The Keeper of Truth
Chapter 12
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
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.
Distribution: If you want it, email me.
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com
I know, I know, I thank Sass Angel every time I post something, but really, you guys have no idea how much she's to thank for this chapter. So, thanks!
And thanks to everyone who has reviewed this. You are all great, but I have to thank Olga, Kimberly and Kristin especially.
One more chapter after this.
*****
As he walked through the cemetery, Spike rubbed his hands over his arms, trying to smooth away the goose bumps that told him dawn was nearing. Still have a good hour, he thought, his coat brushing the tombstones lining the path. Buffy'll be back before sunrise. Unless she decides to let it all go to pot and skip town. With mixed feelings, he shook his head. No, she'll be there. Hero, and all. Save the world, and to hell with old Spike.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the birth of a new vampire. The creature, stuck half-out of its grave, clawed madly at the grass. He ignored it, tucking his hands into the pockets of his duster and continuing forward. Not fair to her, thinking that way. Not when I all but forced her to choose the world over the jungle. Guess there's still a bit of evil left in me after all. Sighting his old crypt, he quickened his pace.
The door was unlocked, but Spike hesitated on the threshold, searching the dark depths for signs of life. It couldn't have been sitting empty for the past few years, but as far as he could tell, it looked exactly as it had when he'd left. Minus the crucified vampire and the puddles of blood. For courtesy's sake, he called out, "Hello? Anyone here?"
The words echoed back at him, raising more goose bumps along his arms. Ignoring the shiver that grew along his spine, he walked inside. He shut the door behind him, jabbering on to bolster his courage. "Look at the wanker I've become. Getting spooked by my own voice. In an hour I'll be offering up my metaphorical neck to a metaphorical sword, and this is what scares me? Yeah, that makes sense."
The door still bore the marks of Angelus's knife; Spike could see every point at which he had hung impaled. Running his fingers over the grooves evoked images of the night they'd been made. Memories flashed through his mind: Dru's face hovering above Angelus's shoulder, beaming with torture-induced arousal. Angelus's eyes, heated from within by an angry flame. Spike wiped a hand over his face, brushing away the well- remembered scent of the vampire's breath. "Never could remember to brush after eating, bloody Peaches. Some luck, that his stench is what stays with me. It couldn't be his girlish figure."
A noise behind him rose, a shuffling in the far shadows, followed by the sound of a match striking. Spike stiffened, then slowly turned. Across the crypt, a single candle burned, sitting in a silver holder on the bare, cement floor. "Come on out now, whoever you are. I've got no time for games tonight."
A peculiar laugh wafted towards him, bell-like and familiar. He watched as a small hand gripped the holder. The flame moved upwards to reveal a mass of dark hair. Tilting her head back, letting the hair fall away to reveal her thin smile, Drusilla took a step towards him. "Hello, my Spike."
Stiffening, he took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax one by one. He restrained his dual urges to run back to Buffy and to punch Dru's face in. When he was convinced his voice would come naturally, he gave her a single, regal nod. "Hello, Dru."
"You've been a busy boy." She walked closer, scrutinizing him, her head cocked. "Gone far, far away, and back again, I see. Are you well, then? Your legs, they've healed?"
"Good as new, right as rain, and all that rot." His jaw tightening, he took a step towards her. "And you, pet? Here all alone, eh? Where's old Daddy hiding?"
"Not here," she sighed, looking around the room as though expecting Angelus to materialize thought the concrete walls. "No, no, he's gone far away as well."
"That right? I'm surprised he let you off your leash. Or did he? Maybe you just got sick of the grand poofter's nonsense, figured out you'd be happier on your own. But, no. You never did know a good thing when it came up and bit you on the neck."
Her expression darkened. She shook her finger, tsking him. "Play nice, my Spike. Didn't you learn the rules when last we met? Play nice, or not at all."
With a shake of his head, he vamped out and growled. "Last time we met, I was a far sight more helpless than I am now. Easy game, isn't it Dru, to torture someone with no working legs."
She smiled, a slow, knowing smile, and did not look away. "Easier still to torture someone who will not speak for fear of their love's life. Who can only bleed and break and beg."
He couldn't hold back his surprise. "You knew Buffy was here?"
"I can sense the Slayer, as can you. As can Angelus, but he was far too distracted with anger and lust to notice her scent."
"Where is Angelus? Holed up somewhere ripe, I'm sure, with a new bevy of minions."
Her shoulders made a dainty shrug. "Couldn't say. We parted ways long, long ago."
"About a year and a half ago, I heard. After Acathla. Hell, Dru, you should've known that a man'll promise the world to get inside a woman's knickers. But he buggered it all up, didn't he. No hell on Earth for you, that about the long and short of it?"
Moving to the sarcophagus, she perched on its edge, setting the candle beside her. "Stupid boy. I didn't leave because of Acathla."
The fingers of his right hand twitched, feeling for the watch he didn't wear. Better hurry along the small talk. Got a world to fix tonight. "Why'd you leave him, then?"
Pouting petulantly, she reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out something. "Because of him. My new pet."
Squinting, Spike frowned at the set of glasses she held. "Come again, pet?"
"The Slayer's Watcher. I wanted to keep him, to make him my own. He had such poetry about him, such beautiful anger. But Angelus forbade it. Made me eat him instead." Smoothing back her long, loose hair, she slipped Giles' glasses onto her face and gazed at Spike through them. "Reminded me of you, he did. The way you were when I found you."
Curious despite himself, he leaned closer. "The Watcher reminded you of me? How so?"
"So full of spirit and vision, of glory seen by none of those around him. None but me. He never begged for his life, do you know? Not a syllable that pathetic crossed his lips." She stroked the frame of the glasses. "Do you remember what it was I said to you that day? Your day, your day in the alley in London?"
His face softened with memory. "I walk in worlds that others can't begin to imagine. Yes, I remember."
"The Watcher walked the same path, unnoticed, unappreciated. Always longing for something bigger, something brighter to gather him in its palms and fold him into a life of glistening splendor. I wonder, my Spike, did you ever find your world? Did you ever find your effulgence?"
He started towards her, his hand outstretched. "Oh yes, I- wait." Shaking himself, he pulled back. "None of your bloody business."
Ignoring his response, Drusilla took off Giles' glasses and polished them with the hem of her shirt. "He did, the Watcher. I came to him as his own, lost love. He wasn't afraid to go, not then. Imagine, his whole world was slipping away and he smiled, such a lovely smile. Like you, William. You weren't afraid, that day in the alley when I took your world from you. Why is it you didn't fear my bite?"
Spike sighed. "I wanted it. You. A change."
"I told Daddy I'd find the wisest and bravest knight in the land to be my mate. He thought you were the most foolish knight, but he was wrong." Hopping off the sarcophagus, she leaned up against his chest, staring into his face. He closed his eyes at the feel of her cold breath on his neck. Nuzzling his throat with an open mouth, she took in a sharp breath and let it out slowly, breathing her words onto his skin. "Be brave, my Spike. Go on to the next."
When he opened his eyes, she was gone.
*****
"What are you doing?" Buffy asked, coming into the living room and shrugging out of her jacket. She took in the sight of Willow kneeling on the bare floorboards with an arched brow. "Lose something?"
Brandishing a fat piece of black chalk, Willow started to draw in large angles on the wood. "I'm making a pentagram for the reversal spell. Once that's done, we can get started." "Will this take long?" Buffy asked. "Not that I'm in a rush or anything. Just wondering." "Nope, not long at all. It's actually a really easy spell," she explained, finishing the pentagram and standing up. She turned to the coffee table and picked up a wooden box. "I'm just going to undo the spell I did before, to bring you back. Very straightforward. No room for huge, world-changing mistakes this time." "That's an improvement. But umm. wait a sec. If you reverse the spell that caused all this, won't I be dead again?"
"Nope. Not now that Glory's dead. Her death sticks in every dimension, so when we go back to normal, she'll have been dead months before she would've opened the portal. No Glory, so no dead Buffy."
"But if things are back to normal, I would never have killed her. Hence the whole normal thing."
"Confusing, huh? That's time travel for you. It's a paradox." She flashed Buffy a quick smile. "But don't worry. I wouldn't let you down."
"Uh-huh. Yeah. You'd never do that." She looked around the corner, down the empty hallway. "Where's Spike?"
Opening a wooden box, Willow pulled out five, squat candles covered in purple tissue paper. She unwrapped them and set one on each point of the pentagram, being careful not to smudge the chalk. "Where do you think he is? Vamp's last night without a chip."
"He's not hunting. He wouldn't do that."
"Why not? Look at it from his perspective. He's got no reason not to. It's not like he has to worry about staying on your good side; you're already lost to him. And you won't stake him, not now."
Crossing her arms over her chest, Buffy bit her lip. "You don't understand. He's not walking the straight and narrow because he's scared of me. He's doing it because it's who he is now."
Willow picked up a gold chalice from the coffee table and centered it inside the pentagram, nudging it slightly to the side for precision. "He doesn't have a soul, Buffy. He's not good. He can't be."
Buffy dropped down onto the couch, rubbing her eyes, thinking. "I know. I used to believe that too. But Will, think about something. The Spike we knew, the one with the chip. okay, he wasn't good, but he was getting there. He was on the right path. And given enough time, don't you think he would've been so close to good that no one would care if he had a soul or not? And if he could become good without a soul, don't you think that says something about him, as a person?"
Her face purposefully blank, Willow said, "Keep talking."
"If he can become good as a soulless creature, maybe that makes him better than all of us who are good with the help of a soul. Or maybe not, I don't know. But it makes him at least as good."
"You're saying that he's become as good as a souled person over the last two years?"
"Yes." Quickly, before Willow could protest, she added, "And that shouldn't surprise you. You saw him on that path, in the future."
"But he had a chip. An stimulus, a restraint, a. Buffy, he didn't have much choice. And he had a huge impetus."
The ghost of a smile lightened Buffy's face. "Why couldn't love be his impetus, Willow? Why would it have to be something negative, like the chip? Don't you think he could've changed because of a positive force?"
A line wrinkled Willow's forehead. "I. I. well. Huh." She rose from the floor and sat next to Buffy. Taking her friend's hand, she said, "Okay. I. I'll go with that theory as true. It doesn't matter what I think at this point anyways. But I do want to know. Buffy, how did this all happen? How did you go from the 'Spike has super cooties' camp to the great, redeeming love side of things?"
Buffy leaned into Willow's shoulder, taking comfort in her familiar smell. "If I could tell you when, or how, I would. There wasn't any huge moment. No bells and lights. Or, lots of bells and lights, just not in an all-powerful, voice from the heavens kind of way. Things with Spike were so good. Not from the very start, I'll give you that. I paid him to help me in blood, but only for a few days. But then, it all just made sense. He needed me, and I. I *so* needed him. It was just."
Stroking Buffy's hair, she said, "Just what?"
"It's just." Buffy hesitated, lowering her eyes. Then, in a whisper, she said, "I love him. That's all. I just. love him."
Willow just shook her head, silenced. They sat together, cuddled close, taking ease in each other's presence. The lights on the candles flickered, drawing attention by contrast to the gloom of the dark house. They didn't move as the back door creaked open, but when Spike walked in, Willow released Buffy and watched her go to his side with calm eyes.
"You're back," Buffy said, standing as close as she could to him without touching him. "Where'd you go?"
"Saying my good-bye's," he said, running the flat of his hand over her hair. "Much like yourself, I'd imagine."
"Yeah." Gesturing to the pentagram, she said, "Look."
He stared down at it, the candle flames reflecting off his pupils, and swallowed hard.
"Are you afraid?" Buffy asked, her voice small and quivering. She took his hand in hers.
"Not at all." He gave her a smile that didn't meet his eyes. "I'm the bravest knight in the land."
A surprised grin burst onto her face. "Huh? The what-est what?"
Staring over her shoulder at the candles, he just shook his head.
Willow stood, straightening her jeans. "Umm. I'm gonna get this started, guys. It'll be a minute before I need you. Why don't you say your. you know, good-byes."
Buffy nodded. Squeezing Spike's hand, she couldn't get him to tear his eyes away from the candles. "Spike. C'mon." Tugging on his arm, she led him out of the room, to sit on the stairs.
He sank onto a step, pulling her down beside him. Leaning against the wall, he could see the shape of Willow's shoulders in the living room, bent over the floor, a book in her hands. Buffy's hand on his knee brought his focus back to her. He tipped his head to the side, taking in the sight of her flushed face.
"This is it, then. In a minute, we'll be. not like this," he said, holding up their clasped hands.
She opened her mouth, but lost the words in a rush of emotion, so she simply brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles one by one. Unwrapping his fingers from hers, she kissed each tip, then ran her tongue over the lines of his palm, life line and love line, running down to merge as one at the blue veins of his wrist.
He stifled a groan at the heat from her mouth. "Buffy. Pet. I want you to mark me."
" Why? It won't go with you. You'll have the same body you did before the last two years happened."
"When I die." he started to say.
She interrupted him, clutching his hands painfully. "You're not going to die. You're just going to be who you were. Before."
He glared at her. "Don't logic me about this. We both know what's going to happen will be a death for me. the death of us."
Closing her eyes in misery, she bowed her head to his hands. "My death, too," she said, fighting back tears. "Another one."
"When I die," he said again, "I want to go out wearing your mark. I want it so that anyone looking at me in that moment could know that I'm not who I was before you. I want them to know that the love of a woman- a Slayer- was enough to change a demon into a man. Nothing on the inside of me is as it was before I loved you. Shouldn't there be some change on the outside as well?"
"It'll hurt," she said, standing and pulling him up with her.
"Of course it will hurt. This whole bloody thing hurts. Marking me. it *should* hurt. It has to." With one quick movement, he ripped off his shirt. Buttons clattered down the steps, pinged off the walls. He tossed the shirt over the rail carelessly and pulled a folded knife from the pocket of his jeans. "Make it hurt, Buffy."
His expression was taut, his face so hard, Buffy thought that if she touched his cheek, it would feel like marble. How do I do this? Taking the knife, she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked him over. Flat stomach, firm chest, a peppering of hair. she pressed him into turning around, facing away from her so she could examine his back. The fine bones of his shoulder blades looked vulnerable, like the folded wings of a bird. Here, she thought as an ancient knowledge filled her. The last bite a woman gave him sent him from the human world. How else should I send him from this one but by doing the same?
"Alright" she said, looking down at him from the step above his. Dropping the knife on the floor, she rested her chin on his shoulder and kissed his earlobe. "Ready?"
"As ever," he said and closed his eyes.
Licking her way over his neck to the nape where his hair met his skin, she nibbled the skin there lightly, preparing him. Without hesitation she sank her teeth into the muscle above his spine and pressed down at hard as she could. His body bowed back into hers and she wrapped her arms around his waist, supporting him. They sank down onto the stairs, Spike laying half in her lap, grinding his teeth in silence.
Blood filled Buffy's mouth, making her gag, but she kept bearing down. She didn't want to tear the flesh out, only mark it so deeply that it wouldn't heal before the spell was completed. The front of her shirt was soaked in his blood, sticking the skin of his back against her. With each movement of his body, she felt a wet tugging at her chest where his blood joined them together. How appropriate, she thought wryly, rubbing her hands up and down his sides until he caught them in his and pressed them against his abdomen.
"Right, that's good," he rasped, patting her hands and setting her free.
She pulled her teeth out of his skin. As he turned to face her, she swallowed the blood that coated her mouth and wiped her face on her sleeve. "You." she faltered, watching the flow of blood over his collarbone and down his chest. "Did I."
Stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, he said, "You did it just right, love."
"Does it hurt?" she whispered, her voice ragged. "Does it hurt enough for you?"
Grabbing her arms, he pulled her to him, cradling her against his front. "Couldn't hurt more," he told her, knowing it was the truth. "But I'm glad of it, Buffy. I'm glad of the last two years with you. It was worth this." The feel of her pressed against his bare chest made him close his eyes with longing for the many nights in their jungle bed, when she'd curl against him just as she was now. Happy nights, unlike this one.
She rubbed her face down the crease of his sternum, tasting a lick of his blood, swallowing the tang of it from her tongue to take a part of him with her. Beneath her arms, she could feel the give and take of his breathing. Always so human seeming, she thought, matching her own breathing to his. Not that it matters now.
"Even if you were human, we would've ended this way," she said, fresh tears welling up at the irony of it. "All that time, we thought our biggest challenge was our natures, how opposite they are. You, vampire; me, Slayer. Now this. it wouldn't matter what you were, what I was. It never mattered, not really. Look how insignificant this makes it."
Spike tilted her face up towards his and brushed at the tears building in corners of Buffy's eyes. "We really should have a fight," he said abruptly.
"A fight? Right now?"
"Not like there'll be another chance." He gave her a lopsided smile. "Fighting's one of our best things. Be a shame to never get another go at you."
Sniffling, she narrowed her eyes. "You don't have to make me laugh, Spike. I wasn't going to cry."
"Right. Because teary eyes are for the shiny, happy people."
Biting her lip, she shook her head. "No. I won't cry. I'm not going to have that be our last moment together."
"Guys?" Willow coughed once, looking meaningfully towards the pentagram. "It's time. I need you, Buffy."
Turning her face against Spike's neck, she looked sideways at Willow. "Will I. can I."
"It's just for a minute. I can do the actual spell without you. It just needs your. well, it needs your blood. Just a teensy bit."
Buffy picked up the knife from the floor and walked without hesitation into the living room, straight into the center of the pentagram. The blade bit into her wrist at the quick twist of her hand. Hissing in pain, she stuck her arm over the chalice. "How much?" she asked Willow, watching her blood fall.
Rushing into the room, Willow looked from Buffy's pinched face to the half- full cup. "That's. that's good. Great. Thanks."
With a bitter smile, Buffy pressed her wrist against her stomach, holding the wound closed. "Don't mention it."
"Great," Willow repeated, waiting until Buffy left the circle before taking her place in front of the chalice. "That's great. Now we. it'll be just a second. A quick second."
Spike stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall. Buffy stood still for a moment, watching Willow's bent head, listening to the Latin words pour from her friend's mouth. Then she went to Spike and smiled at him, a ghoulish smile that would have chilled him if it hadn't been the echo of his own expression.
She touched him as if reading him by Braille, her face awash with concentration and tension as she relearned the feel of the muscles under her hands. His chest tightened and relaxed under her hands. This was their language, the one they'd created together over the past two years. A touch to tease, another to soothe, and after enough contact they knew all they ever could of each other. With their bodies, they'd told each other all the stories their hearts held. Falling back on this language was the cowards way out, but Buffy couldn't bring herself to care.
"I love you." She pressed the words against his skin as if tattooing him with their weight.
Burying his face in her hair, his lips found her ear and kissed over it. "I love you."
Willow screamed as a flash of yellow light filled the room. And then there was silence.
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
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.
Distribution: If you want it, email me.
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com
I know, I know, I thank Sass Angel every time I post something, but really, you guys have no idea how much she's to thank for this chapter. So, thanks!
And thanks to everyone who has reviewed this. You are all great, but I have to thank Olga, Kimberly and Kristin especially.
One more chapter after this.
*****
As he walked through the cemetery, Spike rubbed his hands over his arms, trying to smooth away the goose bumps that told him dawn was nearing. Still have a good hour, he thought, his coat brushing the tombstones lining the path. Buffy'll be back before sunrise. Unless she decides to let it all go to pot and skip town. With mixed feelings, he shook his head. No, she'll be there. Hero, and all. Save the world, and to hell with old Spike.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the birth of a new vampire. The creature, stuck half-out of its grave, clawed madly at the grass. He ignored it, tucking his hands into the pockets of his duster and continuing forward. Not fair to her, thinking that way. Not when I all but forced her to choose the world over the jungle. Guess there's still a bit of evil left in me after all. Sighting his old crypt, he quickened his pace.
The door was unlocked, but Spike hesitated on the threshold, searching the dark depths for signs of life. It couldn't have been sitting empty for the past few years, but as far as he could tell, it looked exactly as it had when he'd left. Minus the crucified vampire and the puddles of blood. For courtesy's sake, he called out, "Hello? Anyone here?"
The words echoed back at him, raising more goose bumps along his arms. Ignoring the shiver that grew along his spine, he walked inside. He shut the door behind him, jabbering on to bolster his courage. "Look at the wanker I've become. Getting spooked by my own voice. In an hour I'll be offering up my metaphorical neck to a metaphorical sword, and this is what scares me? Yeah, that makes sense."
The door still bore the marks of Angelus's knife; Spike could see every point at which he had hung impaled. Running his fingers over the grooves evoked images of the night they'd been made. Memories flashed through his mind: Dru's face hovering above Angelus's shoulder, beaming with torture-induced arousal. Angelus's eyes, heated from within by an angry flame. Spike wiped a hand over his face, brushing away the well- remembered scent of the vampire's breath. "Never could remember to brush after eating, bloody Peaches. Some luck, that his stench is what stays with me. It couldn't be his girlish figure."
A noise behind him rose, a shuffling in the far shadows, followed by the sound of a match striking. Spike stiffened, then slowly turned. Across the crypt, a single candle burned, sitting in a silver holder on the bare, cement floor. "Come on out now, whoever you are. I've got no time for games tonight."
A peculiar laugh wafted towards him, bell-like and familiar. He watched as a small hand gripped the holder. The flame moved upwards to reveal a mass of dark hair. Tilting her head back, letting the hair fall away to reveal her thin smile, Drusilla took a step towards him. "Hello, my Spike."
Stiffening, he took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax one by one. He restrained his dual urges to run back to Buffy and to punch Dru's face in. When he was convinced his voice would come naturally, he gave her a single, regal nod. "Hello, Dru."
"You've been a busy boy." She walked closer, scrutinizing him, her head cocked. "Gone far, far away, and back again, I see. Are you well, then? Your legs, they've healed?"
"Good as new, right as rain, and all that rot." His jaw tightening, he took a step towards her. "And you, pet? Here all alone, eh? Where's old Daddy hiding?"
"Not here," she sighed, looking around the room as though expecting Angelus to materialize thought the concrete walls. "No, no, he's gone far away as well."
"That right? I'm surprised he let you off your leash. Or did he? Maybe you just got sick of the grand poofter's nonsense, figured out you'd be happier on your own. But, no. You never did know a good thing when it came up and bit you on the neck."
Her expression darkened. She shook her finger, tsking him. "Play nice, my Spike. Didn't you learn the rules when last we met? Play nice, or not at all."
With a shake of his head, he vamped out and growled. "Last time we met, I was a far sight more helpless than I am now. Easy game, isn't it Dru, to torture someone with no working legs."
She smiled, a slow, knowing smile, and did not look away. "Easier still to torture someone who will not speak for fear of their love's life. Who can only bleed and break and beg."
He couldn't hold back his surprise. "You knew Buffy was here?"
"I can sense the Slayer, as can you. As can Angelus, but he was far too distracted with anger and lust to notice her scent."
"Where is Angelus? Holed up somewhere ripe, I'm sure, with a new bevy of minions."
Her shoulders made a dainty shrug. "Couldn't say. We parted ways long, long ago."
"About a year and a half ago, I heard. After Acathla. Hell, Dru, you should've known that a man'll promise the world to get inside a woman's knickers. But he buggered it all up, didn't he. No hell on Earth for you, that about the long and short of it?"
Moving to the sarcophagus, she perched on its edge, setting the candle beside her. "Stupid boy. I didn't leave because of Acathla."
The fingers of his right hand twitched, feeling for the watch he didn't wear. Better hurry along the small talk. Got a world to fix tonight. "Why'd you leave him, then?"
Pouting petulantly, she reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out something. "Because of him. My new pet."
Squinting, Spike frowned at the set of glasses she held. "Come again, pet?"
"The Slayer's Watcher. I wanted to keep him, to make him my own. He had such poetry about him, such beautiful anger. But Angelus forbade it. Made me eat him instead." Smoothing back her long, loose hair, she slipped Giles' glasses onto her face and gazed at Spike through them. "Reminded me of you, he did. The way you were when I found you."
Curious despite himself, he leaned closer. "The Watcher reminded you of me? How so?"
"So full of spirit and vision, of glory seen by none of those around him. None but me. He never begged for his life, do you know? Not a syllable that pathetic crossed his lips." She stroked the frame of the glasses. "Do you remember what it was I said to you that day? Your day, your day in the alley in London?"
His face softened with memory. "I walk in worlds that others can't begin to imagine. Yes, I remember."
"The Watcher walked the same path, unnoticed, unappreciated. Always longing for something bigger, something brighter to gather him in its palms and fold him into a life of glistening splendor. I wonder, my Spike, did you ever find your world? Did you ever find your effulgence?"
He started towards her, his hand outstretched. "Oh yes, I- wait." Shaking himself, he pulled back. "None of your bloody business."
Ignoring his response, Drusilla took off Giles' glasses and polished them with the hem of her shirt. "He did, the Watcher. I came to him as his own, lost love. He wasn't afraid to go, not then. Imagine, his whole world was slipping away and he smiled, such a lovely smile. Like you, William. You weren't afraid, that day in the alley when I took your world from you. Why is it you didn't fear my bite?"
Spike sighed. "I wanted it. You. A change."
"I told Daddy I'd find the wisest and bravest knight in the land to be my mate. He thought you were the most foolish knight, but he was wrong." Hopping off the sarcophagus, she leaned up against his chest, staring into his face. He closed his eyes at the feel of her cold breath on his neck. Nuzzling his throat with an open mouth, she took in a sharp breath and let it out slowly, breathing her words onto his skin. "Be brave, my Spike. Go on to the next."
When he opened his eyes, she was gone.
*****
"What are you doing?" Buffy asked, coming into the living room and shrugging out of her jacket. She took in the sight of Willow kneeling on the bare floorboards with an arched brow. "Lose something?"
Brandishing a fat piece of black chalk, Willow started to draw in large angles on the wood. "I'm making a pentagram for the reversal spell. Once that's done, we can get started." "Will this take long?" Buffy asked. "Not that I'm in a rush or anything. Just wondering." "Nope, not long at all. It's actually a really easy spell," she explained, finishing the pentagram and standing up. She turned to the coffee table and picked up a wooden box. "I'm just going to undo the spell I did before, to bring you back. Very straightforward. No room for huge, world-changing mistakes this time." "That's an improvement. But umm. wait a sec. If you reverse the spell that caused all this, won't I be dead again?"
"Nope. Not now that Glory's dead. Her death sticks in every dimension, so when we go back to normal, she'll have been dead months before she would've opened the portal. No Glory, so no dead Buffy."
"But if things are back to normal, I would never have killed her. Hence the whole normal thing."
"Confusing, huh? That's time travel for you. It's a paradox." She flashed Buffy a quick smile. "But don't worry. I wouldn't let you down."
"Uh-huh. Yeah. You'd never do that." She looked around the corner, down the empty hallway. "Where's Spike?"
Opening a wooden box, Willow pulled out five, squat candles covered in purple tissue paper. She unwrapped them and set one on each point of the pentagram, being careful not to smudge the chalk. "Where do you think he is? Vamp's last night without a chip."
"He's not hunting. He wouldn't do that."
"Why not? Look at it from his perspective. He's got no reason not to. It's not like he has to worry about staying on your good side; you're already lost to him. And you won't stake him, not now."
Crossing her arms over her chest, Buffy bit her lip. "You don't understand. He's not walking the straight and narrow because he's scared of me. He's doing it because it's who he is now."
Willow picked up a gold chalice from the coffee table and centered it inside the pentagram, nudging it slightly to the side for precision. "He doesn't have a soul, Buffy. He's not good. He can't be."
Buffy dropped down onto the couch, rubbing her eyes, thinking. "I know. I used to believe that too. But Will, think about something. The Spike we knew, the one with the chip. okay, he wasn't good, but he was getting there. He was on the right path. And given enough time, don't you think he would've been so close to good that no one would care if he had a soul or not? And if he could become good without a soul, don't you think that says something about him, as a person?"
Her face purposefully blank, Willow said, "Keep talking."
"If he can become good as a soulless creature, maybe that makes him better than all of us who are good with the help of a soul. Or maybe not, I don't know. But it makes him at least as good."
"You're saying that he's become as good as a souled person over the last two years?"
"Yes." Quickly, before Willow could protest, she added, "And that shouldn't surprise you. You saw him on that path, in the future."
"But he had a chip. An stimulus, a restraint, a. Buffy, he didn't have much choice. And he had a huge impetus."
The ghost of a smile lightened Buffy's face. "Why couldn't love be his impetus, Willow? Why would it have to be something negative, like the chip? Don't you think he could've changed because of a positive force?"
A line wrinkled Willow's forehead. "I. I. well. Huh." She rose from the floor and sat next to Buffy. Taking her friend's hand, she said, "Okay. I. I'll go with that theory as true. It doesn't matter what I think at this point anyways. But I do want to know. Buffy, how did this all happen? How did you go from the 'Spike has super cooties' camp to the great, redeeming love side of things?"
Buffy leaned into Willow's shoulder, taking comfort in her familiar smell. "If I could tell you when, or how, I would. There wasn't any huge moment. No bells and lights. Or, lots of bells and lights, just not in an all-powerful, voice from the heavens kind of way. Things with Spike were so good. Not from the very start, I'll give you that. I paid him to help me in blood, but only for a few days. But then, it all just made sense. He needed me, and I. I *so* needed him. It was just."
Stroking Buffy's hair, she said, "Just what?"
"It's just." Buffy hesitated, lowering her eyes. Then, in a whisper, she said, "I love him. That's all. I just. love him."
Willow just shook her head, silenced. They sat together, cuddled close, taking ease in each other's presence. The lights on the candles flickered, drawing attention by contrast to the gloom of the dark house. They didn't move as the back door creaked open, but when Spike walked in, Willow released Buffy and watched her go to his side with calm eyes.
"You're back," Buffy said, standing as close as she could to him without touching him. "Where'd you go?"
"Saying my good-bye's," he said, running the flat of his hand over her hair. "Much like yourself, I'd imagine."
"Yeah." Gesturing to the pentagram, she said, "Look."
He stared down at it, the candle flames reflecting off his pupils, and swallowed hard.
"Are you afraid?" Buffy asked, her voice small and quivering. She took his hand in hers.
"Not at all." He gave her a smile that didn't meet his eyes. "I'm the bravest knight in the land."
A surprised grin burst onto her face. "Huh? The what-est what?"
Staring over her shoulder at the candles, he just shook his head.
Willow stood, straightening her jeans. "Umm. I'm gonna get this started, guys. It'll be a minute before I need you. Why don't you say your. you know, good-byes."
Buffy nodded. Squeezing Spike's hand, she couldn't get him to tear his eyes away from the candles. "Spike. C'mon." Tugging on his arm, she led him out of the room, to sit on the stairs.
He sank onto a step, pulling her down beside him. Leaning against the wall, he could see the shape of Willow's shoulders in the living room, bent over the floor, a book in her hands. Buffy's hand on his knee brought his focus back to her. He tipped his head to the side, taking in the sight of her flushed face.
"This is it, then. In a minute, we'll be. not like this," he said, holding up their clasped hands.
She opened her mouth, but lost the words in a rush of emotion, so she simply brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles one by one. Unwrapping his fingers from hers, she kissed each tip, then ran her tongue over the lines of his palm, life line and love line, running down to merge as one at the blue veins of his wrist.
He stifled a groan at the heat from her mouth. "Buffy. Pet. I want you to mark me."
" Why? It won't go with you. You'll have the same body you did before the last two years happened."
"When I die." he started to say.
She interrupted him, clutching his hands painfully. "You're not going to die. You're just going to be who you were. Before."
He glared at her. "Don't logic me about this. We both know what's going to happen will be a death for me. the death of us."
Closing her eyes in misery, she bowed her head to his hands. "My death, too," she said, fighting back tears. "Another one."
"When I die," he said again, "I want to go out wearing your mark. I want it so that anyone looking at me in that moment could know that I'm not who I was before you. I want them to know that the love of a woman- a Slayer- was enough to change a demon into a man. Nothing on the inside of me is as it was before I loved you. Shouldn't there be some change on the outside as well?"
"It'll hurt," she said, standing and pulling him up with her.
"Of course it will hurt. This whole bloody thing hurts. Marking me. it *should* hurt. It has to." With one quick movement, he ripped off his shirt. Buttons clattered down the steps, pinged off the walls. He tossed the shirt over the rail carelessly and pulled a folded knife from the pocket of his jeans. "Make it hurt, Buffy."
His expression was taut, his face so hard, Buffy thought that if she touched his cheek, it would feel like marble. How do I do this? Taking the knife, she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked him over. Flat stomach, firm chest, a peppering of hair. she pressed him into turning around, facing away from her so she could examine his back. The fine bones of his shoulder blades looked vulnerable, like the folded wings of a bird. Here, she thought as an ancient knowledge filled her. The last bite a woman gave him sent him from the human world. How else should I send him from this one but by doing the same?
"Alright" she said, looking down at him from the step above his. Dropping the knife on the floor, she rested her chin on his shoulder and kissed his earlobe. "Ready?"
"As ever," he said and closed his eyes.
Licking her way over his neck to the nape where his hair met his skin, she nibbled the skin there lightly, preparing him. Without hesitation she sank her teeth into the muscle above his spine and pressed down at hard as she could. His body bowed back into hers and she wrapped her arms around his waist, supporting him. They sank down onto the stairs, Spike laying half in her lap, grinding his teeth in silence.
Blood filled Buffy's mouth, making her gag, but she kept bearing down. She didn't want to tear the flesh out, only mark it so deeply that it wouldn't heal before the spell was completed. The front of her shirt was soaked in his blood, sticking the skin of his back against her. With each movement of his body, she felt a wet tugging at her chest where his blood joined them together. How appropriate, she thought wryly, rubbing her hands up and down his sides until he caught them in his and pressed them against his abdomen.
"Right, that's good," he rasped, patting her hands and setting her free.
She pulled her teeth out of his skin. As he turned to face her, she swallowed the blood that coated her mouth and wiped her face on her sleeve. "You." she faltered, watching the flow of blood over his collarbone and down his chest. "Did I."
Stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, he said, "You did it just right, love."
"Does it hurt?" she whispered, her voice ragged. "Does it hurt enough for you?"
Grabbing her arms, he pulled her to him, cradling her against his front. "Couldn't hurt more," he told her, knowing it was the truth. "But I'm glad of it, Buffy. I'm glad of the last two years with you. It was worth this." The feel of her pressed against his bare chest made him close his eyes with longing for the many nights in their jungle bed, when she'd curl against him just as she was now. Happy nights, unlike this one.
She rubbed her face down the crease of his sternum, tasting a lick of his blood, swallowing the tang of it from her tongue to take a part of him with her. Beneath her arms, she could feel the give and take of his breathing. Always so human seeming, she thought, matching her own breathing to his. Not that it matters now.
"Even if you were human, we would've ended this way," she said, fresh tears welling up at the irony of it. "All that time, we thought our biggest challenge was our natures, how opposite they are. You, vampire; me, Slayer. Now this. it wouldn't matter what you were, what I was. It never mattered, not really. Look how insignificant this makes it."
Spike tilted her face up towards his and brushed at the tears building in corners of Buffy's eyes. "We really should have a fight," he said abruptly.
"A fight? Right now?"
"Not like there'll be another chance." He gave her a lopsided smile. "Fighting's one of our best things. Be a shame to never get another go at you."
Sniffling, she narrowed her eyes. "You don't have to make me laugh, Spike. I wasn't going to cry."
"Right. Because teary eyes are for the shiny, happy people."
Biting her lip, she shook her head. "No. I won't cry. I'm not going to have that be our last moment together."
"Guys?" Willow coughed once, looking meaningfully towards the pentagram. "It's time. I need you, Buffy."
Turning her face against Spike's neck, she looked sideways at Willow. "Will I. can I."
"It's just for a minute. I can do the actual spell without you. It just needs your. well, it needs your blood. Just a teensy bit."
Buffy picked up the knife from the floor and walked without hesitation into the living room, straight into the center of the pentagram. The blade bit into her wrist at the quick twist of her hand. Hissing in pain, she stuck her arm over the chalice. "How much?" she asked Willow, watching her blood fall.
Rushing into the room, Willow looked from Buffy's pinched face to the half- full cup. "That's. that's good. Great. Thanks."
With a bitter smile, Buffy pressed her wrist against her stomach, holding the wound closed. "Don't mention it."
"Great," Willow repeated, waiting until Buffy left the circle before taking her place in front of the chalice. "That's great. Now we. it'll be just a second. A quick second."
Spike stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall. Buffy stood still for a moment, watching Willow's bent head, listening to the Latin words pour from her friend's mouth. Then she went to Spike and smiled at him, a ghoulish smile that would have chilled him if it hadn't been the echo of his own expression.
She touched him as if reading him by Braille, her face awash with concentration and tension as she relearned the feel of the muscles under her hands. His chest tightened and relaxed under her hands. This was their language, the one they'd created together over the past two years. A touch to tease, another to soothe, and after enough contact they knew all they ever could of each other. With their bodies, they'd told each other all the stories their hearts held. Falling back on this language was the cowards way out, but Buffy couldn't bring herself to care.
"I love you." She pressed the words against his skin as if tattooing him with their weight.
Burying his face in her hair, his lips found her ear and kissed over it. "I love you."
Willow screamed as a flash of yellow light filled the room. And then there was silence.