The Keeper of Truth
Chapter 3
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later.
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.
Distribution: If you want it, email me..
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.
Thanks go, as always, to my betas, Wendy and Shannon.
*********
Sunnydale
2001
*********
"Where's that one book… the one with the skeleton key on the cover?" Willow asked, going through the piles of books stacked in rows on the Summers' dining room table. "You know? That one?"
"I checked it already. There's nothing there. We're not getting anywhere," Tara said, closing her book with a sigh. They'd been researching nonstop for more than a day, and still hadn't found the answer. Exhaustion was a small word for what she was feeling- semiconscious might've been closer. Willow looked even more tired; all of Tara's attempts at getting her lover to rest had failed. Knowing the mess their world had become made sleep an impossibility. "Let's go through the spell again, step by step. There must be something we've overlooked."
Dropping into the chair next to Tara's, Willow sent an evil look at the book sitting on the table in front of her. "There's nothing left to go over. I've told you everything. There was the preparation, with the fawn and all, but I did fine with that. And the words, the actual words of the spell… they were good, too. The circle was strong, I was dealing with the tests, the visualization went just fine… everything was running smoothly 'till the urn broke. It had to be the urn."
"N-no. I don't think so." Tara picked up Willow's hands and held them close to her heart. "Yeah, it wasn't a great thing, when it broke. But after reading all these books, I think the urn was maybe a smaller deal than you thought when you were preparing the spell. It doesn't bring back the dead. It's more like… more like the glue that makes the spell work. You did the preparation, the incant, and then the visualization… where were you with the visualizing?"
Screwing up her face, Willow shook her head. "I can't remember, exactly. Yeah, that's bad, I know. I should be able to. But it was a lot, you know? W-with the snake and the pain and all… through all that, I had to picture Buffy's birth, her first birthday, and every year after that. I had to see her grow up."
"I still don't get that part. Why did you have to do that?"
"It was suppose to be like a guide for Osiris, so that he'd know who I was talking about and… and, I guess, *when* in her life to bring her back to. Gods can take our whole lives and open them, like a book, to any page that they want. If Osiris was in a bad mood, he could've returned Buffy when she was, like, eighty!" Willow shrugged with a tired smile. "I dunno. Sound hokey. I didn't think it mattered all that much, just another test or something. I liked it better than the snake."
Tara brought Willow's hand to her lips. Her eyes took on a distracted glaze. Dropping an absentminded kiss on Willow's knuckles, she said, "That was where the urn came it. It acted like glue, to make whatever year you saw Buffy in… to make it stick. You were supposed to picture Buffy being alive after she jumped off the tower, and then smash the urn. Right?"
"That's how it was supposed to go." Willow took her hand back and ran her fingertip down the spine of the book. "But those motorcycle demons… well, they took care of the whole smashing thing."
"If it'd gone right, then the urn would have 'stuck' Buffy back to life at the same time as her death, without any overlap." Tara shot upright in her seat, realization darkening her eyes. "What if the spell did work? What if Buffy is alive, somewhere? Or, I mean, some*when*?"
Willow's jaw dropped. "Somewhen? When?" She paled, and grabbed Tara's arm with both hands. "Oh no… Oh God. This is… this is bad. If you're right… if Buffy is alive, in another year of her life… It makes sense. Her being there, it could've changed the past enough to cause such a different future."
"When, Will? What were you think about when the urn broke?"
Shuddering, Willow tightened her hands on Tara's arm. She closed her eyes. "That last thing I remember was thinking of 1998. The year Angel turned into Angelus."
*********
Sunnydale
1998
*********
The dead girl's white shoes, colored brown with mud, hung over the end of the bed. She'd put up a chase, a good chase, Angelus thought, drinking deeply from her neck. Good enough to have sparked Drusilla's interest for all of two seconds. He'd chosen her as their evening meal specifically to give Dru a game, a distraction from her sulky mood, but it hadn't lasted longer than it'd taken for the girl to scream and turn tail. Dru had simply shrugged and returned to the crypt, to lie in bed and babble nonsense to herself. She'd ignored Angelus when he came in with the girl's body slung over his shoulder. He'd dumped the body on the bed and arranged her as if she was asleep, to try and tempt Drusilla to eat. She refused to even look at him, so he'd eaten without her.
The girl's hair, brown and pretty against the backdrop of red blankets, tickled his nose. He withdrew his fangs from her neck with a groan. Looking over the body to where Drusilla rested against the pillows, he said, "She's tasty. Eat, Dru."
Dru stared at the ceiling with dreamy eyes, twirling a strand of her hair around one index finger in a spiral. "Tasty is as tasty does," she murmured, "and that girl was naughty, naughty, naughty."
"Drusilla, you're trying my patience," Angelus said, his jaw tightening with annoyance. He shoved the girl's body to the floor with a careless sweep of his arm and moved up to seize Dru's shoulders. "You're a wreck. You've been moping around ever since Spike left. I'm sick of playing babysitter. Spike's gone! He's never coming back. Get over it, would you?"
Covering her eyes with the heels of her hands, Dru let out a low, keening moan. She rolled away from Angelus. "Won't stop. Bad daddy, who said 'give up' on his children."
Angelus rolled his eyes with barely stifled aggravation. "I didn't give up. We looked for Spike, remember? Someone slayed all our minions."
"Not my Spike, though. He didn't do that. Broken boy can't fight." Turning back towards him, she danced her fingers over his chest. Her nails pinched him, teasing the hairs that peppered below the notch of his collarbone. "Can't fight… can't hunt… can only starve and cry all alone and miss his princess…"
"But someone fought, someone helped him. The wheelchair tracks in the grass led out the cemetery gates, and there were footprints walking beside them. Footprints, Dru. Spike's fine, wherever he is. He's found someone to help him. Can't you leave it at that?"
"Spike found a friend." She grinned suddenly and, closing her eyes, nuzzled her face into his shoulder like a cat. "I saw them, you know. Behind my eyes, I did. Dancing together. With their fists out and flying, they were."
"None of that matters unless you saw where he's hiding," Angelus said in a distracted tone. He stared into the dark shadows of the room, his mouth twitching slightly as he thought. Spike had never been more than a bother to him and, more often than not, Angelus regretted giving Dru permission to turn the boy. Rash as he was, he'd lead them into near-misses time after time. Crippled, he was little more than a burden, a mouth to feed, a body to wash… though he did have his uses. Only after spending the past few days as Drusilla's sole caretaker had Angelus realized how valuable Spike actually was. Anyone had worth who could keep Dru from grating on his nerves as she had since Spike had left. But still, it was better for them all that Spike had gone. One less annoyance. "Did you see where he's at, Dru?"
"Oh yes. My Spike's with the dead. He's in their home, with their bare, beautiful bones."
"In a crypt. Great. Dru, do you have any idea how many crypts there are in Sunnydale? Just forget about him." Angelus squeezed her neck, massaging her with beguiling force. "You don't need anything more than what you have here. And you definitely don't need roller boy. You have me now. Someone who won't hold you back. He never did anything else, you know. All that crap about love… so human, so weak."
"He's with the dead," she sighed, nipping at his neck. Her breath, inexplicably hot, stung his skin. "Two corpses in a crypt. With the dead, and with your soul."
Curiosity sparked in his eyes. "Not my soul. It went… wherever souls go when Slayers are foolish enough to screw them out of you."
"Your soul," she repeated. She ran her tongue over his Adam's apple, then pulled him towards the edge of the bed. "Or your death, either one. Like the flip of a coin. Your soul or your death… your death or your soul… but only your soul, if we go right now to find them."
"Could you be any more crazy?" He pushed her off of him, scowling. "I don't want to hear that word from you again. 'Soul'. I mean it, Dru. There's a stake with your name on it in the nightstand if you keep this up. I've had it up to here with your blathering."
Rising to her knees, she tugged at his shirt. "Only your soul if we go now," she said again, her voice rising with urgency.
Shaking his head, Angelus rose from the bed. He stretched his arms over his head. With a quick change of heart, he decided that recovering Spike, if he was indeed still alive, would be more than worth the effort. "Well then, Dru. I guess this works out fine. Let's go find our boy, shall we? He can baby-sit you for a while- I'm done with it."
.
*******
Buffy inhaled a sharp breath as she traced the knife over the mostly- healed cut on her wrist, reopening it. Blood welled up immediately, flowing in heavy ribbons to fill the mug she held in her good hand. "Breakfast," she called over her shoulder to Spike in a gruff monotone.
He smirked without looking away from the television. Rubbing a hand over his belly, he said, "Bring it over, would you pet? It's too early in the night to break out my wheels."
"Lazy and a couch potato. Gee, Spike, what a fascinating life you lead." Wincing, she wrapped a length of cloth around her wrist as a makeshift bandage. She walked over and switched off the television set with a snap. Holding the mug of blood out to him, she shook her head as he reached for it. "Ah-ah. First things first, and the first thing is figuring out a plan. I can't just stay in this crypt for the rest of my life, you know. Now that I have a life. But if I leave, someone could see me and blow the future all to pot."
"It's only been one night. Dramatic, aren't you? No one's talking about the rest of your life. Besides, s'not so bad in here, pet. There's plenty of food in the fridge, and decent shows on the telly." He gestured towards the black screen. "Plus, I'm getting sort of used to having my own personal tap of fresh Slayer blood. Hand it over, would you? I won't welsh on our deal. You don't have to starve me to be sure of that."
With the barest of blinks, she passed him the mug and watched as he drank. "You're not all…" she waved a hand over her forehead, baring her teeth. "I thought that's what happened when you drank blood."
"What, you never saw me eat like this in that future of yours?"
"Well, yeah, but you had a chip then. You're a totally different… un- person, now." She screwed up her face, considering. "Or, then. Or… you get what I mean."
"This chip really did a number on me, eh?"
"We've been through this." Her face burned as she remembered the feel of his lips on her skin. She touched the cloth that bound her wrist. I'm *so* not going there again. Okay, so vampire bites aren't the worst things ever. And Spike's bite was… again, *not* going there! First of all… eww. Biting and blood and… well, been there, got the scars, not going back. Second… it's Spike. And not chipped, I'm-in-love-with-you Spike, but old, evil Spike. Bad brain. Very bad. He's a monster.
A whisper in the back of her mind brought back a memory so poignant, she could only close her eyes. Spike, invited back into my house, looking awed and touched and… loving. "I know that I'm a monster, but you treat me like a man. And that's…" "That's what?" she whispered aloud.
"That's what… what?" Spike asked, frowning at her. He held the empty mug out for her to take. "You all right?"
That was a different Spike. A different life. She snatched the mug away from him. "Nothing. Uhm, yeah, fine. I'm fine. Look, we need a plan. This is bad, but it's been worse."
"Worse? You're an undead Slayer trapped in the past. How can it get worse than that?"
"Much worse. Like, apocalypse-times-six worse than this." Turning the mug between her damp palms, she shrugged. "But I always had Giles before. And the gang. Maybe that makes this the worst-ever experience. I could handle this fine, if I could go to them. But I can't. I can't mess with their lives like that. Who knows what damage my being here, now, could cause them?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you should be a bit more worried about how all this will mess up your own life."
"I was dead. There's not a whole lot to mess up. I'm more worried about shifting my friend's timelines then I am my own. They're still alive, after all." She leaned against the television, thinking of Dawn. Where was she at that moment? What form had the Key been in before it'd been turned into her sister? "For the most part, that is."
"Well, if you're not worried for yourself, you might spare a bit of worry for me. What about my future? Did you think of that? You being here, keeping me alive…" He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's not suppose to happen like this."
She rolled her eyes, looking down into the mug at the residue of blood that stained the bottom. "Am I supposed to apologize for keeping you alive? For feeding you with my own body? Some gratitude that is."
He jerked forward suddenly, grabbing her arm. The mug fell to the floor, but she didn't care. His burning eyes held her still. "What about my future, Buffy?" he asked in a chilled voice, spacing the words evenly.
She broke away from both his hands and his gaze, stumbling backwards to escape him. Idiot! she berated herself. He's paralyzed, not helpless. And he's also right. I should've thought… it didn't even occur to me to think that I might mess things up for him. But… hey! What am I doing, worrying about making his future miserable? His future *is* miserable!.
"Your future…" A flash of amusement crossed her face. "You know, you might want to thank me for changing that. Really, I did you a favor. Right now, you've an evil freak, too broken to even take care of yourself. But hey, guess what? In three years, that description will sound like a major positive. Believe me, you're better off how you are now. At least you still have your self-respect. In a few years, you'll be a lovesick, pathetic excuse for a vampire… trailing on my coattails, telling me you…" She stopped herself, too late. Crap. She wasn't going to tell him about the whole 'In Love With The Slayer' thing.
He looked at her, pale and shaken. "I don't believe you. First off, if I was *that* pathetic, I sure as bloody hell wouldn't have stuck around Sunnyhell. Angelus and Drusilla would have a grand old time of watching me turn into a poofter- there's no way I'd let them see me like that."
"You did leave, for a while, you and Drusilla. Right after I…" she bolstered herself, giving him an angry shake of her head. "Right after *we* took out Angelus."
"We?"
"You came to me with a truce. If I gave you and Dru a 'get out of town free' card, you'd help me take out Angelus. And that's what happened. You helped me, I sent Angel to hell, and you skipped town. But then, you came back. And you got chipped, and needed help, so we made another truce. We kept you alive while the commando guys were looking for you, and you gave us information and stuff."
He looked down, believing her against his will. "But that second part… no way that's the truth. If I really was following you around all starry eyed and mooney, you'd waste no time shoving a stake through my chest." He weighed her with a critical squint. "Or is that what happened? Did you stake me, in this future of yours? That's it, isn't it! I couldn't fight back, being chipped and all, and you dusted me. That's why you're saying I'm better off having my future tampered with- because you know I don't have one!"
"Paranoid much? Would I be sitting here with you if I didn't know that you're not as big of a monster as you claim to be?" She sighed, disgusted with both Spike and herself. He's still *him*. No one but Spike could annoy me this much. He knows just how to get under my skin, and I know... I know him. Giving the foot of his armchair a kick, she said, "Give it up already, Mr. "Big Bad". I know your dirty little secret." She put her hands over her eyes, curving them into circles to represent eyeglasses, and stuck her tongue out at him. "William. The bloody awful poet."
He leaned towards her, his eyes fierce. "How..."
"How did I know? You told me."
"I would *never* have told you anything about that. Never." His words were cold and lashing.
The force of his reply took her by surprise. She dropped her hands to her sides, startled. Hurt turned into white-hot anger, which sent sparks of pain through her body. Oh God, she thought, pressing her hands hard against her eyes. All the fear and anger she'd pushing down inside herself since losing the rapture of heaven came spiraling up her throat. She cried out, a long, furious scream that echoed off the walls of the crypt.
"Slayer?" Spike asked, nervously unfolding his hands in a gesture of self- protection.
With another yell, she spun around and kicked the television set off its table. Whirling back to Spike, she punched him squarely in the jaw, so blind in her fury that she barely noticed him fly out of his seat and land on the floor several feet away. She beat her fists against the chair, smashing it, not hearing the sounds of cracking wood and tearing upholstery. Licking her lips, she tasted her own tears. Deep sobs racked her body. Giving in to them, she collapsed onto the wreckage of the armchair and let herself cry.
"I hate this," she choked, watching him crawl towards his wheelchair on his elbows. "Everything about this… being alive again, being alive at all! I hate this." And I hate crying in front of Spike she thought, scrubbing at her face with her bleeding hands. But I can't seem to stop.
Spike dragged his body over to the wheelchair, settling into it heavily. He scrutinized her, forthright and comfortable with his curiosity. "You don't want to be alive? Not too strange, for a Slayer."
"Oh, I know. This is the part where you tell me I have a death wish, right? Cut the wise, old vampire act, will you? I hate your kind. Every one of you." She rose to her knees, giving way to her anger. Vent. Venting is good. "Do you know what's going to happen in just a few weeks? The me who was sleeping on my mom's couch last night is going to kill her first lover. I'm going to slam a sword through him and push him into hell. And why? It's a trade- Angel or the world. And I chose Angel. She'll choose Angel. She has to, or the world will be sucked into hell. If they see that I'm here, who knows what will happen?"
"It's not Angelus the wanker you're crying for, pet. You're pissed as can be, but not at him. That was years ago for you."
"I know that!" She bit back a sob. "Don't you get it? It's just another… another thing! I thought I was done with all those… things. All those Slayer things. I just wanted to live my life. But I couldn't. There was always something for me to protect, for me to loose… and always, always!, for the greater good. Which I was never a part of, you know? No one ever said, 'here Buffy, let me make your life easier because you're part of something greater'. I gave up my life, and then poof! Here I am, back in the worst year of my life, and why? Some mistake, I guess. Some kind of cosmic joke. Somewhere, someone is saying 'let's see how much pain Buffy can take before she goes completely mental'. And this…" she picked up a piece of broken chair and threw it at Spike. "This qualifies! If I'm not totally insane, then… then…" Spent, she slumped her shoulders and covered her face with both hands. "I don't know."
He stared down at her, his face a battleground of conflicting emotions. "I'm…" he started, then broke off to clear his throat. With a nod of annoyance, he wheeled his chair towards the refrigerator. "I'm not sure what you want from me," he muttered over his shoulder as he opened the fridge and removed a bottle of water. Setting it in his lap, he moved back towards Buffy and handed it to her. "Why are you telling me all this?"
She took the water and drank, buying herself time to answer. "I wasn't telling it to *you*," she replied finally, humiliatingly aware of being under his scrutiny. Trying to ease both her embarrassment and his, she said, "I was just… just venting. I guess you won't believe me, but this isn't the first time you've been around for something like this… been around for me. So, really, it's not as weird as you think."
He didn't speak, only watched her with bewilderment.
Tiredness settled into pockets under her eyes. She rubbed at them with the back of one hand. Sharp pain made her realize that she'd not only re-opened the cut on her wrist, but she'd gotten blood all over her face in her outburst. I'm a mess. Outside… inside… I'm a mess.
Without needing to be asked, Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He handed it to her silently and settled back in his wheelchair.
"Now that's weird," she said, wetting the cloth and scrubbing her face with it. Blood darkened the charcoal fabric into blackness. "You, all quiet."
Cocking his head slightly to one side, he drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair, deep in thought. He studied her face with his enigmatic gaze for a long beat. The lingering silence that passed laid heavily in the air between them. Finally he sighed, as if coming to a decision.
"What?" Buffy asked, folding her arms in a wary gesture.
"I'll help you," he said, his words tense and clipped.
"Huh? Yeah, I know. The deal…"
"No, I'm telling you, I'll help you. And not for the blood. If we can get out of this crypt, out of this sodding town, to someplace where no one will recognize you, then I'll find a butcher. You don't have to keep opening your veins up all the time."
Buffy shook her head. "Bad plan. Let's just stick to the deal. I trust you when you need something from me."
"Deal's off. This is…" He stopped, the words feeling funny on his lips. "Wrong. Now, I'm not saying I don't want to kill you. You- Slayer, me- vampire, and all that jazz. But this is not the ending that you should have." Wrinkling his nose, he continued, "Not after a fall from some bloody tower… not after Angelus decides to release a demon to end the world. That poofter's never had any class. You're a damn good Slayer, and I have the broken back to prove it. You deserve a fair fight. A real… dance."
"A dance," she echoed dully, looking away. His words ate into her with the dark logic they held. Despite the fact that she knew this Spike was the one who wanted to kill her, despite the fact that he'd just said as much, she also knew that he was no different from the Spike who'd protected her and the people she loved from death a hundred different times. "A dance."
"Yes, a dance. You don't think we're dancing?"
Feeling her lips quirk up at the edges, Buffy shook her head. "No, I know. That's all we've ever done. I know this part."
"I've told you this before?"
She nodded. "In… oh, about two years or so, I think."
"And you trusted me then?"
"Yes," she said immediately, then caught herself and added a hesitation. "Usually."
He nudged his chair an inch closer to her. "Did a tiny piece of metal in my brain really change me that much?"
Look away, Buffy. Just look away from those eyes. "I…" she snapped her head sharply towards the door. "Listen. Did you hear that?"
"What? I didn't hear…"
"Be quiet," she snapped, standing and hurrying towards the door. Familiar prickles raced up and down her spine. "There's someone… two someones. Two vampire someones."
Spike stiffened. "Hide," he said, pointing towards the opening to the basement. "It's Angelus and Dru." He grabbed the wheels of his chair and sped to face the door.
She dove down into the hole and clung to the ladder, peeking out like a nervous gopher. Be careful, she wanted to say, but bit her lip to keep the words back. The crypt fell still for a beat, then two, until the sound of the door creaking open broke the silence.
The next thing Buffy heard was Spike's voice, full and cheerful and dripping with bravado. "Angelus… Dru… it's about time. I've been waiting for you."
Chapter 3
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later.
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.
Distribution: If you want it, email me..
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.
Thanks go, as always, to my betas, Wendy and Shannon.
*********
Sunnydale
2001
*********
"Where's that one book… the one with the skeleton key on the cover?" Willow asked, going through the piles of books stacked in rows on the Summers' dining room table. "You know? That one?"
"I checked it already. There's nothing there. We're not getting anywhere," Tara said, closing her book with a sigh. They'd been researching nonstop for more than a day, and still hadn't found the answer. Exhaustion was a small word for what she was feeling- semiconscious might've been closer. Willow looked even more tired; all of Tara's attempts at getting her lover to rest had failed. Knowing the mess their world had become made sleep an impossibility. "Let's go through the spell again, step by step. There must be something we've overlooked."
Dropping into the chair next to Tara's, Willow sent an evil look at the book sitting on the table in front of her. "There's nothing left to go over. I've told you everything. There was the preparation, with the fawn and all, but I did fine with that. And the words, the actual words of the spell… they were good, too. The circle was strong, I was dealing with the tests, the visualization went just fine… everything was running smoothly 'till the urn broke. It had to be the urn."
"N-no. I don't think so." Tara picked up Willow's hands and held them close to her heart. "Yeah, it wasn't a great thing, when it broke. But after reading all these books, I think the urn was maybe a smaller deal than you thought when you were preparing the spell. It doesn't bring back the dead. It's more like… more like the glue that makes the spell work. You did the preparation, the incant, and then the visualization… where were you with the visualizing?"
Screwing up her face, Willow shook her head. "I can't remember, exactly. Yeah, that's bad, I know. I should be able to. But it was a lot, you know? W-with the snake and the pain and all… through all that, I had to picture Buffy's birth, her first birthday, and every year after that. I had to see her grow up."
"I still don't get that part. Why did you have to do that?"
"It was suppose to be like a guide for Osiris, so that he'd know who I was talking about and… and, I guess, *when* in her life to bring her back to. Gods can take our whole lives and open them, like a book, to any page that they want. If Osiris was in a bad mood, he could've returned Buffy when she was, like, eighty!" Willow shrugged with a tired smile. "I dunno. Sound hokey. I didn't think it mattered all that much, just another test or something. I liked it better than the snake."
Tara brought Willow's hand to her lips. Her eyes took on a distracted glaze. Dropping an absentminded kiss on Willow's knuckles, she said, "That was where the urn came it. It acted like glue, to make whatever year you saw Buffy in… to make it stick. You were supposed to picture Buffy being alive after she jumped off the tower, and then smash the urn. Right?"
"That's how it was supposed to go." Willow took her hand back and ran her fingertip down the spine of the book. "But those motorcycle demons… well, they took care of the whole smashing thing."
"If it'd gone right, then the urn would have 'stuck' Buffy back to life at the same time as her death, without any overlap." Tara shot upright in her seat, realization darkening her eyes. "What if the spell did work? What if Buffy is alive, somewhere? Or, I mean, some*when*?"
Willow's jaw dropped. "Somewhen? When?" She paled, and grabbed Tara's arm with both hands. "Oh no… Oh God. This is… this is bad. If you're right… if Buffy is alive, in another year of her life… It makes sense. Her being there, it could've changed the past enough to cause such a different future."
"When, Will? What were you think about when the urn broke?"
Shuddering, Willow tightened her hands on Tara's arm. She closed her eyes. "That last thing I remember was thinking of 1998. The year Angel turned into Angelus."
*********
Sunnydale
1998
*********
The dead girl's white shoes, colored brown with mud, hung over the end of the bed. She'd put up a chase, a good chase, Angelus thought, drinking deeply from her neck. Good enough to have sparked Drusilla's interest for all of two seconds. He'd chosen her as their evening meal specifically to give Dru a game, a distraction from her sulky mood, but it hadn't lasted longer than it'd taken for the girl to scream and turn tail. Dru had simply shrugged and returned to the crypt, to lie in bed and babble nonsense to herself. She'd ignored Angelus when he came in with the girl's body slung over his shoulder. He'd dumped the body on the bed and arranged her as if she was asleep, to try and tempt Drusilla to eat. She refused to even look at him, so he'd eaten without her.
The girl's hair, brown and pretty against the backdrop of red blankets, tickled his nose. He withdrew his fangs from her neck with a groan. Looking over the body to where Drusilla rested against the pillows, he said, "She's tasty. Eat, Dru."
Dru stared at the ceiling with dreamy eyes, twirling a strand of her hair around one index finger in a spiral. "Tasty is as tasty does," she murmured, "and that girl was naughty, naughty, naughty."
"Drusilla, you're trying my patience," Angelus said, his jaw tightening with annoyance. He shoved the girl's body to the floor with a careless sweep of his arm and moved up to seize Dru's shoulders. "You're a wreck. You've been moping around ever since Spike left. I'm sick of playing babysitter. Spike's gone! He's never coming back. Get over it, would you?"
Covering her eyes with the heels of her hands, Dru let out a low, keening moan. She rolled away from Angelus. "Won't stop. Bad daddy, who said 'give up' on his children."
Angelus rolled his eyes with barely stifled aggravation. "I didn't give up. We looked for Spike, remember? Someone slayed all our minions."
"Not my Spike, though. He didn't do that. Broken boy can't fight." Turning back towards him, she danced her fingers over his chest. Her nails pinched him, teasing the hairs that peppered below the notch of his collarbone. "Can't fight… can't hunt… can only starve and cry all alone and miss his princess…"
"But someone fought, someone helped him. The wheelchair tracks in the grass led out the cemetery gates, and there were footprints walking beside them. Footprints, Dru. Spike's fine, wherever he is. He's found someone to help him. Can't you leave it at that?"
"Spike found a friend." She grinned suddenly and, closing her eyes, nuzzled her face into his shoulder like a cat. "I saw them, you know. Behind my eyes, I did. Dancing together. With their fists out and flying, they were."
"None of that matters unless you saw where he's hiding," Angelus said in a distracted tone. He stared into the dark shadows of the room, his mouth twitching slightly as he thought. Spike had never been more than a bother to him and, more often than not, Angelus regretted giving Dru permission to turn the boy. Rash as he was, he'd lead them into near-misses time after time. Crippled, he was little more than a burden, a mouth to feed, a body to wash… though he did have his uses. Only after spending the past few days as Drusilla's sole caretaker had Angelus realized how valuable Spike actually was. Anyone had worth who could keep Dru from grating on his nerves as she had since Spike had left. But still, it was better for them all that Spike had gone. One less annoyance. "Did you see where he's at, Dru?"
"Oh yes. My Spike's with the dead. He's in their home, with their bare, beautiful bones."
"In a crypt. Great. Dru, do you have any idea how many crypts there are in Sunnydale? Just forget about him." Angelus squeezed her neck, massaging her with beguiling force. "You don't need anything more than what you have here. And you definitely don't need roller boy. You have me now. Someone who won't hold you back. He never did anything else, you know. All that crap about love… so human, so weak."
"He's with the dead," she sighed, nipping at his neck. Her breath, inexplicably hot, stung his skin. "Two corpses in a crypt. With the dead, and with your soul."
Curiosity sparked in his eyes. "Not my soul. It went… wherever souls go when Slayers are foolish enough to screw them out of you."
"Your soul," she repeated. She ran her tongue over his Adam's apple, then pulled him towards the edge of the bed. "Or your death, either one. Like the flip of a coin. Your soul or your death… your death or your soul… but only your soul, if we go right now to find them."
"Could you be any more crazy?" He pushed her off of him, scowling. "I don't want to hear that word from you again. 'Soul'. I mean it, Dru. There's a stake with your name on it in the nightstand if you keep this up. I've had it up to here with your blathering."
Rising to her knees, she tugged at his shirt. "Only your soul if we go now," she said again, her voice rising with urgency.
Shaking his head, Angelus rose from the bed. He stretched his arms over his head. With a quick change of heart, he decided that recovering Spike, if he was indeed still alive, would be more than worth the effort. "Well then, Dru. I guess this works out fine. Let's go find our boy, shall we? He can baby-sit you for a while- I'm done with it."
.
*******
Buffy inhaled a sharp breath as she traced the knife over the mostly- healed cut on her wrist, reopening it. Blood welled up immediately, flowing in heavy ribbons to fill the mug she held in her good hand. "Breakfast," she called over her shoulder to Spike in a gruff monotone.
He smirked without looking away from the television. Rubbing a hand over his belly, he said, "Bring it over, would you pet? It's too early in the night to break out my wheels."
"Lazy and a couch potato. Gee, Spike, what a fascinating life you lead." Wincing, she wrapped a length of cloth around her wrist as a makeshift bandage. She walked over and switched off the television set with a snap. Holding the mug of blood out to him, she shook her head as he reached for it. "Ah-ah. First things first, and the first thing is figuring out a plan. I can't just stay in this crypt for the rest of my life, you know. Now that I have a life. But if I leave, someone could see me and blow the future all to pot."
"It's only been one night. Dramatic, aren't you? No one's talking about the rest of your life. Besides, s'not so bad in here, pet. There's plenty of food in the fridge, and decent shows on the telly." He gestured towards the black screen. "Plus, I'm getting sort of used to having my own personal tap of fresh Slayer blood. Hand it over, would you? I won't welsh on our deal. You don't have to starve me to be sure of that."
With the barest of blinks, she passed him the mug and watched as he drank. "You're not all…" she waved a hand over her forehead, baring her teeth. "I thought that's what happened when you drank blood."
"What, you never saw me eat like this in that future of yours?"
"Well, yeah, but you had a chip then. You're a totally different… un- person, now." She screwed up her face, considering. "Or, then. Or… you get what I mean."
"This chip really did a number on me, eh?"
"We've been through this." Her face burned as she remembered the feel of his lips on her skin. She touched the cloth that bound her wrist. I'm *so* not going there again. Okay, so vampire bites aren't the worst things ever. And Spike's bite was… again, *not* going there! First of all… eww. Biting and blood and… well, been there, got the scars, not going back. Second… it's Spike. And not chipped, I'm-in-love-with-you Spike, but old, evil Spike. Bad brain. Very bad. He's a monster.
A whisper in the back of her mind brought back a memory so poignant, she could only close her eyes. Spike, invited back into my house, looking awed and touched and… loving. "I know that I'm a monster, but you treat me like a man. And that's…" "That's what?" she whispered aloud.
"That's what… what?" Spike asked, frowning at her. He held the empty mug out for her to take. "You all right?"
That was a different Spike. A different life. She snatched the mug away from him. "Nothing. Uhm, yeah, fine. I'm fine. Look, we need a plan. This is bad, but it's been worse."
"Worse? You're an undead Slayer trapped in the past. How can it get worse than that?"
"Much worse. Like, apocalypse-times-six worse than this." Turning the mug between her damp palms, she shrugged. "But I always had Giles before. And the gang. Maybe that makes this the worst-ever experience. I could handle this fine, if I could go to them. But I can't. I can't mess with their lives like that. Who knows what damage my being here, now, could cause them?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you should be a bit more worried about how all this will mess up your own life."
"I was dead. There's not a whole lot to mess up. I'm more worried about shifting my friend's timelines then I am my own. They're still alive, after all." She leaned against the television, thinking of Dawn. Where was she at that moment? What form had the Key been in before it'd been turned into her sister? "For the most part, that is."
"Well, if you're not worried for yourself, you might spare a bit of worry for me. What about my future? Did you think of that? You being here, keeping me alive…" He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's not suppose to happen like this."
She rolled her eyes, looking down into the mug at the residue of blood that stained the bottom. "Am I supposed to apologize for keeping you alive? For feeding you with my own body? Some gratitude that is."
He jerked forward suddenly, grabbing her arm. The mug fell to the floor, but she didn't care. His burning eyes held her still. "What about my future, Buffy?" he asked in a chilled voice, spacing the words evenly.
She broke away from both his hands and his gaze, stumbling backwards to escape him. Idiot! she berated herself. He's paralyzed, not helpless. And he's also right. I should've thought… it didn't even occur to me to think that I might mess things up for him. But… hey! What am I doing, worrying about making his future miserable? His future *is* miserable!.
"Your future…" A flash of amusement crossed her face. "You know, you might want to thank me for changing that. Really, I did you a favor. Right now, you've an evil freak, too broken to even take care of yourself. But hey, guess what? In three years, that description will sound like a major positive. Believe me, you're better off how you are now. At least you still have your self-respect. In a few years, you'll be a lovesick, pathetic excuse for a vampire… trailing on my coattails, telling me you…" She stopped herself, too late. Crap. She wasn't going to tell him about the whole 'In Love With The Slayer' thing.
He looked at her, pale and shaken. "I don't believe you. First off, if I was *that* pathetic, I sure as bloody hell wouldn't have stuck around Sunnyhell. Angelus and Drusilla would have a grand old time of watching me turn into a poofter- there's no way I'd let them see me like that."
"You did leave, for a while, you and Drusilla. Right after I…" she bolstered herself, giving him an angry shake of her head. "Right after *we* took out Angelus."
"We?"
"You came to me with a truce. If I gave you and Dru a 'get out of town free' card, you'd help me take out Angelus. And that's what happened. You helped me, I sent Angel to hell, and you skipped town. But then, you came back. And you got chipped, and needed help, so we made another truce. We kept you alive while the commando guys were looking for you, and you gave us information and stuff."
He looked down, believing her against his will. "But that second part… no way that's the truth. If I really was following you around all starry eyed and mooney, you'd waste no time shoving a stake through my chest." He weighed her with a critical squint. "Or is that what happened? Did you stake me, in this future of yours? That's it, isn't it! I couldn't fight back, being chipped and all, and you dusted me. That's why you're saying I'm better off having my future tampered with- because you know I don't have one!"
"Paranoid much? Would I be sitting here with you if I didn't know that you're not as big of a monster as you claim to be?" She sighed, disgusted with both Spike and herself. He's still *him*. No one but Spike could annoy me this much. He knows just how to get under my skin, and I know... I know him. Giving the foot of his armchair a kick, she said, "Give it up already, Mr. "Big Bad". I know your dirty little secret." She put her hands over her eyes, curving them into circles to represent eyeglasses, and stuck her tongue out at him. "William. The bloody awful poet."
He leaned towards her, his eyes fierce. "How..."
"How did I know? You told me."
"I would *never* have told you anything about that. Never." His words were cold and lashing.
The force of his reply took her by surprise. She dropped her hands to her sides, startled. Hurt turned into white-hot anger, which sent sparks of pain through her body. Oh God, she thought, pressing her hands hard against her eyes. All the fear and anger she'd pushing down inside herself since losing the rapture of heaven came spiraling up her throat. She cried out, a long, furious scream that echoed off the walls of the crypt.
"Slayer?" Spike asked, nervously unfolding his hands in a gesture of self- protection.
With another yell, she spun around and kicked the television set off its table. Whirling back to Spike, she punched him squarely in the jaw, so blind in her fury that she barely noticed him fly out of his seat and land on the floor several feet away. She beat her fists against the chair, smashing it, not hearing the sounds of cracking wood and tearing upholstery. Licking her lips, she tasted her own tears. Deep sobs racked her body. Giving in to them, she collapsed onto the wreckage of the armchair and let herself cry.
"I hate this," she choked, watching him crawl towards his wheelchair on his elbows. "Everything about this… being alive again, being alive at all! I hate this." And I hate crying in front of Spike she thought, scrubbing at her face with her bleeding hands. But I can't seem to stop.
Spike dragged his body over to the wheelchair, settling into it heavily. He scrutinized her, forthright and comfortable with his curiosity. "You don't want to be alive? Not too strange, for a Slayer."
"Oh, I know. This is the part where you tell me I have a death wish, right? Cut the wise, old vampire act, will you? I hate your kind. Every one of you." She rose to her knees, giving way to her anger. Vent. Venting is good. "Do you know what's going to happen in just a few weeks? The me who was sleeping on my mom's couch last night is going to kill her first lover. I'm going to slam a sword through him and push him into hell. And why? It's a trade- Angel or the world. And I chose Angel. She'll choose Angel. She has to, or the world will be sucked into hell. If they see that I'm here, who knows what will happen?"
"It's not Angelus the wanker you're crying for, pet. You're pissed as can be, but not at him. That was years ago for you."
"I know that!" She bit back a sob. "Don't you get it? It's just another… another thing! I thought I was done with all those… things. All those Slayer things. I just wanted to live my life. But I couldn't. There was always something for me to protect, for me to loose… and always, always!, for the greater good. Which I was never a part of, you know? No one ever said, 'here Buffy, let me make your life easier because you're part of something greater'. I gave up my life, and then poof! Here I am, back in the worst year of my life, and why? Some mistake, I guess. Some kind of cosmic joke. Somewhere, someone is saying 'let's see how much pain Buffy can take before she goes completely mental'. And this…" she picked up a piece of broken chair and threw it at Spike. "This qualifies! If I'm not totally insane, then… then…" Spent, she slumped her shoulders and covered her face with both hands. "I don't know."
He stared down at her, his face a battleground of conflicting emotions. "I'm…" he started, then broke off to clear his throat. With a nod of annoyance, he wheeled his chair towards the refrigerator. "I'm not sure what you want from me," he muttered over his shoulder as he opened the fridge and removed a bottle of water. Setting it in his lap, he moved back towards Buffy and handed it to her. "Why are you telling me all this?"
She took the water and drank, buying herself time to answer. "I wasn't telling it to *you*," she replied finally, humiliatingly aware of being under his scrutiny. Trying to ease both her embarrassment and his, she said, "I was just… just venting. I guess you won't believe me, but this isn't the first time you've been around for something like this… been around for me. So, really, it's not as weird as you think."
He didn't speak, only watched her with bewilderment.
Tiredness settled into pockets under her eyes. She rubbed at them with the back of one hand. Sharp pain made her realize that she'd not only re-opened the cut on her wrist, but she'd gotten blood all over her face in her outburst. I'm a mess. Outside… inside… I'm a mess.
Without needing to be asked, Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He handed it to her silently and settled back in his wheelchair.
"Now that's weird," she said, wetting the cloth and scrubbing her face with it. Blood darkened the charcoal fabric into blackness. "You, all quiet."
Cocking his head slightly to one side, he drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair, deep in thought. He studied her face with his enigmatic gaze for a long beat. The lingering silence that passed laid heavily in the air between them. Finally he sighed, as if coming to a decision.
"What?" Buffy asked, folding her arms in a wary gesture.
"I'll help you," he said, his words tense and clipped.
"Huh? Yeah, I know. The deal…"
"No, I'm telling you, I'll help you. And not for the blood. If we can get out of this crypt, out of this sodding town, to someplace where no one will recognize you, then I'll find a butcher. You don't have to keep opening your veins up all the time."
Buffy shook her head. "Bad plan. Let's just stick to the deal. I trust you when you need something from me."
"Deal's off. This is…" He stopped, the words feeling funny on his lips. "Wrong. Now, I'm not saying I don't want to kill you. You- Slayer, me- vampire, and all that jazz. But this is not the ending that you should have." Wrinkling his nose, he continued, "Not after a fall from some bloody tower… not after Angelus decides to release a demon to end the world. That poofter's never had any class. You're a damn good Slayer, and I have the broken back to prove it. You deserve a fair fight. A real… dance."
"A dance," she echoed dully, looking away. His words ate into her with the dark logic they held. Despite the fact that she knew this Spike was the one who wanted to kill her, despite the fact that he'd just said as much, she also knew that he was no different from the Spike who'd protected her and the people she loved from death a hundred different times. "A dance."
"Yes, a dance. You don't think we're dancing?"
Feeling her lips quirk up at the edges, Buffy shook her head. "No, I know. That's all we've ever done. I know this part."
"I've told you this before?"
She nodded. "In… oh, about two years or so, I think."
"And you trusted me then?"
"Yes," she said immediately, then caught herself and added a hesitation. "Usually."
He nudged his chair an inch closer to her. "Did a tiny piece of metal in my brain really change me that much?"
Look away, Buffy. Just look away from those eyes. "I…" she snapped her head sharply towards the door. "Listen. Did you hear that?"
"What? I didn't hear…"
"Be quiet," she snapped, standing and hurrying towards the door. Familiar prickles raced up and down her spine. "There's someone… two someones. Two vampire someones."
Spike stiffened. "Hide," he said, pointing towards the opening to the basement. "It's Angelus and Dru." He grabbed the wheels of his chair and sped to face the door.
She dove down into the hole and clung to the ladder, peeking out like a nervous gopher. Be careful, she wanted to say, but bit her lip to keep the words back. The crypt fell still for a beat, then two, until the sound of the door creaking open broke the silence.
The next thing Buffy heard was Spike's voice, full and cheerful and dripping with bravado. "Angelus… Dru… it's about time. I've been waiting for you."