It's all about the blood Alane. Sorry, I just couldn't help it!
Spike trembled. Emotions flooded
him: love, guilt, and somewhere underneath it all the purest happiness
he had ever experienced. Tears escaped from his eyes. Quickly
he wiped them away before they could trail down his cheeks. Stop. It. He was turning into a broody wanker. Nevertheless, the
tears still came and words too, unbidden.
"Buffy. Oh God. Buffy."
Unconsciously he reached for her with shaking
hands, to feel her, to see if she was real, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the stake she pressed to his heart. Yeah. Reckon
that would stop any bloke. Any undead one anyway.
She smiled. "I asked what happened
to your hair."
Raged surged up in him and he did some
smacking of his own. Her stake clattered uselessly to the floor. "Bloody hell woman! You were dead. I wasn't thinking about
personal grooming!" He ran a self-conscious hand through his blonde-brown
mane. "'Sides, I came to rescue you from the Underworld and all. You should be right grateful. Now if you could just point me in the
direction of whatever big nasty I have to chat with to spring you . . .
"
He looked around. They weren't at
the construction site anymore. They were at the Bronze.
"Wha?"
"Haven't you ever read Dickens Spike?"
"Of cours . . . nah."
Buffy sighed impatiently.
Wonder if he could light a cigarette in
this netherworld place? He took out his crushed pack of Marlboros. Guess he'd find out.
Success.
He drew the smoke into his lungs, savouring
it, then slowly exhaled. "Yeah, yeah, so you're the Ghost of Christmas
Future?"
Ghost Buffy coughed as his second-hand
smoke lingered between them. "Well, not exactly. Look down
there."
Then he saw her. Young Buffy. Pre-Angelus Buffy. Relatively-Innocent Buffy. Dancing-with-Xander-at-the-Bronze
Buffy.
He'd wanted her even then.
He'd loved her even then.
He'd wanted to kill her even then.
Then out in the alleyway. The words
that haunted his nightmares.
"What happens on Saturday?"
"I kill you."
Then he saw it all. Joyce swinging
an axe. Buffy fighting vamps on video. A helpless maiden at
Halloween. The assassination attempt. An uneasy truce. An invite to the Summers' home.
Angelus. Dru. He was alone. He'd always been alone. No one had ever wanted him.
The scenes came faster now. Fighting
Buffy in the sun of Sunnydale. Betraying them to Adam. Was
he any better than Angelus?
Following Buffy. Smelling her scent. Stroking cashmere. Games with Harmony. Naughty games. Trapping Buffy. Chaining her up. Controlling her . . . not
controlling her. Creating things in her image to control, to shag.
But none of it was real.
Glory's finger thrust into his chest. Spike screamed in pain.
"Death and Love, baby. Eros and Thanatos. I ate Freud's receptionist you know. Tasty. Never liked cigars." Spike was babbling now. It Was All. Too. Much.
Buffy kissed his swollen lips.
He knew. Maybe he'd always known. Maybe that had frightened him. He loved her. He wanted her. He'd die for her. But he'd failed.
He saw Buffy leap into space. Oh
God had he failed. It should have been him. He began to cry.
"So what was the point of that trip down
memory lane, pet? Torture me a bit? Punish me?"
Ghost Buffy licked her lips. They
shone. Spike moved just a millimetre closer. Ghost Buffy whispered,
almost seductively, "You are a monster Spike. You are a man. We need both to bring her back. Embrace what you are William."
God he wanted to kiss her. He knew
it wasn't real but . . .
Then he saw her.
Buffy.
The Real Buffy.
She stood in the clothes she'd fought Glory
in, staring sightlessly into nothingness.
"Anything. I'll do anything. Just tell me what to do."
Ghost Buffy's lips grazed Spike's cheek,
just above his ear, causing him to shudder. "You have to die."
Spike drew another drag from his cigarette
and shrugged. "No problem." He threw the cigarette to the floor
and ground it out beneath his heel.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"I won't do it."
"But Spike, don't you want to fix your
mistake? Now is your chance." Ghost Buffy was getting very
impatient with her unkempt vampiric charge.
"OK. That's fine. I die. But I don't want Buffy drinking my blood. I don't want her coming
back . . ."
"Like you?" Ghost Buffy raised an
eyebrow. "Would it be that bad Spike?"
"Bloody hell woman! Yes! It
would be that bad. A Slayer running around all bloodlusty and soulless? Who came up with this stupid idea anyway?"
"Insulting the Powers that Be won't help
you Spike."
"Right then." He considered Ghost
Buffy carefully, then turned to Real Buffy. "She's just a shell,
isn't she?"
Ghost Buffy nodded. "She needs to
be filled."
"Not with me she doesn't."
Ghost Buffy laughed. "Yeah right
Spike."
Spike realised the implications of what
he'd said. He must be losing it. Wasn't like him to miss a
bit of sexual innuendo. He sighed a useless, ineffectual sigh.
"Right then. Can you promise me that
she won't be all vampy? That she'll just be Buffy?"
"No promises Spike. No guarantees."
"Can't do it then." He lit another
cigarette and defiantly blew smoke at Ghost Buffy.
"Really? Maybe this will change your
mind."
Ghost Buffy waived her hand in front of
his face and a scene appeared. He saw himself, running up the staircase
of Buffy's old house. "Dawn! Dawn!"
Spike felt fear.
Wild-eyed, he reached the top of the stairs. "Dawn?" He banged on her old bedroom door. "Little Bit. Open up, it's me."
No answer.
"Niblet. This isn't funny now."
No answer.
Spike's black-booted foot easily broke
down the door.
Dawn lay on the bed, eyes rolled back in
her head, her blood dripping onto the floor from her slit wrists. Was she?
Dead.
He'd killed both of them.
Spike grabbed her body from the bed, not
caring. He ran downstairs, sobbing, into the sunlight, burning the
pain from his flesh.
It was over.
"OK. You win."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Spike slit his wrist with the ceremonial
knife. Dawn's blood, his blood, Buffy's blood? It welled up
along the edge of the cut.
Sleepily Buffy's eyes focused on the blood.
"I'm so sorry pet." Spike gently
brought her head to his wrist, encouraging her to drink.
At first she was tentative, then she sucked
greedily.
Spike felt his life draining away. Had his victims felt like this? The final gasp? The look of
peace? Everything was fading.
Buffy felt the life coursing through her
veins. So powerful. Then the memories.
Resentment. Power. Death. The Key. Drawing pictures. Laughing. Stealing. Grief. Tears. Jealousy. She is real. Dawn.
Buffy paused. Spike's hand on the
back of her neck weakly encouraged her to continue drinking.
Hate. Desire. Love. Spike. Watching her. Wanting her. Never having her. Rage absolute. Inadequate. Unloved. William.
Buffy knew everything.
"See you later little girl." Doc
laughed.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Spike and Buffy were violently thrust out
of the pool.
"Guys!"
In spite of her blood loss Dawn was right
there with hope-filled eyes. "Buffy. Oh God, Buffy!"
Buffy's eyes fluttered open. "Dawnie?"
All the Scoobies gathered around, not quite
believing what they were seeing. Buffy. She came back.
Tears flowed.
Then they noticed.
Spike.
His face was ashen. His cheeks were
sunken in.
Dawn shook his bony shoulder. "Spike! Spike! Wake up."
No answer.
"No! No!" Dawn hugged the skeletal
form of the vampire, rocking back and forth.
Giles gently put a hand on her shoulder. "It's torpor Dawn. He just needs blood."
Xander considered him. "He sure looks
dead Giles."
Giles smiled wanly. "He is dead Xander. He has been since we've known him."
END PART FOUR