3007, three hours later
"Ouch! Can we stop this, yet?" I whine, knowing that the wounds on my back need sterilizing but not enjoying the process. One would think that an easier method of sterilization would have been invented by now. At least, Reyni's guest bed is comfortable beneath my bare stomach.
"Hold still, slayer; you know we can't stop until I stitch you up. We haven't even gotten to that part, yet." I can tell Spike is concentrating by the way his voice is a bit distant.
"Can you really continue to call me 'slayer?'" I tease. I certainly don't feel like the slayer with my inhuman strength gone.
"You still think like one, so you are one," he insists. "Now stop squirming."
I do my best to stop moving, but my body naturally wants to retreat from the pain of my wounds. His hands gently grip my ribs to steady me. "Your hands are so warm. I'm not used to that."
"Is that bad or good?" he asks, caressing the unbroken skin on my back.
I shiver beneath his touch. "Mmmm. Definitely of the good."
Soft kisses rain down over my shoulder blades and along my spine. "You're beautiful. Have I told you that lately?"
"Not in the last. . . oh, three years or so."
Brushing aside my hair, he nuzzles my neck and breathes warm puffs of air along the short curling hairs. "How does this feel?"
"Wonderful." I sigh. "Hurry and stitch me up." I'm feeling irritable, torn between wanting to cuddle with my lover and needing to receive first aid.
He returns his attention to the long gashes in my flesh. He is silent for several seconds and refrains from touching me.
Twisting my head around, I notice that he's staring in awe at my back. "What's wrong? Surely you aren't that enraptured with the blood. You're human again, after all."
"Buffy. It's not that. You're healing faster than is to be expected. In fact, I don't think I need to stitch you up."
"Really?" I try to view my injuries but can't see a thing. "Weird. I'm human."
When he meets my gaze, Spike is thoughtful. "Hmm. Didn't your invisible friends say that they created our bodies based on our soul's essence? Maybe we don't know exactly what they did. I mean, we seem human, but what if we retained some of our vampire characteristics?"
"Or in my case, slayer characteristics, too. Maybe. This could turn out to be quite interesting." Noting that my back is less sore, I sit up on the bed, cradling my knees in my arms. "Who knows what abilities we've retained?"
"Obviously not the strength." Spike shifts until he's behind me. "Let me put some cream on your back and some bandages."
"Okay," I reply obediently.
I close my eyes as he heats the anti-bacterial cream in his hands before applying it to my skin. His fingers brush light as feathers over my wounds. He blows air over them when I wince from the stinging. Then, he carefully pastes bandages over the medicine. When he is finished, he leans on the bed's headboard and pulls me against his chest, protective arms circling me. His heartbeat thrums against my injuries, and I relish the feeling of being so alive.
Spike's breathing becomes deeper beneath me, and I feel myself teetering on the edge of sleep. I learned the importance of rest and rejuvenation eons ago. Therefore, I allow myself to give in and welcome my dreams with open arms. Reyni and the answers can wait a few hours.
* * *
3007, an unknown amount of time later
The world is fuzzy and surreal. Immediately, I know I'm in the middle of a slayer dream; the dreams are always accompanied by a vague sense of panic and dread. There was a time when I first became the slayer that I had several slayer dreams each month. If I didn't frequently block them out or ignore them, they would have overrun my life. I haven't had one of these in years, so I pay close attention to the details.
I'm in the middle of a familiar street in downtown Sunnydale hundreds of years ago. I glance at my watch and read that the time is four-thirty in the morning. Contrary to what might be expected in the early morning hour, the street is bustling with vehicles and pedestrians. "The Expresso Pump" is across the street from where I currently stand, and following my urges, I angle toward the coffee shop.
Out of time and place, I spy Rhonda and Aimée at the bar, chatting quietly. I attempt to push my way to them but am stopped by the throng of people that have suddenly flooded the establishment. I make my way past several individuals, but the more people I pass, the further I seem to be from my friends. I ask some of the people blocking my path if they might let me go by, but none of them hear me.
"How may I help you, hon?"
I turn to find the owner of the voice, a petite, dark-haired girl wearing a nametag that read, "Hi! Welcome to 'The Expresso Pump!' My name is Jenn! How may I help you?" I deduce that she must be a young college student, attempting to pay her way through college.
I offer her a smile. "Yes, actually. I'm trying to reach my friends over there. I have to ask them something important. Can you help me get to them?"
She smiles in return and glances the direction in which I'm pointing. "Oh, them? They don't have the answers you need. Hang on, sweetie. I'll tell you what you need to know. Just let me get you a drink first."
"Oh! That would be great! I'd love a mocha please."
Jenn cradles the empty tray she's carrying under her arm and takes my hand with her free one. She begins tugging me through the crowd toward a vacant location at the bar. "No mochas. I have just the drink for you."
I swing onto the barstool. With my chin propped on my hands, I survey Jenn as she hurries from one cappuccino and coffee machine to the next, mixing and pouring and adding substances to a giant, white coffee mug. After several minutes, she slides the cup to me across the wooden countertop.
Peering at the liquid, I note that the fluid is dark, heady, and swirling. Quickly bringing the ceramic to my lips, I drink long and deep. The mix is thick and coats the back of my throat like a thick blanket, soothing that ache I hadn't realized was present.
When the truth hits me, I choke and spew the liquid out of my nose and mouth. Bright red flows over the countertop, the floor, and the machines in front of me. I open my eyes to see Reyni in front of me. . . covered in the blood I've just emitted everywhere. Her eyes are angry and accusing, and her skin is alabaster white beneath the blood.
I am dumbfounded and repelled by my enjoyment of life's liquid. . . just as I am saddened by Reyni's hatred toward me. Somehow, I feel like I deserve her wrath. I open my mouth to speak to the slayer before me, but a gentle hand touches my shoulder.
"Buffy," Jenn's voice ripples over my eardrums, "come on. There's nothing more to see here. I need to take you to the means."
"Okay." My throat is sore and hoarse. Somehow I think that I should recognize Jenn. "Who are you? Have I met you before?"
"You'll see. I'm not the important person right now. Just come."
Restraining myself from glancing back at Reyni, I hop down from the stool, intent on obeying Jenn's instruction.
My head spins as my surroundings completely transform. My hand instinctively reaches out and uses the wall to steady myself. The Summers home. . . the home of my teenage years fills my senses. The living room is filled with brilliant, warm sunlight from the front windows, and I slowly circle the room, running my fingers over the sofa where my mother died, the top of the television, the cabinets filled with stereo equipment, and the finely-carved wooden chest Xander created for my birthday.
Jenn leans in the doorway with her arms crossed. Her eyes sparkle at me.
"Where?" I ask her.
She simply points up the staircase.
Not the least bit afraid, I climb the stairs deliberately, enjoying the light wafts of my mother's perfume and the hints of citrus that remind me of Dawn.
Then, without warning, Dawn is in front of me. . . the 14-year-old Dawn of my teenage years. Memories of my incredible depression and posttraumatic stress after returning from the grave. . . Dawn's shop-lifting. . . Xander's breakdown at the altar. . . Spike's desperate attempts to better himself. . . Willow's descent into madness. . . Tara's sweet strength and terrible death. . . Anya's sorrow and return to demon-hood. . . fill my consciousness.
Dawn grins at me and throws herself into my arms. "Buffy," she breathes into my ear as we clutch each other with the desperation of two people who have spent too much time apart. Words escape me.
When we part, Dawn whispers, "See."
Then, she rapidly shrinks before my eyes, and before I can make sense of what is happening, the small form of Aydin stands before me.
"I'm this many," Aydin says shyly, holding up five fingers. "Find him."
A great sense of sorrow overcomes me, and I fall to my knees before the little girl, weeping. My hair and hands cover my cheeks, and my whole body rocks as my tears pour forth.
* * *
3007, a few seconds later
Strong arms encircle me, holding me fast and keeping me from thrashing about. "Buffy! Wake up! You're having a nightmare and crying! Love, wake up!"
He waits for me as he knows I need him to do, stroking my back and taking care not to re-open my wounds. My sobs fade until I am hiccupping against Spike. When I am calm, I find words to explain my tears.
"A slayer dream. I-I'm not sure exactly what it means." I pull back from Spike, facing him evenly.
"How long has it been since you had one of those?" Spike brushes the loose strands sticking to my tear-stained cheeks out of my face, tucking them behind my ear.
"Since I was human. Maybe I'm having them again because I'm human again. I'm so confused by what's happening to me. . . to us. . . I mean, what am I now?" I shake my head. That's a question to ask myself later when things calm down. "There were so many images in this dream that I can't make sense of them. They all seemed significant."
"How do you know what to pay attention to?" Spike keeps his hands loose on his thighs as I rise to pace.
"I usually don't know until something more happens. I mean, I can make speculations, but they aren't always true."
A beep fills the air, and Reyni speaks as clearly as though she is present in our room, "I hate to wake you up because I know you're resting, but I wanted to let you know that there are some people here that you need to meet. . . about what's happening."
TBC. . . First, I must apologize for the lack of updates on this series. . . I've been busily writing a Spuffy Christmas fic. Given the recent events on the show, I wanted to write a happy story! :o) It's called, "Even Humans Take a Break from War," based on the story that even in WWII, the two opposing sides took a break and sang Christmas carols on Christmas day in the trenches. That story may be a myth, but it inspired me to write the short Christmas series which is now complete.
Now, my focus returns here. I hope you enjoy this chapter and haven't given up on the series! Your support means a lot! *hugs*
Sandy :o)
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