3001
Arms laden with packages, I arrive home from a shopping expedition with Reyni. She's getting married next year to one of Rhonda's sons, and we've been searching for a dress and accessories. I haven't done that since Ayledan married Ben, and the memories of a similar shopping trip with Ayledan are stronger than I would have thought. As usual, I have a special surprise for Spike who is supposed to be back from a lunch date with Rhonda by now.
Picking out Spike's present, I dump the rest of my purchases on the lounger and listen closely for signs of life from our apartment. Rain laps against the window in the dining area, and just behind that sound, I hear the whistle of the wind. As I tiptoe down the hall, the sweetly scented breeze finds me and leads me to the bedroom where the solid balcony door is ajar. Like a trail of breadcrumbs, stray raindrops are flicked by the wind to touch the bare skin on my arms, face, and neck.
Peering around the corner, I find Spike, staring out into the grey sky with his legs splayed and hands clasped in his lap. His clothes and hair are drenched, and I have to squint and blink a few times to realize that tears are rolling down his cheeks.
Recalling many a time when Spike has been comforting through his mere presence, I slide quietly onto the bench next to him. Running my fingertips over his bare forearm, I pry his hands apart and lace the fingers of my right hand with his left. A faint press of his palm into mine is the only response I get in return. Reaching up, I catch his salty droplets with my opposite hand.
"What's wrong?" Raindrops tickle across my scalp and begin to soak my clothes.
Not removing his eyes from the scene in front of him, he sighs. "I don't know, pet. I'm just having all these feelings about tomorrow."
I've been striving not to think about what happens tomorrow, and so far, I've been pretty cleverly pushing the thoughts away. Of course, Spike's never been good at hiding his feelings. . . at avoiding. I suppose, I've had a lot of practice.
Determined to overcome old habits, I ask, "What kind of feelings?"
"Well, part of me feels sad, nervous, and just bloody pissed off. I mean, after almost a year of struggling to get the Council. . . and the world to listen, it's still boiling down to tomorrow."
I understood the feeling. Negotiating with the Council, much less the government, isn't easy, and Spike and I spent the last several months appealing to various governmental agencies for support. Spike and I had even gone before the world population, telling our story to issue a plea for asylum. Reyni and Rhonda emerged as leading figures in our fight with Reyni tackling the Council and Rhonda the government.
The international government finally backed down, but not surprisingly, the Council hadn't. Tomorrow, the Council begins a hearing on our behavior in the past and will eventually make a decision about our future. We thought about running again as we had so long ago, but we are too well known now.
"I feel about the same. But we've done everything we possibly can. We just have to see what the Council says. We do have our supporters among the Watchers despite how it seems." I lean my head on his shoulder, gazing at the grey infinity. The sky makes everything less complicated and more peaceful.
"I miss the bit," Spike murmurs, laying his cheek on my head.
"You should have come with us this afternoon, then. Reyni would have loved to have you along."
"I know, but I meant Dawn." The comment comes out of nowhere.
After a moment, I swallow, my mouth dry. "Yeah, me, too. I miss her everyday."
"Do you think she knew how much we loved and appreciated her?"
I twist my head up to sweep my lips across his before re-positioning ear on his sleeve. "Of course, she knew and so do the other people in our lives. . . they know we care. We've made sure of it."
Spike makes another leap. "You know, this may sound a little off, but I feel relieved about tomorrow, too. I'll almost feel happy for them to decide something. I-I'm tired, Buffy. There's a part of me that's really tired like Richard said he was right before. . . . The funny thing is that I never thought I'd feel this way."
A strange relief radiates off me. "Me, too. I've been feeling that way for a while. It's a scary feeling."
"Yes, love, it is."
"You know that no matter what happens, we'll be okay?"
"Yeah, pet, I know." He pulls me onto his lap with his arms around my waist so that his chin rests on my shoulder. I lean heavily back against him, enjoying the feel of his body against mine.
* * *
3001, months later
"We have no further use for them," Michael Daquilla states firmly. Michael is a tall angular man with a pale and almost pasty complexion, ruddy cheeks, and tiny eyes that always make him appear as if he is squinting at something. Although his mouth does not open, his arms bob in rhythm with his words, and he stands stiffly on the podium, addressing the agency whose members are deciding our fate. Too bad Reyni and Rhonda didn't have a say.
Glancing at Spike out of the corner of my eye, I wish to the powers that be that I am allowed to talk with him, but telepathic communication other than that done by the appointed speakers is forbidden in the session room. Communicating out of turn means one seals his or her death, so I settle for the slight, almost imperceptible wink he gives me and the press of his thigh against my own as the only form of reassurance he can provide.
A young, dark-haired woman rises from amongst the crowd and raises her hands fluidly. Her voice in my head is calm and soothing like the melodious trickle of a brook over stones that line a riverbed. "They have done no harm.only good. Just because they have nothing left to do since the world is free of demons, does not mean they should be eliminated. And what about their popularity among the general populace? How will we handle that?"
"But, Ms. Griffin, they could very easily *fill* the world with demons again should they ever take the notion to switch sides. And the general populace can easily be swayed one way or the other," Michael counters, running a hand through his greasy hair. "How many times do we have to go over the same points, people? They're a dangerous risk to have around. End of story."
He pauses to take a deep breath. "What's our mission statement here, people? Eliminate the demons on this planet. We've battled demons for countless generations. We're all trained in some other occupation that would be less dangerous, would be more enjoyable, would make us more money. Why don't we take advantage of that fact? Because we still have two demons on our hands. The solution is clear."
My muscles tense at his words so that my posture thrusts my body forward, and I resist the temptation to fly over the bar we are seated behind to rip his head off with my bare hands. Spike's leg pushes further against mine with some urgency, and I am able to at least unclench my jaw muscles. Michael's argument has large holes, but I don't know if most of the Council members see them or are unwilling to see them. They know nothing about us, and I am driven nearly mad at my inability to respond to their accusations.
An older man interrupts the back and forth arguments that have been going on for several months, "You may stop now. The decision has been made. A majority has spoken."
This time, the one person who has held himself back the entire interview finally gives in to his rage, and the harshness of his tone rakes through my brain. "Bloody hell, I hate their sodding silent majority votes!"
I nod tersely, praying no one heard his slip.
During debate about important issues the agency members' thoughts are monitored by a high-class, supposedly infallible computer system, and when the majority of individual members have thoughts that agree one way or the other, the decision is finalized. The problem is that with human beings' whirling thoughts, one never knows when they will agree or when the verdict is coming.
"And?" Michael snarks, placing his fingertips on the counter in front of him.
The older man shoots us a glance laced with pity, and declares, "They are to be eliminated as soon as possible.."
Michael chooses that moment to beam triumphantly back at us. He's never liked us. I suppose he is jealous of what we share with one another and of our recent healthy status in the public's eye.
"However," the speaker continues, "they have options."
* * *
3002, a couple of months later
Frantically, I run from one end of the apartment to the other, grabbing various items to pack in the two cases we are allowed to bring with us. Spike sits on the bed with his legs stretched out and his hands behind his head, watching me with an amused expression on his face.
Finally, I stop and glare at his smug smirk. "What? Why are you staring? And why aren't you helping?"
"I just think it's amusing, pet, that you're packing two bags full of things that we don't even need. The ship will have blood and other necessities."
I survey the piles on the bed. There's no way all of the stuff will fit in the cases. I plant my hands on my hips. "Well, Mr. Perfect, I'd like to see you do this then."
"I'm having too much fun watching you do it." The smirk grows into a grin.
"Well, I don't really see anything I can eliminate."
Spike reaches forward and plucks an object from a pile of similar objects. "Sea shells, pet? Why do we need seashells?"
"So, we can hear the ocean in space?" Spike raises both eyebrows at my response, so I modify, "Because we collected them together, and I treasure them?"
Spike smiles tenderly at the memory I've conjured in his brain. Not so long ago, before the incident with Prenwick, we spent three months along the beach and took many a midnight stroll, hunting seashells and making love in the sand. "Okay, but just bring one or two. How's that?"
"I can't bring them all?" I dodge a playful swat that he makes at my bottom and assent, "Okay. One or two."
As I'm sorting through the rest of the piles, I ask, "Are you still up for dinner with Reyni and Rhonda and their families tonight?"
"It'll be hard but yeah."
"Vids of Dawn and crew?" I hold up several small vid devices.
Spike snatches them from me. "Of course, we're definitely bringing those." He crosses the room to his storage space and returns with something else.
"Your music collection? Sorry, no room," I say, turning my nose up at his selection.
"If you're bringing bloody seashells, I'm bringing my music," he insists stubbornly. "Besides the music takes up less room and provides hours more of entertainment."
"You can take your own ship if I have to listen to that crap the whole way," I pout, sticking out my lower lip slightly.
Spike nibbles my lip and slips his collection into the case while he's distracting me. Then, he tickles my ribs, sending me to my knees with laughter. I drag him down with me, forcing his hands away as he lays me down on my back. As his weight presses down on me, igniting an odd mixture of comfort and desire, his blue eyes are heavy with emotion.
Going somber, he asks, "Love, do you have any regrets?"
Holding his eyes steadfastly with mine, I answer firmly, "Nope. I don't. I don't regret a minute of the time I've spent with you. I don't regret any of the choices you or I have made. I love you. Simply because of that fact, I have no regrets."
He cups my cheek with his hand. "Good. I don't either. And I love you, too."
"Spike?" I brush my nose against his.
"Hmmm, what?" He nuzzles my neck, shooting sparks along my spine.
"Make love to me one more time. Here. On Earth."
He grins at my invitation. . . as if he ever needed one. "Of course, love. I thought you'd never ask!"
TBC. . . next chapter is the final chapter!!! :o) I hope you're enjoying still. I tried really hard to include a lot of emotion in this chapter. I needed to close with something playful after that first part. Phew! ;o) Yay! I'm so glad that you've enjoyed it, and I'm really happy to have such great reviewers and readers all the way up to the end! I hope you're not disappointed in the story, and if you'd like, I'm considering doing a sequel. . . not sure what time frame yet. So, let me know if you're interested!
Arms laden with packages, I arrive home from a shopping expedition with Reyni. She's getting married next year to one of Rhonda's sons, and we've been searching for a dress and accessories. I haven't done that since Ayledan married Ben, and the memories of a similar shopping trip with Ayledan are stronger than I would have thought. As usual, I have a special surprise for Spike who is supposed to be back from a lunch date with Rhonda by now.
Picking out Spike's present, I dump the rest of my purchases on the lounger and listen closely for signs of life from our apartment. Rain laps against the window in the dining area, and just behind that sound, I hear the whistle of the wind. As I tiptoe down the hall, the sweetly scented breeze finds me and leads me to the bedroom where the solid balcony door is ajar. Like a trail of breadcrumbs, stray raindrops are flicked by the wind to touch the bare skin on my arms, face, and neck.
Peering around the corner, I find Spike, staring out into the grey sky with his legs splayed and hands clasped in his lap. His clothes and hair are drenched, and I have to squint and blink a few times to realize that tears are rolling down his cheeks.
Recalling many a time when Spike has been comforting through his mere presence, I slide quietly onto the bench next to him. Running my fingertips over his bare forearm, I pry his hands apart and lace the fingers of my right hand with his left. A faint press of his palm into mine is the only response I get in return. Reaching up, I catch his salty droplets with my opposite hand.
"What's wrong?" Raindrops tickle across my scalp and begin to soak my clothes.
Not removing his eyes from the scene in front of him, he sighs. "I don't know, pet. I'm just having all these feelings about tomorrow."
I've been striving not to think about what happens tomorrow, and so far, I've been pretty cleverly pushing the thoughts away. Of course, Spike's never been good at hiding his feelings. . . at avoiding. I suppose, I've had a lot of practice.
Determined to overcome old habits, I ask, "What kind of feelings?"
"Well, part of me feels sad, nervous, and just bloody pissed off. I mean, after almost a year of struggling to get the Council. . . and the world to listen, it's still boiling down to tomorrow."
I understood the feeling. Negotiating with the Council, much less the government, isn't easy, and Spike and I spent the last several months appealing to various governmental agencies for support. Spike and I had even gone before the world population, telling our story to issue a plea for asylum. Reyni and Rhonda emerged as leading figures in our fight with Reyni tackling the Council and Rhonda the government.
The international government finally backed down, but not surprisingly, the Council hadn't. Tomorrow, the Council begins a hearing on our behavior in the past and will eventually make a decision about our future. We thought about running again as we had so long ago, but we are too well known now.
"I feel about the same. But we've done everything we possibly can. We just have to see what the Council says. We do have our supporters among the Watchers despite how it seems." I lean my head on his shoulder, gazing at the grey infinity. The sky makes everything less complicated and more peaceful.
"I miss the bit," Spike murmurs, laying his cheek on my head.
"You should have come with us this afternoon, then. Reyni would have loved to have you along."
"I know, but I meant Dawn." The comment comes out of nowhere.
After a moment, I swallow, my mouth dry. "Yeah, me, too. I miss her everyday."
"Do you think she knew how much we loved and appreciated her?"
I twist my head up to sweep my lips across his before re-positioning ear on his sleeve. "Of course, she knew and so do the other people in our lives. . . they know we care. We've made sure of it."
Spike makes another leap. "You know, this may sound a little off, but I feel relieved about tomorrow, too. I'll almost feel happy for them to decide something. I-I'm tired, Buffy. There's a part of me that's really tired like Richard said he was right before. . . . The funny thing is that I never thought I'd feel this way."
A strange relief radiates off me. "Me, too. I've been feeling that way for a while. It's a scary feeling."
"Yes, love, it is."
"You know that no matter what happens, we'll be okay?"
"Yeah, pet, I know." He pulls me onto his lap with his arms around my waist so that his chin rests on my shoulder. I lean heavily back against him, enjoying the feel of his body against mine.
* * *
3001, months later
"We have no further use for them," Michael Daquilla states firmly. Michael is a tall angular man with a pale and almost pasty complexion, ruddy cheeks, and tiny eyes that always make him appear as if he is squinting at something. Although his mouth does not open, his arms bob in rhythm with his words, and he stands stiffly on the podium, addressing the agency whose members are deciding our fate. Too bad Reyni and Rhonda didn't have a say.
Glancing at Spike out of the corner of my eye, I wish to the powers that be that I am allowed to talk with him, but telepathic communication other than that done by the appointed speakers is forbidden in the session room. Communicating out of turn means one seals his or her death, so I settle for the slight, almost imperceptible wink he gives me and the press of his thigh against my own as the only form of reassurance he can provide.
A young, dark-haired woman rises from amongst the crowd and raises her hands fluidly. Her voice in my head is calm and soothing like the melodious trickle of a brook over stones that line a riverbed. "They have done no harm.only good. Just because they have nothing left to do since the world is free of demons, does not mean they should be eliminated. And what about their popularity among the general populace? How will we handle that?"
"But, Ms. Griffin, they could very easily *fill* the world with demons again should they ever take the notion to switch sides. And the general populace can easily be swayed one way or the other," Michael counters, running a hand through his greasy hair. "How many times do we have to go over the same points, people? They're a dangerous risk to have around. End of story."
He pauses to take a deep breath. "What's our mission statement here, people? Eliminate the demons on this planet. We've battled demons for countless generations. We're all trained in some other occupation that would be less dangerous, would be more enjoyable, would make us more money. Why don't we take advantage of that fact? Because we still have two demons on our hands. The solution is clear."
My muscles tense at his words so that my posture thrusts my body forward, and I resist the temptation to fly over the bar we are seated behind to rip his head off with my bare hands. Spike's leg pushes further against mine with some urgency, and I am able to at least unclench my jaw muscles. Michael's argument has large holes, but I don't know if most of the Council members see them or are unwilling to see them. They know nothing about us, and I am driven nearly mad at my inability to respond to their accusations.
An older man interrupts the back and forth arguments that have been going on for several months, "You may stop now. The decision has been made. A majority has spoken."
This time, the one person who has held himself back the entire interview finally gives in to his rage, and the harshness of his tone rakes through my brain. "Bloody hell, I hate their sodding silent majority votes!"
I nod tersely, praying no one heard his slip.
During debate about important issues the agency members' thoughts are monitored by a high-class, supposedly infallible computer system, and when the majority of individual members have thoughts that agree one way or the other, the decision is finalized. The problem is that with human beings' whirling thoughts, one never knows when they will agree or when the verdict is coming.
"And?" Michael snarks, placing his fingertips on the counter in front of him.
The older man shoots us a glance laced with pity, and declares, "They are to be eliminated as soon as possible.."
Michael chooses that moment to beam triumphantly back at us. He's never liked us. I suppose he is jealous of what we share with one another and of our recent healthy status in the public's eye.
"However," the speaker continues, "they have options."
* * *
3002, a couple of months later
Frantically, I run from one end of the apartment to the other, grabbing various items to pack in the two cases we are allowed to bring with us. Spike sits on the bed with his legs stretched out and his hands behind his head, watching me with an amused expression on his face.
Finally, I stop and glare at his smug smirk. "What? Why are you staring? And why aren't you helping?"
"I just think it's amusing, pet, that you're packing two bags full of things that we don't even need. The ship will have blood and other necessities."
I survey the piles on the bed. There's no way all of the stuff will fit in the cases. I plant my hands on my hips. "Well, Mr. Perfect, I'd like to see you do this then."
"I'm having too much fun watching you do it." The smirk grows into a grin.
"Well, I don't really see anything I can eliminate."
Spike reaches forward and plucks an object from a pile of similar objects. "Sea shells, pet? Why do we need seashells?"
"So, we can hear the ocean in space?" Spike raises both eyebrows at my response, so I modify, "Because we collected them together, and I treasure them?"
Spike smiles tenderly at the memory I've conjured in his brain. Not so long ago, before the incident with Prenwick, we spent three months along the beach and took many a midnight stroll, hunting seashells and making love in the sand. "Okay, but just bring one or two. How's that?"
"I can't bring them all?" I dodge a playful swat that he makes at my bottom and assent, "Okay. One or two."
As I'm sorting through the rest of the piles, I ask, "Are you still up for dinner with Reyni and Rhonda and their families tonight?"
"It'll be hard but yeah."
"Vids of Dawn and crew?" I hold up several small vid devices.
Spike snatches them from me. "Of course, we're definitely bringing those." He crosses the room to his storage space and returns with something else.
"Your music collection? Sorry, no room," I say, turning my nose up at his selection.
"If you're bringing bloody seashells, I'm bringing my music," he insists stubbornly. "Besides the music takes up less room and provides hours more of entertainment."
"You can take your own ship if I have to listen to that crap the whole way," I pout, sticking out my lower lip slightly.
Spike nibbles my lip and slips his collection into the case while he's distracting me. Then, he tickles my ribs, sending me to my knees with laughter. I drag him down with me, forcing his hands away as he lays me down on my back. As his weight presses down on me, igniting an odd mixture of comfort and desire, his blue eyes are heavy with emotion.
Going somber, he asks, "Love, do you have any regrets?"
Holding his eyes steadfastly with mine, I answer firmly, "Nope. I don't. I don't regret a minute of the time I've spent with you. I don't regret any of the choices you or I have made. I love you. Simply because of that fact, I have no regrets."
He cups my cheek with his hand. "Good. I don't either. And I love you, too."
"Spike?" I brush my nose against his.
"Hmmm, what?" He nuzzles my neck, shooting sparks along my spine.
"Make love to me one more time. Here. On Earth."
He grins at my invitation. . . as if he ever needed one. "Of course, love. I thought you'd never ask!"
TBC. . . next chapter is the final chapter!!! :o) I hope you're enjoying still. I tried really hard to include a lot of emotion in this chapter. I needed to close with something playful after that first part. Phew! ;o) Yay! I'm so glad that you've enjoyed it, and I'm really happy to have such great reviewers and readers all the way up to the end! I hope you're not disappointed in the story, and if you'd like, I'm considering doing a sequel. . . not sure what time frame yet. So, let me know if you're interested!