressed the elevator button. Time to leave Sunnydale.
Oz put the two boxes he was carrying in his van and got into the driver's seat. He put on his sunglasses and took a moment to see where he'd been: staid brick building, third floor up, second window over, nice campus, third-rate school.
The whole semester had been a roller coaster. When he was with Willow, he was just simply happy, basking in her presence. When he was with Tara, he was fascinated by everything about her, how she was like a flower that shyly closed one petal every time another one opened, never fully revealing herself. Beneath her subdued beauty was pain and steel, and that had redoubled his fascination.
When he was with both Tara and Willow, when they happily let him into their charmed circle, he felt like a jerk. They were so good together. In Willow, Tara had someone who just got her on a cellular level. Willow never had to pry to get Tara to open for her. And Willow had someone who grounded her, who would never hurt her.
When he was alone, he ached.
It was clear what he had to do. There would be pretty girls at the shows who'd want to meet him. There would be bungee jumps and great barbeque places and interesting musicians to meet. There would be plenty of distractions. And after the tour, Oz figured that MIT was probably far enough away.
He reached for the gear stick just as his cell phone rang. Because it was the Hellmouth, he answered. "Spike. What up?"
"Nothing, for a change. I saw the tour schedule has a few empty days at the end of December. Just wanted to let you know I have a room for you at Squaw Valley at Christmas. I didn't want to mention it before, what with things with Joyce being unsettled, but Buffy's been wanting to take everyone skiing."
"Thanks. I'll probably see my family."
"Right. Still, room's there any day you want to see your other family, if you can manage it."
Oz closed his eyes. "Text me the deets."
"Will do. Break a leg and all that."
"I won't say the same, since you'll be skiing."
⸹
"Spike, are you doing anything for the next hour or so?"
Spike was laying in the lounge chair on the balcony, pretending the winter sun was as warm as spring, summer, or autumn sun. He was not wearing earphones and never slept out here anymore. "Nothing," he told Xander.
"Meet me at the mall food court?"
"Yeah, that's not much incentive for me to get dressed."
"So, come naked. It's a slow news day. I'd love to see mall security try to arrest you."
By the time he finished glaring at the phone, the whelp had rung off. It was a workday, so he figured Xander wanted him for something that would fit into a lunch hour.
He spotted Xander's dun pants and plaid shirt standing out amid the red and green that most of the matronly mallgoers were wearing. "Here for a Panda Express fix?"
"No, though I wish I'd thought of that before I had a slice." There was an empty, triangular pizza box on his knee. He gestured at the tiny stool affixed to the equally tiny table. "Have a seat."
"I think my arse is too big," he scoffed, even as he sat.
"So. You're, you know, old and stuff. You know anything about gemstones?"
"Uh… we sell them occasionally?"
Xander sighed. "I need you to help me pick out a ring for Anya."
Spike leaned back, grinning. "Well, well, well. The X-man is gonna pop the question. Good on you, mate. Congratulations."
Xander stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "Déjà vu."
Spike met his gaze and raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, me, too."
"So not helpful," Xander groused. "I need a vision of Anya saying, "Oh, Xander, I love it!"
Spike chuckled at his impression of a woman's happy voice. "Yeah, other than kind of giving you collywobbles, pretty useless." He put an elbow on the table, nearly crowding Xander's drink cup off of it. "You really ready for this, mate?"
"I think so." He tapped the empty box against his knee for a moment. "No, I know so." He met Spike's gaze. "See, I'm an average Joe, right? I was super unlucky with the ladies, until I suddenly was super lucky. Cordelia and Faith, right? Two gorgeous women. Terrifying, but gorgeous. Then that weird little blip with Willow. Again, gorgeous and way out of my league.
"And then Anya came along, and for whatever teenaged hormonal reason, she liked me. Gorgeous and terrifying at a whole 'nother level. But she's just not good with people. She's an excellent politician, it turns out, but with her, I actually have something to offer. I mean love, of course, but… I get her. I think it's kind of sweet, how awkward she is. I mean, I'm awkward all the time, too. She's amazing, but she doesn't seem out of my league." He said this last in a soft voice. Spike was grinning at him. "What?"
"I'm so glad I made it to the twenty-first century and the age of the sensitive man," he said. He was still smiling, but his words were sincere. "You just flat out said you were in love and don't expect to get teased for it. It's a new era."
"Well, it's just me," Xander said depreciatingly. "Probably doesn't count for much."
Spike scoffed and changed the subject. "I can tell a quality gem from a crap one. How much do you want to spend?"
⸹
"Again?" Buffy asked.
"Looks like."
They were patrolling near the docks. For the past three weeks, they'd been shadowed. Spike had noticed the surveillance outside Giles' apartment, and Buffy had noted it just outside the boundary of the spells on their house.
Well, I'm getting tired of it. Capture?
Let's play it another way. Why don't you head home after patrol? I'll go by Willy's or somewhere. If she doesn't approach me there, we'll do capture.
Well, if it's an ambush, don't do anything to make me worry.
I never give you any reason to worry, love. His wife scoffed.
After an unremarkable patrol, Spike did a quick hunt. He found two humans, sent them on their way, and made his own way to Willy's. It was a quiet night at the bar.
"Where is everyone?" he asked.
"Hibernation," Willy said glumly. "You'd think in California it wouldn't have to be this way. December is always slow."
"Well," Spike said, reaching into a coat pocket for money, "here's my contribution. A bottle of cava and two glasses."
"A bottle of what?"
"Chianti?"
"Ain't got none of that. Too messy, with all the people trying to get liver to go with it."
Spike closed his eyes. "Right, then. Any sparkling wine?"
Willy shook his head.
"No one's ever ordered champagne?"
"Oh! Yeah, I got a case of it in the back."
Spike was already walking away. "Bring a bottle to the table." He found one by the wall and took the seat facing the door. Ten minutes, he thought. Without poker to distract him, that's all the patience he had for being at Willy's.
She came in eight minutes later, looking around warily. Her hair was pulled back in a sensible knot and instead of a floating, vaguely bridal dress, she was dressed in motorcycle leathers. Spike tapped a finger on the table and she looked directly at him.
Dracula's remaining bride – widow? – came to the table and gave a little bow before sitting. She nodded at the two glasses. "How long have you known?" she asked in Spanish.
"Three weeks." She was there the first night he and Joyce had been back from Houston.
"Oh."
He nodded at the warm champagne. "Closest thing Willy has to anything from Catalonia. Or anything good."
She gave him that very European shrug. He uncorked the bottle, the celebratory sound out of place at the Alibi Room. While he poured them each a glass, he gave Buffy a mental nudge.
Love, you want to listen in?
Only if it's different from what you think.
Right. See you soon.
I'm showering.
Very soon, he corrected himself.
"Smells like paint thinner with bubbles."
"Heh." Spike raised his glass in salute at this joke and took a shallow sip. "So, you've been looking for the opportunity to speak with me?"
"No. Not at first. Just observing." Luisa took a sip from her own glass. She grimaced and set it down.
"Observing for what purpose?"
"I wanted to see what you do, how you," she struggled for a word, "operate."
"And now you have."
"You don't kill humans."
He held up his left hand and stayed silent, letting the presence of the wedding ring speak for itself.
"I have heard you have a soul?"
"I do. Goes along with walking in daylight and laughing at wooden," he blanked on a Spanish word himself and substituted, "sticks."
"You faced a judge for it?"
He nodded. That was close enough. "Other questions?"
"You don't hold court."
"Never will. No interest."
"You have no lieutenant."
Ah. "No. I will need one in time."
"You have no minions?"
"No." Spike tilted his head and settled a little further down in the chair.
"I don't understand you."
He nodded. "I won't explain myself yet. Will you answer questions?"
She nodded, touching her fingers to the glass so she could look down.
"You were turned," he waggled his fingers in the air, "forty years ago?"
"Twenty-two."
His eyebrows went up, impressed. "Witch?"
She shrugged.
"Dracula your sire?"
Another nod.
"Did you ever live outside of family?"
"No."
"Did you go back to Girona?" His voice was kind.
Luisa looked away and blinked a couple of times. "I did. I'm back here, now."
Spike smelled her tears. He wondered if it had been family or a lover she'd sought. "Why here?"
"I am a vampire. It's something I cannot change. I would rather be a Spike vampire than a Dracula vampire."
He put on his best poker face at her blunt answer. "What is a Spike vampire?"
She touched her heart, then her temple. "One who has love, who is not unthinking."
Something occurred to him. He leaned forward, feeling uncomfortable. "Are you a seer?"
Luisa shook her head jerkily. He'd struck some kind of nerve, though.
"You're a," he didn't have the word, so he switched, "you have empathy. Even after the change."
Her jaw came out to a mutinous angle. "Yes," she said defiantly.
"And I thought I was buggered," he chuckled. A vampire who felt other people's feelings. Her victims' feelings.
Luisa's dark eyes flashed angrily, but she didn't leave the table. Spike refreshed both glasses and pushed hers a bit closer.
"Three more questions," he said, raising his fingers. "Can you feed but not kill?"
"Yes."
"Can you be safe around humans?"
"Yes."
Their gazes were locked. This was always the question. "Can you submit?"
"No," she said flatly.
Spike smiled, leaned back, and raised his glass. "Welcome to Sunnydale, Lieutenant."
After a still moment of surprise, she lifted her glass and clanked it against his.
⸹
Giles rubbed his forehead. They were meeting at the Magic Box, and Spike was introducing his new lieutenant. Outside the door to the back room, it sounded like Tara and Michael were doing a brisk business with last-minute holiday shoppers. "Yes, well…."
"You are, um, uncomfortable," Luisa said.
He got a pained look on his face and nodded.
"I did as ordered," Luisa said. "It did not mean anything. I can work with you."
"I'm sure the fact that she and the other Sisters were forced to seduce you won't come up often," Buffy said.
"No," Xander agreed. "Why would it, uh, come up?"
Anya looked puzzled. "What? There's no reason a man of Giles' age can't get an –"
"Uncomfortable reaction," Xander said loudly, putting his hand on Anya's shoulder, "to being captured."
Since her mother wasn't here, Buffy was thoroughly enjoying this. "You were probably too… dazed… to really remember details of being a plaything. I would imagine."
"That does seem to be my best option." He gave her a narrow look.
Luisa, standing behind Spike and Buffy, turned away and went to the door that led to the alley behind the Magic Box. The rest of the gang, who had also enjoyed Giles' uncommon awkwardness, watched her in surprise. After a moment, she took her hand from her face and came back, looking stoic once more despite her wet face.
"Luisa," Spike said, "explain."
"I have not been around a family for a long time." After this bald statement, Willow shot her the kind of look she might give a puppy with an injured paw. No one else could think of what to say.
Spike sent a look at Giles. Help, he mouthed silently.
"Well, I think that it would also make, uh, Luisa uncomfortable – oh, just stop teasing me."
This broke the tension and everyone laughed. Even Luisa managed a tentative smile. Spike turned to her. "Thank you for coming, Lu. Would you like to look in the shop or wait outside?"
The dark-haired vampire was surprised at having options. "The… shop."
After she walked out, Buffy lifted an eyebrow. "She'll hear us, either way."
"I don't care," Spike said. "Go ahead." He made an encouraging gesture.
"Do you think she can really feed without killing?"
Spike met Giles' flat gaze. "I've seen her do it. She, um, gets distracted by what her victims are feeling, but she stops at the same time every time. I think she does a count of five or something."
"And she's an empath?" Xander asked.
Spike nodded. "Helpful when your placating your sire and his other brides, not so useful when you're killing someone."
"Buffy, how do you feel about this?" Giles gave her a probing look.
She closed her eyes for a moment. "In Spike's world, no one will believe he hasn't taken her as, like, spoils of war. I'm not happy about the assumptions that will be made." She glanced at Spike. "It took almost a year for my Slayer instincts to back off when it came to Spike, so I kind of want to stake her at first every time I see her. That's disconcerting. But, if we're going to make Sunnydale into what we want, we'll need more vampires like her, and they aren't common." Buffy gestured at Anya. "I mean, Anya's going to be inaugurated in January, Tara's building a not-grim business, Spike will have his license by March… If we're really doing this, she'll be a part of it."
"Do you trust her, Spike?" Xander recrossed his legs and put his arm around Anya.
He thought about his answer. "Not yet. Maybe in a few years. But I'm hopeful enough to bring her to meet my family."
After the meeting, Spike gave his wife a quick kiss and left her in a discussion about the upcoming trip to Squaw Valley. He went through the door into the store proper. Luisa was talking to Tara, the two of them absently folding a display of 'Magical Sunnydale!' t-shirts that Anya was test marketing.
"Lu," he said, with a jerk of his head. He gave Tara a quick smile. "See you later, petal."
"She's very restful," Luisa said, gestured back at the Magic Box. "Tara, I mean."
Neither of the vampires said anything after that as they walked at a normal pace through the downtown streets. Spike noted that the Christmas decorations that the city put on the lampposts were rather threadbare. He gave himself a mental smack; he was turning into Anya, apparently. A few blocks away from the Magic Box, he stopped.
Luisa looked up at him, waiting. Spike sighed; she was going to have to be more assertive or she'd end up trying his patience. "Where would you rather live, a flat or a house?" He felt her relax at the news that she'd been accepted.
"A house, I think."
"What about this one?" He nodded at the one-story house in front of them. It was surrounded by mature trees, so well-shaded that some moss was growing on the shingles. "It has a finished basement." She turned her face away. Spike touched her arm. "Look at me."
Luisa faced him, but her wet eyes were focused on his chest. "It will be fine."
"You wanted to be a Spike vampire? Own those tears. Those are yours. There's no shame in your emotions."
She took a little breath to speak, but didn't. She did look up to meet his eyes.
"Right. I'll go to the realtor tomorrow before I leave, take care of it." Spike seemed to be making a mental list. "Broadband, cable, utilities… You can pick out your own furniture; easy to shop in the winter." He fished a brown paper bag from a coat pocket and gave it to her. "Here you go. Money, a mobile. All our numbers are in there. You remember your homework?"
"Improve my English. Walk the town, learn the streets."
"Right. We'll be back before the new year." Keeping a distance between their bodies, wanting to keep the line clear, he leaned down and touched his forehead briefly to hers.
⸹
Squaw Valley, California
⸹
Dawn woke up and immediately sat up in bed. The light was funny, white somehow, rather than its normal yellow.
Snow! She leapt out of bed and went to her window. There it was, all over the ground. It wasn't snowing now, but, oh, man. They had arrived at the cabin – or was it called a chalet? –after dark last night and she couldn't wait to get outside.
She dashed across the hall to her mother's door. Just before she pounded on it, she realized that the house was quiet. So Dawn tapped quietly. "Mom?" When there was no answer, she opened the door.
The cabin had wooden floors, walls, ceilings, and furniture, so the white of the sheets stood out in the soft light. She could see her mom's bare shoulder and tousled curls.
She could also see Giles' bare shoulder.
Dawn carefully closed the door, a thin little sound escaping her from the squeal she was trying to keep inside. She went back across the hall to the room next to hers. "Buffy?" she whispered, tapping on that door, too. She heard her sister's footfalls, a pause, then the door opened. "Dawn? What is it?"
She beckoned her sister. "Come see!"
Buffy, still tying her robe, blinked at her and followed. Dawn was practically jumping up and down with excitement. She carefully opened the door and moved so Buffy could look inside.
Her mother and her Watcher had fallen asleep facing each other. Buffy realized that she had no sharp memories of her father and mother in bed this way. She felt tears prick at her eyes and fiercely wished the two of them happiness. As she closed the door, Dawn grabbed her arms, spinning her around in a little dance. How could she not smile?
A couple minutes later, her bladder blessedly empty and her teeth brushed, she started to go down to the kitchen when she had a thought. Carefully covering her sleeping husband, she went to Dawn's door. "You in here?" she asked.
Her sister leaned around the bathroom door, a toothbrush in her mouth. "Whad ish id?"
"Come here. You'll have to wait for it."
Dawn spat and rinsed, then followed Buffy into her bedroom, her sister's mischievous smile contagious. Buffy put her fingers to her lips and drew her to Spike's side of the bed. After twenty seconds or so, he drew in a breath, then let it out. At the very end of the exhale, he made a snoring sound for just a second. After another long wait, he breathed in again and eventually exhaled with a punctuating snore. Dawn covered her mouth, silently giggling. They escaped back into the hallway.
"He never believes he snores," Buffy confided. "I mean, you can barely hear it, but it's there."
A few minutes later, they were in the kitchen. Buffy was pretty sure that she'd put on water, filter, and ground coffee and pressed buttons in a sequence that would produce coffee from the shiny, fancy machine. She was taking a sip of orange juice when Dawn, reading the back of a box of pancake mix, asked, "What does it feel like to sleep naked?"
She spat out her juice, turning with Slayer speed so that it went into the sink. Buffy sputtered and coughed. "Oh, God, Dawn, I haven't even had caffeine."
"Well, you and Spike do because you two are known sex bunnies, but Mom and Giles were, too. I never have. I mean, I just wondered."
"You feel vulnerable," Buffy said severely, "because you never know when you'll have to get up unexpectedly. And you have to wash your sheets more."
"Oh, by that, you mean it feels good."
Buffy looked at her sister and made a face. "Only if the sheets aren't scratchy."
This seemed to satisfy Dawn, who turned back to the pancake mix. By the time Tara came down, they had made two dozen. Buffy ran back up the stairs and knocked on her mother's door. "You decent? I'm bringing up breakfast in bed in a minute." As she went down the stairs, she heard Giles' feet hit the floor.
Back in the kitchen, Tara was manning the stove. "I n-never get bacon anymore," she said, turning one crisp slice.
"Why not?" Dawn answered her own question. "Oh. Willow."
"What about Willow?" asked the witch in question, yawning as she came in. She looked around, as if nothing had sunk in the previous evening. "This house is amazing. Why don't we live like this all the time?"
"I can give you eleven million reasons," Buffy said.
"No! Is that how much this house cost?" Dawn gaped at her.
"It's how much it costs if you want to buy it. I looked it up online."
"Wow," Tara said, using all the 'o' sounds.
"There has to be a tray around here," Buffy muttered, opening her fourth cabinet.
"And the X-Man comes through again," Xander said. He was wearing pajamas with a – for Xander – conservative oak leaf and acorn design. He reached up above the cabinet next to the refrigerator and brought down the tray that was resting there.
"Thank you," Buffy said. "No short comments, either."
"Me? Huh-uh. I'm a good boy, because good boys get bacon and pancakes.
"Where's Anya?" Willow asked.
"Still asleep."
"Well, go wake her up," Dawn demanded. "We have to be at the bunny slope for our lesson at eleven."
"It's not even eight," Tara put in.
"Yeah, but it takes you guys forever to get ready."
Buffy snatched a couple slices of bacon from the paper towels where Tara was draining them, set a glass of juice on the tray next to the pancakes, and carried it carefully up to her mother's room. She wasn't surprised to see that her mother was alone now. "Hey," she said. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired, but not super tired." Joyce sat up and put a pillow against the headboard. "I slept really well."
"You slept?" Buffy asked in a teasing voice.
Joyce looked at her warily. "How do you… What do you mean?"
Buffy brought the tray over and set it down on the nightstand. "Dawn came and got me this morning. There may have been squealing."
Joyce put her face in her hands. "I'm setting a bad example."
"No. You are not setting a bad example. You're showing Dawn how to be resilient and open to new possibilities." She sat down on the bed, too. "Also, you have to be feeling better."
Joyce gave her a shrewd look. "Why are you so benefit?"
Buffy looked at her for a puzzled moment. "Beneficent?
"Benevolent." Her brows drew together. "What did I say?"
"Benefit."
"Oh." Joyce patted her knee. "Don't worry. It's from the surgery, some kind of aphasia. I'll say the wrong word or not be able to think of the right word. It'll get better over time."
"Should I point it out or just ignore it?"
She pondered this. "Help me out if we're around strangers, but it's okay to ignore it if you understand from the context." She gave Buffy a full-on Mom look. "I will never accidentally say it's okay to strangle your…."
Joyce's grip on Buffy's knee tightened for a moment, and she looked down. When she lifted her head, her eyes were full of tears. "Dawn isn't mine, is she?"
Buffy didn't have to ask how her mother knew. How could a mother not know? She leaned in and gave her a fierce hug, giving her reply in a low voice. "She came to us not too long ago, but she's ours now." Even as tears spilled down her own cheeks, she continued to whisper. "Your DNA and mine, my blood, maybe some of our souls, Spike's, too. She's ours. She's mine to protect." Buffy pulled away and wiped her eyes. "Ask Giles when you're alone. We found out last month, couldn't tell you then."
Their gazes were locked. "Does she know?" Buffy shook her head. "Oh, my poor little girl."
After leaving her mother, the Slayer went to Spike. She woke him and gave him a small smile that had loss in it. Mom knows. She just knew. Buffy let him see her memories.
Women are like that. Mums 'specially, I guess.
We are. Just like I know the extra rooms here were for Angel Investigations people.
He lifted a bare shoulder. I booked it some time back, when we were still talking. His brows drew together as he pushed the covers from his body. Why do I have all these sheets and quilts over me?
"I don't know," Buffy said innocently, pulling free from the mindlink.
By the end of the day, the large family had skied without injury, fought a snowball battle, and cooked a simple, filling chili. Various Scoobies had spotted shoes to buy, pretty pictures to take, good municipal ideas, wine, additions to the library, and cute boys. By the end of the next day, Christmas Eve, much the same thing had happened, except Joyce had baked an enormous turkey for dinner. Now they were in the cavernous living room in front of a crackling fire, Giles breaking out a bottle of the wine.
"Can I have a glass, Mom? Please?"
"Okay – a small one."
"Unh." Buffy's sound of protest was very loud. "I didn't get to try wine until I was sixteen!"
Xander put an arm around her for a moment. "Everyone knows the youngest kid gets it the easiest."
Giles was nearest, and he poured a very small amount into a wine glass for her. "You may not like it," he warned, handing it to her.
Dawn leaned away from Spike to accept it. He was back to being her favorite, thanks to his purchase of shearling boots for her. She was still wearing them. Dawn took a sip and immediately started coughing. "I think I'm ready to become a Mormon," she declared. Spike started telling them that he'd almost rented a cabin in Park City, Utah, a state that had 'Zion curtains' to hide the alcohol and the bartender in restaurants so that diners wouldn't be tempted.
Tara slipped away from the group in the family room, from the narrow, predecorated Christmas tree in one corner, from their conversation and laughter. She hadn't explored all the house – it was opulent and huge, with more rooms than even their group needed – and started on the lowest level. There was a sauna, which she'd never tried, a dining room table big enough for everyone, all of the bedrooms with private baths, and at the top an outdoor hot tub with an incredible view. She and Willow had tried it last night. Sitting in the steaming water with cold air on her face while looking up at the constellations was one of the most decadent experiences of her life.
She paused at a nook in the staircase. Inside was a tall, narrow window with a window seat, noticeably cooler than the rest of the house. Moving into it, she let the curtains fall behind her and put a knee on the cushions. Tara leaned her forehead against the wood frame and looked out over the light and shadow on the snow. A fine snowfall was adding to the unearthly beauty.
It still didn't feel like Christmas to her. The Scoobies were spiritual, but they weren't religious. They had gone through thin patches, but none of them had been poor, or at least experienced it the way she had, and they seemed to adjust to this amazing house without her awe. This was her first Christmas without her family, and along with the relief, there was loss. Everything here felt very alien. She wiped a tear away.
"Tara?"
She looked around, surprised, her mouth open so she could breathe since her stupid nose was stuffy from unshed tears. "Oz?"
He was still wearing his coat and had a small duffel bag hanging from one shoulder. There was a smattering of snowflakes on his shoulders and hair. He always looked at her intently, and he was doing so now, reaching out to gently wipe away the wetness from her cheek.
She moved into him, wrapping him in a fierce hug. She felt a little huff of air escape him at the unexpected press of her against his chest. There was a distant clunk as he dropped the bag so he could put both arms around her.
"I-I missed you." Her voice was small. "I'm glad you c-could come."
"I am, too."
She kissed him in the bluish light reflecting from the snow. It was brief. They looked at each other. A slow smile of pure happiness spread across his face. Oz had the most amazing smile.
"Thank you," he said. "Even if there's never anything else, thank you for this."
"We have to tell Willow."
"Of course. We'll both tell her."
"It doesn't mean…" Words failed her. She had no idea why she'd done it, much less what meaning it might have.
"It's now," Oz said. "That's all."
A few minutes later, they were downstairs, one on either side of Willow. Spike was reading Dickens' 'A Christmas Carol,' his deep voice resonant. He did a good job, giving the characters different accents. It was apparently something people used to do in his time, read books aloud for entertainment. He said he'd heard Mr. Dickens give a reading when he was very young, though it was hard to tell if this was just another story.
Before he finished, Joyce fell asleep leaning against Giles, who scooped her up manfully to carry upstairs before rather shamefacedly handing her over to Buffy for safer transport. The fire died down, and the low rumble of Spike's voice finished with a solemn, "God bless us, every one." Oz brought out his guitar and played 'The First Noel.'
"This is, like, the best Christmas," Willow sighed. She sat up a little and added guiltily, "I mean, you know."
"It is," Tara agreed, squeezing her hand.
⸹
"So, after eight tonight, the hot tub is off limits so Xander can propose." Willow turned to grin.
"Got it."
"No problem." In the staircase window seat, Oz was leaning against the wall. Tara sat leaning against his chest, and Willow was laying against her. There really wasn't enough room for three people, but Oz considered it the most pleasant of squishes. It was their last day at the cabin. The big news that Tara had kissed Oz was met with hugs for them both. He wasn't sure how he felt about that; he'd assumed Willow would think it was no big deal, because friends sometimes kiss. Friends could be affectionate. If Willow realized it was a big deal… Well, he wasn't sure what that meant. But he was with them, and whatever was going on, they were all in it together.
After a few minutes of companionable silence, Oz noted, "They have too much energy, really."
Outside, Buffy and Spike were having a snowball fight. Everyone else had been in for at least half an hour, but they were still going at each other with every skill at their disposal. There was a thin line of trees between their rental house and the next one, enough privacy for a supernatural battle. Just now, Spike was drilling a snowball down onto his wife from the apex of a twenty-foot leap. Buffy twisted her body clear and launched herself at him in a flat line, intercepting him as he came down and plowing them both several feet through the snow, until everything except a tangle of legs was buried.
Their laughter welled up against the house and through the double panes of glass. "That much energy, they can make dinner," Willow said. She was watching their snowman. Overnight, his carrot nose had disappeared. She had seen the tracks leading to him, then away, and figured it out even before Oz had confirmed the thief was a deer. She was hoping it would make a return appearance. She really wanted to see a deer in the wild.
A few minutes later, Buffy and Spike came inside. The three of them could hear everyone in the kitchen and living room talking, but were too happy with their own private place to join them. The newlyweds came up the stairs. "…really care if it's sauna, hot tub, or hot shower," Buffy said, "but it's going to be something, mister. I'm not getting… coldcocked again." Spike's answer was a wicked chuckle, then they were past the nook and the three heard a bedroom door close.
"I could have lived without ever thinking about that," Oz said softly. Tara snorted and Willow nodded vigorously.
⸹
Next Chapter: Anya takes office as the Scoobies come to terms with what Dawn is… and who is after her.