Digging up the Bones

Chapter One

Spoilers: Through Grave

Disclaimer: This is just for fun and practice. None of the characters/concepts are mine.

Summary: What if Spike had come back to town, soul in hand, before the end of Willow's rampage?

Author's Note: Thanks to Sass and Emma for the beta work.  

            The graveyard grass squished under her feet, wet with rain that hadn't stopped falling all night. She tipped her head back as she walked, opening her mouth to take in the droplets, letting them run down her face to her neck without ducking. This was her time, her rain, her darkness. Her cemetery, come to that. Her town.

            Holding her stake with loose fingers, she made her way down the aisle of mausoleums, searching with all her senses for the vampires and other demons who might be bumping their way through the night. There was nothing but the sound of her feet on the grass, and her breathing, the sharp inhalations she took each time a shadow seemed slightly man-shaped. The knowledge that it couldn't be him, that he was where she'd put him, never made sense to her, not then. All she knew was that he would fill that shape, that man-shape, with no gaps or breaks. It was man-sized, and so was he.

            Because that's what he was now, a man. Still dead, yes, and still with a demon inside him somewhere, but there were no missing parts to him, not anymore. A soul with a side order of monster. But the soul wasn't who he was, no more than the monster had been. Complexities beyond such black and white words lay within him; she remembered the shadows they brought to his eyes, the way his words chased each other, the madness that hunching his shoulders. He was a man, complex and haunted, but a man. That was why he'd returned to town the year before. He had needed her to know him.

            When she reached the door to his crypt, she paused and stood beside it, letting her stake drop to the ground. With pale fingers, she traced the fissures in the old wood planks, her other hand still and hot on the coolness of the brass doorknob. Beneath her fingertips the wood seemed warm and alive. She leaned into it, rested her cheek against the spot where she sensed him the strongest and waited, trying to keep her breathing even, trying to keep herself from calling out for him. She wanted to. Everything inside of her yearned for him. If her bones could break free of her skin and go inside, she knew they would have. Being torn apart that way at the thought of his name felt familiar, which in itself was a comfort.

She'd forced herself to stay away for weeks, had only been to this cemetery a half dozen times in the year he'd been trapped here. Going through life with him as her dirty little secret, her crazy lover locked magically away in his tomb, all alone… The pain of longing for him was a poor comfort, but it was all she had. I'll take comfort where I can get it.  Now with the wood of his home rough under her cheek, she closed her eyes and let herself feel fully the burn of the want she carried for him.

            "Buffy." The word spoken at her back was an illusion, she told herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Nothing more than a dream. But when it kept on talking, she dropped her hands away from him, took a calm, slow step back. Away. From him. "Buffy, come on now. Let's go home, okay?"

            "Dawn." The name felt heavy on her lips. She licked at them and turned to face the girl. "Hey."

            Dawn smiled, a hesitant smile, but she kept it on her face even as her eyes darted between Buffy and the crypt door. "All done patrolling?" 

The forced brightness in her sister's voice lashed out at Buffy. Tears stung her eyes, but she looked down at her feet, refusing to let them build. Watching her shoes, she took one step, then another, away from his crypt. Away from where he was kept. "Yeah," she said, matching her sister's tone. "Time to get home."

Taking Buffy's arm, Dawn hugged it to her side and quickened her pace, urging Buffy to keep up. Away, away, away, her quick strokes on Buffy's hand said, but her words were steady and normal. "Giles will worry if we're late. You know he likes to see us before bedtime. Such a dork, huh? Like he thinks I'm not in a stable family environment if he's not there with cocoa, tucking me into bed."

"He doesn't make you cocoa," Buffy said, letting herself be led away from the cemetery and up the street. Away. She always pulls me away. Hating herself for the words she spoke, so composed, as if she hadn't just left behind her once-lover in his tomb, she kept moving away, kept speaking, regardless of the way her bones seemed to shift and ache as the distance between them grew. "He likes to know we're safe, that's all. Giles is… he's kind. He cares."

"I know." Dawn squeezed her sister's arm. "Like you."

"Yeah,"  Buffy whispered. The fingers of her free hand flicked over the raised scars on her neck. Four sets of bite marks. One for the world, one for her world. One for the past, and one… one for him. "I'm kind. I care."

As they approached the yard, Dawn released Buffy. "Look," she said, pointing to the porch. "He's waiting for you."

"For us," Buffy corrected automatically.

"No, for you. He's outside. That means he wants you alone. If he was inside, he'd want me too." Shrugging, Dawn's face opened into a true smile. She was happy here, living like this, Buffy realized. Happy, with her sister and a Watcher playing Mommy and Daddy, with the routine of school during the day and cocoa at bedtime. As if reading her sister's thoughts, Dawn nodded. "It's okay, Buffy. I like knowing he's out here taking care of you."

They left the sidewalk. Buffy paused in the grass to remove her sandals. She wanted to feel the wetness of the earth on her skin before going inside. Dawn skipped up the steps ahead of her, waving at Giles before shutting the door and leaving them in privacy. Pausing at the foot of the steps, Buffy looked up towards her Watcher, but could not meet his eyes.

"Hello Buffy," he said in his gentlest, most fatherly tone. "Come and sit, will you?"

She didn't want to. Her teeth gritted with the yearning to run back to the cemetery, but in the end she gave in to the warmth she saw in his eyes, as she'd done every night. Coming back late from patrol, reluctant even to sleep, she'd always found him waiting for her, beckoning her in to remains of the life she'd once lead. He's kind. He cares. "Hi Giles," she said at last, settling beside him on the porch swing and tossing her shoes to the ground. "You're up late."

"You were gone a long time. I couldn't keep Dawn from searching the town. You worried her." The mild reproof in his words made her tense, but she didn't speak. "Did you… well. You went to see him?"

"I went," she said. "I didn't see him. You know that wouldn't happen… I mean… it couldn't. You know that."

"Yes, I know." He patted her arm. "I'm glad you're all right."

They swung back and forth for a silent minute, both staring straight ahead into the yard. She never moved, but finally spoke. "Why do you always ask? I mean, since you know. I can't see him. No one can."

"I must ask, Buffy." His hand rested on her wrist, a weight to heavy for her to bear. Twitching just enough to make him pull back, she yawned, hoping he'd think she was too tired to talk. He went on despite her show of exhaustion. "Buffy. It's terribly difficult for you. We all realize that this… what you are going through… well, it is an extremely disturbing situation."

"For who?" Her words tasted bitter on her tongue. "For me? For you?"

"Of course, of course," Giles rushed to say. "For us all. You, you have to go on each day, patrolling, parenting Dawn, knowing what… what you know. And we have to watch you. It's…"

"What about him, Giles? What about Spike?"

"Ah- yes." His words thickened and slowed, lulling her until she felt the fight loosen inside her and relaxed. "For him too, Buffy. I'm sure. But it's impossible to say how much awareness Spike has left. It's most likely that he is utterly… gone."

Empty. He's gone and empty. Like me. She let her head drop to rest against Giles' shoulder, let her eyes fall closed as she pictured her insides, the hollow cavity of her torso, each long, vacant limb, and the void of her skull, bare and blank, filled by nothing except the meaningless words they asked her to speak and the secret language she kept from them, the language that was the memory of his voice, when he still had one in her life. I'd do it. Right person. Person I loved. I'd do it.

But I can't do anything now for you, Spike. I have no voice. I have no body. All I am is… here, and it's nothing now. The swing began to creak as Giles pushed with his feet, pacifying her with the motion, with his nearness and his certainty. "Giles? You really think…"

"Buffy, you mustn't worry. Everything that could be done for Spike, you did. You've nothing to feel remorse for. There's nothing that needs to be forgiven."

To forgive is an act of compassion. It's not done because people deserve it. It's done because they need it. She didn't realize she'd spoken the words aloud until his shoulder jerked beneath her face.

"You need to see him, don't you." It wasn't a question. His angled jaw stiffened and he pulled off his glasses. He worked them in his hands, polishing them as if thinking they could never be clean enough to for him to see her clearly.

"I need…" Her words died out and she shrugged, once. "Him. I need… to know he's not…" In pain. Afraid, alone in the dark. Hating me.

"You're sure?" It came so grudgingly that a minute stretched out before she heard him. "You might not like what you find. How can you be sure the truth will be any easier to live with than the probability?"

"I can't be. But this can't go on, Giles. I'm alive again. How am I supposed to act that way if half of me is locked inside that crypt with him?"

He touched her shoulder, and she let him. "I will help you, Buffy. If you're sure. I'll do whatever you need. Magics, money, caring for Dawn… only tell me what to do, and it will be done."

"I…" I don't know how to tell you this. Licking her lips, she tried again. "I'll need your car, I think. And a few weeks time. Maybe a spell, I don't know yet. Some packets of blood."

            "You're taking him away? Out of town? To where?" He rose, jostling the swing, and stood above her so tall and solid, she wanted to wrap herself in his arms and shove the thoughts of Spike back into the void of her brain. I'd do it. Right person. I'd do it.

            Twisting her hands together in her lap, she said, "I don't know where. It'll depend on… on Spike. What he needs. But I think his best shot… if he has a shot… is out there, away from people who know him."

            "But Buffy, he'll be with you. You know him."

            She raised her eyes to meet his. "We'll find out, won't we?"

            Holding his hand out to her, he smiled a little when she took it but made no move to pull her up. "Buffy. Be certain about this before you act. Once you see him, well… nothing can change that. The knowledge will always be with you. It will not be pretty, what you find in that crypt. And it will stay in your mind."

            She pressed the back of his hand to her cheek. "It's already there. Can't you see that? Only, all the what-if's are there, not the truth. There's only one truth, and one awful truth is easier to carry than millions of awful possibilities." Standing, she said, "He gave up everything for me. This one small thing… I can do this for him."

            Giles wrapped his long arm around her shoulders and walked with her into the house. "Come inside. I have some things that might be of help to him. Or to you, with him. And we must figure a way to break through the imprisoning spell."

            "That's not what Willow called the spell," Buffy said as she closed the door behind them. Looking out the small, square window in its center, she pressed both palms flat against the wood and conjured up the image of the door to his crypt, of his presence behind it. I would do it too, Spike, she told him, sending the words through the dark night towards him. Just be there when I come for you. Hold on that long. "She called it the Sanctuary of the Damned."

*****

            They drove to the cemetery together, all three silent until the Honda's headlights flashed over the toothy row of gravestones. Giles pulled the car up to the door of the crypt. He shut off the engine, but made no move to get out. Resting his head back, he tilted it towards Buffy. "You're sure?"

            "Yeah," Dawn said, scrambling up from the back seat and leaning on the consol with her elbows. "Because you can still change your mind."

            Buffy ran the backs of her fingers down her sister's sleek hair. "Dawn, why don't you want me to go help him? I thought you liked Spike."    

            "I do. I mean, sorta. But… Buffy, you promised him that you'd leave him alone. After everything he did for you, everything he went through, don't you think… I mean, doesn't it seem wrong to break that promise?"

            "You don't even know that he's alive," Giles said. "It's been a year. That's quite a long time to go without feeding, without company or… or anything. And he wasn't exactly the picture of sanity when Willow locked him in there."

            Dawn shuddered at the mention of Willow's name. "But he let her do it for a reason. That night, Buffy, he saved your life. Shouldn't we… I don't know, respect that?"

            Pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, Buffy sighed. "Look, I don't know, okay? I'm just as clueless as both of you are. No, Dawn, I don't like breaking my promise. But I never should have made it to begin with. He saved my life, got Willow to go after him instead of me. I should have broken the spell right away and taken him home. I should have… but he wouldn't let me. And I've tried, since then, to forget where he is and why he's where he is- I can't forget it."

            "None of us can forget that night." Giles' gaze was fixed on the darkness outside the windshield, but he looked so distant, Buffy knew he was picturing another darkness a year before, lit by the fire of a burning witch. "It was the worst of my life, by far. Spike was merely one victim of a greater tragedy."

            "I haven't forgotten Willow and Xander either," Buffy said. "Or Tara. You think I could? But they are dead. Spike is still here. Probably. And I have to help him."

            Dawn's hair fell forward to veil her face, but her eyes flashed hotly behind the cover of brown. "He wanted to be left alone. Don't you get that? He doesn't want you."

            "I get that, Dawn. I do. I never forget it. Most days, it's hard to think of anything else."

            "But you're still going to take him out of there." Giles met Buffy's eyes over Dawn's head. "I understand. Heroes do as heroes must."

            Blushing, Buffy said, "I'm not feeling all that heroic right now."

            Giles opened his door. "Let's get this done. Dawn, you'll wait out here. Buffy, get the axe from the trunk."

            "Axe?" Dawn rolled down the backseat window and watched as Buffy retrieved the large weapon. "You're gonna get him out of there with an axe?"

            "Willow's spell worked on the sort of magic that allowed her prowess over supernatural beings. Nothing magical will help with this." Giles took the axe from Buffy. "Stand aside. You won't be able to strike so much as a blow, being other than human yourself."

            She didn't move. "Dawn, get out of the car and wait at the cemetery gates."

            "What? Buffy, no. He's my friend. I want to see him."

            "You think he'd want you to see him weak? If this works then I'll bring him home in a few weeks. You can see him then."

            Dawn's answer was to slam the car door shut and stomp away. Watching her sister leave, Buffy said, "When you get the door down, I want you to take Dawn and leave right away, before she can run back here to see… whatever's inside."

            "But you…"

            "No, don't wait around to make sure I'm okay. I can handle myself. Just take care of my sister, Giles. I'm counting on you."

            "Of course. And we're counting on you to take care of yourself. Whatever we find in there, Buffy, just remember… he did it for his love for you, but that does not make you at fault."

            "I didn't understand what was happening, that night. I was injured. If I hadn't been, if I'd had any clue what was going on, I would never have let him…"

            Giles picked up the axe and swung it in a large arc at the door, the loud noise cutting off Buffy's words. Chips of wood flew out to fall at Buffy's feet. She picked one up and rubbed it between two fingers. I'd do it. Right person. Person I loved. I'd do it. "He warned me, but I didn't even know it, much less what I was being warned about."

            Stopping in mid-swing, Giles turned to her. "What did you say?"

            "Nothing. Just… hurry." I would do it, too.

*****

            They were too busy chopping their way into the crypt to notice the sounds Dawn's shoes made on the wet grass as she crept back towards the car. She knelt against the front tire, hidden by the hood, and ignored the discomfort of soggy denim against her knees in favor of studying what was happening before her. This was big, she knew, big in the way life-changing moments are. Not as big as what she'd seen the year before, hiding in this same cemetery, plugging her nose to keep clean of the smell of her old friend's burning skin. But big, nonetheless.

            She flinched a bit as Giles tossed the axe away. The door had a large hole in it, big enough for her sister to slip through, but Buffy made no move, only said something too quiet for Dawn to hear. Giles spoke back, his chest rising and falling so rapidly Dawn knew even from where she knelt that whatever he was seeing did not make him happy. Switching her focus to Buffy, she wrinkled her nose, confused at why her sister wasn't effected by whatever Giles saw. Then she realized that Buffy was not looking inside the crypt. Buffy was looking at the car, looking at her.

            Jumping to her feet, Dawn opened her mouth, but all words dried up as her sister grabbed Giles by his arm and pulled him with her, towards the car. "I…I…I…"

            "Take her and get out of here," Buffy said. "I have to… I didn't… I don't… I don't know. Giles, is he…"

            "He's not dust." Giles mouth folded into a grim line. "That's the good news."

            "That's as positive as you can be?" Dawn craned her neck, thankful for once that she was taller than Buffy. There was just enough light from the streetlamp to illuminate the crypt's entrance. She saw… Oh god. Rising up on her toes, she steadied herself with a hand on Buffy's shoulder. "Is that a skeleton?"

            Beneath her hand, Buffy's muscles went rigid. "Giles?" she asked, her voice breaking.

            "No, it's not that bad. He's… it's bad, but not… there's no skeleton." He slid a finger under Buffy's chin and tipped her head up so that she looked at him. "It's not the worst it could be. But it's not pretty either. Do you want me to stay?"

            "Get Dawn out of here," Buffy said. She backed away from them towards the crypt. "I have to help him."

            Dawn shook her head. "But I…"

            "Hush Dawn." Gripping her arm, Giles pulled her with him down the path, away from Buffy. He walked so quickly, Dawn tripped over her feet trying to keep up with him.

            As they passed under the archway of the cemetery gates, Dawn felt a bubble of panic rise in her throat. "We can't just leave her there. He could… she… Giles!" Yanking free, she crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him. "How can you leave her like that? She might need us."

            With a shake of his head, Giles walked on. "Buffy knows what she needs," he called over his shoulder.

            Cursing under her breath, Dawn rushed to catch up to him. "And what's that?"

            "The truth. Something neither you nor I can give her."

            "And Spike can?"

            "For Buffy's sake, I hope so."

*****

            He was lying naked on his belly near the doorway, the pale line of his back glowing orange in the light of the streetlamp. Sitting beside him, she examined the way ridges of bone prodded up against his skin, dividing his body into sections. She traced a finger above them, across the twin wings of his shoulder blades, down the cobbled track of his spine, but did not touch him. Some things were too invasive and besides, she'd fallen out of practice when it came to him.

            "Spike," she whispered, bending her head down towards his ear. "Can you wake up?"

            He didn't move. Were he human, Buffy would have thought he was dead. Realizing that she would have to touch him in order to help him, she pulled him over onto his side, keeping her vision restricted to his face. "Spike, I'm going to help you."

            A skeleton, she thought, rubbing her thumb over the smudges of dirt that lined the deep hollows of his cheekbones. Not quite, but close enough. Lifting him awkwardly, she carried him out of the crypt. The Honda's passenger seat reclined fully, and Buffy laid him there, snapping the seatbelt over him to keep him from falling over. Dawn had left a blanket for him on the seat. She pulled it around his shoulders, covering his nakedness, and pushed a long, tangled curl off his forehead. "Be right back. There's something inside we'll need."

            Inside the crypt, she tried not to breathe deeply. The stench was powerful enough to make her eyes water, made up of too many parts to identify. She didn't want to be drawn to the sarcophagus, but the pull was almost magnetic in its strength. I did want the truth.

            Flinging off the heavy stone cover, she made herself look down into the grave. Sanctuary of the damned. But were you damned, Willow? There was no corpse, of course. Buffy hadn't been expecting one. Just ashes. So many ashes, weighted by the occasional fragment of bone. And a cross, slender and gold, lying on top the remains. She lifted it, still attached to the necklace, and clenched it in a fist that shook, as her entire body shook, with anger and guilt and the blackness of sorrow. Sorrow, still? After all she did?

            Something scurried behind her, making her startle. A rat. Drawn out of her thoughts, she replaced the lid of the grave and hurried to the ladder, to the bottom level of the crypt, to retrieve what she'd come for.

            When she left the crypt moments later, Spike hadn't moved. She climbed into the car and turned on the engine. Before putting the gear into drive, she pulled the heavy cuffs from her jacket. The handcuffs had been in the drawer of his bedside table and it was obvious by the layers of dust that they hadn't been used since her last visit. Clapping one around Spike's wrist, the other around her own, she hoped they would be enough to keep him with her when he awoke. "You are going to wake up, right? Giles… he wasn't so sure… but Spike, I think you will." She watched him carefully, hoping for a blink, even a twitch, but there was nothing. No one's at home.

              "But you have a while, so take your time. I'll just keep driving. There's plenty of blood in the back and as soon as we're in a place that's safe from the sunrise, you are going to eat, mister. The boney look is no good on you." She pulled the car out of the cemetery and drove up the street towards the freeway. "Take your time, though, really. I'll be here when you wake up. And if there's anything you need…" I'd do it. Right person. "Anything at all, I'll do it."