Undone Three

*****

            "You're sure this is the right place?" Ethan asked, looking out the passenger seat window at the ostentatiously average, split-level home as Brother Pavel pulled Buffy's truck into its driveway and parked. He quirked an eyebrow up at Buffy in the rearview mirror. "Shouldn't a monastery be a touch more… monastic?"

            Sliding out of the car, Buffy eyed the basketball net hanging above the garage door and felt inclined to agree with him. This house looked identical to the rest of the block, with its neat, white trim and friendly hanging flower pots. It made her nervous, but she didn't say anything. She couldn't afford to offend Brother Pavel, not now. Not with her nerves still raw from her confrontation with Spike. There was so much to think about. Between the soul and his reappearance, the monk, Ethan… and then, of course, Dawn. Everything inside of her seemed to hum and ache simultaneously, dizzying her to everything but her purpose. She had to save Dawn.

            "It doesn't matter what the outside looks like," she said, scooping Dawn up into her arms and sliding off the back seat. As the group walked up the front steps, she cast a glance back at the car, where Spike waited behind blackened windows for them to open the door so he could run into the house. "It's what's inside that counts. I'm sure it'll be more… monkish."

            Brother Pavel unlocked the door and Buffy raised her eyebrows at the sounds that came from inside- loud laughter and computerized beeps and bells. They walked up a short flight of stairs to the living room followed by Spike, his blanket smoldering slightly. Four monks sat on the floor in a semi-circle around a television set, playing Nintendo. Two more lounged on the couch, eating something from cellophane bags and drinking soda. "Welcome to our monastery," Pavel said, but no one was paying attention to him.

"Well," Ethan chuckled, dropping a hand on Buffy's shoulder. The corners of his mouth twitched as he pointed to the group of men. She looked where he indicated and noted the magazines piled beside the monk's feet, with covers full of cleavage. One of the monks flapped the edge of his long, loose brown robe over the stack, hiding them. "What's inside, eh? Oh yes, Buffy,  it's really so much more devout in here. Donkey Kong for the soul. And are those Cheetos I see?"

Shrugging him off, Buffy adjusted her grip on Dawn, leaning back so that her sister's head rested against her collarbone. She glanced at Spike, and found him transfixed by the flashing television screen. His mouth hung open slackly. Wondering if he was spaced out or just surprised by the scene, she took a step closer to him. He slunk away from her, pressing himself against the wall. The movement was obviously thoughtless, but Buffy had to swallow hard to keep her voice steady. "I-I'm sure this is… like, a monk holiday or something. They're probably not usually this… oh eww. Ho-Ho's."

"Much as Jesus himself must have eaten," Ethan said. Wanting to kick him and wipe away his taunting smirk, Buffy raised her leg, but he anticipated it and moved out of her reach before she could strike. Picking up the bag of Cheetos from the table beside the couch, he popped one into his mouth and chewed with open-mouthed satisfaction. "Some monks. They must never have heard that sloth is a deadly sin. You've got a strange idea of who to see for help."

"Ethan, shut up. And you guys… you monks, get up, okay?" She gestured to the couch with one foot, blinking hard as the light emanating from Dawn stung her eyes. "I have to set her down."

The monks stood in unison, as if they'd been waiting for a command. Their expressions were blank as they wiped the cushions clean of soda cans and stray food. Buffy tried to catch their eyes, but they avoided her gaze. Pavel picked up an empty pizza box from the floor and, closing it, addressed the other monks in a hard tone. "Tell the Abbot I've brought the Slayer. Then go downstairs."

 With Dawn secure on the couch, Buffy waited until the monks left the room. She glared at Brother Pavel. "You said I'd get answers here. Well, I don't see any answers. Just nastiness and my god, don't they teach you guys to clean up after yourselves? This place is worse than a frat house."

Brother Pavel held up a finger. "Be patient, please. The Abbot will have your answers."        

"And where is he? Out back on the jungle gym? Or maybe playing with GI Joes?" Slipping one hand into the pocket of her jacket, she fingered the steel crosses she'd removed from Spike's palm. She glanced over at him, her mouth tightening. He appeared anachronistic, not to mention ridiculously pale and thin, as he leaned against a poster of Michael Jordan scoring a slam dunk. The comparison made her throat constrict. She'd forgotten to get him food. No, blood, she thought. Call it what it is. No more denial, no more hiding from reality. Vampires need blood. Spike needs blood. And Dawn needs… She scrubbed her hands over her face. God only knows what Dawn needs.

"Look, Brother Pavel," she said, "I… I don't have time to be polite, okay? Things are… things are bad. We need to hurry."

"His holiness will be with you as soon as possible, I'm sure." Rubbing his bald head, Brother Pavel squinted over his shoulder, down the dark hallway.

Buffy grabbed his arm and gave him a rough shake. "Hey. Not as soon as possible. You go get him now." She felt a hand on her upper back and released the monk. Turning to Ethan, she cocked her head. "What?"

He moved a step back, beckoning her away from Brother Pavel, his expression serious. "If you're wanting this man's help, don't you think the make-nice approach would be a better tactic?"

"Huh?" Her forehead creased as she looked at him with suspicion. "You're telling me to be nice? And you're helping me? What, you're trying to be useful? Did you get hit over the head with a book called 'how to be a good guy in two days or less'?"

"Ooh, such sarcasm, such wit." His mouth tightened. "I am trying to help you. Someone must. You don't seem too brilliant at helping yourself."

"Not you. You don't… just… don't." She started to move back to Pavel, but Ethan caught her arm. "Don't touch me!"

Releasing her, Ethan raised his hands in the air. "Fine. I won't help you. But someone has got to help him." He stepped aside and Buffy saw that Spike was lying on the floor beside the couch, half-hidden in the green light glowing from Dawn.

"Spike?" She knelt beside him and felt for the pulse on his neck before remembering that, of course, there wouldn't be one. Straightening his collar to hide her blunder, she looked up at Ethan and at Brother Pavel, who was watching their interactions with impassive nonchalance. "He needs to eat. I… I meant to feed him back at the motel, but I… well, we were in a rush. To help Dawn. And I had to tell him to wait."

Sighing loudly, Ethan began rolling up one of the sleeves of his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Buffy asked, even as the answer loomed obvious and confounding in her mind. "You're going to feed him? Someone really did forget to tell you you're the bad guy."

Sitting on the carpet, Ethan lifted Spike's head and rested it on his knees. "I prefer the term villain over bad guy. It carries a note of refinement. Hand me that pocket knife, the one on top of the television."

Buffy tossed it to him. "I don't get it. You're being too nice. It's making me nervous."

 "It's simple, really. The sooner we're through here, the sooner I'm on an airplane out of this bloody country, away from you…" He jerked the knife across his wrist, and continued through gritted teeth… "away from your pet vampire, away from your darling Key…" Tilting Spike's head back, he squeezed the sides of the cut until blood ran into Spike's open mouth… "and most importantly, farther away from the Initiative and their prisons than I'll ever be while you're sitting around town dickering with Brother Stick-up-his-Arse. If saving my own skin means feeding the vampire so he won't slow us down then, by all means, I'll feed him."

            "Fine." As soon as she saw Spike latch on to Ethan's wrist, Buffy turned her back on them. "Brother Pavel, go get the Abbot."

            A tic developed on Brother Pavel's jaw as he watched Spike eat. "He'll be with you as soon as he can."

            "No, that's not good enough!" She knew losing her temper wasn't the smart way to go about this, but she didn't care. Everything I care about is messed up… everyone I care about is sick or dying…"I can't wait! More importantly, she can't wait! Can't you see my sister is dying! Whatever spell you did to create Dawn is coming undone. You have to redo it. You have to. It's killing her!"

            Brother Pavel said nothing. Silence layered the air, heavy and unnerving. All Buffy could hear was the soft sucking sounds coming from Spike's mouth and her own rapid breathing.

Then, suddenly, she heard a rhythmic thudding coming towards them from the hallway. A man appeared, leaning heavily on a twisted, wooden cane. His small frame was swallowed by a monk's robe as brown as his skin. He came towards her without looking at any of the others, though Brother Pavel bowed to him. "You're wrong about the Key, my child. My poor, confused little girl."

Stiffening, Buffy thrust a finger towards Dawn. "Look at her! How am I wrong?"

"The assumption you've made is natural enough, with what you think you know about the Key. However, you're more wrong than you could ever understand." He nodded at Brother Pavel, who left the room obediently. "Sit down, child. I have something to tell you."

Buffy did not sit. Staring at the Abbot's solemn face, she said slowly, "If I'm wrong, then Dawn's not dying?"

"She's not dying. And she's not your sister."

"I've been through this before with my friends. She is my sister. I don't care if the memories are fake or not!"

"She's not your sister, girl. And will you sit-"

"I'm standing. I don't trust you. And Dawn is my sister. It doesn't matter how many times you say…"

The monk shook his head, interrupting her. "She's not your sister, no matter what you feel. The love you have for her, the connection you share comes from a blood bond, it's true. She's your daughter."

Buffy took a step back, her brow furrowing. "Oh. Oh. Umm… Oh. How-"

The Abbot put his hand lightly on Buffy's shoulder, looking into her eyes. "She's your daughter, Slayer. And she's not dying. She's already dead."

"My, my," Ethan murmured, pulling his wrist back from Spike's face. He tilted his head towards Buffy.

Buffy sank down onto the coffee table, grappling for its edges with her hands and clinging to them. "Talk," she said thickly.

"We didn't create her. You did. We merely pulled her from the future and planted the Key inside her body."

            Wiping a shaking hand over her mouth, Buffy nodded numbly. "More talking. Why… just why?"

"The daughter of the Slayer is the only human strong enough to hold the Key within her body for any length of time. Even the Slayer hasn't the right sort of strength. We also needed someone new to this earth. The Key… well, the magic required is very particular."

"She's my daughter." Slowly, Buffy raised her face and met the Abbot's eyes. "Who is her father?"

"We don't know that. I rather thought you would." The Abbot pointed at Spike, who was half-sitting, half-lying against the base of the couch. "Isn't he your… what is the word… boy friend?"

Buffy licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. Nerves, she thought. And no wonder. "No. Spike and I are… it's complicated. We're complicated. But we're… no. It's not like that. And even if it was, he's a vampire. He's… well, he's dead. And dead is pretty much dead when it comes to sperm."

"Oh. Then is…" The Abbot's eyes flickered to Ethan with dry speculation.

Reddening, Buffy rolled her eyes. "Eww. No. Don't even go there." On the couch beside her, Dawn was curled in a ball, her knees against her chest. Buffy stroked a hand over the girl's hair, struggling to keep her emotions under control. "My daughter. Okay. I can accept that. But… she's not dead. I mean, look at her! She's right here."

"When was the last time she breathed, Slayer? It's been some time, hasn't it. And her heartbeat? We know you've noticed it. We've been tracking you both."

"It's been a long time," Buffy said, smoothing down the hair that fell across Dawn's forehead. "But still, she can't be dead. Just a little while ago, she was talking and moving around. We were okay, she and I. We were doing just fine. You have to be wrong. She's still alive."

The Abbot's voice fell low. "Time is not perfect. It works in waves. Dawn's here, but she's actually never been born. She will keep fading until she doesn't exist. What you see here is no more than the smoke once a fire's out."

From the floor, Ethan spoke up. "The Key did this to her?"

"No. The Key is coming out because she's dead. But it hasn't harmed her. The only harm came from a change in the timeline. Dawn was never born, therefore, she is vanishing. You see, the translucency of her skin beneath the Key's glow?"

No, I don't see any translucency, Buffy thought, touching Dawn's cheekbone. I just see… Dawn. "She was never born… Why?"

"We're not sure. It was something that happened in your life, child. Somewhere, at some time, you came to the crossroads and chose the wrong path. You took the path that led away from your predestined future. The path that ensured your daughter- Dawn- could never be born."

"Oh, of course. Why didn't I think of that?" Ethan shook Spike's shoulder until the vampire's eyes fluttered open. "Wake up, mate. You'll have to help us translate. None of us speak the language of insanity."

The Abbot gave Ethan a tolerant half-smile. "You see, every time someone makes a choice, the world shifts ever so slightly for it. These shifts lead the person to the place that she is fated to reach. Only, in Buffy's case, something went wrong. Somehow, the wrong path was taken. And the one she did take led her to a life that did not include a daughter named Dawn."

"When?" Buffy pulled away from Dawn with reluctance. "What choice was it, and when did I make it?"

"We don't know, not precisely. Dawn could have been fading for years with no symptoms. It won't be easy to track down the crossroads in question. But if you can go back and find this moment, you can get back onto the path that led you to conceive Dawn." 

Buffy buried her head in her hands, completely overwhelmed. "Okay," she said through her fingers. Looking up, she tried to sound strong. In control. Adult. She had to try, she had to stay focused. "So. We have to get Dawn back. How do we get her back? How do I find the… the crossroads, whatever? How do I change the past?

"We- the Monastery- have a seer. A demon who works on the side of good, who will help you. I'll have Brother Pavel take you to it now, if you like."

 Glancing down at Dawn, Buffy hesitated. "I don't want to leave her alone."

"You have nothing more to fear, child. The Key protects itself. And the girl is…" The Abbot dropped his eyes. "Well. It can't get any worse, now can it?"

A sudden retching noise rose from Spike. Buffy turned to him just in time to catch his shoulders as he heaved against her. Blood poured from his mouth, a malodorous red flux that coated them both.

"Oh… yuck…" Buffy said, looking down at her clothes. She stood, pulling Spike up with her. He reeled sickly against her side. "Ethan, shut up."

"I wasn't even laughing," Ethan said in a wounded tone laced with amusement. "And I wouldn't. That's my blood you're wearing."

            "Brother Pavel!" The Abbot called, holding his sleeve to his nose. The monk appeared instantly. "Take the Slayer and the vampire into the master bedroom and find them something to wear, please."

            Ethan waggled his fingers at them as they walked towards the hallway. "I'll just stay here. All alone. With your daughter."

            "I'm really going to kill him someday," Buffy said as she helped Spike down the hall after Brother Pavel. "And look, a head start. I'm already covered in his blood."

            "Sorry," Spike said. He sounded so sincere and so tired that Buffy couldn't answer him.

            The bedroom looked like the rest of the house: typical, suburban. A queen-size bed with a navy blue comforter, mirrored closet doors, and a small, square bathroom hooked against the back corner. Pulling two monks robes out of a long, wooden dresser, Brother Pavel set them on the bed and left. When the door closed with a snap, Buffy jumped, then steadied herself. "Sorry. I'm kind of tense. And I'm talking like an idiot. That must be the nerves, right? 'Gee, your sister's your daughter, and your daughter is dead', and look at me, I'm just babbling and…" She bit her lip, embarrassed.

            "Do you… umm… do you want the first shower?" Spike looked at her likeness in the closet mirror rather than into her eyes. He fidgeted with the bandages on his hands, but seemed stronger.

            "No. I'll rinse off in the sink to save time. Just… turn your back." She turned hers and lifted her hands to the top button of her blouse, only to see Spike's reflection as he disappeared into the bathroom. The door swung behind him, but caught on a section of raised rug and stayed ajar. Sighing, Buffy changed quickly. She sat on the bed facing the bathroom, waiting for him, and noticed that he hadn't turned on the shower yet. "Spike?" she called, rising. "Are you okay in there?"

            He didn't answer, so she nudged the door open a bit. Inside, Spike stood with his back to her, facing the sink, removing the bandages from his hands. At first, she thought he wore a shirt. A white shirt, with red patterns on it. Then, looking closer, she felt her stomach churn. That's…not a shirt. That's his skin.

Red ridges curved over his shoulder blades, wild spirals that ran the length of his back. Above the rise of his buttocks, four circular rings of words entwined. Squinting, Buffy could just make out a few of them. Beneath me. Effulgent. Evil. Drusilla, Angelus, and- oh god- Dawn. Nibblet. Slayer.

A gasp escaped from her lips before she could stop it, and when Spike's back stiffened, she knew he was aware of her scrutiny. He turned around slowly, revealing more of the damage. Chinese characters lined the edges of his abdomen, growing upwards toward a single word etched above his heart. One word, in English. She gasped again, but it sounded more like a sob. Buffy. Oh god. My name.

"I… I… the door… it was open, and I…" She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop shivering. "Spike… what did you do?"

"Wasn't just me. I had help. A sorcerer bloke back in Africa… he took care of me, at first. Till I was well enough to be on my own. He… specializes in this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing? What do you call this?" A scraping sound startled her; looking down, she saw it was coming from her hand, from the scratching of her fingernails as she gripped the wooden doorway. She tried to relax her grasp, but found she couldn't do anything remotely like relaxing. My name. He carved my name into his chest.  "What is it this guy, this specialist, was so special at helping you with? Ripping yourself into p-pieces?"

"He's… it wasn't that specific. It was… He puts what's inside… outside." Spike frowned, his fingers scrambled over his chest. When he found the ridge of Buffy's name, he pressed his palm against his chest, covering the word. "I didn't know it'd be this…"

"This what? Extreme?" She felt her face flush as he picked up the robe and dropped it over his head. The white material chafed over the scars and Spike winced, but Buffy released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, relieved to be released from the sight. My name was inside of him. And now, it's over his heart.  "All that… those words… they were inside of you?"

Spike touched the cloth that hid the scar of her name. "Must've been."

"And you… you just let him do this to you?" She stepped inside the room, advancing on him slowly. "You didn't fight him?"

"I didn't let him do this." He moved backwards away from her until he hit the farthest wall. Crossing his arms protectively over his chest, he ducked his head. "I asked him to. He was a friend, of sorts, so he agreed. I… I didn't know, but… it's fine."

"I don't understand." She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. "God, I can't… I can't look at you. I can't stand to see…"

With great calmness, Spike said, "It's alright, Buffy. You won't have to look at me much longer. Get going to that seer. I'll be gone by the time you and the Nibblet are safe home again."

"G-gone? What do you mean, gone?"

"I never meant to stay in town. I only came to…" He shrugged once, roughly, as if the words put a physical heaviness on him. "To apologize to you and Dawn. But now that I'm here, I realize that… well, that there are things too horrific for apologies to carry any weight." Bending down, he collected his soiled clothes. "When I set out to come back here, I thought… I thought it was for you. The apology and whatnot. Just to let you know that I didn't leave to take up being a Big Bad again. To let you know I didn't leave because… well… you did nothing wrong. You get that? Nothing. It was all… just me. Like you said. The demon eggs… the… what I… that night… what I did… it was all just… me."

"Spike," Buffy said softly, but he shook his head and cut off her words.

"Let me finish while I still can. It's so hard to focus, Buffy. So hard to just… talk. To just… be." He met her eyes, but he wasn't looking at her. She wondered if he saw her at all, if he even remembered she was there, that he was actually speaking to her and not to himself. "All the time I was in Africa, all I could think about was… getting back here. Seeing you again. I thought… I thought it would be okay, between us, if I came back. Showed you my shiny new soul, pranced around the town like a new man, like these hands never did… what they did. I thought that all the way to America. Then I almost turned right back around and jumped into the Atlantic. What a fool… to think, even for a minute, for a second, that we could ever… that you could… ever..."

"Spike," she said again. Turning her face away from him, she pressed her cheek against the wall. It felt solid and cool beneath the hot skin of her cheek. "Can you stop, for just a minute…"

He went on as if she hadn't spoken, the words falling out of him faster than she could comprehend. "But then, then I did it. I came back. I stood outside your house one night, watching you through the windows. Hearing your laugh, and Dawn's. Girlish giggles, happy, you were both… you were happy. That's when I realized that I wasn't here for you. I came for me. I missed you. And I… I wanted you to see what I did. As if it mattered. As if it undid all the wrong, all the evilness. I came to make amends for things that can never be… never be amended."

"Spike…"

Pushing the heels of his hands against his eyes, he groaned, a long, tormented sound. "I'm so sorry, Buffy." His hands fell to his shoulders, then he clasped them together. Blood dripped onto the floor; he was digging his fingers under the skin of his palms. "I'm so sorry, so sorry. I'm so… so sorry, so sorry. Buffy. So sorry. I'm so… I'm sorry."

            "Stop it," she whispered, but he didn't listen, he just kept talking. Whatever he said, she didn't hear. Pushing off from the wall, she grabbed his shoulders. "Stop it! Spike! Just stop!"

"Why should I!" he yelled back, throwing off her hands. Blood flicked off his palms, spattering the wall behind them. "It's not enough! It can never… never be enough."

"You're right!" The words came out of her so harshly, they seemed to slap him in the face. He flinched and fell quiet. "You're right, okay? Apologies don't mean crap. And you can never undo what you've done. But right now… right now, I don't care. Dawn is out there, and she needs us. I can't do this alone. You love her enough that her name is cut into your skin. Can't you turn off Self-Pity 101 long enough to save her life?"

A shudder ripped through him, slumping his shoulders. "You don't understand."

She placed her hands on his arms, gently. "You know better than that. After what I went through… coming back to life… it's hard. You're the only one who knows how hard it was for me. Sure, I didn't have centuries of slaughter to deal with, but… well, okay, maybe that's a big 'but'…"

"Buffy." He squared his shoulders and raised his head, the change so sudden that she fell back in surprise. "Let's go to the seer and get Dawn back. Then I'll leave town, and you won't have to consider the 'buts' of me ever again." Brushing past her, he left the room.

She stared after him, then sank to the floor, holding her head in her hands and rocking back and forth. Overwhelming feelings blackened her vision. Too confused even for thought, she stayed curled around her knees for a long time. Finally, she felt a presence in the room. "What do you want?" she muttered without moving.

Ethan's voice was muted. "I was listening at the door. I heard everything," he said without embarrassment. "Do you need a few minutes to yourself? I can tell the monks to bugger off for a while longer."

"No, I'm fine." But she made no move to rise.

He was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his tone was casual. "You know, Buffy, when I was first in prison, I thought that nothing would change. After all, the system was a part of the world, so how different could it possibly be? That first night, when the lights went out and the screaming started… and other things… well. I learned the rules of an entirely new world. Just enough to survive. And when I was free again, when it came time to forget them…" At his pause, she raised her head to look at him. He was facing away from her, looking out the small, open window. "Things stick with you, like it or not. But you go on. And your vampire will learn this."

"He's not my vampire," she said. Standing, she straightened the robe to fall fluidly around her. "He doesn't belong to anyone."

With more genuineness than she'd ever known him capable of, Ethan smiled at her. "Buffy," he said, chastising her. "Do you really believe that? And do you really think he does?"

"Why are you even in here?" she retorted, and watched as Ethan's faced fell into its familiar, mocking mask. Surprised by the regret she felt at the sight, she softened her voice. "Where's Spike? And Dawn?"

"They're ready to go. Are you?"

"No," she said, but headed out of the room.

"We're off to see the Wizard then?" He winked at her.

"Don't wink. It's creepy." She shoved him out the door in front of her. To his back, she said, "But yeh. The Wizard. 'Cause this has got to be Oz."