Part One
Spike bent down and picked
up the half-used legal pad and pencil off the battered lawn chair
and sat down again in the dark. Piles of crumpled pages lay
strewn about on the ground. First light wasn't for another
couple of hours yet but he planned on being finished with the
letter by then. He reached into his front shirt pocket for the
pack of smokes he habitually carried. Not there, you stupid
sod! He glanced up once again to the darkened bedroom
windows of the Slayer's house.
Ever since Joyce's
death last week, he'd assigned himself night patrol duty
around the parameter of the Summer's home. The first night,
he'd secreted the old folding chair among the thickest part
of the trees and shrubs just beyond the reach of her back porch
light. Cigarette butts had been a dead giveaway when he'd
smoked out in front of her house before. Right now, that would
never do, so he'd left his cigarettes behind in the DeSoto
which he'd stashed in an alley a couple of blocks away.
She'd made it bloody clear she didn't want him anywhere
near her or the Niblet again. And in a few days, if Warren kept
up his end of the deal, and if Glory made her move, as Spike
thought she would, he'd be gone forever from Sunnyhell.
Probably London, but maybe later Manchester. Yeah,
that'd be a bit of all right. At least I'll be able to
go to the Manchester United night matches. He'd pack
himself and his Buffy up in a wooden transport crate along
with a full cooler of blood, and a hammer, and off to Jolly Olde
England on Federal Express. But for now, he guarded her sleep,
just in case Her Infernal Glorious Pain in the Ass decided to try
and pull something after hours. It was the only thing he could do
for her right now.
Ripper, as Spike thought
of Giles since their last encounter, was asleep on the living
room couch. The young witches were upstairs in Joyce's old
room while Zander and his former demon had the sleeper sofa in
the den. Joyce's death's hit em all hard.
She was like a Mum to all of em. Now, seems like they
can't stand bein' apart from each other. Well, at least
the inside's as safe as can be expected with a crazed
goddess running around loose searching for her missing Key.
Ripper and the witches had beefed up the security spells on the
house. Spike was dead certain that they had done something to
reinforce the chimney, window glass, and the doors. The first
time he'd accidentally touched one of the windows, he'd
nearly fried the tips off of his fingers. It had taken nearly all
of his rapidly dwindling self-control to keep from screaming out
a string of curses. As it was, he nearly fell off the roof! He
bloody well planned on seeing that they stayed safe from the
outside, too. He felt he owed Joyce at least that much and so the
nightly patrols.
Once the coroner had
released the body, the funeral had finally been set for 11:00 am
that coming morning at the Episcopal Church down the road.
Funny, didn't know the Slayer went to church, but then
maybe it was only her Mum's church. Sunnyhell's
all too convenient sewer system would provide a simple enough
below ground route to the church and Spike planned on being there
for Joyce. While vampires didn't LIKE churches, it was a
common misconception that they couldn't go inside. Spike
really didn't care one way or the other: He would be there
for Joyce and for her girls. She was a good mum and had always
treated him square, just like a real person. Really, she was the
only one who had treated him as a person and not the vampire that
he really was, even if the Initiative had de-fanged him. Hot
chocolate with those little marshmallow things and Passions,
those would forever remind him of her. Besides, a church
with everyone present seemed like just too perfect an ambush set
up to Spike. Spike looked down at what he'd written so far,
for the hundredth freakin' time, and decided he really just
needed to finish the damned thing already.
Buffy,
If you have the box and
are reading this letter, it can only be for one of two reasons. NO,
SLAYER! DON'T TEAR IT UP TIL YOU READ IT. YOU
DON'T HAVE TO ALWAYS BE SO HARD HEADED, YOU KNOW!
I PROMISE THIS IS THE LAST THING YOU'LL EVER
HEAR FROM ME. So, as you are reading this, either
Glory is gone for good and I have left Sunnyhell or I'm
really gone. (Read DEAD here, ha, ha, ha. I knew that'd give
you a happy!) Anyway, I had to rough Willy up a bit to deliver
this, but I trust him enough to get this stuff to you. Well, that
and the hundred bucks I paid him. For another hundred, he
"leaked" it to Angel that your Mum is gone and
I've been stalking you. Well, he already did that last
night, so I expect the Great Poof will show for the funeral. I
am so sorry about your Mum. She was a bit of all
right, that one. A creature of the Light, just like you.
I'll always remember her kindness to me, that, and the time
she thumped me with the ax head to "save" you. I think
you got some of your grit from Joyce.
I know you never
believed I loved you, that vampires can't love, but what Dru
said was true. "We can love, if not wisely." After more
than 100 years, it's hard to remember a time when I
wasn't "The Big Bad." I just want to believe that
if Dru hadn't changed me and we had somehow met, I'd
have stood a chance with you.
Well, at any rate,
Glory is bound to try something soon. My sources told me she
knows your Mum's dead. Well, what few sources I have left.
With Glory in town, the old Hellgate just isn't what it used
to be, is it? Most of the vamps have scattered for safer parts.
Which is good for you and the rest of the gang, when you think of
it. I know you'll be prepared for Glory at the funeral. Your
Watcher always makes sure you and the gang are prepared for the
worst. He's a good watcher, Giles is, and you were lucky to
get him after that Merrick chap.
Spike thought a minute and
went on to write the final paragraph. He was maudlin enough as it
was, he supposed. Pretty much like the bad poetry he'd
written Cecily just before Dru had turned him. At least this time
he wouldn't be around to get his undead heart stomped on.
Imagine, the Slayer thinking he couldn't feel emotions!
I just wanted to say
one last thing to you. You ARE the Slayer.
If it had come down to a right fair fight between us, I
don't know if I could've bested you. I won't be
coming back to have that "Dance" we talked about,
either, even if I do get this damned chip out or its'
warranty buggers off. Maybe you and Peaches will finally work it
out. Ask him about the Scroll of Aberjian when you see him, why
don't you? You and Little Bit deserve a chance to be happy.
But on a Hellgate, that's asking a bit much, isn't it?
Take my advice- Move and don't leave the bloody Council your
forwarding address!
Finally satisfied with his
letter, Spike glanced over at the barely lightening sky along the
eastern horizon and got up to walk the parameter one last time.
He wiggled his bare toes in the dew soaked leaves. He wasn't
cold, the undead never are, but the wet, sticky leaves felt
slimy, all nasty like. However, his boot prints had also shown up
out on the front lawn and so, like the cigarettes, he'd left
his Doc Martins in the DeSoto. Walking around, never in quite the
same path, he ended up next to the trellis Dawn used to escape by
when she'd found out that she was the Key.
Why the Hell
hadn't Giles or Joyce pulled that damn thing down? If she
were his kid, he knew he would have gotten rid of it. Well, just
as good that they hadn't as it gave him an easy route up to
checked on them again.
Dawn's bed was empty,
as it was by this time most nights since Joyce's death. He
knew where he'd find her-in bed next to the Slayer, where
she'd feel safer from the bad things that go bump in the
night. Too bad that "cerebral hemorrhage" wasn't
one of the bad things that he or the Slayer could have stopped.
If it were, he would have done it for Joyce. She WAS a good one,
just like he'd written. If there was a Hell, and Angel had
proven that, hadn't he, then there must be a place for the
good after death. If the vamps he used to run with knew that he
thought this way, Spike thought they would have staked him on
sight.
Slowly and ever so
carefully after he'd checked in on the other two bedroom
windows, Spike crept around the eaves and peeked into
Buffy's window. It would not do at all for her to look up
and see him playing Peeping Tom at them. She'd probably
shove him right off the roof and into the yard below. That could
hurt, even if it wouldn't kill him and he really wasn't
a masochist. Hell, she was so mad at him right now, she might
just be tempted to stake him anyway, even with the damned chip in
his head.
Sleeping they were, the
two of them. Dawn was curled up on Buffy's shoulder with her
fists tucked up near her face. It made her look even younger than
her 14 earth years, no matter that she was really millenniums
older than that. Buffy's upper arm was cradled protectively
across her shoulders. What wouldn't I give to be in
that spot just once? That ponce, Warren, better damn well do a
right good job of it. Another quick peek and he was down
from the roof for the night, probably for the last night, too, if
his information about Glory/Ben was correct. I guess I
could've told her about Ben. But then, it really isn't
likely she'd have believed me any more about this than she
did about any of the other stuff that I told her. If you
can't believe in love, what can you believe in?
Spike, William the Bloody,
and the Slayer of Two Slayers, bent down and picked up his pad
and pencil and read his letter through one last time before
signing it "With Love and Respect, William". Over a
hundred years as a vampire was a long life span for most
vampires. Most lived no more than a few years beyond the
fledgling stage. For those that did live, there was often little
to occupy the times between bloody rampages. Spike would have
been a pretty poor excuse for a demon not to learn some of
life's finer points. The Gang would've been shocked to
find out that he'd read most of the world's great
literature, spoke several languages when the need presented
itself, knew how to work the Stock Market, could play a piano
fairly well, and a guitar even better. But he did have his
standards as a vampire to maintain. After all, he was
"the" Big Bad! He pulled a long envelope out of his
duster's inner pocket and slid the letter inside along with
a small, black jewelry box. The contents of the box represented a
good chunk of the money he'd accumulated over the last
couple of years. They all thought he was destitute, living as he
did, but really it was just the way he liked doing things here in
Sunnyhell! He did so enjoy squeezing money out of the Slayer and
her friends. He hoped Buffy would accept the gifts, two gold
crosses, each mounted with an identical rare black tear shaped
diamond at the center for herself and Dawn. Maybe someday, they
would remember he wasn't all bad. He swallowed hard.
Damn, he was turning into such a nancyboy. Good thing that there
were places where they still remembered the old Spike. He
paused to look up at her window one last time before he took off.
If he'd been alive, he knew his heart would have been
paining him right now. Leaving her forever's a pain I
don't think I could survive if I was human, unlike that tin
soldier Riley. What a sodding wanker he was! Well, at least a
replacement Buffy was better than no Buffy at all. Spike
slipped the envelope back into the duster and took off down the
street to where the DeSoto was stashed. He'd just enough
time to drop off the envelope at Willy's apartment, change
clothes, and be at the church before first light.
Part Two
Back at the crypt, Spike
stripped out of his usual all black jeans and T-shirt and changed
into a pair of dark khaki slacks, a black silk dress shirt, and
his new brown leather bomber jacket. He lifted a long,
oilcloth-covered package from the hidden panel in his trunk.
Carefully he unwrapped an ancient finely wrought short-sword and
wiped off the blade with his old T-shirt. Strapping its'
scabbard to the right side of his belt, Spike then buckled a
small, deadly looking dagger to the outside of his left ankle.
Against the likes of the goddess Glory, who knew if either could
do any real damage? But at least now, Spike felt
dressed' for the occasion.
The sword was a real
beauty and had been in Spike's possession for a long time
now: since Prague, really. Dru and Spike had watched silently as
the antiquities dealer drank heavily in one of their favorite
pubs. The loud boasts concerning his latest purchase could be
heard by everyone. He was so drunk by the time he staggered out
into the night; he failed to recognize the attention he'd
garnered from several nasty looking street thugs hanging around
the front entrance. Nor did he see the rather pale couple
following all of them up the darkened streets. The thugs set upon
him as he unlocked the shop's front door, only to find their
necks' instantly snapped by two vampires in full game face.
Vampires usually like to keep a few things worth hocking in case
times were tight and the need to run was upon them. The dealer
was suddenly very sober but too late to save himself from
Drusilla's tender mercies. After Dru had finished with his
throat, he offered not a word of protest concerning the ancient
sword. And once Spike had held the beautifully crafted weapon in
his hands, he knew he'd never willingly part with it. The
blade was short enough and weighted in such a way that it fit his
arm as if custom-made. The outstanding quality of its' metal
honed to an extremely fine edge and covering both sides were
intricately colored swirls and dots, almost like Arabic writing.
Spike loved that sword from the first minute he held it. After
that, no matter how fast he'd run and no matter how tight
money got, Spike always managed to hang onto the sword. Drusilla
never mentioned the sword to him again, which was odd in and of
its' self. She knew he had it all right, but seemed to
purposely ignore the weapon, even when he was working out with
it. She talked about it only once, telling Miss Edith "it
was singing to her about death, all funny like. I can't make
out the words, really, but it's colder than Death Herself,
like the void between the stars. It's bad for my Spike and
he would be well to be rid of it. " Spike thought Dru to be
a bit more daft than usual that day. He quickly wrapped it up in
its' protective oilcloth and hid it away from her in amongst
his baggage. He never exactly thought that it sang – or
talked - to him. However, when he practiced cutting it through
the air, he did think there was a singing of sorts. That was when
it sang to him of sheer unadulterated power.
Spike easily burgled the
church's locked side door and had actually been inside since
shortly before sunrise. Shoddy craftsmanship, that. The
whole of Sunnydale lives in such a state of denial.
He'd looked over the flower arrangements and opened the
casket to talk to Joyce a bit about his plans to leave and where
he would be going. He wanted to promise Joyce that he'd try
his best to see that the Slayer and Little Bit were safe before
he left town. At least right now, SHE can't tell me to
keep away from HER family. And Joyce doesn't seem to mind a
bit! Always was a good listener. Before he'd gone
upstairs to search for a hiding spot, he'd closed the casket
up again and re-centered its' floral covering. It was a
large blanket of white roses with a royal blue banner that read
"Mother and Friend." Joyce would have liked that.
Up in the choir loft there
were several small closets and doors, including one that lead to
the catwalk for the overhead lighting and speakers - Good
enough for putting up an uninvited guest and a great view of the
whole area. Spike even knew when Angel had come in about two
hours later. Peaches slipped right in to the baby room off the
back of the church and had closed the drapes and locked its'
door.
The church was starting to
fill up now as 11:00 approached. Baskets of flowers and plants
from friends and clients of the gallery flanked the altar area.
Spike had moved his arrangement up forward so that it was nearer
to the casket. It contained sprays of tiny white orchids, spaced
amongst three dozen long stemmed blood red roses. His card read
only " For the Honor of your Friendship." No name. The
Slayer would have had a fit if she seen he'd sent flowers to
her mother's funeral!
Dawn and she were off in
the back of the church greeting people, pale and all somber-like
in black dresses, and flanked by Giles and the rest of the
Slayerettes. The girls' eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. It
looked like a small breeze could have knocked them over.
Where is their bleedin' father? Spike would have been
really worried about their ability to fight if he hadn't
seen the large duffel bags each of them had carried into the
church. They had opened and rechecked the contents before
depositing them under their pews about an hour ago. Still, Buffy,
even on a bad day, was better than any other form of protection
that Sunnyhell had to offer. The witches had arrived even before
Buffy and had run a ring of salt and then Holy Water around the
parameter of the church building. Great for keeping out vamps
and demons, or keeping them inside for that matter, but he
wasn't too sure of it's effectiveness against
goddesses, especially angry, out of control, goddesses.
Giles and Zander had checked through the downstairs areas and
behind the altar, locking all but the main doors. Did they
think that would keep Glory out, if she really wants in? They
must know Angel is here, too, because they both ignored the baby
room.
Finally, the organist came
in, began playing, and everyone took their seats. From
Spike's perch, it looked like the Niblet was crying again as
she leaned into her sister's shoulder. Giles was to their
left on the front row, patting her hand with his left hand as his
right arm reached across to shelter both girls' shoulders.
The rest of the old gang, including that Cordelia chick, some
young tough from the Hood and even the werewolf were
directly behind them. Good lay out for protection. Seven or
eight stuffed suit, tweedy types sat just across the aisle. Even
that bastard Quintin Travers and the Council's here and
armed to the teeth judging by the bulges and bags. Can't be
too prepared when a goddess comes to call. May be a bit dicey for
me if they take offense to Ol' Spike playing in their game.
The Priest stood and had
just began to speak the service for the dead when the front doors
crashed open and all kinds of dust and trash blew into the
sanctuary. Glory certainly knew how to make a grand entrance. Her
tight designer red silk dress and spiked heels looked even more
garish against the somber colors of the mourners. "So, who
started this party without me and, by the way, WHERE IS MY
KEY?" The stained glass windows began to rattle loudly,
raining down shards of brightly colored glass onto those seated
below. Giles abruptly stood up and stepped into the aisle to
address Glory. Well, probably it was Ripper, Spike thought,
since the glasses were off again. "This is a private
ceremony, Glory. Get out now, while you still have the chance.
There is no Key here and there never has been: you were
misinformed per its' location." From the catwalk, Spike
could see everything. The witches were busy with their hands and
their potions, weaving ancient symbols into the air. In a
church? Weapons bags were retrieved by those in the first
two rows. Buffy stridently shoved Dawn down under their seat and
back towards the witch girls as she grabbed up her crossbow. Just
when Spike thought that the tension inside the church
couldn't get any higher, the Goddess Glory let loose with
both barrels, so to speak.
The windstorm inside the
church began to howl. Stained glass popped from the upper
story's windows joining the dust, flowers, leaves, and trash
that now swirled around the sanctuary. The overhead lights
started imploding sequentially up the center aisle towards the
casket's location near the altar. Glory grinned proudly at
her handiwork as she danced around in the rapidly spinning circle
of trash. Finally she stopped spinning and shouted, "I want
my Key and I want it now! I am out of patience with you worthless
little grubs! I have an appointment today with my people in L. A.
to begin the Alignment and I need my Key Now, Now, Now!"
With each word, she stomped her feet and ominous cracking sounds
could be heard beneath the church's floorboards. The
Watchers' Council and their agents across the aisle suddenly
slid sideways down their pews and off onto the floor beyond in a
great heap. The Scooby gang started to do the same before Giles
and the witches managed to get them stopped somehow with one of
their magiks. It reminded Spike of an old Keystone Cops Comedy
and would have been funny, if not for the crazed goddess standing
out in the midst of it all.
From the corner of his
eye, Spike saw Angel emerge from hiding to make his move on
Glory. Can't let Peaches have all the fun, now can I?
Guess this is my cue to join the game. With that, Spike
pulled out his short sword and gracefully leapt off the catwalk
to land about five feet behind Her Fragrant Gloriousness in the
main aisle. She never even flicked an eyelash as she turned to
face Spike. "Cool sword! Betcha' you didn't know
it's mine. Where'd you find it?" Her
right index finger gave the sword a come hither motion and it
leapt out of Spike's hand to imbed itself in the pew just
above Dawn's head. "Poor demon, you never do get what
you want, do you? Maybe today, you will. Now tell me, Where
Is My Key?" With that, she pointed her right index
finger at Spike's neck and lifted him up a good five feet
off the ground towards the ceiling. Her left hand spun around to
Angel's position and he slammed backwards into one of the
church's support pillars.
Since he didn't need
to breathe, hanging in mid-air really didn't actually bother
Spike. He reached down and slipped the dagger from its'
sheath and let it fly directly at Glory's chest, only to see
it bounce off to the floor below. "OK, that is it! No more
miss nice goddess for you." Glory paused and looked
significantly from Spike to Buffy. "You want her, don't
you- the Slayer, I mean. But she won't have you, will she?
Better be careful what you wish for, little Vampire. You. Might.
Just. Get. It."
Spike felt a sudden
painful thumping inside his chest and looked down to see his
hands, always the coldest part of his body, turning a warm pink
color. Suddenly, there was pain in his throat from Glory's
grip and he began retching as he tried to get in a breath of air.
Everyone, even Angel, was gaping up at him. All he could think
about was Buffy as she stared at him from the front pew while she
held her ground against the storm. The Niblet lay crying under
the pew just in front of him. Spike abruptly realized he was
probably going to fail to keep his promise to Joyce. Hideous
flashes of memory exposed to him the faces of his carnage.
Thousands maybe, slaughtered to the bloody brutal excesses of a
demon. The Slayers he murdered. Whole villages laid waste to his
mayhem. And in that moment, he understood how Angel felt all
these years since regaining his soul. No way to redeem himself
for all the wrong, all the evil he'd committed throughout
the years, and the tears began to run down his reddened cheeks.
"Think this is your
sword, do ya?" Glory asked him. "Well here, have it
back." With a flick of her head, she beckoned it out of the
wood pew and straight into William's stomach before she
dropped him to the floor below. Not clean enough to kill
rapidly, but good enough to do the job without medical attention.
And Spike didn't believe that was even remotely
possible. Buffy, Dawn, and Angel had all shouted as the sword had
flown into him, but it was Dawn who had lunged forward to cradle
his head in her lap.
" I didn't know
you had brown hair, Spike, " she said in wonder as she
touched one of the longish curls framing his boyish face.
Her tears splashed warm
and salty onto his face as his blood began to run out and pool
against the cold stone floor. He took a deep breath to speak and
began coughing, which really hurt. "Bugger, guess it's
no more smokes for me now." He grinned cockily up at her and
wiped her cheeks with his thumb. "It's really William,
Dawn, not Spike, OK?" "Ah, sure Spike – er -
William," she replied. As he lay there, the wind continued
whirling all around them. An angry goddess was still screaming
for her Key, but it all seemed far away to William. The bright
sun of Southern California was glinting through the partially
ruined stained glass casting intense colored patches across
William and Dawn on the floor. As he lay in the warm colored
light, William thought it might not be such a bad day to die,
after all. "Tell Angel to take good care of er for me,
Niblet, or I'll kick his butt all over Hell someday."
William looked up to see if Dawn had heard him. In the chocolaty
brown depths of her eyes, he saw the most amazingly beautiful
sight. Her eyes began to glow with swirls of gorgeous bright
green sparkling lights. They were getting bigger and swirling
faster all the time as he watched. Didn't know you
hallucinate from lack of blood.
"Dawn, your eyes,
they're so pretty. Where'd you get them green sparklies
from?" William reached up a blood-splattered hand and
touched her cheek. Dawn remembered what Glory had told her at the
hospital when she was described her last sighting of the Key.
" I think its part of the Key in me, William. It's
coming out! But I can't let her see it. She can't get
me. She'll do bad, evil things with me if she wins
today!" She paused and cocked her head to the side.
"William, can you hear that funny singing noise?
Where's it coming from?"
"No, Little Bit, I
can't, but Dru used to be able to hear it. I can feel it
here in the sword, though. It's singin' to you about
its' power." He took her finger and touched the flat of
the blade with it so she could feel the vibrations humming there.
They were strong enough to cause the wound to hurt worse. "
You have to take it, Dawn. The sword's calling to you. I
think it may be our only chance, your only chance, to kill
Glory."
The Church had gotten
deathly quiet. The winds had suddenly ceased blowing and Glory
stood gaping down at them from the aisle. Her arm on the left was
still outstretched, holding back Angel and the watchers, while
her right arm now pointed towards Buffy and the Scooby gang. Her
Delicious Gloriousness was enthralled with Dawn's face and
the green shimmering sparklies she'd seen there too. Her
face lit up in delighted fury. "It was you, little Sis. All
this time and in front of my very nose, it was you! You were very
bad to lie to the Goddess!"
The energy Glory had been
spending on the temper tantrum plus holding everyone back must
have begun to catch up with her. Ben's sad and forlorn face
began popping through Glory's image. "Do it, Dawn, do
what he said. Take the sword – Cut the head off first, then
stab her through the heart and then the eyes! It's the only
way to kill her. I'm not strong enough to control her. I
never have been. But you are! You are the Key! You are strong
enough! You have to do it, now!" Glory slipped
back into Ben's face again. The goddess began inching
towards Dawn while she continued trying to hold back the rest of
the people in the room. Her face was rapturously glued to
Dawn's beautiful eyes. Giles seemed cemented to his spot in
the aisle, cursing and yelling out magiks with no result while
Buffy struggled to free her hands which seemed captured by the
wooden pew.
William looked up at Dawn
again and gently said, " Come on now. You're the brave
girl. Didn't ya tell me ya could be as good as the Slayer?
I'll help ya, now. It'll be all right, Little Bit,
you'll see." Dawn thought that his accent sounded
stronger now, but his voice was weaker. Her hands felt him
returning to his usual cold self as they cradled his face.
William reached up and grasped her left hand in his and placed it
around the sword's hilt. With a deep groan, he pulled the
sword out of his oozing wound and slipped off her lap to come up
behind her. Now he could reach around her, steadying the sword in
both of their hands. Glory quit advancing and fell back a step.
"No, no, you can't, you mustn't. You are My Key! I
want you! I need you! Don't you see that? We have to go now!
No, Ben, you can't come out now, I'm busy. Leave me
alone." With that she began to swat at her face and head as
though a swarm of bees was attacking her. Everyone she'd
been holding began slipping towards the floor as her
concentration began to fail her hold on them.
But she hadn't been
holding Dawn or William and together they raising the sword high
into the air. Ben's voice was screaming out of Glory's
mouth. "Do it! Do it! Do it! Neck first, then Heart, then
the eyes! Do it!" William glanced first to Buffy, then
Angel, as they struggled to get loose from the weakened grip.
Dawn was just a baby, only fourteen, too sweet and gentle to
really kill anything, even if it was an insane goddess. But Spike
could kill, had killed innumerable times before without any
compunction or regret. One more time, what could that add to his
tenure in Hell?
Grasping Dawn's hands
tightly around the hilt, William slashed down and across
Glory's beautiful neck above her red designers' dress. The
head rolled, still screaming and cursing at Ben, towards
Giles' position on the floor. Ben's charming face
popped to the fore one last time and looked up at Giles.
"Don't touch it. She might still be strong enough to
transfer into you."
William slumped to his
knees beside Dawn; there would be no more getting up again for
him. He raised his eyes to see Dawn now covered with swirls of
the green sparklies. The room was taking on a green iridescent
glow from the light of her fire. Dawn paused to look into
William's eyes and then lunged forward, burying the sword
precisely through Glory's heart in her still standing body.
As the body toppled backward to the floor, the sword pulled
itself free from Glory's chest. Having a slayer for a
sister was right helpful after all. Dawn stepped over the
now inert form and approached Ben's head where it rested on
the floor. She looked down sadly at him. He had been so kind to
her at the hospital.
"It's really
OK," he spoke to Dawn then. "I'm so tired of
cleaning up after all her messes. Glory and I have been around
for a long, long time. It's time for us to go now. Remember
when we talked about having problems with our sisters? I think
you and Buffy will always be able to work things out together. Be
sure you burn everything to ashes, Buffy," he then shouted.
"But, Ben, what about
me being the Key and the sword and everything else," Dawn
implored.
"Oh, that's the
easy part. Without us around to try and use you, you get to go on
just being a kid again. See the sparklies, they're almost
gone now." As Dawn looked up at the dwindling light from the
sparklies, Ben winked at Giles, and mouthed "Training."
Then Glory came back screaming insanely once more. Dawn stood and
slammed the sword's tip through the goddess' eyes and
the church fell silent once again.
"And, eewwww,
gross," said a normal fourteen year old girl as she turned
and ran back to William. He was gently cradled now up against
Buffy's chest with Angel crouched just behind her out of the
direct sunlight.
"This really
isn't turning out to be my day, is it, Luv?" Blood had
begun to trickle out of the side of his mouth. "This stuff
taste's nasty! Can't imagine why I wanted it so badly
all these years. Don't worry, Pet, pain's not so bad
any more. Just the cold's a bother. It's my heart that hurts
now with the knowin'. Ya' see, I know what I done. I
can see all their faces. So sad, really, and I'll never get
the chance to redeem myself like, Peaches, here." Still with
the cocky comments, was their Spike.
Dawn knelt down and held
his hand. " But you're truly sorry, William. Mom always
said that's what really counts, right, Buffy?" The
Slayer's green eyes glistened brightly with tears as she
nodded to her little sister. She leaned over and placed a gentle
kiss against William's lips.
Out of the mouths of
babes. Babes, babes, oh shit. William's body jerked
suddenly at the thought. The Slayer's gonna be so
pissed when Warren delivers that package!
" Buffy, don't
be too mad, okay. They say that imitation's the sincerest
form of flattery, you know? Warren has this order for me. The
money's under seat of my lounge chair back at the crypt. Pay
him and then you'll have to figure out what you want to do
with you. Maybe a new sparing partner." He grinned as
comprehension began to come across Buffy's face.
Before she could open her
mouth to yell at him, he interrupted, "Remember when we
sparred and I told you about wantin' that one good day?
Well, this is it. I had me one, just like I said I would."
The light began to fade out of his eyes as he turned his head and
looked to a spot just beyond where the gang gathered around him.
" Oh, Dawnie," he sighed, "I see where your
sparklies went now. They've gone all white-like shinin'
down ere." Then he spoke to Buffy, " I
gotta' go now. Joyce is waitin' on me."
His body slumped downwards
in death as Buffy continued to hold him tightly. Dawn released
his hand and reaching over to close the most beautiful blue-green
eyes she'd ever seen. "He helped to save us all today,
didn't he, Buffy?" she asked. "Yeah, Sweetie, he
really did." Buffy kissed him gently on the forehead as she
pushed his curls up out of his face. Beautiful splashes of
colored sunlight from the church's ruined windows blanketed
the finally peaceful young man.
Part Three- Epilogue
– Ten Years Later
Willy delivered the letter
and the package to Buffy the next day after word spread about
Spike's demise. And Warren got his money and was told in no
uncertain terms what would happen if the new and improved Buffy
didn't disappear completely, forever, and fast. Dawn had
even growled at him. Buffy always wondered why Warren had jumped
and gotten that odd look on his face when she growled at him.
What surprised them more
was an official looking package that arrived a couple of weeks
later from a local probate attorney. It said that there was a
will and some money for Elizabeth and Dawn Summers to use, as
they might wish. What stunned them all, even Angel, was the
amount of money: almost $500,000 for each of them. The lawyer
felt it necessary to point out that the sum was honestly earned
through his client's Stock Market portfolio. Giles was named
as the executor, which helped when Hank Summers suddenly appeared
two months after the funeral and wanted Dawn to come live with
him in LA. When her tumor had first been diagnosed, Joyce had her
lawyer write out a very tight Last Will and Testament. The
mortgage insurance had paid off the house placing it in
Buffy's name. There was some money, too, from her life
insurance plan, social security, and a small 401K. With judicious
use, Joyce and Giles thought that it might be enough to get the
girls through college before the funds ran out. Of course, Joyce
had named Giles as guardian for both of the girls as well as
executor to the estate. But without William's money,
Hank's court case might have gone to him as their biological
father. A good-sized pay off settled the case to Hank's
pleasure and Buffy's vast relief. She always felt that
William would have approved of her use of the money for Dawn.
This afternoon, Buffy sat
next to her mother's grave, as she did every spring about
this time. They had decided to bury William on the other side of
her Mom, but the dilemma had been what to do with the dates and
the last name. No one, not even Angel, could remember
Spike's mortal last name. It just wasn't important in
Vampire Society. And if Dru knew it, they weren't asking
her! Zander wanted to put the real dates on the stone and would
have carved a spike there, too, if they hadn't vetoed him.
Spike's attorney almost solved the missing piece of the
puzzle. The name he had listed at their first meeting was William
Somers! Eventually, it was Dawn's suggestion that they used:
William. No dates. No last name. It was enough.
A dark, blood red rose
bush flourished next to her Mother's headstone. Evidently,
Spike had paid for it to be planted by the cemetery. But it was
the night blooming jasmine rambling across William's stone
that Buffy loved the most. She noticed a little sprig of it
growing there about a year or so after they were buried; a
volunteer from somewhere else, most likely. Now, it grew
rampantly across the top of William's granite marker to
drape over onto Joyce's headstone. During the years she
patrolled, Buffy could always count on smelling it's sweet
perfume from this end of the cemetery. It was a fragrant reminder
to her of Spike, guarding her back during patrols in that very
cemetery. And all because with a little chip, the Initiative had
changed the course of their lives forever.
Surprisingly, on her
twenty-fifth birthday, the Watcher's Council had summoned
Giles and Buffy to come to London. Quintin Travers blandly
stated, "Faith has completed her prison term and
rehabilitation and will once again resume her duties as a Slayer.
Your services, except as consultants, will no longer be
required." Giles had coughed up the word " retirement
pay," Buffy had insisted, and Travers once again
capitulated. However, Buffy always wondered if her little sister
played a part in the Council's decision to let them retire.
Dawn was studying Archeology and Ancient Cultures at Giles'
college at Oxford during that time. Buffy asked if she'd
been up to London to visit the Council, but Dawn just shrugged
and looked away. Dawn knew better than to let Buffy see her
sparklies.
"Are you ready to go
yet, honey?" Angel asked as his shadow fell across her face.
Megan, now almost four with dark hair and eyes like her Daddy,
was perched on his left hip. Their 16 month old, Jocelyn, lay
sleeping in her Snuggley against his heart, her honey blond curls
just visible.
William was right, of
course. Wolfram and Hart had planned to use their client Glory
and her Key to start the Apocalypse, or Alignment, as the minions
called it. Once the Apocalypse was averted, The Powers That Be
released Angel, human and with his soul permanently anchored, as
promised in the Scroll.
Angel and Buffy married
the year after she graduated from college. Dawn proudly walked
down the aisle as her sister's maid of honor while Wesley
stood with Angel as Best Man at the altar. Giles, the man who was
more Father than Watcher, did the honors and walked Buffy down
the aisle. It was nearly a perfect wedding, one she had always
dreamed about but never really thought could be given to her as
the Slayer: filled with family, friends, and loved ones nearby.
When the minister asked, " Who giveth this woman to be
wed?" Buffy closed her eyes briefly as Giles answered,
"We, her friends and family do." She could almost
imagine her Mom and Spike standing there, smiling at them. In
that moment, a breeze ruffled her vale through the open windows
and with it floated the faint odor of roses and jasmine. Dawn
glanced at the window and smiled before returning her attention
to the minister.
Buffy refocusing her eyes
from her memories to the present moment in the warm afternoon
sun. Angel reached down to gently lift her up from the grass and
laid a hand against her greatly rounded stomach. Even though this
was their third, Angel was still in awe over the miracle of his
wife great with child. Another month to go, and the new little
one would be here. The baby, as if in answer to his father's
touch, gave a vicious kick to her ribs. The ultrasound confirmed
what she had known all along; this baby was a boy. William Rupert
seemed like the perfect name to both of them until Zander took to
calling the baby "Spike". Zander at least had the
courtesy to blanch when Buffy promised she would pound him
into the ground if the nickname stuck!
