Sweet Dreams
Chapter Five: Creation

"Not meant to be here, you say?" Giles asked.

"No," Spike stated, folding his arms. "I'm telling you, Watcher, that girl isn't supposed to be here."

"How do you know this, Spike?" Giles sighed.

He really wasn't in the mood for this. Willow said she would look into Vicky's dreams, she seemed to find it interesting. At one time, Giles may have felt the same, but right now, he had too much to think about. He knew that Spike had probably guessed. Spike had entered his place about ten minutes ago and his eyes had swept the room - the three cardboard boxes full of books and the two suitcases of clothing Giles had placed by the door stuck out the most - but he had said nothing. When he had looked up, there had been something in his eyes that Giles thought for moment had been despair. Though he couldn't think why Spike would miss him or be upset that he was leaving.

"I went to see her last night," Spike dropped his head, examining his shoes. "I was planning on leaving."

"Why on earth would you go and see her if that was the case, Spike?"

"Thought she might want to come," he mumbled. "She looks like…"

Oh, Giles thought, Buffy. I imagine they've all thought of her as Buffy at one time or another. I know I have. And for the briefest moments, Giles felt a tug of pity for the vampire.

"Anyway, thinking about it, there's something off about her. Like," he looked up at Giles and Giles was slightly unnerved by his direct gaze. "Like Dawn. There's something off about her too, like she's here but… not, if you know what I mean. But that Vicky bint, it's more obvious," he shrugged and dug in his pocket, removing his cigarettes before looking at Giles and replacing them. "I don't know. Just something wrong about her, thought you might want to know," his eyes scanned the room once more. "But I guess I should tell Will, eh?"

"That would be best," Giles nodded. "If I get a chance, I'll look out a couple of books that might help her sort out the problem."

Spike nodded and picked up the blanket from where he had tossed it over the back of Giles's couch. He walked to the door and reached for the handle, he pulled it open slightly, then pushed it shut again and turned back to Giles, a quizzical look on his face.

"You're leaving then?" he asked.

"Yes. Yes, I'm leaving. And I'd be grateful if you didn't tell the others," Giles answered.

"They'd want to say goodbye," Spike told him.

"That's exactly why I don't want them to know I'm leaving," Giles sighed and removed his glasses for a quick polish before he continued. "There are some goodbyes a person can't handle."

Spike nodded in agreement and breathed in audibly before answering, a slight tremor to his voice that he managed to even out before he reached the end of his sentence.

"And there are some you wish you'd had the chance to say, to see if you could have handled them or not."

Giles watched the pain flicker across his face, knowing his expression probably mirrored it. He reached out and held the back of his couch, squeezing tightly and struggling to contain the raging sea of emotions that coursed within him.

"Yes," he agreed. "There are."

"They'll miss you," Spike told him. "The Scoobs, I mean. You should, uh, you should visit, y'know. Dawn'd like that and they need… someone older to look out for 'em."

"They do," Giles nodded. "But they need to find their own way. Anyway, I was never the eldest, that's you."

Spike smiled ruefully.

"Nah, Rupert, not me. Anya's - what? A thousand? She's got over eight hundred years on me," he cleared his throat, his voice becoming serious. "I'll say goodbye now then, Giles, won't see you later. You're getting the afternoon flight?"

"Yes, half past two."

"Yeah. Goodbye, Rupert."

"Goodbye, Spike," Giles said, his voice kind.

Spike nodded once more before turning to leave.

"Spike," Giles said.

"Yeah?" he asked, turning to face him once more.

Giles hesitated, then extended his hand. Spike stared at it, then up at Giles. Slowly, he brought his hand up and clasped his hand, shaking it awkwardly.

"Take care of Dawn for me, Spike," Giles said.

"I made a promise to a lady," Spike stated solemnly, by way of another promise.

"I know," Giles nodded. "I'm, uh, on the way to the shop, would you like a lift to the crypt?"

"Yeah, don't mind if I do."

Willow scooped the last residues of coloured sand into the bin and sat down, legs crossed on the couch, staring blankly at the wall. Giles had gone. She should have told him what she was planning, he would have stayed. He would have stayed if he thought Buffy was coming back. Because Buffy was his Slayer, she was like his daughter. Willow knew that she and Xander meant a lot to him, as did Anya, Tara and Dawn, maybe even Spike - just a little - but none of them could ever live up to Buffy.

Willow felt angry at that. She was strong, she was powerful, this spell proved it. She had looked up to him for such a long time, respected his opinion, listened to him when Buffy didn't, but she had never been as high in his affections as Buffy.

Then shame filled her. Of course she hadn't been as loved by Giles as Buffy. Buffy was the Slayer, Buffy was his Slayer, Willow was merely his trusted assistant, a role she had been so very proud of.

She wanted to get Buffy back for so many reasons. She wanted Buffy back for herself, Xander, Dawn and Giles. And she wanted to save Buffy from the hell dimension Willow was sure she was living in.

This was Willow's turn to do the saving.

Willow's turn to be the Hero.

She looked down at her fingers; the blue of the sand had stained her fingertips. It was the final preparation ritual, a tough one, but she had done it.

And suddenly the blue was red and it was warm and gushing over her fingers, wetting her hands and the soft coat of the animal it coursed from. That was what Willow had been ashamed of, the taking of an innocent life. But it had had to be done, to get Buffy back. So Willow pushed it to the back of her mind, standing as Xander, Anya and Tara came in.

Immediately, her eyes searched for the Urn of Osiris. She saw it clutched in Anya's hands and she was filled with relief. She had fixed the Buffybot for the last time, now the real Buffy would be home soon.

It's time, she thought.

It's time.

Vicky frowned as the completely abstract thought floated across her mind. Then she stood up and grabbed her coat from the bed. Alicia raised her eyebrows at her roommate.

Alicia Jacob had given up a long time ago trying to fathom Victoria Noble. She didn't get the girl, pure and simple. In fact, she was going to move in with someone else next year. There was only so much screaming, mood swings and sleep talking a girl could take. Alicia chuckled quietly as she remembered the things Vicky had mumbled in her sleep. Slayers, she scoffed mentally, vampires. Demons. Huh.

She looked up from her work in time to see Vicky open the door.

"Hey," she called. "Haven't you got any work to do?"

Vicky didn't answer. What's new? Alicia asked herself, mentally chalking up another reason why she wanted to leave.

The spell was well under way. Willow was surrounded by a red light, her hands held before her, displaying the gashes. Xander, Anya and Tara looked on in abject horror but it wasn't them that Willow saw.

Willow knew. She knew what those preparation spells had been for now, she saw the reason and it sent a chill of terror through her when she realised her own power. When she realised what this spell truly entailed. She had been foolish. Where did she think the…. The flesh, new organs were going to come from? Of course, they would rejuvenate, but they would need something, a push in the right direction.

A donor.

And that's just what Willow had created in Vicky Noble.