No more blood. No more screaming. No more...please no more.
The screams of her own twisted psyche faded as the void took her over. Void, the absence of light, of dark, of...anything. It was here she waited, fingernails digging bloody welts into her knees, back muscles cramping and pulling from enforced paralysis, waiting for her equilibrium to right. It was a perverse paradox to have a corporeal body in a place that nothing existed.
With every passing second, sanity returned and she grimaced at the effect.
Guess being crazy doesn't really go with the whole getting to know the inner demon portion of the program.
She could feel it coming again. Another snippet, to pull her in, pull her down, where all she could see, think, hear and taste was Spike. Centuries ran through her mind within the blink of an eye, lifetimes soaked in blood, slowing and stopping here and there to grant brief glimpses of...
Who could live with that kind of...? Who would want to?
Some of those blood-soaked images would come crawling back up in the middle of some far-off night to claw at her throat but that was nothing less than she'd expected. It was the other things, all those many, many other things that seared her vision and made her beg for the end.
A whimper whipped through her conscious mind. Once a thing was seen, it could never be unseen.
And once you saw someone in a certain light you could never, ever unsee them.
The whimper came again, this time with a name attached. Angel.
She'd known, she'd always known, but maybe she had a bit of Rain's naivety after all.
She wasn't ready. She could still hear the sickening tear of leather biting into skin, feel the gut-wrenching churn of being ripped asunder from the outside in. She could still see Angel's face...
A scar on a heart that didn't have enough space left to take it, a rip in her mind powerful enough to throw her back to true reality, if only for a short time.
A breeze blew across her face and she tossed her head, denying the visions even as she opened her eyes.
Darkness shadowed her. Not true dark, the kind that envelops your soul and drags you into the abyss, regular dark, candlelight, soft misty music, skin on silk.
As she focused and was again pulled deep into the mind of another, she cringed and stifled a caustic laugh as a bit of her old personality fought its way to the top.
Not this. Please not this. I'll do penance. I'll clean Giles' dentures...if he has dentures, just please don't make me watch this.
A low moan drifted through her ears and over her senses.
Shit...
She was his fire and brimstone, his grace and light, his deadly beauty, his dark goddess, his...
"My Spike. You'll always be my Spike, won't you?"
Spike smiled into Dru's abdomen and raised his eyes. "Always, my queen." Sliding his hand down her bent knee, he slowly gathered up the silk encasing her frame and glided it up over her thigh.
"You won't let her take my prince?"
Spike's response was slightly muffled as he buried his face in the treasures he'd uncovered. "Who's that, my love?"
"The girl..." He felt her body rock as she tossed her head in time to her words. "...soul pincher, avenging angel, golden girl, the Slayer. I can see her, just there. Dipping her claws in my prince, ripping him apart...stealing all his pretty darkness away. Kill her, before she takes it away, takes it all away."
Spike groaned, and not in the way he'd been hoping to. Resettling her garments, he crawled up Dru's length and gripped her face in his hands so that she had no choice but see the truth in his eyes.
They'd barely put a toe in this backwoods little hole in the road and he could feel it, the power, her cure, ripping across his face and settling in his lungs like bits of acrid smoke. All he had to do was get rid of some insignificant little bit of a girl who thought she was a Slayer and those brat-worshipping idiots would bend over backwards to help him. For the first time in far too long, hope had glimmered and he'd worked it for all he was worth. A bit of swagger and show, all bluster and bravado, a taste of their salvation to save his, but then...
She'd collapsed, his goddess of the night, his reason for dying, clawing at her face, screaming about that girl ruining the party. Every welt on her cheeks drew scars in his heart. Three hours and a strong sedative finally calmed her. Time had lost all meaning as he lay curled around her, watching her sleep, watching the perfection of her face right itself. Nothing would ever take her away from him. Ever.
"Dru, luv, we've been through this before. It's already done." Spike ran his finger down the side of her temple, pausing slightly at the reddish tint remaining even now, and continued the momentum across her collar bone. "The Slayer here is a joke, I hear tell she was actually a cheerleader. It won't even be like a real fight."
And it wouldn't. This one would be a walk in the park, couldn't really see what the big deal was. The rest of them were practically pissing their pants at the mere mention of her name but he'd seen her. Done his homework, checked out the scourge of the vampire world. What a travesty that one was. Dancing. What kind of Slayer spent her nights shaking her ass in some run-down club? Suppose it was like everything else the modern world was spitting out these days; they just don't make mortal enemies like they used to. The others would have been disappointed. They were warriors, a credit to their kind and all that crap, but her, she was just lucky.
Actually, not to put too fine a point on it, she was a cheap fuck in a back alley. Another time, another place, all those teenage hormones stirring beneath the surface...he could almost taste her. But here and now, she was simply a means to an end. Get rid of the little bitch and all his efforts would be rewarded.
Spike dipped his head and ran his tongue along the path his finger had created.
Speaking of tasting.
There was nothing like it, nothing like her. Dru surrounded him, engulfed him, tore him apart and rebuilt him. She was his ending and his beginning. She was...still talking.
"I can see her...different, not like the others...the stars-"
Spike lay his lips gently against hers, whispering into her mouth. "Ssshh. The stars are wrong. She's nothing. Less than."
He was really starting to dislike the perky little bitch. Killing her was all well and good but he saw no reason to chat about her in his free time, unfortunately once Dru got a bee in her bonnet it was next to impossible to shake it loose. This Slayer was irritating him...and she was interrupting a perfectly good shag.
Dru's body bucked suddenly and then subsided into wave after wave of debilitating spasms. Spike's irritation faded into pure fear.
"It's cold. It's so cold when you're gone." Her voice was low, childlike, and it raked across his skin like the blade of a knife.
Spike rolled to the side of the bed and gathered her tight against his body, trying desperately to still the shudders wracking her slight frame. She could be so delicate, his beautiful little patch of heaven. He would give his own life to save her. Rip the world from one end to the other so as no harm came to one hair on her head.
Rolling her head on his shoulder, her voice quavered as it rose to a wail. "She'll ruin everything, she'll ruin everything."
The line of his mouth thinned and his features hardened to ice. No more waiting. The Slayer had to die. Today.
He bent his face and pressed it into her hair, running his hands up and down her back. "Nothing will take me away, my queen, not from you, not ever."
Buffy shook. She'd known it. How could she not? It was painfully obvious to everyone how much Spike loved Drusilla. But...he just loved her so damn much. He would have done absolutely anything for her. How could anyone possibly love that much? With no bias what-so-ever. It was...startling and frightening. There were no words for what she had felt inside him. The feelings he had were so utterly consuming that no person, mortal or otherwise, could have ever tapped the brink of them much less delved into the endless abyss of their depths.
It wasn't his love for Dru that shook her to the core. It wasn't the thought of that all-consuming emotion that dragged sound raggedly up her throat until it erupted from her mouth in a long wail of loss and anguish. It was something entirely separate yet infinitely entangled that rode down her face in a cascade of tears as the next journey dragged her from the void and into his mind.
It was the quiet and simple truth that he'd whispered into her skin and she'd shrugged off as a cheap tactic in his quest for her heart. She'd never understood. But now...now she had no idea what to do with that simple but horrifically complicated knowledge.
He'd told her. She hadn't known what it meant. Hadn't cherished it for the gift it was. He loved her more than he had ever loved Dru.
If you had to wrap it up in a package and call him a word. It was cool. He was cool. Like James Dean with fangs...maybe.
Or used to be.
Before she screwed it up.
Bitch.
As another swallow from the bottle he clenched slid down his throat, pain and fury rolled up his body and exploded as he hurled bits of his anger into the storefront he was passing. He stood back surveying the effects of glass on glass and reached for his smokes, a slight sting registered as his hand brushed the linings of his pocket and he lifted his fingers splaying them out in the dim streetlights. A fine trail of blood dripped slowly to the pavement and he watched it with a satisfied detachment.
Beautiful...in a detrimental kinda way. Not quite as poetic as broken bodies and pools of blood but attractive in a...oh who the hell am I kidding?
Dropping to his knees he gripped the edges of the shop window reveling in the slice of glass through the ravaged tendons in his hands.
Bloody chip. May as well have just cut off his dick. Made him weak made him pathetic. Emasculated.
Nothing more than the antics of a cheap thug in a cool coat. He'd worked very hard to be cool, deadly, a creature no one would ever turn their back on...never walk away from. One year, one girl, and a hundred years had gone to hell in a hand basket.
He was not neutered no matter what 'Miss Priss' said. He'd seduced hundreds of thousands of women with less effort than it took to cross the bloody street. One holier than though little bitch was not going to mar an otherwise perfect record. Just hadn't figured the thing out yet. The thing that would have her falling all over herself for a piece of him. Everyone had one just needed to conjure up the right trick, but he could guaran-bloody-tee it wasn't the whimpering, pathetic bastard he'd been acting like. Maybe it was time to call up a bit of the old him. The one she... well not liked but at least she'd respected him. None of those side-long glances of pity he was currently getting treated to.
Respect. Now's there a thing in short supply these days.
It was only some fucking flowers. Would it have killed them to take the fucking things? Not even about her this time, no matter what that cardboard wanna-be thought. It was about respect.
Time was, they would have cowered at his name not kicked him to the curb like yesterday's garbage. Bloody lap dog was what he'd become. Fetch this, carry that, kill the other, all so that for one brief second 'miss holiness and light' would pull the stick out of her ass and say thank you.
A loud snort rang in his ear and it took Spike a moment to realize it had come from him.
Thank you. Not bloody likely. She wouldn't spit on him if he was on fire.
He should just get out while he still had a chance. Least before the hell bitch got her claws in the Nibblet and the world went all to hell. Find some nice bint and shag away his last days on earth.
Should do...won't. And why not? Cause he was a bloody wanker s'why. Pull his heart from his chest if she asked and watch happily as she stomped on the pieces.
He ran a hand through his hair and patted his pockets for another smoke.
Should have just gone home. But noooo. Had to play the hero and patrol 'cause she wouldn't be fit.
Oh she wasn't fit, all right. Hard to stake the nasties when you're snogging with one in the graveyard.
Speaking of stakes being shoved up asses, what the hell was the bloody poof doing here anyway?
And she was just eating it up with a spoon, she was. How come she forgets so easily that he of the perfect hair had once tried to destroy the world and then, just for kicks, ran out on her with his tail between his legs?
Hell-bloody-lo!
Of course, that just gets swept under the carpet for Sir Broodiness, but you try to kill her once or twice and that'll haunt you forever.
Oh, he'd be gone again. Sure as the sun rises, he and his noble ass would be back in LA while she sits here trying to muddle through the day-to-day.
Spike slowly unclenched his fingers from the ragged edges of glass and wiped them against his pants as he rose. His gaze fell on the one figurine that had escaped his moment of destruction. The light from the streetlamps touched it softly, a glow surrounding it like a halo. He shook his head at the irony. It was one of those Greek god types. The hunter one. Artemis. If ever there was a patron saint of Slayers, that was her.
Within moments he was back on the street, walking slowly towards home, caressing his new trophy with trembling hands.
She needed him. She didn't know it or wouldn't accept it but she needed him. No one else was there for her. Not really, not someone to really lean on, strong, supportive, someone to just do things for her. He could do that, he could, she'd never let him, but he could.
I'm always here. She doesn't see it but I'm always here.
I'd take such good care of her.
Why won't she let me?
What!? No. Not this time, Spike. You chained me up in a basement! Threatened to feed me to your ex-girlfriend! So I wasn't big with the warm fuzzies. What did you expect?! Oh! Let's not forget, you made me into a sex bot...I mean...
Buffy was still ranting when the next image slammed up against her psyche.
She burned through him like the fires of hell and all points in between...not that he had a soddin clue what the hell that meant but it sounded pretty enough.
Every now and again the dead poet raised his poncy head and took a peek. Happened too bloody often for his own good these days. Dead poet. Made him think of that movie with the hairy fellow...which made him think of Dru. She'd forced him to go watch it, enraptured with the tragedy of it all. Bloody ponces is what they were, dying before they ever had a chance to live and for what? Nothing good, nothing real, that's what. That movie made him uncomfortable to this day. Dru'd never said it but he could see it sparkling behind her mad eyes; those blokes reminded her of him. Made him wonder if she'd got what she bargained for. What had she called him? A shining knight? A tarnished soul bathed in blood, more like it. Well, not at first, but he'd learned. He'd tried to be what his dark princess needed, tried to be as vicious and cunning as her daddy. Never quite the same though, never quite measured up. Who knows? Maybe she hadn't wanted that all. Maybe she really had wanted the quiet poet who'd willingly die on her slightest whim.
Well you can't have both you, fickle bitch.
Spike slowly relaxed his muscles. Now was not the time to wax over the inner workings of his psychotic ex. Especially not now. Not when the current psychotic bitch of his heart was rolling her hips in that way he loved.
With a finger that trembled a bit too much for his liking, he rolled his fingertips down the smooth arc of her spine. Beads of sweat glistened in the glow of the candles, reminding him of tears dripping slowly down her back, gathering in a small pool at the base. She was working for this one. Hard. There was really no need. He could have done all this for her and relished in the task but she was all about the punishment. Had come up with some scattered notion that if she had to push and torture herself then enjoying the ending was...well it was just par for the course with her type. Martyrs. Never would take the easy way of things.
The muscles in her back corded and shivered at his touch and he dropped his fingers to the floor, bracing his hands and watching her writhe on top of him. With the smallest of movements, as if to avoid detection, he flexed his toes and legs to relieve the ache of muscles splayed out straight for too long. Trapped beneath her lithe frame, he contemplated the minor grunts and gasps escaping her lips. She hated that part. She'd be much happier if she never had to give voice to the slightest iota of satisfaction. That was probably why he took such a sadistic pleasure in every sound he could coax out.
Sadist. She'd called him that. When you got down to it though, it was much more her title than his. These days anyway. He knew what he was. Told her in so many words. An itch she couldn't scratch. A means to an end. Was he complaining? Noooo. And why wasn't he? Simple, really, when all was said and done, he'd never had her. Not really. Her body? Sure. Her mind, her spirit, the essence of Buffy? Not a chance in hell. Somewhere in that convoluted little mind she felt it though, the reason he was here. The purpose in his life. The tiny little ember of maybe. Maybe someday he'd be more than a convenience. Maybe.
He wasn't completely off his bird, he could see it. Every so often, and only when he was buried so deep inside that a breath of air couldn't have slipped between them, he knew that someday she'd see...him. Those moments were the best and the worst seconds of his existence. Her face...would glow with the barest hint of things that could be and then...then she'd spit in his face.
Kinda like now.
It had taken days of planning and work to make it right. A bit of an idyllic dream. A breath of an idea to make her happy, if only for a night. Call it a honeymoon for the girl who would never see the wedding. Champagne was chilled just right, bits of wispy lace and silk engulfed every surface. Hell, he'd stolen enough flowers and candles to fill a church. The irony of that was not lost on him. She'd thrown it all back in his face. Laughed at his moment of whimsy and demanded they get down to the reason she'd come. The only reason she'd willingly spend her time with the monster that haunted her thighs if not her dreams.
She'd refused his kisses or anything remotely resembling a soft touch. And he'd let her. Heaven help him, he let her do anything and everything she wanted. Just so long as she didn't leave.
He tried so very hard to make love to her...to make her love him. Whispered soft words into her skin; she punched him in the mouth. Caressed her cheek; she dug her nails in his chest. One look at the antique lace and silky froth of sheets and the bed had been deemed off limits. So now he was on the floor, forced to watch as she took.
She wouldn't even look at him. Not after he'd broken the sacred rule and uttered those three little words guaranteed to make her crawl inside her inner sanctum never to return, at least not until she'd convinced herself, yet again that every word he uttered was a lie. But she'd stayed this time. Found herself a solution she could live with.
It was easy to fuck a nightmare when it wasn't staring you in the face.
On her knees, legs spread apart as far as she could make them, forehead pressed tightly into the footboard her fingers were curled around, rocking and swaying in time to the demons in her mind and the one she allowed in her body. Penance.
He wasn't allowed to touch. Just sit back like a gentleman at tea and watch her take what she wanted from the only bit of flesh on him that she could control.
She was so bloody stupid sometimes.
Couldn't she see there was not one part of him, body, mind or spirit that wasn't hers for the taking? His flesh practically screamed, 'mold me, make me what you want, whatever you need'.
It was a rather ironic kind of whimsy that every woman who took his heart didn't really know what to do with it.
He was getting so very tired of trying to decide for them.
Flesh, blood, the ending and the beginning, both as unclear as the other and he couldn't take the distance anymore.
Moving forward slightly, he stole a tiny drop of moisture from her back onto the tip of his tongue. Just a taste, the tiniest sip of her essence. She didn't like that and he knew she wouldn't. How could she pretend with her life-sized vibrator if it moved without permission?
Her body stiffened and the rhythm was interrupted. Well, fuck her. He wasn't a toy as much as she made him feel and act like one.
He sat forward abruptly, wrapped his arms around her unyielding waist and buried his face between her shoulders.
"I'm here, pet. Whether you like it or not, I'm here."
She didn't speak. He didn't know why he thought she would. No, not his masochistic bitch. She just dropped her hand between their bodies and squeezed one of his balls so tightly, he wondered if it would pop off into her fist.
A scream rose in his throat but he swallowed it down and dug his fingers into her flat belly until she was forced to cry out and let go.
The war began for real then. The only sound between them was the harsh pitch of her labored breathing and the noticeable absence of his. He stayed locked to her back in a twisted parody of a lovers embrace. There was no love here. Not today. But come hell or high water, even if she refused to see him, she was going to feel him.
As if it meant nothing, as if he meant nothing, she started moving again. He wanted to rip her off and throw her across the room. Instead he tightened his grip and held her in place as a helpless rage rose harshly in his chest. She was never going to let him be anything to her...ever. Nothing but this. It was just a step up from hell and a few short feet from heaven. Bones shifted beneath his skin; he made no attempt to stop it. If she wanted to ignore him then it was time she figured out exactly what she was letting lurk behind her back. It was all well and good to know you're fucking a monster but another thing entirely when you had to look it in the face.
"Do it then."
Spike blinked and lifted his face a fraction, ears straining to catch her quiet whisper of words.
"It's what you want, right? So do it and get it over with so we don't have to play this stupid game again."
He stared at the line of her neck. She still wouldn't look at him. Even when she offered what should have been something sacred for them to share, she wouldn't look at him. "Why's that, luv? So you can flog your conscience a bit more? Pull the scars out on your mission of self pity as a sign of how low you've let yourself be drug?"
Her shoulders lifted in a half-hearted shrug. "Only another scar that I'll forget like the rest, like I'll forget you. Just figured you needed payment or something."
He could have quite easily ripped her head from her shoulders. One quick snap and it'd all be over. His hands clenched on her skin and she straightened her spine, waiting for his next move. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. Could he do it? Give her a mark she'd never be able to erase and bury under a river of contempt? Could he give her another reason to hate him?
You bet your ass he could.
The spot was chosen with careful consideration. It was a place that would remain unseen by her pious friends, somewhere she'd have to make an effort to assess the damage. Even now, he just wanted her to make an effort. She'd examine it at home, safe from his prying eyes, and she'd stack it up in that wide chest of self-loathing she carried around with her.
With a swipe of his tongue, he let her know his intentions. He'd do it slow and easy, with a minimum of pain. It wasn't about the blood...well, maybe a little, but that was just an added bonus. She couldn't forget him after this. A part of her, no matter how small, would belong to him.
At the first slide of fangs on flesh she began to move, the pace of her body matching the flow of her blood. Tears clung to his lashes as he realized his newest in a long line of mistakes. Instead of this being the moment she truly accepted him man and demon, she'd discovered another punishing way to get herself off. Less than a teaspoon had passed his lips when her thrusts picked up speed. Stilling the flow with his tongue, he clung to her back and held on as she rode the wave without him, pulling farther and farther away into her own world. A world he wasn't allowed to enter.
With a sharp gasp and a slight shudder, it was over. She slumped forward, clinging to the edge of the bed as if his arms weren't still there steadying her body. Achingly slow, he withdrew his teeth, wanting her to feel each and every slide of bone on skin but still compensating with tiny cat-like strokes of his tongue against the wound. When she was stable, he released his hold on her waist and sat up. Her shoulders rolled with the gasps of air she drew into her body and it took him a moment to decipher that she was crying without the benefit of tears. His arms ached to encircle her again, to hold her against his chest, rub her back, kiss away all the pain...but she would never let him. That wasn't his purpose. He could do nothing but watch as her body shuddered before him. So he did the only thing he could.
One slow tear dripped from his eyes and fell on her skin. It ran over the piece of flesh he'd claimed as his own, pooling for a moment before continuing its endless journey.
His mark, carved into a place it would burn. Tucked almost secretly in the curve of her shoulder blade, resting behind her heart; the place she made him stay.
She couldn't see anymore. Not because the vision had faded, though it had, but because the strength of the tears blocking her sight were just too much.
Residual emotions crawled over her flesh; fear, pain...and disgust, the latter at herself. Disgust that she had forgotten.
She didn't remember any of it, not really. The scar had been shrugged off as insignificant, a payment to her degradation, nothing more.
But it should have been.
There should have been more. More her, more him, just...more. He should have left. Should have packed up and ran with whatever shred of dignity he could muster. Anyone else would have- she would have. Not Spike, though. Even after all that, he had stayed. He wouldn't ever give up on someone he loved.
Until...
Who forced who that night?
Buffy shook her head as light teased the edges of her vision. The loud thrum of an engine raced over her skin and she felt herself falling back in.
She had a last chance for a horrified gasp as the scene unfolded.
Not this. I can't do this. Not yet. Please, not yet.
He had to quit with the tears. Made it bloody impossible to see the road. Not that he didn't know the way with his eyes shut but it was the principle of the thing. Big Bads do not cry.
Not that he was anywhere close to the Big Bad he'd once been. Any attempt to reclaim the title had just left a sour taste in his mouth. Not that she noticed. You could wrap up things all nice and neat shove em' right under her nose and she'd look right through it...look right through him.
Get over it. Move on. Sure, Buffy. Whatever you want, Buffy. Easy as bloody pie.
Right up until a bloke does move on, then it's all 'how could you do that?'
He'd done it right, hadn't he?
Jump, Spike. How high, Buffy?
Kill your own kind, Spike. With a stake or an axe, Buffy?
Fuck me, Spike. On my back or on my knees, Buffy?
He had to make her understand, once and for all, that he couldn't keep living in this neat little box she'd stuck him in. Never had been one for walking on eggshells and he'd tip-toed through the mine zone of her heart one too many times. She said it was over and right now she believed it, but her reactions to Anya were the truth. It would never be over. Not while they both still walked the earth.
She could pretend all she wanted. Knowing her, she'd go off and fall all over the first idiot with a mortgage and a car just to spite him. If she thought for one second that he was going to sit by and watch her fawn all over some useless git, she had another thing coming. She was his. Whether she liked it or not.
The bike rolled to a stop. Spike cut the engine staring up at the slim light peeking from her house.
They had to talk. Had to get this over with. Today.
He walked calmly through the door, shrugging off his coat.
Deep breaths, mate. That's how to get through this. Easy. Calm. She'll see the truth. She will. Just has to be told plain and clear s'all.
She had to see. This time she had to realize what she was doing, even if he had to shove the ugly truth so far down her throat she choked on.
Laying his coat on the banister, he walked carefully up the stairs.
"Buffy."
"Buffy, Wake up."
Buffy rolled with the arm pulling at her shoulder. Twisting in the strong grasp, she choked out the words stuck in her lungs. "Not this. Not this. Not this."
"Buffy, look at me. Look. At. Me."
Buffy pried open an eye and winced as light slashed through.
A halo of red erupted in her vision and she blinked to clear the mirage. It was still there.
"Willow?" The trembling quality of her own voice scraped across her skin like cut glass and she pushed her face against the soft hand cupping it.
"Hey, you okay?"
Buffy pulled her gaze from the quirk of Willow's eyebrow and the utter compassion shining from her eyes to take in her surrounding. She was under a tree in an idyllic meadow. The breeze was warm on her face and the sweet scent of flowers drifted on the air.
"It isn't that I'm not appreciating the hallmarkish-ness of this moment but, where are we?"
Willow looked around while a bemused smile spread across her lips. She waved her hand airily. "Somewhere between here and there."
Just as Buffy was about to start checking for evidence of pod people, Willow focused with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Pretty cool innit?"
"Yeah, great...umm...how did I get here? And while we're on the subject...you know you're dead, right?"
"Well," Willow said, raising her fingers as if to tick off points. "You're here cause I kinda high-jacked you and yes, I know I'm dead...pretty much."
Buffy raised a brow. "Pretty much? You fell off a cliff, Will. I'd say that's a few jumps past pretty much. And don't think I'm not grateful, cause really not wanting to be where I was, but high-jacked?"
Willow started twisting the ribbons on the skirt she wore. "High-jacked, you know, stole, kidnapped, bamboozled...no, that's not right-"
Buffy made a grab for Willow's hands, trying to still the obviously-nervous witch. "I get it, relax, and since you're obviously two-stepping around that first question, let's just deal with the other." At Willow's grateful look, Buffy took a deep breath and expelled it in a rush of words. "Am I dead?"
"Oh! No! You're alive, very much so, it's just that...I thought you'd seen enough. Others," Buffy raised a brow at the eye roll and grimace accompanying the word 'others', "They thought you should have to see it all but I told them that you weren't nearly as hard-headed as some people seem to think, even though sometimes you're really too stubborn for your own good but-"
"Willow!" Buffy waited until the witches' gaze was focused and tempered her voice accordingly. "Point?"
"Right! The point! Do you get it? Please tell me you do because I really don't want to send you back in there."
"Which point would that be? The one where I'm a heartless bitch and Spike is this poor, misunderstood guy or the one where I went through some really shitty stuff and he hung around trying to get his piece of the pie...umm...that came out wrong."
Willow shook her head and smiled. "Both, actually. Let's walk. You're always more perceptive when you're moving."
Buffy struggled to her feet. "I'm still not sure why this happening to begin with. I mean, this isn't even about me, or about Spike for that matter. We just got caught in the crossfire."
Willow tucked their arms together and pulled Buffy into motion. "Well that's true...in a way."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means a lot of things. It means that things happen without your control. No matter how hard you try to stop them, some things are just...meant."
"No offence, Will, but that's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard."
Willow shrugged, toeing the ground as they walked. "I thought so too, but when you see the big picture, all this makes a whole lotta sense."
Buffy threw her hands in the air. She took a deep breath, trying to assemble all the events of the past couple of days in her mind. "What is the big picture! And when did you start talking in riddles?"
"Sorry." Willow grinned, sheepishly. "It kinda rubs off on you." Tilting her head, she watched Buffy for a few minutes before blurting out, "You want the straight, no holds barred, truth?"
"That would be nice change of pace."
Willow stopped and grabbed Buffy's hands. The intensity of her gaze ripped through Buffy and burned a hole in her gut.
"You. Me. Everything that has been and everything to come, it was meant to be. The path has taken some wrong turns but every time that has happened the change has been calculated and set back on the inevitable road."
Buffy nodded slowly, the perfect picture of an insightful person. Then she opened her mouth. "So help me god, Willow, best friend or no, the word prophecy comes out of your mouth and I will lay you flat."
Willow backed up a step, waving her hands. "No, it's not even like that. You're supposed to be...you're going to...someday you'll..."
Buffy clamped a hand across the babbling witch's mouth. "Again with the no sense making."
"Mffph."
Buffy sighed and reluctantly dropped her hand, knowing that as soon as she did the words would come burbling up again from the endless font that was Willow, not knowing if she really wanted to deal with what was coming.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, a world of past secrets whispered under the cover of dark laid open in a wide chasm between them. Both wondered how to jump the breach. Both wondered if they could. With a long sigh of regret for mistakes that could never be changed, Willow dropped her eyes and opened her mouth.
"I wish I could explain it, but all I can really tell you is that it won't always be like this. There is a point. All this stuff has happened for a reason."
Buffy shook her head. There was too much in that loaded statement to comprehend. She latched onto to the one fall back that she only now realized she clung to in times like this. "There is no reason for Spike."
Willow's head shot up, disbelief and something like anger stretching her features. "You don't really believe that. Inside, you know you don't."
Buffy flinched as much from the words as from the look. Scrambling frantically in her mind, she searched for a way to change the subject. "So what, I have some all powerful destiny, you know, other than the all powerful destiny I'm already fulfilling."
Ahh yes, sarcasm is my friend.
"Not just you."
Buffy stared at her for a moment and then shrugged. When something works, use it. "Wait, don't tell me, Spike and I are going to become super heroes and freeze the bad guys with our x-ray vision. That's it, isn't it."
The glare she received in response could have froze lava. Buffy bit her tongue on the large rampage she'd been planning and let Willow continue.
"It's like this. There are two entirely different ways this could go. On the one hand, stay tucked inside your Buffy bubble, move ahead in your life, maybe even meet someone and you'll be happy in your own way but...if you let Spike in, your world as you know it will cease to exist. It's a chance Buffy, a chance to be more than you could ever be alone. "
"When the hell did you climb aboard the Spike train? Last I knew he was public enemy number one."
"You think you're the only one with a pass to his memories."
Buffy colored slightly as the implications set in. "Go ahead."
"I've seen some of what is coming and you can't handle it..."
Buffy opened her mouth to protest but Willow cut her off.
"...you won't have to, if you choose to go it alone someone else will take over the fight. You'll still be a slayer but you will never be the slayer."
"You keep saying choice. I've never had a choice before, why now?"
"Eventually, everyone gets to choose. It's your turn."
"My turn? So if I say no and get out while the getting's good, who does this great thing? Faith?"
"No, there is someone already in place. Course, she doesn't know it yet..."
"What, they're going to put some poor untrained girl up against...what are we talking about exactly?"
"Oh, she's trained. She's been in training for almost eighty years."
"No offence, but if this as bad as you're making it sound, 'grandma' is not going to cut it. If it's a vampire then best of luck trying to convince them to save the world. There are very few exceptions to that rule and..."
Buffy ran out of steam as the big picture smacked her in the face.
"You're talking about Rain, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"I can see that. She's good, smart and resourceful. So what happens to Spike? He and his ho go riding off into the sunset?"
Willow suddenly took great interest in the cuffs of her shirt. "Umm not exactly."
"What do you mean, not exactly.?"
Buffy had to bend to catch the next mumbled words. "Spike was always meant to be there. He's the reason all this has come to pass."
"Spike! Spike is the hero! Which one of the Powers went on a bender and woke up with that brainchild?"
"Actually, he was chosen for this long before you were. But just like you, he kept falling off the path. That's not important though. This is your last chance, Buffy. It ends or it begins here."
"You can't expect me to just decide this. You're talking life-altering decisions, not whether I want ketchup or mustard. Besides which, I was in the middle of something before I got zapped into...wherever the hell this is. Some psycho morphy guy is trying to get Spike to kill me, his bitch just betrayed us all, I got sucked into watching things I had no business knowing about and I am getting a really bad headache! So, sorry if discussing the ramifications of a decision with my dead best friend, who last I saw was trying to destroy the world and who is now glowing, which, very pretty by the way, is not exactly high on my list of priorities!"
"Are you done?"
'No!...Yes...maybe. I don't know. Can't we keep this simple, like you tell me how I kill the bad guy?"
"That's not up to you."
Buffy threw her hands in her air. "Arrggh! Then what the hell am I doing here?"
"I told you-"
"I know to decide." Buffy dropped her face in her hands. "I liked you better before you started sounding like a fortune cookie."
Willow ducked her head in a grin and pulled Buffy into a hug. "It's time to go back. Just follow your heart, you'll know what to do."
Buffy raised a brow and looked at her. "Now we're quoting Disney movies?"
"I love you, Buffy."
"I love you too."
Willow watched the last golden remnants of Buffy fade and jumped guiltily as a hand clamped down on her arm.
"What the hell was that crap?"
Willow turned to face her silver counterpart. "I told you she's stubborn. I had to tell her something."
At the elegantly arched silver eyebrow, Willow flushed as red as her hair. "Well it was sort of true. Some parts anyway."
"This had better work."
"It will...it might...there's a good fifty-fifty chance it will."
"Well I suppose that's better than what we had before. Honestly though, I don't know how they picked you to replace me. Atonement is all well and good but your methods really leave something to be desired."
"You're just pissed because my methods are working. Maybe they picked me because I'm...innovative."
"Pushing a vampire out a window is innovative?" Was the dry reply.
"He was being stubborn."
"Whatever," Sage said with a flick of her wrist, "It's my turn and that little stunt you just pulled had better get results or all this is going to be for nothing soon."
"What are you going to do?"
"You'll see."